The Road to Rhineland

by Collin Tierney ([email protected])



Part 1:

End to Omega-5’s Attrition



DISCLAIMER: This story is fan fiction. I do not own the copy-right to anything except the text itself, and the characters that I create in it. I have no intentions of profit whatsoever over this novella.



“Who hold sway over the Five Points? Us natives, born right-wise? Or the foreign hordes defiling it?”



—William Cutting, Gangs of New York



Chapter 1



“That is correct. I am pleased to announce that everything has gone as planned.” Elder Toruella Rivera re-situated himself in the chair and eyed the reporter as she scrambled through some notes for her next question. It took her a moment to come up with it, but it was a good question.

“Senõr Rivera, does this mean that all dates and operations can be set for the… upcoming events in Rhineland space?”

“It certainly does. The Hogosha will back us completely for direct access to our Artifacts, and we only have minor preparations to fulfill before the actual operation can be undertaken. Already, we are enlarging our conscripted forces at Leon; soon, we shall start to redeploy forces from Cadiz to Crete.”

“Alright,” the reporter said, mumbling a note into her recorder. “If you don’t find it too confidential, Senõr Rivera, what strategy can we expect to see in Omega-5 in the next couple of months if we don’t have such a strong army stationed there?” She paused. “I’m sorry. Let me re-word that. Exactly how will we maintain Cadiz if the Hessians will outnumber us even more than they do now?”

“Well, allow me to explain,” Elder Rivera said. “To prevent getting too technical, we still are keeping a considerable force at Cadiz. The best pilots in the region will be defending it—an entire squadron, mind you—and a company of marines will remain deployed in the base itself. However, we are still pulling most of our people back to Omicron Gamma, and so to reduce casualties in Omega-5, we have decided to end our futile assaults on Ronneburg and play defensive tactics with the Hessians. It appears that such a strategy will come out just fine.”

“Okay. Just one more question, sir. This one pertains to the Zoners. Uh, sir, can we expect to uphold stable relations with the Zoners in the coming time? Rumor is that most pilots are becoming… uptight with the unchallenged presence of bounty hunters in Omega 41 and Omicron Theta. What are your two cents on the subject?”

“Well, the bounty hunters have, for lack of a better expression, upset us,” Elder Rivera said with a gleaming smile. “We won’t be able to tolerate it much longer, and the Zoners had better know this before the time comes that we must take our Hessian dilemma to the next level, and start transporting troops through the Omicron and Sigma systems. We still intend to maintain, as you put it, stable relations with them, yes.”

“Alright. Mucho gracias, Senõr Rivera. I hope to talk to you some other time in the future.”

“My pleasure,” the Elder replied with a smile. They both stood and shook hands, right as the armored transport landed on Planet Crete.



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“Affirmative, Corsairs Lambda-6. You are cleared to land. Proceed to Dock One. Enjoy your stay at Freeport-9.”

Alfonso López, piloting one of three Corsair Centurions on the often-traveled alien artifact smuggling route through Omicron Theta, was first in line to dock. He hovered his craft up to the face of Dock One and waited. His wingmen cautiously moved to defensive positions around two of Freeport-9’s four glass domes.

“Freeport-9,” López complained, “the gate isn’t opening. We are short on time. Requesting another dock.”

“Request denied,” the voice over the intercom replied. “We are reporting malfunctions in the ship about to exit, but everything should be fine in a moment.”

“Oh? What appears to be the malfunction?”

The intercom didn’t give an answer. “There you are, Corsairs Lambda-6. If the gate doesn’t open, request permission for Dock Two. We understand your situation.”

The titanium air-lock slowly slid open, and the occupant was revealed.

His name was Andrew Kline, a Bretonian bounty hunter. López didn’t know that, but, of course, he assumed the organization with which the pilot was obviously involved in because of the Texas-designed Hammerhead fighter. And so, without thinking, he opened up with his Salamanca guns.

The neutron-based particle weapons mercilessly smashed through Kline’s malfunctioning shield and into the cockpit. Two fifths of a second after López squeezed the trigger on his stick, Andrew Kline suffered what could be argued to be a completely painless death. The Corsair captain didn’t know this either, however, so he continued to fire, punching massive holes through Dock One and shredding the very heavy fighter.

The automated turrets on Freeport-9 immediately identified López and his wing as hostile and opened fire. López himself was killed by a Lancer missile fired from Kline’s disorganized wing. His precious alien artifacts were scattered across the wreckage of Dock One.

“All Zoner patrols,” the intercom screamed, “We are under attack by an unknown number of ships. Request support immediately! The Corsairs are attacking us!”

A squadron of four Eagles zeroed in from five kilometers westward, next to the sun, and launched a total of eight missiles, four of them for each remaining Centurion. Unfortunately, a solar wave happened to flutter by in front of them, and all of the missiles burned up in the sun’s lethal range of heat. To keep alive, the squadron forced a hard right and turned south, away from the giant ball of burning gas. A group of Falcons, circling the Freeport, spread out and released several mines. One of them homed in on Centurion next to Dome Two. The Corsair skillfully barreled out of the mine’s way and fired back, blowing the wing off of the far left Falcon.

A confused bounty hunter joined in on the side of the Corsairs, and assisted in the destruction of Dome Two after the ripper mine blasted itself half-way through the glass. Two others, also thinking that Kline’s death was on the part of Freeport-9, fired at the control tower. One of them suddenly exploded after its fuel compartment was torn apart by Corsair fire.

By the time Corsair reinforcements from the southern jump hole to Omicron Gamma arrived, it was a scene of pandemonium. The entire space station was in ruin. Laser fire sporadically zipped off into the abyss. Ships spiraled off target, on fire and in the process of decompression. Corsairs killed bounty hunters; bounty hunters killed Zoners; Zoners killed Corsairs; bounty hunters killed Corsairs; Corsairs killed Zoners; and eventually, the Zoners took the hint and started killing bounty hunters. Screams echoed off from the universal com-link. Enraged pilots often killed someone of the opposing faction, only to be knocked out of space by a puzzled and frightened “neutral” faction.



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It took the Corsairs half an hour to arrange heavy bombers from Planet Crete. By that time, not much of the Freeport was left to destroy—not that it held the Corsairs back or anything. The eight pirated Bretonian cruisers came out of hyper-speed thirteen kilometers north of Omicron Theta’s southern radiation field, an equal distance away from the battle, and launched their Sunslayer torpedoes. The explosive warheads chose targets that would do the most damage. Five of them each selected the two remaining domes on Freeport-9. Another ten decided to chop off the control tower and essentially split the station into two. The last twenty went for various remaining fuel and storage compartments and the very middle of the station.

Freeport-9’s control tower spotted the warheads and their streaks of white coming at them from the south. All available automated turrets that weren’t destroyed or offline were made to target the missiles. The Zoner fighters careened off from the fray and went down at the torpedoes.

“All Zoners, we have incoming on our medium-range sensors. We estimate close to 50 heavy torpedoes. Deal with them, out.”

The four Eagles from the west jumped into cruise mode and flew right up to the group of explosives, only to be attacked and dive-bombed by an escorting squadron of Corsair Legionnaires from two kilometers above the torpedoes. The Eagles split up and flew daring circles around the group of torpedoes. If the Corsairs valued their bombs, they wouldn’t risk hitting anything.

“Zoners Patrol Beta-2, your tactics are ineffective. Engage the torpedoes!” Freeport-9 scolded.

The Eagles stopped going around the bombs and headed to the aft of the formation. From there, a Corsair managed to tear the starboard-wing off of one of them. The Zoner captain’s ship spun around like a tornado and eventually collided with a Sunslayer. The resulting explosion knocked three more bombs off target, but also destroyed the shields of two more men in his unit. Their radar was also damaged, and without much protection, the two ships were picked off from afar by a Titan, armed with Outcast-designed tachyon weapons. Only one Eagle remained, and although Legionnaires were light and badly equipped, there were simply too many of them for her to kill in addition to the torpedoes. The Zoner decided to sacrifice herself for Freeport-9 and began to gun down all the bombs in sight. She sliced open nine of them before the Legionnaires swarmed in on her. By the time she died, there were still 27 torpedoes left.

“Zoners Patrol Beta-2, do you copy? Zoners Pat—” The Freeport’s radio went offline as four large missiles rammed into the neck of the control tower and instantly cut off all life support for some 20 decks.

For good measure, the cruisers loosed another wave of 40 Sunslayers. Any piece of junk from the station larger than a dinner table was targeted the second time around. For all practical purposes, Freeport-9 no longer existed, but why not make sure?

In a matter of minutes, all relations between the Zoners and the Corsairs went from questionable to non-existent.


IIIIIIIIIIIIIII END OF CHAPTER 1... yay. I'll have the 2nd one up later. IIIIIIIIIIIIIII

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Edited by - Der_Rot_Baron on 11/29/2004 1:50:09 PM

Other than some minor editing and pacing quibbles... looks pretty darn good An enjoyable first chapter, and hopefully the start of something very nice

Looks like its going to be a good story.

Yeah. Seems to be pretty action-packed all right. Please, more chapters!

Very nice. The quality of fan fiction here is certainly increasing.

Piece of friendly advice: don't put your sig in every post. Next time you make a post uncheck the "Check here to include your profile signature." box. While I was reading Chapter 1 I found that the sigs in every post tended to interrupt the flow of the story. If you intend on posting the same way in future you should give serious thought to losing the sig.

Edit: I before E!

Edited by - Codename on 11/30/2004 7:37:06 AM

Thanks for the tips, everyone. I'll have the second chapter up later than expected (go figure)... Perhaps by tomorrow.


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Chapter 2

“What an unbelievable outrage!” Chancellor Matz cried, slamming his stubby, mole-encrusted fist down on the conference table. “It’s preposterous! What nerve… what nerve! Who committed such a… that diabolically insidious crime anyway?”
Ronald Sieback, Rhineland’s Director of Border-world Intelligence gave off a simple shrug in reply. “I don’t know, Herr Chancellor.”
The chancellor’s nostrils flared for a moment as he tried to calm down. “You realize, Ronald, that the first thing Bretonia and Kusari will do is lock off all passage with Rhineland vessels? They’ll boycott the entire house. They will think something along the lines of: “This is another crime of Rhineland! Mobilize our troops! A thousand years ago, we learned the hard way that German war machines sometimes go on twice in a row! Take the war to them! Destroy their shipyards, invade their homes!”
Sieback held up his hand and refrained from finishing the statement with a quick, sassy ‘and rape their women!’ “Herr Chancellor, I think that’s slightly exaggerated.”
The Rhineland president shot his fierce gaze across the table and crouched down on the furniture like a predacious cat. “Do you think so, Ronald? I don’t. If Bretonia even remembers exactly who, or what, the Nomads are, they will jump to even worse of a conclusion, and accuse us of falling victim to yet another infestation!”
The Director of Border-world Intelligence tossed both arms up in the air. “I came into this room, knowing I would have to be more-than reasonable to get through with you. The fact of the matter is that it was… You really don’t want to know, and I can’t say I’d blame you for firing me… Sir, it was Corsairs.”
Chancellor Matz, in all honesty, had not expected that. He was a short man, almost as bald as Chancellor Nieman, but with a wrinkled, aged scalp. Sieback could have sworn that he’d just seen the ill-tempered leader’s brain explode. The ripples through the chancellor’s blue veins atop his head suggested that.
The Corsairs… what filthy legend! Sure, they might exist, but what reason would they have to destroy a Freeport? The next question was black and white. Did they even have the capability to do that?
“What proof do you have of this?” the chancellor asked.
“Have you heard of the infamous Bretonian bounty hunter, Andrew Nicols Kline, sir?”
The chancellor’s face didn’t change whatsoever. “Nein. Ich kenne ihn nicht.”
“Ah, well, as I just said, he is very famous…” Sieback drawled off and picked the point back up. “On a side note from that, sir, he was presumably the first one killed in the battle of Freeport-9. You do acknowledge that the Corsairs at least EXIST, Herr Chancellor, and as criminals, they often fall victim to bounty hunters like Herr Kline. See, what happened, through the eyes of one of his wingmen, is that they were ambushed by a squadron of Corsair fighters as they left the Freeport. Bruce Colmes was the only person in his unit to escape alive, and he brought this single piece of evidence with him to Sigma-19.
The Director of BWI produced an electronic recorder. “On this device is the copied radio transmission from the time of the alleged Corsair attack, Herr Chancellor.” He pressed play, and allowed the evidence to speak for itself.
“All Zoner patrols, we are under attack by an unknown number of ships. Request support immediately! The Corsairs are attacking us!”
“All Zoners, we have incoming on our medium-range sensors. We estimate close to 50 heavy torpedoes. Deal with them, out.”
“Zoners Patrol Beta-2, do you copy? Zoners Pat—”
“The last transmission came from Freeport-9 as it was destroyed,” Sieback grimly explained. “The dialogue suggests, quite clearly, that the Zoners were indeed attacked by the Corsairs. I can think of no other way to explain the first accusation.”
“Perhaps it was an accident,” the chancellor protested. “What if Freeport-9 was mistaken?”
Sieback grinned. “We won’t ever know the answer to that one, I’m afraid, but with all due respect, Herr Chancellor, it’s time you came to terms with the facts and more readily prepared your nation for this growing threat.”
“Backup. You said ‘threat,’ Ronald. What threat?”
“Sir, I may not be part of your administration, I admit, but it is a proven fact that the Corsairs exist as a powerful pirating corporation at the least, and that they can do a severe amount of damage when required to. Take the situation in Bretonia, for example. You want a way out of this problem, blame it on the Corsairs! The Bretonian government—and its people!—will eagerly eat this information up as soon as it comes out of your mouth! They will worship such a statement. What’s more is that this will gain the direct support of the Zoners. The loss of a Freeport, especially in a place as tactically advantageous as Omicron Theta, will inflame the Zoners. Why not pit the entire system of Sirius against these, as you would surely have put them, pathetic nuisances, and have them wiped out?”
The chancellor interrupted. “You’re starting to sound like a madman, Sieback.”
“Ah, but tell me the solution to our dilemma isn’t reasonable, Herr Chancellor!”
“You went from our house’s defense to a plan of genocidal conquest.” Chancellor Matz wiped his forehead of the gaining sweat. “I do suppose it is a statement that couldn’t hurt us, however. If the Corsairs don’t like it, all the better. It will draw them out, won’t it?”
“Exactly, sir.”
“But Sieback,” the chancellor said, persisting with his former thought, “what if Bretonia doesn’t buy it? What if they put logic to logic and realize that we are—and, in reality, we are!—just utilizing their current problem with the Corsairs as a way out?”
“Herr Chancellor,” Sieback said, leaning forward on the table, “this is an opportunity to considerably raise Rhineland’s popularity within one year of your inauguration. Think about that. We destroy what’s rumored to be the most powerful, sophisticated criminal organization in Sirius, and the world will be at your knees.”
The chancellor skeptically shook his 70-year-old head. “I still am not convinced, entirely. I mean, I am convinced, but… Ach, how to explain it… I shall take this up with my administration, you know.”
“Of course, Herr Chancellor, and when you do, know that I will be there, in the shadows, ready to support you.”


(Yes, this is a rather short chapter. Since this will all be posted on a forum, at least, until TLR hopefully takes notice of it officially, it makes sense to cut the chapters off scene by scene, instead of by, what I would like to do, value to the plot.)

Edited by - Der_Rot_Baron on 12/1/2004 7:20:34 PM

(AN: I find some aspects of the game unrealistic, and I have taken the liberty to make changes. For instance, there’s no way nano-bots, even if you do have several “thousand,” could ever repair a wing on your ship… that was just blown /off/. It’s physically impossible, due to Newton’s law that states it impossible to create matter. Another thing that just bugs me, like it or leave it, is the pattern of ships. By this, I mean the pattern of ship strength. I realize that Freelancer was designed so that you could work your way up from a piece-of-crap ship, but let’s be reasonable… The Red Hessians would not have their /strongest/ forces at Vogtland Base, their /home/. They would instead be out in the midst of Omega-5, doing some actual work. This goes for the Corsairs as well. It’s understandable if they have quite a few Titans patrolling the radiation field to the north-east in Omicron Gamma, but truly, their best pilots would be stationed at Cadiz base, attempting with every waking minute to hold off their outnumbered position in Omega-5. The last change I’d like the reader to take note of is the fact that an “energy level” on a ship, in the game, just doesn’t make sense. Take the Lavablade gun, for example. It fires plasma—or, in other words: MATTER. You /cannot/ have an unlimited supply of matter! Had the game /not/ started off with unlimited ammunition, a mere “energy level” would have seemed more god-like and awesome than an unlimited supply of missiles, torpedoes or mines.

Well… those are just three changes you can expect to see. On a minor note, I’ve only been on this website for about… half a week. (Today’s date is December 2nd, mine you, so do the math if you’re somewhere in August 2006 and this story is somehow still visible.) I’m not new to writing, or necessarily the /style/ of the fanfic I’m writing, as I’m quite obsessed with reading and writing about the First World War, but fan fiction itself is really new to me. This still makes the area I’m now writing in a new field to me. Suggestions? Sure thing. You tell me to rip out a couple pages because they’re simply just too melodramatic, and I’ll get right on it.)


Edited by - Der_Rot_Baron on 12/2/2004 4:13:28 AM

Knowledge of science limits reasonable suspension of disbelief.

I wouldn't think too hard on Freelancer physics if I were you. There's illogicalities all over the place--take the trade lane, for example. Selecting the "Dock" maneuver propels you through space at a rate of almost 1.5 k/sec., but if you just fly through the trade lane nothing happens to you at all. Or how about Neutron and Proton cannons? How do you fire neutrons and protons and kill off enemy ships?

None of it makes much sense...

Good chapter, btw.

Edit: Nanobots I don't think can resurrect lost bits of wings. If you're flying a drake or dragon and one of those stupid fin things gets blown off it won't come back, no matter how many nanobots you use. Same thing for Hawks, Eagles, and Falcons.

At least, nanobots never did that for me. Maybe they just hate me .

Edited by - [ACWilde on 12/2/2004 6:40:16 PM

Technically nanobot just "squirt" existing matter inside a tank and weld it to replace components. including wings.
Don't be too hard on that.
and Lavablade fires matter matter can be nything, even trace gases in space or whatever is in your cargo hold.
It is logically impossible, but no by much.

"I like liberty rogues, they make a funny little popping sound when they die"
10 points to whoever guess what I messed with for that