Skinny87
25-08-2005, 21:28
Eighty Miles East of the Cariya Islands
Republican Commander In Chief, Pacific Command (RCINCPAC) had transmitted orders via a MILSTAR satellite that was slowly orbiting in space above the region that the Grand Republican Fleet was in, straight to Admiral Tucker, commander of the three seperate Taskforces that made up the Republican Fleet. The orders themselves were short and sharp; the entire fleet was to proceed at full military power two hundred miles east of the Cariya Islands to protect the Eastern Flank and ensure that no enemy fleet tried to sneak through and outflank the hard-pressed Islands themselves. The order was made all the more urgent by the fact that the Islands were already under heavy fire by the AMF fleet itself, and so the hundreds of Republican vessels began making their way to the designated coordinates.
The Invincible sliced effortlessly through the powerful waves that swarmed around the Carrier and slammed with all of natures fury against its thick hull, the ultimate sign of mans victory over nature despite its awesome power. On the long, wide deck of the huge Carrier, the aircraft secured by thick ropes and plastic tags were drenched and buffeted by thousands of gallons of freezing cold saltwater, eating away at the ropes despite their thickness. A freezing cold wind joined the waves, howling across the deck and freezing the few unlucky individuals who were on the deck itself, despite their thick protective clothing. The only movement apart from these unlucky people was that of several of the small, blocky vehicles affectionately known as Cockroaches crawling across the deck, dragging behind them a damaged F/A-18 that had had a wing sheared off by the force of the waves. The plucky little vehicles moved through the wind and rain that hammered blows on their roofs and sides towards the looming hangars at the back of the huge vessel, one door open slightly to allow them in.
In the relative comfort of the Bridge of the Invincible, Admiral Tucker finished the last dregs of his ever-present mug of coffee and stared briefly out of the thick plexiglass window at the gathering wind, rain spattered across the window, obscuring it briefly. Then, with a slight shake of his head, he turned back into the organised chaos that was the Bridge itself. Ratings and officers, braid thick on their caps and sleeves sat at consoles that lined several of the walls of the Bridge. Others crowded around the brightly lit Virtual Combat Display (VCD), the only lit area in the entire room.
It was from this three-dimensional screen that Tucker and his staff monitored and controlled the hundreds of vessels in the three taskforces. The Invincible lay at the centre of the projection, around it were symbols showing the other vessels in the combined fleet; the screen also showed the path of each individual vessel, the predicted end of each path, as well as the positions and flight-plans of the hundreds of aircraft and helicopters that were constantly moving around the fleet. To the untrained eye the screen was a mass of moving symbols, blips and brightly coloured lines, but to Tucker it was a comforting sight, knowing he could control everything from there.
His eyes wandered to the edge of the projection and to a small symbol at the edge, representing a Virgina-Class SSN. Tucker grunted softly, ignoring the questioning glances of those around him. That symbol represented the RSS Indefatigable and the ninety souls aboard her. The Indefatigable was at the forefront of the fleet; its Cruise and Tomahawk missiles, and complement of ADCAP Mk 50 torpedoes were the sharp point of the spear that was Tuckers command. However, they would also be the first in the line of fire when the conflict began, and that was something that weighed heavily on Tuckers mind as he stared at the small symbol...
RSS Indefatigable
The Virginia-Class attack submarine coasted silently through the warm layer of water, less than a hundred feet below the water-line. She was a predator plain and simple; everything from her sleek and graceful lines to the torpedoes in her launchers pointed to this. The bridge of the Indefatigable was smaller and far more cramped than her counterpart on the Carrier. The ceiling was barely high enough for an average-sized man to walk under, and several of the taller members of the crew had to walk in a permanent crouch to avoid injury. It was pitch black, the only illumination coming from the faint glow of the computer screens in the consoles around the crowded interior.
The entire submarine was at Silent Running, and everything was as quiet as a mouses house when a cat was near. As he walked towards the bridge, ducking under a waterpipe, Captain Tod Runner could feel the vibrations from the reactors under his feet, running through the metal grating he was walking on. It gave him a perverse sort of satisfaction to have such power at his fingertips. He walked onto the Bridge and brushed aside the salute by the Officer of the Deck (OOD); he walked to the SONAR station and poked his head through the curtain.
No sooner had he done this then the SONAR rating, crouched over the complex display turned and called out, half-frightening himself at the sudden appearance of his Captain, Conn, Sonar. Single contact bearing zero-six-niner. Loud transit, unknown configuration. Designated as Master One. Runner grunted in satisfaction and ordered the message to be relayed to the Invincible before giving the order for the sub to move deeper into the waters. The hunt, it seemed, had begun.
The sub moved deeper into the murky water until it lay several hundred feet below sea level and Runner had the sub level out and slowed to three knots to give the towed arrays a better vantage point. The gamble of the sudden movement soon paid off, as the SONAR began lighting up like a christmas tree.
Conn, Sonar. I'm reading multiple contacts just behind Master One; it looks like a whole fleet Captain. Range...two hundred thousand yards...
Runner frowned. The ships could not be identified, but they were not friendly; the Republican fleet was the only allied fleet in the area. He gave the order for the engine to start up again, and for the torpedo tubes to be loaded with Mk 50 torpedoes as the sub glided through the water silently...
Republican Commander In Chief, Pacific Command (RCINCPAC) had transmitted orders via a MILSTAR satellite that was slowly orbiting in space above the region that the Grand Republican Fleet was in, straight to Admiral Tucker, commander of the three seperate Taskforces that made up the Republican Fleet. The orders themselves were short and sharp; the entire fleet was to proceed at full military power two hundred miles east of the Cariya Islands to protect the Eastern Flank and ensure that no enemy fleet tried to sneak through and outflank the hard-pressed Islands themselves. The order was made all the more urgent by the fact that the Islands were already under heavy fire by the AMF fleet itself, and so the hundreds of Republican vessels began making their way to the designated coordinates.
The Invincible sliced effortlessly through the powerful waves that swarmed around the Carrier and slammed with all of natures fury against its thick hull, the ultimate sign of mans victory over nature despite its awesome power. On the long, wide deck of the huge Carrier, the aircraft secured by thick ropes and plastic tags were drenched and buffeted by thousands of gallons of freezing cold saltwater, eating away at the ropes despite their thickness. A freezing cold wind joined the waves, howling across the deck and freezing the few unlucky individuals who were on the deck itself, despite their thick protective clothing. The only movement apart from these unlucky people was that of several of the small, blocky vehicles affectionately known as Cockroaches crawling across the deck, dragging behind them a damaged F/A-18 that had had a wing sheared off by the force of the waves. The plucky little vehicles moved through the wind and rain that hammered blows on their roofs and sides towards the looming hangars at the back of the huge vessel, one door open slightly to allow them in.
In the relative comfort of the Bridge of the Invincible, Admiral Tucker finished the last dregs of his ever-present mug of coffee and stared briefly out of the thick plexiglass window at the gathering wind, rain spattered across the window, obscuring it briefly. Then, with a slight shake of his head, he turned back into the organised chaos that was the Bridge itself. Ratings and officers, braid thick on their caps and sleeves sat at consoles that lined several of the walls of the Bridge. Others crowded around the brightly lit Virtual Combat Display (VCD), the only lit area in the entire room.
It was from this three-dimensional screen that Tucker and his staff monitored and controlled the hundreds of vessels in the three taskforces. The Invincible lay at the centre of the projection, around it were symbols showing the other vessels in the combined fleet; the screen also showed the path of each individual vessel, the predicted end of each path, as well as the positions and flight-plans of the hundreds of aircraft and helicopters that were constantly moving around the fleet. To the untrained eye the screen was a mass of moving symbols, blips and brightly coloured lines, but to Tucker it was a comforting sight, knowing he could control everything from there.
His eyes wandered to the edge of the projection and to a small symbol at the edge, representing a Virgina-Class SSN. Tucker grunted softly, ignoring the questioning glances of those around him. That symbol represented the RSS Indefatigable and the ninety souls aboard her. The Indefatigable was at the forefront of the fleet; its Cruise and Tomahawk missiles, and complement of ADCAP Mk 50 torpedoes were the sharp point of the spear that was Tuckers command. However, they would also be the first in the line of fire when the conflict began, and that was something that weighed heavily on Tuckers mind as he stared at the small symbol...
RSS Indefatigable
The Virginia-Class attack submarine coasted silently through the warm layer of water, less than a hundred feet below the water-line. She was a predator plain and simple; everything from her sleek and graceful lines to the torpedoes in her launchers pointed to this. The bridge of the Indefatigable was smaller and far more cramped than her counterpart on the Carrier. The ceiling was barely high enough for an average-sized man to walk under, and several of the taller members of the crew had to walk in a permanent crouch to avoid injury. It was pitch black, the only illumination coming from the faint glow of the computer screens in the consoles around the crowded interior.
The entire submarine was at Silent Running, and everything was as quiet as a mouses house when a cat was near. As he walked towards the bridge, ducking under a waterpipe, Captain Tod Runner could feel the vibrations from the reactors under his feet, running through the metal grating he was walking on. It gave him a perverse sort of satisfaction to have such power at his fingertips. He walked onto the Bridge and brushed aside the salute by the Officer of the Deck (OOD); he walked to the SONAR station and poked his head through the curtain.
No sooner had he done this then the SONAR rating, crouched over the complex display turned and called out, half-frightening himself at the sudden appearance of his Captain, Conn, Sonar. Single contact bearing zero-six-niner. Loud transit, unknown configuration. Designated as Master One. Runner grunted in satisfaction and ordered the message to be relayed to the Invincible before giving the order for the sub to move deeper into the waters. The hunt, it seemed, had begun.
The sub moved deeper into the murky water until it lay several hundred feet below sea level and Runner had the sub level out and slowed to three knots to give the towed arrays a better vantage point. The gamble of the sudden movement soon paid off, as the SONAR began lighting up like a christmas tree.
Conn, Sonar. I'm reading multiple contacts just behind Master One; it looks like a whole fleet Captain. Range...two hundred thousand yards...
Runner frowned. The ships could not be identified, but they were not friendly; the Republican fleet was the only allied fleet in the area. He gave the order for the engine to start up again, and for the torpedo tubes to be loaded with Mk 50 torpedoes as the sub glided through the water silently...