I'll give it a shot, let's hope for a lucky break!
Edit: Yikes :0
Edit: Yikes :0
Last edited:
Battlestar Rising - A BSG Quest
- Thread starter 4WheelSword
- Start date
- Sci-Fi
1.3
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
Colonel Alduino, 'B' Plot
Rolls 2d10+0 = 11, Partial Success
Personal Morale improved by one step.
Ship Morale decreased by one step.
"Carlisle?"
Phoibe Alduino rubbed the bridge of her nose with the back of her hand, chasing away the frustration via physical sensation. Her joints ached in sympathy with her roiling mood, the psychological thunderheads presaging a physical pressure front. With Columbia essentially out of action and Blue Flight still on its way to Troy, there was little more she could do here but grow more prickly. So she drew her XO's attention.
"Sir?" They answered.
They looked untroubled by the current… she hesitated to call it a crisis, but there wasn't much else she could think to label it. She felt helpless and Ridley seemed like they were cruising comfortably enough. If that was the case then they could stand to manage it alone for a little while.
"You have the conn, XO. I'll be in my quarters, call me the moment we hear anything from Blue Flight."
"Aye, Sir."
She walked off of the CiC with the first hints of a spring in her step. Free from the oppressive yoke of command, if only for a little while, she could already feel the pressure receding. She already knew what she was going to do once she got back to her bunk; first, an anti-anxiety tablet and second, a plate of something hot and cooked.
As soon as the hatch closed behind her, she pulled her hair from the tight bun, shucked her jacket and stretched. It was a long, self indulgent stretch of the kind that left a person smacking their lips and ready for anything. What Phoibe was ready for was a plate of food she'd made herself.
She switched on a two-plate electric hob and let it heat up while she found her medication and washed the pill down with a gulp of chilled water. She could already feel her body beginning to relax just from the change of circumstances, and the tablet would help just a little bit more. In an hour or so she'd be able to walk back into the CiC in a far better frame of mind than she was currently managing. Food would help even more and she had had a small refrigerator installed in her quarters for just that reason.
She pulled open the door and let chill air wash over her, raising goosebumps on the small amount of skin her uniformed left exposed. There was leftover pancake batter from a few days previously, a slice of rich, dark, chocolate cake that she'd made more than a week ago and should probably throw out if she was being honest with herself. But she wasn't feeling like a sweet - carbohydrates would sustain her better in the coming hours and sugar risked ramping up her anxiety when it was already bad. Something easy, filling and savoury then. She started pulling ingredients out of the fridge with a decisive air.
A pan went on the heat with a little oil and, as soon as it was hot enough to glisten, she added a piece of bright pink fish that had come with the last supply shuttle. After a few minutes it was just beginning to caramelise along the edges of the cut, flaking to pieces almost as soon as she touched it. She followed with shallots and scallions to add a fresh, natural flavour to the already delicious fish, then ginger for that sharp, sweetness and chili flakes, because what was food without a little heat? Finally she threw in soft vermicelli noodles and fried the whole mixture for a couple of minutes more. The smell was making her mouth water already and it took all of her self-control not to eat it directly from the pan.
Instead she found a bowl and arranged the stir fried dish artfully with a little extra sauce drizzled over the top. She found some chopsticks and, sitting down at the desk, dragged over a pile of the interminable paperwork she had to do before digging in.
She got four bites into the meal before the intercom called her attention.
-
"Situation report." The Colonel demanded as she walked back into the CiC. Wiping her lips with a handkerchief of the last remnants of a very rushed meal, she straightened her uniform and returned the door guards salute. Major Carlisle was pacing back and forth in front of the plot table with a face like thunder.
"Blue Flight, we lost their signals five minutes ago."
"They've gone behind Troy's shadow then." They shouldn't be, not at the speed they were making, but she couldn't face other options just yet.
"Not a chance." His tone was biting.
"Anything on DRADIS?" she asked, glancing up at the repeater mounted above her head. It was entirely empty now, not even the reports from Blue Flight to busy it up.
Carlisle didn't respond. She met their eyes and found a glimmer of anger in them. They were holding back and she appreciated it but there would have to be a reckoning at some point. Perhaps they would be amenable to a meal when this current situation had been resolved.
"Comms! Send a message to Engineering - I want the FTL drive fixed within a half hour." She took hold of the edge of the plotting table in the centre of the CiC, her now customary position, and stared down her enraged Executive Officer. "It is the most I can do."
"I hope it is enough."
- - -
Captain Plank, Main Plot
Rolls 2d10+0 = 7, Miss
Threat clock ticked once.
Readiness track decreased one step - Readiness track cannot go any lower than -4.
"-Colonel wants the drive up in a half hour!"
"Does the Colonel want to come down here and get grease on her hands for the next half hour?" Plank called back from where he was battling with a wire fitting, shoulder deep in the upper core mechanism, "No, I figure not. It'll be ready when it's ready."
"Want me to send that back, Captain?"
"No, Briggs, I do not want you to send a near-mutinous messages to our commanding officer. Tell her I'll do my best."
Briggs' footsteps echoed as he ran back down the access corridor from where he'd come. Plank looked back at the fitting that had been giving him so much trouble and realised that while he'd been distracted he'd somehow managed to fit it back in the right place.
It wasn't done but it was a step in the right direction.
-
Forty-five minutes and two requests for updates from the Colonel, Plank and his team fitted the last drive panel back into place and screwed it shut. They'd gotten hilariously lucky - the cabling burn out was localised to a single coil and refitting the damaged ones took less time than they expected. He'd be willing to put money on a yard crew not managing the work half as fast as they had even with everything shut down.
"Good work, team. Pierson, Briggs, back to your stations. I want the capacitors charged as soon as systems are back online, y'here? Good."
A junior lieutenant from Plank's department tapped him arm, drawing him away from the group.
"Captain, I've got… concerns about the stability of the drive."
"Iverson, right?"
"Yessir, Cally Iverson." The lieutenant's pips on her shoulder were still bright and shiny - a new arrival to the ship.
"Listen, Iverson: the Colonel wants a functioning FTL drive such that we can make it to Troy and catch up with our shuttles, right?" They nodded, "We need to make one jump, that's it."
"If we burn them out completely though-"
"Then we've given the Colonel what she wanted. If we have to make it back from Troy to Leonis at sub-light speeds so be it. Maybe if we had that much time now, we'd be able to get them back to full operational stability. As it is, the Colonel needed them up as soon as possible. So we make sacrifices."
"I understand that…"
"Good. You ever worked with a damage control team?" Plank asked, trying to sound paternalistic and caring.
"Not since the Academy."
"Attach yourself to one. If the drives go, it'll be down to DC to contain the damage. I want sharp eyes and quick wits keeping track of everything. Understood?"
"Aye Sir."
"Good. Good." He turned away from the young lieutenant and heard their footsteps on the metal deck as they slipped away, correctly assuming their dismissal. "Gods, I hope this works."
The drives weren't just unstable - they needed a six hour rebalance and configuration period before they were safe to jump the ship again. He would just have to say his prayers and hope nothing would go wrong. He'd done everything he could and only time would tell if it would be enough.
- - -
Major 'Tally' Knaggs, Main Plot
Rolls 2d10+0 = 7, Miss
Threat clock ticked once.
Readiness track decreased one step - Readiness track cannot go any lower than -4.
The Gods must have been watching over them because while the DRADIS pings got stronger and more defined as the six craft fled towards Troy's thin atmosphere, nothing seemed interested in coming after them. The Cylons would have shown themselves by now, Knaggs thought. They weren't interested in subtlety. Oh, they set traps, she'd escaped enough of them to know that. But once the trap was sprung they came down on you like a storm.
Whatever was happening here, it might not be the cylons - but Major Knaggs wasn't interested in taking extra unnecessary risks.
So on they plunged. She lifted the nose of her viper as the atmosphere started tugging at her ship in earnest, exposing the well-plated belly to the rapidly increasing friction and heat. The Viper was designed for intra-atmosphere work, but normally deorbit was approached far slower than in a headlong rush. But that would be an additional risk, and Blue flight's survival was resting on her shoulders. Not today. Today, reentry would be done at full military power with the fighters belly working as a heat shield.
Plasma crept up to lick at the corners of the wind shield, charring it along the bottom edge. The leading edges of her wings turned cherry red, then bright orange. Her flight suit flushed itself with coolant retained for just such an emergency and her muscles tensed at the sudden chill that flowed around her body. She managed a glance to port, then starboard. On one wing were the other three vipers of the flight, just as hot and glowing as she was. Off of the other were the two raptors which flaked little white hot chunks of plating as they fell on their flat bellies.
The six ships slowed quickly as the atmosphere thickened and soon they were flying under their own power rather than just dropping in free fall. Storm clouds roiled below them, flashes of lightning casting blooms of white and blue light that pulsed against the grey and yellow tempest. Troy was not a kind world, nor a comfortable one to live on. Easy to hide a flight of colonial fighters and shuttles on though.
"Tally… pings getting stronger… station in atmo."
The comms call was distorted, half the call blown away by the ionised atmosphere.
"Say again, Blue Flight, I'm not reading you."
"DRADIS pings… think they have a.... Atmo."
That was enough. Whoever was pinging them, the atmo wasn't going to save Blue Flight because they were on Troy with them. Coming here was a mistake, a big goddamn mistake, and there was every chance that their escape route was now going to be their graveyard.
She looked up to scan the horizon and her blood froze in her veins. Emerging from a cloud bank, rising on its thrusters, was an enormous shape. The alligator head of an armoured warship pushed aside the clouds, the grey-steel colouration stark against the dust and dirt and shadow. Even from a distance she could see gun turrets extend and begin to swivel around towards Blue Flight.
"All units, all units, dive! Dive now!"
-
"All stations report condition one, Sir."
"Thank you." Phoibe took a moment to catch the eye of Major Ridley. They didn't quite smile, but their strained expression softened just a little, "We're ready."
"Aye, Sir."
"Let's go find our pilots. Jump!"
Columbia disappeared in a flash of blue-white light and, not even a moment later, appeared above the roiling clouds of Troy.
Ship Morale: -1
Ship Readiness: -4
Threat Clock: 5/10 (This has gone down because I thought it should not because of anything y'all did)
Colonel Alduino Morale: +1
Captain Plank Morale: 0
Major 'Tally' Knaggs Morale: 0
We're now entering the threat phase! In the threat phase, you only take one action per turn, or use a Move (those things listed under each character) and any rolls made are modified by ship Morale and ship Readiness.
Yeah… ooft…
The ship will detect the other as soon as their DRADIS is online. What's the first move?
[ ] Everyone Comes Home Alive, Knaggs' move protects Dramatis Personae from the GM.
[ ] Recover Blue Flight, deploy Vipers to find and bring home Blue Flight
[ ] Main Batteries to Salvo, engage the enemy directly with the Columbia's guns
[ ] Open a Line, negotiation comes before violence. Who are these enemies?
Rolls 2d10+0 = 11, Partial Success
Personal Morale improved by one step.
Ship Morale decreased by one step.
"Carlisle?"
Phoibe Alduino rubbed the bridge of her nose with the back of her hand, chasing away the frustration via physical sensation. Her joints ached in sympathy with her roiling mood, the psychological thunderheads presaging a physical pressure front. With Columbia essentially out of action and Blue Flight still on its way to Troy, there was little more she could do here but grow more prickly. So she drew her XO's attention.
"Sir?" They answered.
They looked untroubled by the current… she hesitated to call it a crisis, but there wasn't much else she could think to label it. She felt helpless and Ridley seemed like they were cruising comfortably enough. If that was the case then they could stand to manage it alone for a little while.
"You have the conn, XO. I'll be in my quarters, call me the moment we hear anything from Blue Flight."
"Aye, Sir."
She walked off of the CiC with the first hints of a spring in her step. Free from the oppressive yoke of command, if only for a little while, she could already feel the pressure receding. She already knew what she was going to do once she got back to her bunk; first, an anti-anxiety tablet and second, a plate of something hot and cooked.
As soon as the hatch closed behind her, she pulled her hair from the tight bun, shucked her jacket and stretched. It was a long, self indulgent stretch of the kind that left a person smacking their lips and ready for anything. What Phoibe was ready for was a plate of food she'd made herself.
She switched on a two-plate electric hob and let it heat up while she found her medication and washed the pill down with a gulp of chilled water. She could already feel her body beginning to relax just from the change of circumstances, and the tablet would help just a little bit more. In an hour or so she'd be able to walk back into the CiC in a far better frame of mind than she was currently managing. Food would help even more and she had had a small refrigerator installed in her quarters for just that reason.
She pulled open the door and let chill air wash over her, raising goosebumps on the small amount of skin her uniformed left exposed. There was leftover pancake batter from a few days previously, a slice of rich, dark, chocolate cake that she'd made more than a week ago and should probably throw out if she was being honest with herself. But she wasn't feeling like a sweet - carbohydrates would sustain her better in the coming hours and sugar risked ramping up her anxiety when it was already bad. Something easy, filling and savoury then. She started pulling ingredients out of the fridge with a decisive air.
A pan went on the heat with a little oil and, as soon as it was hot enough to glisten, she added a piece of bright pink fish that had come with the last supply shuttle. After a few minutes it was just beginning to caramelise along the edges of the cut, flaking to pieces almost as soon as she touched it. She followed with shallots and scallions to add a fresh, natural flavour to the already delicious fish, then ginger for that sharp, sweetness and chili flakes, because what was food without a little heat? Finally she threw in soft vermicelli noodles and fried the whole mixture for a couple of minutes more. The smell was making her mouth water already and it took all of her self-control not to eat it directly from the pan.
Instead she found a bowl and arranged the stir fried dish artfully with a little extra sauce drizzled over the top. She found some chopsticks and, sitting down at the desk, dragged over a pile of the interminable paperwork she had to do before digging in.
She got four bites into the meal before the intercom called her attention.
-
"Situation report." The Colonel demanded as she walked back into the CiC. Wiping her lips with a handkerchief of the last remnants of a very rushed meal, she straightened her uniform and returned the door guards salute. Major Carlisle was pacing back and forth in front of the plot table with a face like thunder.
"Blue Flight, we lost their signals five minutes ago."
"They've gone behind Troy's shadow then." They shouldn't be, not at the speed they were making, but she couldn't face other options just yet.
"Not a chance." His tone was biting.
"Anything on DRADIS?" she asked, glancing up at the repeater mounted above her head. It was entirely empty now, not even the reports from Blue Flight to busy it up.
Carlisle didn't respond. She met their eyes and found a glimmer of anger in them. They were holding back and she appreciated it but there would have to be a reckoning at some point. Perhaps they would be amenable to a meal when this current situation had been resolved.
"Comms! Send a message to Engineering - I want the FTL drive fixed within a half hour." She took hold of the edge of the plotting table in the centre of the CiC, her now customary position, and stared down her enraged Executive Officer. "It is the most I can do."
"I hope it is enough."
- - -
Captain Plank, Main Plot
Rolls 2d10+0 = 7, Miss
Threat clock ticked once.
Readiness track decreased one step - Readiness track cannot go any lower than -4.
"-Colonel wants the drive up in a half hour!"
"Does the Colonel want to come down here and get grease on her hands for the next half hour?" Plank called back from where he was battling with a wire fitting, shoulder deep in the upper core mechanism, "No, I figure not. It'll be ready when it's ready."
"Want me to send that back, Captain?"
"No, Briggs, I do not want you to send a near-mutinous messages to our commanding officer. Tell her I'll do my best."
Briggs' footsteps echoed as he ran back down the access corridor from where he'd come. Plank looked back at the fitting that had been giving him so much trouble and realised that while he'd been distracted he'd somehow managed to fit it back in the right place.
It wasn't done but it was a step in the right direction.
-
Forty-five minutes and two requests for updates from the Colonel, Plank and his team fitted the last drive panel back into place and screwed it shut. They'd gotten hilariously lucky - the cabling burn out was localised to a single coil and refitting the damaged ones took less time than they expected. He'd be willing to put money on a yard crew not managing the work half as fast as they had even with everything shut down.
"Good work, team. Pierson, Briggs, back to your stations. I want the capacitors charged as soon as systems are back online, y'here? Good."
A junior lieutenant from Plank's department tapped him arm, drawing him away from the group.
"Captain, I've got… concerns about the stability of the drive."
"Iverson, right?"
"Yessir, Cally Iverson." The lieutenant's pips on her shoulder were still bright and shiny - a new arrival to the ship.
"Listen, Iverson: the Colonel wants a functioning FTL drive such that we can make it to Troy and catch up with our shuttles, right?" They nodded, "We need to make one jump, that's it."
"If we burn them out completely though-"
"Then we've given the Colonel what she wanted. If we have to make it back from Troy to Leonis at sub-light speeds so be it. Maybe if we had that much time now, we'd be able to get them back to full operational stability. As it is, the Colonel needed them up as soon as possible. So we make sacrifices."
"I understand that…"
"Good. You ever worked with a damage control team?" Plank asked, trying to sound paternalistic and caring.
"Not since the Academy."
"Attach yourself to one. If the drives go, it'll be down to DC to contain the damage. I want sharp eyes and quick wits keeping track of everything. Understood?"
"Aye Sir."
"Good. Good." He turned away from the young lieutenant and heard their footsteps on the metal deck as they slipped away, correctly assuming their dismissal. "Gods, I hope this works."
The drives weren't just unstable - they needed a six hour rebalance and configuration period before they were safe to jump the ship again. He would just have to say his prayers and hope nothing would go wrong. He'd done everything he could and only time would tell if it would be enough.
- - -
Major 'Tally' Knaggs, Main Plot
Rolls 2d10+0 = 7, Miss
Threat clock ticked once.
Readiness track decreased one step - Readiness track cannot go any lower than -4.
The Gods must have been watching over them because while the DRADIS pings got stronger and more defined as the six craft fled towards Troy's thin atmosphere, nothing seemed interested in coming after them. The Cylons would have shown themselves by now, Knaggs thought. They weren't interested in subtlety. Oh, they set traps, she'd escaped enough of them to know that. But once the trap was sprung they came down on you like a storm.
Whatever was happening here, it might not be the cylons - but Major Knaggs wasn't interested in taking extra unnecessary risks.
So on they plunged. She lifted the nose of her viper as the atmosphere started tugging at her ship in earnest, exposing the well-plated belly to the rapidly increasing friction and heat. The Viper was designed for intra-atmosphere work, but normally deorbit was approached far slower than in a headlong rush. But that would be an additional risk, and Blue flight's survival was resting on her shoulders. Not today. Today, reentry would be done at full military power with the fighters belly working as a heat shield.
Plasma crept up to lick at the corners of the wind shield, charring it along the bottom edge. The leading edges of her wings turned cherry red, then bright orange. Her flight suit flushed itself with coolant retained for just such an emergency and her muscles tensed at the sudden chill that flowed around her body. She managed a glance to port, then starboard. On one wing were the other three vipers of the flight, just as hot and glowing as she was. Off of the other were the two raptors which flaked little white hot chunks of plating as they fell on their flat bellies.
The six ships slowed quickly as the atmosphere thickened and soon they were flying under their own power rather than just dropping in free fall. Storm clouds roiled below them, flashes of lightning casting blooms of white and blue light that pulsed against the grey and yellow tempest. Troy was not a kind world, nor a comfortable one to live on. Easy to hide a flight of colonial fighters and shuttles on though.
"Tally… pings getting stronger… station in atmo."
The comms call was distorted, half the call blown away by the ionised atmosphere.
"Say again, Blue Flight, I'm not reading you."
"DRADIS pings… think they have a.... Atmo."
That was enough. Whoever was pinging them, the atmo wasn't going to save Blue Flight because they were on Troy with them. Coming here was a mistake, a big goddamn mistake, and there was every chance that their escape route was now going to be their graveyard.
She looked up to scan the horizon and her blood froze in her veins. Emerging from a cloud bank, rising on its thrusters, was an enormous shape. The alligator head of an armoured warship pushed aside the clouds, the grey-steel colouration stark against the dust and dirt and shadow. Even from a distance she could see gun turrets extend and begin to swivel around towards Blue Flight.
"All units, all units, dive! Dive now!"
-
"All stations report condition one, Sir."
"Thank you." Phoibe took a moment to catch the eye of Major Ridley. They didn't quite smile, but their strained expression softened just a little, "We're ready."
"Aye, Sir."
"Let's go find our pilots. Jump!"
Columbia disappeared in a flash of blue-white light and, not even a moment later, appeared above the roiling clouds of Troy.
Ship Morale: -1
Ship Readiness: -4
Threat Clock: 5/10 (This has gone down because I thought it should not because of anything y'all did)
Colonel Alduino Morale: +1
Captain Plank Morale: 0
Major 'Tally' Knaggs Morale: 0
We're now entering the threat phase! In the threat phase, you only take one action per turn, or use a Move (those things listed under each character) and any rolls made are modified by ship Morale and ship Readiness.
Yeah… ooft…
The ship will detect the other as soon as their DRADIS is online. What's the first move?
[ ] Everyone Comes Home Alive, Knaggs' move protects Dramatis Personae from the GM.
[ ] Recover Blue Flight, deploy Vipers to find and bring home Blue Flight
[ ] Main Batteries to Salvo, engage the enemy directly with the Columbia's guns
[ ] Open a Line, negotiation comes before violence. Who are these enemies?
[X] Open a Line, negotiation comes before violence. Who are these enemies
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] Open a Line, negotiation comes before violence. Who are these enemies?
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
If someone could roll me... 2d10-5 that would be helpful please.
Yeah, low readiness is a /bad/ time.
Yeah, low readiness is a /bad/ time.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Diiiiice
1.4
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
Battlestar Columbia, Threat Action
Rolls 2d10-5: 10+7-5: 12
Partial Success - Success with consequences
"Launch alert Vipers!" Phoibe's tone was decisive. At best, they'd be able to rendezvous with the out-of-contact Blue Flight and escort them home. At worst, the Columbia would have a better chance in combat with a full squadron in the air.
The ship didn't even shudder as the fighters were catapulted from their tubes, its enormous bulk absorbing the recoil of the magnetic launchers. She only knew they had launched successfully as their blips appeared one at a time on the DRADIS display. It was slowly coming back online after the disruption of the jump, picking up IFFs first because the signals were so clear. Then, a second later-
"Colonel! Blue Flight transponders detected, they're still flying!"
"Well, how about that?" She said, turning to look at her XO with the beginnings of a relieved smile, "It appears we might-"
"Colonel, DRADIS report. Unidentified contact bearing 2-7-4 carom 3-0-7, range four-thousand. Capital grade."
"Spoke too soon eh, Colonel?" Ridley asked. She threw him a filthy look.
"IFF?" she asked, directing her question to the tactical officer.
"No, Sir, none received yet."
"Comms, get me a line to Blue Flight."
Phoibe Alduino hefted the bulky 'phone in her hand, feeling the comfort of its weight. Why could nothing today be simple?
- - -
"Dive! Dive Now!"
Tally Knaggs pushed her stick forwards and the world went red. Even with her flight suit compensating, blood was pushed into her head by the G-forces. She tensed, held her breath and hoped as the Viper shot nose first into the thick clouds. Levelling out in the murky air she felt, rather than heard, the first explosions of enemy weapons fire.
Whoever the hell they were, they weren't cylons - the ship looked Colonial - but they were sure as sure shooting at Colonial Vipers like they were. Her fighter rocked as a shell burst a little too close for comfort, though fortunately it seemed as though she'd escaped the worst of it. She'd have to say a prayer to the Gods of Kobol when she got back to the ship.
"Blue flight, Tally, sound off!" She called through open comms. The interference was fierce but they were close enough together - she hoped - that the call would get through even so.
"Busker, I'm with you Major."
"Pebbles, all good."
"Smokey, five by five Major."
"Raptor two, clear."
Raptor two. Shit. Someone was missing.
"Raptor One, this is Tally, come in…" She paused, waiting for the call back, "Raptor One, sound off."
She waited, feeling the winds buffeting her Viper, the little shake in her control stick as the fighter's computer made tiny corrections to keep it flying stably. She was all but ready to give up when finally her comm set crackled to life.
"Tally, Raptor One… We're hit."
-
Raptor One, pilot callsign Hercules, plunged into the clouds in the wake of the rest of Blue Flight. Hercs ECO was already firing off spoof signals, trying to disorient the enemy gunner's DRADIS systems and keep them away. As the clouds parted in front of the blunt-nosed bird he breathed a sigh of relief. He glanced over at the Marine NCO in the seat next to him and flashed her a winning smile.
At the same moment, a flak shell detonated three metres off the starboard side. Shrapnel punched a hundred holes in the Raptor's barely armoured hull. The Marine slumped forwards, killed instantly. The screaming of the atmosphere tearing at the shrapnel holes was matched by the screaming of the passengers in the rear compartment. Somehow Hercules was unscathed, untouched by the deadly blades of shell fragments and ruined Raptor hull.
"Tally, Raptor One… We're hit."
-
"Make for the surface, Raptor One, we'll get SAR on the way as soon as we can." Goddammit. No casualty report, no damage report, but if one of those ships shells hit a bird she doubted it was a pretty scene inside. It was a miracle the pilot still had the wherewithal to respond to a comm check.
She noticed another light on her wireless board and punched the button with her thumb.
"What!" She snapped, holding the stick firmly.
"Blue Lead, hold for Columbia actual."
Oh
"Tally, sit rep." The Colonel sounded about as frustrated as she was, though maybe a little less busy.
"Not Good, Colonel. One bird wounded, enemy ship between us and orbit."
"Enemy? You're sure?"
"They've put Raptor One out of action, is that sure enough?"
There was a pregnant pause and for a moment Tally was tempted to ask the other woman what the frak she was waiting for. The Columbia had a weapons package capable of downing any Cylon ship, it was time to turn this one into scrap metal.
"Copy that, Blue Lead. Keep your team away from the action. We'll have a search and rescue team out to your transponders as soon as the skies are clear."
"Aye, Sir." She replied and cut off the comm channel. Just keep doing what you're doing and wait. Sure. She could do that. Hopefully Blue Flight would still be alive by the time they'd finished waiting.
- - -
The wireless handset went dead in Colonel Alduino's hand and she replaced it in its cradle with an almost tentative motion. She was frustrated, furious. Indignant. But now wasn't the time for fiery passion, now was the time for decisive action.
"Major Ridley, get on the 'phone to the flight deck, I want two squadrons readied for strike operations as soon as possible. Helm, maintain station at four-thousand from the enemy and roll to present the main battery. Tactical, ready primary railguns for full attack and load all missile tubes, conventional only. Fire on my order and not a moment before. And Comms?"
"Yes, Sir!"
"Prepare a message for the enemy ship."
"Channel is open, Sir."
"Attention unknown vessel, this is the Battlestar Columbia. Identify yourself and stand down or you will be fired upon. I repeat you will be fired upon."
They waited for a response. Minutes passed. Then, finally;
"Battlestar Columbia, this is the Independent Warstar Kephelonia. We recommend you leave this airspace as soon as possible or risk a diplomatic incident. Recall your Vipers and leave, Columbia."
The Columbia's air wing is ready for combat and the guns are armed. What do you do?
[ ] Launch Viper. Open Fire. Commit to the attack.
[ ] Deploy Vipers to cover Blue Flights return, but do not attack directly.
[ ] Stand off and attempt to continue negotiations.
[ ] Deploy Search-And-Rescue Raptors, not vipers, to Blue flights position and abandon the airframes on Troy.
Rolls 2d10-5: 10+7-5: 12
Partial Success - Success with consequences
"Launch alert Vipers!" Phoibe's tone was decisive. At best, they'd be able to rendezvous with the out-of-contact Blue Flight and escort them home. At worst, the Columbia would have a better chance in combat with a full squadron in the air.
The ship didn't even shudder as the fighters were catapulted from their tubes, its enormous bulk absorbing the recoil of the magnetic launchers. She only knew they had launched successfully as their blips appeared one at a time on the DRADIS display. It was slowly coming back online after the disruption of the jump, picking up IFFs first because the signals were so clear. Then, a second later-
"Colonel! Blue Flight transponders detected, they're still flying!"
"Well, how about that?" She said, turning to look at her XO with the beginnings of a relieved smile, "It appears we might-"
"Colonel, DRADIS report. Unidentified contact bearing 2-7-4 carom 3-0-7, range four-thousand. Capital grade."
"Spoke too soon eh, Colonel?" Ridley asked. She threw him a filthy look.
"IFF?" she asked, directing her question to the tactical officer.
"No, Sir, none received yet."
"Comms, get me a line to Blue Flight."
Phoibe Alduino hefted the bulky 'phone in her hand, feeling the comfort of its weight. Why could nothing today be simple?
- - -
"Dive! Dive Now!"
Tally Knaggs pushed her stick forwards and the world went red. Even with her flight suit compensating, blood was pushed into her head by the G-forces. She tensed, held her breath and hoped as the Viper shot nose first into the thick clouds. Levelling out in the murky air she felt, rather than heard, the first explosions of enemy weapons fire.
Whoever the hell they were, they weren't cylons - the ship looked Colonial - but they were sure as sure shooting at Colonial Vipers like they were. Her fighter rocked as a shell burst a little too close for comfort, though fortunately it seemed as though she'd escaped the worst of it. She'd have to say a prayer to the Gods of Kobol when she got back to the ship.
"Blue flight, Tally, sound off!" She called through open comms. The interference was fierce but they were close enough together - she hoped - that the call would get through even so.
"Busker, I'm with you Major."
"Pebbles, all good."
"Smokey, five by five Major."
"Raptor two, clear."
Raptor two. Shit. Someone was missing.
"Raptor One, this is Tally, come in…" She paused, waiting for the call back, "Raptor One, sound off."
She waited, feeling the winds buffeting her Viper, the little shake in her control stick as the fighter's computer made tiny corrections to keep it flying stably. She was all but ready to give up when finally her comm set crackled to life.
"Tally, Raptor One… We're hit."
-
Raptor One, pilot callsign Hercules, plunged into the clouds in the wake of the rest of Blue Flight. Hercs ECO was already firing off spoof signals, trying to disorient the enemy gunner's DRADIS systems and keep them away. As the clouds parted in front of the blunt-nosed bird he breathed a sigh of relief. He glanced over at the Marine NCO in the seat next to him and flashed her a winning smile.
At the same moment, a flak shell detonated three metres off the starboard side. Shrapnel punched a hundred holes in the Raptor's barely armoured hull. The Marine slumped forwards, killed instantly. The screaming of the atmosphere tearing at the shrapnel holes was matched by the screaming of the passengers in the rear compartment. Somehow Hercules was unscathed, untouched by the deadly blades of shell fragments and ruined Raptor hull.
"Tally, Raptor One… We're hit."
-
"Make for the surface, Raptor One, we'll get SAR on the way as soon as we can." Goddammit. No casualty report, no damage report, but if one of those ships shells hit a bird she doubted it was a pretty scene inside. It was a miracle the pilot still had the wherewithal to respond to a comm check.
She noticed another light on her wireless board and punched the button with her thumb.
"What!" She snapped, holding the stick firmly.
"Blue Lead, hold for Columbia actual."
Oh
"Tally, sit rep." The Colonel sounded about as frustrated as she was, though maybe a little less busy.
"Not Good, Colonel. One bird wounded, enemy ship between us and orbit."
"Enemy? You're sure?"
"They've put Raptor One out of action, is that sure enough?"
There was a pregnant pause and for a moment Tally was tempted to ask the other woman what the frak she was waiting for. The Columbia had a weapons package capable of downing any Cylon ship, it was time to turn this one into scrap metal.
"Copy that, Blue Lead. Keep your team away from the action. We'll have a search and rescue team out to your transponders as soon as the skies are clear."
"Aye, Sir." She replied and cut off the comm channel. Just keep doing what you're doing and wait. Sure. She could do that. Hopefully Blue Flight would still be alive by the time they'd finished waiting.
- - -
The wireless handset went dead in Colonel Alduino's hand and she replaced it in its cradle with an almost tentative motion. She was frustrated, furious. Indignant. But now wasn't the time for fiery passion, now was the time for decisive action.
"Major Ridley, get on the 'phone to the flight deck, I want two squadrons readied for strike operations as soon as possible. Helm, maintain station at four-thousand from the enemy and roll to present the main battery. Tactical, ready primary railguns for full attack and load all missile tubes, conventional only. Fire on my order and not a moment before. And Comms?"
"Yes, Sir!"
"Prepare a message for the enemy ship."
"Channel is open, Sir."
"Attention unknown vessel, this is the Battlestar Columbia. Identify yourself and stand down or you will be fired upon. I repeat you will be fired upon."
They waited for a response. Minutes passed. Then, finally;
"Battlestar Columbia, this is the Independent Warstar Kephelonia. We recommend you leave this airspace as soon as possible or risk a diplomatic incident. Recall your Vipers and leave, Columbia."
The Columbia's air wing is ready for combat and the guns are armed. What do you do?
[ ] Launch Viper. Open Fire. Commit to the attack.
[ ] Deploy Vipers to cover Blue Flights return, but do not attack directly.
[ ] Stand off and attempt to continue negotiations.
[ ] Deploy Search-And-Rescue Raptors, not vipers, to Blue flights position and abandon the airframes on Troy.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] Stand off and attempt to continue negotiations.
- Location
- U S of A
[X] Deploy Vipers to cover Blue Flights return, but do not attack directly.
This risks escalating the situation but frankly they already fired on us with, as far as I can tell, no warning given. Warning us about a "diplomatic incident" is pretty rich on their part. On the other hand, our ship isn't exactly in fighting fit but that doesn't exactly bode well for our chances of talking them down either.
This risks escalating the situation but frankly they already fired on us with, as far as I can tell, no warning given. Warning us about a "diplomatic incident" is pretty rich on their part. On the other hand, our ship isn't exactly in fighting fit but that doesn't exactly bode well for our chances of talking them down either.
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Deploy Vipers to cover Blue Flights return, but do not attack directly.
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
Can I have a roll of 2d10-5 for this action please?
[X] Launch Viper. Open Fire. Commit to the attack
You don't get to open fire without communication and claim the high ground.
Seize the initiative and rescue our personnel.
You don't get to open fire without communication and claim the high ground.
Seize the initiative and rescue our personnel.
1.5
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
Battlestar Columbia, Threat Action
Rolls 2d10-5: 2+6-5: 3
Miss - GM takes a Hard Move
Phoibe stood in the centre of the CiC processing the message they had just received from the enemy warship. She was acutely aware that every eye in the room was on her, waiting for orders. She could be decisive - but was this the time for decisive action? Whoever this enemy was they were clearly unwilling to negotiate, but she would still be the one to write the reports to the admiralty. Her orders would have to come with the confidence that she was doing the right thing.
"Who are you?" She asked almost to herself, her own eyes fixed on the DRADIS repeater suspended above the plotting board.
"A threat." Ridley responded.
She met her XO's eyes and found them looking confident, determined. They weren't accusatory or questioning. They were ready to take orders and give them if need be.
"I thought we were busy enough with the Cylons."
"The Admiralty certainly doesn't seem to think so."
Phoibe almost laughed. Perhaps if she returned to Leonis with a new enemy to fight they'd be rewarded for giving Colonial Fleet more work.
"Any sign of fighters?" She asked the CiC at large.
"None, Colonel."
"Major, the 45th are to enter the atmosphere of Troy and rendezvous with Blue Flight. They are not to engage the enemy warship. I don't want a shooting fight without Columbia's guns in range."
The 45th were one of the battlestars' permanent fighter squadrons, specialist interceptors trained for dogfighting and with multiple commendations for actions against the Cylons. They would absolutely be able to handle a simple escort mission.
-
As the aircraft of Blue Flight sank deeper into the storms of Troy and Raptor One plunged towards the grim, barren surface, the Warstar Kephelonia rose instead. It rose from the storm clouds, the buffeting winds and flashing lighting, on great thrusters that roared in the thin air. The hot glow of the tylium burn lit the cold maelstrom bright orange and deep red. Water vapour flashed into steam that washed great streaks across its armoured flanks, so covered in the planet's dust as they were.
The Kephelonia rose and the Columbia sank deeper in its orbit to meet it. Two leviathans in space, armoured hides turned to face one another and ready to engage in a duel of gods at a moments notice.
Almost unnoticeable at this grand scale, the twelve fighters of the 45th Interceptor Squadron sped at full thrust towards the planet. Their course was not for their enemy but for the storm it had escaped from, for the planet and for their comrades. To the Warstar and her commanders this barely mattered. To the Warstar, whether these fighters were actively hostile or not, they were a confrontation. A threat. A choice.
-
"Hold formation, Hi Top, we don't want them getting spooked."
"Archer, Neutron, enemy at 3 o'clock high."
"I see 'em Neutron, stay tight."
"Can't believe we're not given 'em hell-"
"Stow that chatter. We've got a job and we'll do it."
"Hey, whassat?"
"Missiles, missiles, anyone got locks?"
"No chirps on the warning set."
"I can see 'em clear enough. Squadron break, break break."
"Columbia, are you seeing this?"
"What the hell?!"
"Cluster warheads! Pull hard!"
"Can't break the lock-"
"Hi Top is gone, repeat-"
"Krypter, krypter, krypter."
"This is Archer, all unit-"
-
"The 45th is… the squadron is combat ineffective, Colonel."
"What now Colonel?" Ridley asked her, their knuckles white where they gripped the table.
What now? What sort of question was that? She'd chosen to deploy in piecemeal and given the enemy the initiative. Now they were trailing behind and she'd just gotten an entire squadron killed. She needed to act.
Ship Morale: -1
Ship Readiness: -4
Threat Clock: 7/10
Colonel Alduino Morale: +1
Captain Plank Morale: 0
Major 'Tally' Knaggs Morale: 0
What now?
[ ] All guns and missile tubes, fire!
[ ] Launch the Viper strike mission!
[ ] Descend into low orbit and recover Blue Flight, damn the damage!
Rolls 2d10-5: 2+6-5: 3
Miss - GM takes a Hard Move
Phoibe stood in the centre of the CiC processing the message they had just received from the enemy warship. She was acutely aware that every eye in the room was on her, waiting for orders. She could be decisive - but was this the time for decisive action? Whoever this enemy was they were clearly unwilling to negotiate, but she would still be the one to write the reports to the admiralty. Her orders would have to come with the confidence that she was doing the right thing.
"Who are you?" She asked almost to herself, her own eyes fixed on the DRADIS repeater suspended above the plotting board.
"A threat." Ridley responded.
She met her XO's eyes and found them looking confident, determined. They weren't accusatory or questioning. They were ready to take orders and give them if need be.
"I thought we were busy enough with the Cylons."
"The Admiralty certainly doesn't seem to think so."
Phoibe almost laughed. Perhaps if she returned to Leonis with a new enemy to fight they'd be rewarded for giving Colonial Fleet more work.
"Any sign of fighters?" She asked the CiC at large.
"None, Colonel."
"Major, the 45th are to enter the atmosphere of Troy and rendezvous with Blue Flight. They are not to engage the enemy warship. I don't want a shooting fight without Columbia's guns in range."
The 45th were one of the battlestars' permanent fighter squadrons, specialist interceptors trained for dogfighting and with multiple commendations for actions against the Cylons. They would absolutely be able to handle a simple escort mission.
-
As the aircraft of Blue Flight sank deeper into the storms of Troy and Raptor One plunged towards the grim, barren surface, the Warstar Kephelonia rose instead. It rose from the storm clouds, the buffeting winds and flashing lighting, on great thrusters that roared in the thin air. The hot glow of the tylium burn lit the cold maelstrom bright orange and deep red. Water vapour flashed into steam that washed great streaks across its armoured flanks, so covered in the planet's dust as they were.
The Kephelonia rose and the Columbia sank deeper in its orbit to meet it. Two leviathans in space, armoured hides turned to face one another and ready to engage in a duel of gods at a moments notice.
Almost unnoticeable at this grand scale, the twelve fighters of the 45th Interceptor Squadron sped at full thrust towards the planet. Their course was not for their enemy but for the storm it had escaped from, for the planet and for their comrades. To the Warstar and her commanders this barely mattered. To the Warstar, whether these fighters were actively hostile or not, they were a confrontation. A threat. A choice.
-
"Hold formation, Hi Top, we don't want them getting spooked."
"Archer, Neutron, enemy at 3 o'clock high."
"I see 'em Neutron, stay tight."
"Can't believe we're not given 'em hell-"
"Stow that chatter. We've got a job and we'll do it."
"Hey, whassat?"
"Missiles, missiles, anyone got locks?"
"No chirps on the warning set."
"I can see 'em clear enough. Squadron break, break break."
"Columbia, are you seeing this?"
"What the hell?!"
"Cluster warheads! Pull hard!"
"Can't break the lock-"
"Hi Top is gone, repeat-"
"Krypter, krypter, krypter."
"This is Archer, all unit-"
-
"The 45th is… the squadron is combat ineffective, Colonel."
"What now Colonel?" Ridley asked her, their knuckles white where they gripped the table.
What now? What sort of question was that? She'd chosen to deploy in piecemeal and given the enemy the initiative. Now they were trailing behind and she'd just gotten an entire squadron killed. She needed to act.
Ship Morale: -1
Ship Readiness: -4
Threat Clock: 7/10
Colonel Alduino Morale: +1
Captain Plank Morale: 0
Major 'Tally' Knaggs Morale: 0
What now?
[ ] All guns and missile tubes, fire!
[ ] Launch the Viper strike mission!
[ ] Descend into low orbit and recover Blue Flight, damn the damage!
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
The way the system works, if you prepare poorly (through bad decision making or bad rolls) then you struggle during the threat and take harm.
But fear not! There's only a little of this episode left and then the numbers all reset!
[X] All guns and missile tubes, fire!
+ [X] Launch the Viper strike mission! - Target the Warstar's engines and force it back into atmosphere where it can't maneourvre.
+ [X] Launch the Viper strike mission! - Target the Warstar's engines and force it back into atmosphere where it can't maneourvre.
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
Can i get a 2d10-5 roll please 