| EVENT: Battle of Junction |
| Summary: | The (historic) Battle of Junction |
| Date: | 2658.142 |
| Related Logs: | BRIEFING: Battle of Junction |
| Players: |
 .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. |
< Name Weapon/Vehicle Damage Stance/Action Target
<
< Team 1
< Alec 13bs-2 (plt) ..... NOR/pass
< Chum Broadsword-5136W (p ..... NOR/pass
< Cole 13bs-3 (plt) X.... NOR/pass
< Doyle 221FS-1 (plt) ..... NOR/pass
< Draygo 221FS-5 (plt) ..... NOR/pass
< Frolic Broadsword-2743D (p ..... NOR/pass
< Jenthson 1087fs-1 (plt) ..... NOR/pass
< Kanani 221fs-7 (plt) ..... NOR/pass
<
< Team 2
< Dralthi1 Dralthi-7665Y (plt) ..... NOR/pass
< Dralthi2 Dralthi-6265Y (plt) ..... NOR/pass
< Dralthi3 Dralthi-6365Y (plt) ..... NOR/pass
< Dralthi4 Dralthi-1365Y (plt) ..... NOR/pass
< Grikath1 Grikath-1982K (plt) ..... NOR/pass
< Grikath2 Grikath-8482K (plt) ..... NOR/pass
< Sartha-1 Sartha-4688V (plt) ..... NOR/pass
< Sartha-2 Sartha-0788V (plt) ..... NOR/pass
< Sartha-3 Sartha-5188V (plt) ..... NOR/pass
<
< Team 3
< Dante TCS Majestic (pas) ..... NOR/pass
< Saint-cloud TCS Majestic (plt) ..... NOR/pass
< TCS Ball's BlufGettysburg-7083Y (p ..... NOR/pass
< TCS Honour Yorktown-4721J (plt ..... NOR/pass
< TCS Joan D'arc Exeter-8269P (plt) ..... NOR/attack
< TCS Pugilist Venture-1559A (plt) ..... NOR/attack
< TCS Tyson Venture-1947O (plt) ..... NOR/attack
<
< Team 4
< Fralthi1 Fralthi-2463G (plt) ..... NOR/pass
< Fralthi2 Fralthi-2863G (plt) ..... NOR/pass
< Kamekh1 Kamekh-3369Q (plt) ..... NOR/pass
< Kamekh2 Kamekh-7069Q (plt) ..... NOR/pass
< Ralari1 Ralari-6018R (plt) ..... NOR/pass
< Ralari2 Ralari-8118R (plt) ..... NOR/pass
< Ralari3 Ralari-7818R (plt) ..... NOR/pass
< Snakeir Snakeir-3276C (plt) ..... NOR/pass
It appears on sensors before becoming visible to the naked eye, and with each vessel revealed, it becomes clear. The Kilrathi really want the Junction system, and it's critical array of jump points. Carrier Battlegroup 13's luck is made evident as the formation is on final approach for perhaps the largest naval engagement to occur since New Constaninople. If they had not located this force, they would be on the defensive against a far larger foe on its terms, rather than attacking on the Confederation's own.
The central figure of the Kilrathi battlegroup is a fat-bodied Snakeir-class Carrier, home to almost twice the birds that Majestic herself can put into the air, and surrounding her, lending support to her defense, are three Fralthi-class vessels. A total of five Ralari-class destroyers are in escort positions, along with a skirmish line of four Kamekh-class torpedo boats. It is a hearty force with which to resist an already depleted 13th Carrier Battlegroup.
From the void, a large formation of human starfighters appear, nearly forty of them, to be precise. A collection of extremely old-model Scimitars, and Broadswords. But they are armed, and heading toward the formation with what speed they can muster. The Kilrathi CAP is already en route to engage, while yet more starfighters begin to scramble into space to meet this new threat. The human ships' formation is somewhat sloppy, and their manuevers do -not- come with military precision, but they do engage. One of the Fralthi, a pair of the Kamekhs, and two of the Ralari break away from the Snakeir to engage the Junction Militia, while the rest of the fleet begins to redeploy to turn their guns in that direction. The human target is clear: The vunerable troop transports, and tankers lying within the battlegroup, and already, weapons fire is filling the void, and ships on both side are dying. The Battle of Junction has begun
On the bridge, Dante sits in his command chair, hat on his head and cigar burning bright. He reaches for the comms. "All decks, report in. Fire Control." "Fire Control ready." "Engineering." "Engineering ready." "Damage Control." "Damage Control Ready." "Deck." "Deck Ready." "Major Jenthson. Report preparedness. Medical, check in. Let's give these bastards a what for."
From over the star's northern plane dives the Majestic, coming at the fleet like a sword, cutting through the sun's light it had been using to obscure itself as best as possible. At the helm plot in front of The Wall, thick fingers flying over his tactical and navigation consoles, Saint-Cloud sends commands to the actual physical helmsman. He guides them with nearly arcane mathamatics turned into visualized information of the intersecting points of near space objects, gravity, and other such datum. It is a LOT of information to sift through and then not only utilize here but send to the fleet. "Stay on course at Zero Three Two Degrees." he calls out to the helm. "Bring our pitch down four degrees.. We want to the lowest profile possible!" He swipes the controls and starts running his targetting filter to weed out marks in the plethora of targets and looks at Dante "We are in the cone, sir."
Dante nods sourly. "Good." "13th Battlegroup. Reprot in." "TCS Ball's Bluff Control reporting in." "TCS Honor Control reporting in. TCS Joan D'arc Control reporting in." "TCS Pugilist Control reporting in." And then there's the odder one: "TCS Tyson. Plan is green. We are en-route." Dange nods, "Battle stations." and then he grabs the radio for the Majestic, "TCS Majestic. This is your captain speaking. Battle stations. Battle stations. 13th Carrier Group, prepare to rally."
Strapped into his cockpit securely, Kell silently waits for the 'go' orders to come through and his turn to shoot out of the Majestic's launch tube. He does take a moment to pull out a small photograph out of a pocket and glance at it, a picture of his military parents, which he idly gazes over for a few seconds. He then decides to set it against the sloped canopy of his ship, above and to the side of his HUD. As an update comes in, the young Lieutenant quickly scans over his fighter status checklist one more time, making sure everything is green and good to go. He knows the flight crew always keeps his fighter in top shape when they can and his faith in them is unshakeable. Kell will also need to borrow some paint as well as he had an idea on what to do for his nose art but that can wait.
Kanani waits for the call to launch as she sits in the small cockpit of her fighter, and looks over all the displays to make sure everything's working fine. Once she's certain everything is in good working order, she readies herself for the upcoming launch and fight, settling into the seat just a bit, as she waits.
The Junction System Militia's fight is going far better than could be hoped for, in truth. Only a handful of their ships have been destroyed, and atleast three Lumbari drift broken, spilling troops, and supply into space. It has also managed to -fully- grab the attention of the Kilrathi, as they continue to send the majority of their starfighters, and escorts to engage the non-military pilots. The arrival of Majestic and her battlegroup take the Kilrathi by surprise. It will give the men and women of the 13th Carrier Battle Group a chance to do some real damage, before exposed to much danger, themselves. The time to launch is near. Once launched, a number of Kilrathi fighters are in the vicinity of the Majestic, as are a pair of Ralari-class destroyers, and two Kamekh's.
Dante snarls, "Jenthson, now would be the time." and then grabs the radio for the rest of the battlegroup. "Ignore the corvettes and go directly for the destroyers. Designation Kilo Delta Delta Alpha and Kilo Delta Delta Bravo. Watch the deck, estimating flak ring at eight thousand clicks." The 13th battlegroup swings into action, using the enormous momentum generated by the slingshot effect to maximum advantage. The Honour immediately begins launching starfighters, batteries facing any enemy fighter that looks likely to come near it. Guns on every deck of every ship burst into action, turning the black void of space into a literal laser lightshow the likes of which will probably burn into the mind of every pilot who survives it. It's the stuff PTSD is made from. The TCS Pugilist bravely flies directly in on Fralthi1, while the other, larger ships maneuver themselves, hoping for a slaughter, rather than a pounding match. "All ships report in." "We're go." "Go." "Go." "Go." "Go." "TCS Tyson moving into position. ETA two one seconds." The Battle of Junction has begun.
The Majestic goes from being a sword of light to being a sword of flame, burning bright as it's spews forth it's fighters in a storm of fire and it's weapons come online and start scattering photons across near space in a pulsing blaze. Saint-Cloud grits his teeth as he orders a change in yaw to try and squeeze their profile against the plots of incoming fire and fighters even thinner. "Bring us to three oh four by oh one nine mark twelve and light up everything in our path. We are The Blade, gentleman.. Time to spay and neuter."
Once the go order is given, Kell watches as the fighters waiting in front of him begin to spill out of the launch bay and when it is his turn, his own engines glow bright as his Stiletto picks up speed. He also exits the launch bay in quick order so those behind can have their turn and once out in the depth of space, Razor quickly forms up with his squadron. As orders are quickly giving by their squadron leader, he sends back a quick acknowledgement of orders and moves in to engage.
Sticking in close vicinity of the Broadswords from the 13th Squadron, Razor flicks a switch to switch over to Heat Seeker and it doesn't take him long to latch onto the tail of a Kilrathi, a Sartha as well. His sleek and nimble fight slices through the vacuum and cuts the distance between himself and the Sartha, waiting for the tone to go solid while sticking to the cat's tail. Once a one is achieved, Kell depresses the trigger stub on his flight stick, launching his first Heat Seeker.
The Kilrathi took a hammering in the opening salvos from the Confederation fleet, but it could have been much, much worse. One of the Kamekhs is torn apart by the newest bomber pilot's dead-eye torpedo, gutting the small capital from bridge to arse. While, a Fralthi and a Ralari are not in much better shape, already beginning to drift, though they try to contribute to the fight. As it stands, the Kilrathi are not slow to get their act together, as the remaining capitals, and a handful of newly arrived bombers begin to engage the fleet. All around, fighters from Majestic, and Honour begin to engage their Kilrathi counter-parts. The Junction System Militia have neared the end of their own rope, though. The more experienced Kilrathi are simply beginning to win out, and the militia begin to break, having left much of the troop transports intact, to the rear.
The 13th Battlegroup descends upon the Kilrathi fleet, fighting, as ordered by Commodore Claybourne, like dogs. Pilots will immediately find themselves in the middle of a torrential downpour of antimatter and lasers alike. One can probably get killed without anyone actually trying to do so, at this point, the missed shots just as deadly as the ones that strike. The TCS Ball's Bluff and the Joan D'arc fly broadsides with one of the two Fralthis, slamming shots into the hull and giving the Kilrathi destroyer a pounding it will never forget. The Honour's deck guns tear into several Kilrathi fighters and bombers as well. The radio chatter is telling. "Majestic, we have initiative." "Pugilist, this is the TCS Honour. Please move bearing zero zero nine mark one one." "Pugilist Control here. Copy. Moving on your order. Preparing for launch." Static crosses through the radio link, and Dante smiles to himself, clearly waiting for exactly this. "TCS Tyson." "Tyson here." "You have an opening Tyson. get to it." "On it, sir." The TCS Tyson absolutely -screams- into the scene, the corvette moving at insane speeds and presenting itself as a tactical surprise that the Kilrathi's battleplan, already adapting to the situation, will have no chance to be ready for. It is, as they say, getting free punches. "You are cleared. Let's see what these bastards do."
Saint-Cloud frowns as he tracks his own shots and curses. He retracks, sending updated information to his gun teams, cross coordinating movements, including his own. "Bring us about 5 degrees and keep us perpendicular to the Tyson.. Guns! Full spread on this arc! Grids 5 through 24 on the lower elliptical node." he says, even though he sends the orders digitally as well. He is smiling, however as the Tyson is being brought into play. "See how you like THAT you bastards."
"YES!" Alec manages to resist the urge to take a hand off the throttle and punch the air as internal fires rip through his former target. Teeth still gritted as he tries to take stock of the chaos, he banks Broadsword 2 hard, bringing the bomber up and over the doomed Kamekh like a stone skipping off water. Recieving Voodoo's order, he looks for the Snakeir - and he can hardly miss it. The bulbous Kilrathi carrier hangs against the blackness of space, thrown into stark relief by the cauldron of laser fire. His torpedo lock begins pinging again, his eyes narrow, and his thumb hovers on the release. "Alright, now," he tells himself, following the carrier's landing lights with his eyes, trying to bring his initial crazy rush under control. "The one that matters…"
The initial ambush wasn't as spectacular as Kell had hoped for but the Confed forces, including himself, got their licks in. With space lighting up with weapon fire all over, Razor knows that it's going to be half luck and half skill to stay out of random fire that may be blossoming from ships on both sides.
Instead of sticking to the tail of his current target, Kell quickly checks the location of the Broadswords and sees that they are peeling off to another target, the main target. The young Lieutenant does the same, pulling away from the damaged Sartha to remain with the Bomber group to fly cover for them. It isn't long before the Kilrathi fighter cover for their capital ships come into view, diving down on the bombers. Picking one of the Dralthis that are attacking the bombers, Razor quickly fires off his second Heat Seeker, either to destroy or force the hostile to peel off.
The Kilrathi strike back. Their Snakeir has very talented flak gunners, it would appear. They are able to cripple the bomber flight, and their escorts, but yet more bombers are en route. The bombers do their jobs, as well…pumping torpedos into the poor Honour, which while a salvagable ship, is quite close to being a wreck. It is not all bad, though. One of the Fralthi-class ships in the immediate vicinity begins to break apart, a victim of concentrated gunnery, with Majestic striking one of the killing blows, tearing the ship into separate halves. The Kilrathi are still confident, as the elite bomber squadron shifting their fire to anotther target, having eliminated Honour as a threat. She can be killed once the true battle has been won.
The Rhinos are also having success on their front, though holes have begun to appear in the squadron's formation. Three more of her 'Swords have fallen to enemy starfighters, and concentrated flak, but another Fralthi and Ralari have fallen to their torpedos. Their escorts are fighting for their lives, as Raptors, and Scimitars twist and turn with nearly three times their numbers in fighters, trying to keep the precious torpedo-loaded starships alive.
Dante smokes his cigar down to a butt, which he puts out on his console. He smiles faintly as things begin to go his way, though the Honour takes a god awful pounding. As parts of the TCS Honour are torn to pieces by torpedo hits, the Commodore narrows his gaze. He knows what's coming. He also knows he can't do a thing to stop it. "This is the TCS Honour. We're getting our asses kicked out here, fleet." Crosschatter continues: "*static* Fire on decks seven, eight, and nine. We've got hull breaches o*BOOM*" Dante picks up the comm, "TCS Ball's Bluff and Joan D'arc. Form a picket line with the TCS Majestic. I reckon this just turned into a shooting war." The TCS Honour does not explode into a billion pieces. Reality is crueler. The lights simply go out. All of them. The ship drifts in space, fires obvious on all decks. The lights aren't on. Nobody's home. At the very least, the engines aren't working. The turrets aren't tracking. It's hard to say if all hands are lost. On a ship that large, it's unlikely, but she is out of the fight. "Pugilist. Tyson. Target Designation Kilo Kilo Romeo Beta is your mark. Finish that goddamned cruiser off." He turns to the helm. "Take us around heading one one seven. I want all guns focused with the rest of the group. We're going to finish this off piecemail. Someone get me the Kilrathi fleet commander." He waits and, moments later, gets exactly that. He grins into the screen. "Goodbye, kitty. You cock sucking, inbred piece of shit. When we're done with you I reckon I'm gonna skullfuck you, and then pass your skull around so everyone on the ship gets sloppy seconds." He turns to the communications officer. "Disconnect me."
The Rhinos are being eaten up by a squadron of HHriss fighters that have just boiled free of the Snakeir, though they manage to down the final Kamekh on their wing of the Kilrathi flight, in the process of losing another pair of Broadswords. The Raptors flying escort, and those flying space superiority are holding their own, though. But, with the Snakeir still able to launch its absurd complement of fighters, it just doesn't seem to be enough.
It was all lined up perfectly, he could have sworn… and then, a sudden sharp crash switched off the world. The bomber drifts out of control, the torpedo shot going wide, far wide. McGrath blinks, near-stunned, unable to make sense of the instruments, the battle, why he's having to fight for breath, or why he can't feel his left arm.
Paz doesn't bother replying the transmission over the command channel, merely double clicking her mic to signal her reception. At the moment, she's a little on the busy side. Her image recognition missile's tracker head is seeking out one of the Grithka aces who have been plaguing her and her squadmates for weeks now, and there's no way she's going to let a hunt this important slide for the likes of a mere Commodore. "C'mon baby…." she whispers to herself, making constant adjustments to her attitude and vector to paint the enemy ship as cleanly as possible. "Come on…come on….just a little more…." A reassuring warbling fills her headphones as Paz squeezes the trigger.
The heat from the Dralthi's engine was glowing hot, hot enough for Kell's missile to track it rather easily as it flies on a speedy intercept course, impaling right through the armor due to its incredible speed and detonating inside the engine modules. What follows is a brilliant explosion as the Dralthi blasts apart, the half moon wings shattering and flying outwards. The victory is short lived though as Razor sees his squadron leader taking a nasty hit from another Dralthi who was flying cover for his kitty wingman.
The mission parameters for Razor doesn't change as he continues to focus on protecting the Broadswords of the 13th Bomber Squadron. Where one Kilrathi that was gunning for the 'Swords is removed, more are there to take its place as a pair of Krants show up. Selecting one of the heavily armored fighters, Razor's faster fighter catches up while keeping half an eye on the Sartha bearing down on him. Once in range, a burst of Mass Driver Cannon fire is shot out at the Krant and at the last second, he breaks his Stiletto hard to port, evading the Dumbfire that was screaming towards him.
And, even though they might not be the most famous, or well-known members of the 13th, they are the ones that will be remembered after today. Multiple torpedo strikes tear into the Snakeir, trashing its flight decks, tearing outs its guts, and leaving a very twisted wreck of metal as the centerpiece of a once mighty Kilrathi Battlegroup. The loss of war material is astounding, as repair facilities, dozens of still launching fighters, and thousands of furry-lives are lost in minutes. It is a rather fantastic explosion, as the once dense flak ring -ceases- to be, and bits of once-great warship replace them.
There is a downside. Where there once two-hundred plus Kilrathi starfighters with a nice warm place to land, after a hard day's night of ape-killing…there are now two-hundred plus ultra-pissed off fuzzie-wuzzies on the ultimate revenge, and desperation filled jihad. If they can kill these hairless beasts, they can still escort their troop transports onto some sort of victory, until reinforcements arrive. Alas, they will do it without their most famed Grikath pilot, as Baron Yal'wah nar Kiranka is eliminated by a very well-placed, and well-timed missile from one of the Minutemen. It is fitting that Tizona should get the kill, as it was the Minutemen that watched the famous pilot gut Majestic's escorts, once before.
A chorus of cheers resound aboard the bridge of the TCS Majestic, but Dante isn't cheering. Instead he's reaching for another cigar, which he lights without cheer. Shots rock the hull of the craft. "Report!" "Damage to cargo hold." "Shields?" "Starboard is down 87 percent." "Put everything in from port side. Fleet, report." "TCS Ball' Bluff reports minor hull damage." "Joan D'arc here. Not a scratch on us." "TCS Pugilist reports no damage and shields at full." "TCS Tyson. We have two crew dead. Fire in the engine room." "Button up. Ball's Bluff and Joan D'arc, get those shields at maximum. Kitties are going to want payback and I won't have anyone getting kamikazi'd. Pugilist and Tyson, you are low priority targets. Weapons free. Let's end this."
All around the battlefield, Kitty fighters have begun to take big risk, big reward gambles, throwing everything they've got into killing the humans. For them, it is no retreat time, now. The Honour's pilots, as well as the Raptors off of Majestic began to reap benefits from this strategy, though it is not an uncommon sight to see a damaged Dralthi or Sarta throw itself into a Terran fighter in its dying throes.
His vision mercifully remaining clear enough to be able to bring the Broadsword down onto the flight deck, McGrath slumps in his seat, pulling at his fastenings. Behind him, he can hear the access hatch being opened, and there, he hopes, there will be painkillers and some people who can dig bits of cockpit out of him. But before he's gently manhandled out of the bomber, he hears Cole's bombastic transmission, and Jenthson's vindication… and smiles. The feeling of relief is almost as good as morphine.
Kanani switches over to guns, as her last missile does a fair bit of damage to the Dralthi she's chasing. Once the fighter flies into her sights, she pulls the trigger, unleashing mass driver rounds at the Cat, hoping to finish it off, finally.
Things are going pretty well for Razor right now as he is able to sideslip the lethal Dumbfire from the Sartha while his quick burst of Mass Driver Cannon fire peppers the Krant, dealing some damage to the Kilrathi fighter. Since the Krant continues to gun for the 'Swords he is suppose to protect, Kell continues to focus on the same target but this time, he switches to his last Heat Seeker missile. As he closes in on the distance, keeping his targeting reticule on the Krant, a solid tone is heard. Depressing the trigger stub, Kell launches his last missile, sending it screaming towards its intended target with lethal intent.
And, once again….the less than famous pilots among the 13th do their jobs, assisted by the Venture-class ships. The Kilrathi fleet is utterly decimated, with nothing but a collection of transports, and homeless fighters remaining. The transports are making a run for it, have been for a while. But the starfighters and bombers are making a last ditch attack. Their capital ships are gone, some dying in feiry explosions, others dying quiet deaths unbecoming of great warriors.
Behold the mother of all lightshows, as the combined might of the Terran Confederation Navy and the Terran Confederation Star Force destroys the Kilrathi battlegroup entirely. Shots continue to rock against the bridge of the TCS Majestic. "Shields." growls the Commodore. "53 percent and holding, but our gun batteries-" "FUCK the gun batteries. That's why we have pilots. Battlegroup. Report. "TCS Ball's Bluff reports shields at 92 percent and holding." "TCS Joan D'arc here. All systems on full. Great shooting out-" Dante interrupts, "Cut the chatter. Status." "We're good, sir." "Pugilist?" "TCS Pugilist reports all systems green. Torpedo bays are exhausted." "Don't need 'em anyway. TCS Tyson." "Shields barely holding. Fire is contained. Also out of anti-ship munitions." Dante nods to himself. "We might just win this war."
All across the field, great swathes are being cut in the homocidal, and near-suicidal Kilrathi, but blood is still being spilled both ways. A HHriss paints the 221st Commanding Officer in a head-to-head pass, and wipes the man's Stilleto out of the sky with a single burst, disenegrating the starfighter, and it's pilot. RIP Gee.
Kanani nods in satisfaction, as the Dralthi she was tailing finally breaks apart into itty bitty pieces. Her attention then turns towards the Krant that has managed to shoot up Skates a bit, and she races over to try and take care of the situation, lining up a shot with the intent of putting some rounds into the cat's lap.
"Dammit." Paz growls as her last Image Rec gets a piece of the Grikath, sending a good handful of hot wire fragments skittering into the enemy ship's engine compartment and igniting a few amusing secondary fires from split fuel lines. But the Grikath isnt dead yet, her pilot coolly diverting fuel flow to healthy cells and continues on in a suicidal frenzy. Then Paz's ship lurches suddenly, her cockpit's screen beginning to fill with damage information. Frowning sharply at the sudden loss of fine control, Paz shuts the annoying thing down and goes to Friend or Foe missiles. The missle's seeker head queries the onrushing Grikath, doesn't like what it finds, and promptly latches on to it. Paz gives a smirk as her head's up display suddenly reads SHOOT!. "Don't mind if I do." she replies and squeezes the trigger.
Once the Captial ship support was gone, the outcome of the rest of the fight was never really in doubt… accurate secondary battery fire from the remaining Confed ships tears through the Kilrathi formation, followed a moment later by a wave of weapons fire from the various fighters still locked in combat. One by one, Kilrathi craft begin to explode and disappear from the sky. Though it's not to say they don't get a hit on on occasion…
Cole orders the rest of his wing back to the Majestic, though his own broadsword stays doggedly engaged… slipping away from one attacker, driving a missile into another Kilrathi craft… and then turning to meet his latest would-be challenger head on.
"Okay, that's more like it." Paz grins as her missile along with hits from many, many others, literally disintegrates the Grikath she was chasing. Then, the bastard Sartha on her six, not satisfied with denting her shiny new fighter, attempts to snuff her with a neutron burst. "Okay, asshole…" she breathes, closing her eyes for a split second and taking a deep breath. She's heard of maneuvers like this, but never tried one. "You've not got my complete attention." she sighs as she simultaneously kicks her Rapier into a stomach-churning, retina detatching bootlegger turn ass over teakettle to come racing back up the line at her foe, triggering her weapon the second it tells her to shoot.
Dante finally begins to relax, for certain values of 'relax', anyway. He smiles. This is a rare sight and those on the bridge who witness it actually stop cheering to gaze in wide-eyed wonder. But it's over as briefly as it began. He picks up the radio. "Engineering, I want teams dispatched to every ship of the fleet who took damage. You'll start with the vettes and work your way up. I want the maximum number of asses in seats in the minimum amount of time." "Yes, sir." "How are -we- doing?" "We lost supplies in cargo. One of the bays is evac, but we're okay." "Get that stitched down." "Twelfth battlegroup, stay in picket formation. Vettes, power down. You're up for repair and reload. Good job."
