Post by elando on Jan 3, 2010 7:49:30 GMT -6
| Crew Expendable |
February 28th, 2531 |
Military Time: 04:58 |
Closing upon the Gilese 876 system, Slipspace. |
Admiral’s Bridge, UNSC Arnhem, 31st Squadron, Task Force Arnhem
While the view screens scattered about the room showed little more than the bright pinpricks of fusion motors scattered about the darkness, Admiral George Cuttingham was focused upon the rather more detailed holotank mounted in the centre of the bridge. Inside its holographic depths, the entirety of task force Arnhem could be seen spread out over the seven dimensions of slipspace, tags beside each vessel giving a short summary of its condition.
Since the start of the war, far too many formations like this had been reduced to a cluster of red and orange dots by the end of their service. As such, to Cuttingham’s eyes the projection seemed more like something from a training simulation than a battle-group on the verge of an attack. That view was further reinforced by the disembodied head and shoulders that appeared to one side of the group, an arm jutting in from nowhere to salute, then disappearing out of view again as it began to speak.
“Admiral, operations here, all squadrons have reported in green and the 147th is preparing to transition, do we still have a green light?”
Did they have a green light? Now that was a rather ridiculous question, considering the last update from the Prowler in system had given them optimal conditions for the translation into real space. Why would they throw that away just because an operations officer had second thoughts? The answer he gave was simple, they wouldn’t
“Affirmative, we have a green light to begin transitioning on Frost’s mark.”
A curt nod followed by a hurried salute was all the reply operations gave before he cut the transmission, Cuttingham making a mental note to see about that once the operation was over with. For now though, he had a battle-group to command, all he needed to do was give the word.
“Frost, can you confirm that we have the Charbydis beacon?”
The form which took shape in the newly vacated section was initially indistinguishable from the operations officer, but it only took a second for the details to slide into place. Details such as a rather outdated khaki uniform, a bolt-action rifle clutched in one hand and to top it all off a red beret upon the moustached head. While ‘his’ avatar clearly wasn’t going to command a battle-group, the mind at ‘his’ disposal certainly could.
“Admiral, all squadrons have the beacon signal, however the translation window is a mere twenty-seven minutes in duration at this time. A further delay of seventeen minutes would require us to pull out to a safe distance, translate and re-orientate via stellar observation. I would recommend you go ahead with it now.”
Cuttingham nodded his head subconsciously as he leaned into the microphone mounted on the tac-display, a final glance around the bridge before he spoke was all he needed.
“All ships, this is Admiral Cuttingham speaking, adhere to the transition order and don’t skimp on the timing. However, you have permission to abort if a prior vessel transitions back, we’re not going to walk into an ambush here people. That is all, Cuttingham out.”
He didn’t have to fiddle with switches or re-program the com-net when it came to frequencies, all that was needed was a jab at the vessel upon the tactical display for the signal to be narrow-beamed all the way into the receiving dish aboard the Honour and Glory.
“Captain Flashheart, you have a green-light for translation, try to link up with the ONI assets once you’re on the other side if you can, Cuttingham out.”
That was it then, Flashheart would be piling in with his frigate squadron behind him, it would be wrong to say that this was the point of no return, he could always cancel before the main force was through… But that was not what they were here for, they were here to fight.
The blank void infront of the 147th squadron was torn apart, revealing pinpricks of fusion fire before they slid closed and the light vanished. Aside from the disappearance of the quartet of vessels, nothing had changed for the task force, only a time-hack in the corner of the tac-display counting down from 00:60 indicated anything else.
The digits steadily stepped down the line until there was a mere fifteen on the clock, a finger-stab at the destroyer Dieppe transferred the communications link and he was ready to send in the second element. The commanding officer of the 103rd squadron was well known for her reluctance to sit back when there was a battle to be fought and comrades to be supported.
“Captain Huntley, you can hold for word from Flashheart or go ahead with the transition, Frost is primed to translate in another fifty-two seconds either way.”
It had the desired effect, and with barely a second to spare the squadron lurched forward, slipspace drives tearing through the veil to join the 147th. Now, assuming all the vessels had arrived on station intact, there was enough firepower to completely obliterate… two small Covenant warships. It wasn’t until the rest of the force was through that they would have enough tonnage to hold off anything larger than a picket force.
Another thirty seconds passed, and still no sign of any frantic attempt to translate back into slip from Flashheart’s squadron, either all was well in real-space or there was a debris field waiting for the next ships through. If there was an enemy on the other side though, they would learn that there was more to task force Arnhem than just the starter course.
The formation was almost half its size now, consisting of an almost equal mix of heavy and light capital ships adrift in the dark. If they didn’t perform the task required of them here, there was no idea what could happen to humanity, a race quite possibly reduced to little more than a few backwater colonies, lights burning amid the darkness of a glassed empire.
A quick tap of the cruiser Helios re-routed the communications, a dish curving around to align itself with the vessels receiver.
“Commodore Sycamore, signal the 78th to begin translation, we will be right behind you.”
This time he didn’t wait for any form of confirmation, immediately changing over to the frigate Forlorn Hope.
“Captain McGregor, tell the 172nd to follow the Arnhem in as close as you can, but try to keep a capacitor charge up, you’re the messenger pickets if we come under attack.”
The usually steady hum of the slipspace drive grew in both volume and tempo as it spun up, preparing the force the multi-kiloton bulk of the carrier and the destroyer slung beneath it through the skin separating the dimensions.
