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 Posted: Sun Aug 30, 2009 10:44 am
We know well what Life can tell:
If you would not perish, then grow.
And today our fragile flesh and steel
Have laid our hands on a vaster wheel
With all of the stars to know.
The year was 3025, and we were so damn proud of ourselves. Not only had we managed not to blow up our planet and everything on it, but we'd figured out how to terraform those little rocky moons around the gas giants, and some of the dwarf planets besides. Population 20 billion? Well, yeah, but not a problem anymore, since all those people were well spread-out over all those satellite bodies, living it up on miniature pseudo-Earths. They'd been there for a while, too...there were children who had never seen the Terran sky on every one of those orbiting bodies. We thought nothing could go wrong.
But arrogance, as the Greeks could have told us, would be our downfall.
No one really knows whose idea it was. But someone said, "Let's try Pluto!", and we felt that we were invincible. So what if its average temperatures were far too cold to support humans? So what if from its surface our Sun was just another pinprick star? We were invincible, and we would colonize the furthest dwarf planet in our solar system.
What an incredible mistake.
It started out fine- bring in the cargo ships, dump a few hundred thousand kilotons of dirt and water on the surface, seed it with oxygen-producing bacteria and then sit back and wait. When it developed an atmosphere, we could proceed. And it was nice to watch- all those pretty flashing lights in different colors...wait a moment. That had never happened before, and hell if we hadn't terraformed all 52 of Saturn's named moons. Alarm bells started to go off in a few high-ranked heads. Too late.
Those flashes were a distress signal, from a colony hidden in tunnels that riddled Pluto's rocky surface. The bacteria that for us were the first building block of life were deadly to them, and they were summoning reinforcements. Big, angry reinforcements.
We never got Pluto back. If all of the research ships stationed around it hadn't been linked back to the command center on Hyperion, around Saturn, we would never have known what happened to them. As it was, we saw through their viewscreens as ship after ship exploded, blown to dust by the most advanced technology we had ever seen. It was terrifying, but nothing to what happened next.
Not content with their vengeance, they started moving inwards. In the time it took us to marshal enough of a navy to fight back, they took all thirteen colonies around Neptune. We finally met and repelled them at the Battle of Ferdinand, around Uranus, but at the cost of half our fleet. Our only saving grace after that was that they seemed unaccustomed to resistance, and retreated for a time to Proteus, Neptune's closest moon. We built ships as fast as we could, racing cadets up through training to make our force as large as possible. And, well...we were lucky. The force that had originally devastated us seemed to have been only a patrol, already close to our solar system, not a full armada from their home planet. It took years for that to arrive.
Now, in 3113, we've detected something massive. It's on the outer reaches of our sensors, but it's there and moving towards us.
Are we ready for this war?
From all who tried out of history's tide,
Salute for the team that won.
And the old Earth smiles at her children's reach,
The wave that carried us up the beach
To reach for the shining sun.
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Posted: Sun Aug 30, 2009 10:47 am
They say for Norway's captain
Discipline's an iron whip;
It's worth your life to break her rules
In dock or on the ship. 1. This roleplay was created specifically to combat the strange habit that most threads in this guild have: Namely, going strong for a few pages and then completely flaking. Therefore, DO NOT JOIN IF YOU CAN'T POST REGULARLY.
2. As creators, Si_Valael and Anila of Pellinor are gods. No arguing or backtalk is allowed; healthy debate may be permitted.
3. Naturally, follow TOS. This should be an obvous one.
4. KILL THINGS. Just not other people's characters.
5. If you really want to play one of the aliens, you can, I guess. Your character will then be the prototype for the rest of the race, so make it good if you choose to do this.
6. PM profiles to either Anila or Si_Valael.
7. As always, godmodding will not be allowed. (Then again, that's hardly a problem in this guild.)
8. Rules may be added without warning and at the discretion of Si_Valael or Anila Of Pellinor; however, being nice people, we will probably tell you if this becomes necessary.That no one's safe that's under her command,
But if that's so,
Then why do her troops cheer her
When she passes them below?
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Posted: Sun Aug 30, 2009 11:20 am
Take my love, take my land,
Take me where I cannot stand.
I don't care, I'm still free,
You can't take the sky from me.
Ship Classes
Carrier class - The largest ships in the U.E. space fleet, these behemoths range anywhere from 1.5 to 3 kilometers in length and 400 to 800 meters in width. The carrier class still resembles the ancient aircraft carriers of the twenty first century; however instead of a top-side landing strip, ships are stored and launched from a bay in the center of the ship, which runs from bow to stern. Powerful magnetic fields are deployed at either end to keep the atmosphere in while the doors are open, allowing fighters to launch without the need to depressurize the bay. While the number of fighters and gunships that can be held by each carrier varies, the largest of these vessels can hold over three hundred fighters in addition to over a hundred gunships and other support vessels such as landing craft. However, due to its role as a transport vessel, the carrier’s shipboard armament is relatively small with only a few anti-ship artillery and anti-fighter batteries, making it rely on support vessels and its complement of fighters for defense. The engineering section, located on either side of the hanger, houses all the generators and mechanic’s repair bays, with living quarters above and below the hanger decks and the bridge located slightly to stern of center on the top side of the ship. Crew complement: over ten thousand. Cannot fly in atmosphere.
Battleship Class - While the Carrier ship type is designed to carry as many fighters as possible, the battleship class is designed for maximum shipboard firepower. These ships, maxing out at 1.4 kilometers in length and 500 in width, bristle with anti-ship artillery all along their wedge-like hulls. While some of their weapons are positioned along the sides, the majority of their artillery is installed on swiveling turrets along the top and bottom of their hulls, allowing them to deliver a majority of their firepower to any given target. The pride of each Battleship is the Titan class laser artillery, a turret assembly that can be as large as cruiser and punish enemy capital ships. However, their large size requires a great deal of energy and cooling time. Battleships carry no fighters or support vessels due to their lack of hangers, relying on airlocks along their hulls to transfer personnel and supplies. Crew complement: several thousand. Cannot fly in atmosphere.
Destroyer Class - Maxing out at just over half a kilometer in length and 100 meters in width, these boxy ships carry a balance of artillery and anti-fighter armaments. While not as heavily armed or armored as the battleship, destroyers are much faster, allowing them to out-maneuver their opponents in order to exploit weaknesses. Destroyers are also armed with several missile tubes like those found on fighters and gunships, and while they have a limited supply of ammunition their warheads pack a powerful punch. Each destroyer can carry a half to a full squadron of gunships for added fire power. Crew complement: under one thousand.
Cruiser Class - The second-smallest ship in the fleet, the Cruiser class is designed exclusively for anti-fighter actions. Its 200 meter length is splotched with anti-fighter batteries, each run by high end computers allowing the guns to track swiftly moving enemy fighters and bombers. Their engines allow the crusier to move at near gunship level of speed, though it lacks the maneuverability of the smaller fighter class ships. Its amour and shielding is sufficient to stand up to most fighter attacks but cannot stand up to that of larger fleet ships, leading to a kind of symbiotic relationship with destroyers and battleships. Crew complement: 50-100.
Gunship - The larger of the two fighter class ships, gunships are considered by some as the work horse of the U.E. fleet due to their many uses. While their primary function is to be a heavy attack craft in both space and atmosphere, they are also used as troop transports, cargo craft, and even as defensive weapons placements when landed on a planet. Their primary weapon load usually consists of several lower powered anti-ship artillery weapons, with missile tubes and several anti-fighter turrets manned by crew members. They run as long as 30 meters long and 15 wide. Most have wings to aid in atmospheric flight and crews around six members strong.
Starfighter - The smallest of all the U.E. ships in the navy, these speedy darts act as fast attack craft and interceptors for the fleet and are the primary defense against the threat of enemy fighters. Running about a dozen meters from bow to stern they carry laser cannons like those used in anti-fighter defense on ships in addition to high yield missiles. The design and performance of fighters varies much more than other ships in the fleet, a fact that sometimes creates a child-like animosity between pilots of different fighter types, each boasting about the strengths of their respective ship. Crewed by single pilots.
Technology
Anti-ship guns, aka artillery: Fires high intensity balls of energy, range greatly in size and strength. However, all are slow firing and require a great deal of energy.
Anti-fighter guns: Comes in two flavors, laser cannons and energy flack. Laser cannons fire long lances of energy, while energy flak shoots small pulse blasts (balls of energy) wrapped in a cocoon of energy. When the cocoon of energy disipates the balls explode, allowing them to be set for certain ranges. Laser flak requires a great deal of precision to work properly, meaning that only ships that have sufficient space for computers can make use of them.
Inertial Manipulators: Serve two functions. The larger ones are used on the captial ships to provide artificial gravity, making it easier to work. The second purpose is to help fighter pilots by reducing the effects of g-forces due to acceleration and high g-turns.
Shielding: The one piece of equipment that all ships share besides engines. They not only provide ships with protection against the various threats posed by the sun but also against weapons in combat. Generators provide power to various emitters along a ship's hull which project a layer of energy a few inches off the ship's hull. Shields are invisible to the human eye unless struck at which point the affected area of the shield will glow.
Tractor beams: Employed in various ships, they can be used for towing cargo or even capturing enemy vessels that have been incapacitated.
Infantry
Paratroopers
Tactics and Equipment of Airborne Units in the 32nd Century
Adapted by MacTavishW3 with the help and permission of Si_Valael
To compensate for the low gravity involved with performing jumps on most terraformed and colonized words, paratroopers now employ glider packs that feature a pair of unfolding wings. These give the paratroopers a limited flight capability, allowing them to accellerate their fall by diving or slow the fall and land by pulling up. Once the paratrooper has reached the ground the pack is normally disgarded as a means of lightening the soldier's load and allowing them more mobility.
Airborne units typically are typically sent into action through two types of deployment: Atmospheric jumps and orbital drops.
Orbital drops usually occurr at the outset of a planetary invasion. The paratroopers enter orbital drop pods in "sticks" of six. The pod is then ejected from the spacecraft in question towards the planet. After entering the atmosphere and reaching an appropriate altitude the pod will then disintigrate and the paras will deploy their gliders.
Atmospheric jumps will normally occurr after the army has firmly established themselves on the planet. The paras will form "chalks" of twelve aboard atmospheric aircraft or dropship, be flown over a designated dropzone (DZ) and deploy from either rear or side doors, employing their gliders when the time is right.
Orbital drops tend to be easier to organize and quicker to deploy, but as the paras spend a significantly longer period of time in the air they are more vulnerable to fire from the ground. Atmospheric jumps allow airborne units already on the ground to be deployed in a more efficient manner and the troops spend less time in the air. However, transports are vulnerable to ground and air fire when entering enemy airspace, even if supplied with fighter escorts.
While paratroopers try to bring as much equipment as possible with them on an operation, they still must carry as light a load as possible to maintain mobility and speed. As such paratroopers do not have access to the heavier weaponry or vehicles that the other branches of the infantry utilize. Airborne units are generally employed in capture and hold missions, but must rely on the speed with which infantry, armour and air support arrive to relieve them. Paratroopers at the outset of their missions expect to be, and are trained to fight whilst completely surrounded. Still, if the proper support does not arrive in time their comparatively small force runs the risk of being eliminated.
Paratrooper Armaments
Assault Rifles/Carbines: These are the primary armaments for the Infantry. Paratroopers tend to prefer carbines or rifles with collapsable stocks because their compact size makes them easy to carry and store in dropships and drop pods. They can be set for single shot, burst fire or automatic fire. They have decent long range capabilities but are more effective at medium range.
Squad Automatic Weapons: Two of these repeating guns are assigned to each section. Designed for fully automatic fire they are primarily employed as a means of suppressing the enemy, but have devastating killing power. Operators wear backpacks that feed energy to the weapon. After prolonged periods of sustained fire a breif cooling period must be allowed.
Anti-Tank Weapons: These are essentially scaled down versions of anti-ship cannons. They employ energy clips that have to be changed after three shots.
Sniper Rifles: Long range, single shot weapons that fire concentrated beams of energy that can be charged to varying degrees, allowing for anti-infantry, anti-armour and even anti-fighter capabilities. The greater the charge, the longer the weapon takes to recharge.
Grenades: The infantry have access to a number of different types of grenades such as: frag grenades, anti-armour grenades, smoke grenades and flashbangs.
Pistols: Semi-automatic short ranged laser weapon, not as powerful as rifles or carbines.
Knives/Bayonets: Bayonets can be attached to the muzzles of rifles and carbines to allow the soldier melee capabilities. As they are mass produced and issued bayonets tend to be beam weapons. Combat knives are acquired by individual soldiers and can be beam weapons or metal bladed weapons depending upon the preference of the bearer.
Special Operations Troops
The Special Ops troops are highly trained individuals that are most often genetically manipulated to create 'super soldiers'. There are various different Units within the Special Ops, each with different skills, and goals, all just as dangerous. Each unit has it's own colour scheme that identifies them. Special ops teams are made of two types of people, Psychics, and Brawns. Psychics are people that were created in a medical lab and have various psychic abilities, along with unparalleled speed, and Brawns can either be people who were also created in a medical lab and are far stronger than the average human, and can also withstand pain that would normally cripple most. The other option for Brawns is humans who have undergone genetic manipulation after birth, the older they are the further away they are from the 'grown' Brawns. These 'made' Brawns are weaker than the 'grown' ones, but are stronger than most people.
Some times Brawns and Psychics are placed in normal units and have a special task to fufill without the others knowing. This is often used as training, but sometimes is used as punishment, for they aren't allowed to use their full abilities.
The average population knows that the special ops exist, but they don't know the full extent of their power, or how to identify them. Special Ops troops however know how to identify each other. Brawns have a tattoo behind their right ear of a fist, and Psychics have different tattoos based on their power. Read below to figure out what.
Powers:
Aura reading - The ability to tell what a person is like, or where they are hurt by reading their aura, different colours have different meanings. Tattoo: Green Eye
Channel - The ability to channel the universe's energies into healing energy. Tattoo: Hand
Clairvoyance - The ability to retrieve history of an object or person through touch. Tattoo: A hand with an eye in the palm.
Control - The ability to control other beings. Tattoo: A hand with strings coming from the fingers.
Dowsing - The ability to find certain objects. Different dowsers are better at finding different objects. Tattoo: A Y shaped branch.
Dreaming - The ability to enter peoples dreams without being anywhere near them, used to communicate messages. Tattoo: Closed eyes with stars on the lids.
Empath - The ability to feel what others are feeling, and to alter the mood of everyone in the room. Tattoo: A rose with different colored petals.
Medium - The ability to communicate with spirits of the dead. Tattoo: A spirit.
Precognition - The ability to see the future. The future changes as people change their decision, so it is not an exact science. Each Precog has different abilities. Tattoo: A purple eye.
Psychokinesis - The ability to move physical objects with ones mind. Tattoo: An eye with a hand shaped iris.
Telepathy - The ability to communicate with out words. Tattoo: Mouth sewn shut.
Xenoglossy - The ability to understand, and speak every language known, without prior teaching. Tattoo: A silver tongue.
Units
Infiltration:
The special ops that are sent behind enemy lines for varioius different tasks. They can either be used to assassinate, or sabotage, or retrive information, either way they must not be seen, and must be fast about it.
Mostly Psychics. Powers most often used: Precognition, Control, Claivoyance, Telepathy, Dowsing, and Psychokinesis. Colours: Black, and Grey.
Shock Troops:
The special ops that are usually the first strike against enemies. Trained to win or die.
Mostly Brawns. Powers most often used: Control, Precognition, Psychokinesis, and Telepathy. Colours: Red
Diplomatic:
The special ops that get sent on diplomatic missions to attempt to reach a truce. These missions have failed in the past, but that doesn't stop them from trying.
Mostly Psychics. Powers most often used: Aura Reading, Empath, Telepathy, and Xenoglossy. Colors: Blue.Take me out into the black,
Tell 'em I ain't comin' back,
Burn the land and boil the sea,
You can't take the sky from me.
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Posted: Sun Aug 30, 2009 12:34 pm
I want to go dancing on the moon.
I want to frolic in zero-gravity,
Hear Jupiter sing, tour Saturn’s rings.
When will space be open for me?
I want to go dancing on the moon. (Also includes random notes.)
(Society info TC)
Lyric credits:
1. Hope Eyrie by Leslie Fish
2. Signy Mallory by Leslie Fish and Mercedes Lackey
3. Ballad Of Serenity by Joss Whedon
4. Dancing On The Moon by Diana G. Gallagher
5. Rocket Ride by Toni Smith
6. To Touch A Star by Steve MacDonaldOrdinary people will go... tomorrow.
Tomorrow can’t come too soon.
The years so quickly flow,
And progress is so slow,
Tomorrow I’ll be too old to go
Dancing on the moon.
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Posted: Sun Aug 30, 2009 12:35 pm
Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide,
Nothing worth doing that I haven't tried.
There ain't no living on planet-side,
Come on with me, baby, on a rocket ride. [b]Gaian Name:[/b]
[b]Name:[/b]
[b]Gender:[/b]
[b]Age:[/b]
[b]Military branch:[/b] (Fleet command, starfighter command, special ops, infantry)
[b]Rank:[/b]
[b]Station:[/b] (where you're posted, includes what planetoid you're stationed at as well as the unit, so say for a squadron: Highflight squadron, stationed on the U.E.S. Geniva, third space fleet on station around Titan.)
[b]Appearance:[/b]
[b]Bio:[/b]
[b]Equipment:[/b] (includes weapons and vehicles)
I want a shining tower of glass and steel,
A rubber jumpsuit and a freeze-dried meal,
The will to survive, the need to explore,
The love of adventure, who could ask for more?
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Posted: Sun Aug 30, 2009 3:21 pm
I look into your eyes and wonder
If you see the sky and wonder
If you'll ever get that far
To reach up, and touch a star. Gaian Name: Si_Valael
Name: Magnus Churchill
Gender: Male
Age: 26
Military branch: Starfighter Command
Rank: Captain, Commander of Grey Wolf Fighter Squadron
Station: Grey Wolf squadron, 76th fighter wing, assigned to the carrier Zeus's Wrath, 5th Carrier group, on station around Titan.
Appearance:
Bio: Magnus is the last living decendant of the noble Churchill line. Despite his family's long line of heros such as Britain's Winston Churchill, over the last few centuries the family name had been ruined by war and cowardice. His parents, desperate to revive the family, spent almost every penny they had on transport to the Jupiter moon of Titian and enrolement in a special program there for their unborn son. In the shady facilities of the Eugenics Group, Magnus underwent extensive gene manipulation.
Growing up, Magnus was careful to always restrain himself from showing his true potential due to how gene manipulation was frowned upon, a fact that always annoyed him. When he turned 18 he decided that his parents gift to him would be best served in the fight against the invaders, and so he took the entrance exam for the U.E. fight officer corps. Making just enough mistakes to avoid suspicion Magnus was accepted into the ranks and once in he was keen restore the Churchill name. In 3105, Magnus took part in the brave defence of Oberon, in which a small scout force repelled an enemy advancement long enough for the colony citizens to evacuate. During the defence Magnus took four of his squad mates on a near suicidal run through Uranus's rocky rings in order to exploit a weakness in the enemy formation, the skill of both piloting and tactical assessment of the manouver prompting his premotion to lieutenant. In 3110 after pouring over enemy fleet data he put forth a strike plan against the now captured Uranus moon system. Using only a fighter wing, gunship squadron and two destroyers, Magnus' strike cost the enemy several supply depots and even a ship yard in midconstruction. This plus several other sucesses both in the cockpit and in the war room brought his premotion to Captain and with it command of the newly formed Grey Wolf squadron.
While he cares for each soldier under his command and cares for them a great deal he never speaks of his past and when faced with questions he will often give them a slight smile before walking away. This has made a hobby for many that know him, trying to unearth the details of his past.
Equipment: Laser pistol kept in thigh holster and beam knife, kept in a sheath worn on his left bicep, usually beneath his clothing. Pilots a Comet Mk III interceptor, armed with two laser cannons and missile tubes along the bottom of its bow, magazine of 12 missiles.
Comet Mk III
Gaian Name: IamSTRANGE
Name: Skye
Gender: Female
Age: 20
Military branch: Special Operations
Rank: Captain, Commander of the Shadow Infiltration Unit.
Station: Shadow Infiltration Unit, unknown origins.
Appearance:
Skye wears that under her suit, also her eyes change colour with her mood.
Bio: As a child Skye was lead to believe that she had been orphaned during the battles with the aliens, and that both her parents had helped save the colonies that were left, but at the age of fourteen the caretaker of the orphanage she was in told her the truth. Skye, and a couple others at the orphanage had actually been made in a medical facility that was trying to create the perfect warriors. She and the others had been deemed failures and sent to the orphange in hopes that a normal family would adopt them and the blunder could be forgotten, but the rejects had shown skills beyond those of normal humans. They weren't stronger than the rest of the population, but possessed mental abilities way beyond the human level. Each one of the rejects was different, some being able to force people to do as they say, others being able to move things with their minds, and one could even see the future. These Psychic beings also possessed speed that rivaled some of the terrain vehicles.
Upon learning where she actually came from Skye and the others were whisked away to a training facility where they would hone their psychic skills along with other things that would allow them to assist in the war.
Skye is a natural born leader, and thus was put in charge of the first infiltration unit that was created. She has been leading it since she turned sixteen, and although those under her have been switched around, she has never changed units. Skye's unit doesn't just have Psychics in it, she is also in charge of a couple Brawns too.
Equipment: The special operations units all have suits that are made of light weight, reinforced, heat resistant metal, and have smaller versions of the shield generators on the ships. These shields are only activated when the user wants, thus allowing for less energy usage. Each suit is specialized for every soldier. All of the soldiers in Skye's unit have black suits with grey detailing, allowing them to blend into shadows, they also have camoflauge material over the suits that allows them to blend into whatever surrounds them when they activate it. Skye's suit has 'claws' in the hands and feet to assist in climbing things, and small jets in the boots to allow for higher jumps. Her weapons consist of two beam swords kept on her back, two laser pistols on either hit, and smoke grenades. She also has a small amount of plastic explosives if she needs to make a fast getaway. Skye is skilled at hand to hand combat and can will people to do as she wants. Some believe that this is why she has obtained the position she currently has.
Gaian Name: MacTavishW3
Name: Neil Cochrane
Gender: Male
Age: 25
Military branch: Infantry, Airborne (I know, I know, I use this too much, but I'm a sucker for the paras)
Rank: Captain
Station: Wulver Company, 3rd Battalion, 476th Regiment, 4th Brigade, 136th Airborne Division, 7th Battlegroup, currently stationed aboard the Wrath of Zeus, 5th Carrier Group over Titan
Appearance: Neil is a tall, strongly built man with short brown hair and sideburns. He wears standard camo combat fatigues and a maroon airborne beret when not in battle and sturdy carapace armour of the same camo scheme when in the thick of it. This armour can incorporate goggles and a breathing aparatus when necessary.
Bio: Neil Cochrane was born and raised in Canada, his family emigrated to Titan when he was 12. At the age of 18, in 3105 when the alien threat was resurging for the first time, Cochrane decided to join the military and fight the good fight. Most of his fellow recruits thought that the Earth Boy couldn't hack it in the environment of space, so to prove his abilities Cochrane applied for the highly dangerous position of paratrooper in the 476th Airborne Regiment. Surprising instructor and squadmate alike, Cochrane passed with flying colours, achieving the rank of sergeant in the newly formed 3rd battalion of the regiment. No sooner had his training been completed did Cochrane and the 3rd Battalion find themselves thrown into combat. Within four months of entering the battlefield, Cochrane found himself embroiled in brutal battles of attrition on the moon of Triton. During one such battle the 3rd were almost completely surrounded when the units on their right and left flank broke and retreated under the alien onslaught. Fighting desperately, refusing to yield, the 3rd held out long enough for re-inforcements to arrive and drive the aliens off. By that time the 3rd Battalion had suffered 76% casualties those soldiers still alive had been forced to take ammunition and grenades from the bodies of the dead and wounded and Neil Cochrane, the only senior NCO left in Wulver Company, was quickly given a field promotion to Lieutenant. As the battles continued Cochrane's tactical skills and his indomitable will earned him the rank of Captain. He now commands Wulver Company and is continually wondering where the ideas of the Top Brass will send his comrades next.
Neil is a kind, yet cynical individual, always the first to make a sarcastic remark and unafraid to speak his mind if he thinks the plans of a superior officer could result in disaster. He maintains an informal and friendly command of the soldiers under his wing that has earned him more than a few frowns from various higher-ups.
Equipment: Cochrane carries a G130 Laser Assault rifle with a telescoping stock and an optic sight, an HK45 Laser Pistol, frag grenades, flashbangs, and a bayonet forged of a strong, sharp metal alloy discovered on Mars. He follows a maxim taught to him by an old instructor: The more they bleed, the less they'll feel like standing up again.
Gaian Name: Anila Of Pellinor
Name: Cassandra Regulus Barnes
Gender: You bet your shiny ship I'm female, buster.
Age: 47 proud years, but looking less than half of it.
Military branch: Fleet command.
Rank: Commodore. Yeah, you'd probably better salute me.
Station: Usually in command of the Sixth Fleet at Fornjot, Saturn's outermost moon, but called back to Titan for a formal reprimand and probably a host of tactical meetings. And not happy about it, either.
Appearance:
(Well, I can't wear that stupid uniform all the time, can I? And no, that's not one of those ancient 'cigarettes'. It's just a prop. Reputation and all that.)
Bio: I was born on Phobos, one of Mars's moons, but I don't really remember it. In fact, if I hadn't stolen my own personnel folder in training, I wouldn't know any of my own history. You see, for the first twelve years of my life I was in Spec Ops training. Intensive training. The kind they subject you to when a CAT scan shows enough brainpower to hurl ships around with a thought. So no sooner was I weaned then I was taken away from my parents, and essentially raised to be a tool.
Well, that all ended little over a decade later. It was a training accident, according to my file- nevermind that all the investigation I've done shows that the boy who shot me vanished soon after the incident. Kid was supposed to be a Brawn, and ended up putting a bullet through my left temple. Bam. Career over. You don't shoot the golden girl and get away with it. I'm not sure what they minded most- that I was injured, or that it cost them a crapload of money to fix me up again. At least, I'm not sure what they minded at first.
Later, it was definitely the event itself, not the dollars and cents. Those doctors had to slice my skull open and perform a partial lobotomy, then give me almost a full blood transfusion. That wasn't all, either; my left eye was damaged, too severely for even our advanced medical practices to repair, so they plucked it out and replaced it with a wonder of engineering. The technical term is 'mechanically enhanced', but I know what you're thinking. And yes, I am a cyborg. But that's hardly the point- because the operation that removed the bullet from my grey matter, the one that saved my life, also left me without a drop of that precious psychic ability. To Spec Ops, I was useless. Conveniently, I also had no recollection of who they were, what they did to me, or where their operations took place. So they tossed me- not onto the street, but to another branch of the U.E. forces. Oh yeah, fleet command snatched me up quick as anything. Even if I couldn't conciously recall anything of my childhood, my muscle memory was beyond anything they'd ever seen. Not even thirteen, and I could shoot straight half-blind? What they wouldn't have given for twenty like me.
Now, this isn't to say that I'm perfect. I made as many cognitive mistakes as any other cadet in training- more, even, since I had to relearn speech and basic facts that they all took for granted. To top it all off, I've got this...temper. It got me into a lot of scrapes, and I broke bones so often that most of the doctors in the area knew me by my first name. After I was promoted to command of my first craft, a sleek little gunship, I went out for a celebratory drink...which turned into a celebratory brawl. At that time, the medic informed me that I would be better off if he replaced all the bones in my face with synthetics. It cost an arm and a leg (almost-but-not-quite literally), but has this nice side effect that I don't look my age. Of course, that might actually be more related to various injections I got before, during, and after the surgery to keep my body from rejecting those replacement parts. They've been compared to Botox times a gazillion.
Let me see, what else? Well, obviously I've worked my way up the ranks; I'm certainly no mere gunship captain anymore. And oh yes, that formal reprimand. That would be the fighting thing again. Apparently the preferred method of handling insubordination is some bureaucratic nosense, not punching the misogynistic pile of weasel turds in question and consequently breaking his nose. Live and learn, right?
Equipment: Not being much of a front-lines fighter, I don't have to carry much weaponry; however, I am equipped with a shiny black laser pistol. A girl can't afford to go unarmed. And there is the small matter of the noble Sixth Fleet...all of which answers to me. Pissing me off? Yeah, probably not such a good idea.
All you need to go is a dream
It's not quite as hard as it seems.
Never lose what you are
To reach out, and touch a star.
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Posted: Tue Sep 01, 2009 12:44 pm
Magnus strides thought the hallways of the Wrath of Zeus, the latest of the Nova class carriers, and on mornings like this one Magnus found himself wishing the engineers hadn't decided to build a three kilometer long ship. This morning's particular walk took him from the his officer's quarters, situated a few levels down down from the bridge and a few hundred meters aft, all the way to the pilots briefing rooms near the bow. To make matters worse, due to the ship's low combat status, the high speed transport tubes and moving sidewalks had been turned off to save on power, as well as preventing wear and tear.
"At least the walk gives me time to think," the man says outloud, not worried about being overheard due to the corridor's lack of use at this early hour. "And organize my thoughts, and think some more..." Checking the data pad in his left hand he pulls up the ship's schematics which, thanks to its connection to the ship's computer, now displays his position among the various corridors. "Only another eight hundred meters to go. Who knows, maybe I'll figure out a way to end this conflict, write a symphony, and prove string theory too by the time I get there." Chuckling to himself he trudges on.
At exactly 0800, the designated time for the briefing, Magnus strides though the open door into the small amphitheater. Among the three dozen theater-style seats sit eight men and women all in the same baggie green pilot's jumpsuit like the one Magnus himself wears. Despite their identical attire, each pilot seems to wear the clothing differently; some wore it in the proper fashion with the zipper that runs from navel to neck fully done up, others with the zipper completely undone with the top half of the jumpsuit left to dangle behind them or with the sleeves tied around their waist, and nearly every state inbetween. Magnus, despite being an officer, prefered the sleeves tied around his waist, allowing those around him to see his black tank top and formidable physique.
Moving up to the small stage opposite the bulk of the seats in the room the captain nods to Lieutenant O'Neil, his second in command. The man, when not slumping half way to the floor in his chair, stood just a bit taller than Magnus, with golden hair worn just long enough to skirt military regulations and cunning brown eyes.
"Hey boss, you gotta stop running these early morning meetings; they're ruining my beauty sleep." Magnus can't help as he rolls his dual-coloured eyes at the man's remark, stepping behind the amphitheater's lectern and starts to hook up his data pad to the room's computer.
"Any more of that and there wouldn't be any challange left when you go chasing after the women. Besides, I figured that seeing as there's a war on, I'd make sure that the finest squadron in the fleet is kept sharp and in the swing of things." Finishing the synching process Magnus begins to call up the presentation for the day while O'Neil chuckles quietly to himself and lifts up his own data pad to consult the information that he would soon be sent.
"Well, in that case I guess I can forgive you for this offence." Nodding, Magnus glances over at the Lieutenant, his golden eye spotting the man's data pad prompting him to transfer a copy of his data to O'Neil. Looking up he looks over the faces present noting two absences. Sighing, he raises his voice so that all can hear him.
"Good morning everyone. Looks like we're waiting on Chriss and Mai Ling once more." This drew a few chuckles from his squad. A few moments later two more green clad figures come rushing through the door, both breathing heavily. "Ah, flight officer Chriss, flight officer Mai Ling, so good of you to join us. Please have a seat." The duo straighten up when they hear the use of their proper ranks, throwing a quick salute, the smaller Asian woman blushing slightly under the gaze of her CO and squad mates. As the two move up the stairs to find a pair of seats together Magnus adds, "Oh, Mai, you might want to zip up a bit more unless you're trying to show off those hickies." The captain smiles as the room is once more filled with laughter, Mai once again blushing as she zips up her flight suit as far as it will go and sinks into her chair.
Once everyone is settled O'Neil steps up, drawing all eyes to him as he begins to read off his data pad. "Alright, just a bit of housekeeping before we give it over to our fearless leader. First off, Daniels you're on flight deck duty this week; choose your helpers as you see fit. Mai, due to your late arrival you'll be taking a turn helping the chefs in the mess, and though Chriss would usually share your fate, I must remind myself that we have to eat what ever is cooked on those surfaces- so with that in mind you'll be helping out our mechanics while Mai is in the kitchens. I'll get back to you on your time slots when I have them." Looking over his data pad O'Neil continues. "The captain of the Wulver Airborne has requested a pilot to help them work up some new training senarios for the simulators. If any of you are interested in earning a day down on Titan, work up a sim package and send it to me. Magnus and I will choose the best and send it over to them. And I think that's it- Magnus?"
Nodding his thanks to O'Neil as the man sits back down Magnus clears his throat to get everyone's attention before starting his briefing. "Alright, only a few pieces of official business today. Major Allan is working up a fighter-on-fighter war game for us sometime next week so I want everyone on top of their game and making sure their machines are running at peak preformance. More details on the scenario once I recieve them." Hitting a quick sequence of commands on his data pad the room's lights dim and the holoprojector in the middle of the room activates, giving shape to an image of the fleet with a series of dotted lines transposed ontop of it. "Grey Wolf squad is also going to be taking our turn flying CAP for the fleet, and after a whole lot of pestering I was able to secure the Beta route, as you can see. Should add a bit of excitement to an otherwise dull routine." Hitting another button the image fades only to be replaced by that of an older model battleship. "Last order of business. This is the flag ship of one Commodore Cassandra Regulus Barnes. We've been assigned to escort it and her two gunship supports into the fleet as she enters Titan's gravity field. Once the ship takes up station beside the Wrath of Zeus we're then to escort her as she moves from her ship to ours. Now, she's a flag officer so we're going to be doing a bit of showmanship in here too. I'm transfering the specifics now." Hitting a button on his data pad he sends the mission data to the data pads of his ten pilots. Noticing the dark skinned Matumbo raise his hand Magnus nods, giving the man permission to speak.
"Sir, I've been hearing a lot of rumblings about some kinda legal proceedings, possibly a court martial, around the same time she's supposed to be arriving. Plus, sending a full squadron, 'specially of experienced pilots, is a little much even for a commodore." Magus smirks slightly but quickly removes it from his face.
"What's your point Matumbo?"
"Well sir, seems they're trying to send a message too, a subtle one but one none the less." Magnus's smirk returns as a full smile. He always encouraged his pilots to think actively and evaluate even the most mundane of orders and goings on and it always lifted his spirits to see them follow through.
"Very good assessment, and while I haven't recieved anything on the record that would suggest as much, it's obvious that we're also a show of force here. With that in mind I want to see crisp flying, especially during the transfer stage. Now, if there are no further questions that will be all. Dismissed"
((sorry for the long post! XD))
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Posted: Tue Sep 01, 2009 6:00 pm
"Stop your fretting, Mendelson, it's not a court martial. They don't pull out all the stops for people like me."
Casually, the woman placed her feet on the edge of a console, crossing her ankles and leaning back in her chair. To look at her, one would never have guessed that she commanded one of the U.E.'s finest fleets; in place of a uniform, she was dressed in black slacks and a blood-red turtleneck, her long golden hair in a high ponytail. In one hand was a wide-rimmed glass, with the tell-tale olive that suggested a martini. Her heels rested just milimeters away from several important-looking buttons, making the pilot next to her quite nervous.
"In fact, if it weren't for the fact that 'Captain' Hampton's father's bank accounts have more zeroes than the number of inches in a lightyear, they probably wouldn't have bothered to call me back. It would have been just 'Cut it out, Barnes, you damaged one of our future commanders' over the vidcom. No fuss, no muss, no pageantry." She sighed, sipping from the martini glass. "Just the way I like it."
Mendelson, a skinny and anxious-looking man who would never dream of breaking regulation, glanced over at his C.O. "Begging your pardon, ma'am, but is it wise to be sloshed on your way to a formal reprimand?"
Cassandra Barnes shook her head with a cheerful grin. "Nope!" Then she proceeded to toss back the rest of the glass's contents, olive and all, spitting the toothpick back neatly. "That's why I'm not actually drinking alcohol. Just a little supplement water to stay hydrated. It happens to look better in a martini glass, that's all." What she didn't mention was the fact that, if she had any choice right now, she would have been roaring drunk hours ago. When impending doom showed its nasty little face on the radar screen, that was the natural reaction. And the blip that had the high-ups in such a tizzy was nothing other than pure death in the form of an incredibly advanced fleet of ships. They would arrive in the Sol system within weeks, maybe days, and then would come the biggest battle anyone had ever seen.
Of course, she didn't show her fear. That simply wasn't her way. Not that she was quaking in her boots...yet. It was a matter of time, that part. No, it was more the fact that if she was afraid, that fear would be communicated to several thousand men and women in the Sixth Fleet. Soldiers were much better off going into a fight with only their own panic riding on their shoulders; that of their commander would be too much to bear.
"Commodore? Ma'am? We're approaching Titan."
That startled her. Cassandra yanked her legs back and spun her chair around, catapulting out of it. "Thank you, Mendelson!" Goddamned dress whites. I just hope that Draysworth got my note... She skidded hard around a corner, grabbing at the wall to steady herself, then pelted down another corridor. Finally, finally, she reached her quarters, pressed her palm against the lock, and let herself in. Lo and behold, Ensign Draysworth was as good as his word- the loathed dress uniform was spotlessly clean and perfectly pressed, hanging on the wall. Farewell, comfortable clothing...hello, intimidating. Whites were meant to look official, and to her mind they did their job too well.
Like anyone who had spent years onboard a ship, she could feel as it slowed in the approach. They wouldn't even skim Titan's gravity well, let alone it's atmosphere, but a ship the size of Minerva's Pride took a long time to brake. Still, the change in vibrations meant that she had even less time to be prepared- and prepared she must be, when Titan hailed them on the vidcom. So Cassandra moved as swiftly as she could, changing her casual attire for the snowy white uniform, then slinging a belt around her waist and sliding her laser pistol into its holster. No way would she face those glaring faces for her reprimand without its comforting weight at her hip. The final touch was her hair; bad enough that it was far longer than regulations allowed without flaunting that fact. Undoing her high ponytail, she instead braided it tightly at the nape of her neck, then placed the uniform cap atop her head. When she checked her appearance, the woman who looked back from the mirror was every inch a regulation officer.
Cassandra snorted, then left the room again. Careful not to crease that precious uniform, she trotted stiff-legged through the corridors back to the bridge. Her timing, as it turned out, was impeccable; just as she sat down in the commander's chair, the vidcom crackled with a transmission from Titan.
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Posted: Tue Sep 01, 2009 6:56 pm
"We are each our own devil,"Skye walked swiftly down the long metal hallways her data pad clenched in her hand, and her eyes glowing red. Stupid officers. She fumed as she headed back to the barracks that she shared with her Unit. The officers had offered her a seperate room but she refused because she likes being able to keep an eye on those below her.
The meeting she was leaving was why she was in such a mood, the officers in charge of the Special Ops decided it would be a good idea for her Unit to work with some normal paratroopers for their upcoming mission. Skye couldn't help but feel like she was being punished for some reason, she couldn't think of anything she'd done recently to be punished, but who knows, that acidental death last week might be the reason.
Reaching the barracks she flung open the door and her soldiers were already standing at attention at the foot of their beds. Laela told them I was coming, and in a mood. Laela is the telepath in Skye's Unit, only one of the four other Psychics in the Shadow Unit. There were also 12 Brawns in her Unit, but they were easier to deal with, they never thought much more than follow orders. "As you already know I'm not in a good mood." Skye said as she paced the small room, and the others stood at ease. "Those stupid men in the white suits have sent us on a mission." She pivoted on a heel and looked at the other residents of the room, "Well at least, they have sent some of us on a mission, the rest are to stay here and train." The Brawns smiled at that, they loved building their skills of fighting. Pacing again, Skye continued talking, "I'm allowed to bring two other Psychics and 8 Brawns," She said glancing at each of the soldiers trying to think of who she would want to bring with her. "We are going to work with some Paratroopers." She said with disdain. "And be dropped behind enemy lines, they are to help us with the drop, then wait at the drop site while we fulfill our part of the mission. Which is," She says pivoting once more. "To assassinate the Colonel at the base we are dropped by, and to retrive as much information we can find." She paused in the middle of the room and looked around at the others in the room. "We leave immediately to meet the paratrooper team on The Wrath of Zeus, they will recieve their orders only once we arrive, but the sooner this is done with the better. As for who I'm going to take with me, Laela, Kneale, Sacha, Luke, Bex, Rob, Mark, Lyn, Yin, and Earheart. So pack your things, we'll need to travel light, so only take a few weapons, and even fewer gadgets." Turning on her heel once more Skye strides to her bunk to pack up her things.
Skye strode down the hallways once more, this time wearing her battle suit, painted in all black, with only her rank in dark grey, barely visable in the best of lighting. She carried her helmet under her arm, as did those that followed her. The two slender Pyschics, Laela and Kneale, and the eight bulky Brawns. The sound of metal colliding with metal rang throughout the hallway and caused the more sensitive Psychics to cringe slightly. Each person had brought what they believed they would need on this mission and nothing else. Skye had her beam blades, two 'bladed' weapons that could be whatever desired length, and cut through almost any metal; two pistols, and a couple smoke grenades. For this mission she had left her jump pack behind and instead brought a couple tracking devices, and some minature cameras, both of which were synched with her HUD.
The two other Psychics also brought little fire power, and more gadetry, like recording devices, and holo-communication devices, just in case. The Brawns on the other hand, were bogged down with weaponry, and not a single gadget between them, unless you count the tracking devices built into their suits.
The team of eleven Special Ops reached the air lock only 40 minutes after their orders had been issued. The flight crew that was to take them to the Wrath of Zeus had to scramble a bit to finish their preperations before take off. "We weren't expecting you to be so fast." the commanding officer explained while nervously wiping his brow. It was well known throughout the base that Skye had a temper and did not like waiting. She merely nodded at him and watched the flight crew run around like headless chickens.
Once the ship was ready, Shadow Unit boarded and they took off into the night sky, leaving the atmosphere in moments, and charting a course for Titan. Skye's unit retired to their cabins to sleep for the trip, a trick they had learned within the first year of activity, sleep while you can, for you never know when the next chance will arrive. "And we make this world our hell."
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Posted: Tue Sep 01, 2009 9:34 pm
Captain Neil Cochrane yawned as he and his platoon commanders and senior NCOs entered the docking bay to await the arrival of the Spec Ops team that they were going to accompany. He breathed easily in his comfortable fitting combat fatigues. He made sure that the Airborne emblem on his maroon beret was nice and visible, to showcase his pride in being part of that elite branch of the military.
"I still think this is overkill, sir," said First Lieutenant Doug Robbins, the stocky Executive Officer of Wulver Company, "Providing security for the Braniacs in the Brawns' job."
"A point I made very clearly to Colonel Koppel and which he repeated to the higher ups," Cochrane answered.
"And?" asked Robbins
"Their response," the Captain's voice had now dropped to a grumble, "Ammounted to them telling me to shove my opinion into a place where the comparatively few rays of sunlight that reach out this far clearly aren't going to shine."
"You do have such a way with words, Captain," Robbins chuckled.
"Thank you, Robbs" Cochrane acknowledged, "In any event it's too close to jumpoff to get anything changed and I doubt that the commander of this Spec Ops unit is any happier with this state of affairs than we are. So, we're going to co-operate in full and we're going to do as damn good a job as we usually do and if this all goes according to plan we all get back home alive."
"And if it doesn't go according to plan, Captain?" asked Second Lieutenant Dalia Slattery, the red haired, diminuitive yet hard-as-nails commander of 1st Platoon.
"If it doesn't go according to plan we improvise to fit the situation," said Cochrane as the group stopped in front of the landing pad where the transport would arrive, "And if the situation becomes FUBAR then we get our with as few casualties as possible and I take the Captain of this Spec Ops team with me to tell the higher-ups where they can go and what to do with themselves on the way down there."
"Wonderful," Slattery smirked.
"From what I've heard this group is more than worth their salt," the Captain shrugged, "Still, remember what I always say."
"Hope for the best, plan for the worst," Cochrane's subordinates recited the motto they'd heard more times than they could count in almost perfect unison.
"Exactly," the brown haired paratrooper nodded, "Now, let's be on our best behavior, eh? That means no using the words 'Braniac' or 'Brawn', or any other slang like that. These guys are soldiers, same as we are. Their psychic powers don't exempt 'em from getting yanked around by the Brass like the rest of us. I know Spec Ops units in the past have looked down on us and been very obvious about it, but that's all the more reason for us to do this job as well as we can. We're all friends here, got it?"
"Sir," his subordinates responded.
"Good," Cochrane nodded, "Let's hope their Captain's as cheritable."
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Posted: Wed Sep 02, 2009 3:17 pm
Magnus was just finishing his walk around of his fighter when a tight group of paratroopers makes their way past his squadron's hanger bay. Picking a piece of carbon scoring out of his starboard laser cannong without looking he watches them go past before looking over at O'Neil, who as usual had finished his preflight walk around early in order to hurrass his captain. "That looked like the command group of one of the para companies, we must not be the only busy ones today." O'Neil says as he turns his head to follow the little party before leaning forward against the fighters nose. Magnus, his eyes already back on his fighter, stooping low to examine the landing struts now extended from the bottom of the fighter's bow, tightening a bolt while speaking up so his voice would carry from under the figther. "It was the COs from Wulver." Coming back up from the fighter Magnus finishs his procedure, stepping back he takes a moment to enjoy the site of the machine of war. At just under 10 meters long it was one of the smallest ships ever used by the United Earth Forces, which combined with its sleek design and its state of the art engine made it the fastest and most manouverable fighters in the fleet. Even with the advanced skills of Magnus and his pilots they were still trying to find the limits of the fighter. Finishing his moment he turns to face O'Neil. "Ok, enough slacking off, make sure everyone's good to go and I'll get our clearance." O'Neil straightens up suddenly and throws an over exadurated salute. "Sir!" Giving a sly smile the blonde haired lieutenant moves off into the group of fighters.
A few minutes later Magnus's fighter rises off its struts and into the air on its manouvering thrusters. Gently increasing the throttle to his main engine he slips the fighter forward out of the recess in the wall that serves as the squadrons hanger. Behind him the eleven other fighters of his squadron mimic his manouver, the two rows of six moving out into the hanger proper. Leading the way into the main take off corridor Magnus spots a darkly painted shuttle making its way through the stern containment feild and towards an illuminated field. "Huh, that looks like a special ops transport. Something to look into later." Shaking his head to dismiss the thought he enters the flight corridor, hovering a meter or so off the deck while his squadron forms up behind him. Flicking a switch he activates the comm system on the frequency of the carrier's flight control. "Grey Wolf Leader to control, we're formed up and ready for launch, requesting final clearance." A dull sounding voice responds within a few seconds. "Wrath of Zues control to Grey Wolf Leader, you are clear to leave the hanger on vector two-six-niner. Have fun." Grinning Magnus gives the engines a bit of thrust to get him rolling. "Will do control." Switching the frequency back to his squadron he keys it once more. "Leader to squadron, follow me out." Bringing his engines up to crusing speed he leads the twelve other fighters down the one and a half kilometer streatch to the containment field. Punching threw it they move into deep space.
Arcing around the carrier the squadron makes their way to the distant shape of the arriving battle ship. When his fighters get within a kilometer of the ship he slows down and sends out a message on a general EU channel. "This is Grey Wolf Leader to the flag ship of Commodore Barnes, we are the escort assigned by the Wrath of Zues to lead her in. We are coming on station off your bow and will await your dispatch." Starting a slow turn Magnus brings his squadron around the stern of the battleship, alligning the fighters to run dead center along the ship's length. Swaping the comm system back to squadron frequency Magnus tightens his hands on the controls slightly. "Alright everyone flight dimond formation, keep it tight and afford them her all the pleasentries." As they move each of the squadron's three flights, consisting of four fighters each, move into a dimond pattern with one fighter leading, two off the lead's port and starboard, and one directly behind the leader of each flight. Magnus, leading the center flight, passes straight over the bridge, passing as close as is safe, and waggles his wings showing respect to the ship's CO. Once they are done their pass the Grey Wolves position themselves just infront of the ship's bow, pacing the larger ship.
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Posted: Wed Sep 02, 2009 4:02 pm
"We are each our own devil,"Skye awoke to the door of her room opening, although the door made no noise, it still woke her. She rose from the bed stretching and yawning. She nodded to the private that came to wake her. "I'll wake the rest thank you." Skye said dismissing the young soldier and heading out the door after him. She moved down the narrow hallway that housed the rest of the sleeping quarters, knocking on all of the doors. A swift pattern of three raps was her signature knock, and the soldiers would know that it was her and rise immediately to put their suits back on and prepare to dock.
Returning to her room Skye put on her suit aswell before heading to the bridge to await their landing. She was soon accompanied by her soldiers who were also in their suits with their helmet under their arms and packs slung over their shoulders. The packs held food and water and nothing else. No on knew just how long they'd be on this mission.
The ship jerked a little as it docked on the Wrath of Zeus, and then the door in front of them slid down and formed a ramp down to the landing pad. Skye noticed a group of paratroopers standing a few feet away, obviously awaiting their arrival. Skye walked briskly down the ramp, her soldiers followed like loyal dogs and stopped a foot behind her as she approached the obvious Captain of the Company. She stopped in front of him and saluted him. "You must be Captain Cochrane of the Wulver Company." She said in her brisk manner, holding her hand out for a hand shake. "And we make this world our hell."
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Posted: Wed Sep 02, 2009 4:04 pm
After the Grey Wolf Leader's transmission, Cassandra let out a low whistle.
"Well, well. I feel important now. A fighter escort and all...Hampton must be calling in a few favors for all this. You know, Mendelson, I believe I may actually be in some trouble." She didn't seem concerned, though; that just meant that her formal reprimand would be rather more harsh than otherwise. "That's the way it works, I suppose. Best hail the squadron- I'll do it, I think. I have to do something from time to time on this ship. A quick sequence of buttons opened a com link, and she tried to be as businesslike as possible. It wasn't easy; formality did not come naturally to her.
"This is Commodore Barnes to Grey Wolf Leader; thank you for your escort. I believe you have our flight plan in your computers; if not, the intention is to enter into a parallel orbit alongside the Wrath of Zeus, from which transport will be much easier. I do have several soldiers along due for a bit of shore leave, so if it's not too much trouble for you to transport them as well as me I would appreciate it." She paused for a moment, thinking...nope, that was it. "Barnes out."
Leaning back in her chair again, she glanced over at Mendelson. The man's face was tight with concentration, brow furrowed and lips pressed thinly together. These kind of maneuvers took precision work and a careful hand, but he was one of the best. While I'm talking to the brass, I should see about getting him a raise. Hell, all of us could use a raise, come to think of it.
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Posted: Wed Sep 02, 2009 5:59 pm
Magnus smiles to himself at the slight awkwardness in the commodore's voice as she answers his hails. Keying the comm unit a little to early he is unable to keep a bit of a chuckle from his voice. "Grey Wolf Leader acknowledges. And I suggest if your people are looking for shore leave they book passage on the Titan bound shuttles, you can contact our ship's bridge for details. Grey Wolves out." It was all to easy to pace the ship and make all the little adjustments to keep ahead of her as she manouvers into place along side their carrier.
The large battle ship was only on station for a minute before a shuttle was dispatched to dock with the battleship. Once Magnus got word that the shuttle was about to depart he gooses his throttle and pulls back hard on the stick exicuting a looping one eighty that put the battleship above his canopy. A quick check of his rear visuals shows the rest of his squadron following the same manouver. There was no need for words now, everyone knew what they were to do. Pulling up beside the shuttle after they launch Magnus steers his fighter into position in front and slightly to port while O'Neil mirrors his positioning to starboard while the rest of the squadron would be taking up similar positions all around the shuttle. Getting himself close enough to practically have a conversation with those seen through the shuttle view port if one were to use hand signals was a trivial matter for Magnus. In fact a majority of his attention durring these manouvers were taken up by his review of the latest enemy movement and fleet strength. With one hand being used to manipulate his pilot's yoke the other was free to scroll through the data desplayed on his main monitor. However, if someone were to review his flight log once they had landed all they would see is a record of visual sensor and relative distance checks, a product of a nifty little piece of programing he had written to help conseal his background.
Once they had seen the shuttle safely to the VIP landing area Magnus's grey and black fighter lead the others back to their berth and landed with practiced precision before poping his canopy and beginning the power down sequences.
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Posted: Wed Sep 02, 2009 6:47 pm
Battleships were a wonderful invention, but it was rather inconvenient to have to go through two airlocks to make the transfer from bridge to shuttle. Still, it was an inconvenience that must be borne in the name of defense; space was at a high premium already in ships without wasting it on gravity bays when airlocks would do. It took nearly a full minute for Cassandra to enter the shuttle, but she schooled her face to smooth composure as they pulled away, nodding politely to the pilot of the little craft and taking a seat.
Thankfully, the journey was simple, though the fighter wing outside made an interesting show. By the time they landed in the bay of the Wrath of Zeus, however, Cassandra had had far too much time to anticipate her upcoming scolding. She was confident that it wouldn't be a big deal, but that didn't make the anticipation any more pleasant. Being able to stand and leave the silence of the shuttle was a relief, even if she did feel the pilot's eyes on her as she did- accusing, almost. The man hadn't said a word the entire time.
Instinctively, she drew in a deep breath outside- and found it to be only stale, recycled air. Some things never change. Then the scale of the carrier dawned on her. Living primarily in a battleship made it hard to imagine something so enormous even existed, especially since the Minerva's Pride was one of the smallest of its class. Well, damn. Now, where did I put that little data pad thing? I know it was here somewhere... As briskly and subtly as she could, Cass patted herself down, trying to find the pad in question. It wasn't present.
"And how, exactly, am I supposed to find whatever conference room I'm going to without a map of this thing?" she asked the empty air in frustration. "I put on the damn uniform, I even remember the stupid hat, and of course I forget the most important gadget."
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