‘Hell in a Very Small Place: The Siege of Shiebfonda’(293)

The following is a transcript interview segment with former Captain Milos Puetz of the 149th Combat Engineer Company, from the TV documentary ‘Hell in a Very Small Place: The Siege of Shiebfonda’ in 293 UC.

“It was a spectacle phenomenon. Nigh impossible to justify it using words. Hyper-realistic studio reenactments? Maybe. As far as the eye could see.. A glittery tidal wave of warheads slamming against the metallic surfaces of the Shiebfonda. The Confederates threw everything they had in their arsenal, and then some more.

For us stationed in the outer compartments, the initial bombardment came as a shock.

(laughs)

―almost literally you could say. ‘The maniacs have really fired the first shot?’ is what many of us had thought.

That moment had come to pass―we were much more concentrated in the moment repairing damaged infrastructure… Which was no easy task, given we were under a relentless barrage.

I remember..uh.. There were many instances where some teams never made it back.

..When you are sent to dispatch, you leave with the feeling that you are in the clear. Do you understand what I mean? Command orders you to leave the safely of the inner echelons. You’re terrified but you trust their instincts.

‘Everything will be fine. You’re in the clear. The enemy artillery is not going to home in on you. They could not hit the broad side of a barn!

(Milos laughs again and cracks a toothless smile)

We were, uh, in that kind of mood. See, we knew in reality any moment could be our last. Who knew what kind of arsenal they would throw at us? Thermonuclear warheads? Blackhole bombs?

(Milos rolls his eyes when he finishes)

Alright, that last one is impossible, mind you. I have to joke about these things… so it saves me the nightmares tonight. Well… we sortied with the false peace of mind that while we mend damages in peace. We trusted our superiors judgment. It was the only form of medicine that kept some of us from… going crazy.

Of course things are not that, uh, simple.

What do you think is the last thing one sees when they are caught in a blast radius? A flash of light? Darkness? Your live before your eyes?

Is it the realization that humans are prone to error… That command was wrong… that things are not in the clear? That it was too late to… what’s the word I’m looking for…

..Too late to turn things back and seek another outcome? Yes, perhaps that is it. What’s in the past has come to pass, and all we can do is accept it and move on. For me.. Sending my compatriots… hardly even over the age of nineteen and without a sweetheart… to their demise.

And, well… the blockading ships were able to keep up the pressure fairly well. It’s rather… uh, difficult to retrieve bodies in space, you see, if you were unlucky enough to get caught in the blasts you were… chunks and piece. Or sucked into, er… space as debris.

I was one of the original engineers stationed at Schiebfonda during it’s conception. On paper, it was suppose to be an impregnable superstructure.

The reality was, er uh..

It was never capable of sustaining continuous barrages to her defenses. It was not all made entirely out of strong material, the logistics department had to cut corners throughout the years. I suppose the only category they didn’t neglect were the armaments; which were capable of deterring landing craft from entering the strategical harbor entrances. The only issue is.. Uh,

(he lightly chuckles and shakes his head)

we weren’t able to man all of them!

ommander Rubenfield ordered us to disable guns that we couldn’t utilize. We had to do this to prevent them falling into enemy hands. A shame, really, some of them beauties were a real work of art. Lots of hard work and dedication just… ugh, destroyed. Like a priceless piece of art. This also meant demolition teams had to disable certain harbor entrances also, since those would indefensible.

But we believed in Rubenfield. He was a unwavering fellow, one that showed no hesitation in his actions. There’s no doubt in my mind, even now, that he was stressed beyond belief for our sake. Everyone was stressed, I’ll tell you that. Any fool who would’ve told you they weren’t were lying to themselves. You could be gone at any moment. That Tory fellow was crazy enough to strike at Federation factilities. There would be no telling he wouldn’t be lunatic enough to unleash a volley of thermonuclear missiles… and that would be the end of that. Yeah…

For about twenty four hours from the initial beating, we were still nonetheless rattled with uneasiness. Rubenfield ordered the gunners not to retaliate unless Confederate warships got close to the harbor entrances, so missiles only went one direction most of the time, towards… uh… us. There certainly was not enough of a stockpile for a prolonged exchange.

That night, we did not get much sleep… none of us did, and certainly not Rubenfield.

(Milos lets out a sigh)

Rubenfield probably had the worst of it out of all of us. One could see a trinket of sadness in his eyes whenever he heard causality reports. To be saddled with the fates of over a hundred thousand souls… I do not believe it was a possible human feat.

There was nothing he could do… there was nothing any of us could do… but pray, pray and hope for a relief force.

Of course…. Heh, that never did come. How would it? We were… stranded deep in Confederate territory. It would’ve taken a miracle to pull off, no amount of praying that we did could suffice even a thousand times over. We searched far and wide for a ‘God’ and all we found were our own human greed and suffering.

Our fears came to fruition.

The blockade began to shrink ever increasingly, to the point that our gunners were forced to participate in the back and fourth game of artillery. It became increasingly difficult to juggle between repairing damaged works, carrying the wounded back… and eventually some of us in our teams had to man the guns, too.

It was hell. It was carnage… it was… it was hell. But we had to go on because if we didn’t then it would all be in vain for those that couldn’t return home to their loved ones.

The constant shelling broke men. It really did. It was a sad sight. Grown industrious men breaking down and praying to false prophets. Young folk screaming in pig latin and for their mothers. If… there was ever a hell in a very small place, it would’ve been Shiebfonda. Eventually… uh… I stopped hating the smell of burnt steel, disfigured carcases. You could say I, uh, got used to it all.

During those days in the spherical tomb we called home, it was the norm. But… it was something that shouldn’t be.

Eventually, I received the news that Harbor 17―the only major entrance for Shiebfonda intact—had been breached. Uh… Most of us in the room were enjoying the last batch of premium tea left. And when the dispatcher informed us, there was… hm… dead silence, eerily, dead silence. Everyone in the room craned their heads to see Rubenfield’s reaction, and I still remember… uh, it. Like it was a snapshot. A firm, pokerface expression, but you could see it.

(He taps his ostensibly thin eyebrows)

Ehm… you could see it in his eyes.

That this was the beginning of the end.”