[b]High Orbit
Colonial Starship Endeavor
Bridge[/b]

"Oh my god."

A hushed silence fell across the crew of the Endeavor as they watched the space battle unfold. Within the span of a few minutes, everything on Dacyria had changed with the self-destruction of the Earth patrol fleet. In all the worse ways.

Yet despite their situation, Captain Sylvana Radcliffe kept a rational perspective on the situation. As a half-Thinker, she refused to acknowledge the scenario on an emotional level, it would just compromise her ability to determine what to do next, and tried to stamp out the fight or flight reaction her body automatically turned to. Instead, she calculated debris trajectories, fire patterns, where the Endeavor had to maneuver to avoid being caught in a storm of debris. And what was left to salvage.

"Helm! Engines ahead full! Get me an intercept trajectory on the main debris field but avoid the remaining combatants." She ordered, snapping her skeleton bridge crew out of their daze. "Now helmsman."

"Aye ma'am! Engines ahead full! Engaging debris shields and point-defense lasers! Um, what are we doing exactly?" The young ensign looked at his stern-faced captain as she was deep in thought, seeking some guide stone in the storm of sudden madness. What he found was a pillar of absolute certainty.

"We're going to salvage what we can from the Earth fleet." Flatly stated Radcliffe, staring at the digital projection of the debris scatter patterns. "The ships are slagged to hell.....but their armories and cargo bays might still be intact or in salvageable state. If we can pick up survivors or equipment, it might just be the edge we need to stay alive until reinforcements arrive, and I bet any remaining Feds would appreciate a timely pick up before debris shreds their pods. Activate Gamma and Iota squads, tell them to gear up for void combat and salvage ops. Lets hope something survived out there."

"Hope so too ma'am. Too many people have died already."

[b]Ishkaar
Muelish River Crossing[/b]

The river was on fire. The jungle was on fire. Everything was on fire.

Harris coughed as he dragged himself out of the foxhole he had been blown into after a chunk of debris impacted several kilometers away and blew a massive shockwave towards the river. The combination of his armor and the depth of the foxhole helped him survive. But there was nothing left of the Ramos militia caught unarmored and out in the open. If there was anything left of them, Harris didn't even want to think of what kind of condition they were in. His own men came first.

"Sound off!" He called out, coughing as he brought himself up. Ragged voices followed, along with cry's for medics and help. Less than half of the troops Harris had marched out to the river with were still alive. And they hadn't even had a chance to get a single shot off. What a bloody waste.

[i]"Alpha lead, do you copy? This is Zeta-lead to Alpha-lead, do you copy?"[/i]

"C-copy Zeta lead! Tell me your still flying!"

[i]"We're still flying, but pilot is saying we lost half our electronics. We're limping back to base. Sorry we can't lend aid."[/i]

"We'll catch our own ride home! You don't risk yourselves any longer than you have to! Alpha-lead out!" Just as the transmission cut out Harris found himself staggering to his knees as his strength gave out. No, his legs were fine, his suit's battery just went kaput, as the cracked power cell couldn't hold a charge any longer. Stripping off the damaged Jacket, Harris stumbled along the line to extract others out of half-mangled suits and fallen positions, trying to ignore the stench of burning flesh and dying people.

It was going to be one hell of a march back home.