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A monotone female voice anounced "Normal space reintegration acchieved. Scanning starcharts for timetable synchronization."
Choosing to go to phase after sustaining heavy damage may have done more damage than if they had remained in the firefight (Although it is also possible that the firefight could have killed them). Decks that were barely maintaining structural integrity catastrophicly lost it under the pressure of three artificial blackholes; one of which, in a strange paradoxial methood involving the other two holes, the ship passed through.
As a result, lifelines throughout the ship had ruptured, causing fires and explosions along nearly all decks. Highly pressurized fire containment systems had blown under the sudden pressure change, leaving only manual fire control methoods to solve the problem.
The Apollo Class Attack Cruiser (ACAC) Talonsfeld had lost 35% hull integrity. It still remained combat capable, though... that is, as soon as the weapons systems were rebooted and the weapons were recrewed.
Wells looked around the command deck which had suffered damage as a gas lifeline had ruptured overhead and some computer systems catostrophically overloaded. The computers simply had not known what to do with the damaged parts of the ship in prepartation for the phase jump.
The Captain lay sprawled across the deck, seemingly the only bridge officer mortally wounded from the jump. He was a good officer. A good man, yet he knew the risks of making this jump. He was not taking a chance with any particular part of the crew. Not the pilots, not the firefighters, not the techies in engineering, nor the bridge crew alone. He had gambled randomly with every single crewmember's lives, and had payed for it.
Lieutennant Xaodo knelt gingerly in front of the captain and brought her fingers to his neck. She looked up gravely at Commander Wells with an equal sense of understanding to his. "Orders... Captain?"
"Get a crew up here to take care of the late captain. Have the techies get us combat operational ASAP."
"Aye sir."
"What is the status of the Docking Bay?"
"All strike craft and transports are more or less intact, Sir."
"Have a Condor made ready with four of our best marines. Fully geared."
"Aye sir."
Wells stared at the blip coming from the planet's surface. He placed his finger over it, perhaps to assure that it was really there. He then gathered up his few belongings on the deck and a blank data tablet.
"Xaodo, Ports, get to your quarters and get ready for a planetside mission. Wear your class B's and bring personal arms. Meet me at Starboard bay 12D in 30 minutes."
"Aye sir."
They did not have to wear Class B's for this occasion. In fact, from the current look of things, it would probably have been more apropriate to wear TACDRESS ground combat clothing, made popular by the IPMC marines. His only real reason for issuing the order was... well... Xaodo looked good in Class B's. It brought out her curves, yet still maintained a proffessional look.
Even if she was interested in Wells, there was no real way to maintain a relationship within the Chain of Command. Still, he was unmarried, she was unmarried, and they were relatively the same age. He snapped out of his daydream when he realized there was one last order he forgot to issue.
"Rico, you have the bridge until I return."
"Aye, sir."
With that, he stepped out of the bridge and instantly heard the snap from the boots of the two guards posted at the exterior bridge door. He carried on past without issuing an "at ease" and heard them shift their boots to the at ease position after he was nearly out of ear shot.
As he passed through various halls, alarms and klaxons still blared as fire control teams still struggled to control the ship's remaining fires. His normal route to his quarters was blocked by a fallen lifeline spanning across the whole deck.
He took a slightly familiar detour that he had only taken when avoiding running into certain people. He made it to his quarters and slid the keycard to open it. He rarely biometric-locked his quarters. He didnt have any real enemies aboard the ship, and felt it more of an inconveniance than a luxury.
As a senior officer, he already wore the class B uniform on the bridge, as opposed to the NAVDRESS that most of the bridge crew wore. He pulled his Dress Jacket from the closet, that would transform the Class B uniform into the Class A uniform. ((No magic, its just that a single item distinguishes the difference between the two uniform classifications))
He armed himself with his BP-6 and called up the Marine Master Gunnery Sergeant to secure him an "SF rifle" as the marines called it from the Armory.
Within twelve minutes, he was on his way down to the bottom deck and into the docking bay. He found the port that his "away team" was assembling at.
His officers, pilots, and marines snapped to attention. He surveyed them for a moment. Two marines held SF rifles. One of them held a second rifle for the captain. A third wielded a Support Rifle, which was sort of a combination of a Sniper Rifle and a squad machine gun of ancient days. The fourth marine had a 3 Guage Tactical shotgun. He was probably the leader.
Wells looked over his officers. Ports, who towered over most of the crew at 6' 6", still had his unshaven "neck beard". It was out of regulation, as most naval crew werent authorized to have any facial hair at all, but Ports was compitent and outstanding in every other way.
Wells stroked his face and felt traces of stubble begin to form. He was due for a shave as well. Ports took this as a message commenting on his beard and gave a "well, too late to do anything now" sort of look.
Xaodo wore ruby lipstick and eye makeup. Also well out of regulation, but Wells wasnt one to complain. His only concern that this call would place them in ground combat. Hence the extra security.
The group waited as if expecting a briefing. Wells never issued one. What was there to brief? His ship had been pulled out of an intense combat scenario for an "urgent situation". What that situation was, he didnt know.
He ordered them to board the Condor and within minutes, the plane-like transport thrusted away from docks and towards the planet.
The pilot spoke through the VOXCOM to Captain wells "Sir, we dont have any destination coordinates."
Wells looked out the starboard viewhole at the battlescarred ACAC Talonsfeld. It was both a beautiful sight and a grotesque image at the same time. It was as if you were looking at a beauty queen who had been shot repeatedly. He then turned to the port viewhole and looked at the planet as it got closer. "I have a feeling the people who brought us here are going to have us accomadated in every possible way. Hold fast until we get further orders.
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