Project Iowa, Ep. 9: Knockout Punch

This continues a story begun in Project Iowa, Ep. 1 and Moab Daily News: Rex-Avis to Sector Six. The episode immediately previous was Ep. 8: The Dragon's Lair.

No sooner had Guimar disembarked from the shuttle than he realized that the situation was somewhat out of hand. Again. Instead of a clean rendezvous with the 103rd Crimson Dragons at the . . . what kind of temple was that? Surely it was no temple. Looked more like a brothel! Rim cults indeed! . . .

 . . . instead of a nice clean meeting with brother Marines he was greeted with a gathering of pointy eared space faeries and those void blasted Rex-Avis clowns! Fortunately it looked like de Bayamon had brought a full squad and adequate support, so this might still be salvageable. The space faeries were good, but . . . not that good. There couldn't be more than a squad of them, at most. Even counting the little pop-gun they'd unpacked on the hilltop. And the Rex-Avis conspirators or . . . were those the Colores people? Who could tell anymore? In any case, they had one too. The cursed natives were dug in with field pieces everywhere you looked!

. . . . .

"Bring their artillery under fire!" Guimar barked. "We'll move out with the hostage. Cover us as best you can and maybe the they'll hold their fire long enough for us to get the warp imploder to the Crimson Dragons rather than kill one of their own!"

Captain Geoffrey and his meager squad brought the artillery under fire, but under strength as they were it was almost completely ineffective. Still, the enemy artillery didn't return fire, so maybe they could at least suppress the worst of the enemy forces for a while.

Barely had the shooting begun than some kind of aerial vehicle streaked to the heavens from behind the enemy lines on a tremendous pillar of smoke and fire.

"Well, that beats all." Geoffrey thought. "It'll be air strikes next. Please, by Holy Terra, let de Bayamon have triple A. Or something to turn that back."

The artillery remained silent, but the elves shot their bolts at the distant enemy. The invisible stars whizzed and zipped past Geoffrey's men, raising dust where they struck.

Guimar moved out unmolested with his treasured machinery and the involuntary guest he hoped would shield him. Unfortunately, he made little speed across the sands, encumbered as he was. His guardians sank into the shifting surface in their heavy armor and the hostage never moved quite as he felt she should.

In the meanwhile, Geoffrey's men continued to raise dust around the enemy artillery, aided now by fire from the Crimson Dragons.

But the Colores forces finally managed a reply. An angry cloud of gas and dust boiled up behind Guimar, where he had been stumbling through the sand bare moments earlier.

His luck wouldn't hold. Geoffrey's troops couldn't maintain the volume of fired they'd used to distract the artillery as more and more shots zinged around them. The Colores cannon woofed again. A second shell dropped bare inches behind Guimar. The sand smelled almost sweet, blowing past his cheeks, but it carried an odd bitter taste that Guimar barely registered before he passed out, frozen standing in place by his own armor. 

Meanwhile Arthur Zanzibar Rex-Avis dispensed the same agent from the rockets of an Elven Shrike fighter they'd so kindly loaned him for the occasion. Thus Geoffrey and his men found themselves in the same predicament, though some remained conscious thanks to their helmets. And several fell forward, unable to keep their balance as their suits shorted out.

With the formalities completed and the quarry stunned Captain de Bayamon and the soldiers of the 103rd ceased firing. The elves and Colores agents did likewise. And they all marched forward and surrounded the stunned imperials. Few but the oldest had witnessed their brother Marines in such an open act of rebellion, and none of those still conscious. There was little they could do, incapacitated as they were by their own equipment. They acquiesced without further violence.

. . . . .

As the day wore to a close the Rex-Avis clan gathered at the sapceport one final time to see the ambassadors from Colores off.

"You're sure you're comfortable taking the Inquisitor and his . . . psychic sidekick back to Colores?" asked Colorado.

"Absolutely. After suitable readjustment we can probably let him go on his own. I'm thinking we'll let him escape with a phony warp imploder, a false impression of what it's really for, and perhaps the idea that it doesn't work; that it's a dark ages dead end." Sophie glanced at the shuttle as the spaceport crew loaded the genuine imploder aboard. "We'll let him come to in a similar desert, give him the impression that the battle moved beyond him and a hand picked crew of special agents to shuttle him and his 'data' back to holy mother Terra from 'Moab.' There are deserts in the kingdom too. And many look so much alike. No reason to really inform him of how much time has passed or precisely where he is. And once he's in space aboard a jump ship he'll believe he's anywhere we tell him he is. Apart from navigators who really knows anyway?"

"That might almost work. We'll still have to figure something out with the 32 Marines squad," Colorado replied. "But we can question them about what they actually saw and what Guimar told them first. Knowing the Inquisition it probably wasn't much. They classify everything almost as if by instinct. They've never understood how the free flow of information can lead to innovation and discovery and how that could possibly help them. Our fortune that, I suppose."

"Sure. And maybe you can keep it to a low grade diplomatic incident and hand them off in some kind of exchange," Sophie said. "As long as they really didn't see anything. Or Guimar didn't talk in his sleep. But you know your business, I suppose."

"Oh look, there's Zanziboy!" squealed Onyxia, always more pleased to see her older brother than she ever wanted him to know. His Shrike coasted to a stop just by the control tower. He stepped out gingerly, sat down in his tank chair, and rolled quickly to join the happy circle by the Trans-Rim shuttle.

"Well, that all went alarmingly well," he said.

"Indeed," Sir Stanley intoned.

"I guess this is it," Kitty said. "The shuttle should be about ready, and everything loaded aboard. Safe journeys."

"Thank you," responded Applebeck. "We will miss you terribly, but it will be good to be home."

With that the squad of Colores soldiers, the diplomats, agent Sophie boarded the shuttle. It taxied out to the launch cat, the ground crew made the necessary connections, the mag-block shot it forward along the long, sloping track, the shuttle lit its engines, cleared the end of the track, and soared heavenward. In seconds it was gone from view, barely even leaving a vapor trail in the dry air. And with it, the final chapter in the Project Iowa saga reached its conclusion.

. . . . .

Appendix: For the interested I will say that I ran the rather one sided final battle as a solo game using my old favorite Stargrunt II rules. These are the skirmish rules from the same folks that brought us Full Thrust. 

Lately I've been playing fluffier games. Stargrunt II . . . is not that. It's more of a classic combat simulation, albeit a quick one. Individual models have few, if any stats of their own. Almost everything is determined at the squad (or fireteam) level. But even the roughly four by four space I used for the game didn't feel too crowded with a few dozen models spread out between eight (mostly understrength) squads. I played through four turns and I'd guess it took less than ten minutes a turn. (I spent far far far more time composing pictures and putting little cotton puffs around the table than actually rolling dice.) It's a fast game, but it never feels simplistic. If what you want is on the larger and grittier side of skirmish SGII is really the way to go. It's not a place for heroics or Hollywood style, but hopefully good storytelling can help. One of these days I'd like to find someone who loves it as much as I, since I think it'd make for a fantastic campaign. But a word of warning: there is no native points system and in the interest of speed the game uses counters. I kept track of things quite adequately by simply placing the counters on data cards instead of on the table. And if points are what you want, there are systems out there.

Once again, this game proved that small arms really are remarkably ineffective alone and at range in the game, no matter how skilled the troops. (And possibly also in combat. I can't speak to that, but SGII is quite well reviewed by those who would know.) So it's not too surprising that no one at all inflicted any casualties before the final artillery and airstrikes sealed the deal. In a more conventional fight Guimar and his guards would probably have gotten pinned down crossing the open terrain. (They'd attempted to run but made an absolutely bollocks roll. Twice, managing to cross a total of ten inches in two turns, which is less than they would have covered using conventional movement. On the other hand . . . tanks on soft sand with a hostage and heavy equipment in tow. Actually makes sense.) Once pinned, there they would have died, armor or no. So it's rather a mercy that the hammer Sophie, Colorado, and company brought down on them was of the soft rubber sort. Crossing open terrain is quite literally hell in SGII. Movement is closely linked to morale and command. Experienced troops tend to retain morale better. Experienced commanders can reorganize their troops and move in more difficult situations, but there's always a limit. Troops take hits a lot more in the open. Getting hit really does a number on morale. When you lose morale you cannot move towards the stuff that's causing you to lose morale until you regain morale. And so you get shot more because you're still in the open. And it's more or less impossible to regain morale when you're still getting shot. Which . . . means you get pinned down if you're lucky enough not to just break and run. Open terrain. Don't do it without a lot of help from a friend to keep Jimbo with the spam cannon from shooting too much. Better yet, just don't do it. It's not your friend.

Had the Crimson Dragons remained loyal it's quite possible they could have saved Guimar's bacon in spite of the artillery, and maybe even in spite of the airstrike. There would have been enough command and communications on the imperial side of the equation to call in some off-board help. (And the Crimson Dragons presumably even had some.) Maybe they could have kept the Colores and Eldar heads down. (Even behind cover where you're not getting hit, if you're taking too much fire you really can't move. Or shoot. Or radio company artillery for a little relief.) So . . . it's possible there was a way to get Guimar out of town. Though it's also probable that without the Dragons on board the allies would have concentrated firepower on the final objective. So he still might not have gotten home to Mama Terra. Let me say it again: Open terrain is not your friend. Fences are a right pain when your rear is hanging out to the enemy.

Anyway, it was an enjoyable game. But then . . . I really wasn't looking for Guimar to make a successful exit. Honestly, why did the kids on Terra send one schmo to do the work of an army? It doesn't work well when the other side knows you're there . . . and has an army. (Or a Marine Corps. Or a guard force, or most likely a Sheriff's department or metro police force. Might have worked against my Boy Scout troop before half the Gozer boys went through Ranger training. [The US Army sort, that is.] But that's about it.)

So the outcome was . . . predictable. But thank you for reading along just the same. Hopefully the telling made it worth the while.

Sincerely,

The Composer

Project Iowa, Ep. 8: The Dragon's Lair

This continues a story begun in Project Iowa, Ep. 1 and Moab Daily News: Rex-Avis to Sector Six. The episode immediately previous was Ep. 7: Whistle Stop.

Once in orbit over Moab Colorado beamed off a quick coded message. "Well, with luck that will do," she muttered to herself. Once she'd made planetfall she found Captain de Bayamon awaiting her at the spaceport.

"Ah, Captain! How kind of you to stop in."

"Think nothing of it, Madame Rex-Avis. You've always been a great friend to the corps. What can I do for you?" the tall man replied.

"Would you be willing to join me long enough for a cup of coffee and a quick bite? It's a somewhat complicated matter and it will require explanation."

"Of course. There's a staff car waiting for us in front of the terminal. Follow me."

A brief ride found the two at a small Rex-Avis shipping office not far from the port. Once seated and adequately supplied Colorado unfolded her story to the captain.

"It's an agent of the Inquisition," Colorado began delicately. "He's followed us from the trade mission to the Kingdom of Colores, and it was he that attacked us."

"Oh?" de Bayamon replied, looking a bit surprised. "That does sound tricky."

"Indeed, but I don't wish to start a war."

The captain looked both surprised and relieved as he nodded for Colorado to continue.

"In fact, I'd like to secure his passage back to Terran space myself . . . once we've had a little while to clear up a point or two."

"In that case I think I can help you," de Bayamon interjected. "I've no objection to feeding my blood to the sands if necessary. Or my men. But it's not something I'd wish to do lightly. Where does Commodus stand on this?"

Rex-Avis produced a document from a pocket inside her flight jacket. Captain de Bayamon examined it briefly, little expression touching his sunburned features. He returned it and replied "Well, that settles it then. So long as the Proconsul approves I'm bound to assist. I am at your command, madame."

. . . . .

Meanwhile on Blanding Agent Sophie of the Kingdom of Colores and Rex-Avis chief advisor Sir Stanley watched as Inquisitor Guimar and his growing retinue debarked the train at a tiny frontier airstrip.

"Oh, perfect. They've taken the crew hostage," grumbled the grizzled chief advisor. "Well, that precludes simply finishing this in deep space. I hope Colorado has this worked out adequately."

Professor Applebeck glanced over at Sir Stanley and said "I may have an idea of my own. Are you familiar with the thermoplas material that comprises the outermost layer of most imperial hard armor?"

"Of course," replied Sir Stanley.

"Well, I've long wondered if it might be a sort of Achilles heel. Plastics can, of course, retain a significant static charge. And the powered suits use a sort of electro-chemical contractile fiber for their musculature. I've been working on a latex like fine particulate that, if ejected at high velocity, can induce a static charge in the armor itself. It's an entirely surface effect, thus it's no threat to a person even in direct contact with the armor, but the contractile fibers are generally embedded within the armor's skin. As soon as it's discharged all of the fibers contract immediately and tend to remain that way until the suit's built in power supply can be reset. The wearer should be completely immobilized, at least until they figure out what's going on, and often they will require outside assistance to cope with the problem. A degaussing coil would mitigate some of the effect, but none of the imperial suits I've examined have had such a unit."

"What if you combine that with the vapothane used in anti-riot knockout bombs? Could you do that?"

At this Applebeck scratched his chin. "I believe you could, yes. But we don't have much time. It will be crude and we'll need something at least as large as a standard 70mm artillery shell or rocket. I'm sure it could be miniaturized, but I haven't the time."

"Very good. In that case we should depart now so we can get there ahead of our quarry."

. . . . .

Inquisitor Guimar felt pleased with the situation as it unfolded. The MB-1210 wasn't the newest shuttle, but it was fast enough. And it seated nearly two dozen passengers, thus it had space for himself, his guard, the full squad, and all the hostages he hoped would keep Rex-Avis off his back long enough to rendevous with the Crimson Dragons on Moab. An automated jump repeater had just made contact bringing a reply from the local Captain. It had included rendezvous coordinates at a disused airstrip east of Logansport near a remote cult temple of some kind. Probably some bug infested den of proscribed heresies of some stripe or other. The sorts of unbathed individualism that passed for free thought out here in the back of beyond horrified Guimar. The place needed a proper crusade to clean everything up

"When can we begin loading everyone aboard for liftoff?" Guimar asked the odd brown hairless woman pilot.

"Anytime you like, but the fuel truck won't arrive until 0600 mean. We weren't scheduled to depart for another day and a half," she replied.

"All right, fine. But we can at least begin loading equipment," Guimar shot back.

"Absolutely," said the pilot. "What of that is coming?" she said pointing to the small sea of supplies and equipment.

"All of it, of course."

The pilot barely even missed a beat before  responding. "Absolutely not. Banish the thought. That must be the equipment for the whole squad, and quite a lot of engineering equipment as well."

"Of course. The squad, the warp imploder, my guards, and six guests, including yourself."

"Out of the question." This time the pilot didn't even blink. Her reply was immediate, flat, and by all appearances final.

Guimar was taken quite aback at this. "You don't seem to understand the gravity of the situation, miss. You are my prisoner. You'll do as I say or . . ."

"Gravity is precisely what you don't seem to understand," the pilot interjected before Guimar could even finish. "If I do what you want we'll all be dead. The thing only has so much thrust."

"But it seats twenty four, not counting the two seats in the cockpit! I counted them meyself!" Guimar spat back.

The pilot slowed down a little. Men with large guns often had the hardest time accepting facts they could not change. "Sir, this is a civilian shuttle. The seats are installed to accommodate the maximum passenger load of standard civilians and their luggage, not large strong soldiers and their gear. With all your men and all their equipment we'd be lucky to get a hundred feet off the ground before crashing in a spectacular fireball. Make a pretty show, I suppose, but it's not a role that gets you in the sequel."

Guimar was clearly stung, but he began to slow down in the way of someone confronting the edge of the cliff they've nearly run off headlong. "All right," he said slowly. "This is your area. How many can we take?"

The pilot quizzed Guimar briefly about the masses of his men and equipment, did some hasty calculations, and replied: "Nine, including me."

"Nine?!"

Guimar looked shocked all over again at this revelation. "All right. Eight alive is better than fifteen dead. Captain Geoffrey," he said, looking at the marine. "I want you, your squad laser, and your three best boltermen. That's the five of you, myself, and my guards. There's our eight. Plus our guest the pilot. And we are, of course, taking the imploder as well, so lets get that loaded aboard then with all our equipment."

"Aye aye, Inquisitor," Captain Geoffrey replied, snapping off a salute before barking orders of his own to his men.

It was going to be a long night.

. . . . .

Agent Sophie strode out the gate to inspect the preparations. She hoped the time had been enough. Alecto was not the fastest ship, but she wasn't as slow as she appeared. Implacable anger could, she supposed, be persistent; and maybe that fury drove the ship in a way that a more usual benefactor would not have.

Seeing everything in place she thought to herself, "This just might do. It's not a lot, but it should be enough. Between Applebeck, Arthur, and Sir Stanley we seem to have a credible plan."

. . . . .

To be continued.

Thanks for reading along.

Sincerely,

The Composer

Continued in Episode 9: Knocout Punch. 

Project Iowa, Ep. 7: Whistle Stop

This continues a story begun in Project Iowa, Ep. 1 and Moab Daily News: Rex-Avis to Sector Six. The episode immediately previous was Ep. 6: Snow Drop.

. . . . .

Colorado found that she was sweating uncomfortably with the change in altitude. The weather was much warmer in the foothills than it had been in the mountains just a few short miles to the south. It wasn't as bad as Moab, to be sure, but it required a bit of adjustment. On the positive side, they had supplies, communication, air support, and a local base of operations to which they could decamp at will. The Imperials had none of these luxuries. And they would doubtless need them. Exo-suits were notoriously power hungry things. And they didn't run on grass and moss.

The tiny hamlet of Ellendale had just come into view over the ridge. It was a quite unremarkable farming community, but for the rail line that passed through between the mines in the nearby mountains and the starport to the north at Bates.

"Any sign of our quarry, Sophie?" Colorado enquired. 

"Indeed. Our targets appear to be sussing out the situation themselves, likely with an eye to the train that just rolled in," Sophie replied.

"Do you think it would be advisable to call in an air strike and simply end this now?" Colorado asked, a bit weary of the whole endeavor.

At this Professor Applebeck chimed in: "I don't think that would be wise. We shouldn't risk damage to the imploder."

"Oh?" said Sophie, a bit surprised?

"In the middle of the twentieth century, shortly after ancient earthlings discovered atomics, they were concerned about something they called the 'China Syndrome.' I gather they were uncertain what would happen if one of their power units were somehow damaged. They were worried that it would melt through the planet and China was colloquially seen as the opposite side from the author's particular perspective. This is a little like that. I'm . . . not sure what might happen if you destabilize the imploder. Probably nothing, but I'd rather not have so much warp energy released in an uncontrolled fashion on the surface of an inhabited planet. There are reports of strange things in warp space."

"Ah," Colorado mumbled. "I think I see your point. We will have to be cautious. If I depart immediately for Moab do you think that you can see to it that they find a shuttle that will get them there, but no farther? I think I may have an idea, but it will require me to speak directly to one of my contacts. It will be . . . a delicate matter."

"I think we can manage it," Sir Stanley offered. "Take the Enhance. She's quickest. We can follow behind in Alecto. Arthur can shuttle us to the starport before he drops you on Enhance. We should still have plenty of time to see that just the right ship is available for the Imperials. The right one and no others. You really want them going to Moab?"

"Yes. If you can steer them there that would be ideal," Colorado replied. "It shouldn't be difficult. They've already contacted the 32nd Marines and they'll probably think to do the same with the 103rd Crimson Dragons. They're the only legion based in the sector. Should be just the bait to lure them there. That fast scout will report them at Blanding, but once they're off the planet . . . it's a big wide sector. No one in the whole of the Empire apart from us will know precisely where they are. Would that we could have stopped that scout so that no one was looking."

"In that case they'd simply start their search in Colores when our guest didn't make it back from dinner," Sophie quipped. "Slightly more convenient for you, no doubt, but it wouldn't last. We're not ready to take them on single handedly quite yet, if they should mount an expedition in force. Even with Mary Shelly."

"True," Colorado admitted. "Quite thoughtless of me. I'm very sorry about that. But as it stands I think we should be able to apprehend him intact and . . . adjust him suitably."

. . . . .

"Inqusitor Guimar to unidentified Imperial scout ship, do you read? Imperial scout, do you read?"

Persistent static was the only reply to the the inquisitor's mounting frustration.

One of the two knight's errant approached Guimar cautiously. "Sir, there is a railhead in a small valley past the next ridge. I believe we could commandeer a train there and take it to the next substantial settlement, where we should be able to find a shuttle."

"And our opponents would know precisely where we're going. Had you considered that?" Guimar snapped.

"If we don't find transportation soon our opponents will know precisely where we are when our suits run out of power. Unless you want to carry them, that is . . . "

The knight left the last bit hanging. He didn't recall supplying being such an important issue in the adventure novels of his long ago youth that had encouraged him to take orders and join the Inquisition. Fighting demons and heretics was one thing. Slogging through the hind end of nowhere with four hundred pounds of nearly drained batteries and heavy siege armor was quite another. He was a big man, but carrying this far was simply out of the question.

At that moment a squad of Marines in battered blue armor crested the ridge and walked toward Guimar.

"Where have you been all this time, and why didn't you reply to my calls?" Guimar barked.

"We heard your call from orbit," the rather grizzled looking captain replied. "Perhaps you should check your coms unit. We have been unable to raise you since you made planetfall. And you're a difficult man to track." (The last was something of a lie, but it seemed expedient to stroke the prancing rooster's ego a bit. Captain Krysztoffori hadn't earned his wings without some political skills.) 

"Well, you're here just in time. Perhaps it will be no matter if the Rimmers follow our advance now that we have your support. Excellent!"

With that Guimar marched up the last ridge and gazed into the valley just as a train came into view. "It's a sign, brother Geoffrey. His Grace the Emperor of Mankind, may he reign ten thousand years, approves of our actions and will protect us. We ride!"

As Guimar and his soldiers marched down the slope to encircle the small group of locals by the station a shuttle streaked into orbit behind them. Krysztoffori made note of it, but if Guimar did he gave no sign.

. . . . .

As always, thank you for reading along.

Sincerely,

The Composer

Continued in Episode 8: The Dragon's Lair.

Project Iowa, Ep. 6: Snow Drop

This continues a story begun in Project Iowa, Ep. 1 and Moab Daily News: Rex-Avis to Sector Six. The episode immediately previous was Ep. 5: The Lighthouse Door.

. . . . . 

Moab Daily News Extra! Unidentified attack on RACT Enhance foiled near Blanding! Survivors of a Rogue space cruiser have landed on the planet. Rex-Avis and her party are reported safe. Security forces are working to apprehend the attackers, but they are still at large and presumed extremely dangerous. No descriptions are forthcoming, but residents are encouraged to report suspicious activity to their local constabularies.

Sir Stanley glanced from the vid to Colorado. "Best I could do on short notice. We're going to have to feed altered versions of this out through several different channels to throw off the Imperials."

"It's a bit rough," Colorado replied, "but I think it will serve. We just have to catch them before this turns into an intersector incident. I'm not quite sure yet how we go about convincing them of a more harmless story to carry back with them, but I very much hope we can find a . . . more subtle solution to this. Brute force isn't terribly diplomatic and I suspect the tall fellow would be missed by someone somewhere in that rabbit warren of a priesthood in Terran space."

Agent Sophie looked over at the situation map. "First thing's first, though. We have to catch them."

"Agreed," Colorado replied with only the faintest tone of weariness.

. . . . .

Blanding is a quiet and rather remote planet, even by the standards of the Tartarus Rim. Like a great many sparsely populated colonies, the terraforming is fairly minimal, and the world is more than a touch arid. But the climate is mild enough and the axis sufficiently eccentric that it has a broad "temperate" belt with four distinct seasons. Just then, in the middle of the southwest quadrant where they landed, it was winter, and the valleys had a nice, crisp coating of snow.

The situation unfolded with the Inquisitor and his allies escaping the rapidly venting wreck of the Imperial APA Furribundus in one of her shuttles. They crash landed the thing in a shallow valley and made their way out of the steaming dropship to see the streak of two other drops in the middle distance. Just before they left Guimar beamed off a distress call to a 32nd Marines fast scout he identified at the edge of the system. One of the drops was doubtless theirs; Marine scouts regularly traveled with a squad to a platoon aboard. The other was surely his pursuers. The boys in blue would doubtless prove invaluable, if he could link up with them first. Imperial records indicated a modest Marine base on Moab, currently playing host to the 103rd Crimson Dragons. That could prove doubly useful if he could get off Blanding in something jump capable. Sieghimmel's plan had been sound enough, but for the inconvenience of a civilian shuttle chucking a few torpedoes into it. Of course, that level of preparation suggested a whole other problem. A problem for a new day.

Arthur Rex-Avis watched the glittering lifeboat float away from the destruction he had wrought. He looked up at his mother and gestured towards a map screen. "I've noted their course. They could possibly maneuver a bit, but a shuttle that size won't have enough fuel aboard to break Blanding's gravity once she's down, so she'll be staying. I'll follow and put you down as close as I can."

"Thank you Arthur!" chirped his mother, looking quite proud. She'd contributed to the plan, but the bulk of it had been his idea. False flag operations hadn't been at all common since the Terrans had extended the reach of their authority back to virtually every corner of human space some millennia back, but times were changing. The emperor had grown ancient and frail, and his advisors were unbelievably corrupt in the decadence of the Imperial core. They had seized most of the mechanisms of official government; the real world analogues of the ancient lictors symbolic imperium. But lately they seemed mostly interested in extracting taxes and spending the Imperial military in penny packets on countless tiny border enforcements, so maybe she was witnessing the liminal state at the margins of a great change; the fin de siecle that came once in a hundred generations or more. Maybe she could nudge the future in a new direction. Or maybe the change was a wave that she could only hope to ride lest it cast her helpless and broken on some foreign shore. Only time would tell.

But now she had to place their careful plans into contact with the forces that would seek to destroy them; the enemy.

. . . . .

Somewhere beyond the fourth wall:

Late last week my friend Jay Bobson and I took the opportunity to test a new game. Since this is the continuation of the Iowa Project the good Governor General of Sector Six started for us some months back it's only fitting that we ran this using Void Pirates, which game he has lately endorsed, and which he himself used for the encounters he ran.

Jay, being a kindly and game fellow, did me the service of playing the Imperial forces, and thus allowing me to play my own characters and their allies. Hopefully we can work in some of his own characters on one side or another in a later game. (I'm not sure he and I see eye to eye about who should be the "good guy" . . . or gal . . . in this scenario. Which is ever so delicious. Makes for a wonderful ambiguity.)

The scenario required Jay to deploy his forces on the edge of the table with the shuttle and then make for the alternate edge of his choice. The board was approximately square with a large ridge on his "northern" side, a broad mesa dominating the center, and valleys providing exits on the three remaining sides, mostly near the "southern" edge. Since I'd set up the table and crafted the scenario I gave Dame Fortuna the choice of my deployment edge, and she picked me the south. (Really, any choice but the "eastern" edge would probably have been adequate.) Bobson's forces consisted of the Inquisitor, a psionically active individual with a penchant for brain crushing, and two rather tall gentlemen in very very heavy armor, but thankfully without any practical means of projecting force at a distance. My own forces consisted of fully a dozen individuals, all armed with zapping and popping goodness of one sort or another, but largely bereft of the deflective items that might help keep the snow from turning too red in your immediate vicinity. I rather thought this would be an issue. It was not.

The problem I faced was perhaps more complicated than I realized. The high ground nicely screened the east and west board edges from one another, thus I felt obliged to divide my forces to cover both. I had two relatively skilled snipers who should, by rights, have helped with this. I put one in each party, and likewise put a brawler and an assortment of more typical troopers in each group. The route to the west table edge was somewhat more direct for Mr. Bobson, so I put somewhat the stronger of my two forces on that side. As it happened, that's the way Jay chose to break. His only goal was getting away with the warp imploder in his possession. Below you can see the battlefield after our forces had closed for about a turn. (Which put us in contact, by the way. The shooting started fast.)

I figured I was in pretty good shape, as there was quite a bit of ground that Jay had to cover, and I'd gotten myself on the high ground on one flank, and between him and the exit on the other. So I felt I should have had plenty of time to pour some long range love down upon his knights, roughly Agincourt style. Below you can see one of my snipers, Musetta, standing just by the low rise behind which she had earlier hunkered down to do her work. And after that you can see the very nice clear view she had of her targets. A road provided a fairly open lane of fire through the woods. It wasn't quite a perfect spot, but it was pretty good.

And she had a good bit of support, too. Not only were the other members of the team covering the left flank supporting her, but the squad on the right were able to add their fire as well, until the Imperials moved behind the shadow of the high ground. Trouble was that absolutely nothing would injure those darned knights. And nothing slowed them down. Bullets and laser blasts just bounced off. (Strom troopers only wish their armor worked that well.) The poor hapless psy-cannon went down fairly quickly, but nothing could convince the walking tanks to drop the warp imploder and decamp without it. Inquisitor Guimar gamely returned fire for a moment, but pretty quickly he realized his best course was to run for love and the Emperor for the pass. And thus no one much tested my lack of protective clothing. When the Imperials got behind cover I redeployed my forces on the right, and sent them charging up the hill in the hopes that they might come to the aid of their compatriots, but there wasn't enough time.

At about the same time it became clear our fire was ineffective and the Imperial forces were about to slip away. Sophie led a brave charge down the hill directly at the enemy in an attempt to slow them down, but it was too late. Guimar and the two knights slipped away into the snow, leaving only the lone specialist behind, unconscious at the bottom of the ridge.

. . . . .

To briefly digress, the game system itself was pretty good. Game play was really quite fast, once you got used to it. I always like a system that limits die types, and I have a soft spot for fistfulls of d6. (It might be an Axis and Allies thing from adolescence.) If I had any criticisms, I would wish for some charts to aid the inexperienced player and maybe a better character creation walkthrough. But in general, it's pretty solid. The system strikes a nice balance. If you enjoy Pulp Alley you'd probably like this as well. It's not quite as cinematic, and the scenarios aren't as numerous or interesting, but it's a bit more flexible in terms of characters and force creation, and it probably lends itself very slightly better to a sci-fi environment. (I'm torn. Each has advantages and disadvantages.) I expect for my own games I'll probably pick the best elements from each, but even straight up, I expect the casual gamer looking for a good adventure will enjoy it. If you want a hard boiled wargame that details the impact of every event on morale or unit cohesion, move along. This is a little bit more of a role-playing game that happens to use toys. It is certainly not a combat simulation. But if what you want is a classic Buck Rogers style adventure in a box, where you can play the hero, this might be for you. Hawk is doubtless around the turn of the next page, and there are several ways for you to either work it out with him or fight him until one of you subdues the other. But there's most always a way to make sure someone is back for the next episode, even if they do end up knocked down pretty squarely in this one.

And slowly, the view through the wall into the dollhouse wavers. And magically, we are transported back into the setting, not only seeing Rex-Avis, but hearing her voice in our head, almost as though it were our own, but altered somehow . . .

. . . . .

Sophie, Colorado, and the rest of the cross-sector cooperative force retreated quickly when it became obvious the inquisitor had managed to get a transmission off to the Marine scouting force. They just didn't have enough personnel on hand to tackle that, even with support from Arthur in the shuttle. So Colorado wrote up a missive to beam off to Moab one jump away, and a second as a report to the more distant Proserpine. There weren't too many ships on Blanding right now, and it would take them a while to procure one, unless their fast scout came back quickly. They wouldn't fall into the same trap twice, but there were still some high cards in her hand, and quite a lot more that had already been played by both sides. It might not be necessary to bluff until the Imperials folded just yet. It was just a couple of cards, but they were nice big ones with big bold As printed on them rather unambiguously. Just so long as her opponents hadn't drawn the other two. For now they would sit in orbit and await the commander's reply and keep a close eye on the forces planetside.

. . . . .

As always, thank you for reading along.

Sincerely,

The Composer

Continued in Episode 7: Whistle Stop.

Project Iowa, Ep. 5: The Lighthouse Door

Moab Daily News Special Report: Rex-Avis Tech Stolen!

The wave-o-scopes in the office crackled with news from the Kingdom of Colores and the reporters at the Logansport daily struggled to process what had happened; to put together a headline and what few facts they knew in a way that helped to inform the citizens of their isolated world of the gravity of the situation without creating a frenzy for war. But there were adverts to sell and deadlines to meet. Mistakes are sometimes made in the news business, and when they are we might all pay the price. But not this time. This time . . .

Project Iowa, Episode 5

Colorado Rex-Avis and her team race back to the RACT Enhance and rendezvous with their escort, the command cruiser TFS Alecto.

While Inquisitor Guimar and his companions make their escape to the Imperial Attack Transport Furribundus.

"That's a big damn ship," Guimar says to his helmsman. "And they've cut us off from our route out of here."

"Yes. Yes it is," the ensign replies. "But we won't need to fight, since we can outrun them. And I assure you, sir, our own forces are more than a match for such as these. They can't block every path. While you dealt with the heretics I scouted around the system and I believe I've isolated the spinward end of the route they must have used to get here. If we travel along it, we can break out in the Tartarus Rim and run through coreward towards Holy Terra. If I'm right about where we emerge, it will be almost due south." 

Meanwhile, on the bridge of the Enhance . . .

"What will we do, Colorado? They're getting away with the imploder. That thing might be the one advantage we have if the Terrans decide to come knocking around."

"Oh, Sir Stanley! Don't you worry too much. Arthur and I didn't leave the back door unguarded like a couple of newbs! There's a plan. Those poor saps won't know what hit them."

Sir Stanley felt inwardly relieved at her smile, but quietly wondered precisely what she and Arthur had cooked up.

Meanwhile on the opposite end of Red Route 1 . . .

"Splendid!" cried Captain Sieghimmel. "The helsman was precisely correct! We've emerged into the Blanding System. Three jumps will take us to Anesidora. From there I think I can navigate to the Erinyes Stars and thus avoid the major checkpoints at Proserpine, Tartarus Gate, and Kerberos. And see? There's a Rim merchant in the distance we've just identified! We can stay in her shadow for a while, so long as she doesn't do anything crazy."

"What's that contact off the port bow?" asked Guimar.

"That? A modular launch. It's a small merchant on an old standard plan. There're still quite a number of them out this way. Nothing alarming. It's squawking a Helvetic ID . . . Golf Bravo Alpha Foxtrot Mike . . . Nelson? Come over here. Have a look at this. I need you to check it out stat!"

"Sir, it's not maneuvering and it's on something very close to a collision course. We received a somewhat garbled transmission saying they needed to bring their thrusters online and it would take a moment . . . Sir? Oh sh . . . "

To be continued

 . . .

The saga starts with Episode 1: New Friends from the Tartarus Rim from the Governor General of Sector Six. My own more journalistic and less complete telling begins with Moab Daily News: Rex Avis to Sector Six.

Sincerely,
The Composer

Continued in Episode 6: Snow Drop.