Hundeerde Space:
Sector 1-Quadrant Delta-4 (S1-QD4)
Greenwatch Squadron streaked across the quadrant in pursuit of their quarry. Another Marauder probe had again entered Hundeerde Space. The probe was fast and agile, clearly equipped with the ability to anticipate, react, and avoid its pursuers. Of all the recorded probe encounters so far, they did not appear to have any ability to fire back or make any other offensive manoeuvres.
Even so—
It was proving decidedly difficult to catch.
Cockpit — Glow
Seb tracked the probe through his forward HUD, Heads-Up Display. Its vector shifted again, it was constantly changing, sharp, precise, and most certainly not random.
It wasn’t running blindly on a predetermined trajectory.
It was responding and anticipating.
Seb adjusted his approach angle by the book, precisely maintaining formation spacing, and holding within assigned banking and diving parameters.
Klaus: Greenwatch— Maintain formation. Stay on it.
A crisp round of acknowledgements followed.
Cockpit — Fang
Timo edged slightly left, trying to anticipate the probe’s next move.
Timo: Come on… come on… you little crap-turd.
The probe darted again, cutting straight across his projected line.
Timo: Holy cheezos! It’s reading us!
Cockpit — Rook
Raven: Glow— get around on its flank!
Seb responded, maintaining his maximum flank bank angle of exactly 45 degrees.
Control Room — Chasetail
Lewis leaned forward slightly, his eyes continuously scanning the plot vectors of both the squadron and the probe.
As the plot of the probe’s path updated across his screen, a pattern started to emerge. The probe darted again and the hunters immediately corrected to stay on their prey.
Lewis: Klar— that movement isn’t random.
Anika: Echo— I see it.
Lewis: It’s constantly adjusting to anticipate their intercept trajectory.
Lewis pushed his glasses up his nose, watching his display intently. He saw an opportunity.
He murmured to himself—
Lewis: C’mon Seb, you can take it.
The squadron and probe diverged, and the probe again slipped just out of range.
Cockpit — Glow
Seb’s eyes flicked between the probe and his HUD.
The certainty of the lock percentage slowly climbed.
72… 81… 89%…
He held his position and alignment, waiting for certain confirmation of a firing solution.
Raven: Glow!— Take the shot!
Seb: Rook— not yet. Waiting for lock!
Klaus: Glow— take it!
Seb: Holding… lock almost there… 94—
The probe made another sudden diving cut—
But this time, it didn’t break far enough.
Seb caught full lock — 100%.
Seb: Lock! Fox away!
With lock certainty at 100%, Seb fired his shot. Its trace was textbook: clean, direct, and straight.
The probe attempted one final evasion—
But it was too late.
Toby: Splash! That’s a slam dunk-a-roo!
Raven: Kill confirmed.
Hans: And that’s how we do it, people.
Klaus, however, was not so sure.
Klaus: Greenwatch— Reform. Resume patrol vectors.
Control Room — Chasetail
Lewis watched the engagement resolve on his screen. It had been a clean intercept and destruction of the hostile probe with 100% lock confirmed.
Job complete, with no deviations. However, something just wasn’t sitting right, as he continued to look at his screen. And for Lewis, things that didn’t sit right bothered him.
No deviations…
Lewis shook his head slightly and he pushed up his glasses.
Lewis (quietly): That took him way longer than it should have.
Anika glanced at him and tilted her head.
Lewis turned in his chair, pushed his headset to one side, and addressed Anika directly.
Lewis: He never waits for a full lock.
Cockpit — Glow
Seb steadied his breathing, as his heart rate slowly returned to normal. He kept his eyes forward and focused.
He checked the sequence off in his mind, yes, he had done everything correctly.
Exactly as it should have been, clean, precise, and flawless.
And yet—
HSS Chasetail: Ready Room — Mission Debrief
The pilots had just been dismissed from the mission debrief. Huxley had indicated for Klaus to remain.
The ready room door closed with a soft pneumatic hiss.
Huxley remained seated behind his desk, the mission log still open on the tablet before him. Mission events and engagement data scrolled slowly beneath his paw: attitudes, flight dynamics, vector traces, voice recordings, lock progression, weapons release, and confirmed destruction. A successful mission.
All flight dynamics were clean, precise, and nominal.
He let the final lines of data sit for a moment longer before setting the tablet back down on the desk.
Huxley: Take a seat, Klaus. At ease.
Klaus pulled up a chair and sat, not quite fully at ease, one never relaxed completely in Huxley’s presence, but he relaxed enough.
Huxley: Your assessment.
Klaus stayed in brief report language. He tended to try and mirror Huxley’s brevity when speaking with him.
Klaus: Hostile probe neutralised. No damage to craft or personnel. Formation held within nominal parameters.
There was no discernible response from the big Hunde behind the desk. It was a signal to continue.
Klaus: The intercept was textbook.
Another slight pause, with no sign of disagreement nor agreement.
Then—
Huxley: Yes.
Huxley breathed in once through his nose before continuing.
Huxley: It was.
He tapped the tablet once. The lock progression reappeared, 72… 81… 89… 94, a steady climb, culminating at 100%.
Huxley: He waited.
Klaus did not respond immediately while he formulated the best answer.
Klaus: Yes, Sir. He did.
He wanted to be sure.
A few moments of silence passed before the conversation continued.
Huxley: That boy flies by the seat of his pants.
Usually.
Klaus held Huxley’s gaze, indicating that he understood the issue.
Huxley: He flew correctly, but—
He’s lost his edge.
Klaus: Permission to speak freely, Sir.
Huxley: Go ahead.
Klaus: He flies fast because he’s running, slowing down means remembering.
He flies recklessly because he’s hurting.
He flies instinctively because thinking is dangerous for him.
He flies by the seat of his pants so he doesn’t need to face what he’s been avoiding.
Klaus paused for just a moment.
Huxley: Continue.
Klaus: He won’t fly well again until he stops flying away from his past.
Huxley regarded him for a moment, then gave a brief nod.
Huxley: Then we see to it that he stops.
We won’t restore his edge by polishing it out of him.
A pilot who can no longer make a mistake, cannot therefore make a decision.
Klaus: Yes, Sir. Agreed.
Huxley: Emotional state?
Klaus did not answer with words. He tilted his head slightly, meeting Huxley’s gaze directly.
Huxley: Red?
Klaus acknowledged.
Huxley: Understood.
Klaus: I will help him restore his edge, Sir.
Huxley: He is going to need that edge, even if it is not always by the book—
And…
We will need it.
Huxley straightened very slightly in his chair.
Klaus gave a single, almost imperceptible nod and sat up straighter in his chair, placing his paws on his knees.
No further instruction or conversation came.
Klaus inclined his head towards his boss.
Klaus: Yes, Sir.
The conversation was over.
Hundeerde Space:
Sector 1-Quadrant Gamma-4 (S1-QG4)
The next day Greenwatch were on a routine patrol of the Gamma Quadrant. They flew in a loose formation with Klaus in the lead.
The chatter between the squadron was relaxed.
Timo: Hey —Tick Tock, I hope you set your alarm right tomorrow, you don’t want to be late again for pads up.
Toby: Thirty seconds is not late, that is a minor chronological anomaly —Mr. Rattenfänger.
Hans: Tick— doesn’t need an alarm, he just waits for the rest of us to get airborne first.
Toby: That’s called efficiency —Ghost Drift. Why rush into danger when I can arrive fashionably heroic?
Raven: Tick— there is nothing heroic about being last off the deck.
Toby: Rook— I was not last, I was… tactically delayed.
Klaus: Greenwatch—watch your spacing.
The squadron adjusted their formation slightly.
Toby: Fang— why don’t you use that nose of yours to sniff out a probe!
Timo (sniffing slightly): Tick— I swear I can smell something out here.
Toby: Fang— that’ll be your own fear, mate.
Raven: Greenwatch— Keep your focus, guys.
Klaus: Greenwatch—tighten formation. Continue sweep pattern.
Seb: Copy—Keel-One.
Toby: Back to being professionals then. —Tick.
Raven: Tick— always.
Lewis (over comms): Greenwatch—Echo, possible hostile contact QG3.
Recommend alter course and investigate.
Klaus: Echo—Keel-One, acknowledged, will comply.
Greenwatch—Keel-One, my lead.
The squadron, in tight formation, peeled to the left and headed directly to Quadrant Gamma-3.
Sector 1-Quadrant Gamma-3 (S1-QG3)
Nothing was immediately amiss on arrival in the Gamma-3 Quadrant.
Klaus: Greenwatch—Keel-One, active scanning. Keep your eyes open.
A few minutes passed with nothing.
Until—
Raven: Greenwatch— Active return!
Hans: Careful —Rook, last one didn’t behave like the others.
Raven: None of them do —Drift.
Hans: They seem to be getting smarter. —Rook.
Raven: Return confirmed—
Bearing—2-7-3, Mark—Negative—4-3.
The squadron turned left to a heading of 273 degrees and lowered their noses down 43 degrees.
Klaus: Rook—Keel-One, maintain tracking and report.
Raven: Keel-One—Rook, acknowledged.
A few more tense moments passed before Raven made his next call.
Raven: Greenwatch—Rook, contact is:
Bearing—3-5-7, Mark—Negative—1-0.
As the squadron eased slightly more to the right and levelled their angle, the probe came into view.
Klaus then made a call that sent an electrified charge of adrenaline through Seb’s entire body.
Klaus: Glow—Keel-One, you lead.
There was half a moment’s delay before the acknowledgement came.
Seb: Keel-One—Glow, acknowledged. Greenwatch— my lead.
Seb moved his fighter into the point position and Klaus fell back into Seb’s. It was a clean switch.
The probe reacted immediately on their arrival and made a sudden change of course. Bearing—0-0-0, Mark—4-0.
It was heading directly towards the sun.
Timo: You sneaky little rat!
Seb: Greenwatch—Glow, solar visors—keep formation!
While the solar visors helped with the blinding glare of the sun, they now needed to rely on their instruments to keep track of where the probe went.
Raven: Don’t worry, Glow— we got you.
Then from out of the glare the probe cut right, Bearing—0-9-4, Mark—6-0.
Turning to the right, it angled up steeply and now, there was a new problem.
The probe began to rotate, slowly at first, but increasing its rate with every rotation. It also started to emit a trail of sparks from each of its three tips.
Toby: Holy crap-turd!
Seb: Tick—Glow, acknowledged—stay with me, guys.
Raven: Glow—Rook, It’s heading directly for the Sen-Comms!
Seb: Rook— on it.
The probe made another course change, this time on a direct vector towards the Sensor and Communications Node Gamma-3 Satellite (Sen-Comms-G3). This was one of the main orbital geosynchronous communication and sensor satellites that provided a constant up-link from the Hundeerde planet surface, as well as communication and sensor relays to the capital cruisers and any other craft operating in the quadrant.
It was a valuable asset to protect.
Seb: Greenwatch—Glow, flank speed. Let’s get this sonofawhore!
Fang— break left! Tick— break right! Double back and cross, run interference!
Drift— my left. Rook— my right. Formation Delta.
Keel-One— my rear!
The squadron increased their speed. Timo broke left and flew out quite some distance. He made a sharp U-turn and headed back, his engines screaming at maximum thrust. Toby did the same manoeuvre to the right; they crossed each other from opposite directions with a metre to spare.
Timo: Yee-haah!
Toby: You little ripper!
Hans and Raven shifted their positions to form a triangle with Seb taking point.
Klaus pulled back just enough to watch over the whole squadron from the rear.
The probe had increased its rotation and intensity of spin. It looked like a giant spinning Catherine wheel and made a sharp contrast against the blackness of space.
This time it clearly meant business, and its business was a kamikaze run on Sen-Comms Gamma-3.
Timo and Toby continued to loop out and scream back in from the left and right flanks, attempting to distract the probe.
Any time to make decisions was running out fast.
Seb: PULLING THE BRAKE!
Seb cut his power and pulled back hard on his stick; making an inverted loop as Hans and Raven shot past him.
Hans and Raven were now leading the flat side of their delta formation, with Seb, taking the rear point.
Seb: Rook! Drift! Double intercept! No lock! We’re gonna shoot from the hip! My call!
Hans broke slightly to the left and Raven broke slightly right, then they quickly turned back in, to directly intercept the probe.
Seb: Triple Fox!
All three fired simultaneously. The three shots came in at the probe from both the left and the right, and straight down the centre.
All three shots slammed into the probe, which fragmented instantly from the impact.
Range to the Sen-Comms — 450.
It was close. Damn close.
Back in the ready room Huxley watched the whole event unfold on his wall display.
He leaned back in his chair, and turned slightly to the left and slightly to the right, his tail doing the same.
He nodded once, murmuring to himself.
Huxley: That will do, Seb.
Screw Pile Developments 