GateWar Interludes
“Incoming Secessionist warcraft,”
Cursing, Boomer 608 rose from her desk, her hands swiftly tapping a security look-out on her mainframe access point before running; she left the tight, almost claustrophobic office for the massive basestars command centre, her eyes vacant as her mind analysed the swift, steady stream of data coming in over her network access.
The datastream cut-off and she hurried, knowing that the battle was joined and that all available bandwidth was now being redesignated to priority tasks only, such as raider control, orders, and reports, not to keeping the crew, even the Commander, aware of the exact minutiae of the battle.
She felt the floor underneath her shake just slightly as she stepped into the basestars heavily upgraded command centre and knew at that moment that the main weapons, Goa'uld designed energy blasters affixed to the ends of each arm of the ship, an act that necessitated the strengthening of the supports and the loss of some fighter spaces, were firing.
Her eyes dropped straight onto the flickering, shifting form of the holographic tactical display, the result of some swift butchery on a vo'cume as she stepped towards her post and she grimaced, two secessionist basestars had appeared, the arrival preceded by a fighter swarm.
The Secessionist craft she knew were better, their masters having been stealing and seizing technologies at every opportunity, indeed, she had heard several reports that they know had several examples of Tau'ri pulse weaponry technology available to them.
She hoped it wasn't true, that technology was an edge for the Tau'ri and they needed all of those they could get, it wasn't as if they could assist them after all.
New dots appeared on the tactical displays, rising up from the planet below, raiders mostly but there were several boarding craft and bombers, both based on the same heavy raider design but refitted and upgraded into different battlefield roles.
One Basestar, and a lot of support craft against two basestars and a lot of support craft… this could be tricky. Nevertheless, she would do all she could, they had their duty to the humans they were guarding after all.
“Sensor reports on the two basestars please,” she asked calmly, the words loud in the quiet calm of the command centre.
The tactical display vanished, a flickering, distorted pair of shapes appearing, neither of them complete, but showing enough that Boomer knew her strategy for the battle in an instant.
“Ahead flank, close with the basestars, fighters to provide support, bombers and boarding craft to hold back for now,” she ordered, her voice appearing calm but a slight quiver was there which to an experienced ear would speak of fear, anxiety.
Her bridge crew were all cylons, they counted as experienced ears but they did not comment, they knew that at that moment, their voices would most likely betray something too.
“Okay,” Boomer said quietly, “back to the tactical display please,”
She watched, eyes hard as her fighters punched into those of the secessionists, vastly outnumbered, but fighting hard nonetheless, many would die but there was a resurrection point in the next system, they would not stay dead.
“Switch fire,” Boomer 608 finally ordered, her eyes following the range marker for the main batteries as it passed over the two enemy basestars, encompassing them, “all main batteries, fire as you bare on the enemy capital ships”
Her eyes ticked across just a second to the ships own status displays, noting the swiftly eroding shield strength and the increasing numbers of gaps in the fighter strength boards, but knowing that most likely, such damage didn't matter anymore.
“No return fire from the enemy basestars,”
Boomer smiled, it was grim smile of determination and satisfaction, “of course not, they had too many fighter bays, no room for ship to ship weapons. Move up the bombers and boarding craft, I want one of those hulls captured for refit into the fleet… with ship to ship weapons”
She smirked, “and find out if a Doral unit was in charge, these ‘I have more fighters then you therefore I'll win are exactly the sorts of tactics those paperpushers would use”
At the edge of the battlefield, unnoticed, a small black craft watched, its sensors greedily sucking in every detail of the battle, its IFF switched off, only a large grey icon on the hull marking it as a secessionist intelligence gathering platform.
The craft watched eagerly, greedily as the taskforce was destroyed, its transmission receptors logging gigabytes of data as the heretical human-loving cylons attempting to figure out why exactly the secessionist basestars had been unmanned.