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The stolen drones chronicles
From the pen of the award-winning journalist, Diagon Dave, comes a series of short stories revolving around alliance activities and fleet shenanigans! Dive into 'The Stolen Drone Chronicles' and follow the unfolding story as LinkNet embarks on a journey into Providence...


It was just another Wednesday in Provi... The enemy Commander was busy doing inventory when the report came in. “Monsieur, we see a Linknet Vexor ratting fleet on scan. Permission to intercept and destroy?”, “Courage mon brave! You take the fleet out, but don’t lose any ships, we are getting low, and be extra careful with my Rapier. I built it myself, it is my pride and joy, and I love that ship.” “Bien sur Commander, merci!” Some time later... ”Imbecile! How can you lose battlecruisers, dictors and a Hecate to a bunch of ratting Vexors?!”, “It was not my fault sir! Their FC had planned some kind of Voodoo Vexor fit never seen before! She is a genius, but we got them in the end”. “Ok nevermind, just be more careful in future. Oh and you can park my Rapier in my normal hanger.” ... ”Errrr, it was not my fault sir...!”. Just another Wednesday in Provi...


The pilots gathered in the “Icarus sky bar” in HBS. A rare night off from their null sec space duties. They were watching their champions competing in the annual fight club tournament on the holo-screens. A hush descended as the fight started. Both teams chose similar comps, but the opponents had an extra battleship against our cruiser logi. Both teams went for a Navy mega each, the blaster damage insane on the battlefield. Who was gonna break first? “We’ve got a good old fashioned brawl here folks”. We lose the N. Mega race and a N. Exeq shortly after, looks like trouble. The hero Maulus goes down too but not before we catch a Deacon, and their logi is effectively gone. Now the fightback starts! How much damage can a N. Brutix take? Well, ask the Wormies, they found out the hard way, and the answer is ...bucket loads! They failed to break him and a cheer went up in the bar when he moved back from hull into armour after some monstrous logi reps. Meanwhile the Vindi webs and blasters were doing what they do best, smashin’ n grabbin’, causing havoc on the enemy who now started to break. When the enemy Bhaalgorn went down it was all but over. A well flown and hard fought victory. The bar erupted with GFs and cheers, the only question now is, ...who is going to pay the drinks bill?


“Ahhh I love the smell of fresh nanites.” The pilots were relaxing in the hanger after a long, long fleet. They were enjoying the new facilities in HBS, even the showers worked! A cheer erupted from the room as one of the scouts walked in. “Heyyy how ya doin’ mate?”. “Must n’t grumble”, said the scout. He had been caught on a gate by a pair of clever pirates, and had to take the painful pod express back home. “Gotta hand it to you, sitting out there all alone keeping us safe, you scouts are the best of us.” It had been a long fleet. A dash to the other side of Provi to support our allies. Our fierce Feroxes so intimidating the enemy decided not to show up. Then back home to do some spring cleaning and take down a control tower. The Oracles were a glorious sight, lashing out laser damage, although some pilots commented that one of the Oracles looked a bit strange, almost like a badly aligned banana!


“What a fight, great fleet tonight all of you”. The mood in the pilot debrief hanger in HBS was electric. “Three times they came for us, and three times we sent them back with heavy losses. Three structures saved. Loggi, great job, lightning reactions. Scouts and dictors superb, diving into danger and getting us the positioning. Even the little Griffin got some great jams off. DPS?….Who knew the Ferox could skirmish like that! Enemy Hecates, Ravens, all blasted, all wasted. It was cat and mouse for a while but when I called for damage you brought the thunder!”. The pilots shuffled out of the hangar to get some down time, still buzzing with the victories, and all talking about the new fleet formation they had learned that night.


The scout was bored. The fleet had gone well tonight. Objectives easily met, no resistance to speak off, pretty uneventful. He was looking forward to getting back into his comfortable ice miner instead of the cramped confines of the interceptor. As he was guiding the fleet back into home system a flash on Dscan! Enemy pilot in local, not only that but a skilled pirate who had been camping our home system for weeks. The Scout and Dictors sprang into action and warped for the catch. The FC warped the slower main fleet, only seconds behind, but he knew they would land some way off the fight. Comms were frantic, “Point!”, “he’s getting away!”, “Bubble up”. The main fleet landed on grid 70km off, but the Ferox showed it’s versatility and a couple of volleys with long range ammo finished the job, the pirate was down. Great catch scouts and as the old saying goes, “The only thing better than a scout and a dictor, is a scout and two dictors!”


“Fukov in three, two…….”, said the FC on comms. The fleet was trapped in a double pathway system. To avoid destruction they had to reach home system fast, eight jumps away, before the enemy could intercept. The Fukov was old school, a fleet manoeuvre, hardly taught at the academy anymore. Named after the Great Admiral Fukov from years ago. “Now follow me and burn for your lives!” As one the fleet warped, no time for caution, no hold on gate, no hold cloak on the other side. Simply jump, align, warp, repeat, gate to gate. You hesitate, you die. You get left behind, you die. Safe at last in their home system the Dps squad leader exclaimed breathlessly, “By Bob FC, that was incredible!” “No pilot, not incredible,” said the FC calmly, “simply a perfect example of how to perform the Fukov!”.


“Maybe, just maybe….” Thought the FC. The fleet had gone well, another victory and an important win tonight. Our allies had called for help at short notice and as they had done so much to help us, it was time to return the favour. He had been detained at some ridiculous cultural event, but on arrival at the hangar the fleet was already set up and ready for him to call the undock command within minutes. In total 28 enemy ships destroyed and only 15 of ours lost. Of course our Feroxes and Loggi took the most damage, but he was proud of them. Like the shield wall of the old ancient days, they had stood firm while our allies' heavy artillery had decimated the enemy fleet from range. He took a final swig of the oddly named but very refreshing beer, another throwback from the old days, and thought, “Good discipline, good numbers, strong allies, tactics and comps working… maybe, just maybe we are building something here.”


The miner rubbed his hands in glee. “Computer .. how much is that now?”. “ Err Calculating….. 50,000 cubic m of Arkonor, multiplied by…”. “Computer, don’t give me the details, I want cash Iskkies , how much?”. He was feeling confident, just 6 days in this new area of deep space and he was making a fortune. Dangerous, ha! This was the safest space he had ever known. “Errr Boss?” Computer cut in, “there’s a Dictor on scan.” “Ignore him he’s friendly, .. what the f is that?” “Err it’s a bubble boss”. Not fair he thought, I am one of them, they can’t do this me. “ Err 12 Feroxes plus Loggi on the starboard bow just landed at 10km”. “ Tell them to piss off”. “ Errr sorry boss they say we should be in fleet , helping them to protect this space to keep it safe to mine, rat and make Isk.” “Tell them to piss off again”. Boom!!!!. “Err boss, the answer is 160,000,000 Isk, but we just lost it all.” “Ohh piss off computer”, said the Miner floating in his pod, “but remind me, next time we honour the CTA”.


“Reps on Ytte, come on quickly now, he’s going down! ……Good job…. aaaaaand stop.” The rookie loggi pilot slumped in his pod, his brain fizzing, hands shaking from the experience. The Loggi Commander and Deputy FC had just run a live fire loggi training session for a group of eager pilots. “I hope that gives you an idea of what it takes to fly Loggi”, said the LC. The Rookie had a new found respect for those crazy Loggi bros, although he suspected the DFC possessed a mean streak by bringing both ECM and ECM drones to test them in the training event. +1,-1,+1,-1 every 30 seconds! He was also slightly ashamed because at one point he thought he might have been repping the Paladin that was shooting him! “Ok thank you all for coming, and remember to X up for Loggi! The rookie smiled, “Hell yeah” he thought.


“We Fukkin did it!” The FC whispered on comms, as he stared at the huge citadel sitting there in space with the alliance logo proudly displayed. The loggi wing showed their support with a celebratory shield boost to all fleet members. One of the DPS pilots patted his meaty railgun rifle, “how many ships have you destroyed, along the way?” The Loggi commander cut in to snap them out of their respective thoughts. “Yup, we’ve all done well, but if I catch one of you fukkers mining or ratting during a CTA, I’m gonna shoot you myself!”


“Help!”. One word in fleet chat that froze the goo in every pod in the fleet. The fleet was split into two wings in different systems, it could not have come at a worse time, our trusted DST pilot was caught on gate! Five times that night the sturdy transport ship had navigated a dangerous 8 jump trip back and forth to fetch precious cargo to support the push for sovereignty. Alone, except for his scout, he was far from the safety of the fleet. His scout decloaked to force the enemy Claw off. He saw his chance and muttered the special words all experienced pilots know by heart. Align, cloak, MWD on, MWD off, uncloak, spam jump and pray to Bob. “Check check, status on the DST?” The harshness in the FC’s voice belied the horror he felt at losing the precious cargo as he knew his fleet burn to rescue could not arrive in time. “I made it out!” The DST pilot told the scout, “you can give the FC the good news”. The scout smiled into her face mask, “Nah, let’s wait a couple of minutes, let the old bastard sweat a bit!”


The air in hangar C in 3D was stale, stale with the smell of sweat and dried pod goo. “I guess it’s time we moved on out of here “ said one of the DPS pilots, the fleet was getting jumpy, anxious to move on. “ Nah, still a lot to sort out, wait for leadership to give us the word”. The patrol that evening had been quiet, not a shot fired but even so it was what the vets called a “bum clencher”. Some kind of top secret mission, jump here, burn there, watch out for the enemy. Silence on comms as the rookie of the fleet in the smallest ship was ordered to go solo on a special task. Nerves jangled, stretched to breaking point as the minutes ticked by. “All clear” came the report on comms and the objective was met. Back in the hangar the FC threw a can of Quafe to the Rookie “Good job buddy, you can come again.”


“OK listen up people”, said the deputy fleet commander, as she jumped on top of a crate of Quafe in Hanger C. A collective groan from the pilots gathered there. “Come on bitches, debrief is important”. Although an experienced FC this was her biggest fleet yet. “Good fleet tonight, all objectives met, 72 billion ISK from that Faction Fortizar, but it is not about the Killboard is it? We also took down a couple of Athanors and two more Fortizars that were stinking up our new space. The clear up continues, and soon we can start to move in properly. Now get back to your bunks and count corpses or grow your mushrooms or whatever the fuck you get up to in your own time!” She said with a smile. As she turned to leave the hangar, one of the recent recruits stood up and said in a trembling voice still shaken by the night's events, “th th thanks for fleet FC.”


“I love you, you beautiful bastards, every one ”, said the Fleet Commander, his voice cracking with emotion and exhaustion. He looked out at the ragtag group of pilots gathered around him, each one almost broken by the gruelling 3 month campaign. “We did it, you did it, 6 systems captured for the folks back home.” He flicked the butt of his cheroot onto the floor, where the logi commander instantly crushed it under a well aimed combat boot. “Sorry boss, she said wryly, force of habit.” “Noice” said the FC, “ and don’t call me boss, but don’t forget we need to defend what we won, we need the miners and ratters to get in here and push up the ADMs otherwise it’s all for shit.” One of the scouts at the back said in a voice dripping with disdain, “ yeah but FC, will they come?”. The FC lit up another cheroot, took a long drag, exhaled slowly and said , “They fukking better”