The Delve War: Day of Days
by, 2011-05-23 at 03:11 AM (3678 Views)
The flash of beam lasers arced across the darkness of space, interspersed with the staccato booms of artillery and the rush of missiles into the void, each one punctuated by the fat angry finger of one internet spaceship nerd out to kill another. Support ships were locked in their own separate fights to the death, as interceptors locked on to each other and gave chase with battlecruisers taking potshots at the survivors. A single falcon decloaked, targeting a guardian attempting to repair his badly damaged comrade who was receiving fire from the entirety of the enemy fleet. The momentary triumph of the falcon pilot as his ECM overwhelmed the targeting package of the Guardian was tempered as he looked at his overview and saw a single red box blinking.
Lancing out from the golden form of an Apocalypse, the silvery white blast of energy compromised the falcon's shielding in one blow. Unable to cloak due to being target locked, and too slow to align out due to the 1600mm tungsten plate that had allowed him to survive the initial volley, the falcon pilot was resigned to death. As the killing blow arrived to relieve him of his ship, he had only enough time to identify his assailant: RAZOR – EXIT – Phreeze.
This was no simple skirmish, no chance encounter by one roaming gang looking for fun from another. This was Delve War Two, and today the first supercapitals would die.
Remember when sniper battleships still existed?
A myriad host of vengeful entities from Goonswarm, the Northern Coalition, and Pandemic Legion had descended on the stricken alliance formerly known as Band of Brothers, who were reeling but not beaten by the terrible blow struck by Hargoth. Despite the massive amount of hostile entities now entrenched inside of NPC Delve, the newly formed Kenzoku had held their own for almost a week, giving ground barely, but making the enemy pay for it dearly. To many an average grunt, the slow progress was reminiscent of the slog that had made Delve One a defeat for the Coalition.
All this would change on the battlefield today.
Hundreds of battleships from both sides were arrayed on grid at an NC friendly tower. Each separate glut of of vessels formed a different fleet pounding against another. The large angry blob in the center denoted Kenzoku, and 200km above it the NC fleet pelted it with fire with Plague Black shouting orders in his guttural Serbian accent. At a shorter range, waves of waves of rifters and other frigates poured out from the haphazard fleet composition of Goonswarm as they burned directly into their ancestral enemies. The battle raged, each force trading equal blows with the other.
Inside of the NC formation, a single Apocalypse trailed from the back end of the fleet, fire pouring out the side of it. Heavily damaged, my battleship was unable to return to logistic range of our fleet due to having already burned out it's MWD getting out of the bubble that had nearly claimed my killmail. An early exit from the largest battle I had ever been a part of would have been unacceptable, so I had to start getting creative.
The pilot inside that ship was vastly different from the one who had blindly burned around without comms during MAX. After my harrowing escape from that initial threat, I continued in the fight by using three different 200km bookmarks I had made from wrecks, and rotated to these spots whenever I was yellowboxed, landing and warping back to our fleet to instantly re-engage. The newly minted T2 Mega Beam Lasers on the hull cycled constantly, piercing the hulls of battleships from EVOL, DICE, and RKK. I was unable to tell if we were winning, but as with everyone in fleet, I continued to press onwards against our hated foe.
Then the shouting started on comms; "WARP WARP WARP to the gate, Waagaa is tackled!"
The noses of our Apocalypses crested upwards and outwards, breaking our targeted align as the fleetwarp took hold and one by one we slipped into warp, most unknowing of what these words meant. The reality of why our fleet commanders were excited took hold when we landed into a clutch of carriers surrounding a Kenzoku mothership, an Aeon piloted by Waagaa. Bubbles sprung up all over him, and as we began picking off the enemy support ships that were warping in one by one to save them, a cynosural field went up.
Two hundred dreadnoughts from RAZOR, RAWR, Goonswarm, Pandemic Legion and TCF poured through the cyno, sounding a death knell for Waaga's Aeon and ensuring that the battle would be won in our favor. After dispatching it, the carrier battle group surrounding it, and several hundred support, our FC returned fleet to UHKL and gave the order to dock up. I was smug in my assertion that nothing could top what we had just experienced.
Unbeknownst to me, mere hours after I retired for the night, Shrike would lose another Avatar, and in disgust Sir Molle would order all Kenzoku members to dock their capitals inside of PR-, a station system in NPC Delve. As they slept, anchorable bubble after anchorable bubble went up on the station, on gates, and on even a wormhole that was scanned down. As day dawned and the Kenzoku members logged in, they found themselves trapped in what would be come the longest sustained station camp in EVE's history: The PR- Camp.
It would be then that the Northern Coalition would first turn to me and say "lead us."
NEXT TIME - THE DELVE WAR: CALL TO GLORY