The Cairo Dossier: How the Nomads Conquered Omicron Zeta
Personal Reflections of Astrid "Talousem" Weber- Part One
From the Infirmary of the OLV-Mago
I don't know if command can see this. I don't know if they care. I don't know why I'm doing this. All I know is that I want to talk about what I DO know. Not like I have much else to do.
To begin with, the life of an Order pilot doesn't make for much privacy. It is a life of seemingly blind obedience, blind faith, and hope- which is intrinsically blind. I could sit up in this hospital bed and hope command might intercept this recording just as blindly as I might blindly obey an order to launch torpedoes into a seemingly empty space. I could hope that Humanity has some appreciation for the suffering that has been wrought these past few weeks, but only the blind could have such hope. We are not heroes- not at this rate... we are martyrs for a faith that goes unheard.
Three weeks ago, I received a briefing detailing a recall order to Fort Carthage. Kusarian warships had been sighted massing in the far reaches of the Wall of Seth. In that same moment, I received an emergency hail from Cairo Station detailing that the Battleship Mars and about a dozen other capital assets were massing in Omicron Zeta. I recall the moment vividly, as I had grown bored hunting nonexistent "low strength" Core convoys in Omicron Delta. I was floating around the Kiribati, engines off and cloak on. I had hoped the hails were a report from elsewhere in the system.
I had hoped... because I could not *see*.
No matter, the priority of the transmissions was clear. I forwarded the orders to the rest of my squadron, and we set course for Omicron Minor. Along the way I wondered to myself why I had wasted these past weeks floating around in hostile territory when we should have been worried about trouble brewing at home...
Home...
Amidst the endless green fog I couldn't help but turn my head to look at it. I could see it right outside my port viewscreen. My homeworld, or what was left of it. Toledo's cracked and oozing crust made for a sight that could only be described as beautiful after the monotony of Minor's slice of the Edge. Strange, I remember being huddled into the center of the crowded shuttles. I remember the fear. I wasn't even in my teens yet. I couldn't see the moment of its destruction back then. But as I passed by, I thought Toledo looked... good. Reassuring, somehow.
What even is a home, anyway? The only one I could *see* was... dead
I was relieved to be out of Minor. Nothing there but green smog and dark thoughts, but the dark thoughts persisted. Passing by that orange pearl, Nebet, my mind was drawn to the Nekhbet. Though I didn't see it, my mind never strays far from the solemn halls of that Osiris replica- the memorial plaques. The memory of my initiation into the Order's Fleet is tinged with the same colors my mind raced through when I passed by in my Sekhmet. The same colors race now.
Just... how many have died for this cause?
Somehow, I didn't think about it in the moment. Perhaps because it was on the other side of Nebet. But now I can't help but think I would have felt better if I saw Akabat in that moment.
Regardless, my squad and I were among the first to report in at Fort Carthage. Our ships were in about as pristine condition as they could get for floating around in the Edge Worlds, so we were also among the first to be reassigned and redeployed. Our orders were clear...
"Maintain a defensive perimeter. You are not expected to deter a Core offensive. You only need to buy time for reinforcements to be directed to Cairo from Mu. If that means launching a counterattack, then I leave that at your CO's discretion. Until then, be vigilant"
So that was it. Wait and "be vigilant". Wait to be killed. It occurred to me in that moment that I had never really been ordered to attack. Only to "investigate", to "secure", and to "report back".
Yet I am a veteran, I have fought in battles that have been won. A salvo from the Sekhmet that shares my callsign has burst the hull of a Core Train before. In Delta. It was a hit and run that cost the Core 5000 tons of Ship Hull Panels and 25 contracted crewmen. My squads' cannons tore a Nomad warform to shreds. Also in Delta. Our sudden appearance has deterred many a careless explorer from restricted space.
So, how does the Order win? Do we claim anything more than pyrrhic victories? Do we only delay the inevitable?
