EVE Fiction

The destroyer shook as another broadside smashed into it’s prow, the Cormorants shields flaring under the sustained bombardment. Gripping the rail of the command console, Bastiel tried to make sense of the situation from the holographic tactical display. Gallente Federation forces had broken through the cordon in the Rakapas system, the Caldari defenders overwhelmed in a matter of hours. His combat group had been redeployed to support the main Caldari defensive line in the hopes they could push them back. It had been a fool's gambit.

All around his ship the few dozen remaining defenders were buckling or attempting to break off, the fizzling display showing a group of Caracal attack cruisers pushing towards the stargate in an attempt to escape the slaughter. One by one the long nosed hulls disappeared off the tactical grid before making it, signifiers dissipating in the miasma of blinking red hostiles. “Align to planet three, activate microwarp drive systems and prepare to evasive manoeuvres, disable safety protocols on the damned thing” he barked, perspiration lining his forehead. The situation was a lost one, but one he might be able to survive it.

Through the viewscreen the mass of ships had forgone all formation and tactics, the situation turning to a bloody knife fight, sea green Federation Navy Thoraxes diving between the trails of missiles and railgun rounds from the defenders, their elongated hulls weaving to and fro throwing stabbing lances of ion blasters into the desperate survivors. The buzz of the crew on the bridge became background noise as he stared into the chaos. An eagle shaped shadow passed over the central viewport, a Moa combat cruiser limping over the ship, its lateral engines ablaze and the hull plating covering its beaked command section leaking atmosphere into the void. Its guns blazed as it passed like the claws of a wounded animal, tearing into the ovaloid hull of a Federation Vexor, blooms of iridium rounds enveloping its shields.


Another salvo stuck and Bastiel was thrown from the command parapet to the gantry below, the sound of shearing steel and emergency klaxons filling his ears. Disorientated he grabbed onto a nearby screen pulling himself back up and surveyed the damage. Multiple consoles had blew, fire and metal ribs jutting out, their operators laying dead or ablaze strapped into their seats, the agonised screaming of survivors drowning in the cacophony of war. Those still in a condition to serve attempted to reroute what they could to keep the ship in one piece, the ship's intercom blaring damage reports and areas being sealed to maintain what integrity the ship could. Seating himself back into the command chair, blood seeped from an open wound on his forehead as he hunched over the tactical display, it’s feed flickering and dim. A grimace crossed his dark profile, the streams of blood running down his cheeks curving as it did. “For the state they told us. For our people they said. Damn them all to hell…” His words quiet yet filled with fury, he smashed his fist into the holographic screen, the clear plastic cracking and smeared with blood from his wound. “Helmsmen, maintain alignment, prepare the warp drive for the jump” The remaining officers gave a barely audible acknowledgement, their hands rapidly running over their displays, calculations being ran in seconds.

His hands gripped tightly onto the rail around the lectern once more, dirtied fingers paling under the controlled rage inside of him. An officer span round to face him, fear filling his youthful features “Fire spreading into the ammunition loaders sir, hull integrity at thirteen percent on the portside holds” Bastiel cursed under his breath, his eyes sweeping over the ceiling mounted screens above the podium. Concentrated fire had stripped the ship of most it’s defenses, only its rear propulsion systems and the starboard scanners avoiding most of the damage. He knew there was only way to survive. Run. It shamed him to do so but someone needed to survive. He refused to give them federation a complete victory, not today. “Seal the loaders, move whatever you can into the remaining guns, once thats done open the external bulkheads” The words came out in a cold, clipped tone, his eyes turning to ice as they left his lips. He knew he was condemning good men and women to a nightmarish death by doing this but it was either them or half the ship should the ammunition stores be breached. The young officer opened his mouth as if to say something in protest but instead nodded and turned back, the desperate fear lining his face a stark contrast to the calm blue of the terminal lighting his profile. “May the Cold Wind forgive me” Bastiel whispered to himself as the wails of the crew in the ammunition bay began reaching over the klaxons blaring through the communication unit on his podium, sorrowful silent tears mixing with the dried blood staining his cheeks as he bowed his head in mute horror listening to the sibilant cries slowly fall to silence.