Reshmar
Jul 30th, 2005, 07:26:00 PM
In the quiet dark of space, it is almost easy to forget the events of the last 30 Hours. If not for the pain Reshmar felt from his wounds and the smell of burning conduits and charred flesh which still filled the air, it might seem like any other day on the Mon Casima. The desk before him looked to be the only piece of equipment on the ship which had not been damaged in some way during the battle at Endor. Most of the massive Calamari vessel was damaged beyond the point of repair. Many of her systems were now working on back-ups and minimum power; and those which weren’t did little
good for the vessel if she had to engage in battle again.
Since the Fleet order to depart from Endor had come, the Mon Casima had made twelve small jumps to evade any Imperial patrols from following. Most of the Fleet had moved on to various rendezvous points leaving the crippled Mon Casima to fend for herself. Her battered shell scarred and burnt from volley after volley of turbolaser strikes. With her hull discolored from fire and warped from the heat which ravaged through the massive vessel, Reshmar knew it was a miracle the Casima escaped at all; let alone remained in minimum operational status.
The rumble of the vessels hyperdrive engines was replaced by a massive screech and loud boom as the star lines Reshmar had been looking out into suddenly became small countless points of light. Twice before the hyperdrives had failed, leaving the battered vessel stranded in subspace for hours. Repairs were slow on the ship due to the fact that most of the decks and corridors of the massive ship were inaccessible and open to vacuum.
Reshmar stood and waited for his balance to return. His head ached and the constant dizziness was annoying, but worse was the dry air which had filled the corridors since the moisture evaporators had failed. Reshmar knew it was a minor inconvenience, but the feeling was one Reshmar wished not to endure. As the door to his quarters opened, his personal communicator beeped a distinctive chirp, informing him he was needed on the command deck.
His walk did him good. He had overcome the dizzy feeling which had plagued him for the last 30 hours, and the forward desks had retained more moisture than the aft command section. He felt the hyperdrive motivator’s once again try to engage to no avail, and then felt a massive shock in the deck below his feet moments before the concussion reached him. Reshmar was knocked to the deck by the concussion, a feeling he had felt far too many times in the last three days. He stood once again and continued walking at an amplified pace. As the doors opened to the secondary command deck, Reshmar knew at once the explosion he had heard was not good. The look on the Captains face was one of grim surrender.
“Admiral on the Bridge”
Reshmar walked past the operations officer who had chimed in as he entered. Few acknowledged him by saluting or standing to attention. The work and activity which was going on was far too important and attention consuming for Reshmar to expect any type of pomp at his presence. Captain Aselar turned from the display panel and spoke as Reshmar neared.
“Admiral it is good to see you. Are you feeling better?”
Reshmar surveyed the ruin that was the command deck. After the main command deck was evacuated and destroyed by secondary damage from the battle three hours into the first jump, this had been the makeshift command center for the ship.
Engineers and command officers worked vigilantly to repair systems and get the ship to the maximum battle readiness. This was no small task considering she had lost over half of her weapons in the battle, and the backup shield generators-the life of a Calamari vessel and the main reason for the survival of the Casima-were now useless. Reshmar knew the Casima was done. She would never again be a front line battleship. Age and too much damage had seen to that. Nevertheless Reshmar was determined not to lose her, and to get her to the fleet dry-docks at Calamari.
His gaze was broken as he noticed he had yet to answer Aselar. “I am feeling much better captain, thank you. What is our status and what was that last explosion?”
Aselar picked up a small data pad which sat beside him and handed it to Reshmar. Before even taking it, Reshmar knew what had happened. His asking was a mire formality, he did not need a data pad to tell him the hyperdrive motivators had buckled under the stress of damage and insufficient power. Yet here he looked over the data scrolling over the pad telling him what he had already known: the hyperdrive was gone now, and only the backup drives remained.
The slow backup hyperdrives were a safety precaution on every ship. But with the lack of power and damage, the engineering crew had doubts about the operational status of these drives. Reshmar read on as the report stated the backups would not be operational for at least three days.
Reshmar handed the pad back to Aselar, then turned to look toward the forward view port.
“Captain, let’s settle in for a short stay. Launch the fighters, and go to red alert. All craft are to maintain strict radio silence. We do not need an Imperial patrol finding us while we can not run. I do not want a fight in our present condition.”
Reshmar paused, and then turned to look at the command deck and the chaos which was now becoming a constant sight aboard the Mon Casima.
Aselar nodded slightly, and spoke as he began depressing buttons on his command panel. “Aye, sir,” His response was short and exacting, as he began conveying his orders down the chain to the various commanders aboard the vessel.
Reshmar turned once again to look out at the points of light before him. Stars lay before him in the distance. Many systems containing inhabited worlds lay between him and Calamari, far too many with imperial ties and sympathies. It was a race, a race against the imperials that he knew would come. He had to make it to Calamari before he was spotted; before he and the remainder of the Casima’s crew were once again put up for slaughter to the Imperial war machine.
The thought shook Reshmar to his core. Battle after battle he had watched his fleet and their crews fight. Many had died in his command, but never had he faced the amount of death he had at Endor.
Never had he witnessed such massive destruction. He grieved for the men he had lost. So many young men and women, many he knew, many he did not. All of the commanding officers who had formed the Alliance and fought in battle after battle were now gone, lost in the massive space battle, on the Death Star as it was gouged by the hulk of the Executor, or on Endor itself trying to disable the massive shield generator. As he looked out into the stars, he could not help but think of the Imperial lives lost. By far they had suffered a more massive loss: the Executor and her crew, countless personnel aboard the Death Star, and the loss of their Emperor and Vader even caused him to feel sympathetic.
The Alliance was built around cells. If one was lost, another could fill the roll. The Empire had many leaders, but they had based their command structure around the Emperor. He was their one leader. Reshmar was sure his loss was more of a liberation, rather than damnation to much of the Imperial command; yet the loss of their leader had to have a massive effect on morale and command effectiveness. For all the Alliance had lost, she was still a coherent fighting force. Though segmented and spread, the alliance would rebound and once again be an effective log before the Empire could consolidate their forces and move on. Reshmar was sure the Imperials would attempt to take advantage of the Alliance retreat, but over all the Empire was shattered, and scattered throughout the galaxy.
As work continued to make the massive Calamari warship move again, his mind wandered into thoughts of home, and of the future. This was just another obstacle he and his crew would face, and as each obstacle before it, they would muster to the chore at hand and find a way to overcome any and all odds stacked against them.
good for the vessel if she had to engage in battle again.
Since the Fleet order to depart from Endor had come, the Mon Casima had made twelve small jumps to evade any Imperial patrols from following. Most of the Fleet had moved on to various rendezvous points leaving the crippled Mon Casima to fend for herself. Her battered shell scarred and burnt from volley after volley of turbolaser strikes. With her hull discolored from fire and warped from the heat which ravaged through the massive vessel, Reshmar knew it was a miracle the Casima escaped at all; let alone remained in minimum operational status.
The rumble of the vessels hyperdrive engines was replaced by a massive screech and loud boom as the star lines Reshmar had been looking out into suddenly became small countless points of light. Twice before the hyperdrives had failed, leaving the battered vessel stranded in subspace for hours. Repairs were slow on the ship due to the fact that most of the decks and corridors of the massive ship were inaccessible and open to vacuum.
Reshmar stood and waited for his balance to return. His head ached and the constant dizziness was annoying, but worse was the dry air which had filled the corridors since the moisture evaporators had failed. Reshmar knew it was a minor inconvenience, but the feeling was one Reshmar wished not to endure. As the door to his quarters opened, his personal communicator beeped a distinctive chirp, informing him he was needed on the command deck.
His walk did him good. He had overcome the dizzy feeling which had plagued him for the last 30 hours, and the forward desks had retained more moisture than the aft command section. He felt the hyperdrive motivator’s once again try to engage to no avail, and then felt a massive shock in the deck below his feet moments before the concussion reached him. Reshmar was knocked to the deck by the concussion, a feeling he had felt far too many times in the last three days. He stood once again and continued walking at an amplified pace. As the doors opened to the secondary command deck, Reshmar knew at once the explosion he had heard was not good. The look on the Captains face was one of grim surrender.
“Admiral on the Bridge”
Reshmar walked past the operations officer who had chimed in as he entered. Few acknowledged him by saluting or standing to attention. The work and activity which was going on was far too important and attention consuming for Reshmar to expect any type of pomp at his presence. Captain Aselar turned from the display panel and spoke as Reshmar neared.
“Admiral it is good to see you. Are you feeling better?”
Reshmar surveyed the ruin that was the command deck. After the main command deck was evacuated and destroyed by secondary damage from the battle three hours into the first jump, this had been the makeshift command center for the ship.
Engineers and command officers worked vigilantly to repair systems and get the ship to the maximum battle readiness. This was no small task considering she had lost over half of her weapons in the battle, and the backup shield generators-the life of a Calamari vessel and the main reason for the survival of the Casima-were now useless. Reshmar knew the Casima was done. She would never again be a front line battleship. Age and too much damage had seen to that. Nevertheless Reshmar was determined not to lose her, and to get her to the fleet dry-docks at Calamari.
His gaze was broken as he noticed he had yet to answer Aselar. “I am feeling much better captain, thank you. What is our status and what was that last explosion?”
Aselar picked up a small data pad which sat beside him and handed it to Reshmar. Before even taking it, Reshmar knew what had happened. His asking was a mire formality, he did not need a data pad to tell him the hyperdrive motivators had buckled under the stress of damage and insufficient power. Yet here he looked over the data scrolling over the pad telling him what he had already known: the hyperdrive was gone now, and only the backup drives remained.
The slow backup hyperdrives were a safety precaution on every ship. But with the lack of power and damage, the engineering crew had doubts about the operational status of these drives. Reshmar read on as the report stated the backups would not be operational for at least three days.
Reshmar handed the pad back to Aselar, then turned to look toward the forward view port.
“Captain, let’s settle in for a short stay. Launch the fighters, and go to red alert. All craft are to maintain strict radio silence. We do not need an Imperial patrol finding us while we can not run. I do not want a fight in our present condition.”
Reshmar paused, and then turned to look at the command deck and the chaos which was now becoming a constant sight aboard the Mon Casima.
Aselar nodded slightly, and spoke as he began depressing buttons on his command panel. “Aye, sir,” His response was short and exacting, as he began conveying his orders down the chain to the various commanders aboard the vessel.
Reshmar turned once again to look out at the points of light before him. Stars lay before him in the distance. Many systems containing inhabited worlds lay between him and Calamari, far too many with imperial ties and sympathies. It was a race, a race against the imperials that he knew would come. He had to make it to Calamari before he was spotted; before he and the remainder of the Casima’s crew were once again put up for slaughter to the Imperial war machine.
The thought shook Reshmar to his core. Battle after battle he had watched his fleet and their crews fight. Many had died in his command, but never had he faced the amount of death he had at Endor.
Never had he witnessed such massive destruction. He grieved for the men he had lost. So many young men and women, many he knew, many he did not. All of the commanding officers who had formed the Alliance and fought in battle after battle were now gone, lost in the massive space battle, on the Death Star as it was gouged by the hulk of the Executor, or on Endor itself trying to disable the massive shield generator. As he looked out into the stars, he could not help but think of the Imperial lives lost. By far they had suffered a more massive loss: the Executor and her crew, countless personnel aboard the Death Star, and the loss of their Emperor and Vader even caused him to feel sympathetic.
The Alliance was built around cells. If one was lost, another could fill the roll. The Empire had many leaders, but they had based their command structure around the Emperor. He was their one leader. Reshmar was sure his loss was more of a liberation, rather than damnation to much of the Imperial command; yet the loss of their leader had to have a massive effect on morale and command effectiveness. For all the Alliance had lost, she was still a coherent fighting force. Though segmented and spread, the alliance would rebound and once again be an effective log before the Empire could consolidate their forces and move on. Reshmar was sure the Imperials would attempt to take advantage of the Alliance retreat, but over all the Empire was shattered, and scattered throughout the galaxy.
As work continued to make the massive Calamari warship move again, his mind wandered into thoughts of home, and of the future. This was just another obstacle he and his crew would face, and as each obstacle before it, they would muster to the chore at hand and find a way to overcome any and all odds stacked against them.