WholGram pivots to veiw the Calliope, "How is this? You choose to override my task of trouble-shooting."

"I have a further function for you to perform," Calliope's memory cone is showing the balancing of bluus and reds, "There are further updates being performed accross the lines and facilities of this Empire, amongst the units undergoing further maintenance are to be found your Raider's, plus units suitable to provide the equivalent of three additional Squadrons of Raiders. Your task will be to take these candidates and bring them up to levels as optimized as can be reached. Special emphasis will be placed upon coordinating in a surface attack, coordinating through forward controllers such as in the Exercise Target:Pinnacle just completed."

"And you have the authority to override my trouble-shooting protocol?" WholGram stands before the Calliope.

"I have all the authority I need," Calliope says in a tone of steel, her memory showing shades of tungston and carbide, "The two Officers who served as your crew in the Pinnacle  simulation will be detailed to assist you in your effort; facilities shall be provided."

At this, a panel slides back revealing a way to an ante-control center. The two Officers dismount their simulator consoles which slide back into the Hall's Main Control Panel, and step over to line up with the WholGram.

WholGram stands tall, and accepts his orders, "By your Command," he answers the Calliope, and pivots and stride the ante-control with the Officers trailing, one behind each shoulder.

The atmosphere of the Pinnacle home planet is shown again.WholGram reports in, "Mission is in the completion box, all of my Raider's are formed up and set to return to base."

"Resultants?" the Calliope inqires, her memory showing balancing blues and reds.

The left-side Forward Officer audibizes, "Immediate tabulations are calculated that seventy-one point two-three percentile of the Pinnacle Primary Infrastructure non-functional and/or disabled. Further audits indicate that second and third-level conduits of function have been taken out of line. Target:Pinnacle has been left deficent."

"Send Compliments to my esteemed colleague," the PreWrek is heard by all in the Simulation Hall, "Another culture left moribund, and anxious for admission into the Empire as a peripheral species."

WholGram rises and steps away from his control-console, "In which case, it appears that my work here is done, I shall be off to return to my assigned tasks."

The Calliope's memory cone swirls in the differing shades of blues, as she sits back into her console-throne and speaks, "Continue WholGram."

"Such things do occur over the Millenia," PreWrek puts in.

"But we do need to retain a striking core if we are to withstand the Colonials," the Calliope notes, with shades of red swirling.

"It does seem that the Scrumm is keeping such a core in your Region," the PreWrek circuits back.

"In my obscure Region, " Calliope cancels.

"I might concur as such," unexpectedly the Skwib confirms.

"The Skwib? On the priority-circuit?" PreWrek questions.

"He does the interface with with the Scrumm," Calliope counters, "And he helped pull your brass-plated helmet out of the run-in with the Confeiture."

"Yes, the Skwib will do," Prewrek notes, "Continue."

"I will only note that a core of capable units are being kept together until our Striking Fleets can be rebuilt and bought to strength," the Skwib advances.

"If our resources are not squandered prematurely," Calliope adds.

"I am impressed," the PreWrek puts in, "Cetainly yourself and your staff would merit such priority, and the WholGram's record speaks for itself, but this humble unit, I am quite impressed with the Scrumm's discerning analysis."

"It also could be," the Calliope asserts, "The Scrumm could pull a mid-level mid-series from the Outer Sectors, at a more favorable rate of exchange than usual."

"Do you wish me  to confirm that?" the Skwib proffers.

"No thank you Skwib," PreWrek circuits, "Your offer is all the too  generous."

"But your are in my Region," Calliope notes, "And your capacities are of noted."

The screen changes to more atmospheric shots as WholGram's Raiders reform to return to base.

The PreWrek observes, "An impressive performance by our species,"  To which Calliope calculates, "Initial evaluation by console units indicate seventy-pecent pulsar hits on priority targets, secpmdary and third  tier trgets were struck and damaged at over forty-five percent ratio. Communications cut off, power distribution disabled, key decision and data distribution network points disrupted and out of order."

"And so with Pinnacle on their knees, but still have been left able to seek our magnanomous offer of relations," PreWrek expostulates.   "But now on terms much more positive in our favor," Calliope corrects the PreWrek.

"A pin-point attack, causing suffcent damage to critical instituitions, as to percipitate an outcoming favorable to the Empire," PreWrek is still transmitting over the closed circuit, "Against a stationary target, which was incapable of offering any resistance of consequence."

"The Raider crews in this simulation were comprised of what amounted to mere approximations of the actual crews that would be in use," Calliope explains, "One primary purpose was to test the integration of base-ship level forward controllers with a bona fide  Raider-leader such as the WholGram."

"My compliments to your console controllers," PreWrek admits.   "Tnhey did perform rather well," Calliope decides, "Just desire that there would be more of them." 

The Raider waves roll in on Target:Pinnacle.

The WholGram is coordinating through his two forward controllers.

"All Squadrons aligned and prepared," the Right-side Officer circuits to WholGram.

"These Officers have launched attacks and landings from BaseShips," Calliope closed-circuits to the PreRequisite.

"Useful skills in this contingency," PreWrek approves.

There is a pause in directives coming from the Command-Raider.

"Indecision, at this micro-cycle?" Calliope speculates.

"It is not a characteristic of my colleague," even PreWrek has baffles in his analysis.

And then a firm command is heard over the closed circuit to his forward controllers, "Confirm and Designate Primary thouroughfares."

The Forward Controllers quickly and efficently detect and mark the primary corriders of travel through Pinnacle and display the three primary bi-ways congruent with the path of the Raider Assault in one blue, one purple, and one light blue lines.

And then WholGram directs over open circuits, "Alpha-Wave attack along the Route Blue, Beta Wave assigned to Route Purple, Gamma Wave traverse Route Azure. Proceed to designated  priority targets, Close to point blank; Engage with maximum force." Concurrent with WholGram's transmission, the forward controllers have placed orange highlights directly beneath the blue, purple, and light blue lines as direct routes to priority designations in Target:Pinnacle.

The Raiders funnel into the designated attack-paths and thunder ahead in column. Small packs break off repeatedly and deliver pin--point attacks on priority designations, and then swing back and form up on the assault column rear.

Two Raiders calculate their recoverpath and collide with a red Conical structure.

WholGram does not hesitate as he deploys, "All Raiders press the  attack, engage with maximum effect the immediate  targets in direct front."

The Alpha-wave, Beta-Wave, and Gamma-Wave press the attacks, and billowing smoke, and plumes of debris appear along the thouroughfare paths as shown in the Hall.

   "Designated Chaos, Nice Touch," PreWrek confides over closed-circuit.

   "You have my Attandants to thank," Calliope informs the PreWrek.

   PreWrek scans over to see the gold-robed attandant who had set off the simulation bow ever-slightly. 

"Beta-Raiders reporting radiation interference with scanning," the Right-Officer reports.

"Proceed with programmed mission," WholGram relays.

"Delta-Wave control requests instructions," the right-side Officer relays.

WholGram speaks directly to his remaining Raiders, "Delta Wave, form up on my ship, we attack on a Broad Front,"

"Delta Wave reporting sustained interference on scan-detection," the Right-side Officer reports.

"We Go In," WholGram tones over the audible-circuit, "Strike at targets of Oppurtunity; Engage."

The Raiders displayed on the screen disappear as the Remainder of WholGram's Raiders dive into th maelstrom.

Then plume and radiation are detected from sectors of Pinnacle that had thus far escape attention.

Soon the Whole of Pinnacle is showing damage-plumes, and abberant radiation. The plumes and radio-interference proceed to spread to engage the entire pinnacle-target.

There are secondary explosions in the target

WholGram's Raiders thunder in hard accross the gray plain-surface as they close in on the Target:Pinnacle. Closing on the target, the squadrons to the rear drop back slightly, and higher.

"WholGram does that so the forward squadron shall time to deliver the attack, and clear before the flow-on squadrons go in, as my previous experience reveiws" PreWrek  translates  for the Regional Commander. A micron's pause, as the translating-unit observes the Simulation Wall and the  brightly orange, red, yellow and white structures of Target:Pinnacle appraching, "It doth appear that somebody left the lights on," the PreWrek puts in.

"Priority-marking, to aid the Training of the Raider-crews," Calliope reminds PreRequisite.

In the quartering microns it takes WholGram's Raiders to close in on Pinnacle, over closed-circuit, the PreWrek makes another observation, "How convenient of this culture to concentrate all their vital installations in one location for our Raiders to dispatch."

   Calliope doesn't bother to point out the training-exercise, but sends this over the closed-circuit, "Centralized Concentration of critical infrastructure, a trait shared by species besides the Cylon."

"Your strategy becomes apparent," the PreWrek advances, "Disrupt the Pinnacle fuctions to a degree such that  cooperation becomes more amenable."

"Diplomacey on the two-cubit plan," Calliope is intent on the exercise progress such that she overlooks her repeating of a phrasing brought back by flights in her own Command.

"You are showing a demonstration of what the Empire can do," PreWrek postulates.

"No," Calliope corrects the PreWrek, "I am doing what the Cylon Empire does."

The exchange between Calliope and Prewrek is interrupted by WholGram announcing over open lines, "Approaching Outer Atmospheric levels, all Raider leaders form squadrons into close wave formations, and prepare for descent."

PreWrek notes, "Close Waves, a little tighter style of flying for our old acquaintance."   The Regional Commander over rides the Pre Wrek, "WholGram is one of our most accomplished attacking leaders, I am granting him choice of attack as to allow him to solve this exercise."

"I was rather expecting a barrel-rolling," PreWrek adds, "Tto hear old WholGram tell about it, it is an efficent way to bring a Raider to the proper attack-velocity for within an atmospheric setting."

"Within the confines of his piloting-crew selections, four squadrons of Raiders free-rolling in close proximity,might lead to an unmitigated disaster," Calliope, the Regional Commander points out.

   The PreWrek scans the simulated-plots of the WholGram's Raiders already weaving slightly as they try to maintain proper spacing in the close waces formattacking formation, "Agreed," is the Prewrek's assessmment.

   "Target-complex acquired, displaying to scanner," the loaned officer informs the attack-leader seated in the Command-Control Console.

   On the Simulation Wall, the distant target looms as a rectangular-grid of free-standing geometrically shaped figures, colored in white, Yellow, Red, or Orange, that show up against the gray-nuetral surface.

   And then WholGram is heard over all relevant circuitry, "All Raiders, descent to low-level attack, prepare assault speed upon my signal, concentrate your salvoes to targets designated by priority colour, Raiders, close to point blank range to engage cannons," there is a micon's moment, then, "Continue task completion to Success, Prepare, All Raiders to Attack velocity."

   The Wavering Raiders start to gainspeed and the formation smooths out as the Raiders begin to skim low accross the surface and close in on the target-grid-complex.

"Acquiring target," the Calliope's Officer manning the Star-Raider's right-side statin informs

   WholGram sets in the console, as circuits connect, "I seem to be reconnected with my Raiders," Wholgram remarks, then, "No, these are not my Raiders, but facsimiles."

   "Correct," Calliope informs WholGram, her memory showing blue and red, "We have retained the basic tendencies of your Raiders from our last simulation, they will serve to give my staff the rough data we need at present, data developed from this Exercise will be added to their combat-modules and be available should your Raiders are ever called up to service. "

   The WholGram accepts the Calliope's explanation, "Quite efficent," WholGram remarks, "And even a  certain amount of ingenuity."

   "Your observation is well received," the Regional Cammander replies with her memory-cube glowing in hues of bluw.

   The Cylon turns to Calliope, "Attendant," the Calliope orders in a smooth-tone." Within a micron one of her gold-robed attendant units appear and holds up a remote-board for the Regional Commander. The Regional Commander's memory swirls in blues as she veiws the remote-board. Finally Calliope says, "Let us begin," and pushes set of lines on the remote.
   The lighting within the Simulation Hall dim once more. But within the controlling penninsula running between the control thrones and the Simulation Wall, two auxillary control modules slide back in front of the control console that had been occupied by the WholGram. Two of the Cylon Supporting units promptly slide into the auxillary consoles. 

 Calliope extends a robed-arm in the direction of WholGram's console, and with her memory glimmering in shades of red-velvet, and royal blue intones to the standing WholGram, "Be seated." "By you Command," WholGram replies, and tkes his applied seat to the left of Calliope.

  With little delay the Calliope continues her reign, "There is a second excercise recently developed by my attendants, of a differing sort than that of the Excercise in Orange, however it has been indicated that you may well have the capacities to aid us in its testing."

  WholGram set his arms into contact with the armrests of the console, "Yes," he says as he begins to tie back into the console controls, "It is as if I control a Raider."   Calliope receives over the closed circuit an inquiry from PreWrek, "For a Command-level unit, would a more-command-engineered vessel such as the TranStar be more appropriate?"

 "Not for this particular exercise we are about to be proofing," the Calliope replies back over all circuits.  The WholGram pauses a sub-micron, then comments, "If I am to be at the contols of a StarFighter, I wish the Fronting Units to be of my picking."  The Forward Control Units are Officers from my personal staff. You shall find most competent to execute the handling of a Cylon Raider.

  "Upon your recommendation, I shall be most confident in executing the exercise that I soon engage," WholGram answers directly.

  "Your personal staff?" PreWrek obseves over the closed-circuit, "This exercise must be of some import."  The Calliope proceeds as if the observation merits no response, "Prepare to engage in the Exercise Projection,"

   At the Regional  Command Center that includes the Barren Sector, WholGram has remained upright while Clliope and PreWreck have further dissected the recent clash with the Confeiture.

"Is my presence required?" WholGram inquires.

   "Actually not at this time," Prewrek stops to inform WholGram.

   "Very Well then," WholGram tones and takes a first stride towards the sliding entrance.

   "Where do you go?" Calliope stops WholGram in his tracks.

   "To continue my trouble-shoot, as assigned by the Scrumm," WholGram answers, "Perhaps to the far sectors, my serivices may be needed there."

   PreWrek audibilizes just loud enough to be overheard, "Please inform my esteemed colleague that eveidence of rash action may not be veiwed positively in all quarters just now."

   "You refer to his cape?" Calliope inquires.

  "That also," PreWrek replies to the Regional Cammamder.

   WholGram gives the seared cape another scan, "Then you can keep this drape, perhaps displayed such that the line units know that with determined action the Colonial threat can be thwarted."

   "We clashed with the Confieture," PreWrek quickly points out.

   "The Confeiture has former Colonials amongst them," Calliope allows the balance of blues and reds in her memory deduce, but then traces of purple and orange as she continues, "However, the existence of the cape might prove problematical."

   "Very well," WholGram flings the seared cape so it ends up in his unoccupied console, "It is to be recycled."

   An Officer retreives the cape and deposits it into the appropriate chute.

   "Is the Empire so bereft that we must now retreive burned out garb?" the PreWrek puts in.

   "Do not jest," the Calliope answers, "The filaments could well provide needed webbing for a seat in one of our Raiders."

   "No jest intended," PreWrek quickly replies to the overseeing unit, "My observation in this Consultation only."

   The WholGram has turned, his intention to stride out of the sliding entrance.

   "Please reamain," the Command-unit stops WholGram in his tracks once again, "We have another excersise here in which you could prove most invaluble."