Notices


Command and Control

   
Command and Control

Someone has to keep things running smoothly. At least, that's what Captain Wantanabe keeps telling himself as he examines the daily reports in his newly erected command tent down by the ancient transport rings. When he left Earth, he would have been the last to expect he'd be thrust into duty as the executive officer of a motley crew of survivors. Now, he was reminded daily why he chose spec-ops over infantry: less paperwork.

The tent is crammed to the gills with communication equipment, and for each terminal there is an airman or civilian standing duty. Some are monitoring the goings-on of the Hammond salvage team. Others are in constant contact with the scientists up at the curious Ice Henge--trust the ancients to make a stone polylith high-tech. Still others are keeping tabs on the rest of the camp. There's just enough space in the middle to have a few senior staff members to oversee the organized chaos.

Captain Micheal Wantanabe

Captain Wantanabe uses one of the field tables to help lift himself up from kneeling on the ground.

"Ok try it now," the Captain says.

One of the nearby civilians flips the red switch and a small chear goes up as the water begins to perklate through the coffie maker. A small cheer goes up in the tent.

"sir," one of the airmen call from the radio desk. The captain walks over to him and he contiues, "The space walk team is about to go up. Sergeant Bishop, and MacLean should be going up."

The captain nodds at the report.

The airman taps a few more keys, calling up Dr. von Braun's projection of the crippled Hammond's orbit. "Ring range in two minutes and counting. Green window is 3 hours 27 minutes. Yellow window is 3 hours 44 minutes. Red line is 3 hours 58 minutes."

"Wish we had a radar..." one of the civilian techs grumbles as he configures displays to receive data from the helmet cameras in the two zero-G suits. The split screen view shows the two suits looking at each other, with Lockley checking the final seals.

Captain Micheal Wantanabe

The captain grabs the hand set and hits the PTT, "Two minutes. Lockley."

"Roger" came the reply over the radio.

With the techies working up on the crippled hulk and the brains working up on the hill, it's fairly quiet in command. This gives Wantanabe and Lockley the opportunity to pore over the sensor logs from Eileen's 302 as she buzzed the purported location of the Stargate. It appears to be a thickly jungled valley, long, narrow, and twisting among dozens of forested mountain peaks. There is moderate background scatter but it appears there are numerous small life forms--nothing of the size of the strange white-furred hexapods that had attacked the escape pods and camp earlier.

One of the airmen interrupts the musings with a quick status update. "Green window is now three hours. Away team has disarmed one of the explosives and is heading for the next set near the bridge."

Captain Micheal Wantanabe and Lieutenant James Lockley

"Received," the army captain replied, "I need to find out how much fuel we have left for the 302's. Lockley, go talk to the engineers and see if we can clear some trees and make a run way."

(Will post more later)

The airman nods and returns to his console, pulling up some additional reports and perusing them for a moment. "About four hours of flight, sir, half that if they use afterburners. Enough for three round trips, no more."

The tangled mess of wires gets just a wee bit messier with Findy's MALP interface crammed into the command tent. Images from the squat robot's wide-aperture camera are splashed on the screens, cheerfully displaying the snowy interior of the nearby transporter rings. A small squall is blowing through the camp, setting snowflakes to dancing across the camera's field of view.

Dr. Klaus von Braun has put himself at the center of the action, leaning over the chair immediately adjacent to the interface terminal such that whoever has the misfortune of sitting there can feel the German physicist's breath setting the air in motion.

Findy MacLean

Whistling snatches of Handel's water music, Findy went and retrieved the MALP from her team's workshop, and walked alongside it while she used the remote controls to drive it to the rings. She then entered the tend, sliding into the seat in front of the interface, not appearing to mind the proximity of von Braun. "So, who all is coming to watch this?" she asked the german.

"Über-high definition on every screen, but you're the only channel," Klaus responds flippantly. "I'm sure the fire marshall will complain about the tent capacity. I've rigged this interface box to trigger the transporter rings remotely." He gestures to the small control device next to the MALP interface, which looks suspiciously identical to the box that was supposedly set to blow the remainder of the Hammond to a trillion specks of dust. "So, we are ready to roll when you are."




 

Powered by vBulletin® Version 3.8.8
Copyright ©2000 - 2014, vBulletin Solutions, Inc.
Myth-Weavers Status       Advertise with us