PLOT - JDL | Capt Ivanova, LtCmdr Waterhouse, Cmdr Dahe'el, Cmdr Archer, Cmdr PontBrillant, LtCmdr Neyes, Lt Novak, SCmdr Lareth - "Titanium pt. III"

Posted on Sun Oct 26th, 2014 @ 1:03pm by Commander Amelia Waterhouse & Admiral Rochelle Ivanova & Vlimar PontBrillant & Commander James Archer & Commander Tristan Neyes PhD. & Lieutenant Henry Novak
Edited on on Mon Oct 27th, 2014 @ 5:54am

2,954 words; about a 15 minute read

Mission: All Hallows’

“Ops… Report.” She said, hesitant to believe her eyes. What she couldn’t have known was that a young lieutenant by the name of Kristiyan Radoslav had made the ultimate sacrifice after his fighter had been clipped and disabled by the D’deridex’s point defense systems. With the last ounce of power his bird could muster, and knowing he was dead regardless, he’d flown directly towards and crashed into the Romulan vessel’s main power relay. She was hopeless. Dead in space. Crippled and slowly to list to starboard.

James, like Tristan, was rushing from downed bridge officer to downed bridge officer in an attempt to make himself useful. He looked up the moment the ship stopped shaking, from where he was stabilizing a Petty Officer that had seen a console blow up in his face during the height of the battle. “You’ll be alright, shipmate, we’ll get you home.” He said softly to the man.

Vlimar tapped on his console, through the fluctuating power that was energizing it. As the tapped the console, he looked up at the D’deridex, to confirm what he was seeing on his console. "Captain, the enemy ship is disabled, dead. I read no shields, no weapons, limited life support," he stated, as he began a ship wide scan of both the Vindicator and the Romulan ship.

Rochelle nodded, getting to her feet and tugging down on her soiled tunic, caring not what image she presented with her loosened hair and bloodied face. “Stand down, cease fire. Open hailing frequencies.” She swallowed the angry knot in her throat. If it hadn’t been for treaties and protocols, she’d have blown the ship straight to Hell without a second thought. Lucky for the Romulans, she was required to show mercy. “Romulan ship Ssaed Hllue, this is Captain Rochelle Ivanova of the USS Vindicator. We’re aware that your ship has lost power and is about to lose main life support. We’re willing to render aid and beam your crew to our ship for medical treatment. Do you agree to these terms of surrender?”

The view screen snapped to the static filled image of SubCommander Lareth, a trickle of green blood running from an open gash across her forehead and a cheek swelling with the promise of a vicious bruise. She would never dare admit how much either hurt both physically and the pride she’d worn as a badge. A sneer ripped across her face as she locked eyes with the haughty human bitch of a Captain. “I would rather burn in Areinnye than accept aid from human kllhwnia.” She hissed and spit at the screen as if to punctuate her point.

Rochelle’s lips pursed and her chin set high in her standard pose of defiance and irritation. “Then, just to clarify, you’re not surrendering and allowing us to assist?” She asked, her arms folding over her chest. “This will be your last chance, Commander Lareth.” The Captain’s patience was quickly wearing thin and the bounds of Starfleet regulations were being exhausted at the same rate of speed.

“Go to Hell.” The SubCommander snapped and the screen went dark once more.

Closing her eyes and rolling her shoulders, Rochelle turned to look across the smoky bridge at her officers. “Commander Neyes, I want you to assist medical in treating the wounded. Commander PontBrillant…” She sighed, gingerly pinching the bridge of her broken nose. “I want you to fini—“

"Captain, another ship is declaoking to stern, Valdor class, Romulan," he stated, cutting her off. "Weapons armed, shields up," he stated, as he raised the shields again, looking at Rochelle for the signal to fire, his finger hovering again on top of the tactical panel.

The smaller Romulan vessel buzzed the great Vindicator as it rose over top of them, slowly approaching the crippled D’deridex. Rochelle’s voice stilled as she watched both the sensor arrays and the view screens showing the fresh ship, her heart beginning to race in her chest as she knew there would be no way the damaged Discovery class could hold her own against them. Not now. Not like this. Her worries, however, would be for naught.

A second later the Valdore opened fire with several shots of pulse disruptors screaming towards Lareth’s vessel. It was all the Captain could do to shield her eyes from the great explosion that illuminated the screen and shook the Vindicator as debris pelted her shields. The entire head of the destroyed warbird flew free, thanks to the Vindicator’s firepower having greatly weakened its neck. What Rochelle could never guess was that the wreckage would tear through the atmosphere and dot the landscape of the planet they’d just cleaned up of technology.

Just as soon as it had appeared, the Valdore, as if satisfied with its work, disappeared leaving nothing more than a warp signature in its wake.

“Commander Neyes, go! Tell medical to prepare for incoming casualties. Ops, beginning scanning the wreckage for survivors, recall the fighters!” She gasped in shock and awe of what she’d just witnessed. Her eyes, wide and wild, shot over her shoulder to find Amelia, Archer and Almar. “Let’s get the Hell out of here as soon as we have all confirmed survivors on board and begin repairs. Radio in to Qu’Vat, tell them we’re going to need space and a possible tug.” Each order was punctuated by one shaky step after another back to the security of the proud center chair until she deposited herself in it with a heavy sigh. The adrenaline was fresh and wicked as it lanced through her veins, leaving her feeling cold and her pulse thready. Once upon a time, not so very long ago, she'd lived for battles like these. Now, as a Captain, there seemed to be so much more at stake. The fun of it had been all but extinguished.

Neyes only partly heard the Captain as he pressed a forefinger to the neck of a petty officer, his own brow bloodied from a collision with a fallen panel. The woman was shaking, her eyes listless and her breathing was rapid. Wiping his brow, he strained to keep calm and tapped his combadge, "Neyes to transporter room four, emergency transport to sickbay!" He snapped a hypospray, and pressed it into the woman before they both beamed away.

Vlimar, looking both at the screen and his panel, nodded to Rochelle's orders and sent the signal to Captain Keggle to recall his troops all while beginning to scan the head of the Romulan ship for survivors. As post battle silence regained control of the room, Vlimar stated "16 survivors detected, in various states of strength. May I recommend beaming them directly to sickbay?" he asked, looking up at Rochelle.

"Make it so." the Captain responded, her voice so strong in spite of how tired she was beginning to feel. Tristan was gone, safe, she'd kept her promise in that regard and that was a relief.

Vlimar immediately began the site-to-site transport of each and every life signature out there in the black. He received confirmation of their successful transfers to sickbay and looked back at Rochelle to visually confirm. As his eyes lay on her face, he noticed that the Captain was back, sitting in her chair. Her eyes were closed, her head seem wobbly as if too heavy for her neck to support. It was obvious that the battle’s adrenaline was fading from her body and that pain was taking its place. He got up from his battle station and, as he stood, he felt an overwhelming need to cough. It won over with a deep, painful cough. It was a cough nasty enough that it produced a small amount of blood as he wiped his mouth and began to walk towards the Command chair, as if drawn by instinct. He felt a strong sensation of burning on his back and neck as he slowly reached the command chair.

"Captain?" he asked, softly, as he observed her.

"Commander, can I get confirmation that the survivors have reached sickbay and verify there are no more in the wreckage?" Amelia ordered as she noticed Vlimar leave his station to approach the Captain. They weren't in the clear yet, they needed to be gone before any more surprises decloaked. "Helm, prepare a course back to Qu'Vat once the Commander has confirmed there is no one else in the wreckage."

Amelia stood, looking at Rochelle. It was clear that someone would need to see her down to sickbay, and with the Counselor transported down there already, she wasn't sure who she could spare from the bridge to do so. Perhaps she could order a site to site, once the transporters weren't tasked to recovering people from the wreckage of the Romulan ship.

"Transport was successful, all sixteen are onboard, Commander," he stated to Amelia, while observing Rochelle, feeling something was very, very wrong.

The minutes had been quickly ticking past since the end of the battle, giving them time for survivors to be beamed aboard and damage tallies to be taken. The Captain re-opened her eyes as she listened to Vlimar report to Amelia. She sniffled and immediately coughed, regretting the instinctive action the moment the newest warm flood of blood hit the back of her throat. Rochelle wanted to vomit. Taking a deep breath, however, she found the resolve necessary for her to find her feet to once again resume control of her bridge. Moreover, it was a thinly veiled attempt to escape the concerned eyes that she could feel following her every move. She was about to say something, release orders, ask for status reports... something, when an engineering officer came out onto the bridge.

"Captain, the fire in your ready room has been contained but..." Their eyes cast low to the deck, not wanting to release the rest of their report.

"How bad?" Rochelle asked, her voice rough and husky — battle worn. The desk... The couch... the chairs... the coffee stained carpet... All of it was Landon. All of it filled with memories and nuances that simply couldn't be replaced, not even by Starfleet when they'd offered her the chance to refurnish to her liking and specific tastes. Fish tanks, desks, art — all of it had been thrown at her, and she'd denied it all in lieu of keeping what had been his as if it would harness his spirit to the ship.

The Ensign shifted their weight uneasily, lifting their eyes to study the fearsome woman. The Captain needed a doctor - that much was easy and readily apparent. Her nose was broken and while it wasn't crooked, the blood that readily trickled from it and the darkness beginning to settle under both of her eyes spoke volumes. Her lip was split and swollen and the bloody mess that had claimed her face had also wound its way into her hair. Her hair clip had broken upon impact against the back of her chair and had freed the copper tide it had dutifully held back, allowing parts of it to become a tangled, blood encrusted mess. "It's gone. Fire suppression failed... It's... It's gone. I'm sorry, Captain."

Pain was a vicious thing. It seared hot and ready through scrambled nerve endings only to be placated by the rawness of adrenaline as it continued its flood through her veins. The problem adrenaline couldn't solve for, however, was the emotional tidal wave that came along with battle and loss. Rochelle nodded, her battered lips pursing together and her jaw tipping imperceptibly higher as she did her damnedest to defy the proverbial knife in her heart such a loss had stabbed her with. "I see. Thank you, Ensign." The cold, stoic words left the Captain’s lips and the Ensign knew better than to say anything else, instead they did an about face and rushed to yet another call concerning yet another hull breach.

"The survivors are being treated along with our injured crew?" Rochelle looked towards Vlimar and Amelia for confirmation, her bitter eyes betraying the exact level of hurt and concern that had come to washed over and settle on her face. As a tactical officer, battles had simply been a game. As a commanding officer, battles meant protecting her crew, saving lives. They were no longer fun. "And the ship? Seems we still have main power and communication... We're not in a completely unfortunate state, correct?" She asked, looking to Almar where he stood. James was rushing around and helping medical. He'd been protected, kept aboard. Somehow, watching him, she didn't quite buy that the Romulans had engaged them simply to try and pluck one pest of an Intelligence officer from them simply because he’d blown up a couple ships that had chased him into Federation territory. It was something she'd talk to him about later.

Much later.

Far later than she'd ever thought.

Two steps were all she managed to take before her knees gave out, or was it her consciousness? Either way, not even a surprised gasp or yelp was able to pierce her lips as the deck plates rose up to meet the delicate Captain's little body.

Vlimar immediately knelt in front of Rochelle trying, as much as the situation permitted, to soften her fall. He ended up managing to catch her head as the rest of her body hit the deck heavily. Looking down at her, he immediately bundled the little woman in his arms, only vaguely aware of the red of her blood intermingling with the color of her hair as it colored his hands and arms. It was then that he looked for an attentive eye.

As his eyes meet Amelia's, he cleared his throat and softly said; "Call sickbay, let them know I am coming," before beginning his run towards the turbo lift with hope that it would still function under the circumstances.

Amelia hadn't even been able to take half a step toward Rochelle before she was draped across the Frenchman's arms and he was on the move. She'd already been considering sending him anyways, he had relief for both tactical and operations standing by. Amelia nodded to him and made eye contact with the Ensign who stepped up to the primary Ops station and immediately called to sickbay.

"As soon as ops confirms the wreckage is clear of survivors and engineering confirms we're safe to move, I want us out of here at our maximum safe speed," Amelia directed.

"Maximum safe speed is going to be sublight at the moment Commander," Almar replied, the frustration evident in his voice as his hands continued to fly over his console, warnings going off all around him, "Impulse power is limited to two thirds, warp drive is offline and cores two and three are down,"

"Do we have an estimate on when we can be warp capable again?" Amelia turned to look at the Cardassian chief engineer. Focus on the ship, and trust sickbay to do their job for Rochelle, Amelia admonished herself internally.

By that time, Vlimar had immersed himself in the Turbolift, holding Rochelle in his arms as the door slowly shut. Its speed - or lack thereof - gave away the telltale signs that the lift had been affected, yet was still functional. He’d be happy to take the small miracles. The image of the Commander as he cradled the unconscious Captain disappeared from sight, leaving the bridge to the mercy of the Executive Officer.

"Without getting into the nacelle and checking over the damage... I cannot tell," the Cardassian replied as he bought up the MSD and zoomed it into the damaged nacelle, "It’s also looking at taking a while to get in to look over the coils, I'm showing elevated radiation and plasma levels within the structure itself, we'll have to run a full purge and seal any leaks before we can begin work."

"Get teams on it, and report back as soon as you have a timeline for me," Amelia returned, knowing that the Commander was likely already coordinating just that.

"We'll do our best Commander," Almar replied simply as he began passing around the messages to his teams.

Amelia turned her attention to operations. "Contact Qu'Vat and inform them we're stuck at sublight and would appreciate any assistance they would be able to render. Were the 16 survivors Commander PontBrillant beamed aboard the only survivors in the wreckage?"

"Yes ma'am," the ensign answered, turning her attention to the console to contact the Klingon shipyards.

"Zheer, are all the fighters on board?" Amelia's attention turned to tactical. The Andorian woman's blue fingers flew over her console, her antennae moving slightly to follow them as her eyes did too.

"The last surviving fighter is being towed in right now," she answered. With that, Amelia's attention then shifted down to helm, but saw that Lieutenant Novak sat poised with a finger ready to engage before she could question him.

"Engage, three-quarters impulse, Lieutenant," Amelia directed him. With a sigh, she sat back in her chair and released her grip on the arms. She hadn't even realized she'd been gripping them that hard.

=/\= End Log =/\=

Captain Rochelle Ivanova
Commanding Officer
USS VINDICATOR, NCC 78213-E

Lt Commander Amelia Waterhouse
Executive Officer
USS Vindicator, NCC-78213-E

Commander Almar Dahe'el
Chief Enginering Officer
USS VINDICATOR, NCC 78213-E

Commander James Archer
Starfleet Intelligence
USS VINDICATOR, NCC-78213-E

Commander Vlimar PontBrillant
SOC
USS VINDICATOR

Lt Commander Tristan Neyes
Chief Counseling Officer
USS Vindicator 78213-E

Lieutenant Henry Novak
Flight Control Officer
USS Vindicator

SubCommander P’mag Lareth
Commanding Officer
IRW Ssaed Hllue
apb Sean`

 

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