89 Chapter 89
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One month flew by faster than Max had expected, and now they were onto the part 48 hours before landfall on Kepler 111. Everything that needed to be filled out and filed had already been sent to the Planetary Government for processing, with the results of their procurement requests as well as the list of their new members expected any minute now.
All five officers were waiting in the office that Max had turned into his de facto office lately, while the rest of the ship was in full celebration mode. Tonight the ship would party well into the night, and then tomorrow they would sleep half the day away while adjusting to the local time zone at the spaceport where they would be landing.
Near the military port was the planet's largest civilian port, where the trade ships would land to bring and buy goods. The traders were a fun bunch in Max's estimation, at least the ones that frequented the port on Kepler Terminus where he grew up were. The Empire had been at war for years, and the risk of attacks on trade vessels was high, so only the bravest would volunteer for the job, even with the seemingly insane amounts that it paid.
The slums weren't far from the spaceport on Kepler Terminus, since nobody wanted to live near the noise of landing ships, the smells of bulk products, or the pollution of the outdated heavy industrial equipment that processed it for interstellar transport. But that just meant that the traders would often wander into the slums for a bit of fun. Drinking, gambling, and other vices were easy to find in Max's old neighborhood, and they all drew in the traders.
Max was too young to be of interest to them, they wanted skilled veterans, not kids from the downside who might never have a skill worth mentioning, but that didn't stop Max from listening in on their thoughts when he went for walks with Dave during his youth.
That's how Max learned that only Kepler citizens have the system. Not all other nations are enemies, so not all traders come from Kepler. Many of the traders were not quite human or had exotic appearances like nothing that Max had ever seen on his planet before. Those ones were also harder for him to read, and he couldn't get as much detail from them, since their bodies had no Nanotechnology within them that his Innate Talent could work with.
He could still get some things, though, especially when they were on the open-air balconies of the taverns in the afternoon when the heat made it unbearable to be inside any building without the climate control that the homes of the wealthy had. Now, Max understands, that it was a normal thing for everyone to have and that the slums were the exception, but at the time, Max viewed it as something very highbrow and amazing, to not have to sweat in the afternoon heat every day of the year.
Max is drawn from his reverie and back to the conversation the others are having by a thought from Nico. She has obtained an image of the Light Mecha staging area and found their new units. Just like they hoped, they managed to obtain thirty Corvette Class Mecha, all painted in the bone and bronze Max chose, with red accents.
Standing among the dull olive green of the rest of the units leaving the planet, they look glorious, elite, and distinct without being flashy, making Max proud of his choice. He was hoping that she would grab an image of the Crusaders as well, but either the cameras there are down, or they are on a closed-circuit loop and not available to the planetary net that Nico pulled the parade ground images from.
That does make sense though, light mecha aren't exactly a secret, even the traders usually have a few on their ships from civilian sources, modified for combat. But the mighty heavy mecha are much more heavily guarded, to keep the nation's true strength secret.
Looking more closely, these Corvettes are a different pattern than the ones that the 42nd armored has. Instead of being tall and blocky, they are elegantly curved, and nearly human in proportions, with a swept-back top dome that looks a lot like a racer's helmet and will give more room than usual for sensors.
"Now that's a nice change to see. We actually got new build Corvettes. See the rounded hulls? That pattern came from the Commorian conglomerate that merged with Kepler only a decade ago. All of their mecha are exceptionally agile, and the armor is really good, despite looking so slender and delicate." Nico points out the various features on the screen as she goes, and then they all inspect the weaponry.
These mecha have dual hands and hold their weapons, unlike the Crusader Class Mecha that they all use, but there are two shoulder-mounted energy weapons on them. Only the barrels seem to be above the hull of the chest armor, on a pivot for increased firing options, giving them a low profile inside the rather organic-looking curved armor shell.
"Hey, since all the new Corvettes are Commorian designs, you don't suppose that the new Crusaders will also be Commorian pattern heavy mecha do you?" Vincente asks, so eager that he is stumbling over his words.
The heavy mecha of that pattern share the same lithe and curved design that the new Corvettes do, and are much more agile than the Redemption Pattern that the two existing units are built from, though they're not quite as fast in top running speed as the Stalker Pattern that the Tarith's Rage was built on. They also have better thrusters, allowing them to leap over obstacles more easily, as well as more agility for space-based combat.
The only really strange thing about them is that they like to forearm mount the heavy weapons, which gives them the benefit of a small hand, but puts the recoil off-center, so they can be a bit of a pain with projectile weapons.
That might be too much to ask for. The weaponized limbs of the Redemption Pattern mecha, with their durable top armor shell, have served well for centuries, and it seems unlikely that their newly founded units will get so lucky as to obtain even one of them much less three brand new mecha. After all, the amount of money and resources required to build an entirely new unit is enormous. It is much more common for a planet to reuse the mecha from the returning veterans to supplement their departing units, after a hasty refurbishment.
That is a large part of the reason that Kepler forces put so much effort into recovering their downed mecha. Not because they are sacred or anything, but simply because it isn't cost-effective to entirely replace them when the majority of a destroyed unit can be made into a new one.
Their unit roster comes in while they are admiring the new Corvettes, and again, it is no surprise at all, and just as bad as Max had feared.
Thirty Corvette Class pilots, all graduates of the Special Forces program of the local university. Looking closely, they have all graduated from the academy in the last 12 months, so they don't even have real experience on planetary defense patrols. Then there is the company of infantry. Unlike the pilots, these soldiers did not go to university. They are all fresh from the academy, with ten Sergeants pulled from the Planetary defense and one Commanding officer from the local Mayor's security defense team.
"Captain Catan?" Max asks, pointing out the officer's name on the roster. It's the same as Bravo Company's commanding officer, so there is a very good chance that the two are related.
Nico gives Max a nod and starts tapping away at the computer. "I'm on it, let's see here. Graduated from the Academy 9 years ago, just missing the recruitment. Kepler 111 is a heavy agriculture world, with a very mediocre track record for pilots and soldiers, so they have been excused from most of their recruitments in exchange for more agricultural tithes.
He has an excellent track record with the local police, and then the Mayor's personal security. But there must be a reason for his transfer, there are lots of other officers to choose from. Yes, here it is. eleven children under the age of eight, with nine different mothers. It looks here like his entire salary as a Security officer wasn't enough to cover the support payments, so he volunteered for the Commander's role. While he serves, the military will pay benefits to all his children, and afterward, they will all be old enough that they have gone to the academy, freeing him from the financial obligations."
"So what you're saying is that he fits right in and we should both be very careful of his smooth-talking?" Ari laughs, making Max snort as he tries to avoid joining her merriment.
"Considering the fact that you could both handily whoop him if he gets out of line? Yes. It is definitely his charm you need to be careful of. He scored amazingly well in close combat skills, and leadership abilities, but his system Compatibility is D Rank, and even then it would likely have been considered F rank on Kepler Terminus." Max agrees.
"Terminus has so many talented pilots that they can afford to F Rank kids who actually have some sort of System Talent?" Paul asks, in awe at the power level of Max's home planet.
"Yeah, ours likes to D Rank kids who have no system but have enough strength to pass infantry training." Vincente agrees.
That's practically suicidal for them, in Max's opinion. D Rank might not be much, but by the end of the academy's training, they should at least have 50 percent added stats in total, making them a good bit stronger and faster than their peers. With all their infantry coming from the Special Forces training, Max is fairly confident that won't be the case for them, but it doesn't give him much hope for the rest of the quarter-million souls being sent into orbit to fight and die.
90 Chapter 90
Name:Humanity's Greatest Mecha Warrior System Author:
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[One hour to Course Correction. Abraham Kepler is now entering the Kepler 111 system.] The robotic voice of the ship's intercom informs everyone, bringing a crowd of soldiers to every window.
They haven't seen home in ten long years, and everyone is anxious to commit the visual to memory. After today's ceremony, they will no longer be soldiers, but returned veterans retired with full honors and benefits. So few of their batch have returned this time though, and the planet only sends soldiers once a decade, so the return is a big thing here, with a week-long celebration among the civilians and a number of formal events for the veterans, but set up more like a dating service than a formal ball.
Of course, none of them have ever seen one before, having been young children when the first one was held, and leaving the planet to take up their duty before the second of their lifetimes.
But the real reason for the celebration isn't even them, so much as what they represent. Every tenth year, their youth go to fight and die, so that the planet doesn't have to send a food tithe, filling their storehouses as a buffer against lean years in the future and improving the lives of all on this mostly rural planet.
The two Captain Catans managed to get ahold of each other just this morning, talking about life and family and the Commander that the younger Cousin would be joining tomorrow. He was shocked to find that his older cousin had risen so much, having left straight from the Academy as a fresh-faced Second Lieutenant Cadet. But now they're of even rank, with the older being a war hero, and the younger a renowned playboy and deadbeat dad, when he's not the silent bodyguard in the background of local politics.
The entire crew of Bravo Company thinks that the situation is hilarious, especially after seeing the women that the younger cousin had been with. Being only a year apart in the academy, they were all familiar with each other in their childhood, and the two cousins grew up with exactly the same views on what true beauty looks like. There is some hope that the older does have a bit more common sense though.
Only a few minutes after making orbit, the alarms sound again, signaling that the Abraham Kepler is going to make one of its rare planetary landings to pick up the new crew. If the system had a proper star base, they would have picked up the recruits there, but no such thing was deemed necessary by the Central Government for Kepler 111, so loading from land is the only practical way to get so much on board in a reasonable time frame.
The Abraham Kepler is over a Kilometer long, but with the anti-gravity generators, it is fully capable of safely entering orbit, without too much atmospheric damage, and without hitting the ground like a meteor. It is hard on the hull plating though, which is the reason that it is avoided most of the time. Nobody wants to waste military resources repairing a ship that didn't need to be damaged in the first place.
The shake and shudder of the interstellar fortress as it falls from the sky gives the soldiers a rhythm to dance to, and the warnings to remain securely strapped in and seated for the duration of the entry are entirely ignored. Even Max gets dragged into a dance with the soldiers of Bravo Company, an impromptu mosh pit of joy in the middle of the training grounds.
The ship touches down without incident, and orders start sounding from all over the ship to clear out lockers and report to staging areas for final checks before their personal belongings will be transferred to logistics and the homecoming parade will start.
That ends the dancing, and everyone starts running to grab their gear, knowing that logistics processing is first come first served, and they are all retiring too, so they are in no mood for nonsense or extra work until all the gear is transferred to the local authorities.
[Stalwart Special Tactics Unit, report to Mecha Hanger AE86] is the final announcement in the long line, and the five officers all head for the very last mecha hanger of the Primary Mecha Company on board the Abraham Kepler.
The loading won't start until tomorrow, once everything is off and moved away, but their two Crusaders are already there when they arrive, repainted in bone and bronze to match their new unit. It is a strange feeling seeing those two mechs in a new color scheme. They went through so much together lately that it almost feels like sacrilege to have changed them. Stalwart has changed a lot though, with the new shoulder pads sporting Plasma Shotguns, an added Ion Type anti-aircraft battery on top of the carapace armor, and the new power plant.
That should make for an interesting contrast. The bright white energy charges of the Ion battery contrasted against the bright blue of the Plasma charges from the shotguns. Nico took the time to tweak and upgrade everything again, bringing it back to what Max is used to, so the only thing he will need to adapt to is the added firepower on top of the Crusader.
Tarith's Rage doesn't seem to have changed nearly as much until Max looks closer. It is still the same basic pattern as before, the Ion Destroyer on the right, the gauntlet on the left with the two rail guns mounted on it, but the size of the Rail Guns has been increased. The hull-mounted version beside the cockpit, where Max has a simple laser, is still the same small one it always was though. Finished off with two anti-aircraft batteries, one on each shoulder instead of a single one in the middle, the layout is simple and clean looking, almost minimalist in design.
"Welcome everyone. Stalwart Special Tactics unit will be attached to the Noctem Regiment for the duration of this assignment, so I thought I would come and welcome you." General Mons, Pilot of the Carpe Noctem and leader of Noctem Armored Regiment greets them, with a silent Colonel standing one step behind and to his right. That should be his copilot, but Max can see that the officer has taken a severe throat wound at some point in the past, and prefers not to wear an augmentic vocal box, so they likely can't speak.
"We appreciate it General, and we will be in your care," Nico replies with a polite nod and a salute.
[What am I, chopped liver?] Max hears the Colonel's thoughts as Nico finishes speaking, making him laugh.
"Yours as well Colonel. Fear not, I didn't forget about you." Max replies to the man's thoughts.
[What the hell? I almost thought he could hear me there for a second. But I'm sure he's just being a good little boot licker.]
"General Tennant frowns upon licking any part of your uniform Colonel," Max replies with dignity, and General Mons bursts into laughter.
"Oh yeah, meet my co-pilot, Colonel Car. I may have neglected to notify him that your Innate Talent is related to mind reading." General Mons cuts into the one-sided conversation and the Colonel gives him a dirty look.
"Oh, don't give me that. I told you before you made a real ass of yourself." The General chastises his copilot, who just shakes his head at the childish prank that was played on him.
"This will be your unit's hanger, so you might as well get acquainted with it. The new staff isn't here yet obviously, but you can update the system if you don't like the way the hangers are laid out for the equipment you've ordered. You have one hour before you need to report to the parade grounds to send off the old units, and then you need to be back at 0900 tomorrow to greet your new unit and guide them to their quarters. All the data will be sent to your wrist devices and the data tablets in your new quarters." The General finishes, giving them a curt nod and getting back to his duties.
His unit might only be getting reinforced, but there is still a load of paperwork to do, and since General Tennant is a Genius at dodging responsibility, almost all of the work for the incoming units has fallen in General Mons' lap.
Max decides to go see Bravo Company before they leave, catching up with Captain Catan, who hands him a sealed envelope to pass to the incoming Captain of the Stalwart Special Tactics unit.
"Since we won't have much of a chance to catch up, I just wanted to leave him something to remember me by. Just a little bit of a "Good Luck and I hope you left some women for me." To remind him what he's fighting for." The scarred officer laughs, his dark eyes twinkling with mirth under the black spikes of his fresh haircut.
91 Chapter 91
Name:Humanity's Greatest Mecha Warrior System Author:
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An hour later the Abraham Kepler was resoundingly empty, with only the final fading Echoes of boots in metal decking to remember the old crew by.
The barracks had been painted, the equipment transferred and the entire crew had been moved to the parade grounds to send off the departing troops.
Two groups stood facing each other, one of them young and hopeful, the order battle-worn, with the hard stares of seasoned veterans that have only begun to fade after a month in transit. Adapting to civilian life will not be easy for most of these men and women, but the faint smiles on their weathered and scarred faces say they are eager to try.
The size imbalance between the two forces is enormous, with the new crew outnumbering the old by ten to one, and the eyes of the recruits are darting between the faces of the veterans and the Mecha that have been assembled outside the ship to see them off.
Max and Nico were chosen for honor guard duty, with Stalwart and Tarith's Rage standing to either side of the loading ramp, where the two Generals from the army as well as the Admiral in Command of the Abraham Kepler are standing between them on a raised podium.
There is a shield generator under the podium in case of attack, as suicidal as that notion might be. Plus, this planet views the tribute as an honor that relieves their burden of taxation, and the thought of doing something today that might make their tribute requirements even higher is unfathomable to most of them.
General Mons, Pilot of the Carpe Noctem, takes to the microphone with a single graceful stride.
[Today, we welcome home the forty-second deployment from Kepler 111. They have served as true heroes of our great Empire, and have been granted the right of retirement as a whole.
While the price they paid was great, know that these Heroes liberated seven worlds from invasion and two more from the tyranny of traitors who would have seen their own worlds die for power.
As an additional benefit for their gallantry, Central Command has approved lifelong pensions at twice the standard rate.]
General Mons pauses there for the cheering to fade. Command had kept the extra pay a secret from the troops for just this reason. They get a morale boost among both the veterans and the civilians that have come to watch, plus the low number of survivors means it is still within the budget set when they departed a decade ago.
A stout woman in her later middle years with bright pink hair takes the stage next as a representative of the local government. Her dress is immaculately designed and fitted, but the gaudy jewels she paired with it ruin the sense of elegance about her in Max's mind.
She gives a long-winded speech about duty and sacrifice, how everyone on the planet has "buckled down and pitched in to get through lean times, with the help of these returning heroes", her overly long nails and delicate skin saying she has done no such thing.
By the time she has finished congratulating her government's current administration, even Max was contemplating how much trouble he would be in if he just shot her.
After that, the recruits salute the veterans, and the 43rd Armored as well as the 43rd deployment of the Kepler 111 First Field Army are sworn in.
The Generals return to the ship and the soldiers are dismissed, with the last to move being Max and Nico who march their Mecha over to where a unit matching their color scheme has been assembled.
The recruits were sent back to barracks until the equipment is loaded, but a number of retiring soldiers are hanging around the unit, admiring the sleek and organic lines of the Comorian-designed light mecha.
"Looking at them up close, they are light and agile like a scout Mecha, but the spec says they are as Armored as a standard Corvette. Not bad at all." Nico declared as she scanned the units with the sensors of Tarith's Rage.
Their three new Crusaders are there as well. Bulwark, Ferrus, and Morning Glory are all Redemption Pattern Crusaders like Stalwart, and they had been fully refurbished before they were brought to a high shine.
Including his unit, they will have nearly a hundred Crusaders on board Abraham Kepler after this, with half the Pilots having never fired a round in anger. Noctem Regiment is experienced now, as are all five in Max's unit, but every single Crusader pilot of the 43rd has zero practical experience. Even their commanders.
For their sake, Max hopes they are deployed beside someone else their first time out.
Max waits until the maintenance crew from the Abraham Kepler comes to load the new units and surprisingly Corporal Fritz comes out to see them. He is part of the ship's crew, so he still has some time left in his tour, but even a single familiar face is good to see today.
"I am sure you guys know your hanger. If the rookies can stop drooling on the controls you can put them away." He laughs, referring to the three who are getting better acquainted with their new Crusader Class partners.
The fresh recruits from Kepler 111 don't know it yet, but they will be meeting their Commanders promptly at two in the morning once the equipment is loaded. This timing keeps them from running off and partying in the early morning, as many of the youths are sure to want to do on their last few days at home.
The other four officers meet Max back on the parade grounds at half-past one in the morning, along with dozens of rookie officers, who look like they still need to psych themselves up for this.
"Relax before you soil yourself." Vincente laughs, patting a nearby First Lieutenant on the back.
He is an infantry officer, fresh from the academy and barely 18 years old. He clearly advanced due to the fifty point total System bonus recently, his face still shows signs of puberty which will vanish only a few months after reaching the first rank. Or it is possible he still hasn't reached a total of fifty points and that is naturally bountiful acne paired with his scraggly mustache.
Most of these officers are also very small by Max's standards. By the time he met the 42nd, their numbers were pretty depleted, so Max didn't realize how short the men of this world are. 165cm seems to be average, whereas Max finished growing at 183cm. They're also half his width, almost dainty.
"Hey Nico, you finally fit in." Max jokes and his executive officer gives him a rude gesture.
"The shortest woman is 153cm, I checked. It's just that their men are a bit cute." She laughs, making all the nearby men glare at her.
Ari wraps her arm around a Corvette Class pilot from the 43rd Armored and gives him a sly wink.
"Who says we don't like the cute ones?" She's only a few centimeters taller than her target, but her arms are larger and more defined, thanks to all the recent training, making her look much more imposing.
"Captain Ari, be kind to the other Pilots. Kepler law says you can't bed them by force, even if they are cute." Max admonishes her, making the Lieutenant's commanding officer, a Major in his early 20s, burst into laughter.
"Let me guess. Veteran Special Forces?" The major asks.
"Stalwart Special Tactics Team," Ari replies casually and the man's eyes open wide in appreciation.
"A word of advice, Lieutenant, the women who make Special Tactics are scary. You should be running by now." The Major stage whispers and the young man flees from Ari as fast as his legs will move.
[Move out] comes the signal to the officer's smart devices, and everyone begins the jog to their respective unit's barracks.
Max and his officers rush to their unit's barracks, kicking the door open as Paul begins shouting.
"UP UP UP! Get going you bunch of grots." The swarthy captain shouts, making Max wonder what a Grot is.
The Pilots are up in seconds, with the infantry only a little behind them. They all move to stand at the foot of their beds and Max smiles at the new Captain Catan, who clearly expected this and was sleeping in uniform, stepping into his boots and pulling his hat on while the others line up in their skivvies.
"Good morning everyone. I am Major Keres Max, Commander of the Stalwart Special Tactics Unit. It will be my pleasure to introduce you all to the joys of front-line combat. Rest assured, I have read every one of your files and have great expectations for you.
These three will be your team leaders. Captain Ari, Captain Paul, and Captain Vincente. Beside them is Major Nico, the unit's executive officer. New to our officer corps is Captain Catan, who has very big shoes to fill as the infantry Captain." Max announces before handing the Captain the letter that was written by his cousin.
"You have fifteen minutes to get dressed and grab your bags before we head out for your new barracks aboard the Abraham Kepler," Nico announces, clicking the timer on her wrist device.
Being fresh from the academy, these soldiers are used to timed drills and being graded on everything they do, so they hurry to get squared away. After a great deal of shoving and shouting, they do all manage to get finished on time and Max sends Paul and Vincente down the row with boxes full of the black berets that mark a Special Tactics Unit, with Nico and Ari following behind to collect their old blue ones.
"Now move out. If any of the infantry units beat you to the ship everyone is going on double training starting today." Nico calls, opening the double doors for Max to lead his men to their new home.
92 Chapter 92
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All of the soldiers take off running for the ship, intent on getting there in time to avoid punishment. They didn't need to panic nearly as much as they did though, because not a single unit is moving from their barracks yet, with many of them still being shouted at to wake up as they pass by.
"Fall in. Triple Time March." Nico yells over the noise and confusion, causing the troops to fall into a line four ranks wide and get their running roughly in time with each other.
Max leads the unit up the ramp while Nico paces at the side and the other officers circle the back making sure they don't have any stragglers falling behind. The training of their new soldiers was very thorough though, and these men and women were all chosen from the top of their classes at the various academies in this world. Simply keeping time for a forced jog across an open field is not a challenge to them, but it is taken as one by every Special Forces unit whose barracks they pass by.
Max brings them to a halt when they reach the scanners at the top of the ramp, moving to a single file so that they can get everyone checked in as a new crew member. This was the real reason that Max wanted to be first, the ramp is only wide enough for four units to be processed at a time, and the last of them will spend hours waiting outside in the middle of the night, carrying all their kit so that they can finish their paperwork.
"Good Morning Major. I see your troops are well rested and ready to face the day." The crewman who is checking in their lane welcomes them at the top of the ramp.
"Yes, they simply had so much energy to burn that they couldn't wait to start training this morning." Max laughs, causing a wave of groans to pass through the ranks.
They will learn very soon, the option was never between training or not, the option was between hellish training and relatively pleasant training. The data on the pilots has the date that they first reached fifty points of bonus skills and triggered rapid puberty, but for most of them, there isn't much more. This world doesn't even keep a government counselor on staff to record details of their skills and do mental progression testing.
But the 42nd turned out well by the end of their tour, with every remaining man and woman doing the Kepler Empire proud, so there is no reason that the 43rd can't do as well or better with the proper motivation.
With the check-in finished they march through the empty halls of the Abraham Kepler to section AE86, their new home, and pick out their bunks. With a full crew on board, there won't be a lot of extra space in the ship, but as a Special Tactics unit, they do at least get less cramped quarters. The racks the infantry troopers will sleep on are only two deep instead of three, and the Corvette Class Pilots get semi-private rooms suitable to their status as officers. Two single bunks, one on either side of the same small room that the Crusader Clas Pilots call home is their fate, and they have already mostly settled in.
The last two are a pair named Breckenridge and Murphy. Breckenridge is a burly blonde man, built much like Max, right down the regulation flat top haircut, but only 175cm tall, while Murphy is a lithe 165cm with carrot-orange hair and a lithe figure that Max initially doesn't realize is a female.
They are both standing in front of the last room, giving each other a death glare, while the other pilots sneak glances out their doors.
"Problem Pilots?" Nico asks, walking over.
"Can we request a change of roommate, Major?" Breckenridge asks hopefully.
"Who wants to swap rooms with Breckenridge?" Nico calls, and the sound of laughter echoes down the hallway.
"Looks like that's a resounding NO, Lieutenant. Do you perhaps snore? There are sleep aids to prevent that available at the ship's commissary." Nico informs him.
"No Ma'am, my sleeping health is within parameters." Breckenridge declares sadly, realizing that he won't get a new roommate.
"That's that then. Murphy, explain why you are giving your kind and loving roommate such a hostile look. You will be spending a lot of time together in the future, and squad morale is very important here in the Stalwart Special Tactics unit, so you need to sort your shit out and do it now." Nico declares, turning to the other Pilot.
"We are siblings, Ma'am. Step Siblings to be exact." Murphy informs her, then continues when she sees Nico doesn't particularly see why that would cause issues sleeping near each other.
"We shared a room at home, we were one student number apart, so we shared a dorm at the academy, we are both Beta Ranked and competed for the top spot for our entire academic career." She continues and Nico smiles.
"I understand. Major Max and I also shared a dorm and competed for the top spot during our youth. Rest assured, you are no longer competing for anything but survival. You know each other better than anyone else in this unit, and no amount of training can replace that. You are no longer competing siblings, you are Soldiers. Once we see combat you will earn a new bond, one of blood that no civilian life can replace.
I know you're all listening in, so listen well. Put aside any rivalries you had in the past. Here you need to learn to be one single cohesive unit, or you WILL die. Enjoy the rest of your morning, the mess hall opens at 0530 and I will be collecting you for training at 0700." Nico's motivational speech isn't too bad, and Max sends Paul to go do the same for the infantry, who settled into their bunks without much fuss.
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Seven in the morning comes early to the new members of the Stalwart Special Tactics unit, and Max prepares himself to evaluate them and see if the assignments set by Central Command, based on their academy data are even vaguely right.
Most Commanders go by them until the end of the first few battles, but he really doesn't have the luxury of finding out the hard way, there aren't enough members of a Special Tactics team for that sort of shortsighted nonsense.
So he will train them hard this morning, then head out to the receiving parties for the retirees while Nico takes care of the last of their requisitions. They managed to get five of the Comor Pattern Mobile Suits, but the weapons for them never arrived, as well as a number of other random items that Max had deemed essential on his requisition list. They were all approved, they simply aren't here, either misplaced or delayed.
Technically, Nico isn't a supply officer, and they don't have a dedicated person for the position, but with her hacking skills, she is the best one for the job, while Max has been "Promoted to Designated Ass Kisser" in her words.
To be exact, he is to use his skills in mind reading to build relationships with the other officers on board and see if he can meet up with any of the emissaries from the Comor System to learn more about the capabilities of their new light Mecha. The Abraham Kepler doesn't have a dedicated trainer for the Comor Pattern Corvettes, and the software they do have isn't recent enough to include them, so they are currently left in the lurch. Nico will try to find the software if possible, but Max might have more luck with diplomacy today at the Officer's Ball.
Little does she know, Max has every intention of using his rank as her Commanding Officer to drag the antisocial Pilot to the formal event as his plus one.
Despite all the gender equality in the Military, the event is a formal civilian one with a formal civilian dress code. No uniforms are allowed. Instead, Max will be in a tuxedo, and he has ordered an elegant evening gown and heels for Nico. He has never seen her outside of a regulation uniform, so the idea of seeing her in formal wear seems like the sort of memory that he should obtain while the opportunity presents itself. The Emperor knows that he will not have the chance again for quite some time.
The new crew will only be here for the first day of the event, then they are departing the planet, so it has to be tonight.
Once everyone has gathered at their private training ground, a small facility with a little of everything available to them, Max starts setting the orders.
"If everyone will please check the whiteboard on the wall, you will see that we have set teams for today's assessments. Team 1, you are with Ari, Team 2 with Paul, and Team 3 with Vincente. Gather at your team leaders and let's get this started." Max shouts, sending everyone running.
The teams aren't actually random, Max spent many hours picking them out based on the limited information that he had available about his new unit. Each one should contain specialists that have the skills that the team will need in the future. They will be training every member to do the basics of everything, but having a true specialist on the team is essential to Mission completion.
Special Tactics Teams often move out with one Crusader and a wing of Light Mecha, so that is how Max set things up to start, knowing that he can combine them in the future without issues.
This morning is a simple assessment, making sure that the data that they have is correct, and that nobody's file was doctored to make them look bad, or padded to promote an unqualified but connected scion of a wealthy family.
It is clear right away that they have at least one member of the second category among their team, as one of the pilots is imperiously ordering those around him to do even simple things like setting up the weights for his tests.
That isn't going to fly here, and Max is quick to put a stop to it. "Pilot Orleans, are you perhaps injured? Unable to set up your stations?"
"No sir. As a knight, you must understand, I am the son of a Duke, such things are for the commoners, not us nobles." The pilot declares proudly.
"The son of a Duke you say? Please, follow me, you are right, we will do your examination inside the resistance trainer. The virtual scenario is much more suited to your status." Max informs him in his most smarmy, obnoxious accent possible, but the youth doesn't catch the fact that he's being mocked.
Most of the others do though, and they watch in anticipation as Max sets the resistance trainer to maximum intensity and the exit conditions for successful completion of the final exit exams for Corvette Class Pilots. If he can perform to standards they just need to beat the snobbery out of him. If he can't Max will not hesitate to wash him out and request a Line Mecha Pilot in line for promotion be selected to trade places with him.
The final assessment for Corvette Class Pilots only takes ten minutes, even under the heavy fire simulation that Max set, but an hour later a very sweaty and panting Pilot Orleans is still attempting to complete the course. This time he passes out partway through, and the machine automatically ejects him for safety.
"Major Nico, begin the paperwork. Pilot Orleans has washed out of the Special Tactics team." Max announces and the pilots all gasp in shock.
His father will not be happy when he finds out, and they all grew up knowing to be afraid of the noble son's wrath. They hope that the Duke won't make things hard for Major Max in the future, but both Majors look unconcerned.
Ten minutes later, a pilot in a Lieutenant's uniform comes running in, stopping to salute Max. "Lieutenant Singh, reporting for duty, Sir."
"Welcome Lieutenant Singh. Lose the coat and get in the resistance trainer. In order to join us, everyone must pass the basic examinations to my personal standard." Max informs him and the man rushes over to the machine while Nico sends Max the file for the replacement pilot.
Qualified third in his class, Special Forces Cadet with Corvette Class qualifications, transferred to kitchen duty for unspecified disciplinary punishment. That looks promising, and it lets them send the young Pilot Orleans to the kitchen to wash dishes with the excuse of looking out for him and moving him out of harm's way.
Nine minutes later, the exhausted pilot falls out of the resistance trainer with a smile. "Sir, qualification complete, sir."
"Very good Pilot. You are excused from the remainder of training for today. Who was Pilot Orleans' roommate? Please take Pilot Singh to swap rooms." Max announces just as the exhausted son of a Duke regains consciousness.
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To say that the son of Duke Orleans is not happy to see his replacement is an understatement. He doesn't know what is going on yet, but he sees his hated nemesis standing next to the Commander with a pleased look on his face and knows that nothing good could be happening.
His first thought is to send a message to his father and have the annoyance put in his place, but he can't do that in front of the Commander of his unit, even with all his impetuous rage, he knows that such things are best done behind the scenes. But Max has given him the perfect opportunity, having an attendant take him to the medical wing to check his system status and physical condition. His family has been doctoring those all through school for him, and he is confident that will continue with only a single message, so he doesn't put up a fight as the orderly helps him down the hallway.
Max looks to Nico and she nods back, her thoughts confirming that she has already invalidated all of the Pilot's test scores as a system error and submitted him for reevaluation once they have left the planet. Until then he will be held in sick bay, and Nico has blocked all his methods of communication, short of convincing a crew member of the Abraham Kepler to make the connection for him.
To the higher authorities, it all looks very innocent, a simple data transfer error that can be solved in a single day with a full system evaluation and a piloting test. But on Kepler 111, nobody will know about it until it is too late, to avoid any complications.
The young noble also won't be able to leave the medical bay for the next 48 hours, as the new soldiers are all under quarantine orders, to be sure they haven't brought local diseases aboard the ship, a standard procedure whenever crews from different ships and planets have met.
"I see you are all concerned for the young noble, but not to worry, you all will be taking the exact same examination over the course of the next two days. Of course, if you pass, it will take under ten minutes and you won't have to go until you drop from exhaustion, but that is hardly the point." Max informs his unit as the physical training continues, bringing a wave of laughter and good-natured complaints about having to work so hard on their first day.
Pilot Singh is led out to go swap bunks just before everyone is released from training for the day. Max and Nico need to get to the Formal Ball, so they need to change, and Max hasn't actually told Nico that she's going yet. He even ordered the outfit for her through General Tennant, so that she wouldn't track the requisition order back to him and find out what he had planned.
"Nico, I've had an outfit sent to your room. Get changed and I will come to get you in an hour so that we have time to get to the event hall on time. Nothing says sloppy management like showing up late." Max informs her, while Nico gives him a dirty look.
"I take it you couldn't find a plus one? You know, if you needed I could have arranged one for you. Maybe one of the lovely and docile ladies of launch control?" Nico says sweetly and Max shudders.
The staff of launch control rarely advance above base rank, so they are always broke, and the lack of physical requirements has led to the lovely ladies with some brains but no system compatibility using the department as a compensated dating service. Not to be judgemental, everyone has needs, but they have all been on the Abraham Kepler for at least eight years longer than Max has, and they didn't join until after university at eighteen. That's a bit too much of an age gap for his preferences.
Plus, he is not giving up on a chance to make Nico suffer through an evening of bigwigs and Nobles alongside him. He can't get out of it, so she is coming with him. Even if he has to order her.
A full tuxedo proves to be much more difficult to wear than Max had expected, and with showering and shaving, he is only done a few minutes before he was planning to meet Nico. So, Max adjusts his cummerbund and stiffly walks over to her room, uncomfortable in the strange clothes.
Nico must have had the external cameras on, because she opened the door before he could knock, standing there with her short hair lightly curled and some sort of product in it that made it shiny. Max knew nothing of such things, his mother never used them, and Dave never mentioned women's fashion to him before he went to the academy, where such things were deemed nonessential and prohibited.
Max is momentarily struck speechless by the sight of his friend in a floor-length black gown with long flowing sleeves and she smirks at him, giving a little twirl that shows she is having no issues with the spiked heels that the General ordered to go with it.
Max offers her his arm, as his research showed was proper protocol for escorting a noble lady. "You look lovely. Would you do me the honor?"
Nico laughed at his attempt at being a gentleman and placed her hand on his arm. "After you, Sir Max."
He might technically be a Knight now, but nobody has ever referred to him as such. Inside the military only military rank matters. Unlike Cygnus, who puts a lot of weight on noble titles, the Kepler Military answers only to Immanuel, 94th King of Kepler Prime, and by the might of his armies, Seventh Emperor of all Kepler. Max has heard the phrase hundreds if not thousands of times over the years since he was reincarnated, but only now did it really sink in just how many lives had been spent to take and keep that title.
The two of them walk as far as the main corridor where they are met with a shuttle cart, an open buggy, with seating for ten, that is used as a shuttle around the length of the ship, and today to get to the Ball. There are a few of the officers from Noctem Regiment on board, who all smile politely at the new arrivals, just as uncomfortable in their formal wear as Max and Nico are.
Nico's wrist device has been removed, in favor of a thin gold bangle, but it dings from the small black silk clutch she is carrying, making her smile.
"What's up?" Max asks quietly, not wanting to spread gossip about the unit so early.
"Our young troublemaker assaulted a nurse when she refused to allow him access to off-ship communications. He has been sedated for the duration of planetfall and will face disciplinary action later." Nico answers, not quite low enough to prevent others from hearing.
"There's one in every unit. More than one in some. When the last recruitment from Noctem Seven was done, they had over thirty sedated in the brig for the last few days. All trying to pull Noble rank or get contraband smuggled in." One of the Captains laughs.
"Oh, I remember that the young master of the Chen clan attempted to vent himself out an airlock when he found out that he had failed the follow-up examinations and was being demoted to infantry." One of the others says with a malicious smile, still holding a personal grudge against the man.
"I'm certain that our case shouldn't be as bad. There was just an issue with his data and he didn't take it well, so we moved him for observation until it's all sorted out." Nico responds, nodding to Max to let him know what the official record says.
The cart gets them to the hall in only a few minutes, where a pompous man in a butler's suit is checking their invitations against a chart of noble records. He clearly seems to see himself above most of these pilots, who were mostly chosen for their noble lineage, with only a few being allowed to come simply for their command status, but that stops when he gets to Max and Nico.
None of the others hold titles, they just come from noble families. But Max is a Proper Knight, and that is enough for the man to automatically give him respect. Then he looks at the tablet again and his face goes pale, flicking from Nico to Max and back to his tablet.
"Sir Max, might I ask as to your relationship with the Lady Tarith?" The butler asks politely.
"She is my second in command and longtime friend." Max answers and the butler frowns while Nico begins to smile.
The man taps a device on his wrist, bringing over a more senior-looking servant, and they converse quickly in low tones before the senior staffer turns to Nico.
"Madam, is this correct? You are listed here as Sir Max's plus one, but protocol dictates that you should be introduced separately." The staffer informs her.
"An introduction as Lady Nico is more than sufficient," Nico confirms and the man shrugs, tapping something on this tablet to confirm the settings.
"What's that all about?" Max asks as they take their place in line.
"Remember when the Cygnus officers kicked up a fuss about titles? They insisted that I was listed as an Imperial Princess, 41 generations removed from succession. That's why these stuffy nobles are all flustered, their data says I'm some foreign Royal, and they're not high enough ranked to see the details." Nico whispers back.
That confirms Max's suspicions about the way the Kepler Empire is structured. The noble ranks have no business being involved with the military command structure.
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"Introducing Sir Max and the Lady Nico, from Kepler Terminus." The herald called out when they finally reached the front of the line, drawing the attention of a few who followed military activities. Both names were mentioned in the Cygnus surrender documents after all.
What nobody expected was how young they both looked. Cleaned up and dressed in their very best, with the horrors of war mostly faded from their eyes, they both look like the fresh recruits that they should be. There are some whispers about the two of them, but once word spreads among the locals that they are in the same unit and not romantic partners, the first of the noble daughters comes to speak with Max, drawn by his striking profile and his noble title.
Max gestures for Nico to save him, seeing exactly what they have in mind practically screaming at him from their thoughts. It is an issue he has had before when others are thinking intensely enough about him, his System Skill will activate itself as a form of defense against aggression. Only this form of aggression is not a threat to his life, but to his chastity and dignity. No wonder the men of Bravo Company were so eager to go home if this is how the women of Kepler 111 are.
Nico steps forward gracefully, greeting the incoming socialites with a gentle smile and open arms, embracing each in turn and greeting them by name, as if they have known each other their entire lives. Max is stunned until he notices that Nico's eyes are a turquoise color today. She is wearing digital contacts and pulling up everyone's data so that she isn't caught unaware by anyone.
The young ladies know the routine just as well, recognizing that they must get past the gatekeeper if they hope to get anywhere in their endeavors. It is only when the band starts playing an upbeat tune that they see their opening.
"Might the Hero of the Cygnus intervention do me the honor of a dance?" One of the ladies asks politely, barely beating out the others, who are forced to bite their tongues and keep silent to avoid coming across as uncouth.
"Sir Max, I do believe your dance card has an opening. Meet Miss Mariessa, daughter of Count Verboten of the seventeenth industrial sector here on Kepler 111." Nico introduces them, and Max extends his hand politely, leading his partner to the dance floor.
He learned the basics of a great number of local and popular formal dances for this event, knowing that all he had to do was understand them and his increased physical attributes would cover the rest. His current dance partner doesn't appear to have activated the system at all, so Max isn't concerned that she will want to do anything too complicated for him to follow.
The dance floor is filling with young nobles, eager to dance, so Max isn't put on the spot, and the dance they have chosen is one that Max did study for this event, so he manages to lead his giggling partner through the song, before the tune changes and one set of delicate hands is replaced by another.
Max looks over at Nico who is grinning at him, lining up more dance partners for him, while deftly avoiding the young gentlemen who are trying to catch her attention through the crowd of socialites.
'I might be able to see all their thoughts, but I have been defeated in the tactical thinking department this time. I'm going to have to excuse myself for a drink to break her rhythm.' Max thinks as he dances with his new partner, her pink ruffled skirts fluttering as he leads her through the lively flamenco dance.
Once the song changes, Max puts his plan into action, acting quickly to politely excuse himself to get a refreshment, and stepping off the dance floor into the shadows of the ballroom.
"Very smooth." General Tennant congratulates him as Max finds a glass of some sort of alcoholic juice, a local specialty.
"Thanks. Nico wasn't happy to have to socialize and I think she is intending to punish me by dancing me to death before the night is over." Max laughs.
"Isn't it the duty of a second in command to see to the Commander's needs? Perhaps she's just being a good wingman?" The General counters with a smirk.
"Be glad you can't hear what they're thinking. I've seen a few things in this life, but I wasn't ready for that." Max sighs before the amused General turns him around to introduce him to someone else.
"Meet Duke Orleans, Government leader of Kepler 111. He has been looking forward to meeting you." General Tennant introduces him to a tall and powerful man that Max realizes is the father of the troublemaker from his unit. The two look nothing alike, this man is over two meters tall, and either puts a lot into his physique or has high system compatibility with a Strength Primary bonus.
"It is a pleasure to meet such a dashing young war hero, Sir Max. I must ask, have you had a chance to meet my youngest son yet? He was assigned to your unit, but I haven't heard from him all day." The Duke greets Max.
"So I did. My unit had a team-building exercise earlier today, where we all got acquainted. Unfortunately, as this is a critical time for developing interpersonal bonds, all outside communication has been blocked. I'm certain he will have a magnificent tale to tell of his military exploits the next time you are in contact." Max answers the concerned father, seeing that he personally disapproved of the alterations of the boy's records to make him a pilot, preferring him to be moved to a safer station for the duration of his term of service.
The Duke has many other children, but this time one of them got selected for service, instead of just puffing up his academy record and ending up running a local corporation and bragging of what could have been, if he had been selected to serve.
That works out well for Max, even if the boy manages to get a message home, he is unlikely to find a sympathetic ear. All Max has to do is have Nico recommend that the boy be moved out of a combat role on a skills recommendation instead of as a punishment. That way it looks good on his record and he is still out of their hair.
They are in the middle of a conversation about the planet's agriculture when the Duke's eyes go hard and he moves towards where Nico and the socialites are standing. There is a very large, very drunk man standing by her that looks a lot like the Duke, and Max guesses that it is one of the Duke's older sons or perhaps a much younger brother. The man is casually touching her, brave on his part, given that she isn't one of the local socialites who will easily give in for a chance at his rank.
The conversation clearly isn't going well, and Max recognizes the smile on Nico's face as the one she gives him when she knows she has him during a sparring match. That smile that promises great pain if he makes one more misstep.
"I'm certain the Major can take care of herself," Max assures the Duke, right before the young man lands a heavy slap across her face, ringing through the entire room, and bringing the band to a stop in shock.
Her head snapped to the side, but she is stable again, and the smile is still in place, only this time even the Duke and General Tennant can see the promise of violence, sending them running her way. They're not fast enough though, Nico kicks the back of his knees and punches him in the stomach, knocking him down to her height then sneers at him as his father and the General arrived.
"General Tennant, welcome. We could use some advice here. What is the punishment for an officer of the planetary defense force who strikes a Senior officer?" Nico asks and the Duke shakes his head at his drunken son, who is trying not to vomit from the stomach strike.
Nico knows very well that the punishment is fifty public lashes with a military regulation leather whip, and so do most of the guests, who look horrified at the prospect.
"Unfortunately, my son is no longer a member of the Planetary Defense force, Lady Nico. If you would like to file a complaint, might we take it out of the public view? I'm certain we can come to an agreement." The Duke says, making sure his assistant knows to file the paperwork stripping his son of rank and discharging him immediately.
Max and General Tennant follow the trio into a side room where the Duke waits for the door to close before slapping his son unconscious with a single blow.
"What will it take to settle this quietly?" He asks and Max gets a genius idea.
"We have had some paperwork errors with this intake. Perhaps the wrong son was sent aboard? I believe the scullery department will find they are missing a recruit." Max suggests.
"That's a bit extreme." General Tennant points out and Max shrugs. The Scullery department isn't part of his unit, so he would never have to see the man again.
The thought of spending a decade doing dishes on board a transport ship is enough to send the drunken noble into a panic and Max recalls the story of the man who tried to space himself through an airlock. Maybe he did go a bit far.
"How about you two excuse us and we will work out the details while you socialize? It's your last chance to catch up with the departing officers after all." General Tennant insists, ushering them out of the room.
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The event was much more lively once Max and Nico returned to the dance floor, joining the group already twirling in time with the music. Events like the one earlier are nothing new to the local nobles, drunken indiscretions are practically the trademark of Duke Orleans' children. They don't see much of anything coming of it, the man has sway with Central Command that can keep the young man from facing any sort of actual retribution, while the young Major is just a Pilot from off-world.
The young men at the dance agree on one thing though, she does look lovely in that dress, unlike most of the returning soldiers, who have hardened from a decade of war.
"Lady Nico, might I have the next dance?" Colonel Marino of the 42nd armored asks, getting ahead of the youngsters who all have looks of lust in their eyes for the woman who would dare to publicly humiliate the most powerful noble of their generation.
"Of course, Colonel," Nico responds sweetly, offering him her hand.
Max is a bit confused, Nico is never that sweet without a good reason. But once she is gone Max turns and sees a dozen sets of eyes locked on him. Now he knows why she was so willing to dance with the Colonel, despite not liking being in the spotlight. Her departure has left him open to all the debutantes that she was encouraging earlier.
Max is led through dozens of dances, sprinkled with rounds of drinks and assorted snacks from the trays that expertly made their way through the crowds. Most of the crowd doesn't even leave the building that night, simply finding a convenient spot to sleep in one of the many side rooms of the event hall. As far as Max can tell, such impromptu pairings are so common that the event hall doesn't even have booked rooms, you just find yourself an empty one, or in the case of some of the nobles, one occupied by people you know, and go there for the night.
That was more than a little bit of a culture shock to him. That is most definitely not military protocol, and even more certainly not how things are done in the slums, where they would never trust a group of party-goers to freely come and go from what amounts to a fancy hotel, at least not without checking them for missing items and room damages.
When the sun began to creep through the windows, Max finally found a chance to escape the event, as Nico made her excuses to a group of disappointed business Heirs and led him out front to catch the shuttle.
"Here, take these, and get showered and changed when you get back to your room. The mess hall opens for breakfast in an hour, and the recruits have their first training after lunch. I gave them all the morning off to settle in." Nico whispers, handing him a pair of pills that Max recognizes as a detoxifier to prevent hangovers and the standard-issue mental focus pills that Pilots use on long missions. He might not get much sleep if he takes them, but he knows from experience that he won't feel the need for it until at least tonight.
"Thanks. I don't know what I'd do without your foresight." Max replies as the shuttle arrives for them and a few more officers who have joined the growing crowd headed home to the temporary barracks here on their homeworld. Later this week they will start sorting out places to stay, but for the next few days, they will be celebrating their successful return home from the relative safety of the barracks in the receiving zones.
"How was your first taste of political life?" Captain Catan Senior, the retiring leader of Bravo Company asks, walking up behind them with a giggling brunette debutante under his arm.
"More energetic than I thought it would be." Max laughs, looking over the Captain's disheveled clothing.
"It seems you received a warm welcome home, Captain." Nico winks at Catan, who leans over to kiss his date for the morning.
"You could say that. Though this one was a bit more expected than most. Meet my fiancee, Nala. My parents informed me yesterday that they had arranged a marriage to keep me out of trouble, and once I met this lovely young lady, I had no reason to refuse. Her father is a local chemical engineer, who received the title of Knight for his contributions to improving agricultural efficiency." The Captain informs her proudly.
Max didn't see either of them last night, but going by the state of their clothes and the smell of hotel shampoo, not the military issue that Catan would have arrived smelling like, they were likely occupied.
The shuttle arrives as they are chatting, and the closest group of military officers climb aboard. The first stop is for the civilian transport terminal, where Catan and his bride-to-be get off, along with a few others whose families live nearby. Then at the barracks, which leaves only Max and Nico to head to the Abraham Kepler.
The security staff seems shocked to see them returning sober and well-dressed. Not many of the crew were entitled to go to the official party, or even leave the ship last night, but the ones they have seen returning mostly had hastily straightened clothing and at least one visible love bite, building on the resentment of the guards, who were stuck here all night long.
"Welcome back Majors. I am certain your unit is anxiously awaiting your return." The guard smiles.
The departing troops had their own party last night, much less formal than the Ball for the Nobles and returning officers, and without most of the alcohol, but most of them were too excited to sleep anyhow.
"We have graciously given them the morning off training. I'm sure they will be rested and eager to show their worth this afternoon." Max jokes back, scanning his wrist device to check into the ship.
Safely back in his room, Max checks his notifications, finding that the Young Master he is transferring out of the unit is still safely in quarantine and that the General worked out a deal with the Duke to send the other son to take over a quality control supervisor's position at a meat packing plant that the family owns. After a few years surrounded by the smells of livestock waste and blood, the young noble will likely be at least a little repentant, though Max had hoped for more.
Then he sees the location, on the edge of a desert along the continental equator where the average daily temperature is well over 40 degrees celsius. Maybe getting stuck in the middle of nowhere and sweating in the heat all day while he checks fences and animal treatment by the farm transports might actually be worse than being in the ship's galley, where he would at least get to hit on the female soldiers and work in temperature-controlled conditions.
It was good to be back in uniform. Despite being perfectly tailored to his size, the tuxedo was an uncomfortable outfit to wear, with layers where there shouldn't be layers, and not granting him nearly enough freedom of movement. Max carefully stowed it in his locker and looked over the training results from yesterday.
They were far from getting through everyone's assessments, and might not even finish them today with the late start, but so far the recruits he had received mostly lived up to their educational records. They were the elite of the local academy after all, no matter how low that academy's standards were. It even looked like they had to pull Cadets from two graduating classes to make a single Special Tactics team. How the 42nd armored made it through the first few battle was a mystery to Max, assuming that they had it this hard with personnel.
There isn't too much to do, so after a quick breakfast to settle his stomach, Max climbs into bed for a few hours of much-needed sleep. His mind might be refreshed by the pill he took, but a short nap never hurt anyone.
When he woke up, the cafeteria had just opened for lunch, and the unit was rapidly filling the seats, looking eager to prove themselves. Those who passed qualifications to the senior officers' standards yesterday had an almost smug air about them, like kids who had finished their exams a day earlier than their peers and had nothing to worry about. In a way that was true, but they weren't going to get off easy today just because they had proven that they didn't cheat on their exams.
No, Max had big plans for this unit, and it was going to take him a lot of effort to get them in shape.
Step 1 was just the examination, but after that came the combat training that he had been doing with the officers and the men of Bravo company over the last month. That part would take the longest since it was the foundation for everything else they needed to know to survive. Step 3 would be to take that knowledge and expand it into a whole new fighting style for the light Mecha. The Comor Pattern Corvettes were even more agile than the standard pattern ones, so there was no reason that they couldn't learn and execute an advanced fighting style with more melee competence than a standard Kepler unit.
The lack of Melee capability had been the downfall of a lot of units when the Cygnus Mecha joined the last battle, leaving the Kepler units unable to effectively defend themselves at close range, and not fast enough to properly maintain distance. Max was not going to allow that to happen to his Pilots.
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When lunchtime came, Max was ready to complete the assessments of his new unit. Honestly, he expected much more trouble today, once the reality of their situation had set in than he got yesterday while they were still somewhat in shock and struggling to adapt.
They might all be graduates of the Academy, but they were also the first group in a decade that actually had to do a term of service. The graduating classes every other year joined the planetary defense force, which hadn't been mobilized outside of natural disaster assistance in over a century. Max fully expects the reality that they are going off to fight and die to set in sometime today and lead to a wave of misbehavior.
But then, for the children of mostly impoverished farmers in a rural agricultural world, the living situation on board the Abraham Kepler might not be bad enough to seem like an actual downside. A flagship like the one they have been assigned to often gets sent on political missions, where they will be a mostly ceremonial force, and spend most of their careers on parade or in transit, with only a handful of combat engagements.
That assumption could be why they chose the younger Captain Catan to replace his retiring cousin. He has experience in personal security for political figures, like the senior officers, and as the only Special Tactics Unit on board, they would be the first ones called upon to take up that duty.
Despite Max's fears, everyone seems to be gathered on time and without issue to complete the assessments. If anything, they seem to be more motivated now than they were before, realizing the purpose is to weed out those who can't pull their weight and those with exceptionally bad attitudes.
Max nods for Nico to begin the training session and she steps forward, bringing everyone to attention with a glance. "I hope everyone enjoyed the luxury of an entire morning off, that doesn't happen often in a Special Tactics Unit. There is a lot for you to learn before our first deployment that isn't covered in any Academy or University. That's not to say that we are task masters, Major Max is a big softie when it comes to his troops, so he has asked that I only set a half-day training schedule for you all."
That sends up a round of cheers and praise for Max, who smiles, knowing what is coming next.
"And in accordance with his orders, I have set training to exactly one half of the day. Now, it doesn't really matter which 12 hours we choose, but I prefer early, so training will start promptly at seven every morning with physical skills maintenance, and then mission-specific techniques and tactics.
Some will be easy, some will not. Some you will already think you know, but I will ensure that they are ground into your very bones so that we come back with exactly as many troopers as we departed with." Nico informs them with a smile, her speech coming across as much less intimidating due to her stature.
It sounds like the standard-issue idle threats, but the other officers know just how strict she can be when it comes to training. They have already had a month of preparation for this moment, and they still aren't sure they are up to her standards.
"Alright, team leaders, get your soldiers moving through the physical skills maintenance routine and I will call groups by registration number to do their assessments," Max calls out, and the groups split into thirds, ready to face the judgment of their Commander.
Max brings them up five at a time, filling the few resistance trainers that they have reserved for their unit, and begins the exams. For the first few rounds, everything is exactly as he suspected, but in the third group, there is a repeated failure. The Pilot should have average scores in the Special Forces training class, so Max pulls him aside into one of the soundproof side rooms to have a little chat.
The first thing he notices is that the man is shaking and sweating, but not in the way of an exhausted Pilot who has just finished an exam. He looks a bit sickly, but the biological scans showed that none of the Pilots brought in any infectious diseases. Perhaps it is a lingering issue?
"Tell me, Pilot. What just happened in the resistance trainer?" Max asks, giving him the option to come up with an excuse of some sort.
"Sir, I can pass, Sir. I swear I can, I'm just not feeling well Sir." The man gives a crisp response, as expected, but the sweat on his forehead is getting thicker and thicker.
Max pages a medic to urgently report to the unit and looks back at the Pilot, who is trying not to fidget and scratch his arms. Now Max understands what the problem is. He isn't infected, he is going through withdrawals, the man is an addict.
"How long since your last dose, Pilot?" Max asks directly, waiting for the medic. The Abraham Kepler has a variety of treatments for drug withdrawals on board since the screenings catch almost all of the contraband that comes on board, leaving a lot of soldiers out of supply before the next stop.
"Sir, I'm not sure what you mean, Sir." The Pilot says formally, going with the deny it and hope that the symptoms wear off quickly so he doesn't get into worse trouble approach.
"I have called for a medic, and he will ask you the very same thing. He will do blood tests to verify, so there's no point in lying. Get treated now, and get yourself squared away before today's training is complete. If you do, and you pass the exam, you can stay with no repercussions. What you did before joining the Unit won't be held against you. I come from the slums of the Capital on Kepler Terminus, I've seen it all before." Max continues and the man looks a bit hopeful.
"There's a drug on this world called Dream, made from a local flower. It's commonly used as a painkiller by the commoners, but it seems that the scans found it all. I looked, nobody has any, or they're not willing to share." The Pilot finally sighs, knowing that this is his only hope of not being sent to the meat grinder that is the first wave assault units, or worse, a Penal regiment.
Max forwards the information to the medic, who sends back a text response that they have an instant treatment for the withdrawal symptoms if he wants, and then they can prescribe a pill to prevent them from returning for the rest of the week until they have faded.
"Good news, Pilot. They can cure your shakes right away, and you can go to the med bay every morning for the next week to get a pill to prevent them until you're cleaned up. Tell anyone else who might be having the same issue to report to the med bay on their off-hours, I'll have them approve the treatment without a formal reprimand." Max decides, remembering how hard the Convicts had it when many of them hadn't done anything worse than these soldiers but met with a hardline Commander.
"Thank you, Sir." The Pilot salutes, just as the medic comes in, scanning his information before suddenly giving him a needle to the arm through his uniform.
"You'll be fine in under a minute, but you will be exhausted if you don't eat heavily at dinner. The treatment activates the nanobots to purify your system and it will burn a lot of energy." The medic informs the Pilot before leaving, having hundreds of such incidents among the quarter-million recruits reported already.
It will surely get worse over the next few days, as any hidden supplies of drugs run out while the soldiers are in quarantine, but that's just part of any recruitment, except on the most hardline of military planets like Kepler Terminus. Those planets mostly overuse military-issued stimulants and relaxants, which have been designed to work with the System to avoid lingering effects.
The unit that the Pilot came from looks a bit shocked when Max leads him back out and has him start the scenario over, retaking his exam with much better results before sending him back to the group and calling another handful over. They were sure that he was a goner, off to scrub dishes for a decade or worse, but the Commander didn't say anything at all and sent him back to training.
There are no more unpleasant surprises that day, other than a few who struggled with the scenario that Max set, but there were also a few standouts, who had clearly not been trying particularly hard in the Academy. They came from the ranks of the enlisted soldiers, so that wasn't surprising. It wasn't like they had a lot of motivation to try hard with their low System affinity and single career path.
Once the unit is dismissed, Max calls the officers to him. "So, any potential sergeants among the recruits? Natural leaders, hidden specialists who have revealed themselves already?"
Max takes notes as everyone gives him the good and bad of their observations, but for the most part, the unit is exactly at the expected standard, proving that the educational system did its job. That means that all he needs to do is expand their horizons.
Max is about to inform them of the training schedule when the officers' wrist devices all beep in unison with a Command Message.
[Emergency Deployment orders: SSV17, Local name Sigmund, planetary defense mission] is the title of the message, and they all sigh. It seems that the rebels are active again, and the Unit will be tempered in the heat of battle and not trained on board the ship. Sigmund is only a week's journey from here, according to what Max remembers of the star charts.
[All Personnel to launch positions. Planetary Departure in 30 minutes.]
98 Chapter 98
Name:Humanity's Greatest Mecha Warrior System Author:
+ - Turn on Reset
The activity aboard the Abraham Kepler becomes frantic in an instant. Many troopers were relaxing, sorting gear, and settling into their new accommodations. But in the 30 minutes before launch, everything needs to be packed away, doors sealed, and all personnel to designated launch locations where they can be secured to prevent injuries during launch.
The process isn't as dramatic when leaving a space station, since there isn't the same gravity change, just the transition to faster than light travel. Ships the size of the Abraham Kepler also rarely land on planets and aren't really designed for it. Sure, they can survive it easily enough, but it is a huge amount of stress on the structure, even with Kepler's advanced anti-gravity technology.
On the surface, the parties are still in full swing, welcoming the veterans home with no idea that the enormous bulk of the Abraham Kepler is about to take off until the sirens start sounding to clear the area.
There isn't anything built within half a kilometer of the landing pad, but even then, the closest buildings won't be safe to walk near until the ship is at least ten thousand meters in the air and begins its forward motion.
If Max could see outside, he would see thousands of veterans standing at attention outside every barracks building, saluting the departing troops and wishing them a safe and uneventful deployment, as impossible as that might be with an emergency departure. If anyone understands the true horror of that short-notice siren, it is them. They heard it two missions in a row, and both missions cost them dearly in lost brothers and sisters.
Inside the ship, the chaos has begun to settle as everyone gets their gear put away, and runs for the secured seating. The bunks have an option to securely net yourself in so you don't fall out, but even cadets this new know that they don't want to be laid flat in a tiny box for takeoff. It's much better to be in a proper chair. Most of them will be either in the cafeterias, where the high-backed chairs will all be turned to face one direction and the tables fold vertically to prevent flying debris from injuring the soldiers behind them. The rest will either be in the training halls or secured seating within their duty stations.
Stalwart Special Tactics Unit has its own training hall, so they have been designated to use it as their launch area, giving them more than enough room to work, and keeping them close to everywhere they're likely to be during a standard duty shift.
The ship shudders as it slowly lifts from the ground, minimizing thruster usage to prevent damage to the surrounding area as the anti-gravity drive shifts the flagship into the air. Once the Abraham Kepler has reached a safe altitude, the thrusters engage, slamming everyone back in their seats with no warning other than a slight rocking motion as they engage.
Max spends the next few minutes thanking whoever designed this layout for putting the officers' seats at the very front of the room, despite the fact that they are facing the mirrored window of the office, with minimal leg room. The sounds of motion-sick rookies let him know that the scene behind him is not going to be a pretty one, even before he looks in the mirror.
The thunderous force of atmospheric entry suddenly fades as they reach the boundary to space and the artificial gravity kicks in with a faint hum. A few soldiers are about to get up to clean themselves, having been downstream of the sick trooper, but Max stops them before they can.
"Everyone remain seated. The Abraham Kepler is about to transition to faster than light travel." He calls, knowing full well just how nauseating the first few times you experience the effects of the warp field engaging can be.
The actual function is a state secret, but as Max understands it, the drive creates a bubble effect in reality around the ship, bending the natural laws using immense amounts of carefully regulated energy in order to let the ship travel faster than the speed of light.
Keeping it a huge secret only matters to the enemy though, since even if it was explained to him, Max isn't sure that he could actually understand the level of astrophysics necessary to accurately explain how the warp drive works.
[Prepare for rapid transition] Comes the announcement, just as Max had predicted, and then the twisting lurch of the warp drive engaging flows through them, causing a few more soldiers to forfeit their dinners.
"That's the worst of it. Everyone get clean and get settled in for the evening early. We have one week to pound enough knowledge into your heads that you don't die within the first five minutes of your first deployment." Max calls out, making a few pilots laugh, but not the infantry.
Every infantry soldier knows that the life expectancy of a rookie trooper sent on a forward deployment drop is measured in seconds and not hours or days. If they survive the drop, they will usually be expected to secure the position to reduce damage to the resource-intensive Mecha units that follow them. From what they've heard among the rumor mill, mostly from troopers who had family in Bravo Company, Major Max isn't like that and prefers to keep all his members alive, but he doesn't get to designate the drops.
The next day, Max sets the basic training for the Pilots to learn the essentials of hand-to-hand combat. They now have extremely agile Comor Pattern Corvette Class Mecha, and he plans to equip every one of them with swords. They do learn a little about sword combat in class, but the footwork and technique to make it truly useful are well out of the skill set that the academy covers. They only have one week, so that is what he will focus on for the pilots. How to survive up close and personal with other light mecha in an urban environment.
For the infantry, Max has Nico cover a wider variety of skills. It's too late to start teaching them martial arts, so she will focus on teaching them trench warfare, how to detect enemy hiding spots and basic infiltration techniques. Those three things are the most likely to help them survive the first few days of an assault, and the updates Max has managed to get about the situation on Sigmund say that's what it will be.
The enemy is not a human faction, but they are close to it. The planet has been invaded by the Narsians, a species of humanoid giants, roughly the same size as Line Mecha, between three and four meters tall. Their technology is strangely both very advanced and very lacking. They have powered environmental body armor, but they prefer to run everywhere they go, not using transport vehicles. They use high-powered energy weapons, but also carry large alloy melee weapons, that do devastating damage thanks to their size and strength.
That's why it's so important that the pilots know how to fight up close, the enemy is light mecha-sized and even more melee happy than the Cygnus forces were. They are also surprisingly agile, using a form of anti-gravity drive in their body armor to allow them to run at extreme speeds and jump up to fifteen meters at a time, according to the strategic videos that Max has managed to find.
They also don't use spaceships. Instead, they directly invade other planets using a form of wormhole technology. Once they have located their target, a portal is opened, and a scout team is sent through. If there is life or valuable resources, the invasion begins only minutes later with hundreds of wormhole exits dumping their army all over the planet and then closing. There is no word for losing in their language, or if there is, it's the same word that they use for death. If they don't capture the planet, there is no way for them to leave again.
Seeing the details makes Max realize how important the emergency deployment was. Even a week away, they might be too late, since the Narsians attack all at once across an entire planet. According to the records, many planets fall completely, the entire population having been killed during the first two weeks. Narsians don't keep slaves, they view the practice as inhumane. But they also don't have a use for survivors, so unless there was an enslaved population on the world, that they can deport elsewhere as an act of kindness, they simply kill all the indigenous inhabitants of the worlds they target.
It makes sense to Max, in a twisted way. You eliminate all potential enemies, and there is nobody left to complain that you are inhabiting their world. Once they are established, they will set up high-tech factories to build orbital defenses for their newly founded cities, with the old ones being demolished as unsuitable for beings of their size.
The infantry definitely won't have it easy here. There are no human infantry equivalent troops on the enemy side of this battle. The only bright side is that as a Special Tactics Unit, they have a wide variety of heavy weapons available to them so that they can effectively penetrate the heavy armor or the Narsian shock troopers.
By the end of the week, the Pilots' melee skills are looking at least a little less awkward, and the infantry has gotten the hang of breaching buildings and finding likely enemy hiding spots, so they are as ready as they are going to get.
The last thing on Max's list is to request a special meal from the cafeteria. The menu is generally set by Command, but within reason, it can be modified. One of the Kepler 111 specialties is a custard tart, that Max tried at the Formal Ball. All the ingredients are in the meals for this week, just in different forms, so Max has the dessert set for dinner before they drop. A little taste of home for good luck.