Raptor Two-Niner-Two
Battlestar Group 77
In his mind's eye, he could see the brilliant drama of combat unfold every time. His imagination easily conjured up the images: those of heavy guns – KEWs – going off, of flak fields being hastily erected, of countless attack missiles shooting away. Peering forward through the raptor's canopy, the bulky craft loitering slowly overhead as it awaited clearance to land, Major Carson Xhanda felt an odd sensation of both wonder and déjà vu. That broad grey-metal hull, those gun hoists and turrets – presently still and silent – and her crocodilian silhouette still inspired a rising pride and flutter in his chest.
Of course, the liquor was perhaps responsible for that too, the Major noted with a thin smile.
It was thus with him grinning like an idiot that his musings were curtly interrupted, the pilot at his side, a pretty and lithe lieutenant fresh from the academy, glancing sideways at him.
"Sir," she crisply reported, the comm-chatter, inaudible to Xhanda, plainly having been routed through her helmet. "Svarog's given us the all-clear. Seems Colonel Coverely scheduled a fuel spill drill while both you and he were aboard the Augustus, hence the delay."
Having begun the process of composing himself into the mold more or less expected of a Colonial officer when she'd looked at him, Xhanda quickly abandoned the attempt in favor of grinning fully. A brief laugh escaped him, his dark eyes dancing across the passing hull as the pilot deftly maneuvered their raptor around over to the Svarog's rear.
"That's just his style," he said, amused.
"You weren't aware of the drill, sir?" the pilot questioned, an eyebrow curiously upraised.
"Isn't his style to let me know," Xhanda responded, the exchange ending with that.
Lacking flight pods, the Gunstar Svarog instead had a single relatively small flight deck located in a gap between its two engine blocks. Whilst he'd by now gotten used to it, approaching the flight deck with two roaring and active engines on either side of one's raptor was nevertheless somewhat unnerving for most fresh pilots. To her credit however, Xhanda's pilot managed to take the bird in without any problems, approaching the open bay doors and settling the raptor down atop one of the lifts.
She wasn't quite a battlestar, Xhanda quietly mused, but he thought her a beauty regardless.
–
CIC
Gunstar Svarog
Battlestar Group 77
Whilst Xhanda was still waiting for landing clearance from the Svarog, the attention of all the CIC's crew was focused resolutely on two bickering figures positioned at its direct center; on opposite sides of the plot table. One was a broad and burly brute of Gemenese descent, with chocolate colored skin, a bald head, and a thin regulation goatee. His counterpart: a spry, pale, and thin Aerilon native, who was smaller by several inches in both width and height. Grease and oil stains were visible all across the front of his orange jumpsuit, and some upon his cheeks as well.
Affixed to the lapel of the larger man were the golden pins of a major, the other bearing those of a master chief petty officer.
"With respect, sir-" began the chief.
"Now hold on there, Chief," Major Zeno Giannoupolis said, staring the smaller man down. "I'm getting this feeling that nothing you're 'bout to say is in any way respectful, so let's get a few things straight here."
A single finger emphatically rose. "This ain't a carrier, we ain't meant to be deploying viper squadrons nor retrieving them in any quantity."
Its first twin. "We don't have a dedicated deck crew, deck chief, or anything more than the most basic facilities to maintain our birds."
The unwelcome third digit. "Yet we're expected to maintain some kind of standard of quality re-frakking-gardless."
His face flushed, his anger rising, Master Chief Petty Officer Simeon Colls responded: "the drill was-"
"The drill's the problem, Colls!" Giannoupolis shot back, cutting him off near immediately. He beat his fist against the clipboard clasped in the opposite hand, having by now certainly succeeded in attracting the attention of literally all eyes and ears in the CIC. His gaze briefly wandered across those various curious faces, and the Major quickly recognized the need to end this exchange swiftly.
"I won't berate you further," he concluded, letting out a sigh as he glanced at the chart again. "Ten minutes is an unacceptable figure. It'd be unacceptable on a civilian liner, and it's doubly so aboard a vessel of war. I don't need to tell you, I hope, what the implications would be if a fire had started – if it had spread to any of the auxiliary fuel lines beneath the flight deck."
In silence, he considered the other man for the span of several seconds, yet again managing to preempt any reply from the enlisted man: "you know your duties, dismissed chief."
Uneasily, his irritation very much plain, Colls saluted. "I'll drill my men, sir," he simply said, spinning upon the heel of his boot and striding out from the CIC.
An uncertain silence thus reigned for some moments in the CIC as the crew shared curious and almost anxious looks, as though fearing that they might be tempting fate by speaking. This lasted but a spell however, and soon the comfortable auditory undercurrent of consistent activity and several dozen conversing bodies resumed.
Sighing, Giannoupolis shifted his attention back down to the clipboard, setting it atop the plot table and slowly ruffling through the pages. Ten minutes to deal with a fuel spill drill, ten entire minutes. It was truly a shocking figure, and the Major had no doubt it was one Colonel Coverley would be quite disappointed with upon his return. He dreaded that conversation, for it was ultimately Giannoupolis' responsibility as the engineering department head aboard the Svarog to ensure the enlisted personnel were able to properly respond to such emergencies.
Ten minutes, he mused. Enough time for the fuel fumes to spread throughout the entire hangar deck, and more than enough time for some random bit of idle activity to cause it all to ignite. If the fumes had been given time to circulate in the Svarog's lone rearward hangar deck, any fire then would be like having a tactical warhead go off between the vessel's two engines – something which no one was particularly eager to deal with, least of all him.
"Lieutenant Agun," he called out, lifting his head and addressing the thin tac-officer the Svarog had recently received. Much to his disappointment – and simultaneous elation – Captain Orion Destuyes, who'd served in that capacity previously, had been promoted up toe Major and been chosen to partake in Advanced Command classes back on Picon. Having lost an experienced staffer, they'd instead been granted a tall and lanky girl fresh from the academy, though she'd proven herself more or less competent up to this point.
"Sir," Lieutenant Dorian Agun reported, stepping up to the table from her former station by the nav console. Her slightly sunken cheeks gave her a severe appearance. She'd make a truly terrifying XO one day, Giannoupolis reflected.
"At this time, add an additional two drills for the hangar schedule. Mark one down for 0445 tomorrow, and again at 1725. I'll make further revisions following consultation with the Colonel," he ordered, glancing down at his watch meanwhile.
"Do you want me to liaise with the chief, sir?" she slowly asked, taking down notes on a slip of paper she'd produced from somewhere.
"Not at this time. I'll be conducting the drill myself, assuming the XO doesn't want the privilege."
A wince, however briefly, crossed the lieutenant's features. She gathered her notes and bustled off, moving to make the arrangements for the new exercises. Indeed, having Major Xhanda conduct drills was something of a dubious honor, the Svarog's crew had learned over the last year. Whilst the man generally affected an affable and friendly manner, he was a harsh taskmaster during drills, and would often create truly challenging and creative scenarios for the crew to deal with.
In the previous hull breach drill, he'd gone along the length of the ship and marked random areas with an erasable red marker. After a few hours had gone by, with a handful of spots unfound, he'd proclaimed everyone as dead and sidled much of the engineering chief with extra duties for the week. Later, he'd reveal that many of the marks he'd made had been behind pipes, inbetween bulkheads, and on even on ceilings.
"A dubious honor indeed," Giannoupolis murmured, smiling lightly.
–
Staff Quarters
Battlestar Augustus
Battlestar Group 77
"How are you finding her, Tom?" the Admiral asked between laughs, a few drops of ambrosia having by now stained the front of his uniform and the mahogany table around which they all sat. After a particularly hilarious joke made by the departing Major Xhanda, the remaining command staff in attendance for this informal little meeting had been left in disarray, giggling like schoolchildren.
"She's a good ship," Colonel Thomas Coverley said with an almost wolfish grin, abruptly aware that his shot glass was by now entirely empty. Leaning forward, Admiral Horace Leece topped him off, grinning slightly as he lifted up his own cup: "to tall ships!" he offered as a toast.
The other three men there in the staff quarters happily repeated his words, likewise downing their drinks. Aside from the Admiral and the Svarog's CO, Colonel Erasmus Krakk of the Gunstar Frejyr, and Colonel Uriah Dayes of the Gunstar Therion were also present. Major Carson Xhanda, Coverley's XO, had departed several minutes ago, as had Commander Demetrios Georgon, who was head of the Battlestar Bellerophon.
"She's a bit different, isn't she?" Krakk spoke up, his fingers playing across the rim of his cup. Looking up, his dark eyes wandered between the assembled men. "From the Frejyr and Therion, I mean. Sort of the mark 2 of the Jormungandr class, isn't she?"
"Mark 3," Dayes swiftly corrected, grinning ahead at his compatriot, sitting directly opposite him in one of the Admiral's quite comfortable armchairs. "c'mon, Ras, you've been on gunstar duty for the last half-decade," he added with a laugh.
"Things are wavy right now," Krakk replied, dismissively waving one hand. The alcohol was potent, sure enough.
"Not really new anymore, though," the Admiral said, speaking slowly. "The Jormungandr-class, mark III, yes. I can't name them all off the top of my head, but the design's at least eight years old now."
"First boat was the Eris," he sagely added a moment later, bobbing his head forward.
"What's the difference anyway? I haven't gotten any of the briefing slips on my desk yet, and far as I can tell she's just a little bigger and faster," Krakk asked, idly tossing his shot glass from one hand to the other.
Coverley spoke up here, having been content to simply observe the exchange with some degree of amusement. "The mark III is longer, and a bit broader in the prow. Engines were improved and up-armored, with the gun hoists redesigned and the new auto-feeds that are in the Mercuries put in. Actually–" he glanced at the Admiral for confirmation here, "it's about twice as expensive as the mark II, now that it's got two FTL cores."
"Much to President Adar's dismay, gods damn him," the Admiral nodded, prompting general laughter from the gathered Colonels.
–
CIC
Gunstar Svarog
Battlestar Group 77
The Augustus, as was her wont as the flagship of BSG 77, had taken the lead. Just off her starboard flank was the Gunstar Therion, running close escort duty for the larger Battlestar. A few thousand kilometers out, a similar scene was visible: the Bellerophon, though at a slight angle, essentially following in the Augustus' wake with the Frejyr aligned off her port side.
This was a formation typical of Admiral Leece, Xhanda had learned, with the Admiral thus positioning his vessels optimally for either the quick formation of a skirmish line, or for a potential envelopment. In the wargames, Colonel Coverely had told him, Leece routinely split his forces, no matter how limited already, into smaller taskforces intended to conduct various assignments independently but in conjunction. This didn't gain him any popularity with the reigning military chiefs, but it did win him many victories at said exercises; his refusal to concentrate his forces making them extraordinarily difficult to find, pin down, and eliminate.
From the Svarog's perspective, the rest of the Battlestar Group was directly ahead, with she pulling rearguard duty for this patrol. In truth, that didn't bother Xhanda, though he knew that it might be considered unfitting for a craft as relatively new (at least compared to the two other gunstars in the group) as her. It just made sense, all in all, for the DRADIS and sensor suites fitted to the Svarog were spades more advanced and modern than anything installed aboard the Therion or Frejyr.
It was at that DRADIS screen which he presently stared, having relieved Giannoupolis an hour earlier and assumed his position on the bridge, just beside the plot table.
"Adjust bearing oh-oh-two coreward on the X," he directed petty officer Cathart, the helmsman.
A very slight change, one which turned the Svarog to follow the group in a straight line; the Bellerophon and Augustus having shifted slightly to the galactic left in their course.
"Who has the midwatch today?" Xhanda softly asked the duty officer nearby, who consulted her chart quickly.
"Captain Cai has it, sir," the woman responded, finding the appropriate timeslot.
"Swap her out with Lieutenant Vadim. The Admiral wants to conduct a jump test, and I want to see how well the kid can plot them."
"Very good sir," she said, hustling off to make the necessary arrangements.
That concluded, the Major simply allowed his eyes to wander, his irises idly drifting over random crewmen. They were performing well enough – save for that fuel spill debacle – but the monotony of the patrol had begun to set in, and a good few were starting to get bored of life aboard a ship of war. It was to be expected, he supposed. There were some material comforts to be had, but life on the Svarog was still a fair bit more basic than they were generally used to.
His gaze paused upon a nearby screen, it having switched off whilst an enlisted man poked about underneath it. For a moment, Xhanda considered his reflection, peering intently forward at the man staring back at him upon the glass display.
He could be considered a poster-boy for the fleet, he supposed. With a slim build, slicked back and carefully trimmed dark hair, and round if firm features, he'd found that whilst it was perhaps difficult for him to put on an intimidating facade, it was quite easy to appear professional. Better yet, his wide cheeks and thin eyes – he having the epicanthic fold typical of the folk of Tauron's great steppes – granted him an amiable appearance, and the crew had begun to like him immediately.
Lost in self-reflection, he was momentarily taken aback when the comms operator, PO Desmond Torrec, announced his message for the second time: "sir? Augustus reports DRADIS contact at extreme range; they're turning to intercept."
Blinking, Xhanda instructed for the DRADIS feed from the Augustus to be brought onto one of the spare screens, squinting up at it as soon as it was. Sure enough, the Augustus had veered slightly to port so as to intercept, the Bellerophon and escorts following in her wake.
"Helm, adjust oh-one-seven, oh-oh-seven, oh-oh-two," he said, "inform the Augustus that we're going to adopt a slow picket pattern between one-oh-oh and two-two-oh off her starboard side."
"Augustus acknowledges and approves," came the confirmation a second later, thus granting the Svarog permission to maneuver as she desired.
Xhanda's logic here was quite simple. He reasoned that the contact, though unusually large, was probably a freighter or pirate vessel, given that it wasn't squawking even a civilian IFF. As such, it was likely that either the Augustus or Bellerophon would have to board her, and so would be combat ineffective in case any of the pirate's buddy's showed up. Whilst the two other gunstars and another battlestar would be available, it was still standard procedure for a picket of some sort to be established whilst such potentially time consuming operations were taking place.
Besides, he thought with a grin, taking the initiative in such a manner was a good way to put oneself on the path to promotions.
"Augustus reports she's not responding to hails," Torrec reported, a finger placed against the comm-bead within his right ear. He took the liberty of putting it on the overhead speakers, something Xhanda frequently ordered anyway.
"This is the Colonial Battlestar Augustus hailing unknown vessel; identify yourself and respond or we will fire upon you."
Silence. That was perhaps a bit odd, but not really unexpected. What was unexpected was the ship's course.
"Sir, she's CBDR with the Augustus, ETA 10 minutes," Lieutenant Agun said, peering sideways at Xhanda from her console beside the operations table.
"She's not turning away?" Xhanda asked, surprised. His eyebrows shot up, and that tiny tingling in the back of his head which alerted him to imminent danger abruptly began. "Set condition one throughout the ship, then, sound action stations. If she's not turning, then she means to have a fight of it."
With a dutiful nod, Agun turned away. A moment later, klaxons began to blare overhead, her voice loudly projected throughout the ship by the PA system: "action stations, action stations. Set condition one throughout the ship. This is not a drill. Action stations, actions stations, set condition one throughout the ship. Department heads report to CIC upon manning of action stations, that is all."
His features suddenly grim, Xhanda quietly watched the drama unfold on his DRADIS screen.
–
CIC
Battlestar Augustus
Battlestar Group 77
Roused from their reverie by the officer of the watch, the Admiral and his three attendant colonels quickly reported to the CIC after the DRADIS contact was first spotted. They made something of an odd crowd, all four of them gathered around the DRADIS displays and plot table, each one peering expectantly upward.
They assumed that the oncoming vessel was a pirate only for a minute, but her dimensions and mass didn't match any of the known Colonial civilian or military patterns – off of which pirate ships were invariably based. Assuming the worse, the Admiral had ordered BSG 77 up to condition one, praying it wasn't but expecting the unknown contact to be a Cylon. Sharing a quick look with his comms-officer, he plucked up the conn set atop the console before him, lifting it up to his face.
"This is the Colonial Battlestar Augustus," he sent again, his voice firm. "To the Cylon vessel approaching us," Admiral Leece began, hearing an audible intake of air from around the CIC, "you are in violation of the Cimtar Peace Accords and on the Colonial side of the Armistice line. Respond immediately or we will fire upon you."
He placed the mic down, his gaze flickering between the comms-officer – who shook his head – and the overhead DRADIS displays.
"We sure she's a Cylon?" Dayes questioned, his features furrowed with worry.
"Can't be anything else," Coverely murmured, keeping his voice low, mindful of the surrounding personnel. "Pirates wouldn't charge at us. Best change for them would be to turn away and try to spool up their FTLs."
"Doesn't make sense for a single Cylon to turn into us either, though," Krakk put in, each of the colonels now offering some commentary. "If she's here on recon, she wouldn't want to be seen by us; let alone come charging right at us. Something smells odd about all this," he said with a grunt.
Slowly, Dayes and Coverely offered their concurrence, each one of them fixing the Admiral with a look.
"Gentlemen, I'm aware of the strange nature of this encounter. At present, we will proceed as we'd planned. If she wishes to engage us, then we will do so," Leece firmly stated, lifting up the conn again.
"All hands, prepare for combat maneu–"
He was cut off as the lights went off, all the displays, consoles, computers, and systems in the CIC simultaneously shutting down.
–
CIC
Gunstar Svarog
Battlestar Group 77
A brief bout of general pandemonium reigned in the Svarog's CIC as the corrupted CNP took control and in unison disabled all the systems within every single ship in BSG 77. Enlisted personnel and officers both were scrambling about attempting to ascertain the cause of the problem, communication within the ship being conducted almost entirely by way of courier.
Xhanda was bent over, peering into a console; having cracked open the massive computer linked to the DRADIS displays and sensor suite for a look inside. Whilst not an engineer by any measure, he had spent enough time in many different CICs to understand the fundamentals of how many such systems operated. Emergency power had come on, which at least allowed for some lights and a small amount of situational awareness. DRADIS was working, at a limited capacity, and so were many of the passive sensors – operating on their own unintegrated software, given how specialized some of those systems were. Many similar scenes were on display throughout the entirety of the ship, as the Svarog's engineering detail did its best to try and remedy the problem.
At first this state of affairs had been merely puzzling, a challenge and mystery to overcome, but now it had become truly alarming. As soon as the emergency power had kicked in, Xhanda noted that it appeared the rest of the battlestar group was undergoing similar issues. The Augustus, at the head of the formation, had listed heavily to port and just barely missed impacting against the Bellerophon as she moved forward, unpowered, through the void. The formation had dissolved as each of the ships swung in whatever direction they'd been going when power died off, driven solely by their inertia. Worse yet, that mysterious contact continued to draw closer at an oddly languid pace, having taken half an hour to take up a position above the Augustus when it'd previously been powering forward at a speed that'd have taken it only ten.
Lieutenant Agun came running into the CIC, literally hopping over a nearby petty officer busy at work beside a console so as to get to Xhanda.
"Sir!" she reported, snapping a hasty salute. Squinting up at her, Xhanda motioned for her to continue.
"The raptors are still operational. The pilots were able to spool them up and do a full systems check; all green. Unfortunately, we can't get the hangar doors open without power, so we can't send them out."
"Comms?"
"Comms are green, we've been able to talk with the Bellerophon and the Frejyr. Commander Georgon reports similar problems aboard his ship, as does Major Theod aboard the Frejyr."
"Any word on the Admiral and Colonel Coverely?" asked Xhanda, very much curious as to where his CO was and how he was faring.
"Negative, sir. The Frejyr is having similar problems with her hangar bay doors, and the Bellerophon's lifts don't work on emergency power, so she can't launch raptors."
"Raptors," the Major repeated, lifting up an eyebrow. "What about Vipers? The catapults don't need power to operate."
"Negative, sir," the woman repeated, shaking her head somberly from side to side. "The Vipers are having similar problems with their systems. All of them are dead on the deck, all systems checks performed on every mark seven being in he red. They can't even get the engines revved up."
Murmuring a creative profanity, Xhanda stepped away from the console he'd been working at, bidding a nearby Ensign to take over the task. He lead the Lieutenant over to the plot table, where the rough positions of the battlestar group were plotted – their drift being continuously accounted for by Lieutenant Vadim, who'd made the table his home for the last hour.
"What's the problem with the Augustus and the Therion? They've got raptors aboard," came the next question, Lieutenant Vadim jumping up a bit, mid-calculation, as they abruptly appeared. Offering the man a conciliatory nod first, Xhanda then looked back at Agun.
Biting her lip, Agun rolled back her shoulders. "The tac-officer aboard the Bellerophon believes she's drifted out of comms-range for the raptor by now, along with her escort. The raptors don't have as powerful an array as the gunstars or battlestars, so it's likely she–"
"Radiological alarm!" came the cry, Vadim having been the first to notice the blaring from the DRADIS display and sensor console. "Twelve inbound nukes, spread out across the fleet!"
"Frak!" Xhanda loudly let out, banging his fist hard against the plot table. He gave Agun a push, pointing towards the exit. "Get those frakking bay doors open right the frak now, send out all our raptors back to the colonies!"
Dutifully, Agun made off without another word, positively dashing out of the CIC as she made to obey the command.
There was nothing he could do, Xhanda realized after a moment, his eyes wandering across all the different stations throughout the room. Absolutely nothing. It infuriated, frustrated, and terrified him all at once. It was so remarkably unfair, that he and his crew were now consigned to a death outside their control, for reasons they were entirely ignorant to, by an enemy unknown, and by methodology uncertain.
Nothing he could do.
The Augustus was first consumed by nuclear flames, the DRADIS display shimmering as radioactive interference rendered it useless for a moment. Two further nukes hit the venerable battlestar, rendering the Mercury-class flagship to scrap metal within the span of several seconds. From the amount of interference and the reported size of the blast, Xhanda inferred that yield on the warheads utilized was quite high indeed.
At least death should come quickly, and painlessly, Xhanda reasoned.
Next was the Frejyr, which had drifted off some from the Bellerophon. A pair of warheads slammed into its starboard section, entirely eradicating the gunstar. Xhanda spent a few seconds, precious as these last few now were, to offer a quiet prayer to the gods. Around the CIC, similar scenes were easily visible, as the crew all slowly became cognizant of the dire straits they now found themselves in.
Two warheads detonated in open space, one just off from the Bellerophon and another amidst the wreckage of the Augustus. Perhaps the Bellerophon had managed to launch fighters, Xhanda thought. The biggest explosion yet occurred when the Bellerophon was hit, the DRADIS display blanking out entirely and not at all resolving as several enormous nuclear detonations went off against the battlestar's hull. Having kept a keen eye on the display, Xhanda reckoned that two missiles were left for the Svarog – two missiles which would easily take out the Svarog in her current state.
Looking about, he cast his gaze across the CIC, raising his voice to be heard by everyone within it. "Join me," he bid them, closing his eyes and clasping his hands together, "in a final prayer."
A half hour later, he was left wondering why he and the Svarog were still alive.