EARTH Yi

Discussion in 'Open Roleplay' started by Dolores Muwangwa, Dec 11, 2019.

  1. Dolores Muwangwa

    Dolores Muwangwa Captain, UNN Yi Sun-Shin

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    Bio
    Dolores breathed in, and out. The unique smell of the Thomas Cochrane’s recycled air filling her nostrils, one last time. She would miss this ship, for all the trials and tribulations she had suffered aboard it, it had been her home for more than five years. She would miss the crew, brave men and women all, and her bridge crew especially. Vikoyan was one of the smartest men she had ever met, even if he could be a prickly bastard at times, and Hyou was the finest pilot she had ever seen. Boyle and Eriksen, rank rookies when she had met them, were now sharp as tacks, and unflappable in the face of danger. Samir Al-Mubarak and Alita Heyer had proven so indispensable that she was bringing them with her to the Yi, and the Weapons Officer and the Engineer lined up beside her at the entrance to the Cochrane’s shuttle bay, turning to face the ship’s new captain. Aaron Mendelssohn. Her executive officer, her best friend, the man who had shared a bottle of merlot with her the night after Natalia divorced her, the man who had held the ship together after Io. Dolores brimmed with pride when she saw the captain’s pin on his breast. “Admiral Muwangwa,” even in Mendelssohn’s typical brusque Australian accent, no small amount of pride was evident on his part, too. “Captain Mendelssohn,” Dolores replied, cloaking her emotion, as she had so many times before, behind a veil of formality. “I hereby relinquish command of this ship to you.” Her hand returned to her side before she extended it in a firm handshake, enjoying for the last time in a while the dull ache that lingered in the wake of Mendelssohn’s grip. “Thank you, ma’am,” Mendelssohn too, kept his face solemn and stern, though there was a deep, sincere gratitude in his dark brown eyes as he added “For everything.”

    “I did my duty as a captain, as you did yours as an executive officer,” Dolores responded stoically, before a small, but genuine smile broke across her face. “Thank you, Aaron.” She breathed again, savouring those idiosyncratic undertones that would not be the same on any other ship. “I will miss this ship.”
    “I’ll miss my Weapons Officer and my Chief Engineer,” Mendelssohn retorted. For a man so well-suited to propriety, he did always seem a little more comfortable outside of it. “Oh don’t worry,” Dolores chuckled a little, “I have made sure their replacements will live up to expectations. Suarez and Temenzhukov come highly recommended.”
    “By Admiral Darmawan,” Mendelssohn’s eyebrow raised sceptically.

    “Admiral Darmawan reccomended you, Captain Mendelssohn.”

    “Exactly,” The pair chuckled for a moment, before Mendelssohn moved on to say his farewells to Al-Mubarak and Heyer. Dolores looked on proudly for a moment, but as they moved beyond the formalities, she decided to leave them to it. She had already said her own farewells, and that had been hard enough. She entered the shuttle and got herself strapped in.

    A few minutes later, and a simple fusion torch carried Dolores Muwangwa away from what had been her home these last five years. A glance around the cabin revealed similar emotions on the part of Al-Mubarak and Heyer, her Weapons Officer lost for the moment in prayer, while the Engineer went over design schematics in the way she always did when she didn’t want to think about other things. Dolores knew better than to disturb them. “We’re one minute out from the Yi, Ma’am,” the shuttle pilot’s voice came slightly uneven through the tannoy. They’ll certainly be glad for the new shuttles after the refit, Dolores smirked, as she ran a finger over the slightly degraded polymer of her crash couch, and tapped an affirmation of the pilot’s message into her terminal. As they began their deceleration burn, Dolores looked over an image of her new command. For as exceptional as the Cochrane had been, the Yi was another beast entirely. Vast, sleek and modern, she was immediately imposing, even when viewing an image of her on a terminal. She was beautiful, as much as any weapon of war could be, yet terrifying at the same time. Each of those torpedo tubes could level a city. Those railguns could carve a ship, or a station apart. These ships were embodiments of the UN’s tremendous potential for both good and ill. It was a terrible responsibility to bear, to put it to the right use.

    The shuttle rattled and shuddered before a clank and a hydraulic hiss announced that they had docked with the Battleship. Dolores unbuckled her safety straps, and stepped out onto the deck of her new command. There was a small welcoming party awaiting her, at the head of whom stood a tall, broad-shouldered Korean man, with short-cropped black hair, and arms like tree trunks, the right of which shot up in a sharp salute. This would be her new Executive Officer. “Commander Holmberg, it is good to meet you at last.” Dolores spoke sternly, returning the salute. She had read this man’s file several times over, and it was very impressive stuff. Hard-working, diligent, and with a spotless disciplinary record, it had been his combat record which stood out to her. Not only had he remained calm under some of the most terrifying conditions, but he had kept his crew calm, too. “Admiral Muwangwa, the ship is yours.” They shook hands, and good lord, but his grip made Mendehlson’s feel like bubble wrap. “May I introduce you to the rest of the bridge crew?” He turned towards the assembled officers behind him, who stood with backs ramrod-straight. “Oh there is no need, Mr Holmberg, but thank you. I have done my research.”

    She stepped past him, and began to walk along the line, as her staff waited expectantly. “Lieutenant-Commander Castaña, Lieutenant Downing-Shaw,” She shook the hands of her Second and Third Officers, with a polite smile, after each one greeted her with a salute. “I hope your jobs will not be too interesting,” she chuckled, moving on to the Helmsman and the Chief Navigator. “Lieutenant Takahashi,” She shook the hand of her Nigerian countryman first, before moving on to his direct superior, “Lieutenant-Commander O’Hare, I must admit, I was very impressed by your work on the Slow Zone. It’s very good to finally meet you.” The Venezuelan smiled, and nodded her head. “Thank you, Admiral,” she replied, firmly shaking Dolores’ hand. “I look forward to serving under you.” Finally, her Sensors Officer and Comms Officer, “Lieutenant Chan, Lieutenant Krejci,” She shook the Mexican’s hand, then the Pole’s. They were both older than Boyle and Eriksen had been, and seemed more battle-hardened, but Dolores supposed that was the difference between a battleship and a cruiser.

    An exhaustive tour of the Yi ensued, from the engine maintenance deck to the torpedo tubes, from the galley to the gymnasium. It was a remarkably well-appointed ship, brightly lit, with a modern, almost sterile internal architecture. As they walked through its pristine halls, she saw all around her the enlisted crew, checking storage lockers, polishing light fittings, running diagnostics. We’ll see how long it lasts once we’re on duty, and they don’t have a new Admiral to impress, but it’s nice to see it. She chuckled, as the doors slid open to reveal her new bridge. The terminals had a mirror sheen to them, there was that same electric hum, but it just wasn’t the same as the Cochrane. She took a deep breath, familiarising herself with the new scent, the new feel of the CIC. Her mind filled with all the potential, all the possibilities that lay before her, and this ship. This is something different.
     
  2. Walter Jenkins

    Walter Jenkins UN Marine

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    Jenkins life as a professional soldier seemed to be a series of various sized boxes. Guard this box. Guard that box. Stand guard outside of this box, in this other box. Pick up that box! Put that box over there, then guard it! It was dull work, a far cry from the action he had experienced on the battlefields of Ganymede years earlier.

    Not that he minded terribly, he just wished he had something to do while he guarded the boxes. Maybe a good comic, or a tv show from back on Earth. Though he remembered from time to time he wasn’t being paid to watch tv, but he didn’t expect to be paid to stand around all day either, the UN did have enemies, as much as the current administration pretended like they didn’t.

    Every now and again he got an email from his friends back on New Tycho, talking about odd groups of people showing up, then disappearing again, Earthers usually...showing up in ships they had no business flying in to begin with, battleships stripped of weapons, vessels designed to build colonies, that instead chose hang around in the Hub. Piracy was also once again on the rise and Mars was no help, the once mighty nation was now wracked by civil war and strife. As much as the Secretary General likes to reassure everyone and everything was fine, things were rapidly changing. He didn’t trust them to see them through the storm, but then again that’s why he was a soldier.

    Still, he did what he was ordered and right now he was being ordered to carry a bunch of ammunition crates off a shuttle and aboard his home for the next year, the UNN Yi Sun-Shin. The vessel had only been launched out of the shipyard a few weeks ago by the looks of the decks, everything was shiny and clean. Hell it even smelled like a new car. He wasn’t exactly sure how that smell permeated an entire several hundred metre long warship, but it was a welcome surprise all the same.

    Placing the crate down in its designated location, he leaned back with a groan and admired the battleship’s extensive hangar bay. He didn’t even have enough time to inhale again before his new Lt zeroed in on him. “Sergeant Jenkins! Your pins may be just as shiny and new as this ship but god help you if you slack off on my watch!”

    Jenkins saluted the man and sprung back into action. Things were pretty easy, it’s not like lifting cargo in zero-g while strapped into a cargo mech really used up that much energy, but ever since he almost got cleaved in half on Ganymede years ago, his back had been giving him grief. He pushed off from the deck and flicked off the mechs magnetic supports and floated back up to the shuttle to grab another crate. It was gonna be a long day.
     
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  3. Dolores Muwangwa

    Dolores Muwangwa Captain, UNN Yi Sun-Shin

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    UNN YI SUN-SHIN

    SOL SYSTEM


    The bridge of the UNN Yi Sun-Shin was dark but tinged with an ambient red glow. All non-essential lights were off, the vessel was in combat. The crew were silent, staring at their consoles, furtively analysing sensor data, inputting commands, monitoring the internal status of the ship, keeping its heart beating. At its head meanwhile, in the crash couch that served as her command chair, Admiral Dolores Muwangwa studied the tactical layout before her. A Martian Battleship Group, represented by a flotilla of red arrows, tore angrily through the void towards her fleet. A Donnager-Class Battleship, two Scirocco-Class Cruisers, and Four Morrigan-Class Destroyers spreading out into a combat formation with unerring precision. Dolores’ forces, a dense mass of blue, fell into position themselves, as the timer she had set wore down, counting the few minutes they had until they entered effective torpedo range. The Yi was at the heart of the fleet, looming large and lethal, the most fearsome thing in its space. A projection of force. Flanking it, the Temerity-Class Cruisers Thomas Cochrane and Boris Lembakoali, and just at its fore the UNN Seneschal, the first cruiser in its line, armed with the fearsome ‘Claidheamh-Mor’ heavy railgun. Dolores could practically see its PDC’s bristling, readying itself for the threat. Around them, in a hornet-like swarm, the Persepolis-Class Destroyers Tenochtitlan, Ravenna, Cusco, Niani, Angkor, and the Persepolis herself moved into their attack patterns. This was the very cutting edge of the UN Navy, ten of their very finest, most advanced, most capable vessels. It was time to see what they could do.

    At Dolores’ side, Commander Seung-Min Holmberg sat intently, gritting his teeth, bracing himself. He hated this part. The edge, the precipice, the last peaceful moment before all was chaos. No matter how many times he did it, it always felt like the moment one went to stand on a step that wasn’t there, stretched out for minutes, hours sometimes. “Destroyers are in position, ma’am.” He reported, straightening his neck. “We’re ready for our attack run.” The Dane looked up at his Captain, saw the steely frown on her face, the iron in her eyes. She opened the encrypted widebeam that Lt Krejci had set up for her. “Ships of the Fast-Response Taskforce. You have your trajectories, you have your targets. Act decisively: stay smart, stay safe, watch each other’s backs. Let’s do this right. All ships, engage.” The Yi shuddered, and the crew were thrust back into their couches, as the whole fleet roared into a high-g burn, the Destroyers pushing to the front, creating a defensive screen. “Mr Al-Mubarak, target the PDC’s on that Donnager,” Dolores forced the words out, grimacing from the g-forces “flechett-”

    “Fast Movers detected!” Lieutenant Chan cut over her, no panic in his voice, only urgency. The Sensors officer barely seemed to be feeling the g’s, so unflappable was his professionalism. Dolores sent him a ping, notifying him that his message had been received. “Our PDC’s can handle them, but I want evasive manoeuvres ready.”
    “On it,” Takahashi shouted up from his console, tapping commands into his brace pad.

    Dolores watched the golden icons of the Martian torpedoes streak towards them, and she watched the well-organised fields of their PDC fire cut their trajectories short. In return, her own torpedo bays, in unison with the bays of her escorts, let loose a tremendous volley. Every time she saw it, the firepower of the Yi startled her, the sheer number of torpedoes it could put out was staggering. The Martians answered the first wave all the same, their own PDC’s no less well organised, their fire just as unerring. It was to be expected. This first wave of torpedoes, while they were all still in formation, while they still had some distance between them, was just a test, trying out each other’s defences, trying out their resolve. Unsurprisingly, the Martians passed the test. The second wave of ordinance was already in the air before the first had even been wholly wiped out.

    The destroyers began to peel off, and as Dolores expected, the Morrigans went to shadow them. They couldn’t afford to be outflanked. The Yi lost her screen, but so did the Donnager-Class, and the Martian needed theirs more. Torpedoes began to hit home, scattergun bursts of flechettes sheering PDC’s away from the hull of the now-isolated battleship. The Scirocco-class Cruisers increased their burn, putting themselves in front of their flagship, as Dolores knew they would, they had to. They had cut their burns, their moves now more tactical, more considered. Weapons-fire flared between the destroyers all around them. The Morrigans couldn’t hold up for long against the Persepolis-class, outsized and outgunned as they were. Dolores smiled as the first one was picked off, the arrow vanishing from her tactical map, but then she saw her worst-case scenario begin to unfold. Even as the Temerity-Class Cruisers moved in for CQB, the Martians broadened their arcs of fire, their torpedoes spiralling out, not forwards. The Persepolis-Class boasted a formidable PDC suite, but it could only do so much. In a matter of seconds, the Ravenna and the Angkor were immobilised, the Cusco had lost its railgun, and the Tenochtitlan’s evasive manoeuvres had put it into the firing lines of one of the Morrigans. Dolores grit her teeth, her fists clenching. Those are my people on those ships. She opened the widebeam again, her eyes like fire. Cochrane, Lembakoali, I need there to be two less Martian Cruisers in this universe. Launch your attacks.” Her mind burned, calculations firing like a supercomputer, overheating almost. “Al-Mubarak, they’ll need cover, another barrage, targeting hardpoints. Seneschal, cover our destroyers.”

    The heavy cruiser obeyed immediately, cutting its burn, and unleashing a broad blossom of torpedoes, swatting the hard-pressed Martian escorts from the air, as the two Temerity-Class craft whipped past her, their point-defence grids cutting them a path through the hurricane of ordinance. Daring seemed to carry the day, as the Sciroccos were cowed, shot after shot from the UNN railguns perforating their hulls. The attack craft made to break away from the isolated Martian battleship when- Dolores couldn’t quite tell what. An error in judgement, a technical glitch, a navigational error put the UNN Thomas Cochrane within five kilometres of the Donnager-Class. The railgun flared, and the round tore through the Cochrane’s citadel. Under the speeds it was travelling, the twisting manoeuvres, the ship had no hope. Its spine snapped like a twig, and its hull shattered into pieces. Lost with all hands. Dolores gasped, just on the border of being audible My closest friends, my former crew, vanished in an instant. A darkness settled on her brow, and whatever mercy she might have had for her opponent vanished with the last embers of the Cochrane. “Tear that battleship apart.”

    With its escorts gone, the Donnager put up as stiff a fight as it was able, but it did not last long. Torpedoes picked off its engines, the last of its hardpoints, and then the Yi closed in for the formality of the final blow, four railgun shots along the length of its hull, the last punching clean through its reactor. Dolores smiled, as the icon vanished from her tactical map, and a minute later, the Yi’s lighting returned to normal.

    “And we are clear. Simulation complete ma’am, a resounding victory.” Holmberg smiled across at the Admiral, pride clear on his face. It was their best result so far, and leagues ahead of what any other UN flotilla could accomplish. Yet there was a stony frown on their commanding officer’s face. “I am compelled to disagree, Commander Holmberg,” she replied, already drawing up a computer analysis of the engagement. “We lost three vessels, one of which was irreparably damaged. An estimated six hundred casualties.” Holmberg frowned. The admiral had seemed uneasy since she had taken command, and he had hoped that a good result like this would have lifted her spirits. But she could be fatalistic at the best of times, and the loss of the Cochrane, simulated or not, was sure to have cut close to home. “Surely these are acceptable losses,” he argued, “against opposition such as this.”

    “Opposition such as this?” Dolores raised an eyebrow, unbuckling from her crash couch, and stepping onto the deck with an audible clunk from her mag-boots. “This is an estimation. This is the best guess of a UN programmer at how a Martian Captain would respond to this situation. If we cannot defeat the simulation without such losses, what chance do we stand against the real thing?” Dolores shook her head, resting her hands on the rail that separated her command chair from the rest of the CIC deck. “We must be faultless. Give the crew a five-minute break, and then we run it again.”

    “With all due respect ma’am... No.” The voice of Graham De Vere, the Ship’s Doctor, ordinarily a bright and amiable man, was stern and unwavering through her terminal. “We’ve already been through three High-G Simulations today. Medically, I must insist that you do not go through a fourth.” Dolores frowned, frustration plain on her face. Ever since they had begun these High-G drills, De Vere had been difficult, but she hadn’t expected him to be this direct. “We’re well under the mandated maximum, Doctor,” She replied, with a stony formality, but the Canadian physician was unrelenting. “The mandated maximum for combat, ma’am,” he insisted, his hand tapping on something out of the frame. “These are just drills, and we’ve already been pushing the limits of what’s safe. Improved drugs or not, you’re asking too much of the crew of the Yi, not to mention the rest of the taskforce. Doctor Lorentz from the Cochrane has already been in touch.” That was a low blow, and Dolores tried not to show that she had felt it. If there was anyone she had a chance of listening to, it was the chief physician of her old command. She hadn’t spoken to Sophia since her wedding, it was still a bit of a sore subject. A stern retort was brewing, but before she could voice it, Krejci’s voice cut through the tense silence that had taken hold over the bridge. “Communique from Naval HQ on Luna Ma’am, Priority One.” Dolores was almost grateful for the distraction. “Put it through, Lieutenant.” She all but sighed, with an audible note of relief.

    A rogue unionist fleet sighted in the Hub, near the Providentia Gate? The last thing that garbage fire needs is a fresh can of petroleum dumped over it. Small wonder they want me to go and put a stop to this. She looked back up at Doctor De Vere, whose stern expression had softened a little, at the news of incoming orders. “It seems we’ll be halting those drills after all, Doctor,” Dolores smiled thinly, raising her eyebrow. “Though you probably ought to get yourself strapped in all the same.” She entered a command, and her crash couch lifted her up a little, so she could better address the bridge. “Lieutenant Commander O’Hare, plot us a course for the Gate. It’s time to put this training to good use.”
     
    #3 Dolores Muwangwa, Jan 30, 2020
    Last edited: Jan 31, 2020
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  4. Walter Jenkins

    Walter Jenkins UN Marine

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    ”Pucking thimulations...” Jenkins grumbled before spitting out his mouth guard. It tumbled in the air in front of him, the zero gravity sending small blobs of saliva careening off in various directions before he grabbed it and stuffed it back into his pocket. His vision was still slightly blurry from the intense g-forces but cleared as he shook his head from side to side.

    Four hours. Four goddamn hours of intense burns followed by five minute breaks of zero g. He knew he didn't have much time until the ships commander, Admiral Muwuangwa decided her bridge crew has not performed well enough and started the simulations up again, so he took the brief reprieve to go to the head and relieve himself. A full bladder at 4 g’s was like trying to hold in a bowling ball and he had no interest in holding on any more.

    Unclipping himself from his crash couch, he pushed off in the direction of the head and slid the compartment door shut behind him. As he unzipped and relieved himself an announcement came over the PA on his deck. The familiar voice of his Lieutenant echoed around the tiny compartment creating a reverb effect. ”Thats all the simulations for the time being soldiers. We’re going to be burning at 1 g for the next few days so use this time to get your equipment sorted and squared away. Squad sergeants I expect you in the briefing room at 0600 hours.”

    Jenkins could hear his squad outside high giving each other and cheering. They didn't exactly achieved anything, but not having to endure more gruelling high g maneuvers was reason enough to celebrate. He finished up, zipped up and left the head.

    ”Alright people, I’m gonna need three volunteers to join be for mandatory guard duty up on the command deck in half an hour. Let's see some hands in the air or ill me making the choice for y’all.”
     
    #4 Walter Jenkins, Jan 31, 2020
    Last edited: Jan 31, 2020
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  5. Dolores Muwangwa

    Dolores Muwangwa Captain, UNN Yi Sun-Shin

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    UNN YI SUN SHIN

    EN ROUTE TO URANUS


    “Ship-to-Ship Ma’am, this shouldn’t really be a fight, but the issue is going to be rounding them up.” Holmberg stood, his back straight, beside Muwangwa’s tactical display, pointing out the last known positions of the unionist fleet. “They’ll most likely scatter the second they see us, but HQ is concerned that they might make a run for New Tycho. Even if they don’t have the forces to seize it, they could do catastrophic damage to its docks, its sensors… They could leave the Hub without its compass.” They had been going over tactical options from the moment that Dolores had given the command to burn for the belt. After spending so long on the float, with only brief intervals of intense g-forces, it was strange to be back under normal gravity. It was almost nostalgic, to weigh something again, though he had that weird sensation he sometimes got, that his hair was heavy. Dolores saw him toying with a strand of black hair, and smirked. She didn’t have that problem. “If they want to take New Tycho, they’ll have done it before we have a chance to stop them. My concern is those Railgun Turrets. If they get control of those, our job will become a great deal more difficult.”

    “It’ll be a tough job, taking those back,” Major Dhanesh Aggarwal, CO of the Yi’s Marine contingent, noted with a grim frown, his famous mustache bristling as he did so. “But my Marines are up to it.” As if on cue, the doors to the CIC slid open, and the guard shift changed. Three marines filed out of the Bridge, as another four marched in, snapping to attention and to a salute, as they saw their superior officers turn to face them. Lieutenant Hector Torres left his men to take up their positions as he stepped over to Aggarwal’s side. Dolores watched as the two briefly conferred on some tactical issue or another, her arms crossed. “Your men won’t be taking the railguns, Major. It will be your responsibility to recapture New Tycho, if necessary.”
     
  6. Walter Jenkins

    Walter Jenkins UN Marine

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    Walter had just walked onto the bridge and taken up his post when the command crew had begun discussing operational matters. He had learned to keep a straight face around the brass hats, especially when matters of import were being discussed. But he prayed to whatever gods were out here in the void that the Admiral did not catch the sidelong glance he made at her when she said the words recapture New Tycho. Had things really deteriorated that much? New Tycho had fallen to some new aggressor? He needed to pay more attention to the news feeds.

    The bridge crew continued to discuss matters amongst themselves. He stayed at his post, eyes forward, pretending like he wasn't hearing a thing. But his mind constantly drifted back to those words. Recapture New Tycho... In what felt like minutes, his shift had ended and his replacement was standing in front of him, relieving him of his post. He blinked away the daydreams and left the bridge with his squad mates, returning back to their bunks slowly but steadily. He didn't say a word, at least he wouldn't risk it out here in the open.
     

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