Ma-tek
14-05-2004, 21:12
The 1 Naval Battlegroup, usually referred to as the Vanguard Battlegroup, thundered through the waves from the South Atlantic ocean, sending terrific amounts of spray firing into the air.
The fleet gleamed, clearly polished for the occasion, although no crew adorned the deck of the massive IDS Vanguard or her smaller surface cruiser escorts.
One hundred twenty five miles to the magnetic south-west-west, the 3 Naval Battlegroup slowed to a crawl, hulls booming against the ocean as the big warships exerted force against the water to accelerate their decceleration.
K# fighter/bombers drop from above the clouds, gathering in wedged stacks above both fleets, forming into defensive patterns...
* * *
"Speed steady, ETA to engagement envelope thirty-six cycles. Radar contact system negative, EM contact system negative, UV contact system negative..."
The SensOps officer on the IDS Vanguard droned on, amidst the low hum of activity of the massive bridge of the most prestigious warship in the IDF Navy. Captain Semilia Trenton-Rihad - usually just Semilia Trenton, actually - was the first person born to an immigrant to command an EOTED naval warship. She had been in command of the ship for just over two weeks; the previous captain had been promoted, to take command of the large AtlantOps Facility, in Turath (subordinate only to Naval High Command).
The SensOps officer had fallen silent, but Semilia was counting down mentally still; she was annoyed to find herself a second or so off the mark when the TacOps officer announced, "PONR for OOD Phase of Exercise, ma'am."
"Begin observation segment," Semilia ordered softly. It was all protocol; battle was just a book, a book that you had to write yourself; but there was protocol: always a dictionary, a thesaurus, to aid the good officer in her path to victory. Protocol was strongly established to be, simply, OODA.
Observe, Orient, Decide, Act. Any military action consisted of those four segments: after action came the Activity Phase, which was immediately followed by a resumption of OODA. Essentially, attack and observe, attack and observe - or, defend and observe, defend and observe. The age-old art of war had never really changed; it was always the same but with different clothes...
And Semilia was confident that the art of war that was the Iluvauromeni way was by far the most fashionable of those clothes.
"Incoming observation drones," reported the cool voice of the AI.
"Trajectory tracked," reported SensOps. Observation.
"Targeting systems confirm locks," reported TacOps. Fingers hovered over controls, ready to enact the response. Orientation.
"If we knock them out, they'll still have satelite observation," pointed out Semilia's First Officer, Commander Exer ux-Rihad. Exer had come highly recommended - he was a curious transition, a former Lieutenant Commander in the Space Navy, who had a surface navy family history and had changed career paths midstream, to the disappointment of the Space Navy brass. Now he was on the fastrack in the Navy, but Semilia had found him to state the obvious a little too often.
She nodded to acknowledge his report, and issued her orders-
* * *
The drones, immune to emotion, flung themselves through the emptiness of the fullness of the atmosphere, apart from the air itself but streaming through it with unending loyalty and exacting efficiency. Carrying out their programming with that loyalty and efficiency that came naturally to them, they reached out to examine the area they were approaching.
They found the ships, digested the data they could, and then they fell from the sky, blackened hulks of their former 'glory', destroyed by the 'enemy'.
But they had managed to squirt data back.
The fleet gleamed, clearly polished for the occasion, although no crew adorned the deck of the massive IDS Vanguard or her smaller surface cruiser escorts.
One hundred twenty five miles to the magnetic south-west-west, the 3 Naval Battlegroup slowed to a crawl, hulls booming against the ocean as the big warships exerted force against the water to accelerate their decceleration.
K# fighter/bombers drop from above the clouds, gathering in wedged stacks above both fleets, forming into defensive patterns...
* * *
"Speed steady, ETA to engagement envelope thirty-six cycles. Radar contact system negative, EM contact system negative, UV contact system negative..."
The SensOps officer on the IDS Vanguard droned on, amidst the low hum of activity of the massive bridge of the most prestigious warship in the IDF Navy. Captain Semilia Trenton-Rihad - usually just Semilia Trenton, actually - was the first person born to an immigrant to command an EOTED naval warship. She had been in command of the ship for just over two weeks; the previous captain had been promoted, to take command of the large AtlantOps Facility, in Turath (subordinate only to Naval High Command).
The SensOps officer had fallen silent, but Semilia was counting down mentally still; she was annoyed to find herself a second or so off the mark when the TacOps officer announced, "PONR for OOD Phase of Exercise, ma'am."
"Begin observation segment," Semilia ordered softly. It was all protocol; battle was just a book, a book that you had to write yourself; but there was protocol: always a dictionary, a thesaurus, to aid the good officer in her path to victory. Protocol was strongly established to be, simply, OODA.
Observe, Orient, Decide, Act. Any military action consisted of those four segments: after action came the Activity Phase, which was immediately followed by a resumption of OODA. Essentially, attack and observe, attack and observe - or, defend and observe, defend and observe. The age-old art of war had never really changed; it was always the same but with different clothes...
And Semilia was confident that the art of war that was the Iluvauromeni way was by far the most fashionable of those clothes.
"Incoming observation drones," reported the cool voice of the AI.
"Trajectory tracked," reported SensOps. Observation.
"Targeting systems confirm locks," reported TacOps. Fingers hovered over controls, ready to enact the response. Orientation.
"If we knock them out, they'll still have satelite observation," pointed out Semilia's First Officer, Commander Exer ux-Rihad. Exer had come highly recommended - he was a curious transition, a former Lieutenant Commander in the Space Navy, who had a surface navy family history and had changed career paths midstream, to the disappointment of the Space Navy brass. Now he was on the fastrack in the Navy, but Semilia had found him to state the obvious a little too often.
She nodded to acknowledge his report, and issued her orders-
* * *
The drones, immune to emotion, flung themselves through the emptiness of the fullness of the atmosphere, apart from the air itself but streaming through it with unending loyalty and exacting efficiency. Carrying out their programming with that loyalty and efficiency that came naturally to them, they reached out to examine the area they were approaching.
They found the ships, digested the data they could, and then they fell from the sky, blackened hulks of their former 'glory', destroyed by the 'enemy'.
But they had managed to squirt data back.