05-27-2025, 05:33 PM
== NRC – Flint Chertstone – Tactical Officer ==
"Try to get between the Os'rusa and the comet, we'll take the 'inside' track and use the shorter distance to get ahead."
“On it.” Replied Flint as he gently nudged the ship closer through the coronal discharge from the hyperbolic comet. The particulate discharge was a heady mixture of material particles and exotic radiations. The Yeager's navigational deflector was working overtime displacing and expelling what it could from their path, while the primary shield bubble acted like a plough on an old steam train ejecting everything else it could from their path in a desperate play that hopefully wouldn't result in blocked intakes.
Ahead of them unfortunately, one of the other Wairaran contestants who had left them virtually standing still had succumbed it seemed to that exact fate. Their vessel veering sharply and entering a flat spin out of the race.
This meant that the Yeager had just moved up through the field effectively to fourth place, and by the same action, the Os'rusa had fallen back marginally behind them as she had to avoid the exiting Wairaran.
Shame
They were seconds from the turn. The three other Wairaran craft were still well ahead of them, this was not just a diplomatic race to show the locals that Starfleet were the pluck underdogs here. This was a matter of honour. There was no way they were going to come last to the Cardassians.
Flint adjusted his course again to take advantage of the gravitational pull of the comet verses the magnetic fields of the forthcoming tractor sling effect that was about to with luck shoot them nearer still to the prize.
He had done all he could in this brief moment in time. Now it was timing of the others that this manoeuvrer rested on.
And as ever, as many tactical officers before him. He muttered the Shepard's prayer under his breath; “Oh lord, don't let us screw this up.”
"Try to get between the Os'rusa and the comet, we'll take the 'inside' track and use the shorter distance to get ahead."
“On it.” Replied Flint as he gently nudged the ship closer through the coronal discharge from the hyperbolic comet. The particulate discharge was a heady mixture of material particles and exotic radiations. The Yeager's navigational deflector was working overtime displacing and expelling what it could from their path, while the primary shield bubble acted like a plough on an old steam train ejecting everything else it could from their path in a desperate play that hopefully wouldn't result in blocked intakes.
Ahead of them unfortunately, one of the other Wairaran contestants who had left them virtually standing still had succumbed it seemed to that exact fate. Their vessel veering sharply and entering a flat spin out of the race.
This meant that the Yeager had just moved up through the field effectively to fourth place, and by the same action, the Os'rusa had fallen back marginally behind them as she had to avoid the exiting Wairaran.
Shame
They were seconds from the turn. The three other Wairaran craft were still well ahead of them, this was not just a diplomatic race to show the locals that Starfleet were the pluck underdogs here. This was a matter of honour. There was no way they were going to come last to the Cardassians.
Flint adjusted his course again to take advantage of the gravitational pull of the comet verses the magnetic fields of the forthcoming tractor sling effect that was about to with luck shoot them nearer still to the prize.
He had done all he could in this brief moment in time. Now it was timing of the others that this manoeuvrer rested on.
And as ever, as many tactical officers before him. He muttered the Shepard's prayer under his breath; “Oh lord, don't let us screw this up.”