The belt held . . . well it didn’t matter what it held as far as ore went. Mike had removed that information from his overview completely. He only had eyes for ships, reds or rats. The asteroids were there only as impediments to his flight patterns. Two battleships and a flight of frigates. Sansha.
“I am sure you don’t care who I am and I am not even sure if you know who you are, anymore.”. As he spoke he opened up the micro warp and raced for one of the battleships and started locking all of the targets on the field. He jotted single shots at each of the ships to make sure he had their attention before launching his drones. Even though he had a tight orbit around the larger ship he took the time to pop each of the frigates in turn before attending to the big ships.
Occasionally the fire from the battleships connected but the tank of the hurricane easily shrugged them off as he slowly chewed through the defences of first one and then the other. He swooped back to pick up salvage, trying to earn the funds to put more ships in the dock.
One eye on local as he patrolled the belts over the next days he got to recognize the ‘morale officers’ whom Gentlemen Agreement had assigned to the system. They were most likely snoozing in their cloaked ships and Mike came to accept them as something to watch but not fret over. Reports of battles and blue balls came and went.
“Ya know?”. Mike told another pilot in his corp. “I think this may be the dumbest war, ever. Neither side is getting much more than frustrated.”
“They have our people trapped in 319.”
“They like to say so, but look at it from the other side. Say we have 100 pilots in the station. They cannot be forced out, they cannot be attacked, they sit there, trapped. But most times there is the camping fleet. Far far larger and also forced to sit around waiting for our pilots to insert their privates into the meat grinder. Who is in control?”
“They are, they keep us trapped.”
“Yeah? I know folks in the station can take naps, catch a show, go to dinner and not risk a single thing. Nobody is going to isolate, trap, attack them while they are being innatentive. On the other hand the ‘trappers’ need to watch the station, be ready for a breakout attempt. Their FC’s monitor spies and moles and try to find things to keep their people awake and on task.”. Mike waved a hand towards space. “Both sides are trapped but they need to have the bigger fleet AND they need to be more on task than the station occupants. Theirs is the harder job and much more likely to ‘burnout’ first. We have our little guest in system. He worry you much?”
“No. He never does anything so he is just there.”
“Exactly. How much ‘fun’ do you think he is having?”. Mike shook his head. “How much attention is he paying? The irony of calling him a morale officer is that I bet HIS is fairly low. Like I said before, dumb war and more a contest of wills, not isk or ships. But there is a risk in that the CFC is a lot more draconian in enforcing its ‘will’. People who don’t ship up for cta’s are likely to wind up on some special list.”
“I have heard of these lists.”
“We all have, although their existence is officially denied. No, all in all, this is not a war anybody will be telling their grandchildren about.”
Skajit spey, you won the bomber, send which would you like?
I keep reading posts from the front by other bloggers and nobody is making this battle sound exciting. The phrase curb stomping does not really make for a sweeping majestic epic among the stars as much as it does as a footnote in the annals of New Eden
Should I post a ratting fit I use in null? Any of you curious or do you all know more about it than I do?
Fly it like the morale officer isn’t looking