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ACV Decistor

ACV Decistor

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a part of ACV Decistor, by Vyral.

ACV Decistor.

RolePlayGateway holds sovereignty over ACV Decistor, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

202 readers have been here.

Copyright: The creator of this roleplay has attributed some or all of its content to the following sources:

battlestar galactica television series, the lost fleet novel series, stargate universe television series.

Setting

The stricken battleship ACV Decistor.
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ACV Decistor

ACV Decistor.

Minimap

ACV Decistor is a part of The Galaxy.

3 Characters Here

Capt. Cassin Young [1] "Imagine, there was a time when the stars would whisper to a ship which way to sail for home. If only they would whisper that to me now."
Travis M. Nartatez [1] A parapalegic fighter pilot with a brave soul and a hesitant mind.
Aná Casri [0] A brash, impulsive young fighter pilot produced by a poor and war-weary colony.

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Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Capt. Cassin Young
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#, as written by Vyral
The Colonial Fleet, Oberu System.
07:42am


Wreckage. Debris floated aimlessly through space, carried either by the force of the explosion that had rent it from hull or by the gravity of the planets orbiting the systems sun. Obscured within the twisted graveyard of metal a few ships struggled desperately to stabilize their systems, clinging to life as their ship failed around them. Wounded vessels collided with one another sending out fresh flashes of light and scattering the debris even further afield. The destruction of the fleet had created a ring-like field that hung around the systems largest planet, obscuring the verdant blue-and-green mosaic behind the grey-silver mesh that had been its last hope. Two dozen battered ships still lingered before the debris field but their hulls were riddled with holes and what crew remained alive would be struggling to salvage their systems. The survivors were in no fit shape to fight.

The Colonial Fleet hung in the void of space before them, equally as bruised. Hundreds of ships had formed the formation that had exited jump space and caught their enemies off guard. Now huge gaps had been punched through the fleet, smatterings of metal the only indication that ships had once filled them. Perhaps a third of the ships that had assaulted the system still survived, few of them still capable of a firefight. Those ships too wounded to match pace split off and formed their on sub-division at the edge of the system whilst shuttles scurried from the Auxileries and tried to patch the worst damage; dubbed the Second Fleet. The First Fleet took the lead, chugging forwards in four sub-formations.

Ordered to jump for home as soon as every ship had engines back online, the men and women aboard The Second Fleet were celebrating their victory. After decades of terrible fighting across dozens of systems, in which many had lost friends and family alike, victory had seemed a thin hope, clasped for only by the desperate or foolish. Few had truly believed the attack would work; most believed it would be another useless massacre. The end had not been far from this; the battered Colonial's had maintained just enough functioning ships to claim success. Consisting of five heavily damage sub-formations the Second Fleet painted a stark picture of the battles costs. Jubilant though the fleet may be, no ship had passed the battle unscathed. Friends had died, and many would find that after the euphoric atmosphere settled they would be left staring at a hollow win.

ACV Decistor was attached to the Second Fleet. The large Liberty-Class Battleship had been suffered enough damage during the assault to rule it out of action until it received proper repairs at a shipyard. Whilst the final few dregs of the Second fixed their jump-drives to return home, the Decistor had her own problems on which to focus.




ACV Decistor, Oberu System
07:42am
Capt. Cassin Young


Damage report 00962 -- 0742 f.t. --

Propulsion systems

Engine one ; 92% ... system pass
Engine two ; 87% ... system pass
Engine three ; 32% ... system fail ... repair required ... dry dock required
Engine four ; 100% ... system pass
Engine five ; 100% ... system pass

Vectoring systems ; 78% ... system pass ... repair required ... repairs possible

Jump system

Drive one ; 100% ... system pass
Drive two ; 98% ... system pass
Drive three ; 88% ... system pass

Drive system ; system pass ... projected jump speed variance 9% below terminal

Weapons system

Power system ; 68% ... system fail ... repair required ... repairs possible
Weapons system physical ; 80% ... system pass ... 40% of current available weapons systems require power system repair ... repairs possible
...



Cassin leaned back in his chair as the reports continued to update on the screen before him. The last system update was a decent upswing from the regular system fail notifications that had come across his desk. The Decistor was still able to move under her own power, which was more than many of the ships in the second fleet could claim. His biggest fear was whether the ship could handle a jump without coming apart at the seams. Well over half of the ship had sustained hull damage. They had entire sectors sealed off from the vacuum of space, the last integrity report estimated the system at 71%, a 5% drop from two hours prior.

The ship would need dry dock to be repaired.

Cassin knew the chances of the ship ever seeing repairs was slim to none. It had been taken out of holding and hastily rebuilt for it's current assignment, well past it's decommission age. The majority of the second fleet would serve their last days as transports before they were salvaged and the Decistor would be little exception despite it's history.

Reaching forward the captain brought up the inter-ship communications panel. "Master Chief Williams, authorize power grid repairs, internal systems hold priority. I want cold storage back up as soon as possible, I'd rather not starve to death while the fleet limps back to local command."

"Aye aye Captain. We should be able to get it back up before we exit the first jump leg." the voice of his engineering Chief replied quickly. The engineering team had proven that they were beyond competent, considering the condition of the ship they had been given they had kept it running in top condition. The rest of the crew had performed just as admirably, with the various unavoidable rough spots on the roster. The rest of the voyage would be uneventful enough for most of them.

Switching over to ship wide Cassin took a breath. "Crew of the ACV Decistor. In the last hours you have served admirably in the face of what many called impossible odds. You were assigned to a ship that has already seen it's decommission date, one of the few that survived long enough to do so. In the last hours you have done the name of the Decistor a justice, as a ship that survived it's time in the war, it can now claim the feat of returning to active condition and surviving one of the greatest space battles of the war. By doing this you have also written her legend the honor of seeing the end of the war among the stars."

Cassin paused, he was proud of the legacy that he had been allowed to share a part in, and he knew the crew was as well.

"We have suffered great loss, but also great victory. Take heart for the days ahead, they have been left to you so that you might live for those who died in bringing us this victory. When we set out we where but messengers in an eternal conflict, we return now harbingers of an age of peace. Today we can begin a celebration that will continue on across the stars."

Cassin switched to the bridge com as he looked back toward his damage reports. The hull integrity numbers had dropped 1% before the final report came in at 70%. They could chance making the jump or wait, but with no hope of repair he would only be delaying the risks.

"Helmsman. Dial us in with the sub-group. Set jump for rally 113."

"Dialed in sir, jump on your order."

"Make the jump."

---

The Desistor and the ships in her sub-group seemed to distort for a moment before flashing out of sight. The combined force exerted in that moment would have shattered a planet if they had jumped in atmosphere, but for those ships still in the sector there was nothing. There was no evidence that the ships had jumped save the pieces and parts left behind floating in the debris field.


(Post co-written by Vyral and Chuckles)

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Travis M. Nartatez
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A fighter pilot flew in range of the dock, and silver tethers like coiled, metal tentacles rose up and hauled it in. The pilot, a young man with brown hair in a mohawk, sighed with relief and waited until the fighter was safely on the dock. He opened the door carefully, and a medic helped him out of the fighter and into a wheelchair. Travis inhaled sharply through his teeth, and beamed a smile. He was glad to be on the solid deck again. The man who was piloting his wheelchair spoke.

“Finally. Can’t wait to go home.”

Travis looked up, and shrugged. “Yeah, I would, uh, like to go home, as well, and see my brother. What about you, do you have anybody waiting, for you I mean?”

“My wife,” the other man chuckled.

“Oh.”

Travis could see that he was headed to the infirmary. He knew disabled persons were held priority in the infirmary but he thought it was a little ridiculous. He was fine, just a little shaken and bruised from the impacts. He liked to think that he wasn’t, but he always had to have a check-up after missions, just to be safe.

As he was wheeled into the clean room, the sharp smell of alcohol and anispetic hit him. He crinkled his nose, and gave no resistance as he was lifted up from the chair to an examining table. He took off the shirt of his fleet uniform and stared into space as the usual check-up procedure was being performed on him. Heartbeat was still there, his reflexes were fine, yadda yadda. He just wanted some ice for his bruises and to go sleep in his cabin until they arrived.

He then wondered about his brother, Rufio, who was in the Second Fleet with him. He was on another ship, though, the ACV Liberty. Hopefully he didn’t have any problems. He found himself repeating in his head the advice Rufio had given him before he went to enlist: Don’t get to attached to your crewmates, because you never know when they’ll die, never smoke in the fighter (like you’d do that), and never let anybody get you down.

His thoughts were interrupted as a message came over the PA system, from Captain Young.

"Crew of the ACV Decistor. In the last hours you have served admirably in the face of what many called impossible odds. You were assigned to a ship that has already seen it's decommission date, one of the few that survived long enough to do so. In the last hours you have done the name of the Decistor a justice, as a ship that survived it's time in the war, it can now claim the feat of returning to active condition and surviving one of the greatest space battles of the war. By doing this you have also written her legend the honor of seeing the end of the war among the stars."


A pause.

"We have suffered great loss, but also great victory. Take heart for the days ahead, they have been left to you so that you might live for those who died in bringing us this victory. When we set out we where but messengers in an eternal conflict, we return now harbingers of an age of peace. Today we can begin a celebration that will continue on across the stars."


Travis smirked, and put his shirt back on. The medic was now putting him back in his wheelchair, and presumably went to go get some ice for his bruises.

He felt the jump, then, and he felt like he was going to hurl. Well, every time the ship jumped, he always felt a little nauseous. Looks like he would have to get used to it soon, or he'd throw up everywhere.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Vladimir Zharkov
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"It's time," spoke Emile. A short middle aged man with grey hair, Emile was a veteran of the art of cooking. The way he used Velerian spices was unparalleled. Not an achievement anyone could gloat about, but still.

"Why now?," asked Klosse. The German-descent stood near Emile, toying with his butter knife. They stood in the main supplies office contemplating on whether to steal the bottle of Illyrian champagne the head chef had saved for himself. Another man stood near Emile.

"Just get on with it," spoke Jonas, devoid of expressions as usual. Klosse looked at Jonas and spoke, "Don't get so excited. Someone call Vladimir and ask him where the head chef is." Emile took his cell out and called Vladimir. After ten rings, Vladimir picke up, "What?"

"Where bossman?" asked Emile. "Who?" responded Vladimir, clearly sleepy. Jason tensed up, "Dude, bossman. Head chef. What are you doing?"

"Answering a person who is not allowing me to sleep," responded Vladimir and ended the call. Emile turned back to his mates slowly as the door opened and gave a weak smile. "That bastard," muttered Jonas, still devoid of emotions.

The group faced Jewls, the head chef. "What are you three doing here?"
"Uhmm... Uhh..." started Klosse...
"Well, now that you are here..."




"Man," started a happy Emile, "That champagne was the best I've ever had." The three musketeers walked happily along the central walkway of the class 2 living area. "True," spoke Jonas as he waved at his subordinate chef, Logan. The was over for them, for a while. Jonas hoped the strain of war wouldn't affect the chirpy guy; he considered Logan as his little brother.

"Man, how am I going to have that bland juice that they give us now that I have tasted the nectar of the Gods?," Klosse feigned despair.
"Which is his room?" asked Jonas. "619. I'm looking forward to this," replied Emile, a murderous glee in his eyes.

Two minutes later they reached Room 619. Each room in Class 2 housed two people. The door was open and Jonas touched it with suspicion. The door creaked open revealing a bleeding Vladimir on the ground, groaning in pain. Jonas rushed in to pick him up and Klosse and Emile supported Jonas.

"What happened?!" shouted Emile anxiously.
"Don't know. Kloasse, get a doctor quickly" spoke Jonas immediately but Klosse was already halfway down the hallway. Emile called the ship's emergency services.




2 hours later

"How is he?" asked a concerned Klosse. Emile and Jonas stood with him facing the doctor, searching for the answer on the doctor's face. The look on the doctor's face wasn't encouraging.

"Doesn't look that good. Still unconscious. He seems to have gotten this injury during the mission when his plane was shot, but he managed to hide it," spoke the doctor while guiding them through the place, through the other patients, towards the ward where Vladimir was. Just as Emile feared, it was the ICU.

"But on the phone he sounded fine. And he was okay when we asked him to help us," said Emile nervously. The doctor turned around in surprise...