Star Trek: Theurgy

Chapter 2: Mission Objective - Get Revad. Fight. Don't die (optional).

January 28, 2025, 02:53:59 AM

[ Cmdr. (3rd) Hassar al-Zaheer | VIP Guest Quarters | Deck 12 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ]
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ATTN: @Brutus @Nolan @Havenborn @chXinya @RyeTanker @Nero @Number6 @Pierce @Ellen Fitz @Dumedion @tongieboi @rae @joshs1000 @SomeBunny @Krajin 

TIME: Day 2, 0700hrs

The gentle, slow inhalation and exhalation of his breathing provided great solace to Hassar; perhaps there was nothing more relaxing to him than an hour of silent meditation. A bit of time to relax his body, organize his thoughts, and relieve a little stress; it allowed him to start his day with a clearer head and the Aspects of his mind, body, and soul balanced in accordance with his spiritual beliefs. He had been relying on his meditation for some time now, ever since his son was kidnapped from the Ibn Lau without a trace. While he knew until anything was found, he should not give up hope or give into stress, it was natural for any parent to be consumed in the despair of their child going missing and existing in the void of not knowing if they are alive or dead. But when it seemed all was lost, a small ray of hope emerged, the USS Theurgy and her crew, fighting to defeat a threat to not just the Federation but to all nations in the galaxy, the Infested. Perhaps they were the ones behind the kidnapping; it was difficult to say, but now Hassar had the resources of one of the most advanced Starfleet ships in service, a far cry from his three-hundred-year-old frigate and the limited upgrades provided by their Klingon allies.

Speaking of that contrast, Hassar, his meditation finished for the time being, opened his green eyes to gaze once more upon his current living situation. Lavishly appointed VIP quarters, well lavish by Vaharran standards. The bedroom of these quarters, which contained a large comfortable bed was only slightly smaller than the entirety of his own commanding officer’s quarters on the Xebrek, which itself was considered the largest quarters on that ship. Here the quarters were spacious with great windows that looked out into the great beyond of space, a private sitting room, a private workstation and study, and a large well appointed bathroom. The living arrangements were, however, quiet, too quiet, just a gentle hum of the warp core and perhaps a hushed beep from the computer compared to the sounds of the Vaharran ships he had grown up on and lived on. The whir of ventilation fans, the whooshing of water through pipes, the groans of the hull, the sound of boots on the metal decks, and the muffled tones of Vaharrans living their lives. Compared to that, the silence that Hassar was exposed to aboard the Starfleet ships he had voyaged on was profound, practically deafening, but in time, perhaps a week or two, he would grow accustomed to it, and sleep would be easier to achieve.

With his meditation complete, Hassar rose to his feet, relaxed and ready to start the day, though unsure exactly what his day would entail. Normally, he would get washed and dressed and be on his way to a morning briefing, but now he was a guest on Theurgy and had no responsibilities except for the contingent of Marines he brought with him. An odd place to find himself for sure, but either way, he still needed to get cleaned up, dressed, and start his day. He padded his way to the bathroom, stripping off his onaka, a simple linen undergarment for modesty. Normally, he would have meditated naked, but uncertain if he would be interrupted by a Starfleet crewmember, he figured it would be best to wear the traditional piece of clothing. He always found the sonic showers that Starfleet used to be uncomfortable, so used the regular shower feature. He wouldn’t shower for long, just enough to freshen up and wash off the markings he painted on his body as part of the meditation ritual. Once he was out of the shower and dry, he brushed his teeth, groomed his beard, and then retrieved his Arosan uniform, putting it on over his muscular form. Hassar always took great care to always ensure he was well groomed and his uniform sharp before going on duty, or whatever he would be doing aboard Theurgy. To him, it showed discipline and dedication. He expected similar care taken by those under his command.

After a stop by the replicator for a cup of strong morning tea and a meat-filled pastry called an aakun, luckily the ship’s computer had a couple Vaharran dishes in its memory banks, and he was out the door and off to see where the day would take him. As he walked down the corridor, he took a moment to appreciate the hot food and beverage in his hands, he was no stranger to replicators, but the idea of having whatever food he could have wanted with but a voice command during the years of constant food shortages in The Fleet was pure fantasy. As he enjoyed his breakfast, Hassar walked to the turbolift. He would check on his Marines later, but first he would head up to the bridge in search of Commander Cross, the acting commander of the vessel, to see if there was anything he or his fellow Vaharrans could assist with for the time being.


[ CPO Avandar Lok | Fighter Bay Operations Office | Deck 16 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ]
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Lok downed his third cup of coffee of the morning, his head still pounding and his stomach still queasy from the night before. He had taken to knocking back several bottles of Romulan Ale to drown his sorrows and perhaps force himself to sleep, though he doesn’t remember how many bottles it was in the end or how he got back to his quarters or who threw up in the bathroom sink. But he wasn’t going to let a hangover get in the way of doing his job; he also didn’t want to bother that handsome Doctor Leux anymore than he already had, so it was coffee, water, and physical exertion to work it out of his system in a few hours. Having a Kzinti circulatory system had its advantages.

He looked down at the orderly row of PADDs in front of him, duty rosters, spacecraft statuses, orders of the day. Normally he would prepare these and hand them off to Mister Herrold, but the Chief of the Deck had stayed up late to repair some damaged fighters from a run-in with some space probe the day before. So while the Ensign rested up, Lok was in charge for a couple hours, or if anything happened. The ship was on alert now that they had officially entered Romulan Space, and as such, the fighter squadrons might be needed at a moment's notice. To accomplish this, Lok, before diving into the morning’s paperwork, had tasked the deck gangs to run the pre-flight checks on all the fighters while they were still parked, prep all ordnance packages, and spot a pair of alert fighters on the deck. If things went down, all they would need to do was spot the remainder, get them armed, and off to kick some ass in less than a few minutes.

Satisfied that the morning reporting was done, Lok set the PADDs aside. They would be given to Flight Ops at the next watch change, and they headed out onto the flight deck, fresh cup of coffee in hand. The place was a delightful hum of activity; it reminded him of the war, always ready for action, though back then, a lot of this stuff was still pretty new.

“Hey Chief”, called out a Andorian crewman as he ran over, “we got Janus’s fighter patched up, but would you be able to double check the starboard warp coils, they were a little finicky replacing.”

“Yeah, sure thing, I got to go over these pre-flights for Wolf’s 4 and 10 then I’ll be right there”, he responded with his usual smile, trying his best not to hint at his self-inflicted headache and nausea.

After departing the crewman, he continued over to the awaiting fighters, keeping his head on a swivel in the event any of the pilots made an appearance with some request or another, with time to prepare for a possible battle, there was sure to be one or two.


[ Lt. Commander Frank Arnold | Main Engineering | Deck 25 | Vector 3 | USS Theurgy ]
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It had been grueling, to say the least, as Lieutenant Commander Arnold stood at the master situation table. He was still covered in grease, metal dust, and sweat from all the work that was necessary to patch the damaged components. And we just got the girl out of dock from all the repairs as well. The Chief mentally sighed as he checked over the status reports that were flowing in. It still didn't look too good, but at least the core had been purged of the extraneous subspace particles that had been causing the power oscillations.

From his standpoint, the biggest saving grace they'd gotten with the fix had been not needing to execute a cold shutdown of the core. This deep in hostile territory, having to restart the core could have taken days when they only really had hours at best. Frank took a sip of his coffee and closed his eyes as he took a moment to stretch and rub tired muscles. The systems weren't ideal, but a lot of them had been patched. The coffee also helped to keep out the rancid smell of vomit that seemed to be stuck in the air.

His tired mind told him that maybe there wasn't anything it was a psychological trick, and there really wasn't anything. Blue eyes looked around and stopped for a moment on the red-headed Trill, who should have been in sickbay, but was too stubborn to call it quits. She was more pale than her usual self, but Azrin had insisted she was fine as she worked to re-align the fuel flow injector sensors. They were operating on fusion power alone until she was done and they could start pumping matter and anti-matter into the chamber. It worked well when you had the power of a star at your beck and call, but to make the really important systems work, you needed the bang of the universe. It was a good thing the ship was hidden amongst the debris of this red dwarf system.

It had been on the cusp of being an actual solar system but just missed out by maybe a few percent of necessary mass, so the place was littered with gas and dust clouds as well as asteroid clusters. Finding the ship in all this garbage was going to be hard. He looked around again as another report of a patched EPS junction came in. At least, he hoped it would be.


[ Outer system | IRS Okhala Thrai ]

The Romulan Carrier dropped out of warp and proceeded cautiously in the system at three-quarters impulse power. The carrier was the latest and most advanced ship in the Romulan fleet and had benefited from its position as the latest word in sensor technology quested for a quarry. Sub-Commander Choreeno felt a slight tug of respect for whoever had chosen this system as their place to hide. There was a lot of debris here. Many places to hide. It would add to the challenge, but maybe not by much, as his superior crew would find their prey. He could close the trap on the prey as soon as he had the target's location information in hand. Maybe even gain a trophy for his effort.

He pressed a button on his command chair. "Launch a patrol. Let's see who's hiding." He took a moment to turn and address his tactical officer. "Disengage the cloak and raise it again when the patrol is launched."


[ PO3 Cirus Bodega | Vector 2 Battle Bridge | Deck 8 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ]

The Petty Officer was on sensor watch when the unknown contact appeared on sensors. It blinked yellow of an unconfirmed contact, and the standard analysis package started. It didn't get time to finish as the ship disappeared. He quickly turned to the command chair.

"Commander Cross. An unidentified ship has entered the system. It's Romulan in origin, but it doesn't match anything in our database." Another set of beeps, and the sensor crewman looked at the data coming in. "Sir, small craft are moving in the system at high speed. Initial readings were consistent with Stalker class fighters."


[ LT Arven Leux | Turbolift, en route to Battle Bridge | Between Decks | The Ranger | USS Theurgy ]
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Alone for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Arven fought the urge just to sit down and let himself sleep. Exhaustion was nothing new – he’d been through worse – but even he had to admit that it had been one hell of a long day. And it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. He leaned his head back against the hum of the lift and let his eyes fall shut. He’d managed to shower but hadn’t given himself time to shave; hence, the shadow of stubble across his chin and cheeks. He’d recycled two uniforms in one day...well...one was basically melted into fire-retardant goo, but who was counting?

He honestly never saw the point of in-person reporting. The fact that he was mentally rehearsing said report despite the fact that he viewed it as utterly redundant caused his brows to crease in annoyance. Cross could read, couldn’t he? Still, if nothing else, it offered Leux a brief respite from the controlled chaos of sickbay. With the influx of casualties handled – the wounded from various burns, cuts, abrasions, broken bones, and the miserly affected by acute onset of space-sickness thanks to whatever debacle had happened in engineering – medical was as ready as it could be for whatever lay ahead, and it seemed appropriate to verify all departments current state of readiness to the ‘head honcho’ as it were, although, in Cross’ case, Arven felt it more apt to simply call the man ‘the Head’.

That brought a brief, weak curl to the doctor’s lips, but he lacked the energy to maintain it. Lost in his own miserly musings and mental preparations, Arven failed to notice the lift cease, nor the person who stood awaiting entry. An eye cracked open, followed by a blink of confusion and a slight frown as the doctor cocked his head at the unfamiliar being as he pulled out a tricorder and scanned him without warning.

“Vaharran, interesting,” Leux commented to himself, then closed up the ‘corder and stowed it with a sigh. “Have you been here this whole time, or are you new? Either way, I don’t suppose you’ve bothered to stop by medical for an examination? It used to be protocol, you know,” he shrugged, too tired to really show concern. “Well, come on, if you're getting on,” he gestured for the man to enter, “we all have places to be.” Once he’d entered and the lift started again, Arven arched a tired eyebrow at the bulky Vaharran, who stood a couple of inches taller, noting the tea in his hand and the slight crumbs on his bearded chin.

“You got leftovers, by the way,” Leux deadpanned, finger pointed to his chin.


[ Cmdr. (3rd) Hassar al-Zaheer | Battle Bridge | Deck 8 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ]
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With a smile and a nod in greeting, Hassar stepped into the offered turbolift. The mention of sickbay though did remind him that no, he had not in fact visited for a checkup and that he had neglected to deliver the medical records of the other Vaharrans that had come with him onto this ship. Procrastination or merely forgetfulness, the excitement of the day before and the sheer amount of things that needed to be done to move himself and his Marine detachment to Theurgy could certainly have allowed something like a few boxes of medical files to slip his mind.

Then again, he was no fan of visiting with the non-Vaharran doctors of Starfleet. The realization of their unique reproductive anatomy has led some physicians to ask innocent questions to sate their curiosity but were not ones that the Vaharrans were particularly keen to answer when said physician was an alien outsider. To a Vaharran it would be the same if they walked up to a human female and asked unprompted questions about their breasts. Either way, though, he silently scolded himself for failing to get those documents into the hands of the ship’s doctor the day before.

“Yes, I and my Marines arrived yesterday and have been settling in so no we have not been able to see the doctors yet for an examination, but I will give the order to have it done before the day is out,” Hassar responded professionally, his accent was notably similar to an Earth middle eastern one but perhaps a bit deeper. He noted the blue collar of the spotted man, a Trill if he remembered correctly, and figured he must be among the medical staff, or why would he bother to ask such a question.

He entered the lift and requested his destination. The turbolift doors swished closed, and the entire module started on its way up to the bridge with its usual whirring noise. He couldn’t imagine having to traverse a ship as large as this using only access ladders and companionways. Sure Vaharrans ships had elevators, but those were reserved for medical purposes and the transfer of cargo across other decks; unlike the Starfleet turbolifts they were slow and would impede the efficiency of crew movement. The ladders were a great way to stay in shape, though.

The voice of his traveling companion brought Hassar back to reality, and he glanced down to see the blue-shirted officer gesturing at his chin. With a quirked brow of confusion, he turned to look at himself in the reflection of a wall screen. Crumbs! Then, what he believed was a, Trill was right; the light brown flakes of his meat-filled pastry had found a home in his groomed beard and on the front of his uniform. He felt a twinge of embarrassment at his unkept appearance, punishment he supposed for his indulgence of a food that was a rarity back home.

He swatted the pastry flakes from his beard, brushed it back to how he had groomed it earlier, and knocked the pesky flakes from his uniform as well. Hassar may not have been on duty in an official capacity, but he was in uniform all the same and, as such, held himself accountable to its appearance. A matter of discipline, if he couldn’t keep his uniform in order, a simple task, how could he lead Vaharrans, and now perhaps even aliens, into battle?

His mess cleaned, he turned back to his companion, ready to introduce himself properly, when the blaring alarms and flashing red lights took both occupants off guard. Hassar remembered this as the so-called “Red Alert”, Starfleet’s version of what he would call Combat Condition in the Arosan Navy. No sooner had the Red Alert gone off did the turbolift doors swish open onto an active bridge. Commander Cross, in the middle giving orders, the large viewscreen, however showed nothing but empty space.

Taking a few steps onto the bridge and another step off to the side to let his Trill companion pass, Hassar looked onto the scene and felt oddly out of place. Of course, there was the fact that he was an alien to these people, from a different military, and had a different set of operational procedures, but more than that, he felt as if he lacked purpose, the feeling that had nagged at him since he woke up. He had no official duties here, he couldn’t really even be considered an observer as he had been during the War. Instead, he was but a passive bystander. As things settled down from the initial Red Alert and the bridge crew took their stations, Hassar walked around the bridge rail to the main command area dominated by the commanding officer’s and executive officer’s chair on a long bench-like structure. Once Cross had a moment, Hassar approached him.

“Commander”, he greeted the Vulcan, “what’s the situation? Anything I can do to assist?”

~~

[ Lt. Azrin Ryn’s terrible, no good, very bad, best day of her life | Main Engineering | Deck 25 | Vector 3 | The Ranger | USS Theurgy ]
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TIME: Day 2, 0800hrs

She was fine.

Totally and completely fine.

So totally fine that she hadn’t almost just fallen face first into the injector sensors she was realigning. However, it wasn’t particularly hard for Azrin to convince herself that this wasn’t a problem. At this angle, and this distance, there was no way she could get enough velocity to damage the sensors. Her soft face wouldn’t be so lucky– but Azrin wasn’t worried about that.

“Doc probably has something to say about it, though,” she muttered to herself.

Though at the rate Arven had been messaging her health reminders over the past 24 hours, he probably already had said something. Azrin still hadn’t read them all, so she wasn’t entirely sure. There were so many better things to focus on instead of the fact that her shoulder was starting to hurt again, her muscles felt like lead, and her brain was buzzing even faster than a strong shot of caffeine could provide. Oh, and her fingers were still shaking, but she was trying to ignore that, even as it slowed down her work.

Whatever brain fog had caused her earlier… mistake… had proved to be only momentary. Afterward, Azrin had successfully pleaded with Frank to be allowed to remain in engineering, determined to get everything up and running again as an apology for almost destroying it all in the first place. By now, everyone had been working flat out for hours, so Azrin’s dirty clothes, knotted hair, and bloodshot eyes didn’t look out of place among the engineering staff.
It probably didn’t help that she’d started talking to herself – and by extension, the ship – more than usual, as a way to keep herself awake. She’d tried singing at first, but the universal translator insisted on changing the Trill words to Federation standard, which didn’t rhyme, sounded like gibberish, and drove the small part of her that had been a musician two hundred years ago totally insane. Humming just wasn’t cutting it right now. So she was talking to everyone and everything.

“Note to self: reprogram universal translator. I think I have one in my quarters, under a pile of socks… another note: disinfect the translator before putting it in my ear.”

“Aha! There you go!” She exclaimed after a final minute turn of the hypospanner, and green lights began flickering to life on the indicator panel. “Now you can see what’s going on down there, can’t you Thea? I think the warp cores got a bit jealous personally, with everyone cooing over the slipstream drive. We have to learn how to be friendly with a system that sucks up that much power. I’ll work on that later. Have to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

“Injector sensors are back up! Someone confirms on the main board for me?” Her last question was drowned out as the red alert blared to life around them. “Ah, come on. Please don’t break the ship. I just fixed it!”


[ Ens. Zin Shu | Battle Bridge | Deck 8 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy | What a Way to Introduce Oneself ]
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Fresh to the ship, fresh off the shuttle, fresh off of little sleep. It was customary when you were in a completely new set of quarters and new sounds, and sleep just wasn’t like it used to be. Zin had been on ships before, but this time, was different. The rumors that surrounded the Theurgy had been quiet for the time being, but the ship still had quite a reputation. When the Commander told her that he wanted her on the ship because her skill set would only be advantageous to it she had decided to take the risk. Having no family to leave behind and no ties anywhere, she was the perfect pick for a deep space assignment that was wrought with danger and risk.

Zin looked at herself in the mirror, her stomach a host to a community of rabid butterflies at this point. Pulling her hair back into a quick ponytail, she secured it with a small tie and tightened it by pulling at the sides to secure it properly. Dark eyes stared back at her from the mirror as though they had something to say, but she just couldn’t comprehend it.

A quick mewling protest was Zin's only warning before the white kitten she had adopted before coming to the Theurgy, Daisy jumped up and perched perfectly on the side of the sink. Looking up at Zin, she let out another sharper mew.

“I know, I know, it’s time for me to go…” she sighed, looking at her roommate. The white feline didn’t say anything else but merely hopped off the sink, stuck her tail in the air, and sauntered off into the bedroom. Zin grinned. It was her first time having a pet in her entire life and honestly, she found herself feeling a lot less lonely with Daisy around. She also found herself talking to Daisy like she was a full-on person, but at least no one was around to witness that.

Pushing away from the sink, Zin picked up her tricorder, PADD, and other items, placing them in her pockets before adjusting her collar one more time. “Don’t nap too hard while I’m gone, My Lady…” she said. Daisy didn’t even bother to raise her head from Zin’s pillow on the newly made bed, her thick, and bushy tail thumping against the pillow as if to say, ‘you could be here, but you’re not’.

Outside her Quarters, Zin headed quickly to the Turbolift. She hadn’t even met anyone on the ship yet except the Quartermaster, who told her which Quarters she was assigned to. After that, she had merely worked on unpacking her things, which were mostly Daisy’s things, and getting herself mentally prepared for the job that lay ahead. No one stopped her on the way to the lift, and no one spoke to her on the way up to the Bridge, which was fine with Daisy because she was terrible at small talk and wasn’t entirely sure she could speak without puking on people just yet.

The Bridge was a bustling area that was massive, definitely much larger than anything Zin had been on before. Her eyes looked around in a bit of innocent curiosity before she found the station she was supposed to man. Before she could do that, though, she at least needed to introduce herself. Which required speaking, being heard, and being seen, all things that were uncomfortable for the young Ensign.

“H-Hi.. I mean,” Zin squinted her eyes for a moment to refocus. “Ensign Shu repor-“

Before she could really speak, the red alert sounded, and battle stations were called out. Zin forgot all about reporting in and quickly headed to the unmanned station. Signing in with her credentials, she sat in the seat and looked at what was happening. They had entered their destination and now it was show time. Shu knew little about what was going on, as she had only just gotten here, and no debrief had really taken place. She was pretty sure she had missed whatever brief there was. However, right now, she needed to figure out what she could do to help.


[ Lt Cmdr. Jaru “Janus” Rel | FAB | Deck 16 | Vector 2 | The Ranger | USS Theurgy ]
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Outside, he was sure the FAB was a hive of activity. But in his office, it was as quiet as a graveyard. Janus thought that was fitting. At the moment, it felt like a graveyard, too, death’s pale fingers trailing whispers across his skin, headless of the exosuit meant to be armor.
He was staring at the flight roster, names color-coded and moved from their normal positions to indicate the three separate locations the squadron had split to cover, broken up the moment they had gotten back to full strength. His eyes kept drifting to the bottom, where he had just moved Javert’s name and grayed it out. Inactive. What a clinical term for a violent death. Janus knew he couldn’t dwell on it. Letting the past infringe on the present was a surefire way to get more people killed. But it still stung, losing a pilot on his first mission back.

And now there were five. Five, where he should have had twelve, were attached to a damaged ship in enemy territory, hiding out because they couldn’t go to warp, sitting ducks for any Romulans who happened by.

With a quick tap of his fingers, he pulled up footage from Atlas’ first training sim yesterday and reviewed it again. On principle, Janus was against letting a pilot with so little experience on the Mark III join a combat mission. But in reality, six was better than five, and reality trumped principle every time. What he saw here was good enough to give it a shot. Janus moved the new pilot to the active flight roster and shut down the console. This was how it was going to be. Now to go make it work.

He re-entered the main bay with the intention of finding the Kzinti for a talk – right as the red alert started. Guess the Romulans finally realized they were here. The room had been busy before, but it was nothing compared to now. Janus turned and quickly made his way to his Valkyrie. He spared a glance for the areas where he’d marked damage earlier, noting a crewman hurriedly replacing a bit of panel near the warp coils.

“All good?” The Andorian gave a quick thumbs up, then got out of the way. That was good enough for Janus. He’d run the rest of the system’s checks from the cockpit.

“Let’s go! Someone tell Atlas he’s coming too, trial by fire.”


[ Ens. Talia “Shadow” Al-Ibrahim | FAB | Deck 16 | Vector 2 | The Ranger | USS Theurgy ]
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Nothing assaulted the ears like the Assault Bay in peak activity before a launch. The noise was intense, a cacophony of ordered functionality blended with the randomized shouts of flight crews and pilots as they underwent last-minute repairs or standardized preventative maintenance. One had to acclimate to it first to drown it out and concentrate on the task at hand, and Talia realized she wasn’t exactly there yet. Warning alarms from loaders blared, delivering weapons and ammunition. In the next bay over from where her ship sat, deckies swarmed over the charred, powerless corpse of Wolf-08. Shadow tried not to look at it. She was due up on Alert 5 in sixteen minutes and had to get through her pre-flight before the Chief showed up to verify. She didn't mind the secondary check, and really didn't mind Liam either, but...there was always an air of awkwardness between them; which was mostly Talia's fault. And Ghosts.

Still, some things were probably better off left unsaid.

She stood near the port impulse assembly in full armor, sans helmet when her ears picked up the number designation for her bird. That’s not Liam’s voice; Shadow frowned and looked around. Oh, another Kzinti, her brows shot up as the Chief approached, along with her best approximation of a friendly smile.

“You can hit Atlas’ ship first if you like; that way, we aren’t tripping over each other. I’m Shadow, by the way. Nice to meet you, Chief,” Talia lifted her chin up to him, extending a hand for a brief shake. “Hopefully, things calm down enough soon for us to properly get to know you. For now, though, we both got business to handle,” she added with a grin over her shoulder, then returned to her checklist as the noise of the deck continued.

She’d barely read off the next line when everything started flashing red.

“Red alert – incoming attack craft – all hands, battle stations!”

Shadow spun to grab her helmet and caught the new Chief’s eye again. “Hold down the fort for us,” she nodded to him, then pulled her helm on and threw Goldeneye a thumbs up before marching back to her cockpit. Guess I’ll finish pre-flight in the box; Talia smirked to herself as she climbed up and opened a channel to Flight Ops.

“Wolf-04, priming,” Shadow reported in.

Whatever was coming, she sure hoped she was ready to face it.


[ CPO Avandar Lok | Fighter Bay Operations Office | Deck 16 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ]
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Lok bowed his head slightly and returned the handshake, happy to see that Shadow was one of those pilots that knew how to do a proper pre-flight check themselves or was willing to do them at the very least. Some pilots took on a bit of a superior attitude when it came to the dynamic of them and the deck crews, seeing themselves as above all that labor required to maintain their craft, expecting to climb in and fly simply; anything else was for the grunts who never went to the Academy. Lok had not yet encountered anything like that here, but there was always the possibility.

At any rate, it saved him some time to go over Atlas’s spacecraft as Shadow had suggested. His had required more work to be brought up to speed and so a quick check to ensure his guys hadn't missed anything was prudent. After exchanging pleasantries with Shadow, just simply “nice to meet yous” and “hope we can work together more”, he turned and started for Atlas’s fighter. He barely got a few steps when the Red Alert sounded.

He whipped his head back around, ears fully perked and alert, his eyes meeting Shadow’s for a brief moment. The look on her face indicated that she didn't need any prompting on to do. With a nod Lok turned back to the flight deck as a whole, his hearts racing, it had been a long time since he took part in a launch and as his keen eyes scanned the bay he realized that Liam had not returned yet, meaning he would be in charge for a brief time. You can do this. He reached into his pocket, fishing out an earpiece, he hooked it onto his left ear. Rather than using combadges it was best for the flight deck crews to have their own independent coms loop to coordinate with each other and hear each other over the noise; this also freed up bandwidth from the main coms channels for the rest of the ship.

[Lok to Phuc, take over the starboard spotting and launch until Mister Herrold is on the deck, I’ll handle the port], Lok ordered, as he expected they wouldn’t have time to wait for Liam to return to duty, nor could Lok efficiently handle the launch of all fighters by himself.

[Acknowledged Chief], Phuc responded.

Next came the intricate and well-choreographed dance of fighter spotting. Each respective team of specialists conducted their inspections and final configurations of the spacecraft to ready them for battle. The last of the ordnance is prepped and loaded. The pilots were helped into their cockpits and completed their final checklists before launch. Lok took his launch station at the end of the flight deck by the repulsor-launchers surrounded by a group of other technicians who would make the final checks before sending the spacecraft off into battle. It should be noted that he had the final say, if he saw anything on his PADD or on the physical spacecraft itself that looked suspicious and might jeopardize the life of the pilot or deck crews, then he would not hesitate to pull the spacecraft from the flight line to give it a once over and hopefully solve the problem quickly to get it in the fight.

First up, naturally, was the squadron leader, Wolf-01, Janus. Lok hadn’t had much chance to talk with him yet, surprising considering the Lieutenant Commander’s position, but the past day had already been a whirlwind of activity and for the foreseeable future, that was unlikely to change. While the final inspection team quickly did a visual once over of the primed and ready Valkyrie, Lok went over the last items of the pre-flight checklist with Janus, his dry, professional tone a sharp contrast to his normally jovial one. One might have mistaken Lok’s demeanor as one fit for a training session, not a high-stakes battle.

[Thrust levers to idle…confirm ordnance arming switch is set to safe…confirm core SCRAM switch is set to armed…] Lok announced as he waited for the confirmations from Janus on the last items of the checklist. All checked and green. The visual confirmation of a thumbs up by an Ordnanceman (ORD) and a Space Craft Inspector (SCI) let Lok know that everything was ready.
[Commander, arming tags removed, spacecraft configured properly, prepare for launch…], he reported then held up his hand to visually begin the countdown, [...in five…four…three…two…one, LAUNCH, good hunting Commander.]

The accelerator hummed to life, and in the blink of an eye Janus was out of the bay, followed seconds later by Ghost, who had been given final checks by the recently arrived Ensign Herrold. Fellow Kzinti, Atlas would come next, Lok giving him the final checks, taking an extra second to confirm the recently reassembled warp core was showing no warnings before the big furry cat was also out of the bay and off to whoop some Romulan ass. Salvo followed shortly behind Atlas then Goldeneye, and finally, bringing up the rear was Shadow. The deck was now clear, and Lok and Liam quickly got their teams in order to prepare the deck for recovery, all the while listening to the sounds of the pilots engaged in a dramatic fight to protect their ship.

~~

NARRATOR: While Commander Cross ordered fighters to launch in response to the new threat, he also ordered an extraction team to take advantage of the coming altercation to infiltrate the carrier, find Revad, and return him to the Ranger, alive if at all possible. Considering who was on the ship available for the coming missions, the extraction team was made up of an odd assortment; some members faced a front-line assault for the first time in their careers, while for others, it was just another day on the job.

---

OOC: Y'all wrote like 60 pages, you wonderful lunatics, so I'm posting in sections lmao

Re: Chapter 2: Mission Objective - Get Revad. Fight. Don't die (optional).

Reply #1 – May 18, 2025, 11:28:57 PM

ATTN: @Brutus , @Nolan , @Havenborn , @chXinya , @RyeTanker @SomeBunny  @Number6 , @Pierce ,  @Dumedion , @tongieboi , @rae

[Lieutenant RraHnam | Some where on IRS Okhala Thrai | H’dai System]

The Hypatai had dropped off the assault force and it was a sign of how stretched thin Theurgy was that herself and Lieutenant Byrne were charging into battle. This really ought to have been something Lieutenant zh'Wann or her ilk should have been dealing with, but they were off dealing with another threat environment that was arguably worse. A couple of enlisted were the first through and in uncharacteristic Starfleet fashion, they shot the first Romulans they came across. The Romulan ship rocked hard as it took several more hits. She didn't know much about ship to ship combat, but battleship versus carrier just didn't seem fair and the Romulans were paying for the inequity. The intel feed coming from Theurgy came through loud and clear as someone identified as Ensign Zin Shu directed the dozen boarders through the terracotta and green corridors. Every once in a while, the point men would peek around the corners and send bursts of phaser fire down the corridor. The rest of the body would pass the fire fight and keep heading into the bowels of the ship in search of the HVT they had to extract.

The cat flared her nostrils at the smell of acrid smoke and burning electronics, wishing she'd spent more time practicing with her exosuit so she wouldn't have had to make the choice of wearing the standard tactical vest. A warning came over the comms about more Romulans coming up from the junction just ahead and the security officer trotted to the corner and placed her back to the bulkhead. Taking a moment, she made sure the setting the the phaser rifle showed three green bars of maximum stun. Taking a quick breath, she whirled around the corner as she took a knee. Bolts of green energy greeted her as she sent orange ones back. A pair of Romulans grunted as they were hit and sent flying backwards while the rest scattered. Their shots missed, but kicked up sparks in front of her face and she unconciously winced as as some of her fur was singed. Her finger pressed the firing stud as she sprayed the corridor, adrenaline surged through her veins as the heat of battle took hold and fight vs flight took hold inside her. Her training soon kicked in and she remembered to use the sights on her rifle. The green holographic optic quickly came up via arm muscle memory and the onboard sensors detected then outlined the targets ahead. One Romulan popped out and RraHnam could see the wire frame of the arm coming out. As the target body cleared the obstruction, the wire frame filled with a thermal map of and just enough filled the cross hair causing her pull the trigger. The Romulan security guard screamed as he took two phaser bolts to the side and fell over. Lieutenant RraHnam switched to the other guard and fired, but missed as her target ducked back into cover.

[Lieutenant Jonathan Byrne]

The Intel Lieutenant didn't even slow down as the Caitan in front of him engaged in battle. They were getting close to the target and they'd all gotten a description of the target. At the designated door, the group stopped and formed a perimeter. Lieutenant Byrne felt presence move past him and take up position on the other side of the door. The human's finger was just short of getting ready to open the door, but he hesitated as he took in the unfamiliar presence of Cmdr. (3rd) Hassar al-Zaheer. He wasn't sure what to make of the non-Starfleet officer, but he didn't quite totally trust him. Still, he was a marine and much more qualified for this close in fighting than he was. It was a hazard of the job though and he mentally shook it away before nodding to the Vaharran. "Breaching!" The human yelled before he tossed a flash grenade into the room and followed it with fire.

[Revad]

The Romulan had no idea what the Starfleeters wanted, but they were on the ship and shooting their way through. For such a weak an pacifistic people, they sure had an amazing capacity for violence. It was something to almost respect. He stood over his console wondering what in the blazes was going on as he worked to restore power to the damaged port nacelle. His efforts didn't appear to be resulting in much since the damage was mainly physical and was up to the on site damage control party as well as the engineers to fix. Nonetheless as the door opened, he didn't know what instinct told him to jump over the console, but his hands griped the upper edge and he vaulted over the computer just as a bright flash erupted behind him. The Romulan oofed as he landed, and scrabbled to get his disruptor pistol out. With slip of alloy, the weapon came out just as screams erupted from his compatriots in the room as they were shot down. Something skin to a panic reaction took over and he pointed the pistol around the console's corner and began spraying beams in he general direction of the door. Revad was a paranoid man since he felt wanted one way or another, so his disruptor was set higher than normal. Lieutenant Jonathan Byrne didn't even recognize the pistol that poked out on the deck before his world went mad with pain as a green beam sliced off his leg, then hit his chest. Disruptor energy burned through his vest and with a final scream, boiled his organs.
~~

[Ens. Talia “Shadow” Al-Ibrahim | Cockpit, AC-409 Valkyrie | Kappa Rho Expanse, H'dai System]

As the saying went, the Wolves were ‘all dressed up for the party’. Six fighters flew in tight Echelon formation, holding to a circuitous patrol, keeping just within weapons range of the Ranger – sensors hot. Shadow surveyed the system on her navigation console while Janus outlined the situation; but the story seemed thin. Intel was sparse, to say the least. They knew there was an unknown Romulan ship in system, and they knew it had launched at least one wave of fighters already – which meant it was likely D’Deridex class, at least, or something comparable. The H’dai system itself was a graveyard; astrometric data suggested it’s star had swollen in its death-throes eons ago and swallowed most of the inner system’s rocky worlds – those that survived were reduced to clouds of interstellar dust and debris, left to halo the shrunken corpse of a white dwarf in a funeral shroud of glitter. Two gas giants remained out-system, each with their own stellar empires of orbiting satellites, all cold and barren of life. The Ranger, a speck of white in the darkness somewhere off Talia's port wing, powered stately through the immense region of relatively open void between the shrouded regions of blue-white dust that stretched out for several AU’s across the region. Astrometric surveys designated this area the Kappa Rho Expanse – a stellar oubliette of unfathomable proportions, still riddled with the radiation scarring from the cataclysm that shaped it so many millennia ago.

Shadow looked up and checked her position, between Ghost and Goldeneye. Six of us, against who-knows-what, Shadow shook her head; whatever the Captain’s reasons were for splitting the crew, the ship, and the Wolves, she hoped they were really good ones. Her head turned over a shoulder to check Salvo and Atlas, on the outer flanks of the formation. Once Janus was done with his spiel, it didn’t surprise her at all when Ghost chimed in; her thick Scottish accent crackled in Talia’s helm with a wet edge of anticipation.

[Dun let these wankers split ye up. Our strength is'n tha pack – we fight t’gether or w’die alone, so bloody keep up or I’ll kick yer arse! Noobies, use yer tet-cannons t’paint ‘em – tac data will upload ye target for the lot ‘o us. They’ll be quick and pack a punch bu’ w’e can take ‘em. Mind ye intervals and fooks sake, watch ye six – that’s where tha bastards will try ta hit yae.]

Shadow nodded, but refrained from comment; she’d done her homework on the Hawk-class and what little intelligence had on the newer Stalker-class fighters, but there was a world of difference between reading up on an enemies capabilities and actually fighting them. She kept her eyes moving while they waited, vigilant for visual or sensor identification. The six of them had scrambled in record time – as far as Shadow reckoned, anyway – but if her math was right, the Romulan fighters could be parked within a couple thousand kilometers of their position by now, and no one would have a clue until it was too late. Tactical unlink from mission ops aboard the Ranger fed each fighter constantly updated sensor sweeps, augmenting their own impressive data suites. Blips of intermittent contacts popped up almost at random intervals, only to disappear within seconds; just long enough to give a vague impression of speed and heading.

“Stupid cloaks,” Shadow grumbled to herself.

[Repeat tha?] Ghost called.

“Nothing. Disregard,” Talia spoke up and re-checked her ordinance load-out. In addition to the standard compliment of pulse phasers, arrays, dual-mass driver turrets and internal micro-torp launchers, Talia had opted to carry two external torp pods with a mix of EMP and Quantum warheads along with two Hellbore torps and two Hellhound cluster bombs; ideal against engagement against a larger, slow moving target. If we get a chance to use them, she exhaled, flexed her armored gloves, and settled back for the show to start.

[Sub-Commander Choreeno | Command Deck | IRS Okhala Thrai | Outer reach, H’dai System]

He sat ramrod strait, elbows rested on the armchair of the command seat, fingers steepled before the hawkish curve of his nose. In the dim blue light of subdued power while the ship ran cloaked, his black, intelligent eyes stayed fixed on the view screen before him, watching the tactical display with the slightest of smiles. Confidence bled from Choreeno in an aura, palpable and infectious to the dozens of officers at their stations. From his position, raised above them, he had clear view of everything and everyone under his command; no one sat behind him, no station demanded he turn his head more than ninety degrees. Choreeno observed and dictated with his back to a wall – anything less was tempting fate. He watched and listened as his subordinates carried out their duties, manifesting the elegant tactical trap he envisioned into reality.

Yeda Squadron had acquired strike position upon positive contact identification moments ago, and was holding for orders, silent and unseen. He knew the sensory capabilities of their adversary would prove problematic soon enough, but if fate favored them, it wouldn’t amount to much in the end. After all, what were a few lost fighters against the sacking of such a formidable foe? Nothing, less than nothing, Choreeno smirked. “Launch status,” he queried aloud.

“Xarl squadron reports launch readiness, sir – Zora leader reports alert status.”

Choreeno nodded and shifted his attention to the flight coordinator stationed on the other side of the deck. Move Yeda into attack formation, full plasma spread on the primary only, at my command,” he ordered, then returned his attention to the tactical display. “Prepare to drop cloak. I want Xarl deployed and the ship re-cloaked in sixty cycles or less.”

His officers scrambled to comply.

“Sir,” the communications officer, Lieutenant Sienae, alerted. “Incoming hail from the Federation ship – indirect, open broadband transmission.”

Choreeno sucked his teeth in an unimpressed grimace. “A tedious, fumbled attempt at diplomacy no doubt,” he mused, then simply nodded. “Very well. Let’s hear what they have to say.”

An image came to life on the viewscreen: A Vulcan male, bald, with stout shoulders and an inner strength in his eyes. The sub-commander’s brow rose fractionally at the sight of him.

“Greetings, Romulan vessel. We know you’re lurking over our shoulders, wondering what the hell we’re doing here, all alone, and it’s only because of that curiosity that you’ve not tried to blow us to bits.” The Vulcan paced a trail toward the viewing screen, scanning the proverbial heavens for even a glimpse of the Romulans. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing. “If you don’t already recognize this ship in its present form or have the mental fortitude to piece together what we’re capable of, I’ll make it easy for you. We are of the USS Theurgy, renegade and rogue to some, ass-kicker and problem solver to others. I am Commander Cross, speaking on behalf of Captain Ives.” He then glanced at the monitoring crew behind him and, noticing their subtle head shakes, merely rolled his eyes and continued.

Choreeno grinned at the display; this Cross was a surprisingly terrible Vulcan.

“Contrary to propaganda from either ‘your’ side or ‘ours,’ we aren’t interested in toppling governments and couldn’t give two fucks who’s at the helm of your planet.” Cross visibly winced; in regret for his poor choice of words, no doubt. “What we DO care about is averting the type of destruction that would end entire civilizations, be it yours, ours, or even the Tholians. Doesn’t really matter when your destruction spells our own. Not to sound terribly Vulcan, knowing your history, but the needs of the many and all that.” The Starfleet officer continued while he paced to the opposite end of the viewing screen.

Choreeno frowned, intrigued by the veracity in the Vulcan’s tone. What game is he playing at?

“Pedantic speeches aside, the point of fact is that you have an agent onboard your vessel that will bring about your destruction, and our own, in a fucking cascade-like fashion. No, we didn’t put him there, but we have been informed of his presence and of what his presence means to our collective survival. We’ve come here to take him off your hands as we know who to give him to, to ensure that his mistakes or successes can't fuck us all over.” Cross pulled his hands together behind his back and rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, then back onto his heels as he went on. “Now, you can balk at our audacious claims, or you can do us all a favor and corner a certain man named Revad and allow us to beam him over. There be no need for violence.”

A curt hand gesture silenced the transmission. Choreeno stroked the immaculately groomed goatee upon his chin in consideration briefly, before he shook his head and stood. As entertaining as Starfleet’s vague claims were, he had no interest in heeding them and even less in cooperation; they had invaded his people’s sovereign space, violated the dictated Neutral Zone Treaty, and had clearly come to apprehend a member of his crew for their own agenda. Given these facts, Choreeno foresaw only one course of action.

“Signal Yeda squadron – full attack. Prepare to drop cloak! I want Xarl launched and Zora moved up launch readiness before we cloak again. Order Xarl to full attack on the primary immediately,” the sub-commander paused, meeting the eyes of his crew. “We will deal with these interlopers and press on to the border to crush Donatra’s petty rebellion once and for all.” A chorus of acknowledgement answered him, while he gestured to a nearby centurion. “Find Revad. Silence and secure him, quietly. Go,” he ordered in a heated whisper.

The centurion nodded and hurried off.

Choreeno clasped his hands behind him and returned his attention to the tactical display with a nod. “Execute,” he commanded.

[Meanwhile…| Ens. Talia “Shadow” Al-Ibrahim | Cockpit, AC-409 Valkyrie]

Her sensors lit up with a gaggle of hard contacts; a flight of twelve blips well out of engagement range, along with a massive signature near the limits of low-res long range. Shadow turned in formation with the pack on an intercept course, as a solid beam of phaser fire streamed out from the Ranger; a miniscule flash of impact lit up several hundred kilometers out, just as the contacts dropped from sensors. What the hell, she fumed, even if she was glad the Ranger managed a hit. Talia’s eyes widened in surprise at what bloomed into being in their place a few seconds later; it was a literal wall of sickly green pulses, sixty strong, at least, and they were all headed directly for the Ranger. “Fuck me,” Shadow whispered, as a voice from mission ops filled her helmet.

[Heads up Wolves; we’re tracking another wave of fighters launched and a massive plasma strike inbound. Be advised, we now have at least 24 enemy fighters in the battlesphere – intercept at your discretion. Orders are unchanged, maintain defensive position within effective transport and weapons range. Wolf Leader, stand by for potential additional tasking.]

Janus oriented them into a flanking attack angle, lining them up to take a passing strike at the incoming wave of missiles; Talia’s thumb flicked the safety cover off her guns with a nod. They didn’t need to hit every one, but they sure as hell were going to try. All six fighters opened up at maximum range in almost the exact same moment; a blistering hail of pulse phasers, beams, and micro-torps. Talia winced at the bright display of firepower; a sight she’d never seen in all the simulations she’d ever run – this was a unified barrage that could have wrecked anything in its path.

Then she realized in almost the same instant that the light was far too bright, and far too close...

Ghost’s ship had been the source; there and gone in a blink. Shadow’s sensors screamed out alerts as her shields were suddenly hammered from behind. A glance over her shoulder confirmed it: “Break – break – br—” Talia shouted, as all hell broke lose. Chaos reigned; voices overlapped, as her fellow Wolves scrambled – calling out targets, maneuvers, warnings. Through it all, one thing had made itself abundantly clear: the Romulans had waited patiently, like predators, for the Wolves to engage the missiles, then pounced to sink their teeth in. Shadow evaded, as the pack unity fell apart around her, straining to hear the new tasking mission ops had chosen to send at the exact wrong moment.

[…be advised, shuttle launch imminent to extract HVT from…will need escort….Romulan carrier, capabilities unknown…recommend heavy ordinance. Acknowlege.]

“We’re a little busy right now,” Shadow yelled over the coms traffic, not really concerned if anyone heard her or not. The old man’s ears didn’t miss it, nor did Talia miss the forceful tone he used to clear the coms channel; despite the insane ferocity of combat, Janus’ voice was controlled and collected – he issued his orders immediately without any hesitation.

Shadow sent her acknowledgement as she opened fire on a flanking Stalker moving onto Salvo's six; the bastard’s cloak was already shimmering into life as her trailing fire raked across its wings and ventral hull in a blistering hail of fire. She watched it tumble off course as she passed, then detonate in a green-hued fireball of expanding incandescent gas and debris.

It was her first kill, but they were still outnumbered 2 to 1. Her sensors tracked the shuttle launch; a type-11. She watched it bank under the glowing ribbons of streaming fire filling the void around the Ranger as it’s PDC systems roared to life. Talia banked hard to intercept, as she spotted Goldeneye and Atlas following suit. The Stalkers had disappeared, leaving the Wolves to reform and regroup, for the moment.

“Wolf Leader, Wolf 4,” Shadow swallowed between breaths, “pushing to shuttle rendezvous. We’ll get them in and back,” she told him, if only speaking it aloud would somehow make it happen. Thrusting up to full power, the three fighters streamed towards the Ranger and their charge as the far side of the void, beyond the white hull of the dreadnought, lit up with another ominous wall of plasma; a second squadron of Stalkers had engaged.

Talia hailed the shuttle. “This is Wolf-4, escort inbound. We have your six – hope you have a plan for whatever the hell you’re trying to do out here,” she half asked, half snapped.

Whatever it is, I have a feeling I’m not going to like it.

[Ens. Ali Louis | Type-11 Shuttle Hypatia]

He fought the urge to look back at the others as the unfamiliar voice erupted across the comms. He hadn’t trained for this, not really – he was just a shuttle pilot, for crying out loud! Still, Ali managed to ignore the cold sweat that trickled down his back and cleared his throat, willing someone else to answer. When he’d been pulled into this operation, given a five minute brief, and asked to do the impossible, he’d nearly passed the hell out. Unable to control himself any longer, he turned to glance at the towering figures cramped into the passenger compartment, noisily making themselves ready for combat, along with the human-looking figure of a man in their midst with weird eyes and jet black hair. He looked like he was in considerable pain, or really hungover.

“Uhh, can one of you talk to them? I’m trying my best not to get us all killed right now,” Louis implored them.
~~

[Master Chief Petty Officer Klex Sonden | Vector 2 Battle Bridge | Deck 8| Vector 2]

Master Chief Petty Officer Klex Sonden was at the tactical station when he saw Romulan fighters decloak on widely converging vectors, all aimed at Theurgy. The next warning showed plasma torpedoes being charged from the fighters.

“Fighters incoming from starboard and ventral. Wolves engaging starboard!” Master Chief Sonden exclaimed rapidly as chaos ensued. “4 enemies destroyed. We’re being painted!” The next computer warning appeared that Point Defence had gone into automatic mode and updated protocols that had been originally crafted at the end of the 23rd century, and updated to take advantage of modern technological updates pushed the ship forward as thrusters rotated the ship to provide the optimum angles for defensive fire coverage. Four of the Romulan fighters had become debris in the merge with the Wolves, but the remaining twenty bore into the accelerating Starfleet vessel. The range was a bit long and one group was rattled by their sudden losses, but they still closed. Faces were grim and tight as Vulcanoid eyes glared at the targeting caret in their HUDs when the warning to Fire appeared and each pilot pulled the trigger just as their view exploded in a curtain hail of orange as the PDPCs and phaser arrays opened fire on the incoming balls of superheated gas. The space between the fighters and Theurgy became alive with boils of light as the thin gas shells of the torpedoes were smashed and violently liberated their energy into space. Four more fighters died as they had launched too late, their torpedoes detonating practically right next to their hulls before the phaser beam continued on to smash the relatively fragile hulls of the fighter.

The remainder scattered in the face of such intense fire, jinking wildly to throw off the aim of the demonic blaze of energy being sent in their direction causing more misses. Sub-Commander Choreeno blanched as nearly a third of the fighters launched disappeared suddenly with many more streaming back towards the carrier with varying levels of battle damage. It looked questionable if even a third of the fighters would make it back under their own power. However, it was not all once sided as 48 of the 64 torpedoes launched at Theurgy flew through the point defence bubble, though a mere seven survived the gauntlet to smash into the Starfleet ship's shields. Explosions rocked the ship as the micro suns blasted themselves against the shields and the backup systems struggled to keep the energy barrier up. If the warp core had been up, this would have been no contest, but it was altogether a different story when on the fusion generators. The results were telling as relays sparked and conduits ruptured, spewing white gas from the weakened section.

[Ensign Sarah Bjørge | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy]

Ensign Sarah Bjørge had been gathering some last second medical supplies for her med kit and was arranging them in her bag. She did this by feel as she moved down the corridor towards the lobby as part of the triage team. The deck shook violently under her and she lost her footing, stumbling forward while awkwardly trying to regain her balance. There wasn't time before the nurse was sent flying as a conduit near the decontamination chambers exploded. She had the momentary feeling of hot, searing pain as shrapnel lanced all over her back, then the world went spinning as the force of the explosion sent her hurtling into the wall and smashed her body into the opposite wall. She lay there, badly concussed and unresponsive, knowing she was in shock and in bad shape, but there was nothing she could do about it as her consciousness began to slip. An echoey sound followed. Someone was calling that sickbay was on fire and there were casualties.

[Lt. Commander Frank Arnold | Main Engineering | Deck 25 | Vector 3 | USS Theurgy]

Damage reports rolled in and Chief Arnold knew they were out of time. The backup systems were only designed to endure so much punishment and they served an adjunct function in full up combat. They were going to have to risk it as he turned to Azrin working at the warp core. “Azrin! Close up the core. We’ll have to manage the fuel flow by software.” The burly Chief turned to the fuel monitors. “When the core is sealed, start the flow at 5%, then bring it up as fast as you can. Watch the annihilation variances, we can’t have the power bleed become too wide.”

The engineers followed his commands and he watched as the power readings began to quickly rise while hovering near the annihilation coefficient of an unstable reaction, working desperately to keep the core from becoming a self-immolating photon torpedo writ large.

[PO3 Cirus Bodega | Vector 2 Battle Bridge | Deck 8| Vector 2]

The tactical sensor crewman flinched as sparks shot out from a nearby console while a medical crewman dragged off someone as they screamed from the shrapnel wounds in their face. The air stank of ozone and smoke hung to the upper bulkheads. He was starting to sweat despite the constant flow of cool air that circulated through the bridge. They'd beaten this wave, but who knew what else was coming and he really didn't want to die. Taking a deep breath, he turned back to his bank of consoles and focused on the stream of information coming in as the sensor information became more refined. The ship's comm system chirped. "Bridge, this is Lieutenant Herbert in Intel." Hopefully, he had some good news. "Some of the badly damaged fighters can't cloak and are heading to a point in space that doesn't have anything we can see. Sensors show slightly elevated levels of tachyons and anti-protons in the general direction they're headed." Knowing without having to wait for reports that this first wave had taken its toll on both ship and its crew, Commander Cross didn’t hesitate before issuing the command. “Lay in pursuit course. And have some some fighters to scout on ahead.”

[Space]

USS Theurgy's impulse engines roared to life as the ship gracefully surged forward and began to run down the fleeing Romulan Stalkers. A couple of really slow ones wouldn't be able to outrun the dreadnought chasing them and turned to sell their lives to delay the enemy. It was a sacrifice in vain as the Wolves pounced and swatted the cripples aside. This garnered the other fighters as they turned around and headed back towards the Starfleet vessel in an attempt to buy their more badly damaged comrades more time. Sub-Commander Choreeno was livid at the damage that his fighters had taken, and the audacity of the enemy to head in his direction as if the cloak didn't matter. The strike had cost the fighters dearly, but it was clear that they had caused damage. Perhaps with something larger and more robust, the fighters would be able to strike a critical blow and leave the enemy vessel open to capture or destruction. A plan formed in the carrier commander's mind and he grinned in confidence. "Maneuver us towards the damaged fighters. Inform Xarl squadron that they will be launching in close quarters and they are not to engage right away. Wait till we have the Starfleet vessel's attention, then hit them in the underside, closest to where their warp core is. Our weapons should be able to deal with them afterward and we will see if they will surrender or if we will compel them to. Maybe destroy their bridge as an example to the rest." A chorus of acknowledgement followed as the cloaked carrier shifted course to close with the enemy. It didn't take too long, with both ships closing at what amounted to full impulse. At just outside what the Romulan Commander thought was Starfleet weapons range, he ordered the cloak dropped and the fighters launched.

Commander Cross grasped the essence of what was going to happen when Master Chief Klex announced the appearance of the Romulan ship. “I want an impulse burst. NOW! And fire all weapons!”

Theurgy surged forward as her engines burned a bright, malevolent red, and the front of the ship seemed to explode as phasers and photon torpedoes lanced out at the Romulan ship. The target profile was narrow, so many of the shots missed, but enough connected against the imperfectly formed shield bubble and explosions dotted the carrier's form. Sub-Commander Choreeno was thrown from his chair as consoles and conduits exploded across the bridge. A scream of terror was cut short as a support beam collapsed and smashed the communication's officer head open like an overripe melon.

The tactical officer's report was frantic as the ship took more hits. "We're taking hits on multiple sections! The port nacelle is not responding! Heavy casualties on the ventral and port quarters! Xarl squadron is launching!” Any further reports were cut off as a fresh round of explosions reverberated through the ship and the science console exploded in a shower of alloy and glass. The three crewman at that station screamed in unison as they were turned into leaky meat bags. Sub-Commander Choreeno knew his ship was in trouble and had to get the situation under control. “Helm! Turn us hard to port! Bring the starboard weapons to bear! Divert emergency power to shields. Standby to cloak!” Whatever the helm officer had been ordered to do, he wouldn’t get the chance as a photon torpedo clipped one of the Xarl squadron fighters and sent it careening back towards the hanger deck. The disabled fighter collided with the launch port’s upper frame and exploded, sending flaming debris into the hanger deck. Flame vomited forth from the hanger as munitions and other combustibles detonated sympathetically. Power on the carrier soon began to flicker as the cumulative damage wreaked more havoc on the stricken ship's systems.
~~

[Ens. Zin Shu | Bridge Duty | Hacking Vessels | Trial by Fire]

The atmosphere on the Bridge was getting intense. The emotions and stress were palpable on someone like Zin especially since everyone’s emotional footprint were completely new to her. Once she got used to them and became familiar with them they would easily become background noise. Stretching her neck from one side to the other in the hopes of relieving her own tension coupled with the tensity settling in from those around her Zin looked at the display in front of her. She had been well trained in what she was about to do and her computer languages were well developed as well even with other species. If the Federation had dealings with them she likely had at least some experience with hacking in that language.

“Captain, I’m going to attempt a digital infiltration,” she told him, she hoped that it would work, at the very least it could be used as a diversion. Something that could help turn the tide of the battle which seemed to be coming. Anything that could help the squadron who was out there fighting as well as those on the Bridge. They were rescuing a Romulan, that was all she knew since she hadn’t been here for the briefing but it didn’t matter. Zin was chosen because she was damn good at her job and the Commander believed she would make a good addition to the team. So, she needed to prove that his trust was not misplaced.

Shu’s screen was already set up for everything she needed. She had increased her firewall protections and loaded a computer program she had built herself which added all sorts of worm holes and dead ends for those who tried to back-hack her. She had set it up to run the hacker in circles while imitating various moments where they would feel they were making progress only to find a dead end. It was one of her favorite programs and she added to it all the time to make it different and more complex so that no one could ever fully map it out just in case they copied it somehow.

Ju took a sip of her water because once she started hacking it would be hard to take a break. Those were the moments when she could get found out and kicked out by someone trained enough. Rolling her shoulders to loosen her muscles again Zin put her fingers to the screen and began. Zin didn’t need to look at her hands to know which keys and buttons she was pushing right now she was just playing lightly with the computer system across the span of space from them. Testing the edges seeking out the weakness she imagined was there. Almost every program had some small spot they had left vulnerable and it was all she needed.

Come on… come on…

The odd language spewed over her screen as her fingers shifted through the keys and her eyes darted back and forth reading the code as quickly as she could. Some languages were easier than others. There it is… A smile took over the quiet Software Engineer’s face as she began to pick apart the code to slide herself into the coding itself so she could begin her infiltration. Her goal was mainly to be a distraction but she was fine if she could help in other ways. She wasn’t on hand to loop video but she could subvert different video feeds to certain areas if needed and there was so much more she could do without being truly noticed. If she wanted to get really dirty she would need command codes, which she could probably find if she had enough time, but that would be for the Captain to decide or if things got really bad.

Slowly but surely Zin was able to make her way solidly into the system and began to figure out what their systems were so she could cause issues. She didn’t want it to be super obvious at first because she needed time to create a doorway for herself to get back in. Which was precisely what she was doing right now, altering the code to create a access code which was all her own so she could get into their systems that much easier next time or if they kicked her out. She had to be stealthy but smart about this.

Once her own personal codes were left in her entrance point she began to see what she could access through her generic access. Sometimes it was enough to get to some of the good stuff and generic access, like that for officers, would be enough to get most information. She only needed to play in the big time if the Captain asked her to do something specific or she felt it was necessary. Zin mirrored their display screen on her own LCARS and began to sort through the various windows until she found the Security tab. This had access to all the cameras around the entire ship which would enable her to see what was going on. She began flipping through the various feeds to see if she could locate the Romulan they were after. If they could pinpoint his location it might make a rescue mission that much easier.
~~
[Cmdr. (3rd) Hassar al-Zaheer | Type-11 Shuttle Hypatia]

Hassar moved to the front of the shuttle, his Marines, a dozen in total along with four Starfleet security officers prepared for their assault on the Romulan carrier and extraction of some agent important to Theurgy’s cause. He arrived in the cockpit area as the shuttle pilot, a young Ensign whose name he did not catch, was frantically avoiding incoming energy blasts and doing his best to not become a tempting target for the swarm of Stalker fighters duking it out with Theurgy’s Valkyries. He turned to Hassar for a brief moment and implored him to talk to what he presumed was their escort over the subspace-wireless.

“We’ll be alright just focus on your training and don’t get distracted by things beyond your control”, Hassar said to Ensign Louis as a bit of encouragement, having noted the look of fear on the young man’s eyes when he had turned around. Tapping the button on the control panel he opened a channel to the escorting Valkyries, one of them, a Wolf-4, seemed to be leading that particular aspect of their operation.

[This is Commander Al-Zaheer on the shuttle, keep the enemy off us while we look for an opening to board that ship. Al-Zaheer out.]

There wasn’t much else to say, for the moment it was just wait near the edge of the dogfight until an opening presented itself. Such things took a cool head, the fear of being a sitting sok* could drive one to make a snap decision that only succeeded in getting them killed or failing in their mission. Hassar of course felt fear, it was only natural to do so, but he tempered this by relying on his training and with the comfort that if it was his time to leave the Material World for the Spirit World he would not fight it. He closed his eyes for a moment, a fleeting flash of Adaar filled his mind as well as a quote from one of the scrolls of the revered Monk Zar …death was not the end…

[Copy that, we’ll keep them off your ass until you find your opening, Wolf-4 out], came the response back from their escort.

Meanwhile Theurgy and the Romulan carrier slugged it out. From his vantage point Hassar noted the closeness of the range and the sheer amount of firepower that was uncharacteristic of the Starfleet he had worked with in the past. It was almost Vaharran in its approach, turning a box of space into a sea of fire. It was enough to bring an impressed smile to the Commander’s face, his green eyes focused on the Romulan ship in particular. We just need one little opening. And soon they would have it, while Theurgy appeared to take some damage itself it dealt more than plenty of its own right back to the Romulans, raking it with a concentrated blast of phasers and torpedoes until it appeared to heel out of its attack posture apparently disabled. This was followed by some sort of explosion in the port hangar bay, a gout of flame and debris erupting from it like a geyser, and the ship continued its slow yawing roll to port now disabled, at least for the moment.

“I think we found our opening, Ensign, what’s the status of shields and life support for their port hangar bay?” Hassar asked Louis. Louis ran a scan and reported back, “Life support is stable though there are moderate levels of smoke detected but shields are down in that area.”

“Very well, make for that hangar at best possible speed.”

Louis lost a bit of color in his face but acknowledged and with a few taps of his console and the increased hum of the shuttle’s systems they were off. Hassar opened comms once more to their escort.

[This is Commander Al-Zaheer, we are moving in to land in the enemy’s port hangar bay!]

The escorts acknowledged and followed the shuttle as it practically dove into the fray, making a beeline to the hangar bay before the Romulans could raise shields or perhaps get an idea of what they were doing and shoot them down. Ensign Louis was transfixed on the space directly in front of him, eyes as big as saucers as he maneuvered the shuttle because his life depended on it. Even Hassar was nervous, this wasn’t exactly the way he and his Marines would typically conduct an infiltration like this but it wasn’t as if they had much choice when dealing with this kind of scenario. Almost there, almost there, he said to himself as the open maw of the hangar bay loomed closer and closer, explosions and shrapnel from the battle going on around them buffeting the shuttle. Louis instinctively closed his eyes for a moment in expectation of the shuttle flattening against a suddenly raised shield only for it to pass through the hangar opening and through the Romulan equivalent of an environmental forcefield. To avoid instead splattering on the back wall of the hangar, Louis blasted the shuttles braking thrusters bringing the spacecraft to a less than graceful halt before gently touching down on the debris strewn flight deck. They had made it.

“Let’s go!” Hassar ordered the group as he made his way to the back ramp of the shuttle, pulling the visor down on his helmet and cocking his battle rifle.

*A sok is a small rodent creature from Aros.

[Lt. JG. Evelyn “Ghost” Rawley | Cockpit, AC-409 Valkyrie]

The dogfight was a tough one but the superior skill of the Theurgy pilots and the superior technology of their spacecraft gave them the edge over the numerous Stalker fighters that engaged them. Since the single flight of six fighters had essentially broke into two teams of three, Ghost had been trying to stay on Salvo's wing, but with the sheer numbers of enemy fighters it was difficult to not get separated. She spotted Janus for a brief moment being harassed by a group of three Stalkers.

{Janus you got three on your six, hang on!]

Ghost used a combination of yaw and roll to swoop in behind the Romulans and unleashed a few quick bursts of phaser fire, striking one in the cockpit, sending it spirally off into the void. The other two Stalkers immediately broke their pursuit and took diverting paths to deal with their attacker. Ghost went after the one that had the best chance of intercepting Janus once more. This one was squirrelly however, preventing a target lock, almost like it was toying with Ghost who became more pissed off the more the Romulan avoided her grasp, starting to develop tunnel vision on the target. The bastard was almost in her sights and she fired another burst of phaser to hit it, only for the Stalker to juke aside perhaps a second before she fired.

“Hold still y'fookin' cunt”, Ghost mumbled under her breath.

A few more maneuvers and finally it seemed she had the wily Romulan dead to rights as he suddenly made a wide right turn which allowed Ghost to get a clean shot, but while she was lining up somebody else was lining up a shot on her. Unbeknownst to Ghost, who had lost situational awareness, a momentary lapse due to frustration and the intensity of the combat, the other Stalker that had broken off its pursuit of Janus had been working with the one Ghost was chasing to take her out. The first inclination of the danger to Ghost was the alarm that she had been target locked followed by several bumps as her craft was hit by disruptors at close range, sapping her shields rapidly. "Wolf-2, evading!" Ghost called out, banking hard left instinctively; but it was too late. The final strafe of enemy fire collapsed her shields and penetrated the starboard side of her craft abeam of the cockpit, the resulting explosion spraying the interior with shards of molten hot shrapnel.

"Fuck I'm hit!" Ghost screamed in pain as she was struck with a white hot punch to the gut, hitting the transmit button inadvertently and broadcasting her distress to her fellow pilots. Her spacecraft spun out of control as she was momentarily stunned from the pain and shock of the hit. Hit again within two days, was her first thought as she recovered her senses. With several pained motions she then recovered control of her fighter. Her first inclination was to ignore the pain and get back into the fight, if she was going to go down she would take as many of these pointy eared bastards as possible, but as the alarms indicating various systems failure rang out through her cockpit and the intense pain of her wound she thought better of it. Die another day.

"Ghost to squadron, I’m hit, systems failing, heading back to the barn," She radioed out then made a hard Yeager loop to reverse her course and get her on a direct heading back to the Theurgy, home.

Her approach was fast, perhaps too fast, but if the computer was telling the truth she would lose power before landing if she slowed down and her gradually blurring vision told her she might also pass out. So it was pedal to the metal until she touched down on the flight deck. With Theurgy herself engaged in her own maneuvers to fight the wounded but still dangerous carrier, Ghost had to make constant adjustments to line up for the hangar until finally she had direct approach. In the last moments her body failed her, her vision started to tunnel, and with a last thought of, shit, she passed out.
~~
[Ens. Liam Herrold | Flight Deck | Fighter Bay | Deck 16 | Vector 2]

With hands clasped behind his back, Liam calmly paced the deck. Unless the fighters were being recovered there was nothing to do but wait, deal with any local damage, and listen to the comms, desperate for any details that might indicate they were winning. Other crewmen were milling about near their stations, some in damage control gear, others in their grease stained coveralls. The ship trembled from a hit somewhere above but other than a bit of dust from some place high in the rafters that hadn’t seen a feather duster since the ship was commissioned, no cause for action was required. His path finally milled over to his latest additional, Chief Lok, a Kzinti, as he stood, arms crossed near his station on the port side of the flight deck, eyes staring pensively out the gaping maw of the hangar into the space beyond and its occasional phaser or disruptor streak.

The two nodded to each other with a bit of courtesy but in that particular moment there wasn’t much of a want to talk. Not that the two men had ill will towards each other, in fact they had gotten along quite well in the brief time they had known each other, well professionally at least. Hopefully they would continue to get on for the rest of this mission, however long that was. Liam had started to open his mouth to ask about the status of Lok’s deck crew when the tense atmosphere was suddenly broken by the panicked voice of the Flight Operations Officer over the comms, [EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY! CLEAR THE DECK!]

Liam looked around expecting a plasma fire from one of the recent hits only turn his head just in time to spot one of their fighters streaking in at an extremely high speed. He sucked in a breath as he could do nothing but watch. The Valkyrie came in so fast and from such an unexpected angle that flight operations team must not have been able to activate the emergency tractor beam to grab it and then slowly bring it in. Instead the spacecraft, in a shallow dive slammed into the deck just outside the forcefield and skidded into the hangar, a terrific sound of screeching metal as it approached. Liam felt frozen in place, not afraid but in a critical moment unable to determine how to escape the oncoming vessel. With perhaps centimeters to spare, he felt a sudden hard yank of his collar and his feet leave the ground, but rather than fall onto the hard deck he landed against the wall of fur that was his Kzinti coworker as the both of them watched the fighter skid past. It destroyed a couple of pilot stairs and tool stands before hitting the port wall and coming to a halt.

"My God...MEDICAL TEAM TO THE FIGHTER ASSAULT BAY!" Liam shouted over comms before he had even regained his feet, not wasting any time if the pilot had been injured.

“Thanks”, he said to Lok and started running to the wreck.

“Don’t mention it”, the Kzinti responded as he followed behind.

Several crewmen had reached the spacecraft before them and were already in the process of extracting the pilot, Liam recognized Ghost right away, who was reported to be unconscious but breathing for the moment. With Lok’s help they gently got her the rest of the way out of the cockpit and down to the deck. A medical team must have been nearby because a pair with a stretcher arrived not too long after and with a few shots of the hypospray and a bit of work with the dermal regenerator Ghost was stabilized enough to be moved. Leaving Lok to deal with the mess that Ghost had made, Liam would be certain to playfully chastise her for it later, he walked with the medical team about halfway to the turbolift just to be certain Ghost was ok. Her eyes fluttered open and with a weak but crooked smile she gave a thumbs up to Liam. Relief overtook him and he smiled and nodded back then stopped to watch the group continue on to the turbolift. He suddenly heard a loud heavy bang, shouting, something scream past him, a flash of brilliant light, then nothing more…
~~
[CPO Avanadar Lok | Flight Deck | Fighter Bay | Deck 16 | Vector 2]

His ears rang painfully, to the point he could do nothing more than roll over onto his hands and knees and wretch whatever was in his stomach onto the deck. After a few deep gasps for air, Lok was finally able to get his senses and remember where he was. Oh shit!

Jumping to his feet he looked around, what had once been an orderly flight deck, ready for recovery operations was now a sea of fire, debris…and bodies. Ghost’s Valkyrie had made a hard belly landing after she must have fallen unconscious from her wound. The crash had damaged one of her wing mounted Quantum Torpedoes which made an uncommanded activation and launched.

“ALL HANDS! FIRE ON THE FLIGHT DECK!” Lok automatically shouted, his voice sounded muffled, like he was shouting underwater.

Pulling down his respirator before the smoke overtook him, Lok ran around the wrecked - but still salvageable, if the fire didn’t consume the hangar - fighter. He looked around for a moment to get an idea of where their firefighting efforts would be most needed, and for casualties. His eyes landed on what remained of the medical team and Ghost, just a charred shattered helmet and some hunks of burned flesh that had been blown clear. Closer by were the remains of Mister Herrold, a headless partially burned corpse in a heap on the deck. The dead and dying filled the space and as that reality took hold of Lok he chose to feel nothing, there was no time, he had a job to do.

The damage was severe, mostly concentrated in the Fighter Operations Office and Assembly Room, now a massive hole consumed in flames. This was perhaps one of the worst places in the hangar to hit, not only was it filled with various flammable items, but it was right next to the armory, which of course would do far more damage if it went up. Luckily its armored bulkheads seemed to have held but the heat would eventually cause things to start cooking off. They had to get the fires under control immediately, at least enough to extract the contents of the armory. With his mission in mind and senses restored, Lok tapped his combadge and reported, no doubt to an already overwhelmed bridge, "This is Chief Lok, fire on the flight deck, fire on the flight deck!"

Re: Chapter 2: Mission Objective - Get Revad. Fight. Don't die (optional).

Reply #2 – May 18, 2025, 11:30:45 PM

[Lieutenant Sarrausa | Main Engineering | IRS Okhala Thrai]

Good riddance.

Sarrausa thought to herself with a smirk as the announcement rang out over the coms, the incompetent and paranoid fool, Choreeno, had been “dealt” with and now the matter of defeating these Starfleet renegades could begin.

Why it wasn’t until NOW that the Romulans possessed any hope of defeating Starfleet could squarely be rested on Choreeno’s dead shoulders. His paranoia, something that had served him well in his cut-throat pursuit to command, had come to be a liability. He trusted his subordinates about as much as one trusted spoiled meat and had sought out officers to whom he had considered loyal. One of those was Sub-Lieutenant Emil, a fresh faced officer from the Engineering Academy, he had no experience on a true warbird and adhered to the book more than even the most dim witted Starfleet officer. Choreeno had essentially made him the Chief Engineer, bypassing Sarrausa and turning her into nothing more than an administrator in her own domain. Thus when Choreeno had ordered the ship prepared for battle he listened to Emil’s incompetent plan to configure the power systems for a supposed “maximum output” that would not only strengthen shields but increase the power of the disruptors ten fold.

This of course was completely wrong and only a fool with the barest understanding of how the systems of a warbird worked would suggest it. When the ship decloaked to engage and destroy the Starfleet vessel, the hits to the Okhala Thrail’s shields overloaded the poorly configured and overtaxed power distribution system. This further caused the reactor safeties to engage and shut down the core before a critical overload of the singularity would destroy the ship. Further, Emil’s incompetence or neglect meant that he had failed to put the auxiliary reactors on standby, leaving them without power and at the luckily tender mercies of Starfleet.

Of course that would change now, with Choreeno out of the way and the dim witted Emil paralyzed in fear, Lieutenant Sarrausa took back charge of her true post. Sure she was more than willing to let Emil fail and probably face execution later, but now that he had she wasn’t about to let her ship be shot out from under her ass.

“Restart the core, bypass startup procedures eight, eleven, and twelve; start fusion reactors one through four and and arrange theme in parallel on the main grid; set power distribution to Zenata Configuration then shunt power to the shields and emergency forcefields.”

Her orders were direct and confident, electrifying the rest of the engineers, who were more than happy to see her back in command. Sarrausa took her position on the main control platform overlooking the singularity core, grey eyes scanned over the various systems alerts on the consoles in front of her. The ship was in rough shape but not unsalvageable, those Starfleet scum would not be celebrating their victory for long. A smirk crossed her face as she pictured what she assumed was an old human captain, paralyzed in disbelief as the mighty Romulan carrier swung about to return the damage. There was one last bit of business however, she turned to Emil, sitting on a crate with a catatonic look on his face.

“Get this thing out of my sight!”
~~

[Cmdr. (3rd) Hassar al-Zaheer | Lower Decks | IRS Okhala Thrai]

Their initial egress off the shuttle had been unopposed, anybody who had been in the hangar bay was either floating in space or lying in heaps of burned flesh on the floor among the wreckage. Has was no fool though, he would not assume the rest of the ship would be any less undefended, but hopefully it would be in a state of chaos from the damage that would make any counter to their boarding party uncoordinated. Further, as a bit of insurance he left one of his best marines, Chief Specialist Vahked al-Zanak, another of his marines, and the Starfleet shuttle pilot to guard their shuttle and only means of escape. Hassar did not trust the teleporters these aliens relied on. Spirits willing, may our path be free of the truest harm, he silently prayed. His troops in order, Hassar led the way out of the damaged hangar and into the bowels of the Romulan ship.

Arosan Marines were quite a stark contrast to Starfleet Security. Technologically inferior would perhaps be the first thing that sprang to mind when the large Vaharrans filed into the shuttle for their mission. Instead of complex top of the line exo combat suits that, if the Federation used money, would cost a pretty penny each; the Marines used simple armor plate and helmets over their vitals, designed to be bullet proof against their own weapons the armor had been modified with new materials to resist phasers and disruptors at range. While they had access to disruptors thanks to their close friendship with the Klingons, the Marines actually preferred their projectile weapons for their perceived reliability and sheer firepower over what they saw as an effective weapon if overly complex for field conditions. Said weapons consisted of the E-97-T Battle Rifle, designed over three centuries ago it was still considered by the Vaharran military as a superb weapon, with a reasonable rate of fire, compactness, flexibility, durability, and stopping power, it was designed to be able to punch through the natural skull armor that Vaharrans had; the remaining weapons were a U-12 Pistol with optional suppressor, a combat knife similar in design to an Earth kukri, a taser, and several forms of grenade. For gadgets the Marines had few, night vision goggles, a respirator, and a recently introduced prototype for their own tricorder reverse engineered from several “acquired” Starfleet ones.

The group slowly and silently made their way through the twisted corridors of the ship, the Starfleet officers that they had brought with were acting as guides utilizing their tricorders to find the best route to their objectives. Despite the tense atmosphere and duties of the mission, Hassar could not help but take a few moments to admire the Romulan architecture, such as it was. He had never been given an opportunity to see a Romulan warbird up close during his time as an observer in the Dominion War and each species' architectural mindset was fascinating to him; built on years of technological growth and cultural trends, it was rare to find a style that was the same between two species. The level of detail he saw aboard the carrier was certainly enough to tell Hassar that there was more to Romulans than merely brutal paranoid efficiency as the Federation and Klingons had led him to believe. One day he might get a chance to peel back the curtain and see the Romulans for who they truly were but that was not today, today they were his enemy and while in his heart he felt no hatred towards them it would not stop him from carrying out his duty and removing any that tried to stop him or his team from the Material World. May they have found balance in this life.

When the group reached an intersection with a working computer terminal, the rest had been destroyed by the force of the hangar explosion it seemed, Lieutenant Byrne rushed forward with his ever present tricorder at the ready. Hassar ordered his Marines to form a perimeter while another Starfleet officer, a feline of a species whose name alluded him at that moment, used her own tricorder to scan for approaching Romulans. While they hadn’t been detected thus far there was no guarantee that it would stay that way, especially with Byrne rooting around in the Romulans’ systems. After an agonizingly long wait, though in reality it was probably only a minute or two, Byrne reported that he had found a Romulan that matched the description of the operative they were supposed to extract who they knew as Revad.

“Sir, the operative appears to be one deck above on the port side”, Byrne finished.

Hassar, momentarily cringing at being called “sir”, it was an honest mistake, while his features were masculine he was not actually male. “Very well, if we can-”

The dimmed, presumably emergency, lights suddenly increased to full luminosity with an accompanied upward pitch of energy flowing throughout the nearby conduits. This was followed in short order by the sound of an alarm and an announcement that made things a bit more complicated.

[Intruders detected on Deck 20 near the Port Hangar Bay, all security forces converge and destroy!]

“Let’s move out!” Hassar shouted to the group as he took the lead down the now well lit corridor.

It wasn’t long before they ran into the lead elements of a Romulan security team. Hassar opened fire first, exposing the aliens of both sides accustomed to the high pitched tones of energy weapons, to the ear splitting booms of a Vaharran battle rifle. Three shots were fired in total, the first missed striking a conduit that plunged the corridor section into momentary darkness only lit by the muzzle blast of the Hassar’s weapon; the other two found their mark, the lead Romulan, one leaving a ragged green hole in his left shoulder and the other blasting off the top of his head like a melon, spraying his shocked comrades in green blood and brain matter. As the initial shock of first contact quickly wore off the two sides settled in for a firefight in the cramped hall, the combined Starfleet and Arosan strike team having to seed some ground for better cover and to find an alternate route.

The group redeployed and worked their way around the Romulans, until, with the help of someone back on Theurgy, they found an access shaft to reach the next deck where the operative was supposed to be; Hassar leaving three of his Marines and Lieutenant Sarresh to cover the section for their eventual withdrawal. The next deck found stiffer resistance but as Hassar had hoped it was not very well coordinated, with Romulan teams coming in piecemeal and being immediately chewed up by Vaharran gunfire and Starfleet phaser beams. As they approached the area where Revad was supposed to be, Hassar split his force in several small groups to search the nearby compartments and establish a perimeter of the section. He himself led two of the Starfleet officers, Lieutenants Byrne and RraHnam, the felinoid, to search what appeared to be some sort of damage control center. The Vaharran found Rrahnam particularly impressive for her brave, if somewhat reckless, advance through the corridors and her superb skill with a phaser rifle.

While the felinoid held off some Romulans, Hassar and Lieutenant Byrne took positions on either side of a door to the damage control junction. While normally Hassar would have preferred to breach the room himself, his position meant that by the Arosan rules of combat engagement he had to cover their open flank, leaving it to the Starfleet officer to take the lead. Lieutenant Byrne looked at Hassar for a moment, the latter nodded to proceed before Byrne hit the button to open the door. Everything that followed happened within seconds, Byrne tossed in a flash grenade to stun the occupants then charged into the room, gunned down the stunned occupants only to meet a brutal fate at the hands of several disruptor blasts. Hassar, upon hearing the scream of pain he recognized as Byrne’s voice, wheeled about and charged in behind him just in time to see the Lieutenant fall to the floor in a smoking, sizzling heap.

His eyes caught the glint of the disruptor poking out from around one of the damaged consoles and aimed his rifle at it, unloading several shots that caused all manner of sparks but he was rewarded with a pained scream. Rapidly but with his rifle stilled cautiously raised, Hassar ran around the console to find a Romulan on the floor clutching his left hand, now covered in streams of green blood and missing its thump, index finger, middle, finger, and a chunk of the hand itself thanks to one of his bullets. He was about to put the Romulan out of his misery when he recognized him from the file that Lieutenant Byrne had managed to extract from the ship’s computer, this was the operative they had come to extract. Slinging his rifle for a moment, Hassar pulled a taser from one of his gear pouches and before Revad could realize through his haze of pain what was happening, the Vaharran pressed the taser to the wounded man’s neck. The Romulan made a strange noise as his body seized up from the current flowing through it and went stiff as Revad fell into unconsciousness. Hassar wasted no time, he stowed his taser and pulled out several zip ties to restrain the operative, as far as he knew the man was dangerous and he wouldn’t risk him hurting anymore of his team.

In the midst of restraining Revad, Hassar heard the sound of a muffled and pained moan coming from Byrne’s direction. With a sudden rush of hope he scrambled over to the officer’s side. He pressed his fingers to the man’s neck to feel a pulse but found to his sadness that it was very weak and sporadic, Byrne did not have much longer left as he stared blankly up at the ceiling, Hassar was not even sure the Starfleet officer was aware of his presence. Either way, Hassar did not wish to let him pass to the other side alone and without a small comfort. As such he removed his helmet and set it aside then took, Byrne’s hand into his own, the Lieutenant responded with a weak squeeze. His eyes met Hassar’s for a moment before dilated as his life left him and he passed on to the other side.

“It is not the end, let the eternal peace find you”, Hassar said softly as he gently closed the man’s eyes.

After putting his helmet back and getting to his feet, Hassar grabbed the unconscious Revad, and with a grunt easily tossed him over his left shoulder.

[This is Commander Al-Zaheer, I have the asset, all teams start falling back to the shuttle in sequence for extraction.]

~~
[Capt. Vektrix | Lower Decks | IRS Okhala Thrai] ATTN: @Brutus, @Nolan, @Havenborn, @chXinya, @RyeTanker, @Nero, @Number6, @Pierce, @Ellen Fitz, @Dumedion, @tongieboi, @rae

Vektrix carefully stalked through the mostly vacated corridors, now occupied by the dead, wounded, and the scant handful of medics, stretched thin across the entire ship, to tend them. His cold unfeeling eyes scanned the scene with ambivalence, while his lithe sinewy form walked ramrod straight, hands clasped behind his back as if he was at a review of new recruits. Those around averted their gaze from his pale angular face as if Vektrix was some specter of death. There was something new to all this though that the Tal’Shiar officer was keen to investigate, the wounds, beyond those typical of a Starfleet phaser, were punctures, rather gruesome ones at that. What made them were primitive, though admittedly highly effective, projectile weapons from a species that he was not familiar with and with the ship otherwise engaged with the Starfleet vessel the database was rather locked down and taking his time to bypass it would be fruitless for the moment. Either way it was a new threat and had to be dealt with accordingly.

As such he had ordered all the spent projectile casings to be gathered along with any other non-Romulan biological samples that the boarders might have left behind. They had found a badly mutilated human but his body would be hardly useful beyond general dissection for specimens. Hopefully soon they would have more. The engineers had restored power and as such the shields as well, the unknown aliens and Starfleet would be trapped and either fight to the death or surrender. Vektrix let slip a small but cruel smile at the thought of interrogating whoever was left; Starfleet would be easy, they are strong at first but without their comforts and exploitation of the simple fact that they care for the weak means that pressure can be applied until they break. It was like clockwork and like clockwork was also dull. No, what he was interested in was these new aliens, what made them tick, what strings could he pluck; the almost carnal thoughts caused him to pick up the pace and head for the distant sounds of gunfire.


[Cmdr. (3rd) Hassar al-Zaheer | Lower Decks | IRS Okhala Thrai]

The withdrawal was going smoothly, their initial assault to reach Revad’s location seemed to have blunted the Romulan security forces ability to respond. That or the renewed fighting between the carrier and Theurgy was drawing everyone’s attention away from them for the moment. Either way Hassar kept himself in the thick of the action, despite carrying the unconscious Revad over his shoulder; he used his free hand to fire his rifle, typically giving covering fire to allow his comrades to withdraw slowly back the way they came.

[Commander, we have a problem], squawked Hassar’s radio, it was Chief Specialist Al-Zanak, [the Starfleet pilot has told me the Romulan ship’s shields have gone up so we won’t be able to leave until they are deactivated.]

Figured it wouldn’t be that easy, Hassar thought to himself before responding, [Very well Chief Specialist, hold your position, I’m sending sending Lieutenant Al-Feena back with the rest of the troop and the operative, I’ll see what I can do about those shields, Al-Zaheer out.]

After ducking down a secure corridor, Hassar waved over one of his Marines then unceremoniously handed over the unconscious Revad with a simple, “here take this”, then called over Lieutenant Al-Feena and the senior two Starfleet officers, Morali and RraHnam.

“The Romulans have restored their shields, so we can’t leave on the shuttle or one of your teleporters, so I want you to fall back to the shuttle and protect the asset and I’ll see what I can do about those shields so I’ll need all the H-7 you can give”, Hassar instructed the group. Al-Feena simply nodded and without a word unholstered his side arm to give to Hassar along with its suppressor and extra magazines as well as all of his blocks of H-7 explosive. In return, Hassar handed him his battle rifle, it was cumbersome for this particular operation and of course rather loud, he also filled his backpack with all the extra H-7. Once this exchange was complete, Al-Feena went down the line of Marines to collect their H-7 as well to give to Hassar. RraHnam however was not so keen on the idea and finally spoke up, “Commander, you’ll need help on this and somebody who can read a tricorder, so I’m going with you.”

Hassar knew better than to argue and gave a small smile of appreciation, though the possibility that the mission might be a one way trip briefly weighed on his mind, for out of fear for his own death but for the felinoid’s. The might be a one way trip. With their gear in order, Hassar and RraHnam made their silent exit through a nearby jefferies tube. A dampening field created by Lieutenant Morali helped to mask their departure from the Romulan security forces. The rest of the group with the operative in tow then continued their withdrawal to the shuttle.

The duo wound their way through the various maintenance tubes of the ship. The objective, according to RraHnam, was an area where several plasma conduits come together into some form of energizer system that would if destroyed, in theory, cut all power to the main shield generator and would require a great deal of time to bypass. This was of course if they didn’t run into any Romulan patrols while they were skulking about. Luckily the Spirits seemed to be on their side as they encountered none that couldn’t be easily navigated around. All the while the ship jolted and vibrated from the pitched battle happening in the space beyond the hull, Hassar hoped that Commander Cross was wise enough to pull some punches while the extraction team was aboard, but he wouldn’t blame him if saving his own ship was a little more pressing at that moment. Finally though the two reached their destination, a cargo bay with a bulkhead beyond which lay the conduit junction they sought. Wasting little time the two placed the explosives, all them, just in case they didn’t have enough to do the job.


[Capt. Vektrix | Lower Decks | IRS Okhala Thrai]

The infiltrators had fallen back to their entry point in the port hangar bay and were contained by the ship’s security forces, trapped like rats they would surrender when all hope of escape was lost. But Vektrix was no fool, he didn’t underestimate Starfleet like his other colleagues, like Choreeno, he deduced that with the shields preventing their escape they would devise some way of disabling them. The most logical locations to take down the shields was of course main engineering and the actual shield generator itself but of course these would be heavily guarded, no the Starfleet officers would be conscious of this and go for something vital, something “out of the box” as the humans said. To that end, Vektrix concluded that there was only one place that the intruders could damage to achieve their goal, the energy conduit junction next to Cargo Bay 7.

He swiftly made his way there, unperturbed by the ship’s motions as it no doubt dealt punishment to the Starfleet interloper. Once he reached the entrance of the cargo bay he stopped then slowly, after modifying the controls, opened the door so it would not make a sound. He then listened. After a minute of so of hearing nothing but the sounds from around the ship Vektrix finally heard the sound of muffled shuffling at the far end of the bay by the bulkhead that separated the conduit junction. Once he was certain he knew where the intruders were he quietly removed his boots and set them aside then, with disruptor raised and primed, he entered the cargo bay. His footsteps were as silent as the grave as he circumnavigated the large room to find the best place to ambush the saboteurs. Once he was in position Vektrix patiently waited until his prey finally revealed itself.

First came the alien in some kind of black combat gear, primitive, no doubt it could stand up to disruptor, the low light of the bay though kept him from getting a good look at the alien’s face. Next came a grey furred caitian female in a gold Starfleet uniform, either security or engineer. It was time to make his move.

Vektrix closed his eyes and silently limbered up then with a few deliberate steps emerged from behind the crates he had used to obscure himself. He raised his disruptor at the caitian and fired. The beam struck her square in the center of the back and she let out a cat-like screech as she collapsed onto the floor. The alien whipped around and readied his own weapon but the ruthless Tal’Shiar agent already had his sites set and fired on the large armored man. The beam struck him in the chest where his heart would be, sparks and flame burst from the spot the beam hit and the alien collapsed to the deck with a loud thud. Pleased, Vektrix stepped forward to inspect his work. First the caitian, still alive, but no threat, the sizzling hole in her back showed the charred knobby vertebrae of her spine. Next, the alien, the more intriguing subject, he walked up to it, noting its size, the armor it wore, and other things now that he was up close. It lay face down on the floor and Vektrix squatted down to flip it over and get a look at its face.


[Cmdr. (3rd) Hassar al-Zaheer | Lower Decks | IRS Okhala Thrai]

The searing pain of the disruptor had knocked the wind out of Hassar, he fell to the deck in a heap, momentarily stunned. Once he regained his senses though he realized that his attacker was walking towards him so figured it best if he played dead and wait for the right moment to strike, he did still have his side arm clutched in his hand after all. In that interminable moment of waiting, Hassar silently prayed for guidance from the Spirits that he may vanquish his enemy or find the path to the world beyond. Whether they heard or not remained to be seen as the attacker grabbed Hassar’s shoulder in order to flip him over.

Acting fast, the Vaharran attempted to aim and fire his gun at the attacker, but the Romulan was quick and caught the weapon before it was fully aimed. He himself tried to bring his own disruptor to bare but Hassar countered this as well, grappling the two together. The two struggled like this for a time, but Hassar was eventually able to gain a bit of leverage and force the Romulan off of him with a kneepadded kick to the lithe, yet oddly strong, man’s crotch. As the Romulan stumbled back in pain, Arosan Marines like Hassar wore armor in that particular region for a reason, Hassar scrambled to his feet. He attempted to shoot the Romulan once again but the man had recovered enough to kick the pistol from Hassar’s hand, sending it clattering across the deck. With no other option, Hassar closed the distance to prevent the Romulan from using his disruptor as he engaged in hand to hand.

Hassar’s training in martial arts relied heavily on his strength and weight, Vaharrans, who for much of his career were the only sentient species in the galaxy that he was aware of, were a tough bunch so hard hitting was the best way to incapacitate. Thus he, he reasoned, this would work quite well against the Romulan, but beneath the lithe exterior was a well honed fighting machine. Hassar’s first blows connected with nothing but air as the Romulan dodged them only to connect his own punches, surprisingly powerful ones. It took the Vaharran several attempts as he learned the man’s pattern before he could finally make some connections but even then only just; the Romulan on the other hand was like a whirlwind, landing blow after blow, taking particular aim for parts of Hassar’s body that were unprotected like his face and arms.

One blow struck Hassar in the ear in such a way as to send his helmet flying off into some darkened corner of the cargo bay, no doubt to join his gun as spectators. The Romulan, no doubt expected to then connect his next far more powerful blow with the other side of Hassar’s head to render him unconscious, but when the first collided with the Vaharran’s right temple it seemed to almost collapse as it impacted Hassar’s super dense and hard armored skull. The Romulan let out a yelp of pain and Hassar took the opportunity this presented to bring that ridged skull forward to impact with the Romulan’s. The attacker stumbled back dazed and bleeding from his temple and Hassar stumbled back himself to catch a breath. The Romulan was not stunned for long however and was soon on Hassar once again, the glint of a knife caught his eye and he instinctively raised his left arm to attempt to block only to be required but white hot pain as the blade lacerated the back of his forearm. Forced to close the distance once again and exhausted from swinging at nothing but air, Hassar managed to get a hold of the Romulan, the two dancing about until a motion from the ship sent the two tumbling into some heavy crates. One of the crates fell and pinned Hassar’s right arm in place, the Romulan wasted no time to take advantage of this and tried to stab Hassar in the neck.

Hassar’s strength was failing, he had taken too many punches, and watched as the blade drew closer and closer as his left arm trembled but failed to keep it at bay. The Romulan sneered and seemed to almost take pleasure in the slow torment of the Vaharran’s looming slow death. But Hassar was not about to give up and with a burst of strength forced himself forward to sink his sharp teeth into the Romulan’s arm. The Romulan howled in anger and tried to come back to stap once again, but Hassar managed to get a bit grip on him this time to keep him at bay, so with no other recourse other than to back off, which the Romulan, with his prey trapped, was not about to do, he brought the blade down into Hassar’s left thigh between the armor pads. Hassar cursed loudly but did not let this aggression go unanswered as the Romulan had finally made a critical mistake and left his right leg exposed to attack. With all the strength he could muster while fighting the pain of the blade jammed into it, Hassar used his right leg to stamp the Romulan’s shin as hard as he could. He was rewarded with a sickening crack and a scream of agony from the pointy eared man. The Romulan released Hassar and fell backward onto the floor, he looked up at the Vaharran, his cold eyes full of rage then he looked back across the room and spied RraHnam’s phaser near her body and started to crawl to it. Hassar noticed the phaser too and tried to work his pinned arm free of the crate.

After a few hard, if slightly painful, jerks the arm came free and he collapsed onto his knees, the blade still stuck in his left thigh. He looked over and saw that the Romulan was almost to the phaser and that his own side arm was too far away to reach in time. The Romulan grabbed the phaser and set it to maximum stun, he may have been wounded and angry but he wasn’t going to let the Vaharran die quickly, no the death would be slow and painful.

“If it’s the last thing I do I will see to it that your filthy species is wiped from this galaxy”, the Romulan shouted through gritted teeth as he started to turn around to aim the phaser at Hassar.

With no other options left, Hassar grabbed the handle of the Romulan’s knife and with a pained grunt yanked the blade out of his leg. May my aim be true, he prayed and in one smooth motion tossed the blade at the Romulan. It spun through the air several times and struck him square in the eye, embedded nearly to the hilt. The Romulan seemed stunned for a moment and fired the phaser unintentionally, the beam struck a crate near Hassar’s head but did no damage. The wounded Romulan then collapsed with a scream of agony as his body writhed on the floor.

“Yeah…well fuck you too…”, Hassar finally responded with exhausted breaths.

Still conscious of his mission, Hassar reached into one of his pouches and pulled out the detonator for all the explosives he had planted. While normally he probably should have moved a bit further away he was too tired and in too much pain to really care, so with little ceremony he flipped the activation switch and pressed the detonate button. The bulkhead behind him violently disassembled itself in a powerful explosion that threw shrapnel and cargo crates all over the place, but more importantly it rendered the conduit junction into its constituent atoms.

[Al-Zaheer to team, conduit gone, if those shields are down, get out of here, that’s an order.]

There was only a simple but aggrieved, [Acknowledged, Commander], in return, if Hassar was telling them to get out of there then he was in no shape to make it back.

With nothing left to do but wait for the Romulans to come capture or finish him off, Hassar patiently leaned against his now pile of crates. He looked over to RraHnam who he was unsure was still alive or dead then to the Romulan attacker who had by now stopped moving but continued to twitch and grunt as his green blood flowed from the eye wound. While he waited, Hassar thought of his son and wondered if he was even still alive, hopefully he was and now it would be up to Lieutenant Al-Feena to continue that mission. Maybe one day they would be reunited in the Spirit World; the thought comforted him as he closed his eyes and waited.

His eyes were closed for long as his ears were filled with the high pitched sound of some kind of energy and his vision filled with a brillant blue. The damaged cargo bay in front of him seemed to dissolve only to be replaced by a small room with a console and a group of Starfleet officers staring at him with relieved but concerned expressions on their faces. They had somehow used their teleporter device to rescue him. He looked to his left and saw that RraHnam, now attended by medics, had also been rescued too but based on what he was hearing it sounded as though she was in a bad way, the mention of immediate stasis was said more than once.

He turned back to an officer who had come to check on him and asked, “Did the shuttle make it?”

“Yes sir”, there was that sir thing again, “they arrived about moments ago.”

Relieved, Hassar let himself fall back onto the transporter pad and allowed the medics to look him over.

[Commander Cross, we have them sir!]

~~
[Lt.jg Dominic Winters | FAB | Deck 16 | Vector 2 | The Ranger] ATTN: @Brutus @Pierce @number6 @Nolan @rae @Dumedion @Havenborn @Krajin @Rye Tanker @tongieboi @joshs100 @Relatively Insane @chinxya

It’s hard to hide tension from an Empath, even one with as basic training as Dominic had. He knew people were on edge and tension hung heavily on the air. He also knew that the Pilots would be needed and they were very, very low on pilots. He’d gotten ready that morning, packed his inflight kit, and got down to the Flight Deck while everyone was busy. Even if he was not on the active roster, Atlas fully intended to launch with the team whether or not he was on the list at the time if things got hairy. He also liked the look of being there, ready to go and honestly who could resist his face? Atlas put forward his armament selection for the fighter as he got down to Wolf-10, his personal case under his arm containing various snacks and other bits. Atlas arrived at Wolf-10 being loaded with a Photon Torpedo Rack, EMP Torpedo rack, and four Hellbore Torpedoes on hardpoint mounts. Likely it didn’t occur to Dominic that this had been approved by the flight lead and it had not just ‘slipped through’ to being loaded.

Dom acted like he belonged there and got the craft ready, pre-flights ready and even set his kit into the cockpit without an issue. He spied Lok doing the rounds while the others got their own craft ready and did his best to act as naturally as he could. That is until an alert came through to him from his comm unit in the suit. “Atlas, you’ve been brought to active duty by Janus. Get yourself ready on the double!” He was already there and just commed back a casual “Sure.”

Soon enough he was ready and in the cockpit doing the last of preflight checks and glanced out when he spied Lok rushing about doing the last checks. He gave his fellow Kzint a wave before an alert came over the ship.

“Red alert – incoming attack craft – all hands, battle stations!”

He settled back into the chair, closed the canopy of his fighter, and fired the engines up. “Wolf-10 ready to fly.” He was quick!

[LT.jg Dominic ‘Atlas’ Winters | Cockpit, AC-409 Valkyrie | Kappa Rho Expanse, H'dai System]

The circuit through the void of space at the edge of the U.S.S Theurgy’s weapons range felt like a bad idea to Atlas, they needed to be closer rather than this far out. All it would take is for a lucky flight to slink around them and get up close and personal to the Theurgy and unleash a hellstorm. He glanced between the sensor readout and the horizon of his vessel for any foes, movement or anything that stood out. He occasionally saw the blips of enemy fighters on the sensors as they briefly flickered from the Theurgy’s sensor feed. He knew plenty of the Hawk-Class fighters that the Romulans used, hell the Thunderball had been one of the vessels who collected them. He also had the computer read out the limited information they had on the Stalker-Class and bring up any relevant Tac-Data on his HUD.

“I want that Cloak.” He muttered to himself. The tactical uses of such a cloak could be immensely useful for even one fighter to possess. He sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly as the ‘noobies’ were brought up once more and this elicited a deep, quiet, throaty growl. Focusing instead on the sensor flickers to try and predict where they were going, Dominic tried to think of how a Romulan would approach this. Space is three-dimensional, could they approach the Theurgy from below? That was until a bright phaser blast split the darkness of space and struck something at the edge of their sensors where an impressive behemoth materialized into form. “Hello there..” He trailed off.

What followed next was the massive wall of sickly green orbs coming at them, his ears pinned back against his head as Atlas went from wariness to full determination mode. [Heads up Wolves; we’re tracking another wave of fighters launched and a massive plasma strike inbound. Be advised, we now have at least 24 enemy fighters in the battlesphere – intercept at your discretion. Orders are unchanged, maintain a defensive position within effective transport and weapons range. Wolf Leader, stand by for potential additional tasking.] Echoed through his helmet from Mission Ops. He shifted with the others into a defensive formation to make a passing strike against the incoming missiles. He set his Phaser banks to auto-target the missiles while he got the dual guns firing in pulses as he laid down suppressive fire into the oncoming horde with the rest.

This felt wrong, a great distraction if the Romulans wanted to pop a flanking maneuver against them. That little inkling sat in the back of his head as he focused on the wall of torpedoes. In the corner of his eye, he saw the bright flash as Ghost’s ship got lit up by incoming fire. Shadow called out for them to break formation that is when the chaos descended on them and Atlas delved into the fray.

Upon hearing the call from Shuttle Hypatia he joined Goldeneye in forming up to provide cover. He took up a position over the shuttle, flying over its aft, dorsal aspect.

[Evac]

The Theurgy had come into close range with a Romulan craft of similar size and potential and while it appeared to have been damaged, it was still a dangerous threat. Atlas had spent an untold amount of time amidst the chaos of the battle dodging and weaving about, returning fire with phaser banks from the Fighters as Romulan vessels began to follow a predictable pattern of decloaking from above, behind or below to deliver a strike and recloak once more. A sharp turn here, a sudden and violent pitch there, Atlas had been pushing this fighter hard in ways other pilots could not and he was loving it. The carrier’s systems had begun to recover, shields were flickering back online, and weapons systems were beginning to start targeting once more.

[Shuttle Hypatia we have the HVT, bugging out now to Ranger.]

“Shuttle Hypatia this is Wolf-10, covering your six!”

Atlas took a hard turn and skimmed across the surface of the flickering shields of the carrier and towards the Shuttle. With the chaos of the battle all around them Dominic spied the shuttle making its exit from the Port Hangar. The point defense emitters that still functioned on the port side began to charge and fire at the incoming fighter and shuttle. Dominic was quick enough to evade most of them with a few hits that his shields soaked up. Rather than risk more of an assault from the disruptor emitters, Atlas fired an EMP torpedo off and banked hard to starboard as the bright torpedo impacted and discharged its potent payload, disabling the emitters and giving them all a chance to bug out.

“Shuttle Hypatia this is Wolf-10, Disruptors disabled! Punch it!”

It was like watching the little shuttle that could with the poor pilot at the helm gunning back towards the Ranger and the shuttle bay.

Re: Chapter 2: Mission Objective - Get Revad. Fight. Don't die (optional).

Reply #3 – May 18, 2025, 11:32:23 PM

[Sub-Commander Choreeno | Private Quarters | IRS Okhala Thrai | H’dai System]

In the gloom of his stateroom, Choreeno paced in the darkness, features pulled into a furious scowl. Power fluctuations continued – the overhead lighting strips flickered intermittently as he walked – ignoring the rumbling ship quakes that vibrated up his legs. How could this have happened, his mind snapped, and with a growl of anger both hands gripped the edge of his desk and ripped it up from the deck with a howl of rage. Only then did he realize he was not alone: Choreeno froze, panting, but did not turn - to do so would be foolish. He knew what was coming, yet couldn’t stop himself from fighting it; a lifetime of service demanded nothing less. “This is not over. I underestimated the foe, but this is not defeat; I recognize my failing and will correct it,” the Sub-Commander vowed to the air in a dignified tone.

“Indeed,” a familiar voice answered, followed instantly by the sharp whine of a disruptor pistol discharge. Choreeno’s body fell over the turned-over desk with mundane finality – smoke rising from the hole burned clean through his head.

Such was the price of failure.

[Formerly Lieutenant Sarat | Command Deck | IRS Okhala Thrai]

With that incompetent fool Choreeno dealt with, Sarat marched into the chaotic noise of the command deck to stand calmly upon the commander’s dais; she demanded their attention with a ship-wide announcement, once her control codes had been inputted and authorized – completing the abrupt change of command. “This is Sarat, acting commander. I have relieved Sub-Commander Choreeno of duty for gross incompetence and negligence. All stations, report damage control status and activate emergency power containment – critical systems only until the core is stabilized,” she ordered, then turned to the comms officer. “Signal the fleet immediately; send full tactical situation and request reinforcement to pursue while we make repairs,” she then turned to the tactical station and pointed to the flickering viewscreen. “Order all remaining fighters to pursue the enemy – full predation. I want them tracked and hounded.”

A chorus of acknowledgments answered.

Sarat’s eyes narrowed at the screen, as the ship quaked again. They had been mauled, badly, but like the great winged serpents of the endless skies of the birth-world, the Okhala Thrai would lick it’s wounds, heal, and survive. They had the Theurgy’s blood-scent, and would stalk them across the stars to feast on their corpse soon enough.
~~

[Lt. Commander Frank Arnold | Main Engineering | Deck 25 | Vector 3 | USS Theurgy]

The Chief Engineer didn't visibly blanch as the damage reports cascaded in from the FAB. It was only moments as his training took over and he looked at the codes for the types of hazards they were facing when he mentally relaxed sightly. It was certainly dangerous, but the structural reinforcements to the bulkheads surrounding the fighter bay were active and handling the job easily. It wasn't easy on the crews that had to get contain the fire, but the ship would be fine. The molecular polarizers were active and keeping from the alloys from warping while the force field projectors were stopping the fire from really heating up the bulkheads. It was times like that he was thankful for a combination of engineering knowledge, foresight, and good planning were coming together to make sure the fuel systems and magazines didn't blow up on them and shatter half the ship.

He'd leave the damage control in that area to the FAB crew. Hopefully they were okay and nobody was hurt yet, but given the nature of the blaze, his experience told him that someone was hurt for sure. It was just a matter of how many. A quick run of analysis of the fire damage versus the munitions tolerances told Chief Arnold the deck crew had a little time before the propellants blew up on them. He just hoped they remembered to use the hand tractors to move all that stuff around somewhere safe. As a somewhat chronic worrier, he looked at the indicator for the fire suppression system the frowned in concern and tapped the intercomm. "FAB, Engineering. You have 3 minutes to don masks then the fire suppression system is kicking in." With that complete he looked at another display before barking out more orders. "Standby to activate secondary shield generators then bring the primaries to recharge standby...."


[Lieutenant RraHnam | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 2 | The Ranger | Kappa Rho Expanse, H'dai System]

The Caitan security officer didn't have the strength to groan as she lay on something. Everything hurt in ways she didn't believe were possible. At least it didn't seem to be trying to burn a hole in her at the moment. The analytical part of her mind kicked in to try to distract her from the trauma. The pain was immense, but at least it seemed distant in a way. She'd definitely gotten a pain killer. A cough suddenly took her and a globule of blood and mucus coated her mouth. It seemed to take an immense amount of strength to force an eye open as she took in the chaos inside the shuttle or was it something else? People were hanging on for dear life or just trying to stay out of the way as best they could in the cramped confines of the small craft. Or it was just people running around like crazy. Whoever had treated her looked to be giving it all for someone on the opposite bench. His skin was pale and blonde hair was a mess. Lieutenant Byrne her mind told her. He wasn't moving despite all the frantic efforts and she concluded he was close to death. She wanted to go to him and lend her strength of spirit to keeping him alive, but the effort to even try to get up was too much as she moved to command her body to rise. It wouldn't respond except to give her another coughing fit that drained all her energy and she fainted on the bio bed as more medics rushed to her side.


[LT Arven Leux | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 2 | The Ranger]

He was beyond exhausted, mind and body pushed into an all new level of weariness. Tired eyes ringed with dark circles surveyed the ruination around Leux as he made his way from the chaos of the ICU to what was left of the ward – struggling to keep up with the constant influx of patients, as well as coordinate the efforts of the few staff that remained able to perform their duties. The decon chamber was a blackened ruin off to his right, twisted and charred like a hideous flower of melted steel and plastic. The surgery suites adjacent to it were likewise blackened husks, utterly useless. Arven tried not to linger on it, but failed miserably; the stench of burnt hair and organic tissue still clung to the air, spiced with smoke, despite the best efforts of the ship’s ventilation systems - or maybe it was just his tired mind playing tricks on him.

Arven’s nose crinkled at the memory as he passed the dented and blood-stained carpet where he’d found poor Nurse Bjorge. There was little he could do for her – not until the situation improved and repairs to vital equipment could be made – like far too many patients. Her fate, and theirs, would be determined at a later date; so long as the cryo systems hold out, Leux' mind whispered darkly.

Sparks still flew from several damaged consoles as he passed, forcing him to flinch before turning to point at the head surgeon, Dr. Pax, who was doing what she could to treat four burn victims with field dressings and a handheld regenerator, having already lost one; LT. Jonathan Byrne had been transported in with critical injuries sustained in some half-brained boarding action, along with the Caitian, LT RraHnam, who had just earned her own cryo tube. “I told you to get to the Vector 3 battle sickbay fifteen minutes ago,” he barked at her. “Kenzington, Walters! Get them to the damned ICU,” he yelled, locking the damaged EPS conduits out to prevent further loss of power from critical systems, like cryo storage.

Arven ignored her protests as he moved to assist with the patients. “Argue later, unless, you know, you’d like to stand here and talk,” he scowled at her. “I love a good debate as much as the next man, really,’’ he added cynically, “especially now, when people are dying.” He didn’t care if he pissed her off – with main sickbay a wreck, and more and more wounded pouring in – someone had to take charge of the situation. His hand tapped his badge before Pax could utter another word, but Arven felt the daggers she was throwing at him regardless.

“Medical to the bridge; fire contained in main sickbay, but we are barely functional down here – divert all casualties to vector three battle sickbay until further notice. Emergency aid stations are manned as well; we’re initiating triage protocols. Leux out,” he reported sharply, then snapped his attention back to the red-headed Trill with a tired glare. “Take charge down there, now,” he told her, “pretty please, with sugar on top.”

[Alert, fire suppression system malfunction imminent.]

Arven turned suddenly as the entire reception area flooded in a tide of blue-green goo. It hosed out from vents in the ceiling in a tide of gelatinous fluid to flow up and over the ruined decon chambers and rose up to his thighs, filling his nostrils with its chemical reek. Leux flinched back from it on instinct while the lights and power continued to fluctuate. The doctor sighed with a heavy eye-roll. It had to be the bloody goo again, he grumbled to himself, cursing whatever genius engineer that had designed the insufferable substance. “Somehow, this is all Azrin’s fault, I just know it,” he grimaced, trying to free his legs as the suppressant slowly evaporated, so he could continue to help those he could.

~~
[LT.jg Dominic ‘Atlas’ Winters | Cockpit, AC-409 Valkyrie | Kappa Rho Expanse, H'dai System]

Fleeing the scene was not easy as the Ranger disengaged from the battle and began to flee back towards the rendezvous point with the Helmet. They had their lead on the carrier and its escorts as they scrambled to get the hunt on again. The fighters were catching up but others had decided to join the party. A pair of Birds of Prey out on patrol had come into contact with the Ranger and its fleeing escorts. A prize like the Theurgy, or at least part of it would be an impressive trophy to take even if it was only a fragment of its destroyed hull.

“This is Petty Officer Rowland to the Wolves, our Sensors have been damaged from the last engagement, detection of cloaked ships will be difficult.”

“Rowland, this is Wolf-10. Affirmed, marking targets.” Dominic replied almost on instinct as the fighters formed up around the damaged Ranger.

Dominic deployed the Tetryon Pulse Cannon from the ventral mount. “Lets see how this blasted thing works.” He muttered while his Helmet’s HUD brought up a quick and brief set of notes on its operation. Dom took the moment to have a quick shot of food gel that contained a hefty amount of long-burning stimulant to keep fatigue at bay.

It wasn’t long before shit got real as his sensors lit up just moments before a Disruptor blast seared across space from a Warbird rapidly decloaking on his 4 o’clock. Dominic was fast enough to pull the fighter into a hard turn as his shield lit up and the Ablative Armour on his Starboard wing began to glow as it absorbed and dispersed the bleed-through energy.

The two Warbirds had come in for a pincer maneuver on the Ranger, each approaching from its aft-starboard or port vectors. Their disruptors lit up both the Fighters and the Ranger before the Birds would cloak once more in a pattern they would begin to repeat. They were taking advantage of the situation and sowing chaos as they strafed the much more heavily shielded and armoured Ranger and its escorts.

Atlas hissed lightly as he veered under the Ranger and hugged its hull for a bit. “I’m good! Wing has suffered minor damage, systems operational.” He reported. Then flew out from under the ship and rejoined the fray. Streaks of Phaser fire from the Ranger striking out blindly for the Raiders made for a much more dangerous scenario as Atlas weaved amongst the chaos. His sensors picked up on a fuzzy target that he suspected was a Warbird coming in on the starboard side. He guessed it was going for the Ranger’s engines, Atlas dropped back and charged the Pulse cannon. As the ship began to decloak and raise its shields, he fired the cannon. Bright blue streaks of energy fired out in pulses from the cannon, striking the Warbird in the ass and saturating it with tetryon particles. “Ranger, target locked!”

In moments as the Warbird’s crew realized their mistake and began to peel away, the Ranger’s port side Phaser strips began to fire, striking the Warbird repeatedly as it began to peel away. Atlas followed suit behind it and locked a Hellbore Torpedo onto the Warbird. As its rear shields fluctuated severely and threatened to fail. “As the fat lady sings, Good Night.” He fired the Hellbore Torpedo which streaked towards the Romulan warbird as a bright white tear in space before impacting into the rear of the ship and detonating. The explosion was not a spectacular, outward thing as its Singularity core breached containment and began to collapse in on itself. The Warbird began to crush in on itself as the sheer gravitational force of the singularity was exerted upon the stricken ship for a brief few moments before it finally fizzled out with a crushed, floating ball of debris.

He knew fighters were playing catch up and thus, turned to engage the invisible threats.
~~
[IRS Khu Dhaei Nukrer]

The Valdore type warbird picked up the distress signal from the stricken IRS Okhala Thrai and its commander first cursed the carelessness of the carrier's overly ambitious but stupid captain, then at the situation that he found himself in. The three way civil war had torn the fleet apart, so instead of flying with another Valdore Warbird, he was accompanied by a pair of old and tired warbirds hastily pulled from the inactive reserve fleet. Stupid pair of 23rd century ryakna The Valdore captain had thought to himself when the flotilla had first been formed and given their orders. Now it looked like one of their fellow ships was in trouble and his flotilla was all the help that was available. So be it. The three ships changed course with only some hesitation and flew as fast as they could towards battle.

~~

[Ens. Joseph Adams| Main Engineering | V3 | Deck 25 |"The Ranger"] ATTN:@Brutus @Pierce @number6 @Nolan @rae @Dumedion @Havenborn @Krajin @Rye Tanker @Ellen Fitz @joshs100 @Relatively Insane @chinxya

Coughing and clearing his lungs from an excess of smoke, Joe threw himself out of a Jefferies' Tube, carelessly swinging the toolbox in his hand behind him.

"At this rate, we'll spring a leak every time we plug one up."

He grumbled to himself, kicking the panel closed again. Instead of his usual refuge in a Transporter Room, the current situation called for all hands on deck in Engineering. The Romulans had been relentless in their pursuit and it was beginning to show in a vessel already having to weather a slipstream malfunction.

"Ach, you'll be fine. Stop crying about it."

He grumbled to the ship. Not to Thea, the Artificial Intelligence that ran the starship, nor to the standard computer systems but rather to the assembly of Tritanium, Duranium and Parametallics that made up the starship's body itself. Illuminated by the pulsing glow of the Warp Core, Joe took a brief second to push the sweat and grime from his face and push his hair backwards. By now, his face was caked in both soot from small fires and grease from repairing these faults. On his left shoulder was some Fire Suppression fluid that had begun to solidify.

With only a cursory glance to the PADD to remind him where he was needed next, Joe set off at somewhere between a speedwalk and a jog. Conserving the energy that Joe had left, after clinging to bulkheads and absorbing impacts from being rattled around by naval combat.

His attention was torn to a control screen to his left embedded in the wall that began flashing red, demanding his attention.

"Oh, what is it now?!"

He asked almost incredulously as he deviated from his path to investigate the new problem. The more complicated a system, the greater amount of things that can go wrong. One of the instructors at the academy had said that once, and Theurgy was a very big, very complicated starship indeed. It almost made him miss his Grandad's shuttlecraft. At least that hadn't involved running miles from one disaster to the next!

"You just love to keep me busy, hm?"

He sassed toward the non-sentient screen as he began diagnosing the problem. Tracing the issue to some manner of fault in another Jefferies Tube situated near the Stern of the Engineering bay.

~~
[CPO Avanadar Lok | Flight Deck | Fighter Bay | Deck 16 | Vector 2]

The heat was intense, fueled by solvents, lubricants, insulation, and all other manner of flammable things. The flames geysered out like wild tendrils from a gaping hole on the port side of the hangar bay, which had once been the Operations Office and Assembly room. The transparent aluminum blast wall, designed to cope with low order detonations not a direct hit, was shattered and twisted, parts of it already melting in the blast furnace that had taken an unwelcome residence on board. Those crewmen who had been in the direct blast zone of the errant quantum torpedo were vaporized instantly, perhaps mercifully, others were torn to shreds or blasted to bits by shrapnel, some of whatever was left of them gradually consumed by the roaring flames in a unceremonious cremation, unreachable by their crewmates.

Lok, having recovered from the initial shock of the destruction, took charge of the damage control efforts after Ensign Herrold’s gruesome demise. His first instructions were to divide his crew into two teams, one to fight the fire and the other to move the dead and wounded from its reach as well as prep the flight deck for possible incoming from the fighter wing. His greatest concern was that the fire would breach the armory that stored the squadron’s complement of missiles and torpedoes; while they themselves were not flammable per say their systems could go haywire if subjected to intense heat for long enough triggering an uncommanded detonation. The armory compartment itself had already vented its atmosphere and erected emergency locally powered forcefields inside but these would only last so long. The biggest issue was that the automated fire suppression systems in the section had been destroyed, any fire retardant foam that could reach the fire through busted pipes flushed uselessly into one small area on the periphery. Emergency forcefields were also destroyed which left the only option of having to fight the fire the old fashioned way.

Under Lok’s direction, the flight deck crew, in respirators and fire protection gear, grabbed hoses stored in compartments along the walls of the fighter bay, these were tied into the fire suppressing system and thus used the same foam which, due to dedicated replicators, was practically infinite. The foam was sprayed into the inferno, particular attention taken on the bulkhead separating the explosive payload and the fire to keep it cool and the flames at bay. Before long the entire hangar bay was filled with acrid smoke that stung unprotected eyes and suffocated anybody not wearing a respirator. The ventilation system had been damaged or destroyed as well. In the intense heat, Lok stripped off the upper half of his coveralls and tied the around his waist with the sleeves to get some relief, his thick fur made the already unbearable fire feel far worse.

There were a few close calls, several containers of flammable contents exploded sending out hot shrapnel that threatened to set off more of the munitions on Ghost’s crashed Valkyrie. The worry was enough that Lok ordered the remaining weapons permanently disarmed and the explosive payloads thrown overboard via the hangar forcefield, which luckily had remained intact or the fire would have been the least of their problems. The wounded were gradually moved from the flight deck to the Squadron Lounge where they could be more easily taken care of away from the flames. Word had come down that Sickbay was either out of action or completely destroyed but with the battle still raging communications had become spotty to the point Lok just used runners to carry messages.

Finally after what felt like an eternity though in reality was probably less than fifteen minutes, the fire was put out, at least the bulk of it, there were still a few localized flames either fueled by some flammable material or a busted EPS conduit. Even the smoke started to rapidly clear, thanks to engineering no doubt who had somehow got the ventilation system up and running once more. Lok inspected the wreckage, though could not wander too deep due to the lingering heat that was emanating for the warped deck plates and bulkheads but even a cursory inspection made it clear there wasn’t much left and that the damage had also spread to the deck above and the sections behind. Satisfied, Lok fished his combadge out of his pocket and tapped the Delta with his clawed thumb.

[Chief Lok to the bridge, fire on the flight deck is contained, heavy casualties, preparing the hangar for recovery operations, Lok out.]

Whether that report would be relayed to whoever was in charge was unknown, Lok couldn’t help but wonder if the rest of the ship was in as bad of shape and if perhaps Commander Cross had been reduced to a green stain on whatever was left of the bridge. If everyone was still alive up there however maybe it would provide some sort of relief that the ship was no longer in danger from itself. At least for the moment. Now Lok needed to get the deck in order for the eventual recovery of their fighters, how they would do that he made up as they went. With the facilities wrecked and wreckage all over the place it would be “no picnic” as the humans liked to say. With the last of the wounded cleared out and the dead moved to the far wall and covered with towels from the Squadron Locker Room, the remaining deck crew got organized and started to clear away the debris from the immediate landing area as well as the various hoses that criss-crossed the deck. Lok conferred with the wounded Flight Operations Officer to determine what was working and how best to land the fighters, all the while the ship still occasionally rocked and jolted from some hits from their Romulan foe.

The news was actually better than Lok had expected, while the autolanders were offline the glide path system, a system that would link with the landing fighters and guide them via their HUD on the most optimal landing pattern, was up and running. This meant no landing signal warrants would have to get suited up and brave the vacuum of space and a potential disruptor cannon to help guide the pilots in. No sooner had this good news been received than the news came in that whatever mission that had required them to engage the Romulans was a success and the fighters would be making combat landings. This only meant one thing, the ship was due to warp out as soon as the last fighter touched down, which also meant that Lok and his depleted crew had their work cut out for them.

The landings came in quick succession. There was no time to properly complete shutdown checklists or stow the spacecraft back in desired parking spots, not that they really could anyway with all the debris from the explosion and Ghost’s fighter in the way. Instead the Valkyrie’s were landed then simply shunted off to the side in a haphazard arrangement that would be a headache to clear up later but at that moment was necessary. Once the last fighter, Janus’s, landed the Theurgy streaked off at warp, the tension of battle seemed to release instantly and Lok sighed in relief that they had managed to get away…for now anyway.

Now Lok’s duty was to get the pilots squared away and out of their planes then get the mess cleaned up quickly. He headed over to the nearest Valkyrie with a pilot’s ladder and climbed up just as the canopy opened and the helmet of the pilot within was removed to reveal the large feline head of Lieutenant Winters, though Lok honestly should have recognized him by how snuggly he fit in the cockpit. An electric surge of excitement and relief filled the exhausted Kzinti, who no doubt must have looked a sight, covered in black soot from head to toe, his coveralls partially off and torn, as well as being visibly tired. In his moment of excitement Lok allowed his emotional barriers down as he reached out to grip Atlas’s shoulder as his heart soared at the larger Kzin’s safe return. But he quickly recovered and acted as if he had been just trying to steady himself on the ladder, though if Dom was just as empathic as he was then he certainly would have sensed his feelings. Lok glanced over Dom’s systems for a moment to ensure they were all shut down and secure then nodded with a tired smile.

“You are all good Lieutenant”, he said in his best professional tone, but as he started to climb back down to the deck he could not help but add in a lower voice, “...I’m glad you’re alright…sir.”

Lok left quickly, before Dom could say anything, to help with the other fighters until he finally reached Janus. He had to tell him what happened. He was currently the Acting Chief of the Deck and the loss of a pilot was his responsibility to report to the squadron commander. Making use of his exhaustion to force him to just get it over with, Lok stepped forward and cleared his throat.

“Commander”, he began, his deep voice suddenly seemed to fail him and came out somewhat raspy, “I regret to inform you that Lieutenant Rawley was killed in an accident that also took the life of Ensign Herrold.”

Re: Chapter 2: Mission Objective - Get Revad. Fight. Don't die (optional).

Reply #4 – May 18, 2025, 11:33:47 PM

[ Lieutenant Frank Arnold | Main Engineering | Deck 25 | Vector 3 | USS Theurgy]

The ship rocked under the Chief's feet as he punched in a series of codes into the master display. The main screen focused in on the blazing FAB and blinked red with damage codes scrolling down the screen. It was bad. One of the fighters had crashed and other fires were active in the FAB. Another series of commands brought up the status of the structural reinforcements that had been installed over Qo'nos and the the were showing as active as they prevented the explosions from breaching bulkheads and decks around the fighter bay. More commands were punched in, specifically to inquire on the status of the polarized plating and force fields shoring up the bulkheads and decks around the magazines. The ship rocked either from enemy fire or from the explosions in the FAB, he couldn't tell though he was distantly aware of a call that the primary shield generators were still cycling, but the secondary systems were holding well. The main bulkheads showed green of no damage and with that, the Chief let out a sigh of relief. It looked like the fail safes and structural integrity of the war head casings were holding.

The fire didn't look too good though and since the ship still had another engagement to go to, it was in their best interest to get the situation contained. "Chief to DC teams Gamma 4 through 6, head to the FAB for damage control. Take steps to jettison compromised ordinance if necessary." Chief Arnold killed the comm link when he got his confirmations. There was little else to do for him as he watched the master plot take in information from all the internal and external sensors. Delta damage control teams were assisting with the fires in sickbay and the surrounding areas and reported they'd have them under control shortly. The wounded were being shifted to the Battle Sickbays in the mean time. A new blip appeared on the external sensor feed and the Chief Engineer's nostrils flared as he looked at the new datum. Just because one spent all their time in Engineering didn't mean they didn't pick up some additional knowledge about how the rest of a ship worked. His response was succinct as cold blue eyes looked at the mission status updates and he mentally nodded to himself. "Azrin! We're getting everyone back on board, start cycling up slipstream. Get us ready to jump!" Thick fingers pressed another button. "Bridge, Engineering, we're starting to power up the slipstream drive. Will advise when we can warp out."

[Vector 2 Battle Bridge | Deck 8 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy]

Petty Officer Bodega kept his eyes glued to the sensor read outs even as the ship shook around him. He was the first to notice the energy signature entering the system from farther out. A sensor sweep of the area had picked up neutrino emissions and other particles that had been imperfectly concealed. A quick run of a sensor analysis package quickly changed the information points to warning amber of arriving Romulan ships. "Commander Cross, two new sensor points have arrived in system consistent with Romulan warbirds. Signatures are consistent with Vas Hatham class warbirds. We don't have track on them on on them at the moment, but vector information shows an intercept course in system."

The tactical calculus of the engagement flowed through Commander Cross' mind as he watched the flow of the engagement. Theurgy was winning the battle handily despite the damage to the FAB and the mission was effectively complete. The two new ships weren't much of a threat either, but they only needed to get lucky and it would cause Theurgy even more problems while they needed to withdraw. "Estimated time to intercept?" he quickly asked. It took a moment for the calculations to be run. "Half an hour sir." The sensor tech came back. It was suspicious though, two obsolete warbirds charging into a modern battle was suicide, yet they'd chosen to come anyway. "Show me the arrival track on the main screen." Commander Cross ordered and the screen changed from the furry of phaser fire to a digital representation of the new contacts coming into the system. The Vulcan stared at the recording for moment, then watched it repeat again. Then it hit him, the spacing was wrong. They were parallel but too far apart. They wouldn't risk a modern engagement unless there was a perceived advantage. That meant there was possibly a modern ship with them. He couldn't be sure, but they were at the point the Starfleet vessel could run. It was time to risk to finish this fight quickly and he snapped out the orders. "Helm, attack pattern Sierra-2. Tactical, disable their impulse engines, then warp nacelles."

The bridge crew responded as Theurgy put out an impulse burst that carried them past the flailing carrier faster than anticipated. Once in the Romlan's rear arc, the dreadnought aimed down and fired another impulse burst. Ventral thrusters joined in rotating the ship as it slid through space, clawing to bring its foward weapons to bear. A call from engineering told the bridge crew that additional power was being diverted to the SIF and IDF as the ship pulled a manoeuvre that was more appropriate for a Defiant Class. The Romulans electronic warfare systems tried desperatley to scramble the carrier's signature and the electronic clash echoed silently in space but too much punishment had been taken and the two ships were in knife fighting range.

Master Chief Petty Officer Klex Sonden watched the targeting karat lock on to the carrier with the parameters he'd programmed in and the square turned green as the program executed just as momentum was overcome and for a brief second as the Ranger slid to a halt in space, the bow was pointed at the carrier. Bright orange phaser fire and red photon torpedoes lanced out from the Starfleet vessel. Whatever shielding was left on the Romulan carrier failed in a wave of blue energy that cascaded across a formerly invisible energy bubble, and the explosions of phaser and torpedo impacts blew shards of metal off the hull as the Romulan impulse manifolds exploded and vomited glowing wreckage into space. The straining impulse engines on the Ranger burned bright as the surged forward and shrugged aside any return fire from the coasting target. The helm made a few adjustments as the ship side stepped in space, rotating with the powerless carrier. As Theurgy passed over the carrier, the ventral phaser arrays fired and metal screamed inside the Romulan ship as the nacelles were sliced off.

The dreadnought raced off with small craft returning to the ship for highly kinetic combat landings while the aft torpedo launchers added insult to injury by destroying the nacelles then they'd floated far enough away from the carrier. Commander Cross nodded in satisfaction at a job well done. "Bridge to Engineering. Status on the slip stream?" The Chief Engineers reply was quick. "Capacitors will be ready in two minutes." Commander Cross mentally nodded at this. "Helm, sets course for the triangle, then engage slipstream when ready.

~~
[Cmdr. Cross | Battle Bridge | V. 2 | Deck 8 | The Ranger ]
Acceptable losses.

Lieutenant Jonathan Bryne - Killed in Action
Lieutenant RraHnam - grievously injured, required stasis chamber
Lieutenant Junior Grade Evelyn Rawley - Killed in Action
Ensign Sarah Bjorge - grievously injured, required stasis chamber
Ensign Liam Herrold - Killed in Action
Acceptable losses.

This was a phrase Starfleet officers commonly used when assessing a mission before conducting it, and then IF the mission was a success, they used the term again for any loss in the process. It was a fucking miserable phrase that carried heavy connotations with it regardless of if used before or after a mission.

“Sir,” Cross looked up from the PADD he’d been studying with the list of those so-called ‘acceptable losses’ they’d incurred thus far, “sensors showed a temporal anomaly just a moment ago. Originating from within the ship.”

[ Cross to Hebert. ] His head hurt as he activated the combadge. If he never had to deal with the USS Relativity and anything remotely related to time travel ever again, Cross would be a happy man. [ Status on our guest? ]

A moment passed before Lieutenant Junior Grade Hebert of Intelligence responded. [ Gone, sir. Is that a problem? ]

Cross shook his head. [ No, carry on. ]

No longer having the temporal agent onboard brought with it only a moment’s relief before another alert broadsided the Vulcan.

“Sir, we’re approaching the Triangle.” From the woman’s tone of voice, announcing their soon arrival at their much sought-after destination wasn’t the only thing she had to share. “Scanners are picking up weapon’s fire.”

Acceptable losses.

Cross inwardly cursed, realizing they were likely about to add to the list he’d just been reading over. Considering the harrowing journey they’d just completed, running from the Romulan carrier after extracting Revad, dealing with the hit-and-run tactics of the warbirds as they fled, especially vulnerable with the drive cut out, again, he couldn’t help but wonder if the Ranger would even be able to reconnect with the Helmet if they were to survive this next battle. They’d taken damage on multiple decks, suffered multiple losses, and were already operating at less than peak efficiency. Whatever it was they were about to face, Cross hoped to hell the others had already returned; otherwise, this could be their last battle.

[ All hands, battle stations. ] Cross grimly nodded to himself as they careened into the Triangle, courageously facing down whatever it was lying in wait for them.

~~
[LT.jg Dominic ‘Atlas’ Winters | Deck 16 | Fighter Assault Bay | Ranger

Just before the slipstream drive engaged Atlas had docked with the Ranger so they weren’t left behind in the dust. Dominic relieved himself, got some snacks and headed back to his ship while waiting for their next deployment. He sat and waited as the entire Hangar bustled with intense activity of repairs, replenishing munitions and otherwise a lot of other busywork that the ground crews needed to handle.

He refrained from much in the way of a debrief and lurked by the fighter, eating his food and replenishing his energy. Up until the ship went into Red Alert as Cross’ words came over the Comm. “All hands, battle stations.”

At that point, Atlas slid into his chair, engaged the canopy and fitted his helmet. Then, he launched out the Hangar bay the moment he had a clear and safe path to do so. “Let’s get to it!”

FIN