"Alright gentlemen, prepare for jump. Me, Heinkel, Sturm, Aleski und Erhoff, jump first. The rest stays here in case reinforcements are needed.
And remember, when you get there, don't let the radiation get the best of you in combat. Don't face the Dead Star too much, either. Fur die Revolution, let's kill some Corsairs today!"
A thunderous, concerted but nervous "Fur die Revolution!" followed. Heinkel and Sturm went into the jump hole. I followed suit.
"I-initiating jump sequence, all systems show green so far. Gott mitt uns." I had no idea what to expect. This was my first time venturing this far into the Omegas. The blistering sun of Omega-11 left me drenched in sweat under my flight suit and helmet. I was feeling quite uncomfortable. This only compounded my unease. Every time I entered that sector, I could always reliably expect to shed 3-5 pounds in water weight alone.
I entered the gravitational anomaly. The blue wave patterns of supra-luminal travel were usually comforting in their beauty. This time, it spelled fear of the unknown. Then, a brief flash of light and aggressive deceleration. I had arrived.
"Jump successful, engines holding up fine. Checking vitals... What th-" Before I could even finish my sentence, an intense feeling nausea overwhelmed me. It hit me in a way which mimicked getting punched in the upper stomach. Hard. Almost immediately after that, the bitter taste of steel overtook my tongue. It became difficult to focus. My displays were glittering with small white specks, blinking in random areas and with great intensity.
"Welcome to Omega-41, Aleski.", said the wing leader while chuckling. "From the way you stopped talking, I can only guess the radiation got to you. Don't worry though, while lethal to some extent, it won't kill you right away. Just wait until we get closer to the star."
Somehow, his words offered no assurance to me whatsoever. If someone told me I was going to die soon, in this sector, I would've taken his word for it without hesitation. Our wing leader tells us to get into formation and that we will be doing some routine patrol maneuvers. "In-and-out in one hour, if we're lucky. That's if we don't run into Corsairs." His casual demeanor often clashed with my stereotypical Rheinlander seriousness. I was ready to puke my guts out.
I'm on a road. I barely remember how I got on it and I have no idea where it'll lead me. If I turn back, I might find something familiar, but there's a possibility of me dying in the process. If I go forward, I will step only deeper in uncharted territory.
"Hier ist ihrem kaffee. Sohnst noch etwas?" The waitress placed the cup of coffee I ordered close to my right hand. I told her nothing else was needed. She bowed slightly and withdrew promptly. I dipped into my thoughts once more.
It was March. In the City of New Berlin, this meant daytime. "Day" and "night" here last roughly six months each, due to the planet's obscenely slow rotation. While temperatures hover above freezing point during the day, it dips to -40 degrees Celcius at night, on average.
I'm not supposed to be here. I was on medical leave for trauma sustained to the head four weeks ago. My leave was only two weeks long. And here I am, in New Berlin, after accompanying Austin Goodman and Sipher Rockwell to Rheinland. Planet Holstein, to be precise. God I hate that place.
They left somewhere. I'm not sure where, I didn't bother asking. Probably somewhere in the Sigmas. I told them I had things to take care of back home and that I would part ways. They took no issue to it, wished me luck and we bid farewell. And now I'm here, living out of a cheap motel, contemplating what to do with my life. Stay here and call New Berlin's massive underground world "home", or stay the path in Bretonia, where I can live in legality, but under increased scrutiny due to my past.
I'm at a crossroad. I need to figure out what I want in this life. I need to decide what my path will be. That is why I'll be staying here for a bit.
October 1st, 814 A.S.
Outskirts of New Berlin City, Planet New Berlin
0320 hours
"Temperature is -43 degrees Celcius. Winds blowing East to West, 3 kilometers per hour. No precipitation. Outdoor luminosity negligible. Target is inside the cover of elaborate infrastructure, 564 meters away, 135 degrees from our North. Coriolis effect is negligible. I'll tell you when the target comes out."
"Copy." I confirmed my spotter's summary, then adjusted my scope. "Switching to SI visibility mode. You'll have to tell me who is who, I can't ascertain faces." The spotter nodded to my request.
Minutes passed.
"Rabbit's out of the foxhole. Confirming target... confirmed, Lars Blau. Confirm visual."
"I see the target. Adjusting."
"Wind steady at 2kph E-W, distance Five-Six-Four meters away. Clear shot, nice and sweet. Fire when ready."
Me and my spotter were lying in prone position on the rooftop of a 10-story building. The target emerged from a bar, at ground level, half a click away. The area was eerily quiet and the lack of moonlight from Potsdam made targeting a hassle.
I gently picked up the butt of my rifle with my left hand to assure maximum steadiness. I then took a series of deep breaths, waiting for the perfect window... the perfect shot. After a number of inhalations, my trigger finger is relaxed. I see the target through my scope, I feel ready. I quickly phase out the world around me. I inhaled one last time and held in my breath.
"... firing." I pull the trigger.
The shot rang out loudly in the sleepy suburb. It was a fairly high caliber rifle. I look out briefly.
"Hit. Clean to the head. Target is down."
"Let's get out of here."
My spotter stowed away his gear in a moderately sized black suitcase. I disassembled my rifle quickly but soberly. We vacated the roof of the building we're in and head to the street. Our vehicle was parked in front. We left, nonchalantly.
