The attitude aboard the vessels bridge was one of calm cool collectedness, set to a background of glowing display panels and the haze of cigarra smoke hanging like some ambient cloud over the tactical center.
Still without his beverage, the Captain had opted to settle for a smoke until someone got around to getting his tea. "XO, could you please tell me just what that is?" asked the Captain, jabbing a finger at one of the displays.
Glancing down, the other replied swiftly "Estimate location of M-1, the enemy fire is roughly four kilometers off of our extrapolation. Nothing reported out of the ordinary."
Trailing the pack, M-1 was doing her job wondrously. "I trust her evasives are on par?" added the older captain, exhaling a cloud of tabacc smoke. He was leaning casually against the arm-rail of his command-chair by this point, one hand resting on the shoulder of his TSO (tactical-situation officer).
"We can't find her," quipped the Chief-Sensor Officer, sounding insulted and proud all at the same time. "An' if we can't find 'er. They sure as rancor-sh
it can't. Plain and simple."
Slated, the Captain nodded approvingly before removing his hand from the shoulder of his young nephew, and strode towards the front of the command podium. This was a state-of-the-art ship, far beyond the measure of most anything the galaxy had before hand seen, and if he had anything to do about it this captain would assure the ship remained unseen. His sonar chief was correct, if they could not track their sister-ship, then it would be well beyond the ability of this enemy to further follow her motions. It was more likely that the enemy was tracking M-1, as best they could, through the Force... but given the distance, interference and general chaos of space around the enemy, the Captain trusted that his counter-part was well out of harms way. "Distance from the enemy?"
"We've moved well off. 20,000 KM and gaining steadily. Making 18 MG," came the response from the helm. "Following maneuvers, Sir."
"Good good," glancing to his left and tapping the ash from his cigarra, he continued "Time to leave, folks. Encrypt, will you please XO, the following?"
"Aye Captain, go ahead," replied the XO, making his way to the comm-center.
"Joggers become sprinters. Legs to D-1o0z." Chewing on the butt of his cigarra, the Captain paused a moment before continuing on. "Romeo on Goldilocks tail. All away free."
In mere seconds, the transmission was broken down, encrypted and broken again until it reached the appropriate predetermined level. Already the XO was leaning over the shoulder of the junior officer and adjusting the layering and frequency before sending the communication out. Even if the enemy were to capture the transmission, it would seem little more then a jumble of otherwise unrelated words.
"Done Sir," confirmed his XO.
Turning back towards the front of his bridge, the Captain knew his peers aboard their vessels would be doing much the same as he was about to. "Increase to full hot speed, 21 MG. Continue evasive pattern Delta-Pi and make for coordinates 100.98 mark 37.87.2."
Easily as that, the pack continued to move off, the rear ship drawing what misguided fire they enemy had to offer. Even the Captain knew no Jedi or Sith could maintain such a stressful link over such distance for long. While the enemy fire was still distant and of little concern, he would watch them closely.