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Memoirs of Old Battles
The Old man sat in front of the terminal. Not old in appearance, the various marvels of technology in the universe saw to that, but certainly old in experience. He had seen the evolution of warfare over many years and had been an ace in his time.
Now, as many times before, he felt wistful and nostalgic. Now, unlike before, he realized that things had their time and place and that grasping at old fame would, at most, achieve a flash-in-the-pan kind of celebrity. Previous fame had come from a joy in flight, from a willingness to experiment, and a drive to be better. His new fame would simply trade in and destroy the old one. People have short memories, they remember conclusions, "What was he at the end?", they would ask, and he would be compared against the current aces.
He had no doubt that against the young guns he would be demolished. Were they better than he was in his prime? He would likely never know. It was possible, he had watched and even sparred a few, he could read their patterns, but he couldn't take advantage of them.
Trying to do battle was like trying to remember how to throw a ball accurately and powerfully after years of sedate lifestyle. He had memories of the motions, but his body didn't. It meant that he was trying old patterns on for size and finding them lacking because they didn't fit the situations.
He knew that enough practice would eventually bring most, if not all of the skills back. But flying was almost painful, it was watching yourself be a moron. Letting your skill fall behind your analysis is a quick way to grow tired of something. It didn't help that so many people were gone. Maybe some would come back, but they'd all be trying to grab at a moment that was gone (And quite possibly, never actually happened. Sepia-toned pictures make heroes out of even the most boring people).
But that being said, he knew that the whole crop of younger warriors would eventually become old, and he hoped that they would realize that the secret to happiness in the darkness of space was grasping at new things and only remembering the old if you were willing to admit the weaknesses of the past. Comparisons would simply beget frustration. The old would reminisce, because they couldn't fight, and the young would get pissed off fighting old ghosts.
"The Best" is a title which only applies to a specific period of time. He wanted to avoid discussions of that if at all possible. What he wanted to see were memories of the actual battles. Techniques could still be applied. Perhaps through a post out onto the Subspace forums, other vets would reminisce about battles. Maybe if he started the discussion with humility (admittedly, not always his strong suit), others would post in kind.
He shot the post off, and pondered that he might not have the energy to get in and reply to everyone's thoughts, but he longed to read war stories. Not stories of interpersonal relationships, but battles, so that the generations could mingle objectively without having to get caught up in the most recent drama.
Now, as many times before, he felt wistful and nostalgic. Now, unlike before, he realized that things had their time and place and that grasping at old fame would, at most, achieve a flash-in-the-pan kind of celebrity. Previous fame had come from a joy in flight, from a willingness to experiment, and a drive to be better. His new fame would simply trade in and destroy the old one. People have short memories, they remember conclusions, "What was he at the end?", they would ask, and he would be compared against the current aces.
He had no doubt that against the young guns he would be demolished. Were they better than he was in his prime? He would likely never know. It was possible, he had watched and even sparred a few, he could read their patterns, but he couldn't take advantage of them.
Trying to do battle was like trying to remember how to throw a ball accurately and powerfully after years of sedate lifestyle. He had memories of the motions, but his body didn't. It meant that he was trying old patterns on for size and finding them lacking because they didn't fit the situations.
He knew that enough practice would eventually bring most, if not all of the skills back. But flying was almost painful, it was watching yourself be a moron. Letting your skill fall behind your analysis is a quick way to grow tired of something. It didn't help that so many people were gone. Maybe some would come back, but they'd all be trying to grab at a moment that was gone (And quite possibly, never actually happened. Sepia-toned pictures make heroes out of even the most boring people).
But that being said, he knew that the whole crop of younger warriors would eventually become old, and he hoped that they would realize that the secret to happiness in the darkness of space was grasping at new things and only remembering the old if you were willing to admit the weaknesses of the past. Comparisons would simply beget frustration. The old would reminisce, because they couldn't fight, and the young would get pissed off fighting old ghosts.
"The Best" is a title which only applies to a specific period of time. He wanted to avoid discussions of that if at all possible. What he wanted to see were memories of the actual battles. Techniques could still be applied. Perhaps through a post out onto the Subspace forums, other vets would reminisce about battles. Maybe if he started the discussion with humility (admittedly, not always his strong suit), others would post in kind.
He shot the post off, and pondered that he might not have the energy to get in and reply to everyone's thoughts, but he longed to read war stories. Not stories of interpersonal relationships, but battles, so that the generations could mingle objectively without having to get caught up in the most recent drama.
He started to get up, and sat back down and fired off an addendum.
"Maybe old ghosts are useful at times, they fill an empty universe with legend. An ancient's return necessarily empties the universe of some of its mystery. It is a constant battle, keeping the ego at bay so the legend can keep on living"
"Maybe old ghosts are useful at times, they fill an empty universe with legend. An ancient's return necessarily empties the universe of some of its mystery. It is a constant battle, keeping the ego at bay so the legend can keep on living"
Yarrr.
Well writ
No clue who the hell you are, but that was a nice read.
Arrr.
Arrr.
yar har yar
Whomever they are, the writing style is familiar, can't quite pin it, but I do remember from the olden days some aces were also great writers, can't say I was really either, but I can't help but feel like I know this BlackSands guy by a different name. My bet, though, is if I do know him, it was through my crosshairs, and me in his.
Maybe some would come back, but they'd all be trying to grab at a moment that was gone (And quite possibly, never actually happened. Sepia-toned pictures make heroes out of even the most boring people).
Well said. Nice post.
Well said. Nice post.
My bet, though, is if I do know him, it was through my crosshairs, and me in his.
Ah, but violence breeds the best friendships, huh zam?
Ah, but violence breeds the best friendships, huh zam?
True, a good portion of the people I really enjoy seeing ingame are old adversaries that I've spent hours sparring with.
All vets have their sepia-toned photos, things that weren't really significant, but that they will stand by as some of their greatest feats.
All vets have their sepia-toned photos, things that weren't really significant, but that they will stand by as some of their greatest feats.
"He started to get up, and sat back down and fired off an addendum."
Nice. Not sure who you are either, but welcome back. Hope your legend beats out your ego =) Whenever I come back to this game after long breaks, I think I just prove to people how much I really suck =P
Nice. Not sure who you are either, but welcome back. Hope your legend beats out your ego =) Whenever I come back to this game after long breaks, I think I just prove to people how much I really suck =P
"There was a time when the Valkyrie stole cargo. The occasional odd rune valk lying in a dusty station is a testament to this.
Once upon a time, Purified Xithricite was the currency of the land. Between the major itani and serco factions, mercenaries thrived. Battles could crop up all-across grey space, relay races where the runners occasionally handed off the baton to shady characters with blasters, rarely voluntarily..."
He missed that, the battles weaving in and out along the route of the convoys. He remembered the early tactics, three smurfs hiding in sedina K4, waiting for the signal to jump to B8. The SAF on edge, waiting for the attack.
He had known both sides. Both the thrill of ambush and defense. In the ambush you dived into the sector right next to the convoy. You could, of course, jump in from behind the wormhole, at A8. But, while that allowed one to get ahead of the convoy, it was the wrong attack angle.
The "Dicta Boelcke" outlined this in early aviation strategy. The best firing point is from behind the enemy. Going head to head narrows your firing window, and makes shots much more difficult to land. Jumping in from behind was a sure thing.
The SAF, of course, knew this, and were often prepared in force. Rockets were the defense tool of choice. While far weaker than their present day counterparts, fired from a platform at a high relative velocity, they were still extremely dangerous.
The talented rocketeers knew to boost their rockets before launching. Hence the most fearsome players would keep you following them, allowing for a huge relative velocity difference when they switched gears and then turbo-launched. Even at 60 m/s, they were extremely difficult to avoid. The trick in fighting a player using them was to dodge the extremely fast moving volley, and use their sudden acceleration forward to get close enough to launch enough blaster-fire into their hull.
If they were using an armored platform, like a Skycommand Prometheus, there was no way to get a kill shot. The best you could do was between a 3rd and half their hull. The younger pilots probably don't know about the old Skycommand. It was sluggish to move, hard to pull off kills, but for the job of defending a convoy, it was actually quite nice.
The pilots who used it did so by "tanking". They would be ready to turbolaunch rockets at whomever lined up behind the convoy, but finishing them off would be so time-consuming that the convoy would get away.
His trick was to feint them first, pry them off the convoy and then try to get in for a few blasts before they moved back into firing position. Didn't always work, but enough of the time to score some Xith.
Defending the convoy, he rarely played a tank, it wasn't his style, not enough flash (Tanks never got much love from the piloting community, no matter how good they were, it's the nature of being a defender, you only are noticed when something goes wrong. It tended to make them grouchy. He remembered Lin as such a pilot).
He was ashamed to say he hadn't given them their due either, and the time was past. Only a greenhorn would use a Skycommand that way now, they were rebuilt into a close range monster; to play a waiting game with them now is inefficient.
No, he liked to get up close and personal, chasing the chasers was a thrill second-to-none. Could you line up behind them before they wiped out the convoy? It was a matter of setting your turbo vector correctly at first, and then changing that vector as little as possible. Changing it meant slowing down and you already had a very thin window in which to finish them off.
There were certainly problems with the design of the routes at the time... but in making changes to them and to the ships involved, the powers-that-be had created a dispersal effect. The chase and counter-chase tactics disappeared. The weapons everyone fought so hard for became marginalized. Not bad, but not worth an interstellar war.
The relays, the blackmarket trade, it all died with it, leaving only very empty space, and a lot of unsatisfied duelers.
Once upon a time, Purified Xithricite was the currency of the land. Between the major itani and serco factions, mercenaries thrived. Battles could crop up all-across grey space, relay races where the runners occasionally handed off the baton to shady characters with blasters, rarely voluntarily..."
He missed that, the battles weaving in and out along the route of the convoys. He remembered the early tactics, three smurfs hiding in sedina K4, waiting for the signal to jump to B8. The SAF on edge, waiting for the attack.
He had known both sides. Both the thrill of ambush and defense. In the ambush you dived into the sector right next to the convoy. You could, of course, jump in from behind the wormhole, at A8. But, while that allowed one to get ahead of the convoy, it was the wrong attack angle.
The "Dicta Boelcke" outlined this in early aviation strategy. The best firing point is from behind the enemy. Going head to head narrows your firing window, and makes shots much more difficult to land. Jumping in from behind was a sure thing.
The SAF, of course, knew this, and were often prepared in force. Rockets were the defense tool of choice. While far weaker than their present day counterparts, fired from a platform at a high relative velocity, they were still extremely dangerous.
The talented rocketeers knew to boost their rockets before launching. Hence the most fearsome players would keep you following them, allowing for a huge relative velocity difference when they switched gears and then turbo-launched. Even at 60 m/s, they were extremely difficult to avoid. The trick in fighting a player using them was to dodge the extremely fast moving volley, and use their sudden acceleration forward to get close enough to launch enough blaster-fire into their hull.
If they were using an armored platform, like a Skycommand Prometheus, there was no way to get a kill shot. The best you could do was between a 3rd and half their hull. The younger pilots probably don't know about the old Skycommand. It was sluggish to move, hard to pull off kills, but for the job of defending a convoy, it was actually quite nice.
The pilots who used it did so by "tanking". They would be ready to turbolaunch rockets at whomever lined up behind the convoy, but finishing them off would be so time-consuming that the convoy would get away.
His trick was to feint them first, pry them off the convoy and then try to get in for a few blasts before they moved back into firing position. Didn't always work, but enough of the time to score some Xith.
Defending the convoy, he rarely played a tank, it wasn't his style, not enough flash (Tanks never got much love from the piloting community, no matter how good they were, it's the nature of being a defender, you only are noticed when something goes wrong. It tended to make them grouchy. He remembered Lin as such a pilot).
He was ashamed to say he hadn't given them their due either, and the time was past. Only a greenhorn would use a Skycommand that way now, they were rebuilt into a close range monster; to play a waiting game with them now is inefficient.
No, he liked to get up close and personal, chasing the chasers was a thrill second-to-none. Could you line up behind them before they wiped out the convoy? It was a matter of setting your turbo vector correctly at first, and then changing that vector as little as possible. Changing it meant slowing down and you already had a very thin window in which to finish them off.
There were certainly problems with the design of the routes at the time... but in making changes to them and to the ships involved, the powers-that-be had created a dispersal effect. The chase and counter-chase tactics disappeared. The weapons everyone fought so hard for became marginalized. Not bad, but not worth an interstellar war.
The relays, the blackmarket trade, it all died with it, leaving only very empty space, and a lot of unsatisfied duelers.