Flight Deck
Gunstar Svarog
BSG 77
Giannoupolis allowed himself a tiny moment of satisfaction as he surveyed his handiwork, standing on the flight deck clad in a full EVA suit. He'd been outside a mere moment earlier, having had to strip away some of the plating alongside a handful of other engineers so as to reveal the complex network of circuitry, wires, and pipes which were concealed deep inside the Svarog's hull. There, they'd managed to reroute a number of the power feed cables to allow for the hangar door (and lifts) to draw power directly from the emergency generator, thus getting both systems operational.
Now inside, he'd been the one to press the button to get that enormous blast door finally slide open. A grin split his features, barely visible to the gaggle of deckhands and engineers surrounding him, as he now contemplated this small success.
In many ways, the Svarog was over-engineered. He'd suspected that from the start, since he'd first laid eyes on her schematics, but it'd never been readily apparent. With the first Jormungandr class vessels having been deliberately basic, so as to allow them to fight an enemy which would readily use Colonial technological sophistication against it, successive iterations upon the original Mk. I would attempt to slowly address that "problem" as the Cylon threat gradually died down. The end result was the Mk. III, which due to several odd intricacies in design and engineering, was constructed in a way which was sometimes oddly counter-intuitive to general operations. Giannoupolis suspected that this had more to do with a desire by the government to satisfy civilian contractors – who often had hands in the government – than because of any real military demand for complicated vessels.
He'd made an amendment to the power feeds, and so now the various systems necessary for the operation of the flight deck could now also draw power from the emergency generator as well as the primary fusion reactor.
Lieutenant Agun, at his side, looked suitably impressed. "You did quick work, sir," she stated, her gaze approving as she likewise now observed the results of his efforts. "We'll send out a pair of raptors immediately, if that's all right."
"Probably best. You head on back to CIC and tell them that we've managed to get at least this much working. I'll have a few men running up and down from here to there soon as we get any word on what's going on out there," Giannoupolis responded, waving a hand vaguely forward. Without further commentary, and naught but a quick salute, the Lieutenant quickly scampered off to see to her assigned task.
Already, various engineering, maintenance, and repair crews of assorted specialties were swarming through the Svarog from stern to bow, frantically attempting to address whatever problem was the source of the widespread power failure. Much to Giannoupolis' concern and disappointment, there'd been absolutely no progress made on that front thus far. Insofar as the teams he sent out could ascertain, the hardware was without fault. Even the reactor, which had for all intents and purposes shut down simultaneously with everything else, was still technically capable of functioning at one-hundred percent efficiency, the techs who'd gone inside it to take a look reported.
If hardware wasn't the issue, then it was perhaps software that was. Unfortunately, given that the Svarog wasn't a battlestar – and thus not host to a particularly extensive or powerful network – computer technicians were in somewhat low supply aboard the gunstar. Nonetheless, Giannoupolis wandered off towards the reactor room, intent on testing his theory.
–
CIC
Gunstar Svarog
BSG 77
He was alive. More importantly, so too were its crew and the Svarog itself. The fact that now, nearly an hour after the rest of the group had been eradicated amidst nuclear fire, they were still alive was a confusing and even troubling one.
Xhanda had first suspected that they'd be or already had been boarded, and so ordered marine teams dispatched to critical junctions across the ship. Yet, that fear had quickly subsided when DRADIS resolved and showed that there were absolutely no other contacts in space around the Svarog. For all intents and purposes, it would appear that they were either overlooked or spared from destruction by some whim.
Even so, whilst they'd somehow managed to escape destruction, the Svarog remained dead in the void. The previous hour, after the crew had calmed down sufficiently from what was already perceived as a harrowing near-death experience, was spent in a state of frantic activity as the CIC was quite literally disassembled, comprehensively examined, and put back together in various orders. It was already beginning to frustrate Xhanda as to how few results they were able to show for their work, and his irritation was writ across his face as he turned to address Agun.
"Status?" he asked of her, she having been charged with coordinating the various response and repair teams in their unified effort to restore the ship to operational order. Whilst Giannoupolis was in fact meant to figure out just how that would happen, all the couriers ultimately reported to her, so she was essentially responsible for making sure they indeed got to it.
"Major Giannoupolis has managed to get the hangar bay doors and lifts operational by rerouting the power feeds from the primary generator to the emergency one. He's actually sent out two raptors, sir, to figure out what's going on out there," the woman efficiently responded, consulting her notes.
"They're communicating with the ones still onboard, correct?"
"Yessir, since it seems that the raptor systems are unaffected by whatever shut down ours. So far, the two crews we sent out report that things are all-clear. We've loaded the birds up with a full ordnance package and put them up on CAP while we get our collective shit together."
Xhanda nodded his approval, making a slight amendment to her plan. "We might not have everything working, but we've still got gravity and pressure. Send out four more birds to recon each of the group's ships. I don't expect that the nukes left much, but I want to make damn sure that there are no survivors left amidst the wreckage."
"That'll leave only two on the deck to respond to any emergencies, sir," Agun pointed out.
"Frak, Lieutenant, I know that," the Major testily replied, his gaze flickering absently towards the overhead DRADIS screens. At his side, Lieutenant Vadim was busy at work with the nearby nav console, fiddling with its innards. "The fact remains that we're sitting ducks either way until we get power back up; having a few extra raptors up won't change that."
"I'm not so sure, sir. If we equip one of our nukes to a raptor–"
Lowering his voice, Xhanda took the woman aside, placing a hand upon her shoulder and leading her away to a more isolated part of the CIC. Already quite preoccupied, they went unnoticed by the crew.
"You make a reasonable point, Lieutenant," he slowly began, licking his lips quietly as he considered his next few words. "At this time, however, I'm not prepared to load them out with nuclear weapons. We need at least one raptor on the deck to communicate with those in the air, but we've still got at least one spare one, correct?"
"Yessir," Agun nodded, her tone quite easily betraying her bemusement.
"I want it to execute a FTL jump back to the Caprica system. We need to know how to proceed from here, and if this was an isolated incident or merely the precursor to a larger war. I'll have a brief AAR ready for transmission by the raptor by 1800, launch at 1900; understood?"
"Yessir," the woman echoed again, marching off to comply with his directives.
PO Torrec appeared in front of him mere moments after she'd departed, quickly trying to gain the Major's attention. With a salute, he addressed Xhanda directly: "sir, I have something."
"What's that, Torrec? At ease," he added, beckoning casually for the man to continue. With communications down in their entirety, Torrec had instead deigned to take a look at the DRADIS systems, which were at least partially operational – taking over from Xhanda, who was much less qualified to do so.
"Well, sir," the lanky Caprica native began, smiling slightly and gesturing towards the DRADIS screens, "it's probably best if I show you."
With that, Xhanda following in Torrec's wake, the pair stepped up to the plot table and tilted their heads toward the displays. Torrec's fingers easily glided across a keyboard close-by, and the image on one of the screens quickly began to change. The arrangement of the battlestar group but two hours earlier was now visible on it, Torrec plainly having brought up the logs.
"So, I went through it frame by frame, sir, and I think I've figured out why we're still alive," the PO said with a sardonic smile, glancing sideways at his CO.
"Do tell," Xhanda merely put out, eyes glued to the screen.
Speeding forward several minutes, the PO brought up the DRADIS image from the moments preceding the first nuclear detonation against the Bellerophon. All of the missiles, despite the interference put out by the initial impacts with the other vessels, could be quite easily seen.
"When a nuclear missile detonates, sir, it puts out quite an impressive electromagnetic pulse, not to mention a considerable amount of radiation. This is what generally leaves DRADIS fuzzy in the aftermath of a detonation."
The image jumped barely even half a second, showing, indeed, an EMP pulse. Yet its source wasn't from a nuke striking the Bellerophon, but rather from the center of the vessel instead. The blue and green fuzziness which partially obscured its silhouette on the display was coming FROM it.
"That brilliant bastard," Xhanda appreciatively stated, quickly realizing what'd occurred. "It was too close at that point for it to scramble the targeting lock on the missiles for the Bellerophon, but it would at least keep us alive." Shaking his head slowly, partially in wonder, partially in disbelief, Xhanda turned towards the PO. "Good work, Torrec. See if you can–"
In unison, all heads in the CIC swiveled about and focused upon Lieutenant Vadim and the nav console – which had just brightly and loudly come to life.
"Lieutenant!" the XO roared, somewhat unnecessarily given the relatively short distance between them, "report!"
The youthful lieutenant looked embarrassed and astonished in equal measure, snapping up from his crouched position beside the expansive computer. He slowly glanced between it and Xhanda, licking his lips uncertainly. "Well, sir," he slowly began, gesturing hesitantly towards it, "I unplugged it," he paused here, "and plugged it back in."
"Stop frakking about, Vadim, you can't be serious."
"Well, no, um–. ." his expression turned anxious here, the lieutenant shifting his weight about, fidgeting slightly. "I tried to see if the power feeds were the problem, sir, but after poking around inside I gathered they weren't. The internals looked fine, but any time I'd try to boot the computer back up, it'd crash almost instantly."
"Get Giannoupolis up here," Xhanda briefly interrupted, shouting out the command to the current duty officer – who scrambled to get a courier to do just that. "So what'd you do?"
"I began to get frustrated, so I wiped and reformatted the hard-drives on it."
It took the Major a good ten seconds to come to terms with that, with the notion that the Lieutenant had done that without due consultation with him first. Backups were available for all critical systems, but to completely erase a hard-drive in such a manner was to leave the ship without a vital system for an hour at the minimum. Of course, he had to concede, it hardly mattered right now.
"Good work," he thus softly spit out, sighing thereafter. "And it's now entirely functional?"
"I haven't had a chance to run a diagnostic, sir, but yes. I disconnected it from the network, as well, and that seems to have completely solved the problem." Vadim was visibly relieved to not have received a dressing down for his act, and so instead now pleasantly beamed at the Major. "I think that the problem is related to the network itself, and with the software. I think that reformatting all our drives and dismantling the network will make us secure from–. . Whatever it was."
"It's a computer virus," the Major growled, deadly certain of that. His teeth gritted together and his jaw set once more, a sudden fury swelling within his chest. There was a chance now, a chance to get the Svarog running and into an actual shooting fight. A solution had presented itself to the problem, and Xhanda was quite ready to seize upon it. "Lieutenant Vadim, consult with Major Giannoupolis at this time and begin preparations for systematic reformatting of all our systems and a general removal of all system integration."
–
Raptor Oh-Oh-Niner
Gunstar Svarog
BSG 77
Their readings were hazy, with a fair amount of ambient radiation still circling in the general proximity of the enormous wrecks. With their tools and sensors thus unreliable, the raptors sent out to reconnoiter what little remained on the battlestar group were forced to go in for a full mark one eyeball to figure out just what the state of affairs was.
For all intents and purposes, the area looked clear. There could be bogies hidden amidst the debris and wreckage kicked up by the nuclear detonation, but given how long the raptors had already been out there, it was unlikely. It just didn't make sense for any such deception to go down when by rights the Svarog and all aboard her could have been dead mere moments earlier.
Of the Bellerophon, barely anything at all remained. Having managed to save the Svarog as her last desperate act, she was nevertheless unable to prevent the vast multitude of warheads from impacting her. A pair hit her starboard and port sides, respectively, and another hit straight to her bow finished the battlestar off. Her armor had buckled inward and torn apart, entire compartments, even the ones in the center, being vented into the cold of space.
It almost seemed to Lieutenant Georgios "Escalator" Malach that there were more bodies now floating around in the aftermath than scrap metal. He'd likely have PTSD a few years down the line from witnessing scenes like this, the pilot melancholically mused, steering his raptor past yet another drifting crewman who'd by some circumstance been torn clean in two. It took him a moment to compose himself, for seeing tiny droplets of blood drip away from the dead man's midriff was certainly distracting, if nothing else.
Having finished checking out the Bellerophon, he and his ECO, the esteemed and perpetually giddy Lieutenant Theodore "Straightrod" Lowell, diverted to now instead take a gander at the Augustus and the Thereon, which were further out. From what he and the other raptors on station could tell, there really was nothing salvageable – even remotely – from the Bellerophon. What readings they were able to take seemed to indicate that there were no pressurized compartments remaining in the small section of hull which looked at least relatively intact. Worse yet, the radiation within them was of a ridiculously high level, meaning that any survivors within it would have roasted alive by now even with EVA suits.
The battlestar's escort, the Frejyr, had been similarly hard hit. While she didn't actually sustain even a single direct nuke hit, the enormous blast from the successive hits to the Bellerophon finished her. Having been posted just off the bigger ship's starboard side, the two missiles which impacted there tore into the vessel's weaker ventral armor. She was then split clean in two when the final missile hit the Bellerophon's prow, the battlestar's starboard flight pod torn apart and flung towards the gunstar. Rent in twain, the gunstar's two parts floated off in opposite directions, similarly empty of life and contaminated by radiation.
"Some heavy shit, Escalator," his ECO casually commented from the back of the raptor, Escalator faintly aware of the continuous clicking and clacking of the other man's keyboard.
"We're in scan range already?" Escalator asked, doing his best to meanwhile keep the raptor from hitting any of the floating bodies or debris. A human body couldn't really do much against a raptor, but there was always the chance that it'd hit something important as it rolled off the canopy – like a tail, thruster, or an array somewhere.
"Just about. I'm actually doing an active DRADIS sweep right now of the surrounding area. I'm not seeing any distress beacons, but y'never know, might be a couple of lifepods got out."
"Doubt it, man," the pilot shot back, carefully weaving in between the remains of the Augustus' engine block, it having become separated as the battlestar's hull drifted on ahead without it. "Happened too quick, y'know? Wasn't enough time for an order to abandon ship to even get out, hell. We were last in formation, and that was the case.
"Speakin' of which, how's it look out there? What's the Augustus and Thereon look like?"
The shorter man leaned forward as he stared into his screen, trying to decipher and interpret the results his arcane instruments were providing him. "Take us in a bit," he directed.
Thus bidden, the raptor swooped left, heading in to take a close look at what remained of BSG 77's former flagship.
"No, not the Augustus– she's frakked beyond help. Just a few gun hoists we might be able to knick, but . ." Straightrod paused here, straightening his back and striding on forward to take the co-pilot seat beside Escalator. "It's the Thereon. I'm getting good, steady readings from her. She took a straight hit to the side, but she's still in one piece and got some pressurized compartments."
"Any comms chatter?"
"Negative, not even a distress beacon. As far as they know, though, everyone here's dead but them – probably don't want to tip the toasters off that they're still alive." Straightrod pointed out, grinning as the Thereon came into view.
From the exterior, it was quite obvious that the Svarog and the Thereon were related. Certainly, their general silhouette and design were exceedingly similar, though the former was a touch larger.
"Gods, look at her," breathed Escalator as they drew near, and the true scale of the damage done upon her became clear.
It was different than looking upon the rest of the dead battlegroup, for those hulks they'd previously surveyed were indeed dead. They'd gone out and expired, breathing their last and merely drifting quietly in space now. The Thereon hadn't died – it was instead slowly dying, breathing its frantic last breaths as it was slowly consumed by whatever internal bleeding the nuke had caused. Hundreds of hull breaches were visible upon all sides of the gunstar, most of them having by now stopped venting air – none remaining to be vented. Some continued to do so, and a fire uncontrolled fires could even be glimpsed raging within.
"We've got to work fast," Escalator determined. "We'd best get the shuttle and all the birds here, right frakkin' ricky-tick."
–
Medbay
Gunstar Svarog
BSG 77
In the end, only the Thereon was able to yield anything serviceable to the Svarog. Whilst not yet in dire need (in fact, in no need of all) for extra or spare parts, Major Xhanda had nonetheless wisely judged that any supplies they could potentially extract from the remnants of the battlestar group would be of immense use to them in the long run. If there was a war raging, with logistics potentially uncertain, it'd be a great idea to conserve and carefully utilize ALL resources available to them. If there was no war – this being merely a skirmish – then, well, surely no one at Fleet HQ could find fault in him denying the enemy potentially vital equipment?
Two hundred crewmen had been pulled from the wreckage, the majority having been concentrated within the Thereon's medical bay at the center of the dying gunstar and a few adjacent compartments. There had been no way to reach these areas from the vented flight deck, several fires raging uncontrolled between them, so the Svarog's raptor teams had to cut several holes and allow the Svarog's only shuttle to establish a connection.
In the end, two hundred and seven personnel had been rescued of the Thereon's original complement of nearly two thousand, much to Xhanda's dismay. Her medical team would be of great utility to the Svarog, Xhanda had no doubt, but the majority of the survivors had all the classic signs of shock and severe trauma from what he could see – even the Thereon's former medical chief, Captain Diana Rochard.
"Captain?" he asked again, snapping his fingers in front of her face. With the beds overflowing at this point with wounded personnel from the Thereon, the Captain, unwounded herself, had settled for just sitting against one of the med-bay's unused walls.
She snapped forward, her eyes quickly opening, her expression one of absolute terror. "Captain Diana Rochard," she mechanically, almost frantically, let out, "serial seven-oh-niner-oh-one-niner kappa-phi-kappa, Gunstar Thereon."
"Captain," Xhanda repeated once more, doing his best to remain calm and composed despite his growing irritation with the woman. "I need you to talk to me. Did you have any communication with any of the other parts of the Thereon before you were rescued?"
She was pretty, he considered, even covered in blood as she was. Her blonde hair was in a state of general disarray, half of it neatly tied into a bun behind her head and the rest hanging free around the sides of her face. There was blood all across her formerly white doctor's coat and uniform, and even a few scorch marks at the edges. Her features, patrician and lean, presently had an almost panicked cast to them.
It thus took her several moments to respond in her state, refusing to make direct eye contact with the Major. She'd been through a lot, Xhanda judged, quickly gathering the obvious.
"No, sir," she could only let out, shaking her head from side to side. "No, sir, no. Comms were down, fires were everywhere. Only the med-bay was clear," she said, that sideways movement of her head becoming a forward and backward one – the woman nodding repeatedly.
Stretching himself upright, the Major could only offer her a comforting pat on the shoulder before he turned away. He supposed he'd have to be content with that, but he endeavored to order the raptors to do another pass regardless, just in case. Pacing ahead into the med-bay proper, he allowed his eyes to easily wander to and fro, attempting to take in and come to terms with the human devastation done upon the Thereon's crew. The majority here were those who'd managed to survive the first few hours, and so were likely to go on to live – hopefully – full and happy lives in relatively good health. Yet there were still a few truly shocking cases, ones Xhanda knew he had been trained to be ready for, but nonetheless found himself almost unable to confront.
A young man on a guerney, his blood having already soaked through the white mattress upon which he laid, screaming incoherently as orderlies around him tried to stabilize the bleeding from his two missing legs. A marine with a metal strut quite literally jutting through his bicep, having pierced clean through, sitting upon a wooden chair with his gaze tilted upward – doped up so hard he had no idea where he was. An ensign with her entire left side completely burnt, the flesh red, aching, and weeping.
"Sir, if you're not here to help, I need to politely ask that you get out of my med-bay," the Svarog's seemingly indomitable and perennially bad-tempered medical chief stated, having approached Xhanda while he was so busy letting his thoughts wander. Major Hiram Attais had started his career in medicine as a simple paramedic in Caprica City, Xhanda recalled from his file, and now, twenty years later, was a full doctor aboard a gunstar in the Colonial Fleet. A broad, tanned man, he'd spent the last few years keeping the med-bay filled with nothing else but his personality, the force of it somehow managing to keep the crew free from anything more than the common cold. "Got enough useless hammerhands wandering around," he mumbled, slipping off his bloodied latex gloves and casually shooting them into a nearby overflowing wastebin.
"How's it look?" Xhanda blandly inquired, peering ahead at Attais. He never quite knew what to make of the man, but he'd carefully judged based on his CO's interaction with him that there was really no point in confronting him about his mannerisms.
"How's it look to you, kiddo, sir?" Attais obnoxiously responded, gesturing around himself. "You've been staring at no-legs over there, you go and tell me. Shouldn't be surprised that this is what we get when only the medical bay is what survives. Actually– shit, we gotta get to depot or resupply point soon."
Xhanda allowed a brow to rise, surprised. "I thought we'd filled up our stocks on meds before we left on patrol?"
"Yeah, and I know what'cher thinkin', but sick-call's been as quiet as always," Attais agreed, "but the trouble is, pretty much everyone we pulled from the Thereon's dealing with some form of radiation sickness. I've got enough rad-meds to keep them alive– hell, most will probably stay alive and relatively healthy even after I've run out, but still. Ain't going to be a fun time for most of them, and the sooner I get 'em, the sooner they'll be effective."
"Would the radiation have compromised the Thereon's own supply of anti-rad medication?"
"Well, if you've pulled it out too, that might just make my problems disappear. I make no promises, but I don't think so. Don't suppose you've already done that?"
"Not yet," Xhanda murmured, severely displeased by the oversight. Everything but the obvious things. They'd already managed to strip a half-dozen guns from the Thereon, along with the ammofeeds and some of the targetting computers, and left them to rest idle in the hangar bay for the time being. One of the munitions stores in the port side had somehow managed to avoid going up in the fires, and so had been quickly liberated and its stocks reshuffled among the Svarog's own. They'd even taken what food and water they could, hauling them back in enormous drums with raptors and the shuttle. Yet medicine had been forgotten, and Xhanda felt like an idiot. "I'll make it a priority."
"Be a damned fine thing if you did, at that, Major," Attais said, spinning about and heading off to address a particularly loud patient.
–
CIC
Gunstar Svarog
BSG 77
"Final systems check," Lieutenant Vadim first said, "nav is green."
"Comms, green."
"FTL, green."
"Gunnery, green."
"Engines, green."
"DRADIS, green."
"All stations ready for initial bootup," Vadim sighed, making a mark on the clipboard beside him which had the checklist. "All right people, it's been six straight hours," he said, smiling despite himself up at the various officers and enlisted personnel scattered throughout the CIC. "Let's make sure this works, 'cus I'm damn eager for some rack time. Now, initiate."
With a gentle murmur of muted laughter, a chorus of clicks and gentle key-strokes echoed through the otherwise silent CIC. Everyone sat in quiet and barely suppressed anticipation as they waited to see what the results of their careful efforts were, several of them grinning with unconcealed joy as each and every computer and system slowly came back on.
"All right!" Vadim exuberantly let out, walking in-between stations, monitoring their respective start-up processes. "Everyone start running a diagnostic as soon as it's finished booting up, we want to make sure that we're going to be operating with everything working as it damn well should."
A small cheer rose as all the lights overhead flared into life, a gentle, barely audible humming felt in the hull itself as the reactor and engines simultaneously awoke.
"The gods are good," the lieutenant murmured, returning to his station. "We're ready to go."
"Godsdamned," Xhanda exclaimed upon entering the CIC, his eyes wide with wonder and a bright grin on his face as he looked around, "it worked."
"Yessir," Vadim happily responded, tossing the Major a quick salute as he set the nav station to perform a quick diagnostic. "We're currently doing a final check-up to make sure everything's working optimally, but it seems that the reformat and network wipe did the job. Captain Cai wants to speak to you, actually, sir," he added.
With a firm nod and a slight bounce to his step, Xhanda stepped up to the plot table, lifting up the phone there.
"Link me to gunnery, Torrec," he instructed, and soon a line was opened to the ordnance officer and gunnery chief, Captain Beverley Cai.
"This is the XO, what's up Captain?" Xhanda cheerfully inquired, allowing his eyes to wander as he spoke in muted tones to Cai.
"Sir," the officer on the other line crisply responded, Cai having made a reputation for herself up to this point by being very direct and to the point, "due to the hard-drive wipe, we've lost pretty much all our calibrations for the guns and the modular precision versus accuracy algorithms."
"That's not optimal, Captain. Can you make the necessary adjustments and fixes as it stands?"
"Yessir, but you won't like it," she quickly stated.
"Humor me," Xhanda nonetheless let out, idly shifting his weight from one leg to another as he leaned slightly into the table.
Her voice never wavered as she thus elaborated: "sir, without a fixed point in space relative to us to perform targeting calibrations upon, it'll take us a significant amount of time to make the calculations and modifications necessary."
"How significant are we talking about here?" came the obvious question.
"I approximate two days, at the earliest, sir," Cai snapped back after a moment's delay, having presumably taken a moment to look at her notes. "That's just the KEWs, though. It's not as important to calibrate the flak guns, but we'll want to do so nonetheless if we intend to be one-hundred percent combat effective."
"And how quickly," Xhanda thus slowly asked, an idea forming in his mind, "are we talking about if you've got targets?"
"An hour or two at worst, sir."
His grin slowly melted away as he mulled the idea over in his head. It was perhaps a bit drastic, but it was crucial to get the Svarog into the fight and combat-ready as soon as possible. The raptor they'd sent out nearly six or seven hours back hadn't reported back, and so Xhanda could only assume the worst in this circumstance. He'd doubtless be assailed by guilt about this somewhere down the line, he mused, but there really was no alternative – they couldn't afford to spend two entire days, if not more, out here while a war was potentially raging.
"All right, Cai, listen up," he began, stepping over to the plot table where Vadim had already marked out the position of the debris field created by the battlestar group's destruction. "I'm going to give you some targets in five mikes, be ready to use them well. Should be durable enough for what you've got in mind."
"Yessir, gunnery is standing by." And with that, their discussion was over.
"Helm, get her moving, align us at one-nine-oh off of the Bellerophon's portside engine section; say, three, four thousand out."
A warm feeling swelled up inside of him as the ship began to ever so slightly shake. It was a gentle and subtle vibration noticeable only to those that'd spent some time aboard spacecraft, and one which left an odd feeling of absence in spacefarers when it was gone. The engines had kicked into life, propelling the gunstar forward as Xhanda directed her into the cloud of metal and bodies that had once been BSG 77. Moments later, as they'd maneuvered themselves beside the largest remaining chunk of the Bellerophon, Xhanda ordered a fullstop; that slight vibration disappearing.
He decided that he needed to say something. The crew needed to hear his voice, and – gods knew – he needed to hear something encouraging. "Give me the ship," he said to Torrec, picking up the 1MC and holding it up to his face.
The first sound they'd hear would be a loud intake of breath.
"This is the XO," the Major slowly began, trying to deliberately choose his words. "Almost ten hours ago, this ship and our group encountered an unknown contact while we were out here on patrol.
"As far as we can tell, this enemy was able to shut down the network and computer systems of all the ships in our group, including the battlestars Augustus and Bellerophon. With our ships defenseless, the enemy vessel then launched nuclear warheads at each of our ships, annihilating all save for us."
He paused here, now keenly aware that a great many eyes were upon him – thousands more ears listening to him throughout the ship.
"We survived due to the heroism and ingenuity of Commander Geogron, gods rest his soul, aboard the Battlestar Bellerophon. The enemy believed us destroyed because he managed to fire off an EM pulse prior to the destruction of his command, this giving the impression of a massive thermonuclear detonation.
"As it stands, we have no idea what the current state of affairs is back in the Twelve Colonies. We've managed to now get all of our systems operational, but we've had no news come back to us – unsurprising given the distance we're out." He tactfully decided not to mention the missing raptor.
"We are currently operating on the worst-case scenario, for anything else would have us be derelict in our duties. We can only assume that the vessel we encountered was Cylon, and that the attack on BSG 77 was the precursor to a full-out attack upon the colonies."
Xhanda felt almost as though he could feel the air move, as though two thousand sets of lungs simultaneously drew in a breath. It certainly looked that way up here in the CIC.
"We need to get this ship into full combat order and assess the situation. The sacrifice of our comrades aboard the Augustus, the Bellerophon, the Thereon, and the Frejya will not be in vain, of this I assure all of you. They will continue to be of utility to the Colonial Fleet even after their destruction."
He tried to find some final platitude to say, some final line to impart some small measure of confidence and encouragement upon the crew. A bead of sweat dripped down across his brow, he suddenly cognizant of just how much activity he'd been involved in recently.
"Stand by your shipmates, your duties, and observe your training," Xhanda blandly concluded, sighing. "That is all."
A dull drumming began to echo all across the ship mere seconds later, Captain Cai having courteously waited for him to finish before testing the Svarog's guns upon the Bellerophon's drifting hulk.