Ra'gaar

Eyes in the Dark A Buck Lugo/Ra’gaar (Silver/Granger) Log Gage caught Ra’gaar’s disapproving look. “What?” “Use ‘em,” she shot back sotto voce, her dark eyes, heavy but still focused, reflexively checking the area, “ Again. Otherwise you might not be able to see in an hour.” Her hand gave a quick sweep over the equipment. “New tech, installed too quickly. Full of chemicals. Scrubber’s not exactly keeping up and we’ve both been here way too long.” Giving a definitive nod toward the bottle of eyedrops, she said, “Use, em,” absently adding, “Sir.” Yeah, they’d been there way too long. Going on ...70+ hours, minus a few 4-hr naps? Cass checked the chrono on her main surveillance screen. And no end in sight. Forcing back her over-protective twoie-louie instincts, she cast a critical eye on her counterpart. Despite Silver’s extra decades he obviously kept up with PT and for sure wasn’t Hotshot. A deep breath helped her relax and refocus, confident in his abilities. Gage groaned a sigh and slumped in his seat, pressing the knuckles of his fists into his eyes. He’d already used those eye drops once; they’d taken the edge off but not stopped the burning and he was sure there was a limit to their use. He took her absent address of ‘sir’ in stride. “Don’t waste your concern, Ra’gaar; we’ve had worse. Not like I need eye drops---or sleep,” he spoke dismissively. He looked at her, scowling as he continued in a quiet voice. “‘Cause I’m such a heartless bastard that I didn’t miss a day or so of sleep staring at this thing,” he gestured toward the monitor; “keeping tabs on Wonder Woman’s FHSS* transmissions, on top of sorting out traffic to track our MIAs.” He smirked, folding his arms as he turned back to his post and added sarcastically: “Don’t worry; I’ll remember we ain’t doing it out of the bottom of our hearts.” “What’s the word?” Cass grabbed the drops, tossing her head back for what seemed the thousandth time. A few blinks followed by a crack of her neck did it, but not as well as the time before. “Well, I’ve known the XO for all of two seconds, but I’d say she wants us to know where she’s going,” he said, gesturing at the line of continuous wave* transmissions they were receiving from the Fleming. “Her exec? Commander Audraya Wesley. Orion.... Hot temper, but not as quick as it used to be.” Damn, Tigard was right, but hot didn’t even come close. “She wants us to know where she’s going,” Cass reiterated slowly, swiveling her chair to face him, elbow on the console, eyes fixed firmly on his. “Not necessarily follow her.” Gage grew silent, staring at the screen like he expected it to explain the rationale behind Wesley’s decisions; and if it wouldn’t, he’d wring it out. What exactly did she expect to accomplish on her own and why did she think she had to do it alone? Why’d she force them into that hard place between duty and loyalty? “Y’know, I know what needs to be done, and I’m gonna say what needs to be said; but that doesn’t mean I’m always gonna like it.” Taking that in, her eyes remained focused on his as she waved a finger at his screen. “Anything to indicate a code, a message in that - other than the distress signal?” Gage shook his head. “No. Just your standard automated mayday: ident., timestamp, and location.” “...which gives us her location and the location of the T twins and the Maze,” Cass finished the thought. “So, we know where to not take the Imperious, and where to send an extraction team.” More of a question than a statement. Gage scowled. “Or a clean up crew.” Right. Not exactly something she wanted to think about; hard not to. “Approaching Nova AC, ma’am,” said Cass as an alarm drew her attention to the main screen. “Sending standard orbit approach vector.” TBC in sim. ----- *Frequency-Hopping Spread Spectrum: (Referenced in: Landfall) A technique used to minimize interference, jamming and/or interception of transmissions, by “hopping” short-bursts of data over multiple frequencies in a pattern known to the transmitter and intended recipient. Requires a larger bandwidth than using a single carrier frequency. Generally used in conjunction with additional encryption methods. Patented by Hedy Lamarr and George Antheil in 1942. *Continuous Wave: A transmission method in which data is transmitted by switching a carrier wave on and off for varying durations, such as with Morse Code.

Tracking They had the captain on Blue Force* - always a plus, knowing Cale. “They call her a renegade, but I’ll tell ya, Sunny... she’s a powerhouse. If she’s a renegade, hell! We need more renegades like her out here.” Right. Remembering Tigard’s comments had Cass wondering if he’d ever tracked her, which lead to a resounding hell yeah. The Colonel was responsible for most of the new SPECOPS toys on Imperious. No doubt the Blue Force rigged for chemical - with one specific chemical signature for Cale - was his idea. Sitting in cartel central, chemical had been their only option; anything beyond that meant a sure trace. Tiny chemical dots on the neck of every team member showed their positions, easily detected with the right algorithm if you knew what to look for. General BF showed friend, foe, and neutral, but those on Imperious were team - and captain - specific. Each team had its own chemical signature, allowing Blue Force to pick them up as teams, not just one general blue. Problem was, chemical showed position only and the presence or absence of body heat. Lack of body heat degraded the chemical; dead body gave a bad read. So, far they were all viable. They’d been at it several hours - three SPECOPS and a senior officer on Imperious bridge. Cass on master feed, Moa on Blue Force, and Silver plugged into comms. Silver was good. Took his time. Easily keyed in on primary. He had two decades on her, so why ensign? Vulcan changed things. Brought in more, itching to do their part. A quick check of the master screen, and she turned to Silver. “Evac inbound?” “Roger.” TBC in sim. __________ *Blue Force, aka BFT: Blue Force Tracker, a GPS-enabled system that provides the military with location information primarily about friendly, but also hostile military forces. The color blue is typically used to designate friendly forces while red is used for enemies, and green or yellow is used for neutral forces.

SS Imperious Operation Whiteout Mission Day Three Cassie’s last few hours had been spent in the bay that was dedicated to SEAL commando OPS, comparing notes, exchanging methods, considering options. She’d gone through Coronado with a few; knew ’em quite well. A few others she knew of but never teamed with. In addition to planning for ground or ship-to-ship operations, they prepared for boarding, each operative placing unconventional weapons throughout the ship: slivers of metal, strands of wire, ODN line, and firearms that would be unaffected by an EM pulse. In short, anything that could be used as a weapon was concealed in J-tubes, behind panels, in cracks, in the heads. Nothing was taken for granted. And they were all concerned about this mission. The mix of SpecOps and ordinary crew on the SS Imperious had ‘em antsy. For good reason. Too many inexperienced Fleeters, some obviously unable to blend in, had the teams wondering if they, as a cohesive unit, could pull off the whole mercenary thing.... The bay was sectioned off - one area for planning, one for mock runs, one for training, one for equipment and lockers, and another for fitness. Cass had changed into sweats and short tank and was weaving past equipment when GySgt Gleason “Kahuna” Momoa, also in sweats, fell in step next to her. “So... who’s the maker?” he asked, casting a critical eye on the tattoo. “Casein.” Cass slipped on her gloves as she approached the bench press. She reset the bar weights and reclined to begin her regimen. “Hurt like a sunofa.” Kahuna puffed out a breath as he stepped behind to spot her. “Doc’s an out-n-out sadist. That thing he has about anesthesia....” He left off, shaking his head. “Perfectionist is more like,” said Cass between lifts. They all knew why Casein didn’t use ‘em. It had nothing to do with naturalism, more to do with toughing up for reality, getting them used to pain, numbing the brain they called it. Given a choice between sweating it out in the office or spilling your guts during torture was a no-brainer if ever there was. Kahuna’s help securing the bar earned him a nod of thanks and they traded places, Moa adding a few extra kilos before beginning. “So, you’re on the bridge,” he began, pressing a sweet 185 kilo at two second intervals, the strain shown only by sweat beading on his chest. “Nav,” said Cass as she watched him carefully, wondering how far he’d go. He gave a grunt as he continued, barely winded. “How are they up there? They towin’ the line?” “They’re fine,” she said, knowing he was voicing the concern she’d heard from various teams in passing. Their training and Fleet training wasn’t exactly the same, but casting doubt on the ability of the crew to accomplish the mission wasn’t going to help the situation. If they were going to work together they’d have to have a can-do attitude no matter what the background. Her biggest problem, though, was putting aside her own prejudices and jerking herself out of the Marine better-than-thou to see the Fleeters as equals, and it wasn’t going to be easy. Some time later, dressed as Ra’gaar, she wiped the Marine out of her personality and entered the bridge, giving the area the once-over before settling behind the navigation console. “Geez, Marcie - you look like six miles of bad road!” Shalin, in the command chair. She gave a shrug. “Goes with the territory.” Swiveling her chair, she gave him the once-over. “You look pretty nasty yourself. Except for your face. SPECOPS have anything to say about it?” He gave a lighthearted snort. “I look like a total poser. Hopefully the Captain will know enough not to assign me to anything on the ground.” On the ground? Damn. He was clueless. Had no idea what he was getting into. What the hell kind of preparation did they give him? “I’d agree with that one,” she said, “...and if we’re boarded, you’re toast. Easy pickings.” She turned back to work, catching the eye of Lt. Kvar as she entered. “Lootenant on the bridge! I'm not in charge - I'm not in charge!” he said. Ra’gaar froze mid-keystroke. Raising her gaze to the viewscreen, her jaw twitched in a clench. Gonna be a long mission.