View from the floor 2: Fighting talk

"Brace for impact. Brace, brace!" The gun crews all held on tightly to whatever they could and tensed as a new round of hyper-velocity rounds and guided missiles crashed through the shields and into the armour. With thick plates welded onto the ship, it could take a fearsome pounding but not for long.

With a sharp dislocating jerk, the reality of the the half dozen or so members of gun crew thirty six, forward battery; transformed into a dizzying, nerve shredding, floor-bouncing hell.

"What the feck is going on?" Cried out Jenkins to no-one in particular, clinging so hard his knuckles turned white.

"We're being fired upon you dummy!" Replied Perkins in as a matter-of-fact voice that he could muster. Everyone was bounced around viciously but it ended just as quickly as it had started. A sharp whistle signalled the ending of the current enemy exchange and now, it would be their turn once more. The slightly mechanical sounding voice of Flashfresh, the capsuleer captain of this ship, of which gun crew thirty six were a fighting component, filtered through to all sections of the ship.

[Gun batteries: switch to barrage ammunition. Switch to barrage ammunition.]

There was a flurry of action as the gun crews, all four of them, raced to switch ammunition types according to their captain's orders. Unlike Amarr and Caldari weapons, Minmatar auto canon and projectile weapons systems still relied largely on human muscle power to load its ammunition. Some even required the crew to fire the weapons.

"Move it you dogs!" Roared Stannick, the gun chief of crew thirty six. He had a small power maul in his right hand and was not at all reluctant in using it to speed things up. The ammunition hopper was manually unloaded of the deadly hail-type ammunition and the longer ranged barrage-type inserted in its place. With practised ease the ammunition hoppers were switched, jacked in and primed. The gun received with a series of satisfying thumps and a final, loud click. Gun crew thirty six were ready in seven seconds flat.

"Thirty-six ready!" Announced Stannick, his face pressed close to the wall mounted micro-phone.
They were proud holders of the 'under tenners' accolade - gun-crew members who could switch munitions under the usual ten-second limit.

A second later, crews twenty-three and seventy-two also signalled their readiness. The latter was made up of new rookies, freshly volunteered or press-ganged into The Bastards pirate corporation, while in-experienced they made up with good team work and slick coordination. As ever, crew ten were finally ready, a full four seconds behind everyone else.

With all the guns ready, Flashfresh cocooned inside his adamantium capsule, re-tasked the guns and laid in a new target.

[Primary is the caracal. Laying down barrage. Fire-pattern six-six-two.] Announced Flash, cool and calm as always.

The 200mm auto canon, named 'Debbie' by her crew, thundered out its rounds with a headache inducing recoil. Its deadly cargo streaking towards the enemy vessel. Gun crew thirty six their task completed could only hold on as the air pressure inside the claustrophobic turret was viciously displaced by the recoiling weapon, now fully-fed and angry. Gunner Pyson, designated number two, bald and completely crazy whooped with glee and in time with the gun's recoil.

Chattering away, it ate through half of the ammunition hopper, steam hissing from the loading breach.

"Make ready hopper 3-A!" Ordered Stannick, his eyes glued to the ammunition counter, its corroded dial counting down to a just-visible zero.

Jenkins and Perkins almost fell over on the slick ladder leading down to the even slippery bottom munitions floor. It was greasy with sweat, lubricant and covered with clinking spent ammunition casings. Grunting, Jenkins located and yanked on a full ammunition cart while Perkins, moved round and pushed hard.

"I didn't sign on for this!" Complained Jenkins as he heaved hard at moving the 100 kilogram ammunition-filled cart. His taller Gallente friend merely grinned back.

"Neither did I but hell, we're in The Bastards and crew thirty six were short by two." Replied Perkins cheerfully. "Besides, you always wanted to experience battle didn't you?"

Spent munition cases, almost half a metre thick in some places, parted as the heavy cart was pushed through to a waiting elevator.

"Yeah, but not like this. Not as a gunner! We can't even see anything and I am about gone deaf!"

"Quit your whining. You're in the wars now son and this sure beats unblocking soil pipes now doesn't it?"

There was a loud crump as something crashed into the outside of the ship, a small hairline fracture suddenly appeared just above Smith's head.

"Oh, that doesn't look good." Perkins said in his most understated tone as he hurried along.

"Hurry the feck up with ammo cart, we need to feed hopper 3-A! We're gonna be out in ten." Roared Stannick, his voice almost drowning out the booming auto canon.

"We're coming!" Yelled back Perkins as the cart slammed into the elevator, Jenkins applied the brakes and braced the cart. Perkins yelled back up to the gun turret. "Cart ready! Bring up the elevator."

The elevator sprang up the short distance and the door pinged open just as the alarm bell started crying.

"Brace for impact! Brace, brace!" Still, inside the elevator, Jenkins and Perkins jammed their backs against the heavily laden cart and braced their legs to either side of the elevator's walls, bracketing the cart. More missiles slammed into the armour of the ship and with a sickening jolt, the elevator shook hard and with a screech some bearing sheared off. Then the sharp all-clear and the ammunition cart was rushed out. Pyson was jumping up and down like a monkey while the other three gunners, Perkins and Jenkins hadn't had time to learn their names, made ready to refill the gun.

Stannick, wide-eyed stared at the ammunition counter as it made its way inexorable to zero. With a loud clank, the 200mm auto canon hit empty and almost sighed when its loading breach slid open, spewing out choking fumes.

"Load her up!"

Fighting back the stench, Perkins operated the mechanical loading arm as it picked up batches of shells and laid them into the hopper. Each five shells was manually pushed in via a lever, delivering into the waiting maw of the breach. Suddenly, there was a loud crash as something hit the gun. The gun turret, plated and patched in too many numerous places buckled inwards by a few metres, right at the top where the dome was. Red-hot slivers of metal and flecks of super-heated paint from inside the turret, displaced by the collision, whistled off and showered the half dozen gun crew. The shrapnel sliced into flesh and bone. There were howls and screams. Pyson, capering like a monkey was peppered and screaming, toppled off the gun platform itself and landed with a crunch at the bottom. A second crewman, a young Sebiestor screamed as he staunched the spurt of blood from where his right thumb used to be. Perkins was shielded by the unfortunate Pyson while Jenkins was protected by the bulk of ammunition cart.

"Load her up you silly Bastards! Load her up! Debbie is hungry and she needs to be fed!" Stannick extolled, still in his vantage point on top of the gun. He was covered in blood, oozing from hundreds of what looked like paper cuts. He didn't seem to notice the wounds. "Feed Debbie! Feed her!"

Shoving aside the bleeding Sebiestor, the remaining two gun crew pushed the rest of the ammunition in, with Perkins doing the work of two, lifting and closing the hopper. With an empty cart, Jenkins pushed the cart back and took it back down.

[Gun crews: brace for more impacts. Enemy drones are ramming the gun turrets.]

"They're what?"

There was another crunch and followed by a screeching noise, loud enough to drown out the din of the guns. Suddenly, there was a squawk as the wall mounted voice panel blared into life. It was the aft turret bay, manned by gun crew twenty three.

"- reach, drones smashed in, we're gonna-" it was cut off and the ship shook hard. There was a rush of incoming air and a blast of heat into the turret. Jenkins, on the floor vaulted over the rolling empty carts and glanced down the connecting gantry that linked all the turrets to each other. There was a wall of fire rushing towards him and inside the fire, Jenkins could see what looked like a thin mannequin dancing in the fire. It was one of the unfortunate gunners from crew twenty three, still alive but only for a few more seconds. Jenkins smashed his fist into the emergency shutters and the fire was trapped behind blast doors.

[Gun crews: red-line the guns. Take the safeties off and over-heat them.]

With a quick spin of the fawcets, the coolant flow was maximised while the heat override cut-offs were disengaged. Grinning wolfishly, Stannick confirmed that over-heating was indeed possible. All the guns could would now fire for longer, for further and with more power but with a dramatically increased chance of a catastrophic heat-induced explosion inside the turret. The temperature started to climb inside the turret coupled with cacophony of combat and the stench of propellant; it started to choke the surviving gunners. With eyes streaming, Perks squinted at the various gauges tracking the heart-beat of the gun. The smell of the propellant was thick and cloying, tasting like thick uneatable, cancerous chocolate. Jenks rejoined the remaining crew, a wet rag over his nose and mouth; tears streaming. The very air thumped and throbbed in time with the guns recoil. With the blast doors now closed, the air had little place to move and the heat was heavy and oppressive.

"Water, get some water on the ammo carousel. Otherwise the shells will cook!" Shouted Perks, alarmed at the heat shimmer radiating from the loaded ordnance, slowly rolling into the auto-loader. Stannick was impassive, staring at the capacity dial and didn't say a thing. A squat Brutor, Perks wasn't sure of his name, it sounded like, 'Mirgh' was bent over the side of the gun platform throwing up over the side. The fourth member was tending to the thumbless Sebiestor. "Jenks! Water. Water on the ammo carousel!" Perkins gesticulated towards the water then towards the gun.

Jenks cocked his head around, his hands clasped over his ears. He mouthed back 'What?"

Perkins staggered over towards the rotating carousel and with a rag touched the casing. It hissed and Perkins jerked back his hand. Jenks, finally understanding what his friend was referring to looked around for some source of water. A small hose snaked away around the bottom of the hydraulic lift and was stretched back over. Turning on the tap, jets of tepid water sputtered out and fell, hissing onto the hot ammunition carousel. Steam billowed out into the already foetid and oppressive atmosphere. The turret was hit a further three times, cracks appearing all over the inside of the armour plating, while a loose bit of machinery coshed Perkins over the head. Leaving him sprawling and senseless.
The ship was taking a battering and was shaking itself to pieces. The noise, the smoke and steam was too much for the gun crewman who was tending to Mr Thumb-less Sebiestor. He covered up his ears and started to rock back and forth, moaning as he did.

Just as Jenks thought he would be next, bending over and attempting to revive his Gallente friend, the 'all clear' bell was sounded and the shaking, rattling all over the ships ended abruptly. The guns stopped firing and the ship lurched away. Flash made a ship-wide announcement.

[Attention all crew: hostilities have ended. Salvage teams prepare to exit the ship and grab the loot.]

The auto canon was almost ruined, the rifling inside the barrel worn down to uselessness and the horizontal transversal gears flattened. Stannick, immobile until now moved and sat down. With a sigh, he pulled out a rag and cleaned his face mechanically.

Perkins came to with a groan.

"Is it over?" He moaned. Jenks looked around at the steam and rolling shells underfoot. The red-lines on the gauges stuck and the gentle pinging sound as metal started to cool and contract.

"Yup and not quick enough!" Complained Jenks half-heartedly, however the realisation that he did indeed survive his first combat operation was gradually dawning on him.

Perkins attempted to get back up. "Help me up buddy." Looking over, he saw Stannick, still wiping his face, over and over.

"Stannick? You ok?"

The gun chief stirred, looked up, starred back and then shrugged. He continued to rub the rag vigorously on the back of his neck. There was a dull thump as the ship docked up and the locking clamps were engaged. Soon, the doors were cycled open and maintenance and medical crews streamed in. Business like, they assessed the damage and started to clean up the mess. Those crew injured or dead were removed efficiently and damaged equipment unbolted or blow-torched loose before being replaced with new, gleaming versions. All this happened while the existing crew, those that could walk - shuffled out and emerged from the ship, blinking and coughing. Jenks supported Perkins as they stepped onto a crew gantry and was soon joined by other members of their ship: greasy engine room mechanics, navigators, support staff and other gunners soon jostled for space as they moved out and into the docking area.

"Hey! Hey Jenks! Perkins! Hey!"

They both looked around and saw a bunch of maintenance crew, attired like them waving at them and pushing their way through. They reached Perkins and Jenkins and after much back slapping and hand shakes they found a space. Jenks gratefully accepted a bottle of water and drank deeply.

"Goddamn it. You guys were on the Steel Rose? With Flash?" Exclaimed one of the maintenance men, a nervous looking Caldari.

"Yeah - but we didn't see him! Probably too noisy for him!" Guffawed Jenkins, his humour coming back quickly. Now that he had, indeed earned his combat stripes, it meant more pay and an increased share of any loot bonus. Being alive also helped his humour immensely.

"Man, you guys pulled some combat duty." Said another, wistfully. "Get any confirmed kills?"

"Several." Lied Perkins, already starting to enjoy himself.

"Including a battle ship I think, right Perkins?" Jenkins had to milk it. "Buy us a beer and we'll tell you all about it." There were some appreciative nods.

"What was it like Perkins? I mean combat?" Asked another, eagerly. Thinking back to the noise, the heat, the stink, the near death experiences and the blood. Oh yes, the blood spattering all over him. Perkins considered his reply.

"Interesting. Now where's the drink?"

Fleet summary: The Bastards fleet were on a roam and had pursued some ships into a nominal Militia military bunker, hastily put up in Evati. Three cruiser, two caracal-class, a bellicose-class and an assortment of frigate-class vehicles, all flying the flag of the Minmater Militia were engaged against The Bastards. The space between the two fleets filled with screaming drones, lancing lasers and whining shells as deadly broad sides were traded. The lead enemy caracal, its fuselage painted a matt black was selected as primary by Flashfresh, had its shields blasted off by the stronger Bastards fleet, made up of thorax-class cruisers, ruptures and arbitrators. Stronger coordination and sheer viciousness saw the pirates gaining the upper hand quickly. The militia frigates were quickly dealt with by drones while the bulk of the fire was concentrated on the deadlier missile boats. Bathed in fire, the shields flickered off the lead caracal and its thin armour was rapidly punctured in a dozen places.

Resulting action was fun and frantic:

http://www.the-bastards.com/kb/?a=kill_related&kll_id=13996

The Bastards lost Ish and TheHermit to a sabre that wasn't with the main FW gang but was around in Evati.

The view from the floor 1: Loot Sales

"How does he do it?" wondered Jenkins, shaking his head as he pulled his gaze away from the viewing port. He directed the question to his colleague working next to him with the lower half of his body sunk into a ground access panel.

"He isn't human; that's the reason Jenk. He's a capsuleer, not human," replied the shorter man. Fiddling with something he looked back at Jenk. "Hey, pass me a size five spanner will ya?"

"Sure."

Both Jenk and his friend were dressed as station maintenance crew, like tens of thousands of fellow workers all around New Eden. Keeping the stations and ships and everything in between in running order. Always around but invisible to many. Jenkins, or 'Jenk' to his friends, was a middle aged Caldari. Perkins was taller, younger and Gallente. Jenk fiddled with a blown circuit board in his hand and then stopped and looked back up again.

"He's going through the loot isn't he? All that booty he and the Bastards have collected over the last month. He hasn't left that hangar now for, what, five days?" Jenk smacked his lips at the thought of the monetary value of all the collected ship modules. "What do you think Perks? How much this time round?"

Perks, wiped some sweat off his forehead and hauled himself out of the access tube he was in. He worked his jaw and cocked his head sideways; as he always did when he had something new to say.

"I heard that this time round it could be over five billion isk. Came from the man himself, I overheard him at the bar."

"Five billion isk? Wow. I could buy my own station after that."

"Yeah, five big ones. A new record I heard."

"I can't even count that much!"

"You know what's better? We're due a bonus too, after hitting our targets."

Jenks shook his head and imagined what it would be like to be that rich. He returned to the viewing port and put his face to it. Through it he could see into a restricted hangar, the light dim and a Brutor of medium height and strong build moving between a field of large containers.

It was Flashfresh, the current CEO of The Bastards and at the moment, he was preparing the massive amounts of loot for shipment and then eventual profit sharing for all involved parties.

"Perks, can you remind me how this loot split works again?"

"Again? Man, your memory is more leaky than a Minmatar cruiser."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just humour me will ya?"

"OK, Flash opens each of the containers and personally checks the modules inside. Each container has a unique number, each number corresponds to the unique kill mail id that tracks each ship kill." Perks flipped open his data pad and presented the scrolling screen to Jenkins. "See? However, I think he removes anything with a retail value less than 100K isk, plus- or minus 5% Jita prices."

"He does it for every container right? Man, that hangar is packed." Jenkins' fingers tapped on the plasteel port.

"Well for all those containers, the boss takes out each module, no matter how small and repairs and repackages them. Every one. Flash then checks every container with our killboard to ensure that there are no errors. Sometimes, the containers get the wrong identifiers. So he needs to be sure. Nothing worse than a pirate who has his loot 'misappropriated' eh?"

Jenks and Perkins chuckled; while they were not pilots or even ship crew of The Bastards, they were part of the organisation. The discreet winged skull with crossed swords collar studs gave them access to certain parts of the station and employment opportunities, not available to others. It also meant that they too would get a cut from loot sales, albeit a small one. Seeing Flashfresh moving around the cans, shouting at two humanoid-looking helper drones and the thousand or so other containers, Jenkins and Perkins moved away from the viewing port.

"I think the boss is going to be in the hangar for a while longer."

Perks nodded and checked his data pad. "OK, we're almost done here; we just need to re-route a faulty power line and then next job is down at the Independence bar, some backed up coolant."

"At least it isn't the soil pipe, like last time."

Perks chuckled. "I think you and Brigadier HappySan and General z0de got caught in the back draft, didn't you Jenks?" Jenkins shuddered at the memory as he proceeded to open up a side access panel. As they both rushed to complete the last bit of work, the thought of all the isk next door got them talking again.

"What are you going to do with you share this time Perks?"

Perkins paused as he considered his answer. "Going to send some of it back to my folks. Medicine is getting more expensive out there in the sticks. Ma isn't as healthy as she was and my corporation medical insurance doesn't cover her treatment. Then the rest, putting it aside for me and Maria. Marriage is also expensive. You?"

"Going to drop most of it on the Mutai this month, Walker Smith looks hot with ten knock-outs to his name. The rest I am going to use to impress that sexy red-headed waitress at the bar."

"Shouldn't that be the other way round? The money first on the woman then the betting competition?"

Chuckling, Jenkins agreed and started to gather his tools together, the job done.

"You won't get anything if you don't turn the lights back on in the hangar, my dear fellow." The sudden presence of this individual alongside Perks and Jenkins made them both jump back, their tools clattering around them. When Jenks and Perkins took in the bald head of a Brutor, solid mass of his form and the jet black jump suit of the current active director of The Bastards pirate organisation, they both nearly fell over.

"Sir! I er, the lights?" Gulped Jenks. Perkins threw a solid salute and stood ram-rod straight. Up close, Flashfresh, like most capsuleers, was a lot bigger, taller and hard-looking to the two terrified crewmen. His characteristic dark sunglasses didn't hide the fact that his eyes were now boring into each of the maintenance chaps. There was an amused smirk playing over his face however.

"Yes the lights." Replied Flashfresh quietly with a smile. Jenks went pale as he realised that he must have had pulled out the wrong breaker that then cut off the power to the lights in the Flash's loot hangar. Perkins also realised at the same time and shot Jenks a murderous glance.

"Shouldn't have been yacking so much!"

"Sir, yes sir! I will fix it now." Jenks swiftly got back down on his knees and opened up the access panel. Perkins next to him with the tools necessary. Flashfresh stood behind them, observing and, to the two maintenance crew, brooding like a mountain with a gathering thunder cloud. With nervous fingers, Jenks switched the correct breaker and the lights, in the secured hangar, snapped on. Perkins breathed out with relief.

"Sir, the lights are back on." Replied Perkins, a sheen of sweat on his face.

"I am sorry sir, so sorry -" started Jenks, but was cut off mid-sentence by a a swift gesture from Flashfresh.

"Thank you very much, crewman. I can now continue with my work." Flashfresh spun on his heels and strode back towards the hangar. He stopped and turned around and looked back at first Jenks then settled on Perkins.

"Bradley isn't it?" Asked Flashfresh, addressing Perkins by his little-known first name.

"Yes sir."

"Do you chaps want to help me sort some of this loot out?"

"The loot sir?" Only the most trusted members of the corporation hierarchy had access to this hangar.

"Yes, the two helper drones are anything but helpful. Could do with some human interaction. Shouldn't take too long." A request from Flashfresh was essentially an order. They couldn't really refuse.

"Yes sir!" Chorused the crewmen.

For the next two hours, Jenks and Perkins worked through a couple hundred containers of items. Many modules were foreign to their eyes and even being experienced, they couldn't recognise them. Other modules were clearly bits from ships but one or two items were too baffling and no doubt came from some deep null-sec space complex. They took out each item, checked their details, sent it off for repair and repackaging and made sure each item was returned to their correct container. All was done with as much manual labour as possible - Flashfresh stated that the selling and tracking was done automatically but this stage, the first stage, was too important to leave to a programme.

Exhausted, the two men slowed down but they daren't say anything as Flashfresh, a capsuleer continued to work relentlessly. However, mercifully, Flashfresh called for a halt and pulled a crate up. Gesturing to the two sweaty crewmen to sit themselves down, Flashfresh presented a small box and popped out three ice-cold, quafe ultra drinks. The two men, gratefully received the drinks and gulped down the contents. Flashfresh joined them and everyone finished their drinks with gusto.

"Perkins, you said your mother is poorly. What is her illness?"

"Pelau syndrone sir. It's environmental, we think - chronic but not fatal, sir."

Flashfresh pursed his lips and appeared to be lost in thought.

"Yes, poor radiation shielding is one cause isn't it?"

"I think so sir. No one knows." Perkins shrugged helplessly. "I'm just a small fish in a very large pond. So I do what I can."

"That's a very commendable attitude Perkins, " said Flashfresh approvingly. "Gentleman, I thank you for your time. I know you are busy men and I am sorry for taking up so much of your time. Please consider my request fulfilled. It was a pleasure working alongside the both of you. You are now free to go. I believe you have some plumbing work to do?"

Gently reminded, both crewmen groaned, grabbed their tools and proceeded to the their. Flashfresh slid off the crate and started to work again. As the door hissed open, Jenk turned around.

"Thank you sir. Thank you for your time."

Perkins nodded in agreement. "It was an honour, sir." As the hangar door hissed closed, Flashfresh called out.

"Jenkins - put your money on T'Lar instead. Walker Smith is carrying an injury to his left arm."

The hangar door hissed then snapped shut.

For a good minute both men stood outside the closed hangar door. It was Jenks who spoke up first, his face lighting up with excitement.

"Wait until we tell the fellas."

"Jenks, no-one will believe us, buddy."

"Whatcha saying Perks?"

"I mean, c'mon. You and me and Flashfresh? Working together and then sitting around and jawing like a trio of greasemonkeys? Nah."

"Yeah, but it's a hell of a story."

Perks, clapped his friend on the shoulder. "C'mon man, we have an appointment with a blocked soil pipe."

"Yeah, great." As the two men shouldered their packs, Jenks frowned. "Flashfresh said T'Lar right?"

"Yes he did, Jenks. Yes he did."

The duo started towards a nearby maintenance lift.

"Hey Perks, how does the loot programme work again?"