War Games

Jan 25, 2024 6:45 pm
It is 5019u, but the Dawnline Shore is not at war.

It is not truly at peace, but it is certainly not at war. Not how it will be in just a year's time.

Somewhere, in a sunken vault beneath the surface of Mars, there is GALSIM. Union's most secret and sacrosanct department, foretelling possible futures through nigh infinite simulations. Forecast upon forecast say that the Purview and the Trade Baronies will clash within the next century, or within the next two generations.

Some forecasts say a single flashpoint, could accelerate this vision of the future.

No one yet knows knows that such a spark will be struck on New Creighton in less than six months.

These forecasts are not for your eyes. You have never seen them. You have never heard of them. The word GALSIM means nothing to you. While you may look towards tomorrow with a weathereye, you will be as surprised as any other when the time finally comes.

All you know is that today, like any other in recent memory, you each have your command. Your battlegroup. Your staff. Your crew. Your oaths and your duties.

And here, in the Palisaide Strait -- the empty gulf between the Shore's two great star clusters -- Union battlegroups pass within light-days of one another, on their patrols or en route to new postings. Close enough that you might stare at monitors, through telescopes, into thermal maps, looking for the faintest, most distant sign of life. Of a hand you wish you could reach out and clasp. Of a comrade you wish to hail and embrace.

But, there will be time for conviviality later.

Claxons sound. Lights cut to emergency red. Action stations. Set Condition 1-Scarlet throughout the fleet.

Allcomms messages fired instantaneously over the omninet:

>//[ATT(UNS-BB_04421)]:: GOOD LUCK, COMMANDERS.
>//[ATT21]:: SEE YOU ALL ON THE OTHER SIDE.

[ +- ] OOC
Jan 25, 2024 9:28 pm
Commander Accord is dancing. Not literally, but what anyone knows about the unconventional commander is that she is rarely still. Even in the hardsuit, she sways to a rhythm nobody else can see. It's as if this is a physical fight and she is channeling that energy, even as dark, graceful eyes scan across the many screens in front of her.

"Ease in slow and at range, let's give our babes a little while to warm up," she says. "And alert Condition 1-Scarlet, thank you."

Then she leans over to tap in a Subtext message to the other Dishiria and Ito—the other two commanders—on her side.
>// morning buckos. just letting y'all know I play to win.
>// anyone want a wager for first ship down?
OOC:
Coming in with Conservative Posture/Extreme Range
Jan 26, 2024 5:23 am
Jhan Dishiria's bridge is all business as the exercise starts. Klaxons are sounding on the Mekong, September, Erie, and Halifax as gunners man stations, pilots buckle in, and the command screens light up with tactical information about both the opposition and the ships Commander Dishiria is fighting alongside.

A simple message goes back over the Omninet:

>//[MEK(UNS-CV_10560)]:: COPY. ENGAGING.

When Commander Accord's message comes in, Jhan is signaling for this ships to hold station, as she is, while shields come up, cannons warm and the wings get spaceborn.

>//[MEK(UNS-CV_10560)]:: "Good to have you on my flank, Accord. Connecting OMNI-TAC-COM now. Tagging targets, assigning threat levels and priority."

There's no mention of a wager, or any other nicety -- which is no surprise for anyone who knows Commander Dishira. Now is no time for such frivolities.

>//[MEK(UNS-CV_10560)]:: "Let's let them make the first move."
OOC:
Conservative. Also, I have no idea what I am doing. :)
Last edited January 28, 2024 5:01 am
Jan 27, 2024 7:49 am
Discipline is a hallmark of Commander Hiruki Ito’s battlegroup.

The personnel under his command knows he expects hard, honest work, calm temperaments, and dedication to duty. At the same time, he isn’t a tyrant, isn’t the strict disciplinarian that one might expect. He leads by example: first to arrive, last to leave. Never loses his temper. Always has time for someone who needs it. Encourages his people to help each other, to lift each other up. He recognizes good work.

His flagship, the Edward Abbey, is an especially tight ship, both in the sense of the clockwork way the crew functions together, and the relationships between crewmembers. They’re like family, or at least what Ito imagines families are like. Not that he doesn’t have one. He thinks of his parents, retired now on Carina. It seems so far away, but then again, they were always distant. Always demanding. Always expecting nothing less than perfection.

He’s more open than they were. Kinder. The captain of the Waikaremoana, the battlegroup’s Huron-class frigate, was once a disciplinary nightmare and near-washout before Ito was able to turn him around. Now he’s captaining his own ship and is known for his ability to see the big picture and uncanny four-D vision. The captain of the John Henry is cut from Ito’s mold, hard-working, soft spoken, quietly competent. The Yerevan’s captain is an old hand, one of the good ones, with a fanatically loyal crew.

Ito sees Accord’s message come across over subtext and smiles. That is Accord through and through: spontaneous, creative, not standing on ceremony. He has the feeling that she irritates Dishiria sometimes, but the Union needs both of them, even though they’re a study in contrasts. Dishiria is as brusque as Accord is nonchalant, and Ito feels like he has to be the glue that keeps their little triumvirate running.

He responds to Accord’s subtext:

>// I think we can agree on one thing: we’re all here to win.

Over Omninet, he responds to Dishiria’s message. Technically they’re all equals but Dishiria has the most experience and can call the shots as far as Ito is concerned. He opens an allcoms to his fellow commanders:

>//[EDW(UNS-CV_56377)]:: ROGER THAT.
>//[EDW77]:: WHAT DO WE KNOW ABOUT THE COMMANDERS?
>//[EDW77]:: I’VE HEARD GRADY IS A COWBOY.
>//[EDW77]:: ANYONE ELSE?

OOC: conservative as well.
Jan 31, 2024 8:43 pm
[ +- ] Logistics Phase
Accord, Ito, and Dishiria: each of your CICs is its own unique ecosystem of controlled tension. Not chaos, not remotely (not yet). But tension. Following the 1-Scarlet order, hardsuited Captains and Lieutenants, chiefs of their departments, have clicked their magboots off and launched themselves like darts towards bulkhead doors. Like shadows trailing behind your departing crewmates, subordinates second themselves into suddenly-vacant stations, as the bulkheads open with a hiss -- before sealing with the sound of heavy bolts falling into place.

In the spinal corridor of every ship of your fleet, cosmonauts scatter to their stations, marines arm themselves, subalterns are brought online, and officers log their departments' progress towards preparedness. And all the while, on every sensor even at the most extreme range, your ships light up like auroras or coronas or pulsars. Crowned in every frequency of the EM spectrum, shining like the great lighthouses of Carina, your vessels sweep the vast dark of space.

And like the breaking of a wave -- the swell, the roar, the crash -- all is still again. The din of change, of action, collapses into the white noise-static of routine. The tones of speech in call and response, the chirping of system consoles handshaking, the clicking of comms opening and closing. Rhythm.

Dishiria: You take the lead on coordinating your fleet's efforts. With a signal or word to your Executive Officer, or your Signal Officer, or your flagship's NHP, information is tagged, collated, and packaged to match your orders. It's just another gesture on your part and that package is distributed.

Accord, Ito: Your Executive Officers are pinging your consoles and slates, pushing updates from your Signal Officers. Grainy images rendered and magnified, showing great fields of black demarcated with grids and overlapped with looping radians, and blemished with a dozen fingerprint-like whorls, blossoming blue-white on approach vectors.

...

Over the next 48 hours, as your departments and vessels one-by-one flag themselves at OK_GREEN readiness, joint reports courtesy of engineering, tactical, and signals begin filtering into your personal feeds. Descending into legionspace, between the staff meetings and planning sessions, these updates manifest as concentric rings wrapped around your ships -- rings that can be touched, manipulated, unfolded into detailed information.

>//::SPOOL MUNITION DIAGNOSTIC STATUS
+++UNS-BB Edward Abbey .......33%
+++UNS-BB Le Guin(1) ..............33%
+++UNS-BB Le Guin(2) ..............33%
+++UNS-LS September ..............50%

>//::SPOOL MUNITIONS DETECTED
>//::FLAGGED
+++UNS-BB ATTENBOROUGH ......33%
+++UNS-BB MARIANA TRENCH ...33%


Ito: You had called Grady a cowboy, and you had wanted more information. Well, 48 hours is plenty of time for each of you to have received detailed reports regarding the opposition. Whether personally delivered to your quarters by bright-eyed Ensigns, over first-shift coffee by a Captain within your group, or to your slate by an NHP (your flagship's or a personal attendant, etc), you have official details about Steinbeck, Grady, and Dandekar, as well as their postings and their crew. Not to mention whatever other rumors or details that you already may know.

With all vessels flashing their OK_GREEN status in legionspace, your fleet hums with anticipation.
[ +- ] ooc
Mar 5, 2024 4:02 am
Time passes. Desa trains—her physical exertion as constant as gravity. The map of the battlefield spinning through her mind with each rep. She's unorthodox yes, but no unprepared. Never unprepared.

>//[LEG(UNS-CV_54667)]:: STEINBECK HAS A GRAVSHAFT UP HIS ASS

She leaves it at that. But on her CIC: "Firing solution for the Echopraxic on the Attenborough, please. Launch when solve is green."

"Yes, ma'am."

The Imago is one of the reasons she's seen as not playing by the rules, she suspects. She sees weapons by effectiveness, rather than any pre-ordained notions of honour and a fair fight.

"Then ask the Guthrie to shift to screening please. Let's play peek-a-boo."

"Ma'am."

She knows time is on her side if she has the time to flex her big weapons once they're charged—she wonders if the other commanders know that too.
[ +- ] ooc
Last edited March 5, 2024 4:03 am

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