Lozan caught himself staring at the triangle of stars over Group Captain Mighels head again. It was about to happen. The rookie he'd put in charge had better not mess this one up, but it was fairly straightforward operation, if risky. Once Griffin ran out of oxygen, the net would close and Griffin would be tractored quickly into the medical shuttle that he'd attached to the unit. He wasn't sure his brother knew how to take responsibility for his actions, to understand how he was squandering his gifts. Griffin was too stubborn to listen, maybe a close call would straighten him up.
Lozan blamed himself. He hadn't expected to be a soldier either, but he'd fought hard to be the best there was, to rise in ranks, to gather back some of the power he had lost. He had been raised from birth as the Crown Prince of Lord Zeskin's Empire. Educated by the finest tutors that seven civilizations could offer and supported by all the resources he could dream of, Lozan had no equal in the fleet. He lacked in experience but leapt at every opportunity and volunteered for every sortie, determined to prove that he was more than his name. There hadn't been much time to deal with Griffin. Lozan wasn't unaware that the boy was struggling, but they had been thrown to the wolves, and the best way he saw to protect himself (and his siblings by virtue of relation) was to lead the pack. Unlike his brothers, his own destiny had always been out of his control, and the last six years hadn't been prison, but liberation. There were things he would not have left behind though. He could still see her eyes, verdant pools trimmed in gold, inviting him closer...
"...Sir?"
Damn. 'Get your head in the game Zeskin.' He thought.
That was the real trouble though. It was all a game. These battle exercises were important for keeping an edge on their abilities, but Lozan was ready for more. There was no official reason given for the repeated denial of his requests for transfer to the 3rd Fleet. It felt uncomfortably like the end of an unseen leash. The 1st Fleet may be the protectors of the homeworld (but from whom), and it may lay claim to the Vazanthia, pride of the services (which never left orbit), but in reality it ran complicated wargames and trained its fighters and officers for the field. That's where the 3rd Fleet was, and where he wanted to be. If he couldn't quash a rebellion, then he'd have to compel central command to come up with a very good reason why not. Whether in an actual engagement or a skirmish with fellow warriors, he intended to win (as always). He pushed thoughts of family and empire away, and after a last look, the green eyes went as well. His new family awaited his command.
"I heard you, I heard you. Can't you tell when a great mind is at work?" He added a wink to the smile for good old-fashioned charm's sake.
"Yurkfly and Fox will draw them in. They'll be looking for some payback from you after the last one, Lizana. Stone group is already powered down in the asteroids, they'll wait until Red Army's first wave is past, then push their boats to the Titan platform. They'll surprise the base to clear Viper for their run for Enemy HQ. Tree provides cover, Goat provides mischief."
Hilde smiled. She always smiled at his names for the division of fighters, and that's why he kept doing it. Anders shook his head and said amiably, "Why do my guys always have to be Yurkflies, sir?"
"Because you're annoying as hell, and it's damn near impossible to kill you."
"Then I shall take it as the highest compliment, Commander."
"As always, Anders. You're dismissed, Captains. Look good out there."
They saluted and returned laughing to their ships, confident in their glorious bragging rights for the months to come. The exercises were non-lethal, but it wasn't uncommon to be stuck out in a frozen ship for a day or two as the battle continued to rage. All the experienced fighter pilots added sandwiches and reading materials to their standard payloads during fleet-wide war games. Aboard Lozan's heavy cruiser, the Queen's Ransom, there would be no discomfort in the case of virtual destruction, but he wouldn't have brought a magazine in any case. He never lost.
Lozan blamed himself. He hadn't expected to be a soldier either, but he'd fought hard to be the best there was, to rise in ranks, to gather back some of the power he had lost. He had been raised from birth as the Crown Prince of Lord Zeskin's Empire. Educated by the finest tutors that seven civilizations could offer and supported by all the resources he could dream of, Lozan had no equal in the fleet. He lacked in experience but leapt at every opportunity and volunteered for every sortie, determined to prove that he was more than his name. There hadn't been much time to deal with Griffin. Lozan wasn't unaware that the boy was struggling, but they had been thrown to the wolves, and the best way he saw to protect himself (and his siblings by virtue of relation) was to lead the pack. Unlike his brothers, his own destiny had always been out of his control, and the last six years hadn't been prison, but liberation. There were things he would not have left behind though. He could still see her eyes, verdant pools trimmed in gold, inviting him closer...
"...Sir?"
Damn. 'Get your head in the game Zeskin.' He thought.
That was the real trouble though. It was all a game. These battle exercises were important for keeping an edge on their abilities, but Lozan was ready for more. There was no official reason given for the repeated denial of his requests for transfer to the 3rd Fleet. It felt uncomfortably like the end of an unseen leash. The 1st Fleet may be the protectors of the homeworld (but from whom), and it may lay claim to the Vazanthia, pride of the services (which never left orbit), but in reality it ran complicated wargames and trained its fighters and officers for the field. That's where the 3rd Fleet was, and where he wanted to be. If he couldn't quash a rebellion, then he'd have to compel central command to come up with a very good reason why not. Whether in an actual engagement or a skirmish with fellow warriors, he intended to win (as always). He pushed thoughts of family and empire away, and after a last look, the green eyes went as well. His new family awaited his command.
"I heard you, I heard you. Can't you tell when a great mind is at work?" He added a wink to the smile for good old-fashioned charm's sake.
"Yurkfly and Fox will draw them in. They'll be looking for some payback from you after the last one, Lizana. Stone group is already powered down in the asteroids, they'll wait until Red Army's first wave is past, then push their boats to the Titan platform. They'll surprise the base to clear Viper for their run for Enemy HQ. Tree provides cover, Goat provides mischief."
Hilde smiled. She always smiled at his names for the division of fighters, and that's why he kept doing it. Anders shook his head and said amiably, "Why do my guys always have to be Yurkflies, sir?"
"Because you're annoying as hell, and it's damn near impossible to kill you."
"Then I shall take it as the highest compliment, Commander."
"As always, Anders. You're dismissed, Captains. Look good out there."
They saluted and returned laughing to their ships, confident in their glorious bragging rights for the months to come. The exercises were non-lethal, but it wasn't uncommon to be stuck out in a frozen ship for a day or two as the battle continued to rage. All the experienced fighter pilots added sandwiches and reading materials to their standard payloads during fleet-wide war games. Aboard Lozan's heavy cruiser, the Queen's Ransom, there would be no discomfort in the case of virtual destruction, but he wouldn't have brought a magazine in any case. He never lost.
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