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 162nd, Mission 1054
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| Thorin |
Posted on 31-03-2006 06:04
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 Posts: 414 Joined: September 02 2005 |
Garcia sat in his quarters aboard the Darius III, flagship of the 162nd Destroyer Group. The group was just departing a Vagyr depot after a week of re-supply. They had been commerce raiding for only 2 months when they ran against something that was more guarded than previously anticipated. They wasted most of their missiles making a hasty retreat that saved every ship under Garcia?s command. What stupid fighters these guys are? Garcia mused. I bring an entire destroyer group back ?in-tact? after running into IVF missile cruisers, and they complain that I didn?t hurt the transports. Idiots. He idly bit lightly into his lower lip with sharp, pointed incisors and savored the blood as he opened the classified portion of his dispatch. Then, he smiled a wolf?s smile. They were orders of the important variety, by the looks of the way it was addressed. It seems that those dogs did have some stones in their heads after all. His smile faded a little, once again noting how bleak and unromantic the Vagyr write their missions. Quote ADM262 TASKING ORDER #1054 FROM: VEL'DUIN II // CA-1 TO: WM1 GARCIA MSG AS FOLLOWS: PROCEED ON 30.04. 1745H GST TO SYSTEM C-42/EPSILON BREAK DESTROY ALL SEPARATIST ASSETS ENCOUNTERED VEL'DUIN II SENDS END He played his pointed front teeth along his lower lip as he read it a few more times, then looked at the attached relevant information provided. There wasn?t much, by the look of the memory size of the message. As it turns out, it was a hyperspace record from a listening post. Hmmm, looks like some sort of navigation deal. This says that the hyperspace signatures were separatist military ones. Probably something just significant enough gravitationally to be a nav beacon in hyperspace. Seeing the perplexing way that the Armada does theirs, I?d say that this thing mainly depends on passing military assets for defense. This ought to be fun? Garcia sat up at his desk, and keyed the ship communication terminal for General Announcement. ?Now here this,? Garcia proclaimed, ?Prepare the group for hyperspace. We jump at 1745 hours for C42/Epsilon. Flag staff, come to my day cabin for briefing.? Garcia sat back and grinned. He liked to think such announcements caused enlisted and lazy flag officers to stumble around to look busy for their group commander. Okay, that?s it for now. Next installment tomorrow or the next day. Edited by Thorin on 31-03-2006 06:12 |
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| TelQuessir |
Posted on 01-04-2006 06:18
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 Posts: 2598 Joined: August 30 2005 |
"Grade 4" Warmaster Elisha mentally gawks in awe as he explores the Werewolf Type 1 destroyer's "virtual cockpit". It looked almost like the real thing, complete with crew powersuits docked to their battle stations posts. Every panel, button, lever and yoke was functional. He was now "seated" in the pilot/attack navigator's station, which in his culture was usually occupied by the vessel's captain. The black console before him was a gigantic three-foot wide "supercockpit" holographic display that could be programmed to show any sort of information that the ship's systems was aware of. For now, only the centre of the huge electronic "blackboard" was lighted up, showing a blue tunnel that represented the portal through hyperspace that the ship was now travelling in towards its destination. A yellow, vertically-set rectangle displayed the time to target in real time. Just then a low level alert sounded on the master caution board near the Warmaster's left arm, accompanied by a voice message from one of the ship's AIs. This one served the function of a systems admistrator and it was the owner of a pleasant-sounding female voice. Navigation alert - Twenty minutes to hyperdrive termination "Acknowledge master caution," replied Elisha, subvocalising the words. The lone yellow indicator on the master caution board disappeared, leaving it pitch-black. "Werewolf One-One, general systems status." Status 100%, replied the same AI construct. "Squadron status." Werewolf Squadron status 100% "Good," Elisha commented, out of habit more than anything else. The ship's AI didn't take compliments. "Werewolf Squadron to battle stations." Werewolves to Condition One, cancel battle stations, asked the systems administrator computer. If the commander did not revoke the order she... no, it, would bring the squadron's combat systems and relevant machine intelligences online. Elisha watched as several combat systems activation checklists flowed on both sides of the "supercockpit" display, as the tactical computer began to transform the ship into a weapon of war. With mechanical precision that resulted in some alarm on the part of Warmaster Elisha, the various AIs on board the three Werewolf class advanced destroyers in his squadron inspected their subordinate systems, attended to them as they powered up, held conferences amonst themselves, and finally, after a decidedly impressive lightshow that felt forever but in fact took merely a minute, the ship was ready. Werewolves One-One, One-Two, and One-Three, reporting combat ready status Elisha could almost hear a sense of icy anticipation in the AI's report, of what was to come as they exited the relative peace of hyperspace - now he wondered who in the known Galaxy had made these artificial intelligences. The Werewolf class destroyer, so named for the 262 Armada's War Emergency Refit programmes, were so highly advanced beyond its less capable, "conventional" brethren in the Armada that more than a few cautiously curious souls had attempted to find out just where had all the technology come from. Sure, they said, Elisha himself was responsible for a part of it, for having captured one of the Separatist enemy's cruisers and its tactical computer intact - subsequently reverse engineered, retrofitted into existing ships and resulting in many of the Armada's recent victories, but the Separatist or even Hiigaran ships sure as hell did not fly, fight and think for themselves. They haven't seen nothing yet, Elisha thought, scowling in his mind. If the Werewolf class destroyer was three times as capable as the Bayandor and Achaemenes ships still in widespread use in the Armada, then the Illharess's personal mount, the rather aptly named Fraulein Alptraum, or Ms. Nightmare, was a demon from the fiery depths of hell. Indeed merely three days ago just before setting off on this maiden combat voyage of the new destroyer class, he had led two squadrons of Werewolves against the lone matron and watched as the infernal cruiser, obviously of alien design, shrug off his particle beam attacks, outaccelerate his missiles, and one by one his (simulated) Werewolves fell to hypervelocity torpedo and pulse laser attacks as the Illharess deftly cornered each of them in turn while jamming the squadron's datalinks and sensors with deliberate detonations of "dirty" fission warheads. All without touching the Ms. Nighmare's plasma cannon batteries that Elisha had presumed to be her main weapons. The answer to her capabilities, Elisha knew, lay in the nightmare queen being able to invoke the full potential of her ship's neural command facilities and thus, with the help of whatever AI constructs on board, achieve a much higher level of combat efficiency than what a normal person could do as a mere operator of a ship's systems. Elisha was now using his mind as a control mechanism for his vessel and its two unmanned wingmen, but merely as a tool with which to push virtual buttons and levers. He was the ship's pilot and the main commanding authority for the various AI constructs that represented its crew, but he was not the ship itself. Five minutes to hyperspace exit. Set desired level of emissions and weapons control on exit. "EMCON four, fire control retaliatory mode." Acknowledged, active sensors shall be on standby. Squadron will deploy into tactical wedge formation. Werewolf One-Three will deploy defensive perimeter of four Type 2 drones. Is this acceptable?" "Yes." Being jealous is not a part of my job, Elisha mused, as he mentally prepared himself for yet another combat mission for the Armada. He looked around the cockpit, as though to make sure all was well and exchange good luck signs with the armoured gauntlets of his spacesuit. Somehow he had forgotten that the imagery was a mere projection of virtual reality directly into his brains, and that his body was disconnected from his mind as it lay inert in a pressurized chamber of embryonic fluid, a breathing tube inserted directly into his lungs, supplying liquified oxygen. In no other way can a human being, outside of being artificially transformed into an aquatic organism, survive accelerations of up to a hundred times the force of gravity, or achieve harmony with a neural interfacing device as complex as what is necessary to operate a four hundred metre long craft with its tens of thousands of subsystems. The Werewolves could very well perform their pre-programmed mission on their own and then return to base to rearm and refuel - all without any external input. All that intelligence however, was built for only one purpose: to destroy. This is the age of robot warships - the human is a mere decision-making tool kept alive at the whim of the ship's life support systems. It was far from being a pleasant system, but it worked - which was all that mattered in the eye of its designers. In the unending quest for greater power, they would not hesitate to alter the essence of humankind. Edited by TelQuessir on 01-04-2006 06:59 |
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| Thorin |
Posted on 01-04-2006 11:55
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Posts: 414 Joined: September 02 2005 |
Garcia had the crew of his entire unit strapped into battle stations for the last five mintues of hyperspace. This is because they were the last five minutes. The unit exited hyperspace slowly, as to emit less quantum energy, and then deployed drones for remote recon. Garcia thumbed a fang as he read the system reports on the right display. Just as I figured. Small planetoid, by the looks of it. And these spots of reflected light...magnify, filter...looks like simple fighter bases. Disguising our low-energy entrance as a merchant should buy us some time...time, that I hope, is spare. Garcia did a quick overview of possible tactics, then set things in motion. He tight-beamed his patcoms to assume standard formation, but to hold fire. Pod-mounted SDIs were to be launched under full stealth; ballistic, to avoid detection. "Abdul, when the SDI's projected position is here, I want your corvettes to send a full spread of missiles at the closest orbital platform, that I have indicated Bandit 3 on your updated tactical maps. As soon as that volley is away, I want those 'vettes in defensive formation with the destroyers who will take targets of their own. A small group of specialist SDI platforms will then be deployed from the ship of your's truely. By then, the poor bastards will have to rely on planet-side patcoms, so I want my PCGs and the Bayandors Cain's Mark and Firesnake to form up around a small squadron of SDIs. Make it look like there are no SDIs in it. This is crucial. You will lose comms with me when the group gets within jammer range of the planet until you identify and eliminate the communications center ground-side. You are to hold your ground until I give further orders. No screwing around, people. You have your orders." Garcia entered in a series of commands that laid out the projected SDIs that were "laying doggo" and a green-to-red shifting bar next to it that indicated when the craft should reach the decided upon range. |
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| TelQuessir |
Posted on 03-04-2006 00:08
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Posts: 2598 Joined: August 30 2005 |
(Alright, our tactics are -very- different in this. I come from a different destroyer school, probably. Let me try to craft a reply by the end of today) |
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| TelQuessir |
Posted on 06-04-2006 06:53
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Posts: 2598 Joined: August 30 2005 |
Elisha released an impressive string of vulgarities as the hyperdrive powered down, dropping the small squadron back into Newtonian reality. The hyperspace status display before him gave way to a holographic tactical map with an electronics countermeasures window on its left. Sometime during the five day voyage through 25 light years of space, the target area had been reinforced significantly. He had been sent to annihilate a research station on a small, airless planet along with a fighter base that protected it from geosynchronious orbit. So much for 'easy in, easy out', he thought, as the holographic tactical display on the main panel started filling itself up with passive sensor contacts. With multiple platforms and computer systems working in parallel, it didn't take long before a more or less accurate picture of active units in the mission area was painted on the display. Instead of one fighter station there was now a constellation of four, along with at least a squadron of system patrol craft around them. Amid the constellation there appeared to be some space construction in progress - a mess of scaffold and utility craft flitting about here and there. On the tactical display, it showed up as a sea of red icons. Thankfully, he had not jumped in with guns blazing - right now his ships' active cancellation or "electronics suppression" devices protected him from detection - at least for a while; space destroyers were large enough to be picked up by electro-optical means from planetary surfaces, but both flying bow-on and the ship's nonreflective hull helped with that. The Warmaster contemplated withdrawing from the mission area - obviously more forces would be required to mount a successful assault on the orbital complexes, not even mentioning whatever they were protecting down below. But just then a green icon appeared behind him with a soft chime. The accompanying contact notification on the blackboard proclaimed it a friendly force approaching. Good not to be forgotten. Someone must have planned a coordinated arrival while I was in transit. Then all hell suddenly broke loose as the electronic countermeasures display suddenly went bonkers as just about every active sensor in the orbital works below started emitting at full power. The ships in the other taskgroup were typical fourth-rate frontier tin-cans, at least twenty years old and had no low-observable technology. In other words, they stood out like sore thumbs in a space radar's perspective. (Your turn Thorin - I modified my entry situation to let you start the engagement) |
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| HWSiD |
Posted on 04-05-2006 11:39
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 Posts: 7 Joined: April 29 2006 |
This task force is silly. How am I supposed to do anything with it? One AWACS, three obsolete frigates and a dented corvette squadron to support the Vengeance. Vengeance was the only battle-worthy craft under his command, an 11 year old battlecruiser. Dante's tactical command screen lit up in red, meaning many Vaygr contacts. "When will I learn not to trust those lazy Intelligence bastards? I'm tired of it all..." -He thought and sneered. His subordinates saw nothing, of course. Five years ago he sustained critical brain damage and the only way of saving him was to use the then-untested cerebral interface grafting procedure. Something went terribly wrong. His brain was partially human, partially AI, making the percieved world around him come almost to a complete halt. Not being able to talk was not a problem, as his subordinates' helmet mikes converted binary commands into voice. Being only 31, he was tired of life as an 120 year old."I'm tired of it all"Are you really?Get to the tasks on hand, you can weep later! - said Imel, his AI mind-mate. You're probably right"Battle stations! AWACS online! Full power to front anti-missile batteries! Collision course on the scaffold! Frigates line up behind the Vengeance! Prepare interceptors for launch! The task force staggered for a bit ,then lined up and started the advance. I just hope young Elisha comes on time- He will. Remember that you have only me, and he has three Grade-A AI to support him and do his orders Don't hug gravity or it may hug you back
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