Greyloch.

Location: Aboard ship Fleet Military Craft Aeneas, Fleet ships holding extreme range geosynchronous orbit around planet designated 'SX-02'.

Mission: Blockade establishment, space-spectral navigation and drone satellite operation, deployment of reconnaissance elements to planet surface. TASTRAS objectives "Arcsine" and "Low sentiment" coded for report at pre-designated times.

Alert: Direct communication with surface deployed elements lost. One pilot and Hydra transport/logistics drop-craft unaccounted-for.

Mission Time: 09 July 2217, 1251 Hours.

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"Raven six, do you copy?" Frazzled static, and jumpy signal noise filled the area communication suite around the deck. Urlashine Pedrina, Ensign, ravaged her console in an attempt to clear up the transmission, or scan for any incoming traffic. "Raven six?"

"Situation update Ensign." Acting Deck Officer O'Rourke turned from another terminal and ensign to receive his communication technician. O'Rourke, a slight man. Bedecked in grey fatigues, a thigh holster with sidearm, on his left breast embroidered Colonial Military Fleet insignia.

"Time from last communication." He added, with a concerned but demanding tone.
Pedrina punched up an overhead display with positional readings, a flashing point on a large white globe behind a latitude/longitude grid pulsed in O'Rourke's periphery.

"Sir, the last mission flight from the battlegroup was at ten twenty hours. Four flights of Drop-craft descended to planetary ell-zeds, three have since arrived back aboard, reporting no contact with Raven zero-zero-six. All my efforts to contact her began at this point-"
She extended a finger upward and indicated to O'Rourke her point of reference.

"The time of communication blackout commenced at-" She glanced at her watch, "Twelve eighteen Sir."
O'Rourke, stern with signs of distress being rudimentarily contained considered the assessment, everything Ensign Pedrina had to offer explanation-wise was one-hundred per-cent. He accepted her design and said:
"Thirty minute lag time from scheduled rendezvous, intermittent com-bursts and a non-responsive asset. We have a bird out of nest... Ensign, have we been able to contact ground elements?"

"No Sir. All attempts failing, Cyclops orbital satellites are unable to transmit. We are beaming the satellites, but it would seem any TASTRAS units on the ground cannot make contact. No communication bridge Sir." Pedrina had a quasi-panicked look adorning her features, she no doubt was waiting for orders. O'Rourke had already mapped the next sequence of events to occur:

"Alright then. Pedrina, maintain quarterly com-bursts until relieved. Technical Officers Wayread through Dervishor, find out why my Cyclops Satellite Network refuses to accept ground pleas for conversation, and you! Simondson! You're with me, Captains billet, eight minutes ago! Move!" "You all have a job to do!"

A combined reply of yes-sirs and 'aye' issued from the bridge crew. Simondson and O'Rourke filed out through a bulkhead, and passed ensigns, crew-chiefs and various ship personnel on their way to the billeting deck. The bleak white lights lining the ceiling and either edge of the gangway's raised floor hurt O'Rourke's eyes, having had the privilege of literally, staring off into dark empty space for several hours, he hadn't had time to let his vision adjust.

The pair tramped through a bulkhead and veered right to a small pressure door. O'Rourke tapped a communicator panel and spoke confidently:
"Captain Grey? Sir, we have a situation developing, requiring your immediate attention."
The panel beeped, then grunted. A sallow-faced Grey appeared in miniature upon the small screen.
"Thanks Chief. Brief me on the bridge in exactly one minute. Continue to contain the situation until I arrive."

"Aye Sir." O'Rourke and Simondson departed the cabin door.
"Why did we have to inform the Captain personally Chief? Why can't the Ship contact him?" Simondson, suddenly rife with question appeared to O'Rourke now so young and inexperienced.
"Son, the Captain has ordered me personally to place no amount of faith in hardware I deem unnecessary. Grey himself often refers to the ship-board system as a 'glorified alarm-clock,' he would rather I tell him immediately if something serious arises. This just so happens to be serious enough to warrant cutting the Mainframe out of the communication chain."
The officer hadn't meant to lecture the man, but he ought to know exactly how technology can often not do what we want it to do, when we require it.

Simondson understood fully O'Rourke's short explanative parade. They marched into an elevator tube and waited for the door to fold in. The centrifuge surrounding the aft end of the Aeneas generating gravity, carried them upward at high speed stopping at the command deck. Chief O'Rourke and Crewman Simondson re-entered the bridge: "OFFICER-ON-DECK!" Someone yelled and the bridge snapped to attention every ensign, crewman or flight officer leapt up to stand at attention. Each a rigid statue of focus and alertness.
"Fall-in Simondson." Whispered O'Rourke. Simondson filed off to his empty position and stood fast. O'Rourke took up position flanking the pressure door to the bridge.
"Bridge staff... Prepare to receive Commanding Officer... AT EASE!" The team arranged retorted with a soft shift of position from alert to relaxed, awaiting the pressure door to part and Grey to emerge from the gangway.

No less than fifteen seconds elapsed, the door hissed open, and an immaculate uniform of blue grey fatigues, command cap and tunic entered displaying a face with firm, scrutinising features.
"COMMANDER-ON-DECK!" Snapped O'Rourke. From relaxed but ready to assume their previous stance of attention, the team's slamming of feet drummed the deck plates in refashioned military discipline.
"All hands, resume operations and posts. Deck officer, report to me and assemble command group for situational debriefing. Fall out." A callous voice ground out orders. Grey's voice recognised and attended by all present, fell out of formation and O'Rourke called for the command group to assemble on his position at the paralight chart.

"Flight team, Lieutenants. First fleet officers? Good. Everyone." Grey nodded at each man present. He flipped off the cap around his head, and kneaded a crop of black hair.
"O'Rourke, situation overview please."
"Sir. At twelve eighteen hours, Ensign Pedrina reported a total comms blackout between Cyclops satellites, ALL ground elements, and a heavy stalk flight which never returned to Aeneas. Call Sign 'Raven Six' failed to meet rendezvous at pre-check locale and mission elected timeframe." "Of the total flights deployed to the planet's surface in the past four hours, our dropships account for thirty per-cent of all combat deployments. Four from us, nine drone launches from the Creusa, and a dozen picket craft patrolling equatorial space around the task force from the Latinus. We still have ship-to-ship squawk. And Mainframe data-stream connectivity, but Cyclops is not receiving outgoing comms from the planet.
My support staff and comm-techs are about to inform me of why this is sir."

"Have the other ships reported similar communication disruptions?" Grey stared at the blank chart field. Blue eyes unflinching. He looked at a Lieutenant, the young flight officer appealed to Grey’s commanding gaze to administer an answer.
"Sir, I spoke to Captain Corrine, Commodore Felix and the supply craft commanders, it would seem the blackout is across the board. No one else is receiving anything from ground teams. No other ship has anyone deployed on the planet, but if they're squawking down there, SOMEONE ought to be receiving."

"Ought to be..." Mumbled Grey. He lapsed for a moment in closed thought. Formulating a plan from what could be observed as a marginal change in expression.
"O'Rourke? When was the last transmission received from Raven Six, and the other stalks?"
O'Rourke shifted then responded promptly: "Last transmission from stalks Xuthus, Agrippa and Sciomese, Raven's ten, thirty-eight and twenty-two, along with Raven six reported entering the planet’s atmosphere in high turbulence. There, the comms dropped out for thirty eight minutes before being resumed by Raven’s three-eight, one-zero, and two-two at rendezvous. Raven six Uthoren is unaccounted for, Missing in Action Captain."
The quizzical glare formulating on Grey's brow flexed downward into a frown. Simple contemplation and information absorption aside, Grey could be mistaken for irritated...
But sheer concern had to be sidelined for a strategic plan to commence. And only with years of operational command bestowed upon him, could Grey formulate this plan.

"I would venture that the planet’s atmosphere is the source of our communication blackout gentlemen. The objectives codenamed "Arcsine" and "Low sentiment" mission logged for TASTRAS forces on the ground cannot be confirmed. The mission will likely be scrubbed by STRAT-COM to make way for a rescue op. The atmospheric interference could have caused Raven six to go down, her mayday squawk did not reach Cyclops for relaying. The likelihood is that the planet's atmosphere is affecting comms, navigation and in-atmo flight. Strategic Command will want this report delivered immediately."

"Lieutenants! Your orders are to liaise with our meteorology personnel and use Cyclops to analyse the planets weather formations for interference behaviour. Utilise and co-ordinate with other ships crew. Flight Command, you're to make ready to move the ship from geo-sync orbit and plot courses for equatorial orbit closer to the planet.
First Fleet, you will prep flights of recon drones for low-altitude insertion, program search patterns, scan for a crash-site and survivors beginning at Raven six's last known location. Chief O'Rourke?"

"Yes sir?"

"I will need your person on command detail, delegate a bridge officer, and accompany me to the War-room in forward deck seven. We're going to report our delicate displacement of events to STRAT-COM and brief the TASTRAS Command Group. We will present to headquarters my plan of action."

"Aye sir."

"You have orders, carry them out!" Grey heaved a verbal lunge to initiate momentum from the command group. The lieutenants and fleet officers dispersed to delegate their personnel. Grey and O'Rourke remained at the paralight chart. Chiefly, Grey needed to find out where the Hydra dropship’s last known position was. O'Rourke called up Pedrina's console saved file, and punched in the topography reference. The shimmering paralight lifted etched beams of green hue and arranged it in wireframe format to display the ninety kilometre transmission zone. The red blinking sphere in the centre marked the transmission log and time-stamp.

"This could be a trap Chief." Grey cupped a hand over his mouth, worried shafts of change crawled along his eyebrows and his expression now laxed to reveal a troubled debate within him. Grey understood the gravity of the situation. Without any reports on surface activity, the entire operation to retrieve ground forces and pilots could be denied based on variables including the very plausible scenario of a Holcroid ambush. O'Rourke said nothing, sharing the same worry and not wishing to interrupt his commander’s train of thought just yet. He had anticipated the Captain eventually drawing the same conclusion he made several minutes ago.

On the other hand, there may not be a Holcroid presence at all on or near SX-02 as far as tangible intelligence might reveal from the perspective of Fleet Control and TASTRAS Operational Command.
The ground op may be the victim of an overly ionised, radio-incontinent atmosphere. But without confirmation, nothing could be certain. No sensible strategist would take a gamble on it either.

Grey looked up from the paralight map. He reached into the grid of spherical light and gestured for it to expand, the image promptly exploded outward in an omnidirectional zoom which now depicted a small planet of SX-02, and three tiny flashing red blips indicating the Aeneas, Creusa and the Latinus.
The Captain fluidly conducted a series of data-board calculations and observed the blip for Aeneas beginning to saunter away from the battle-group. The ship had not yet begun its maneuvers; Grey simply pre-programmed the Mainframe’s orders for trajectory shift in real time, able to use the paralight chart to observe how the ship will behave once he gave the green light.

With the final prep and course plotting established, Grey motioned for O’Rourke to set a countdown for two standard hours. O’Rourke tapped the keys feverishly at the Mainframe console, then both officers exited the bridge, double timing through several deck bays, corridors, a short access gangway shortcut, and finally an air locking compartment between an upper deck and the War-room pressure door.
Grey supplied his retinal identification to the scanner module near the door, O’Rourke did the same.
The door unsealed and slid open horizontally admitting the pair. A paralight image projector hummed in the middle of the wide open room. The walls dull and ambient light minimal. O’Rourke suspected a headache might soon develop if he continued to be exposed to the contrasts of intense light and near-darkness in frequent occasion. He shrugged off an intermittent throb, and stood by the projector at ease.

The Captain approached a dimly lit square in the floor at the rear of the room, from standing in the square, an automated podium rose up to chest height. Captain Grey remained behind the podium. He brought his wrist-pad up to his face and mumbled a sentence to it.
O’Rourke stood motionless, wishing the briefing could start in earnest.