Skinny87
10-10-2005, 16:22
RSS Wellington, Twelve Miles above Earth, Geosynchronous Orbit
A deep gunmetal grey against the harsh blackness of the unyielding it moved through, the Wellington was often difficult to see even as it moved, something often desirable in deep-space combat. Not at this moment, however. The huge vessel was lit from bow to stern; harsh running lights lit her sides, and smaller external flashlights showed off pinpricks of light all over her hull. The effect, thought Captain Howard DeHyter as he strolled onto the bridge, was quite something. It wasn't often that the warship got to show her lines off, especially in peacetime as she would be on other duties. DeHyter ducked a jutting beam and walked onto the deck of the bridge, feeling the deck plating get noticeably thicker as he moved.
He returned the salute of the two Republican Marines, M8s at port arms, and settled down into the small metal command chair in the middle of the bridge. He moved slightly, getting comfortable in the mass of metal and plastic that weas still forming to the contours of his body. Subconciously he realised that the damn chair would never completely settle; he'd be plagued by it for years. He grinned slightly at the errant and superfluous thought, then turned to the Comms Station. Nodding to the auburn-haired woman there in the grey uniform of the RSF, DeHyter gave the order. "Send out the signal. Let's get this show moving. The woman nodded and turned to her console, earpiece held closely as she transmitted the heavily-encoded command signal.
The deck vibrated as the Wellington got underway, powerful engines pushing her with brute force through the empty void around her. To her port and starboard were the Centurion-Class frigates Assaye and Quarte Bras, and behind them another seven vessels similar in design, all arranged in a circular perimeter that stretched more than two miles. At the back moved the Waterloo, the second of the Wellington-Class Destroyers, sensor arrays constantly searching. And in the middle of this powerful fleet, the cream of the Republican Space Force, lay the sheep to their shephards; the Rorke's Drift. Attached by huge, thick cables designed especially for the purpose to both Wellington-Class vessels, the space-station gradually began to pick up speed as the chains moved it.
The operation was simple yet bizzarely at the same time the most difficult the RSF had ever performed. Heading towards the Moon, the large, unwieldy convoy would protect the space station until it was less than a mile above the surface of the natural satellite. Then, it would be released and small manouvering jets temporarily attached to the station would fire; gradually the structure would be pushed down onto the dusty surface of the Moon until it landed, hopefully without incident. Then, teams of Marines and Space Corp Engineers would be landed and actually secure the station with a series of cables and pylons inserted into the surface of the Moon itself. The base, essentially a huge version of the old International Space Station, with a few modifications, would then be operational.
It would be a long and complex operation, taking several days. Yet when it weasd done, the RSF would have a base on the Moon itself, staffed by nearly eighty Marines, administrators and scientists. The second goal of the RSF would soon be achieved...
A deep gunmetal grey against the harsh blackness of the unyielding it moved through, the Wellington was often difficult to see even as it moved, something often desirable in deep-space combat. Not at this moment, however. The huge vessel was lit from bow to stern; harsh running lights lit her sides, and smaller external flashlights showed off pinpricks of light all over her hull. The effect, thought Captain Howard DeHyter as he strolled onto the bridge, was quite something. It wasn't often that the warship got to show her lines off, especially in peacetime as she would be on other duties. DeHyter ducked a jutting beam and walked onto the deck of the bridge, feeling the deck plating get noticeably thicker as he moved.
He returned the salute of the two Republican Marines, M8s at port arms, and settled down into the small metal command chair in the middle of the bridge. He moved slightly, getting comfortable in the mass of metal and plastic that weas still forming to the contours of his body. Subconciously he realised that the damn chair would never completely settle; he'd be plagued by it for years. He grinned slightly at the errant and superfluous thought, then turned to the Comms Station. Nodding to the auburn-haired woman there in the grey uniform of the RSF, DeHyter gave the order. "Send out the signal. Let's get this show moving. The woman nodded and turned to her console, earpiece held closely as she transmitted the heavily-encoded command signal.
The deck vibrated as the Wellington got underway, powerful engines pushing her with brute force through the empty void around her. To her port and starboard were the Centurion-Class frigates Assaye and Quarte Bras, and behind them another seven vessels similar in design, all arranged in a circular perimeter that stretched more than two miles. At the back moved the Waterloo, the second of the Wellington-Class Destroyers, sensor arrays constantly searching. And in the middle of this powerful fleet, the cream of the Republican Space Force, lay the sheep to their shephards; the Rorke's Drift. Attached by huge, thick cables designed especially for the purpose to both Wellington-Class vessels, the space-station gradually began to pick up speed as the chains moved it.
The operation was simple yet bizzarely at the same time the most difficult the RSF had ever performed. Heading towards the Moon, the large, unwieldy convoy would protect the space station until it was less than a mile above the surface of the natural satellite. Then, it would be released and small manouvering jets temporarily attached to the station would fire; gradually the structure would be pushed down onto the dusty surface of the Moon until it landed, hopefully without incident. Then, teams of Marines and Space Corp Engineers would be landed and actually secure the station with a series of cables and pylons inserted into the surface of the Moon itself. The base, essentially a huge version of the old International Space Station, with a few modifications, would then be operational.
It would be a long and complex operation, taking several days. Yet when it weasd done, the RSF would have a base on the Moon itself, staffed by nearly eighty Marines, administrators and scientists. The second goal of the RSF would soon be achieved...