01 - The New X-Com
It was early in the morning of the 2nd January 2040, the night after my promotion to full Admiral, that the knock came at my door. Once I had dressed and answered it, I found a patient young man who identified himself as an agent of Syndicate Internal Security, and two silent gentlemen, very obviously carrying concealed firearms, who all but instructed me to follow. I was escorted, quickly but discreetly, to an unmarked and very fast car; and taken in silence from my home on base to the Admiralty building in Kiel.
Ushered in darkness to a small meeting room, I was greeted by the Chancellor of the Euro-Syndicate himself and the ambassador for the Egyptian Cartel. "You are here" I was told "because of your service record. Thirty years in the Navy, fifteen of those on Submarines, with experience in combat during the brushfire wars around the Scandinavian secession, and experience in undersea hunter killer duties and shipping defence when the trade wars turned hot." My service file was open on the desk. Along with another, presumably my personal and background checks.
"What you are about to see is classified to the highest level of secrecy. You will be given an offer at the end of the presentation, there will be no option to refuse. Be assured though, your experience makes you the best man we have for the job."
"This video was recorded only a few hours ago, on the continental shelf off the coast of Scotland." An image came into focus, underwater cameras, obviously mounted on the heads of diving suits. The perspective changes were jarring at first, but I was able to build up an image of what I was seeing.
The divers were disembarking from a small sumbersible craft, there were short barks of communication, Infantry speak, I was only able to follow a little. I was handed a file by the young man who had brought me here.
"Triton, it's an unarmed transporter, no airlock, so deployment is fast, but crews have to be suited at all times". I turned my attention back to the screen.
The divers had begun to disperse, I could tell they were looking for something. Each man was armed as well, a bulky, rifle-like device in his hands. Another file was passed across to me.
"Standard armament. Unfortunately, most of what we have is leftovers from the First Cold War, it was never a serious idea that infantry combat would take place underwater. And the technology developed in the First Alien War doesn't help us, fire a laser or plasma gun underwater and best case it shorts out, worst case it fires and flash-boils the water at the end of the barrel, poor bastard holding it gets a steam explosion right in the face."
Frantic bursts of chatter from the playback jolt my eyes back to the screen. Whatever the divers have been looking for, they have found.
I could not have been prepared. I was still a boy when they had come. The aliens who tried to conquer and enslave us. I had not thought that anything like them could be seen again. But here they were. A little different, perhaps, to what we had seen in the propaganda, the Sectoids, but like them in shape. The diver whose helmet camera I was watching raised his weapon and fired, but the harpoons were slow and clumsy, off target dramatically. Others fired, and eventually a bolt struck home.
A cautious few moments followed, as the kill was confirmed, and the recording flicked off. My young escort broke the silence. "You've seen the video, and you're old enough to be able to draw certain connections. The worst of your suspicions are true. We're about to be invaded again, and we're near completely unprepared. We've known that something was down there for a while, but we have barely started an actual effort to prepare. Which is one reason we've brought you. You're experienced in submarine warfare and command, about the only person with both those qualities at the highest level of the Navy. Unfortunately for you, that means you won't get to say no. As soon as we finish this meeting, you will be taken to a flying sub and transported to our undersea facility in the Atlantic. Your personal effects will follow. We might have been caught with our pants down, but X-Com won't go out without a fight".
My destination is set. There is no question that I will not survive if I refuse this offer. I am now the commander of X-Com.
I am strapped into the copilot seat of the one familiar thing I have seen this night, a Barracuda flying sub.
On my flight to the base, I review it's construction and layout.
The design seems unorthodox, but I am assured it is based on one proven in the First Alien War. The displays in the sub show me an update to the layout, new construction spurred by first contact with the enemy.
Finally, I arrive at my destination, physically and mentally tired from the interruption to my sleep, and the information I have had to absorb. My life in the Euro-Syndicate Navy is over.
My life in X-Com is beginning.
-Admiral Gerhardt von Schwein, X-Com.
It was early in the morning of the 2nd January 2040, the night after my promotion to full Admiral, that the knock came at my door. Once I had dressed and answered it, I found a patient young man who identified himself as an agent of Syndicate Internal Security, and two silent gentlemen, very obviously carrying concealed firearms, who all but instructed me to follow. I was escorted, quickly but discreetly, to an unmarked and very fast car; and taken in silence from my home on base to the Admiralty building in Kiel.
Ushered in darkness to a small meeting room, I was greeted by the Chancellor of the Euro-Syndicate himself and the ambassador for the Egyptian Cartel. "You are here" I was told "because of your service record. Thirty years in the Navy, fifteen of those on Submarines, with experience in combat during the brushfire wars around the Scandinavian secession, and experience in undersea hunter killer duties and shipping defence when the trade wars turned hot." My service file was open on the desk. Along with another, presumably my personal and background checks.
"What you are about to see is classified to the highest level of secrecy. You will be given an offer at the end of the presentation, there will be no option to refuse. Be assured though, your experience makes you the best man we have for the job."
"This video was recorded only a few hours ago, on the continental shelf off the coast of Scotland." An image came into focus, underwater cameras, obviously mounted on the heads of diving suits. The perspective changes were jarring at first, but I was able to build up an image of what I was seeing.
The divers were disembarking from a small sumbersible craft, there were short barks of communication, Infantry speak, I was only able to follow a little. I was handed a file by the young man who had brought me here.
"Triton, it's an unarmed transporter, no airlock, so deployment is fast, but crews have to be suited at all times". I turned my attention back to the screen.
The divers had begun to disperse, I could tell they were looking for something. Each man was armed as well, a bulky, rifle-like device in his hands. Another file was passed across to me.
"Standard armament. Unfortunately, most of what we have is leftovers from the First Cold War, it was never a serious idea that infantry combat would take place underwater. And the technology developed in the First Alien War doesn't help us, fire a laser or plasma gun underwater and best case it shorts out, worst case it fires and flash-boils the water at the end of the barrel, poor bastard holding it gets a steam explosion right in the face."
Frantic bursts of chatter from the playback jolt my eyes back to the screen. Whatever the divers have been looking for, they have found.
I could not have been prepared. I was still a boy when they had come. The aliens who tried to conquer and enslave us. I had not thought that anything like them could be seen again. But here they were. A little different, perhaps, to what we had seen in the propaganda, the Sectoids, but like them in shape. The diver whose helmet camera I was watching raised his weapon and fired, but the harpoons were slow and clumsy, off target dramatically. Others fired, and eventually a bolt struck home.
A cautious few moments followed, as the kill was confirmed, and the recording flicked off. My young escort broke the silence. "You've seen the video, and you're old enough to be able to draw certain connections. The worst of your suspicions are true. We're about to be invaded again, and we're near completely unprepared. We've known that something was down there for a while, but we have barely started an actual effort to prepare. Which is one reason we've brought you. You're experienced in submarine warfare and command, about the only person with both those qualities at the highest level of the Navy. Unfortunately for you, that means you won't get to say no. As soon as we finish this meeting, you will be taken to a flying sub and transported to our undersea facility in the Atlantic. Your personal effects will follow. We might have been caught with our pants down, but X-Com won't go out without a fight".
My destination is set. There is no question that I will not survive if I refuse this offer. I am now the commander of X-Com.
I am strapped into the copilot seat of the one familiar thing I have seen this night, a Barracuda flying sub.
On my flight to the base, I review it's construction and layout.
The design seems unorthodox, but I am assured it is based on one proven in the First Alien War. The displays in the sub show me an update to the layout, new construction spurred by first contact with the enemy.
Finally, I arrive at my destination, physically and mentally tired from the interruption to my sleep, and the information I have had to absorb. My life in the Euro-Syndicate Navy is over.
My life in X-Com is beginning.
-Admiral Gerhardt von Schwein, X-Com.
