Every now and then, a proposition presents itself that requires a hard decision. We had one of those tonight.
We had just had a completely uneventful 4-man roam in Aridia, once again living down to its crappy potential. I was then off down the chain, scanning for a new Lowsec, when one of the scanners in a completely different part of the chain called out “Nidhoggur, Thanatos and a couple of faction battleships plus wrecks on scan.” This is of course the siren song of the wormhole corp PVP pilot – they were in a site fighting Sleepers, and would be ripe for an ambush, already disadvantaged by the Sleeper fight. In most cases, this is a glorious and relatively easy gank. T3s, Guardians and a Moros and all of that goes boom.
But then the next statement: “The hole is crit.” For anyone not a wormholer, this means that the wormhole connecting us to our gank targets is critically mass-destabilized. Enough ships, especially big ones, and there will be no more wormhole. We also haven’t scanned out the hole further, so we have no idea where the chain exits might be – if there are any. It’s a C5 wormhole, so nullsec is the best bet. Nullsec is no place for a wormhole (read: cynoless) Moros.
In many wormhole corps, that would be that. They would maybe try to pick off a battleship with a couple of T3s. But Future Corps isn’t that kind of corp.
We decided to jump in with as many pilots as we could fit and hope for a way out, but we wanted both carrier killmails. No fucks given.
We left the Moros at home. As our scout got a warp-in on on the Nidhoggur, we formed up a cruiser fleet. We’d have to jump in a very specific order to maximize our chances of success.
Scout: “30Km and closing.” A cloaky Tengu and a Stabber Fleet Issue are already in their wormhole.
FC: “HIC first. Now Logi. Now Booster. Now Neuts. Now ECM.”
One Devoter. Three Guardians. Three Legions. A Tengu.
I’m sitting there in my gank-fit Proteus. Damage ships go last.
FC: “OK, DD – I’ll apologize now for anyone who gets left behind. Jump jump jump.”
I mash the jump button repeatedly. I make it, along with three others.
The wormhole implodes, and all the other hopefuls are stuck back home. 14 ships, for better or worse.
Scout: “Shit, I’m decloaked.” To make matters worse, he doesn’t have a point.
We warp madly in to the site, and the scout speaks up again: “Bumped the Chimera!”
The HIC lands, and bubbles, just as all the other targets in the site warp out – we miss most of the kills. But the Chimera takes massive damage before eventually self-destructing. We send catcalls out in Local because, well, self-destructing is the apex of lame. Fight to the end, dammit.
The rest of their group POSes up. We tell them we’re crashed in, but to no avail. They aren’t coming out.
So now we have to try and find a way out, and then a way home. Our scouts go to work. After about half an hour, they find a nullsec exit only 11 jumps from another hole. Just as we get formed up to head out, another scout calls out that they have done the impossible, and found another gankable capital target.
“We’ve got a Moros here, under power, slowboating outside the POS shield.” Um, what? “And get this, there’s an SMA anchored outside the shield. And they have six POS guns.” Clearly, these are people who may have some things still to learn. Or we caught them mid-setup. Or they are the greatest baiters ever. Reinforcements head out from our home hole, racing across nullsec to try to get in.
Our job is to not die.
The HIC warps in and the brawl is on.
And we’re in the fight. It takes a long time to melt the Moros with our guns, because the defenders put up a fight this time. Out comes a Falcon. Guardians. And then the POS guns open up, tearing through my shield in two hits. The Falcon jams our Guardians while the actively-managed POS guns take potshots. I get away, but I can hear our Stabber Fleet Issue pilot howling over comms as he tries to keep up transversal while he chases the Falcon.
They are too cautious with their Guardians in the end, popping in and out of the POS shields rather than committing them. And so the Moros explodes. And shortly thereafter, the out-of-shield SMA. My guns are 70% burned out, my shields are gone. I’ve lost one drone, and our Stabber Fleet Issue pilot is somewhat the worse for wear but alive. Total victory!
Of course, that’s when our cavalry fleet arrives. We have stayed alive too well, and they are sadly too late to get on the kills.
Then it’s a short 11 hops back home, killing battleships rats for sec status along the way. We gift a poor Rifter some new pants as he jumps through our now 25-man T3 fleet, but the rest of the trip home is uneventful.
Wormhole lesson for today, class:
Fortune favors the bold.
We are Future Corps and Sleeper Social Club. This is how we roll. Sound fun? We’re recruiting for EU and AU time zones. Stop by the FCFTW Public channel in-game.