Post by Admin on Apr 7, 2016 23:43:57 GMT
In Orbit
Postby FSF Eris » Thu Feb 07, 2013 12:17 am
"Maintain yellow alert."
Julia stood, approaching the central viewscreen. A Tzenkethi squadron had a certain grace to it, she decided. The triangular cruiser, the group’s leader, was even with the Anatolia, its multiple command centers like black marbles on the tanned-grey hull. A pair of polygonal scoutships, each a bit smaller than the Anatolia, was lingering off the cruiser’s starboard side – the one without the larger turrets.
On the other side, the Tzenkethi cruiser was flanked by a cluster of small fighters. Julia saw five immediately, though it was hard to say that were were no more lurking in the hold of their mother ship. Like the larger vessels, they were of the wedge and geometric configuration dear to the Tzenkethi.
She wished that she had the Aquarius under her feet, because in the Anatolia, she held the (rather unfair) opinion that she was riding on the back of a cumbersome tortoise.
“Captain.” The voice of the replacement communications officer for gamma shift, who was currently occupying Cunningham’s seat, broke her train of thought. “The two Tzenkethi wing-ships are coming around.”
“Sir,” the additional tactical officer added, “they’re powering weapons systems again.”
The planet lit up beneath them, near the capital and a site on the neighboring continent sparking on the viewscreen.
“What about our people?”
The silence was thick on the Bridge before she finally nodded. “Signal’s there. Close one, though.”
Julia stood unmoving, eyes set to the deck-plating. When she finally spoke, her eyes were grim. “Bring us in on the wing-ships, pattern Delta-five. On my mark.” She retook her seat, pulling the tactical monitor to her side. “Engage.”
* * *
Earlier
Julia had poured a tall glass of a very well-aged, very flavorful, and very tempting scotch. That wasn't surprising. The surprising fact was that she hadn't downed it in thirty seconds. She didn't like being stuck on a ship. She didn't like being stuck on a ship when Atton Jetrel was down playing hero, and she particularly didn't like being cloistered away in orbit because of a godsforsaken -- literally -- health defect that was caused by an even worse health issue.
She didn't have the energy to deal with something like this. Not then, not ever. Julia Quintus dealt in photon torpedoes and flanking maneuvers, not in children. And she didn't need a bleeding-heart damned doctor giving her the guilt trip of guilt trips for not wanting it, either. She was a Starfleet officer and she was in the middle of a war. War didn't lend itself well to her having a tiny little Quintus playing in the corridors, and she didn't think it was a particularly bad thing.
Between her successful military career and the fact that she had patently eschewed marriage into the prospective families of the capital, Julia had long ago distanced herself from becoming the bastion of the family line. Besides, she had the opportunity to adopt, and while she had not precisely moved toward any candidates in particular, there were always up-and-coming equestrian clans that would happily donate a younger, teenaged son to be adopted into the gens Iulia. It was rather a benefit of carrying such an elite name -- a woman had more options for issue than those she had to labor through -- literally.
The gods were pulling quite the cruel joke, however. She had been through the depths of the Tartaran hells over the past year, and things showed little sign of improving. She'd essentially lost two ships, and her world had been up-ended with little opportunity of righting it. The last thing she needed was figuring out what to do with a half-barbarian child -- she might not have had a good idea of who its father was, but she hadn't exactly been home recently enough for him to have been a Roman -- a child who would need things all of the damned time and would for years and years to come.
No, a military campaign was no place to have a child.
* * *
Three of the smaller craft were on approach, a triangle backed by one of the polygonal craft. Anatolia had disabled the first of the two, courtesy of the phaser turrets that had been added to the vessel's superstructure. The second, however, was a fiercer foe, and after the hit it had delivered to the port nacelle, the Nebula-class ship was battling its engines as much as the Tzenkethi.
"Grimke," Julia barked down to the Engineering deck, "if we don't have thrusters functional on the left side of this ship within forty-five seconds, we might not have a ship in three minutes." Smacking off the comm, she spun back towards her backup at Tactical. "Tell me that you've got nothing issuing out of that godsdamned cruiser."
"Nothing. They're not moving, they're not worried about firing at us, and they're currently an impenetrable fortress flying through space."
"And they're not spitting out more fighters?"
"No, Sir."
She steepled her fingers, watching the four craft widen their formation as they sped their pursuit of the wounded Anatolia. "Now would be a rather perfect time to find a cleverly-positioned asteroid belt, wouldn't it?" she suggested offhandedly.
"Don't like the open ground?"
"Not when we're outnumbered and decently outgunned." Taking a deep breath, she traced a barrage pattern on the monitor, tuning out the little voice that was in the back of her mind and saying that she was taking far, far too long to stop and plan in the middle of a battle. There was a reason she was really born a strategist, but her tactical leanings had taken decidedly more development. "Target the side fighter. They aren't going to be able to cut through our shields, but we might be able to use their own formation against them."
“We’re getting too close, Captain. If we fire on the wing, we’ll send the one spiraling into the rest of them.”
“Exactly. Like dominoes.”
“That would work if we weren’t facing massive chunks of ship debris flying right back at us!”
“Think we can’t handle it?”
“I think we like having two functional nacelles in the middle of a battle, especially when there are other ships we still have to battle.”
“Do you have a better idea?” Silence answered her. “If we can take care of several ships in one blow, we will try it. Arm photon torpedoes."
* * *
The Anatolia still had two nacelles, even if the starboard nacelle was without even thrusters and the saucer had been chipped in a neat little vee by the front end of the triangular craft, separated from its own engines. The two that hadn’t exploded in a brilliant display of plasma and photons were venting atmosphere.
The voice of the operations officer was panicked. It made a captain miss her regular Bridge crew. “Gravity is down on Decks Seven through Twelve. Emergency forcefields are in place on Eight through Twelve, but systems are not responding on Deck Seven.”
“Grimke will handle it,” she answered, evenly, eyes on the three prizes remaining. At least, she hoped Grimke would handle it.
The tactical officer might have ceased to doubt the effectiveness of the Anatolia’s stunt effectively powering one ship into the others of the tight formation, but if he was planning on an “I told you so” about the fact that the ship had been decently trashed in the process, he was going to send it through Jetrel instead of tell Julia to her face. Atton would have made his opinions rather clear. At least his inferiors had managed to avoid their sense of respect and the chain of command, she supposed.
The cruiser was sitting there, appearing unconcerned about the loss of the rest of its squadron. The lone remaining fighter – still assuming there were no more lurking in the cruiser’s belly, was making a short run ahead of the cruiser and back again, as if it were pacing.
She could only imagine how trashed Anatolia looked to the Tzenkethi – and to the Bellani, if they were watching. It was hardly a good sign to see your defenders battered.
“What are we going to do with you?” she muttered, looking over the specs for the remaining two larger ships.
“I think they’re wise to the smashing.”
“Yes, I know that,” she answered, a little sharply. “The Tzenkethi are not usually fools twice.”
* * *
"Taking us in."
If the ship had been a democracy -- which it was in fact not -- Julia had a suspicion she would have been outvoted. Again. In some ways, they would have been entirely correct in doing so. The casualty reports from both the crews in the nacelle and the people who had suffered rapid decompression on the vacuum-exposed decks were disheartening to say the least. But once a ship entered a fight with the Tzenkethi, withdrawal was not an option, especially when the planet being blasted below had Starfleet crew and Starfleet-protected citizens upon it.
"Ship is sluggish."
"Probably because it is without half of its propulsion," she commented, a little wryly. "Can you compensate?"
"Yes, but..." He left it unfinished. Taking a battered ship in on a dive-bomb and hoping that the other, slow cruiser could not react in time was risky business.
"One-eighth impulse." The ship buckled a little and the power momentarily dimmed as the port engines jerked in reply.
"Increase slightly."
"The ship's already not liking this."
"I don't care. Keep us on course."
"Aye, Captain."
"Once we're in position, lock phasers and rotate barrage with torpedoes."
"We're coming in from above in thirty seconds... incoming. The fighter and the wingship are moving to intercept." The ship rocked, and there was an audible creak through the hull.
"Shields are at thirty percent."
Julia swore quietly, not liking that figure. "Reroute half power from phasers to shields. All non-essential systems offline. That includes targeting sensors. We're doing this manually."
"Offline. If we don't move, we might hit them."
"They'll have to break off. They can't afford to be hit; we could, even if we do not really want to experience ramming speed."
"Preparing a critical point angle if we have to use it instead of the direct attack. Captain, they're not breaking off."
"They'll break off."
* * *
Earlier
Julia probably shouldn't have foregone the scotch, because the lack of alcohol hadn't helped her one bit with avoiding another incident.
She'd had an onset of these attacks before, years earlier, just after her mother died, but they had mostly resolved themselves before she had left for the Academy. It wasn't as if she could do much for them back then, either. Being cursed with the morbus was not somethng any self-respecting member of the family would have dreamed of disclosing; for it to happen on the eve of battle, with members of her crew as witnesses, was an ill omen indeed. It was also, in her opinion, a sign of great ill will from the gods. That was a reassuring and lovely thought with a Tzenkethi squadron roosted outside her Ready Room's porthole.
Hopefully once the inconvenience of this pregnancy issue was resolved, they would fade back into memory where they belonged. It was a damned improper thing to have to deal with on top of a Tzenkethi "negotiation" gone dreadfully wrong. It was one thing to be simply cursed, but it was another to be turned into a sputtering imbecile with little warning. Gods.
She wasn't about to run down to Medical and admit to having the affliction, but even so, she was wondering if it would be worth suffering the humiliation of actually admitting to it to know that she wasn't going to topple in the middle of battle.
On the other hand, traditions and family honor died hard.
* * *
The Anatolia came within a hair's breadth of the two ships crossing their path, the bluff failing the remaining Tzenkethi vessels.
"Fire on the cruiser."
"Photon torpedoes firing," the tactical officer replied, unable to look away from the manual targeting screen. "Direct hits." Not surprising, considering their point-blank range. They were also lucky in drawing the flanking ships off of their positions; it would be hard to strike the Anatolia without striking the flagship in the process. Small explosions were occurring along a suture in the hulking ship's port side. "Their weapons systems are offline."
"Incoming fire from the fighter and their other ship. The fighter is taking our idea."
The operations officer looked back at Quintus. "Captain, they're on a suicide run."
It might have been a small ship, but it could have been easily rigged for a lot of damage, especially when it had nothing to lose. "Turn. If we can't get out of the way, give them the side opf the saucer that's already damaged."
"Sluggish systems, Captain."
"All hands, brace for impact," she barked out on shipwide.
Power choked entirely when the small fighter took another chunk out of the saucer, and what little juice was remaining to the Bridge systems seemed to be sputtering out in violent sparks out of the unmanned engineer's post. The dim backup lighting did little to remedy the sight of the Bridge, finally warming to a reddish glow. "Damage report as soon as you're able."
"Reports everywhere. A lot of systems are blown. Shields are barely holding and patchy at best."
"Trying to get backup sensors. The cruiser's listing, but the final wingship is coming up on approach."
"Can we maneuver?"
"Negative."
"Then, gentlemen," Julia answered, shoving aside the blackened tactical readout that she had commandeered, "I think it's time that we put a little hope in the landing party."