The Memoirs of Colonel Octavian Van Haslinger

GTI 43:89 – 832.3 Sector Alpha 435B; Skirmish with the Faun

‘Twas Brillig alright. When a sun-star ignites like a firepop set off by a twelve year old guinea at the Freedom Parade and you’re standing on the doorstep of a fiery inferno that will spontaneously cook eggs from over 30 parsec away then there’s not much you can do but duck and cover.  As for the Faun, they were expecting this. Their trap sprung, and all of their twelve Satyr Class battlecruisers with full power on their shields such that Zeus’ own lightning couldn’t get through. As for us, well, we weren’t so prepared.

Major Jamison, foolhardy son-of-banshee, as usual not governing the Serpantine in formation along the line of battle, was ript in twain, straight through the hull, the ship dissimilating in front of our eyes. Fortuitously, the Major’s vessel took the  brunt of the flash wave of energy and, redirecting as much power possible to forward shields, the Leaping Gully, Crownstar, and, clearly, Lady Harrington, each escaped with only the minor inconvenience of having all our fusion reactors nearly burn out. Our remaining six vessel, however, were not so lucky, leaving us in a quite uncompromising perpendicament.

Yet the Faun, in their premature celebrations, hardly pursued us with much intent, half their fleet preferring to spew through the wreckage of the Serpantine. This would prove to be their downfall.

As taught in the Book of Freedom, “Discipline is the soul of an army. It makes small numbers formidable; procures success to the weak, and esteem to all.” And it was ours.

Horseflying aside our bow, only four of the Faun battlecruisers prompted their guns to fire upon us. Crownstar championed our offensive strike, flailing wildly, guns ablaze, running down the throat of the Faun formation. Conceivably, this left the flank a reasonable summation of zigs and zags before I ordered the Lady H to open fire, dropping the first enemy cruiser in a burst of sparkling phosphorescents.

Forbearance aside, dismantling the current aggressors comprised only switches on the wrist as afterwards the lingering Faunian Fleet advanced on our coordinates.  We held a wounded line, the Crownstar suff’ring the pains of her aforementioned foray and the Leaping Gully fairing scarcely better, I began to contemplate the only remaining option of utter destruction, when, just so sudden as an overdue supernova, treason and tyranny amongst the Faun battleline! One of their own cruisers betraying fire upon its’ sister ships, and we, opportunizing the momentary diserruption, pounced with eager asphyxiation.

Thus, victory was established. Three of the Faun cruisers escaped into the depths of the galactic mist, whilst the rest were destroyed or incapacitated and at our whim and mercy. The one Faunian cruiser in operation, the traitor, hailed us and, to our keen surprise, Major Jamison’s voice greeted us in joyous guttural glee.  New ship in tow, our hampered fleet lumbered back to our rendezvous with the admiralty, with a great prize of Faun bedrudgery and expectations of a seemly bonus.