The Wrong War - AP story

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Song Of Obsidian
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The Wrong War - AP story

Post by Song Of Obsidian » Fri, 1. Dec 17, 16:15

I saw this quote that I rather liked and decided to try living it for a while. "You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you." Ray Bradbury.

Life has kicked my tail recently and X3 has been a fun distraction. Even though all my old saves have been corrupted somehow. I'd like to get back to my other story, but I felt like playing modded AP first, so. Here we go.

Mod list(might not use them all, but I have them):
Improved Boarding
NPC Bailing Addon
Passenger to Marine
Salvage Commands and NPCs
Equipment Research and Development
500km Comm Range
Anarkis Defense System
Cadius Ship/Station Pack
dock lockup fix
Pirate Guild
Phanon Corporation

And then a bunch of Lucike's scripts, most notably:
Security and Rescue Service
Military Transport
Personal Transport
Passenger Transport and Travel Service
Ship tools

Not doing this one DiD, but I'm hoping to keep it relatively short. Not Zaitsev short, but...short.

Game Start: Terran Commander (Kan Onin - going to keep the game's character name for this one)

Starting Assets:
Katana -
(2) 200 MJ Shield
(10) Electro-Magnetic Plasma Cannon

Credits: 200,000

Song Of Obsidian
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Post by Song Of Obsidian » Fri, 1. Dec 17, 16:20

Chapter One - All the Wrong Smiles

"They're deploying fighters, sir."

Commander Onin merely nodded as he watched the combined squadrons from three Cerberus frigates advance to the front of the Argon formation, scattered though that formation was in Megnir's asteroid field. The report was unnecessary, but protocol is protocol. "Comms, inform Captain Nagahide that it is time. Helm, bring us to a position above the Longswords and hold."

Both men acknowledged, and the view of the asteroid field shifted as their corvette rose, removing obstructions...and also their cover. Onin took a few moments to study the opposing force without the aid of sensor data. And moments were all he had. It would not be long before the explosions and adrenaline and screams of the dying took over.

Below them, the sleek Longsword corvettes surged forward to screen the heavy fighters that made up the bulk of their force. The corvettes were marginally faster than the Excaliburs, and his plan put that speed to good use. For the most part, however, his part in this battle was already over.

From their elevated vantage point, his Katana's crew were able to see the yellow contrails streaking away from the Minotaur at the rear of the enemy formation. "Multiple enemy missile launches. They're swarming and headed toward the fighters, sir."

Onin nodded again. Below them the Longswords ejected drones, which streamed ahead of them to intercept the missiles. Few would likely impact a fighter in the asteroid field, but he believed this battle could be won without losses and had given orders to at least make it a possibility.

Missiles began exploding harmlessly as the distance between their vanguard and the enemy fighters shrank. More missiles impacted the asteroids, showering the shields of the corvettes weaving between them with debris but doing no damage. Onin saw some of their fighters firing on surviving missiles, but none slowed. They could not afford to.

In a normal engagement, the opening exchange would have taken several minutes. On his orders, the four Longswords led at their maximum speed of 220 meters per second, closing the gap far faster than usual. Their initial barrage of plasma bolts did little damage, and with their weak laser energy generators they were already done. But the corvettes followed their weapons fire, forcing the enemy fighters to scatter and limiting the damage they took. Even so, the shields on two of the corvettes collapsed in the span of a few seconds. They finally broke away in two pairs, heading away from the engagement with some fighters in pursuit.

"Frigates turning for broadsides, sir." One corner of Onin's mouth twitched upward. They knew what was coming. Or thought they did. He wondered if any of them had activated the jumpdrives that brought them here to begin with.

The two dozen Excaliburs behind them capitalized on the enemy's disarray. Balls of white, streaks of green, and scores of brilliant emissions from missiles flashed between the two groups. And then fighters began to explode, or drift to a stop as their pilots ejected.

Argon fighters, every one of them.

Some survived, but the Excalibers peeled away to either side for two reasons. First, to pick off the fighters trying to finish off any of the corvettes. But second...

More missiles blew past the enemy fighter screen, flying straight through gaps between the asteroids to converge on the frigates. These missiles would not be wasted on mere fighters. The phantoms brought death on a larger scale.

The missile barrages from a Claymore and six Falchion M3 bombers came within range of enemy defense turrets, and some exploded prematurely. But it was not enough. Exhaust trails ended abruptly as missile after missile crashed into the side of a frigate. Two of the Cerberus' exploded violently, the debris itself taking out more missiles than their turrets had. Flail barrages claimed yet more, but it was not enough to save the missile frigate. The ship cracked in half, then belatedly erupted like a pure white mini-supernova as the unspent hammer torpedoes in its magazine cooked off.

And then there was one.

The middle Cerberus still had some shielding intact. Onin took a breath and released it slowly, knowing that this calm was not one to last and wondering if the enemy could feel the doom that awaited them.

The frigate began to turn again, and as it did the Excaliburs converged on it. It answered fire with fire, but they were past too quickly for any killing shots. The frigate's shields plummeted and broke just as another trio of ships moved around a massive asteroid ahead of it and fired a pair of missiles each.

The missiles were not loaded with explosives, however. The Gauntlet Military Transport was designed for a different task.

All of the boarding pods crashed into the front of the ship, meaning the Marines within them could gather in force to sweep the ship and, hopefully, capture the task force commander.

"Sir? Captain Nagahide for you."

Onin nodded toward the main screen, and Nagahide's face appeared. His superior smiled. "Commander Kan Onin. A flawless battle plan, as always. Arachnida tactics indeed. They probably think we've been waiting for them all along and just lured them in." Which was the complete opposite of the truth; they had learned of the task force's jump beacon mere hours before they arrived. The battle was won so decisively due to scouting efforts. Nagahide's smile became conspiratorially indulgent. "Sometimes I wonder why you're not an admiral already."

Because my politics are wrong, he thought but elected not to say. I wouldn't have gone along with this damned war if I had any say. "I prefer to work for a living, sir."

Nagahide barked out a laugh. "The Terran people surely appreciate your sacrifice. Hope it goes without saying that you're invited to the victory celebration. My wife insists on making a feast every time I come home from a mission." His smile widened, the joy in his expression feeling utterly out of place with the desolation in the system, regardless of who lived or died in the battle.

"I may put in an appearance, sir. If Command can spare me for a couple hours."

"Of course, Commander. You did a fine job today, son. I barely had to give any orders at all. The boys followed your plan and here we are." The captain's countenance soured a little. "Hopefully our boys capture their leader so we can figure out what they planned to do out here. A missile frigate can do a lot of damage from afar. You definitely picked the right ships for this ambush."

"Knowing your enemy helps, sir." Enemy. Feh.

Nagahide nodded. "And yourself, or so the saying goes. Well, I best get back to it. You don't need to stay, Commander. Get some rest. And don't forget about dinner on Titan. I expect to see you there," he added firmly, as if he was giving an order without giving an order.

Onin smiled faintly, though it never reached his eyes. "Until later, sir. Onin out." His comms officer cut the link without needing to be told to, and he found himself staring out at the battlefield again. A battlefield where hundreds of Argon - brothers and sisters, if only in a distant past - had just died.

"Time is the fire in which we burn," he said softly.

"This is Terran Command. We're making a push to reclaim Heretic's End. Get it done, people!"

He swung his head to stare at the comm panel, disgust writ plain on his face. "Turn that off."


Onin looked at his startled XO, then saw that everyone else was looking at him with either curiosity or confusion. He had no intention of alleviating either. Not then. "Helm, take us home. XO, you have the bridge."

Without any explanation offered, Kan Onin walked stiffly into his quarters.

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Post by Song Of Obsidian » Mon, 4. Dec 17, 16:50

Chapter Two - Home Sweet...

The ship decelerated with a yellow, cloud-covered planet dominating the viewport. Other than military traffic, atmospheric sulfur farming was the only major industry at Venus. Its population tended toward isolation. Between their acerbic wit and the smell that air filtration struggled to keep up with, most spacefarers elected to pass through quickly or avoid the sector entirely. Since outsiders seemed to irritate Venusians anyway, they made efforts to reinforce the need for distance from other humans.

They took pride in their work, though, enough so that few ever joined the military. Many who did merely sought an escape from the rigors of atmospheric farming and were usually lackluster recruits. Those with the work ethic Venusians are known for were rare and treasured. Their crew had one such member, a striking woman of Latvian descent with an accent to match and enough acid in her veins to do her family proud and keep fellow crew from trying to get too close.

Few would regard this place as the ideal port of call. Yet when they arrived, Lieutenant Terrel Brano smiled and took an exaggeratedly deep breath. "Home sweet home."

Most of the crew chuckled. The commander was renowned enough that he could choose their home sector. When questioned, he would say he appreciated the spirit of the people of Venus. They would never let him feel content to rest on his laurels. Lasers burned less fiercely than the words they used in friendly conversation.

"Should I inform the commander, sir?" the comms officer asked.

Brano, the XO, shook his head and rose from his seat. "I'll tell him. Ensign Sillarne, you have the bridge."

The Venusian woman looked over at him with a girlish smile, quickly smothered. While bemused by the departure from her customary aloofness, he took the few short steps to the door to Commander Onin's cabin and knocked. The doors parted for him and he stepped inside.

The cabin was small, as everything tends to be on a corvette. The first room was a work area featuring a desk with the commander's chair on one side and two more on the other. Another door led to a separate living area, with little more than a cot and hygiene facilities. But with two rooms in his cabin, what would be Spartan on any inhabited world was the height of luxury here.

It was the desk to his left that drew his attention. In the shape of an inverted 'L', its entire purpose was to protect the computers built into it and the eight multi-functional interactive displays set into its surface - two in front of each guest chair, three in front of the commander's chair, and one on the leg of the L. The last was tilted, the side nearest to the guests angled upward to give the commander some privacy on that one screen, if he needed it. The three in front of the commander were all in use, in some fashion. He got a brief glimpse of some ship schematics on the right-most screen before Commander Onin tapped twice on the middle screen, and they all went black.

"Terrel," the commander said as he sat back and looked up at his executive officer. In private he rarely used ranks, regardless of who he was speaking to. "I assume we have arrived at Venus."

"We have," he confirmed, and claimed one of the chairs, relaxing into it. On the bridge, he usually sat ramrod straight in his seat. Slouching felt positively decadent, and he sighed in quiet contentment. "Any idea what's next for us? Patrol? Sector assault?" He glanced pointedly toward the black screen he had seen the schematics on. "New assignment?"

His commander's lips twitched, but the skin around his eyes crinkled in disgust. "Command won't give me a new ship until this one is fully equipped." They both knew the truth of that. They ship was missing a number of software upgrades, weapons for one of the turrets, and sixty percent of its shielding. Each ship they had been assigned t in the past year had lacked something. Trouble with supply lines but an urgent need for their contributions at the front was the usual line Command fed them. Onin finished outfitting each ship from his own personal funds, with the aid of a stock market broker, because he valued the lives of his crew over his credit account. Even one battle at less than peak performance was to much to him, which was part of the reason they had stayed out of the day's engagement.

But soon after a ship was equipped as it should have been at its christening, orders for reassignment came down from above. And each time, they left some of their veteran crew behind and took on a few recruits. The last transfer had claimed their most senior member besides the two in the commander's cabin. They were happy for Peder, with his promotion to Lieutenant and an XO's billet, but would have preferred to keep him home. On whichever ship 'home' seemed to be at any given time.

Home this month was a Katana-class corvette called the Firebrand. USC normally named their ships after people or places from Earth, or some noble ideal. Brano's first thought upon learning the ship's name was that ideals had become hard to come by.

"Speaking of new experiences...I left Thalia in charge, as you suggested. Damnedest thing though. She smiled when I announced it and I didn't even feel my skin blister."

He felt a flash of triumph when he saw Onin's grin. "Elevating her is good. Makes her nature more bearable when she's not on the same level as her fellows. But that accent...I swear, every time she calls me 'sir' I feel like a medieval knight." Brano mirrored his grin, but the commander's visage became stern again quickly and his fell away immediately after. "You could have had Liom call me."

Brano nodded, feeling a bit of unease creeping in. But he did not hesitate to ask the question he had been chewing on through the hours-long voyage after the battle. "Why did you order the command channel turned off, Commander?"

Onin continued to stare at him for a few moments, then looked down and tapped away on his screens. They became active again, and then one of the screens in front of him turned on as well, with the schematics he had seen. He perused the design, and it took him some time to identify it. It was NOT a military ship. "Passenger transports?" he asked incredulously. "Surely you're not taking a vacation.

"Depends on how you define 'vacation'," Onin replied with the same humorless smile he had offered Captain Nagahide. Thoughts and memories raced and collided as he tried to puzzle out his commander and friend's plans. And motives. They had served together for six years. For most of it, Kan Onin had been the most driven person he knew. That drive had flagged recently, smiles becoming rare, laughter unheard of. The only thing he still did with any tenacity was endeavoring to keep his people alive. His crew foremost, comrades next, but he served the Terrans people in his heart. Many called Kan Onin a hero, Brano among them.

But now, the man felt almost a stranger to him.

"Why did we build this massive fleet?"

The question caught him off guard, and he snapped off a response like any green and indoctrinated rookie. "To defend humanity from the Terraformers."

The answer was met with a nod, as if that was exactly what Onin expected him to say. "And now we throw it all away in a purposeless war, where no one can claim the moral high ground and no one can ever win because of the bitterness victory would engender." Onin sat back, hands gripping his armrests until his knuckles turned white. "Yet Command treats victory as divine right, and our people celebrate death with feasts instead of mourning the fallen as they justly deserve," he spat out with contempt. The lethargy that had covered him like a shroud lately evaporated, his jaw clenched and eyes burning so fiercely that Brano sat up straight again. "Command throws around orders with short-term goals. Take this sector, defend that sector, destroy that fleet. Why? Because they want to prove our might to the Argon and make them willingly surrender and fold themselves into their mother's embrace. To give up their pride and acknowledge our eminence. But they are not our children; they are our siblings. And if the Terraformers show up while we're fighting this war? Who cares! We can't lose, obviously. That would be unthinkable. We only built a fleet a third larger than its current size to blind the bots with gleaming paint, not because we needed the firepower."

Onin took a steadying breath, and Brano took the opportunity to utter two words he could not ever have imagined before this conversation. "You're leaving," he said in quiet disbelief.

"I am." Voicing the confirmation seemed to deflate the commander, the hero, and he sank back into his chair and gestured toward the desk. "I cannot contribute toward this anymore. So I'll go. I'll see if I can bypass Terran leadership and show the Argon what real Terrans are like. What we would want for ourselves if political groups like the ATF got their warmongering out of our way." Fire still smoldered in his eyes, but those eyes fell, staring at nothing. "I'm just one man," he said wearily. "I probably won't accomplish anything real, but at least I can die without regret if I stop having any part in perpetuating this pointless conflict."

Brano could have said that his participation shortened the war. But the words wouldn't come when he opened his mouth. What poured forth instead came in cadence, words that were obviously not his own. "And if one man can stand tall, There must be some hope for us all." His commander's eyes widened, perhaps the first time he had ever seen the man surprised, and he smiled. "You don't have to go alone, Kan."

Onin was already shaking his head before he finished the sentence. "I can't ask anyone to betray their people with me, Terrel."

He just smiled wider as he rose to his feet. "I know what most of them would say, if not all. If it was a betrayal, sir, you wouldn't be doing it." He raised his arm in a slow and precise salute, staring straight ahead, then snapped it away and left the room.

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Post by Zaitsev » Sat, 9. Dec 17, 07:36

Song of Obsidian wrote:Not Zaitsev short, but...short.
Hey, I made a thing! I'm honored to have made this a thing! :D

PS: Nice start. I'll be reading this.
I'm sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of how awesome I am :D

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Post by Song Of Obsidian » Sat, 9. Dec 17, 12:45

Good to see you unlurking again. You still owe us some more story though. Lazy Zaitsev.

Hope you're doing well anyway.

Chapter Three - A Bridge Too Far

Kan Onin stared at the doors that blocked his view of his retreating second-in-command, and the bridge beyond that held a third of his crew. Since they didn't do any long-term deployments, they only had enough crew for one shift. They went to battle, and the survivors came home to rest. No need to set watches and sleep schedules. Since everyone always worked together, they became intimately familiar with each other. Any crew in their situation usually became as close-knit as any family in short order. A family he had been planning to abandon for the past few hours.

Do I dare offer them the same choice I'm making for myself?

The idea of dragging people he cared about away from everything they had ever known because of his own qualms about the war felt supremely selfish, on impulse. He slowly sat back in his seat as he considered the situation from the new perspective Terrel had given him. Assuming any of the crew felt the way he did, and as keenly as he did, they simply lacked the means to act. Low pay due to 'treasury deficiencies', travel restrictions, propaganda that bordered on brainwashing, and sheer exhaustion with most ships running with only a third of their crew complement, all contributed to making military personnel unable to find anything to do that might go against Command's agenda.

He idly rubbed his fingertips against his left thigh. A thin round bulge disrupted the smooth fabric, and he pressed into the middle of it, feeling his slacks yield to the pressure. And let's not forget the civilians who sacrifice just as much as we do. The ones who feel even less able to influence events that dictate so much of their lives.

He was able. He had the resource to go his own way, to create a new cause for himself and see it to its end. The means might be cut off when he went, since his stock broker would remain in Terran space and he imagined his accounts would be frozen as soon as Command received his resignation letter. But he had enough to start. But more important than money, he knew without hubris, was his reputation. When people learned his name, even enemies, they would link it to his tactics, his victories. That could be a double-edged sword, given how many Argon deaths could be laid at his feet, but if he spoke, people were less likely to dismiss him outright. It was a simple but powerful fact.

Where he was going, nothing was known. He had lists of things he would need to acquire before making the journey into Commonwealth space, but after that, everything depended on how he was received. He could guess what would happen to the crew of a perceived traitor once he was gone, though. Dispersed, with permanent black marks on their records, always eyed with suspicion, denied choice assignments and promotions. Or he could offer to take them with him, to save him from the fate that he was consigning them to and give them a chance to achieve something greater, by his standards. The thought made him feel ill, but the fact of the matter was that he had to make a change and they...

No. 'They' have names. Terrel Brano. Lidya Claasen. Thalia Sillarne. Ulla Rana. Aron Pareii. Aylin Jorwan. Leo Selek. Liom Rider. Yatima Cheram. Brent Cruise. Daron Colard. Illisa Braks. These are people whose lives will be altered no matter what I do. If I stay, my growing anger at Command will influence my every action. Down that path lies darkness. So I might go.

His eyes closed in resignation. Forgive me, he thought as he stabbed at his private screen with two fingers.

"Attention all crew," he said, and heard the words echoed back to him on the ship-wide intercom. "I would say that this is your captain speaking, but that is no longer certain." He could imagine how that statement might be received, which is why he had not gone to the bridge for this announcement. He then tapped his screen yet again, to record and transcribe his words for a pair of messages he needed to send later.

"Over the past year, we have fought and killed our own kin in daily engagements. I have yet to discern any logical reason for this war. We created a fleet to defend ourselves from the Terraformers we created, and while I would not absolve the Argon for their part in raising tensions between us, I feel certain that unprovoked fleet movements from our side fueled the fire that burned in the hearts of those who destroyed the Torus."

Onin paused to let that sink in, and also to briefly collect his thoughts. This speech was entirely improvised, and perhaps more honest for that, but he did not want to ramble much. "Our XO came into my cabin and asked me why I ordered the command channel turned off. I will answer that for all of you now. I am refusing to take part in this war. I intend to leave Terran space, to engage in diplomacy outside of our government, without the strictures it would place on me and without the obstruction I would have to deal with from the ATF, which is clearly operating outside its established mandate. It will not be easy, and there is a fair chance I will be detained as soon as I enter Argon territory, but it the only choice that my conscience will allow me to make at this point."

He minimized the shopping list on his center screen and pulled up the crew roster, then turned off the screen again. "After speaking with Terrel, I have realized that I owe it to all of you to present you with a choice. I should begin by saying that I will be taking the Firebrand. I have a detailed accounting of all the credits I have spent outfitting ships over the past year and while I have been more than willing to spend in order to preserve the lives of my crew, I'm calling in a portion of that debt now. But until a few moments ago, I had planned to go alone.

"This will have an impact on all of you, and I doubt I need to outline the ramifications of it. What I will do, is offer to take any willing crew members with me. This is a volunteer-only matter, and once we leave Terran space, there will be no going back. So think it over. Discuss among yourselves. If anyone has specific questions, I will be in my cabin finalizing some details. Otherwise, bring your answer to the XO. Once everyone has weighed in, I will address you all again with our next step.

"No matter what is decided, it has been an honor and a privilege to serve with the best our race has to offer. I know you're the best because Command has learned over time that I will accept nothing less from my crew. You may not have the greatest list of accomplishments, given that three of you still have starch lines on your uniforms, but in heart? I could have asked for nothing more."

He took his hand off his leg, sitting up again to begin the urgent tasks ahead. "Helm, set us on a patrol loop in the system so you can get in on the dialogues. Onin out."


778-05-03 17:52
Captain's Log

The first thing I did after addressing the crew was forward a text version of the speech to my stock broker, just in case the crew mutinies. I think it unlikely, but I would rather have the message get out somehow, that someone tried to break this cycle, even if the worst should happen. I won't let them bury this, and I trust him above all others to get the word out if I end up in custody.

Some people did come to me with questions. A few have family members they are hesitant to leave. I may regret this decision, but the offer is being extended to families that do not include children. This is a conversation that should occur in person, so I will know more after we dock. It seems that passenger transport may be more essential than I originally thought.

Terrel reported to me after two hours. I didn't have to remove any names from the crew roster. The decision was unanimous, just as he predicted.

I'm acquiring three more ships before we depart. I wanted to avoid using any ATF designs, but for one ship I don't like any other options.

First: A passenger transport. I like the Gauntlet, but it's an aggressive pick and I don't plan on taking any marines anyway. I'm getting a Mani. It has twelve defensive weapons, but it is still a soft enough ship that it shouldn't alarm the Argon much. Its speed caps out at 192 m/s, so hopefully it can stay away from anything it can't defeat unaided.

Second: A scout. We lack navigation data outside the contested sectors, so I deem this a necessity. This is my ATF design concession, because nothing compares to the Norns. 570 m/s alone is worth the tap dancing I may have to do with the Argon to bring it, but it also had 5 MJ shielding, six frontal weapon hardpoints, and a rear defense turret. Nothing can touch it, if the pilot is remotely competent.

Third: A military transport. This is the one I'm least certain of, but I'm banking on some limitations being imposed on us and this will give us a force multiplier to balance those limitations out. More than likely, we'll be forbidden from buying capital ships. They may refuse to sell us any military craft at all. I am assuming I'll have to rely on fighters for any operations. With this in mind, I am going to buy a Morrigu. Its key feature is the ability to carry eight fighters. I don't anticipate using it for anything else. More than one would be nice, but the main aim of this mission is, at least at first, to gain trust.

To that end, I'll be looking for volunteer pilots from the Commonwealth to go with the fighters I expect we'll salvage over time.

I know there is no way to make all the sacrifices made in this conflict worthwhile, but maybe I can stop the ledger from going too far to the negative. After some point, we may never be able to recover.

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Post by Zaitsev » Thu, 14. Dec 17, 09:57

Song Of Obsidian wrote:Good to see you unlurking again. You still owe us some more story though. Lazy Zaitsev.

Hope you're doing well anyway.
To be honest things could have been better, but I'm hanging in there. And I know. I've been a bad boy ... *goes and stand in the corner*
I'm sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of how awesome I am :D

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Post by Triaxx2 » Thu, 14. Dec 17, 15:21

As long as you stay away from Xenon, you should be okay... :P
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Post by Song Of Obsidian » Thu, 14. Dec 17, 17:01

Especially avoid ejecting to do claiming and repairs while they're around. Just a thought.

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Re: The Wrong War - AP story

Post by Chantelle Du' » Wed, 11. Mar 20, 03:14

Please excuse my boldness;

I have read this I would suggest a snippet of a story. I agree with Ms Zaitsev that it is enjoyable. It does not however proceed. I ask sir, is it your intention to proceed, or to allow such a well crafted beginning fade into obscurity?

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