The Resurgent Dream
23-02-2009, 06:38
Captain James Keating frowned as he settled into the command chair on the bridge of CPS Excelsior. It was the sort of command all officers in the Confederal Navy both feared and desired. Patrol ships like the Excelsior would be marginal in any frontal confrontation with a comparable power. They would be dwarfed by the Confederated Peoples’ nuclear arsenal, carrier groups, submarines, and air power, scurrying like mice in a battle between titans. However, because of the sheer destruction involved, it had been two decades since the Confederal Navy had been in a war of that kind and, these days, it was patrol ships like Excelsior that saw almost all the actual combat. It was they, not carriers or even destroyers, deployed against slavers, pirates, smugglers, and other criminals of the high seas.
Excelsior had been deployed to the Browning Islands, a large chain in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean half of which was claimed by the Scandinvans and another half of which was under the “Special Extraterritorial Jurisdiction” of the Confederated Peoples. That meant that both powers had larger naval forces in the area, ready just in case the other made a move. So much posturing made it hard for him to do his job, defending Confederal shipping from the pirates that infested the area. Keating ran a hand through his light brown hair and pushed himself to his feet. He wanted to hit those bastards hard but the brass just wouldn’t let him make any strong moves. They were worried at the Scandinvan response.
“Sir,” the voice belonged to Lieutenant Nolitha Unathi, his communications officer.
Keating shook his head, clearing away all of his frustration with the general situation in order to focus on the specific situation at hand. “Go ahead, Nolitha.”
“We’re getting a distress call. They say it’s an attack by pirates,” Unathi continued.
“Course heading?” he asked and, when she told him, he turned immediately to his helmsman. “Mr. Chahine, lay in heading.”
“Sir, it’s a Scandinvan signal,” Unathi said. Her voice was filled with a mix of fear and revulsion. Knowing what he did about the Scandinvans, Keating could hardly blame her.
“There’s no reason for it to be a trap,” Keating explained. “If they were going to attack, they would attack. Luring away a single patrol ship won’t significantly weaken Confederal forces in the area. Keep heading. We’re going to rescue these people if we can.”
Excelsior had been deployed to the Browning Islands, a large chain in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean half of which was claimed by the Scandinvans and another half of which was under the “Special Extraterritorial Jurisdiction” of the Confederated Peoples. That meant that both powers had larger naval forces in the area, ready just in case the other made a move. So much posturing made it hard for him to do his job, defending Confederal shipping from the pirates that infested the area. Keating ran a hand through his light brown hair and pushed himself to his feet. He wanted to hit those bastards hard but the brass just wouldn’t let him make any strong moves. They were worried at the Scandinvan response.
“Sir,” the voice belonged to Lieutenant Nolitha Unathi, his communications officer.
Keating shook his head, clearing away all of his frustration with the general situation in order to focus on the specific situation at hand. “Go ahead, Nolitha.”
“We’re getting a distress call. They say it’s an attack by pirates,” Unathi continued.
“Course heading?” he asked and, when she told him, he turned immediately to his helmsman. “Mr. Chahine, lay in heading.”
“Sir, it’s a Scandinvan signal,” Unathi said. Her voice was filled with a mix of fear and revulsion. Knowing what he did about the Scandinvans, Keating could hardly blame her.
“There’s no reason for it to be a trap,” Keating explained. “If they were going to attack, they would attack. Luring away a single patrol ship won’t significantly weaken Confederal forces in the area. Keep heading. We’re going to rescue these people if we can.”