Write a Story

[Arby]

I'll just throw something together for this post and someone else continue on, and so forth with each post and we see where it goes. Try to keep to the setting and tone established and nothing outlandishly out of nowhere (read: ponies) and we might get something good

 

anyway, here goes:

 

SECTOR 4A-699774832

PLANET 8VR-999421

ERROR CODE 6147

ADDITIONAL NAV DATA NOT FOUND

REPORT FLAG FILED

REPAIR TAG TIMECODE.....

32002 DAYS, 19 HRS, 5 MINS, 42 SECONDS

STATUS: NOT ADDRESSED

PRIORITY: UNKNOWN

 

 

DISPLAY CAM: 31555247

ACTIVE

 

SIGNAL TRANSMITTING.........

 

"What a shithole," the Sergeant said as he surveyed the planet displayed on the screen of his helmet. "Nova-48V, a rock on the ass end of space that just happens to have probably the highest concentrations of the best metals for starship hull in the known galaxy. It had an atmosphere at one point we think, but we blew that to hell when we atomized a quarter of the thing and sent shards of it flying all across the system around 300 years ago, and it's still the most valuable thing we have to throw billions of lives at. If we ever won complete control of it and mined it all down, we could make a whole navy just from it and all the shells we've shot at it over the centuries. Of course, tracking down all the pieces would be as much of a pain in the ass as fighting over the damn thing is."

[Mes gots its]

What I'm tempted to say is "WARNING. INCOMING PONY ATTACK FLEET DETECTED."

 

But what I'll actually contribute is:

 

The Sarge, turning to the band of a couple dozen pilots behind him, barked, "Alright, ladies. Bomber Squadron Beta, get prepped for launch; the fighters will cover your run to the surface. We'll support you with heavy artillery from orbit. Once their resistance all is softened up, the dropships will deliver our infantry to overtake what's left of their base. Remember, we're expecting high casualties. Many of you won't come back alive. If there are no questions, get your asses moving to your ships."

 

As the pilots all raced to the hanger, one lingered behind nervously. It was Hansel, the newest recruit in the squadron. He looked like he wanted to say something, but something was holding him back.

 

The Sarge eyed him curiously. "Is there a problem, private?"