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Starbase Halcyon - Arrival of CAG and Marine Fighter Wing (Tag all Marine Aviators)

Posted May 6, 2019, 11:31 a.m. by Major Krin Lardel (CAG) (James Sinclair)

Posted by Mar. Captain Malcolm “Astro” Dawkins (Flight Leader (Blue)) in Starbase Halcyon - Arrival of CAG and Marine Fighter Wing (Tag all Marine Aviators)

Posted by Mar. Captain Eleanor “Iron Lady” Carnegie (Recon Squadron CO/Pilot) in Starbase Halcyon - Arrival of CAG and Marine Fighter Wing (Tag all Marine Aviators)

Posted by Commander Charles Tenkiller (Executive Officer (Outgoing)) in Starbase Halcyon - Arrival of CAG and Marine Fighter Wing (Tag all Marine Aviators)
Posted by… suppressed (1) by the Post Ghost! 👻
The aptly named USS Behemoth, a gigantic transport and resupply ship, dropped out of warp at the designated coordinates for approach to Starbase Halcyon. The Commanding Officer, a lithe woman wearing the red uniform of Star Fleet Command officers, tapped the arm of her center seat and said into the comms =/\= Starbase Halcyon, this is Star Fleet Logistics and Transport vessel Behemoth. Please confirm arrival and readiness for small craft launch and retrieval. =/\= As she waited for a response, she tapped a few more commands.

In the cockpits of the Templar Class Marine Fighters attached magnetically to the outer hull, the lights went red and an automated voice said =/\= Warp jump complete. Prepare for deployment. =/\=

In the his own cockpit, Major Krin Lardel awoke and yawned with no sense of surprise. The Marine could sleep anywhere, but he felt most comfortable inside a cockpit. They had been at warp on the Behemoth for twelve hours. In a normal star ship, that wasn’t even noticeable. In the cramped confines and near perfect darkness of a powered down fighter? Only a few could manage that. And the Major, the newly appointed Commanding Officer of Marine Flight Group Three-Nine-Nine, had painstakingly selected only those who had passed what many called an overly-rigorous selection process specifically for this kind of situation. The assault shuttle crews had it a bit easier, what with having windows and a space to stretch out in.

Powering up all systems, he checked the three dimensional display and then keyed his comms. =/\= All right, Three-Nine-Nine. Wakey-wakey. Systems checks and power up. All wings report in. =/\= and he waited to hear from the flight team leaders that all was set.

=/\= Confirmed. Wait launch on my mark. =/\= and he opened channels to the Behemoth and the Group as a whole. =/\= Marine Flight Group to Behemoth. All wings ready for deployment. Confirm launch trajectories clear of traffic and all systems green. =/\= There was short pause and the Behemoth Captain’s voice came through. =/\= Marine Flight Group, Behemoth. All space clear and trajectories synchronized. You are green for launch on your mark. Welcome to your new home, Black Sheep. =/\= Lardel grinned at the use of the nickname he had decided on for the Group, but his voice came back flat and professional, as was typical for the Zakdorn pilot. =/\= Roger Behemoth. Three-Nine-Nine, release mag-locks and engage impulse on my mark. Three… Two… One… Mark. =/\= and he brushed the controls for both the release of the magnetic locks that held his fighter to the exterior of the Behemoth and took his engines to sixty-five percent. The inertial dampeners kept him from feeling much of the inertia from the ship moving, but his years of experience told him that everything felt fine.

Eleanor had spent the first part of the journey configuring the helm console of her new ship. Her last Crew Chief on the Annapolis had stored her personal configurations on an isolinear chip but somehow, when she had inserted it into the new Ranger class vessel at her disposal, the ship had refused to cooperate. After spending more than an hour trying to figure out what was wrong with it, Eleanor had found out that the old fashioned kick had finally turned the displays into colors that she could actually see. The second part, she had spent it trying to contain her anger every time she thought about the transmission Will had sent her a week before.

After spending what had seemed like an eternity pacing around the cockpit or trying to sleep, Carnegie had finally dozed off when the comm came online. And it was on.

From the outside of the supply ship, the scene was stunning. As the forty five Templar class fighters simultaneously detached from the exterior like pollen being blown from a gigantic flower; the main cargo bay opened and spewed out dozens of assault shuttles and troop transport ships. It looked like chaos was going to ensue, all those ships flying on what seemed like intersecting and conflicting trajectories, but then…

=/\= Three-Nine-Nine…=/\= came the Major’s voice over the comms. =/\= … commence arrival and retrieval operations. =/\= As if it had been practiced for years, even though it was only two months, all almost one hundred ships maneuvered into a cohesive formation directly in front of the massive transport. At the core of the formation, four Search and Rescue ships. Surrounding them, forty transport shuttles, each with a fighter escort. Directly at the front of the formation, four more Templar fighters, each painted slightly different than the rest. And in front of them, a single fighter with a black stripe down the port side running from the fore to the aft of the fighter. All ships continued to approach the station slowly, the intervals between them never fluctuating.

Dawkins was one of the last craft to detach from the mothership which had ferried the Wing to their new home. He had been blissfully asleep, his dream-self locked in a lovers tryst with some unnamed brunette on a beach in Tahiti. Rubbing his eyes, the Marine pilot gave himself a slight pinch to make sure he was really on station and not about to detach accidentally from a ship at warp. A moment later, he killed his maglocks and formed up on the Transport he was assigned before they left. Tempies were truly wonderful craft and when you shut off the gravity control system, you can peacefully sleep in Zero-G for an entire trip. God technology was a wonderful thing!

=A= This is Astro… detached an’ on station Flight Lead…=A= Dawkins replied to the form up command before switching to Close Range LOS Comms. =A= Marine Heavy Three-Four Tango, this is Marine Assault Alpha Two-Eight-Niner, I am on your six at two o’clock high… back at One-Five-Zero feet. You have the lead ma’am.=A=

=A= Thank you Two-Eight-Nine…=A= Came the smooth alto of Marine brunette piloting the large Tactical Assault Transport as she took a sip of coffee. =A=… ja’ rest well Astro?=A= A warm smile crossing her face.

=A= Yeah I did… I’m sure your bunk was not too bad either.=A= Dawkins said with an audible smirk. =A= Unfortunately, jocks don’t have such luxuries. Anywho… if ya need us, we’re here. Been a pleasure Vicki. =A=

=A= You too Hun… Three-Four-Tango clear. =A= The smile in her voice wasn’t missed by the member of the escort team… but none would dare say a word.

With that, the Transport and four escorts glided toward the Chimera’s Hanger Bay.

CPT Dawkins, FL

Tapping her console, Eleanor felt the engines of the three-man ship revving underneath her, sending adrenaline pumping through her veins.

As the craft cleared the bay, Carnegie tapped her comm key. =/\= Iron Lady to Sentinels. Form up on me and let’s head to our new home. Sentinel 1 aht. =/\= The small slip of her hometown accent showing up with the almost audible smile in her voice.

She couldn’t have asked for a better view as the Ranger-class vessel cleared the Behemoth’s main cargo bay. Through her viewscreen she stared at the Templars in awe, as they surrounded them in formation. The ships she qualified to pilot and yet couldn’t due to a genetic disability that impaired her vision. She sighed wistfully. Recon had been the next best thing, so here she was.

CPT Carnegie, Recon Squadron CO

All the ships had the Flight Group 399 crest on the side; a circle of small, light blue stars bisected diagonally from top right to bottom left by a thick, black line. The stars on the top left were replaced by the profile of a black Earth ram, horns curved back on the side of it’s head. At the top, above the circle of stars and mascot, was the front view of the very fighter his Group was now flying: the Templar Class Fighter, looking as if it were coming straight off of the ship it was painted on.

Seeing on his tactical display that all ships were in position, Major Lardel keyed his comms and hailed the both the Starbase and the Chimera. =/\= Starbase Halcyon and USS Chimera. Marine Flight Group Three-Nine-Nine, Commander Air Group Marine Corps Major Krin Lardel requesting permission to dock and begin operational build-up and preparation for deployment aboard USS Chimera. =/\=

Maj. Lardel, CAG

OOC: Fixing typos.

The Starbase replied back =/\= Marine Flight Three-Nine-Nine. You are cleared for approach, vector seven-one-six. Major, you have the stick. Welcome home, Sir. =/\= Lardel responded =/\= Acknowledged, Halcyon. I have the stick. Thank you for the welcome. =/\= and he keyed off the station and spoke directly to the Marine Aviators under his command. =/\= All wings, this is Hannibal. We are clear for approach and retrieval operations. Just as we practiced, just as we do. Fighters, assume cover and surveillance combat simulation operations around the Chimera. All transport craft hold position. Recon, you’re in first. Iron Lady, get the Sentinels docked and locked. Then Transports, then Fighters. Astro, you have lead for fighters. Take ‘em home. =/\=

The Major then tapped the comms and connected with Astro directly. =/\= Astro, you do know I listen to everyone, correct? Professionalism, Captain… Marine Aviators are always professional. =/\= His tone was haughty, superior, and condescending… but also familiar and not hostile in the least.

Captain Dawkins would know, as well as every Aviator in the 399th Group would as well, that while the Major was both arrogant and hyper-critical of those under his command; he was also their staunchest defender and would never give them an order that he himself wouldn’t take on. He also backed up his arrogance with a stellar record and a knowledge that gave credibility to both his reputation and that of the Zakdorn species as master tacticians. That had been established over the past five months of personnel selection, training, vetting, and constant drills and practice.

Lardel’s fighter left formation and took a stationary position above all the activity. Everyone knew he was watching each and every ship play out their specific roles in the grand dance of the Group taking it’s rightful place in their new home.

Maj. Lardel, CAG


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