Saturday October 24th – FNS Tenhunter, Imperial Space (Cycle 21). Written by Donald Cooper, RNN military correspondent.

The Anaconda class war-rig dispatched by the Shadow President, had hit a personal record: over one hundred Imperial supply ships got apprehended in less than 24 hours, with most encounters ending in total ship destruction. The one that followed was the most memorable one however. That was when we all met commander Devan Baldwin, a Republican fighter pilot part of the fiery Taco Corp task force.

This is the story of how we met him

It was after a jump into a linker system that the Tenhunter picked up signals of four supercruising vessels, all of which were heavily combat kitted: two Vultures flying Republican colors and two Imperial Clippers. I kid you not, the weapon systems officer got madly ecstatic when his scanner came back with the results. It had been three days we were undermining the Emperor’s territories with almost no sign of reinforcements and at the current rate, the Emperor was heading for a win on the AF Leporis front despite all our efforts.

All four ships had dropped out of supercruise before we could make an accurate assessment of the situation, to which captain Molyavko responded with a call to general quarters. Only after waking out ten kilometres away did it become apparent that the federal Vultures had endured significant amounts of damage, both flying in hulls that had been compromised and shields losing strength quickly; all indicating they had been fighting for a long stretch of time. Molyavko’s first reaction was to order immediate approach to the war-party and hardpoints deployment. Commander Devan Baldwin was flying one of the two Vultures, both focusing their class 3 pulse lasers on a single target.

Everybody on the bridge noticed how good his aim was as we knew he was using fixed weapons and was prompt to put his target in a flee or die situation. The weapons officer’s readings were quick to signal that the Clipper’s power plant module was taking severe damage: now unshielded, the neck of the Clipper was taking a furious beating, to the point where we could make out hull parts flinging in all directions.

When Baldwin’s target performed a sudden manoeuvre in order to quickly hide its vital points and set a course to an escape vector, the second Clipper suddenly boosted straight into both Baldwin and his wing man. The ramming was extremely violent; Baldwin got caught in a furious spin while his wing man pulled through with a minor hit, allowing him to swiftly reposition himself behind the rammer and harass it to the best of his abilities.

We only had four kilometers left to travel. The shieldless Clipper, on the verge of escaping, suddenly turned around and reoriented itself. At this point the pilot was probably thinking “do I go back or do I leave now? Do I try to kill the rammed Vulture or do I attack the one harassing my companion?” He could have left everyone behind, he was far enough from the Tenhunter’s mass-lock pull to attempt an easy escape, but he chose to come back to help his friend, which had almost lost his own shields.

The crew had lost track of Baldwin. We later discovered that he had closed his heat-vents to escape detection, but given how fragile Vultures are, most assumed his ship had ceased to function altogether. We knew he was still alive though because there was no explosion and the weapons officer’s last readings before he vanished indicated his hull was still intact, although very much weakened. I personally thought he had lost consciousness because of the spin. It turns out he hadn’t.

Baldwin didn’t think of reaching safety. Once his spin was under control he set a course to the war-party, quickly reaching phenomenal speeds. Our radars could not pick up his position, but our eyes could make out a tiny bright dot climbing on a straight line. We were all tracking him because it was just so unusual for a pilot to do that. The dot turned blue. And then a bright orange. At the same time, the Clipper that was coming back to help his friend was taking an arched trajectory that soon turned out to be perpendicular to Baldwin’s. I remember hearing someone on the bridge yelling something like: “What the fuck is this asshole trying to do… “ And then, all of a sudden, the shieldless Clipper transformed itself into two distinct bowls of fire, spilling huge amounts of energy and scrap in all directions. Once we heard the AI declare “Target destroyed”, we all turned silent. The looks on the crew was…unique: Baldwin had decapitated the Clipper by ramming straight into its weakened neck.

I was myself wondering: what the actual fuck? Did this guy just ram a Clipper?”

The remaining foe boosted its way out of danger before high-waking to an unknown location…After getting news that his wing man was fine, the Vulture that had remained operational left all of us behind, knowing we would take good care of his friend. Besides, he had a schedule to catch.

[…]

They initially refused to let me climb in the rescue vessel: “It’s too risky” they said. After much deliberation though, captain Molyavko changed his mind and ordered that I be brought with the rescuers, provided that I did not film any of it. I left most of my equipment behind.

It was quite roomy inside the Eagle’s cargo bay. A row of folding seats were included in the compartment: the frigate’s medic and a technician climbed inside with me before tightly closing the airlock. There was no time to waste. As soon as we were all seated and our belts securely fastened, the pilot engaged full throttle and in a matter of seconds, we were experiencing high g pulls. It was quite nauseating as there were no windows to make out our position relative to the Tenhunter or the stars, but luckily, our objectives weren’t too far.

Our first task was to recover commander Devan Baldwin, who was responsive to our calls over the comms but was almost out of oxygen. I could hear the technician asking him a series of questions regarding the state of his Vulture: according to the accounts, the canopy had been reduced to an utterly shattered surface albeit still holding in one piece. Once we arrived at Baldwin’s location, the cargo bay opened, offering us a direct view on the wreckage: twisted pieces of metals were downright protruding here and there with the front of the ship being the most damaged part as evidenced by the creased, if not entirely crushed structural elements: all spectacular testaments of how violent of a collision the Vulture had endured.

Baldwin got out easily. All he needed was for someone to make an opening from outside. After solidly anchoring himself with safety ropes, the technician was able to blow a hole with a specialized hammer, before removing surrounding pieces by performing firm outward strokes. Baldwin soon emerged, and joined us in the bay by simply letting himself getting tugged by a towing line. He looked fine for someone who had just rammed a Clipper.

Then we moved to the next wreckage, this time with two imperial pilots stucked in their own cockpit. The technician got notified by captain Molyavko that one of the two victims had already lost significant amounts of blood. I noticed the medic anxiously staring at his med-kit, probably preparing himself mentally for the incoming emergency procedure. The terrifying situation those two pilots were facing became much more apparent once the severed head of the Clipper appeared before us. Baldwin himself seemed to be lost in a mix of contemplation and shock for what he had accomplished. He felt like he had to do something and insisted he joined the technician. At the view of how messy things looked like with bits of scrap flying allover the area and no clear way of reaching the cabin, combined with a silent, deathly atmosphere, there was no doubt he was about to need all the help he could get.

He began his approach by harpooning the nose of the Clipper before climbing his way up to the cockpit with a collection of tools attached to his harness. Baldwin on the other hand had nothing on him except for an electric lamp: as he progressed towards the canopy, the smaller bits of debris revealed themselves to his cone of light as it got closer to the wreckage. I heard captain Molyavko signal the rescuers that his crew had to switch off the comms channel they were maintaining with the Clipper, as one of the pilots started screaming in pain. He went on to urge the rescue team to get these two men back to safety.

I could feel a lump in my throat while my heart was pounding .

A series of bright flashes indicated that the technician was working at melting the weak spots of the canopy, all situated on the circular beam; a smart design from Gutamaya to allow easy access to the cockpit for these types of emergencies. The ghastly view of red bubbles gushing through the hole did not escape my attention, nor the fact that the severed head of the Clipper was slowly rotating towards the Eagle’s cargo bay, a subtle movement I imagine was caused by the rescuers’ tuggings on the harpoon cable during their ascent. That’s when the contours of the canopy became clearly apparent as it was unusually reflective to Baldwin’s light. I suddenly realized it was all due to the blood that had frozen upon smearing the cold glass from inside.

Once Baldwin somehow managed to stabilize his zero g swivelling and provide consistent illumination to the working area, the technician started pulling out the first injured. The man wasn’t even moving, he looked more like a corpse. The towing-line brought him to us, and the medic took charge of securing him inside the bay while I kept staring at the two rescuers. I could make out Baldwin passing the light to the technician as he entered inside the cockpit. “What a fucking mess. What a bloody fucking mess” he then whispered. The medic assessed that our new passenger had lost consciousness and urgently needed to be brought to the Tenhunter. “Alright, you guys head back to the ‘conda while we try to pull this one out.” had to propose the technician. “He’s not going to make it anyways.

– He lost too much blood? inquired the medic.

– Yeah. His leg got crushed between two big pieces of metal and his suit is teared. There’s nothing we can do but recuperate his body, and that alone will take us a while.”

Everybody was quite anxious to see us come back with the survivor. The man had started regaining consciousness when we were only a couple of seconds away from the Tenhunter’s hangar. “We got you, you’re gonna get you all fixed up. Don’t you worry.” had to reassure him the medic, as he was injecting something in his vein – probably some potent painkiller. I could hear the man feebly moaning while he was fixating the ceiling. What an awful and desperate look he had on his face.

Commander Baldwin and the technician had managed to recuperate the cargo rack that was left intact in the Vulture’s wreckage, containing supplies of all sorts but more specifically what the Tenhunter had been missing the most since the beginning of this adventure: decent food. The entire crew had broad smiles on their faces during dinner. I felt glad too, knowing that we had such valiant combatants fighting on the same side as ours, and that there was actually some hope to finish what the Federation had started. It was almost surreal to see such a happy bunch, eating quality tacos and drinking slurm despite the ghastly events.

That night, Baldwin became the centre of attention of the entire Tenhunter personnel, yet it didn’t seem like he wanted to get too close to me. I think I understand why. Meanwhile, captain Molyavko remained in the medbay with what was now our prisoner. When he came out, he was glad to confide he had a good talk with him. “He’s going to make it” he rejoiced.