[ Lieutenant Valyn Amarik | Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Swift
Valyn stood in the mirror, staring at herself. Her torso had a messily sealed slash against the left side. One hand was slowly unwrapping a bloody strip of fabric that had been used to bind it and she let out a grimace as she let it fall to the ground. It was tender to the touch. One the small sink that was in front of her was a tiny dermal regenerator, designed for emergency kits. Sickbay already had their hands full, and it wasn't anything worse than she'd already dealt with in her life. The wound didn't go deep, it just looked...angry. She hadn't given her body much of a chance to rest over the past twenty-four hours, and the wound was clearly reacting to that.
She reached forward and picked the device up, flicking it into the 'on' position. It emanated a faint, blue light and let out a gentle lullaby of a hum. Slowly, she began to work it back and forth over the gouge the Targ had left in her side, watching the wound pull itself closed, leaving nothing behind. It was still tender, and likely would be for the next day, but that was easily fixed. She set the regenerator down with a soft 'clank' against the metal sink and retreated into her bedroom, looking for something more comfortable than a uniform or combat exosuit. She found what she wanted. She had a pair of black sweatpants, and a Starfleet-issue hoodie sat near her bed and quickly pulled them on. She slipped some white tennis-shoes on and moved further into her quarters, to a small shelf next to her desk.
She still hadn't unpacked much, but she had unpacked what she was looking for. A small flask, engraved with: 'U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701-E' with a matching rendering of the ship itself above it. Above the ship, was a single recreation of a pip. The bottom of the flask had an engraving of its own, a Stardate. The date of the Bassen Rift. It had been a gift after the battle, when she'd found out she was being reassigned. Her fellows in the security department had been a pain in her ass to work with, but in the end, they had learned to trust her. Beside the flask, was a very large bottle of Romulan Ale, unopened. She slowly began to peel the wax seal off of the top of the bottle and yanked the cork out with inhuman strength, filling the flask.
She stuffed the flask into the pocket of her hoodie, and slapped her combadge on before she headed for the door. She had no desire to sit in her quarters. She hadn't exactly had a chance to look around the ship yet, and sitting in her quarters seemed like a waste of a sleepless night, so she headed for somewhere else, a lounge perhaps. Somewhere she could look at the stars.
The corridors were bustling with engineers beginning repair work, and mostly cleanup. Other than that though, there was a surprising lack of activity in the halls. She stepped into the nearest lift and spoke aloud, "Deck..." She tried to think. "Ten? Tryin' to get to a lounge." The lift chirped, and sprang to life.
[ Observation Lounge | Deck 10 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ]
She stepped into the lounge not long after, her hair pulled back behind her Vulcan-like ears and hood down as she started to walk in. She quickly noticed the couple at the other end, who gave her a quick glance before returning to each others attention. The replicator was her first destination, and she already knew what she wanted. "Kettle cooked chips, warm." They materialized with an ethereal sound and she grabbed the small bowl. As she turned around, her eyes narrowed at the figure closest to her. She couldn't help but smirk with evident amusement as she started to walk over.
She approached the couch and raised an eyebrow at Andrew Fisher as she took a seat, setting the chips down on the table in front of her. She didn't say anything for a moment, and instead reached into her pocket for the small flask. "I'm gonna guess that sickbay didn't cut you loose already?" She shot him a subtle, but still obvious grin and just shook her head. "I've got no room to talk so..." She shrugged and popped a chip into her mouth. Her eyes studied him for a moment, his reaction to her presence, his general posture, everything. It was in her nature to try and get as much as she could off of nothing more than a glance.
She broke her look, and unscrewed the top of the flask, taking a drink of the blue elixir with a sigh of enjoyment. "I think this is the first time I've sat down since I came aboard, spent all day yesterday killin' Klingons so..." She shook her head, not sure if the half-joke would land or not, but she still said it. Her eyes bounced to the viewport, staring off at the stellar body that was Qo'Nos.
She paused for a moment, enjoying a second of silence before she spoke again, unsure if she'd introduced herself to him before, or even if she had, if he remembered. "I'm Valyn, Lieutenant Amarik." She offered a sharp nod of her head before she too, began to settle into the couch, leaning into the backrest.
She held out the flask to him and nodded at his drink, "Assumin' that's synthetic?" Her strange, Alabama accent cutting and obvious with every word she spoke. "Romulan Ale." She gave the flask a bit of a shake, "I won't tell on you if you don't tell on me." Truthfully, she wasn't sure how much of a 'rulekeeper' Fisher was, or even if he was friendly, but she took the risk nonetheless.
It had been made clear to her over the past 24 hours that there wasn't really a way to be a solitary creature on a ship the size of Theurgy, particularly on a mission that was at the scale that theirs was.
[Lt. Reggie Suder | Outside the Public Baths | Deck 6 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @Stegro88
This ship had a bath house. Not a holographic re-creation of some spa or stylized Risian bath house, but an honest to god 'brick and mortar' bath house. Ever since she had seen that on the Theurgy's deck plans she'd been jonesing for the opportunity to check it out. After spending most of the afternoon in a simulator and living it up with the squadron mixer she and Victor had inadvertently walked in on she was more than ready for a good hot soak, especially since she was planning on a training run with her wing tomorrow and did not want to be sitting in Wolf-13 with a stiff back.
But as she approached the entrance to the Public Baths, she stopped short when the doors remained still, a gap no bigger than a few dozen centimeters between them and a sign with a simple, disappointing message.
CLOSED FOR REPAIR
Reggie stepped back with a sigh. Of course it was under repair. Half the ship was damaged from it's various engagements so while it was a disappointment, it was not much of a surprise. She turned to head back to her quarters but stopped after a handful of steps and backtracked to the computer access panel she had just passed and called up the maintenance records for the Public Baths compartment. Perhaps there was an ETA on repair completion.
Tomorrow morning at 0800.
Apparently the main pool needed to be filled, and the deck needed a final cleaning. Everything else was checked off as on line and ready. Both tasks had been scheduled for 0200, which told the pilot that the work was easy enough that the graveyard shift could handle it in the middle of their watch. Clearly this was just a case of putting the final touches on an otherwise completed repair job.
So what if the decks were a little dirty? All she wanted was to sit and soak for a bit. She'd be out and gone long before the cleaning crew arrived. They'd never know she had been in there. Hell, it wasn't even like she had to break in! The doors had been left wedged open. It was practically an invitation!
Even so, she looked up and down the corridor before squeezing herself through the gap and into the locker room. The compartments were dark, almost too dark for a person to see, but her ocular implants adjusted to their low light mode, providing her what she needed to navigate the locker room benches and step out onto the deck of the main pool before she turned into the steam room and crossed into the jacuzzi area.
All three were topped off but unoccupied leaving her to her pick. Slipping out of her warm ups, she adjusted the shoulder straps of her one piece. Eventually she would need to expand her wardrobe with some bikinis to say nothing about clothes for tomorrow night's concert. But for now, the deep cut one piece she had replicated would suffice.
In one graceful motion she made her way down the steps, the hot water of the in ground jacuzzi lapping at her smooth skin as she descended before crossing to the control panel mounted low on the bulkhead. With a few light taps of the LCARS display, the underwater jets thrummed to life and the water around her began to roil. She lowered herself onto the submerged bench, leaned her head back and closed her eyes, allowing the steam to build and the heat to relax her muscles.
A CHANCE REPRIEVE
APRIL 19, 2381
[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher | Intensive Care Unit | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @BipSpoon
Thus far, sleep had been coming at a premium rate for Fisher, as his head still ached something fierce, though it was gradually getting better as the lingering drug in his system waned off. The rest of his ailments; broken ribs, punctured lung and whatever else, had been healed by the diligent and caring hands of the Theurgy Medical Staff, to whom he was very grateful. On top of that, his spirits were running at a high thanks to Sam having spent some time at his bedside, their young relationship continuing to flower in spite of the strain placed upon it by the mission and some bad fortune. It should've all added up to the perfect recipe for easy and truly restful sleep, but unfortunately, he was still being haunted by the remnant memories of the vivid hallucinations he'd experienced. Hallucinations that had, at least for the moment, seemed to have subsided, allowing him a modicum of peace and quiet from Hurley's incessant arrogance and annoyances. Yet, here he was, awakened in the middle of the night, with only the constant drone of the ship's systems audible in the background of his private room within the ICU.
With a deep sigh, he was feeling resigned to the fact that he'd not return to a peaceful sleep anytime soon, and as far as he knew, Sam had returned to her own quarters after having met with her department ahead of Theurgy's eventual rendezvous with Donatra and her supporters.
"Nah. I'll let her sleep." He said softly to himself as he decided against a personal desire to go and see Sam there.
Instead, he swung his bared self out from underneath of the covers of his bio-bed and stepped down onto the carpeted deck-plating, standing slowly as he felt just a hint of wobbly unsteadiness. With a deep breath, he approached a nearby closed cupboard and retrieved a pair of loose-fitting grey slacks with a Starfleet emblem embroidered on the left legging. Slipping them on, he likewise retrieved a simple tight-fitting black shirt from the cupboard and carefully slipped it up over his head and arms, straining a little as the recently repaired muscles and bones in his abdomen flexed with the movement. Content that he wasn't standing in the abject nude anymore, he inched closer to the doorway that led out of his room, wary of any Medical personnel that might stop him in this attempt to make an escape from the premises. Fisher understood the importance in his staying under their observation, given the tenuous condition he was technically still in, but the man was also stubbornly arrogant enough to think he'd be fine if he snuck out for just a short bit of time.
The only obstacle was a lone blonde-haired Nurse tending to a computer screen attached to the exterior of the room adjacent to his. He'd not recognized her, or known who the patient in said room was, all he was certain of was that if he could get past her without being seen, he'd be able to get out of Sickbay through a different door and then figure out his next move after. Maybe grab a drink from one of the lounges, he thought. Snapping back to the moment as the Nurse turned to leave the immediate area, Fisher saw his opportunity and delicately sauntered his way out through the short corridor and into the hallway just outside of Main Sickbay. "Good enough for Government work." He commented, moderately pleased that no one had noticed his escape, while also aware that he'd likely hear an earful from said Nurse whenever he got back. A small penance to pay, and one he'd do so happily, especially if he could swing it so that they didn't alert Sam to his somewhat reckless and mischievous decision.
[ Observation Lounge | Deck 10 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ]
A few minutes later, Fisher emerged into the nearest lounge he could think of, and at this late of an hour it was essentially empty; only two crewman were sitting together at the far end, sharing a semi-private moment together that he'd no intention of interfering in. Casting them nothing more than a cursory glance, Fisher went over to the replimat. "Whiskey. Irish on ice." A brief whirring noise later, and the synthehol beverage had materialized from thin air. Taking it in hand, the spy would've preferred the real thing, which he could have recovered from the stash of luxury items he'd recovered back on Aldea, but they were still safely locked up in Cargo Bay 3, which would've been a different kind of excursion all together. For now, he'd settle for a fake, and the relative ease in which he could have access to it. Taking a comfortable seat on one of the long winding couches, Fisher leaned against the backrest and exhaled deeply as he peered out at the Klingon home world the ship was currently in orbit of.
Sipping at his beverage, the list of things he'd have to start working on in the morning began running through his mind, and to a degree he was thankful for the distraction it represented. Though, he imagined some people might've been a little insistent on his foregoing any strenuous work for the immediate future, given how beat and battered he technically still was. Truth be told though, Fisher disliked the idea of not being in control of his department worse than anything else right now, because he was more than aware of the dangers facing himself and the rest of the ship if their effectiveness lapsed for even a moment. Actionable intel would be of paramount importance moving forward, and as far as he was concerned, it was his responsibility to ensure it was gathered, his health be damned if necessary. Besides which, aside from Pierce who'd come to see late the prior evening, he still hadn't even had a chance to meet with all the new members of his team, though he would see to it as soon as he could find the time. Or rather, as soon as he had been cleared to return to active duty by Medical, and also more importantly as soon as Sam would reasonably permit him to.
Were it anyone else that had been placed in temporary command of his operation, he might have objected outright, but he knew that the Chief Diplomat was as cunning as anyone he'd ever before met.
"I don't know..." he said absently, unsure of whether or not his behavior was actually prudent, or if it truly was reckless of him to press on the issue.
[Lt. Vanya | Main Bridge | Deck 01 | Vector 01 | USSTheurgy ] attn:
@Auctor Lucan @Swift @Ellen Fitz @uytrereee @Brutus @stardust @Pierce @Stegro88 @redshift316 @trevorvw @Nolan @Stegro88
Vanya looked towards the science post. Crewman Yohannes rose from the seat. Vanya glided towards it, expecting to give it up for whoever would be anointed acting science officer.
Relief cascaded across Vanya as she looked across and saw Nat. It was all that she could do to resist running across the room and hugging her. Instead she listened as the briefing continued, grateful that they had both survived their respective ordeals It seemed that there had been much to discuss. She thought of the captured positronic brain that she had that she had put into the cybernetics lab. While it was no secret, it wouldn't be high up on the general mission priorities of the Theurgy, but it was important to her.
But it would have to wait. More than ever, protecting this crew would be her priority. As the others spoke about Romulus, Vanya could feel attention drifting towards her. When the opportunity arose, she spoke.
"I didn't have many contacts on Romulus. They were either my creator, who was likely killed before I was smuggled away, or my brothers and sisters, who were destroyed. I wouldn't trust anyone in the Tal'Shiar, assuming they are still alive."
While she did not have friends within the Romulan Star Empire, she might have friends within its borders. "Captain, there is another possibility, however there are somewhat delicate issues involved. I would prefer to discuss it with you privately."
Vanya didn't like to be so evasive, but orders were orders, not matter what had become of the once noble agency that issued them.
[ Lt. JG Logan Hale, callsign "Wraith"| Shuttle Hangar | USS Oneida] Attn: @P.C. Haring
Secretly, the pilot was glad that Reggie took him aside and explained that she had instructed Kalil to take the Type-9. She feared he wouldn't make it to Aerowing in time and so wanted him to know on the job. That he had come through all the fun virtually unscathed was more than just luck. The boy showed all his damn skills at the helm of the shuttle and Logan was sure he would be piloting his own fighter soon.
Reggie's voice broke slightly, and her thoughts seemed to drift. She admitted that she would never forgive herself for losing Kalil, even if she didn't say it outright. It was always a gamble to send subordinates into battle. It was never possible to predict how a battle would turn out, and the slightest carelessness or an unfortunate chain of events and misplaced asteroids could mean the death of close friends.
Logan looked at the destroyed Valravn in the corner of the hangar. Many deck hands were tending to it, carefully cutting the remaining armament from the wreckage for use in his fighter. A few hours ago, however, his hands had recovered the lifeless body of his little sister from the wreckage. Alessia Garcia had died under his command, and Logan knew he would never be able to truly forgive himself for that. He would learn to live with it, just as he had learned when Yomaura "Grace" Tomi had died because of him, but the guilt would never completely go away.
"You don't have to explain yourself," Logan began with an unnatural seriousness in his voice. "It worked. He got through it reasonably unscathed. Just enjoy the victory."
[LT JG Vanya| Cave Stronghold, Traitor's Folly|April 2378]
Before they could press the issue further, a hood was placed atop Vanya's blocking her vision. She was forced onto a board, and wheeled across the room. They were good, Vanya's internal systems would be able to count her steps and directions, rendering the mask moot. But by being tied up and trapped on this antigrav, she had no way to judge where exactly she was heading, and a consequence, which way to escape should the opportunity arise.
After several minutes, their journey ended. She heard a thud of a man being thrown to the ground, and her hood was removed. T'Morrik, bound at the wrists, gingerly got to his feet The guard that had removed her hood was already half way out of their cell.
"Well" she said. "I wasn't expecting to meet royalty."
"There is no Romulan Empress Lieutenant." The Vulcan said.
"With all due respect, we have apparently been lured into a trap by someone who is under impression that they, or someone they know is the Empress. While this party has us in bondage, an open mind toward the possibility may keep us alive."
Although his hands were bound at the front, he couldn't break the restraints around his wrist. Seeing her look at his wrists he added. "So you can't break yours either?"
She shook her head. The cuffs holding her to the vet completely restrained encased her arms from the elbow down. "I tested these on the way down, I doubt even a soong type could break these, let lone me.W
"You said you think these people laid a trap? On what do you base that assertion?" he asked.
"Logic." She said. "It is not in the interest of the Tal'Shiar to allow the empire to exist. You are correct when you say that there is currently no Romulan Empress. The post was retired when the Empress allegedly ascended centuries ago"
In line with Romulan tradition, the line of Emperors and Empresses were said to be the physical manifestation of gods. Therefore when the Empress disappeared, it was claimed by the senate that she had ascended back to the heavens, and entrusted the Empire to her Praetor. A more cynical perspective is that the Empress was deposed in a revolution, and either exiled or murdered.
"The Empress has continued in legends of our people, being considered almost holy. A return to grace of any faction claiming to be royalist would undermine the status quo that the Tal'Shiar was created to uphold. Therefore, they would destory the group, rather than do any business with them."
"They could have stumbled across the Tal'Shiar signal." T'Morrik said.
"Doubtful." She said. "This group wouldn't go anywhere near a Tal'Shiar signal, for fear the group would track them down. "
"What do they want?" T'Morrik said. Vanya thought carefully as she looked at the trolley that was waiting for her. "There is not enough data to make any further hypothesis." She lied. "There have been numerous claimants to the throne, but these have either been charismatic charlatans or well funded lunatics. "
Seemingly from beind the rock wall where they were being held, there was laughter. "And which am I."
The room arojnd them shifted, the cell door, the walls all disappeared from around them. The strike team that had ambushed them at the cave stood at attention, weapons trained on them both.
"Turn her around" said a voice from behind her, the voice dripping with mirth "Let me see." One of the guards picked up a remote control, and the upright antigrav rotated 180 degrees. They appeared to be in a throneroom of some kind. Vanya glanced out of the window, and saw a scene from Romulus. There were also Romulan objects d'art pottered around the place. She knew for a fact that many of these were in a museum on the homeworld.
She was doubltess still in a holographic simulation, but this one for the benefit of the occupant of the single throne that she was now facing, a figure cloaked in grey. She pulled back her hood to reveal a brilliant green mask, encrusted with green jewels. The mask did little to conceal her bright black hair and blue eyes. Her full red lips were arranged in a beaming smile.
"So which is it? Charlatan? Or fool."
[ Lt. Cmdr. Kai Akoni | Transporter Room 3 | Deck 12 | USS Theurgy ] @Auctor Lucan
Being held at phaser point gave Kai very little time to think or improvise. He wasn't about to let this Klingon escape to the planet or anywhere else for that matter. If Kai didn't cooperate, he knew the Klingon would probably kill him and find another way to escape. As his mind racked possibilities, Kai was very quickly running out of time just as fast as his opponent was running out of patience.
He thought back through all the training scenarios, war experience and anecdotes from fellow crewmembers. Then it clicked in his mind. He had his plan. The Klingon had already entered the coordinates. The other man then snarled a command at Akoni.
"Okay, okay. Get on the transporter pad", he instructed the man, feigning compliance with the orders. Well, not really feigning, just not telling the whole truth.
The Klingon then moved to the transporter pad, all the while keeping the phaser squarely pointed at Kai. As the Klingon stepped onto the pad, Kai began the sequence to begin transport.
"Energizing" Akoni said out loud as his fingers glided across the smooth LCARS interface to begin the dematerialization process.
As the transport beam shimmered and caused the Klingon to disappear, Kai then pressed two more buttons to suspend the transport. This caused the Klingon's pattern to remain in the transport buffer. He then pressed another button to disable the phaser while it was still in the buffer. As he locked the buffer into a repeating diagnostic cycle, to keep the man in the buffer, he thanked his lucky stars that he was a big history buff and remembered reading about how Captain Scott did pretty much the same thing to save his life when the Jenolan crashed into the Dyson Sphere.
Akoni tapped his combadge, "This is Commander Akoni on the USS Theurgy to General Chu'vok. I have a House Mokai infiltrator here that needs to be taken care of. Where do you want him?". As the reply came through, telling Kai where to beam the prisoner, he entered the new coordinates into the transporter system.
He began the dematerialization process.
After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was likely on a few seconds, they confirmed that the Klingon was in custody. Just as that communication ended, two of his security personell entered the transporter room. He looked at them as he felt the blood still dripping from his face.
"Secure the room. Post guards outside...and start an investigation." he instructed them as he left the room and made his way out. First to get the bleeding stopped and then to get some answers.
Lt JG Sorek Morgan, Callsign "Chaos" | Junior Officer's Quarters | Deck 16 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @P.C. Haring @Tae
"Nah, I think you should go for the black leather pants." Ensign Clarksdale, acting as Sorek's fashion advisor at the moment, approached his team mate and friend and landed a well aimed, loud slap on the hybrid's behind. "They definitely highlight your butt way more than those denims." He added and could not help but grin. He knew very well that Sorek needed more time to get out of the proverbial closet. But he could not help himself; he loved to tease this man.
"Owen! Stop that!" Sorek replied with a giggle. He kept his eyes focused on his mirror image, trying hard not to blush. But to no avail. It seemed as if his RIO had a hand for teasing him just enough so that Sorek did not feel too uncomfortable. But he had to stay reserved. He was new on this ship. He did not want anyone to know about his secret fantasies. It was bad enough that Owen knew. But he trusted his RIO. He would never tell.
"Make me..." Owen replied with a purr in his voice. His lips were so close to Sorek's ear that he could feel his hot breath on his skin. He stayed there for a moment before turning and handing Sorek the leather pants. "No, seriously. Take those. And the leather jacket. You'll look perfect for the occasion!" He stated matter of factly. Of course, Owen himself had chosen black leather pants as well. But he went with a bordeux colored net shirt and a black leather collar to go with them, instead of the very clichee jacket.
"Yes, I guess you're right." Sorek replied and took off his jeans. He knew that Owen was starting to stare at his butt, once it was only concealed by tight, black boxers. But he did not mind. He actually liked that, a bit at least. "It's a great idea, this party. I only hope enough people come to make it a success. Lieutenant Suder probably has put a lot of thought into it."
Owen chuckled, still transfixed on the Lieutenant's features. "I bet she has. You like her, don't you?" It was a risky question, he knew that. He had learned quickly about Sorek's insecurities, especially regarding his own sexuality and women of the beautiful kind, when they met at the Tactical CONN Training Center Omega. Owen was not telepathic, far from it, but he was well versed in reading people's facial expressions and analyzing things that were said between the lines. And once he had a gut feeling, he approached the topics that he thought interesting. At least if the people themselves sparked his interest. And Sorek had sparked his interest on the first day of their training course.
"Yes, she's a great pilot." Sorek replied, oblivious of the fact that this was exactly not what Owen was interested in. He pulled up his pants and turned towards his RIO. His eyes, highlighted by a faint stroke of eye liner, focused on his friend's physique. Damn, he looks hot! He thought to himself, only to force the thought to get back into it's cage instantly. "Ready to go?" He asked and gestured towards the door. Owen - slightly amused by his friend's inability to confess to being attracted to someone - nodded and followed him. This he thought was going to be interesting.
[ CPO Mickayla MacGregor | High Council Chamber | First City | Qo'noS ]
Time had passed like a whirlwind to Mickayla since the revelations and events that had happened in the High Council Chamber. The wound in her shoulder, along with several other minor injuries she had known and not known about, were treated and she had redressed and returned to the main chamber at Martok's behest. The Klingon doctor was a good one as far as the Scot could tell, she didn't have a scar at all, though she still tingled from the healing.
Now she stood as part of a group as Martok contacted Captain Ives, who had returned to the Theurgy, and thanked him for everything he had done. Yet there was still more to consider. The Great House that was Gorka's was now split, with some already challenging if Mickayla was worthy enough to eve make her claim. She feared more blood would be spilled before the dusted settled. And what if her father couldn't, or worse, wouldn't be found? Would it be left to her to take up the mantle and lead the Great House that she had helped decapitate?
[ Lt. T'Less | Tactical Station | Bridge | Deck 01 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy | Orbiting Qo'noS ]
Sitting at one of the secondary tactical consoles, T'Less was able to listen to the conversations happening behind her but her mind was primarily focused on what she had heard regarding the approach of Romulan forces loyal to the Praetor Tal'aura; the Praetor suspected of being one of the Infested. T'Less had calculated a high probability that the Theurgy would be called upon to assist Martok's depleted forces in defending against a renewed Romulan offensive and the Lieutenant was already beginning her research into the latest information regarding the offshoot of her species.
"Current tactical situation between Empire and State forces unknown. Both forces using known ship classes built along common Romulan design trees. Fighters tended towards lighter, faster craft using swarm and alpha strike tactics. Problematic," T'Less mused as she worked over various countertactics in her head. "Without running proper simulations, I cannot be sure but I would extrapolate that we would be at a disadvantage even if we had a full complement of fighters." Moving to a second screen, the Vulcan began a database search for information about historical anti-fighter technology. "Once again, technology has adapted. Previously, small craft could be easily dealt with by a ship's phasers but now that fighters are tougher, faster and more advanced, adaptions would need to be made in countering them again."
The voices faded out behind her as words and topics began to flash across her screen as she read and absorbed. Anti-aircraft guns. Bofors. SAMs. AEGIS. CIWS. Phalanx.
[Lt. Reggie Suder, Callsign: Gemini | AC-477 MK I Valravn | Wolf-10 | Near Qo'nos] attn: @Stegro88 @Hope @Eden @Lathaniel @Havenborn @Nolan @Auctor Lucan @SummerDawn @Nero
Reggie brought Wolf-10 around as the Oneida began her assault. The fast and furious exchange of weapons fire momentarily took her back to the War, the flash of explosions along the Warbird's hull almost blindingly bright but for her ocular implants automatically adjusting the input so as to not overwhelm her.
Romulan shields are down
[Oneida to Lone Wolves, we have the package.]
Reggie breathed a sigh of relief. One objective down, one more to go.
She maneuvered away from the engagement intent on re-focusing her efforts on the stalkers. With the Romulan shields offline, the Iroquois class starship had things well in hand. Her proximity alarm went off and she cut hard to port, narrowly avoiding a direct hit as a mine exploded, dropping her starboard shields down to 24%.
Oneida has taken damage. Forward and aft shields down. Reading critical damage on the warbird. Romulan plasma torpedoes powering up again. Oneida is moving off. Need to cover their retreat and end this before the warbird does more damage.
The warbird was a wounded bear surrounded by a hungry pack of wolves. Its time was limited. Even so wounded animals were often the most dangerous. Reggie pulled the Valravn around and vectored in on the warbird from above. Fires burned where the hull had been damaged, but despite the beating it had taken it seemed that main power was still online. Kalil could confirm that with sensors, of course, but even from this distance, she could make out the consistent interior lighting in the Warbird's viewports. Clearly the warbird needed some help on it's one way trip to hell.
She trimmed her vector, angling for a tighter approach toward the end of the port wing, where the hull connected with the nacelle, and keyed her weapons inventory.
[Wolf-10 to the Wolfpack, we need to finish off this warbird and make sure the Oneida gets out of here in one piece..]
She lit both Helbores off as soon as the the target locked. The two torpedoes flew unimpeded before striking the port side ventral wing. The explosion was massive and even with her implants, Reggie instinctively turned away. By the time she turned back, the port Nacelle was blinking out it's glow dying after it's explosive amputation. Sections of mounting that had not been destroyed by the explosion itself still held onto the engine as if the metal itself was desperately trying to keep the ship in one piece. But even reinforced hull plating had to give way to physics as the stress of the torque from the nacelle's motion was too much for the damaged plating to hold. As the last fingers of hull gave way and the nacelle floated free, a dead hunk of scrap metal, the structure of the Romulan hull seemed to sag as power flickered on and off throughout the rest of the vessel.
Now there would be no chance for the bear. The only question remaining would be how long the wolves wanted to play with their food before putting it out of it's miserry.