Jegora was deep asleep when he datapad went off. It was on the night stand next to his bed, right next to his ear. Even so, Jegora was tired enough that it took a few seconds for his subconscious to notice the racket and wake his conscious brain up. When it did, however, Jegora was pissed. He was tired, sore, and all he wanted to do was sleep. Theoretically he was still on R&R, but that never seemed to count for much.

Groaning once, Jegora reached for the datapad. He turned it on only to find the display screen incredibly bright. With another groan he quickly adjusted the setting. When he could safely look at the pad with his night-adjusted eyes, Jegora saw that there was a simple message from Trevor.

Your flight, shuttle bay C8, fifteen minutes was all it read. With yet another groan and a curse, Jegora rolled out of bed and jumped in the ‘fresher. Seven minutes later he was showered, shaved, packed, dressed, and unbelievably tired. Still, he felt somewhat refreshed.

Before heading out of his room Jegora took a minute to go through his bag and make sure everything was present. To start he was wearing the standard black flight suit with heavy, vacuum-sealed boots. His gloves, also vacuum-sealed, were thick, but not too hot. The collar of the flight suit was high, allowing his helmet to seal over and complete the vacuum-proof suit. Air pockets within the specially designed suit, along with his helmet, would keep him from blacking out during extreme maneuvers.

In his flight bag he carried a DC-15 combat pistol, a utility knife, rations for three days, hydration capsules, a portable MX-class homing beacon, a spare comlink, a survival blanket, and an old-fashioned compass. It was the standard Imperial pilot’s flight bag, stored behind the seat of the TIE fighter for use in emergencies.

After making sure everything was present Jegora hung his helmet over his flight bag and moved towards the door of his room. As he approached it slid open. Jegora stepped through and turned, taking a moment to key in the lock sequence that insured no unwanted persons would gain entrance to his room. He turned back to the hall…and came face to face with Rogue.

“Hey Jeg,” Rogue said, turning to lock his own room.

“Hello there. Back then are ya?” Jegora asked, sort of surprised to see the XO. Still, Jeg had to admit that Rogue wasn’t one to miss a mission, which this was certainly looking like more and more.

“Aye, got back late last night. You have any idea what this is about?” Rogue responded.

Jegora shook his head, and Rogue shrugged. Together the two pilots moved off down the hall. Jegora made a quick stop to pound on a couple doors, then carried on. Rogue stopped briefly at Rusti’s door, and yelled at the wookie to hurry his ass up. Jegora had to crack a grin. If anyone but Rogue had spoken like that, they most likely wouldn’t speak again.

Eventually the entire squadron was following Jegora and Rogue to the designated hangar. Silently Jegora counted his men, taking a roll of the pilots gathered. Rusty, Gshlecc, Roth, Rogue, Dante, Lousy, Myself…wait, where’s Lams?.

Halting, Jegora turned to Gshlecc. “Where’s Lamel?” he asked. The other flight leader shrugged absently and continued on. He didn’t seem to care much. Jegora couldn’t blame him. While Lamel was a nice lass most of the time, she did have some issues. Jegora posed the question to several of the other flight members, receiving no response. Jegora moved to go check her room when Rogue spoke up from a ways down the hall.

“She’s gone on temporary leave for a psych eval,” the senior officer said. Jegora nodded and broke into a light jog. Soon he was back with the rest of the squadron, moving down the hall. Jegora checked his chrono and sighed. It was 0342, Imperial Standard Time. Resigning himself to another few days with little or no sleep Jegora turned his thoughts to the mission ahead.

*******

When the squadron reached the hangar, Trevor was waiting for them next to an old Lambda-class shuttle. Several of the pilots threw curious glances at the old shuttle. Jegora was too tired to care. The young pilot set his bags down with the rest of the squadron’s, next to the shuttle’s ramp, and then moved to stand in front of Trevor, hands folded loosely behind his back, feet spread shoulder with apart.

The rest of the squadron wasn’t so formal. Rogue leaned up against a crate the was placed haphazardly in the middle of the hangar, and Dante squatted where he stood. Trevor didn’t seem to mind, though. In fact, he seemed not to notice them at all.

An awkward minute went by, and finally Rogue cleared his throat. Trevor snapped out of his reverb and shook his head slightly, attempting to refocus himself. When he mental exercises were completed, the Squadron Commander spoke.

“Alright, here’s the deal: apparently there was a disturbance in one of the eastern border systems. NAVCOM wants it checked out. Much more than that, I don’t know. There’s a briefing once we get to our carrier, the VSD-II Calamity. Our Interceptors have already been shuttled over. Lets go.” With those few words, Trevor mounted the ramp, grabbing his own gear as he went. Rogue followed suit, with Jegora and the rest of the squadron close behind.

As Jegora picked a seat in the cramped shuttles’ interior, he had to ponder the upcoming mission. The border systems were some of the well guarded and most useful systems the Vast Empire controlled; they were also some of the most vulnerable. All the border systems, especially the east line, suffered pirate raids, New Republic insurgencies, and attacks by various factions. It was hard to say what exactly Nazgul would face there, but Jegora knew it wouldn’t be pretty.

Jegora shrugged his massive shoulders and let out a sigh. There was no use worrying about it now. The young flight leader reclined his chair slightly and closed his eyes. By the gods he was tired.

OOC:

1032 words. Here’s the deal:

New mission; right now, this is what ya’ll have to work with:

A ‘disturbance’ was detected in one of the eastern border systems. We’re going to go check it out.

You have six days aboard a Victory-II class Star Destroyer (Callsign Calamity). Do what you want. Here in a few days Trevor, Rogue, or myself will post an official briefing. Until then, ya’ll are on your own.

Have at it.

Waking up from a very deep slumber, a quick visit to the Refresher and when he came out he looked awake, yet on the inside he was still really deep in his dream about how he was a Dark Jedi and butchering people. Looking at the mirror, he could barely recognise himself. Hair decently trimmed, shaven decently but he could still remember the bags beneath his eyes, although they're a tad smaller than usual.

Getting dressed he put on the flight suit yet the helmet's still in his hand. Brushing through his hair he walked around yet made every possible detour he could think of before reaching the hangar. Walking inside he was one of the last yet he was still on time, as it would seem. Standing there, saluting, the commmander passes by and after the green light is given he finally gets back to regular non stiff pose.

Stepping inside the carrier he sat down, threw the helmet on the dash board, laid his feet on there and was trying his best not to fall asleep. This effort was backed up with a bleeping screen that, when pressed on a small button by the heel of his boot, showed one of the engineers working on his TIE Interceptor.

"Man, have you any idea what kind of work has entered into the TIE Interceptors of the Nazgul squadron? And now yours, this is incredible what you want. You want it to have a picture of a chip attached on it? And what I can't even believe is that you want to rip out several smaller parts to make room for a small generator for extra power for shields and armor. Have you any idea how wacky that is? So did I, until I decided to start on it and it actually work. We have a lot of unnecessairy parts in these bloody crafts."

Smiling he waved to the man and hit his boot on the keyboard again, stopping the video chat. Spinning around in his chair he started to talk to the others, feel comfortable with his new family, The Nazguls.

Jegora didn’t speak the whole way to the Calamity. He sat absolutely still and absolutely quiet in his seat for the entire ride, his eyes fixed on something that none of the other pilots could see. Of course, what he was looking at wasn’t the important part; what was running through his mind was.

Although Jegora had come to terms with Iron’s death, Nell’s mutiny, and Trevor’s almost demise, the arrival of the new recruit…Jegora thought his name was And-something…set his mind in motion. Jegora knew that the old Imperial regime, under Emperor Palpatine, had regarded its pilots as expendable tools used in suicide missions. While he had always believed that the Vast Empire was different, that it cared for its pilots more than the Post-Clone Wars Empire had, Jegora was starting to think that maybe this wasn’t so. Maybe it was simply a lack of pilots, and a lack of resources, that spurred the Vast Empire Navy to keep its pilots alive by installing shields on its ships, among other modifications. Jegora was bothered by the fact that Nazgul Squadron had recently lost four pilots, and no one said anything more than necessary. No one inquired into the psychological status of the Squadron after the last mission to rescue Admiral Fury, a mission from which Nell, GBM, and Lams came back psychologically impaired, and from which Iron didn’t come back at all. It all struck Jegora as rather cold and impersonal. And instead of helping to heal the casualties of the last mission, NAVCOM simply replaced a cog. As long as the Squadron had pilots, they would be expected to fly. And until every pilot was a casualty, either psychologically or physically, nothing would be done to make sure they all stayed in good emotional, mental, and physical health. It made Jegora rather angry.

The young flight leader continued to contemplate the Navy and his career with the Navy as the shuttle made the short hop to their new VSD-II carrier. As the old Lambda-class shuttle docked with the refitted and recently upgraded Star Destroyer, Jeg was torn out of his thoughts. Without a sound he undid his restraints, stood up, and pushed past several of the other pilots to get off the ship. He seemed not to notice his companions protests at his rather rude behavior. In fact, he truly didn’t notice; his mind was somewhere else. Still, he was alert enough to stick around once off the shuttle; he knew Trevor would want a few words before they all headed off to their rooms, and wherever else the squad felt like doing.

As the rest of the squad filed out, Jegora turned his attention to Trevor. His squadron commander spoke quickly, quietly, and with great precision. Jegora, who had been Trevor’s wingman for quite a while and knew him well, realized that something was deeply bothering his commander, perhaps even more so than he himself was bothered by the recent casualties Nazgul had taken. He resolved to speak with him at the next possible opportunity. As the Squad was dismissed, Jegora snapped to attention and turned on one heel. There was no chance of him getting back to sleep, so he decided to do what calmed him down: work on his ship.

Jegora had done a six month stint aboard a VSD-II during his time at the Naval Academy, and so he was familiar with the layout of the ship. The Lambda shuttle that had ferried the Nazguls over would have been docked in a secondary bay, reserved especially for personnel and cargo shuttles. Their fighters would be located in a section of the central bay, which was connected to several large maintenance areas. The fighters were maneuvered from their storage racks in the central hangar to the mechanic bays via magnetic claws and large magnetic lifts that carried each TIE. Overall, it was quite an impressive set up. It was fairly easy to move a fighter from the docking bay to one of the repair bays, which made servicing the ships quick, efficient, and effective. It also allowed mechanically inclined pilots such as Jegora to work on their fighters if they wished.

As Jegora walked he began to pick up the pace, until eventually he was jogging. It was difficult to jog in the heavy boots and restrictive flight suit that was standard issue for every TIE pilot, not to mention while carrying his flight bag in one hand and his helmet in the other. Still, Jegora was so lost in though that he didn’t notice the restrictions. He ran when he was upset or bothered, and at the moment he was definitely both.

In short order he reached the flight command room, a large area where the docking bays were monitored and controlled by a dedicated staff of both enlisted personnel and officers. Jegora stepped through the door and snapped to attention, waiting for someone to announce his presence.

It didn’t take long. Someone saw him, and called out the traditional acknowledgement “NonCom on the deck”. Jegora remained at attention, trying to catch his breath, until the Deck Officer, a 1st Lieutenant, strode over and nodded. “Evening, Petty Officer. I assume you are with one of the squadrons that just arrived?”

Jegora nodded, and spread his feet apart to shoulder with. His arms were still folded behind his back, though, and his face showed no emotion. He steel blue eyes were clear, though, and focused on the officer in front of him.

“Aye sir,” Jegora responded. “Chief Petty Officer Jegora Fal, Nazgul Squadron, at your command,” he said, still a little out of breath.

The officer nodded. “Good to have you aboard. Looks like we’ll be needing you and your fancy interceptors on this next jaunt. But I digress. Is there something particular you need, Chief, or are you just here to visit?”

Jegora nodded, getting straight to the point. “I was wondering if I could have my fighter towed to a maintenance bay. I would like to make some modifications and such myself, and inspect it,” he said.

The officer nodded. “Of course. Provide your ships ID number to the Petty Officer over there and we’ll get it towed ASAP,” the lieutenant said, nodding again and turning back to his command.

Jegora snapped to attention again, turned and walked to where the Deck Officer had indicated. The petty officer there took his ships ID code, and told him that his Interceptor would be moved to repair bay six for his convenience. Jegora thanked the man, turned once again, and left.

Once outside the flight control room Jegora turned right toward a bank of lifts. There were four doors in all; two led down, two led up. From the Petty Officer’s directions, Jegora knew that he had to take the right most lift down to floor S8, or Sub8 as it was commonly called. The entire Sub8 level consisted of two repair bays, five and six. Jegora followed the directions given to him, and soon found himself descending to the desired level. When he reached the bottom the door slid open, and Jegora scanned the scene before him.

It was indeed a repair bay, and a rather large one. At the far end were a large set of open doors, at least ten yards tall and thirty yards tall. Jegora figured that through that colossal door lay the other hangar, but he didn’t much care. Off to the side his TIE was being dropped into a magnetic repair slot. The slot allowed Jegora to reach the underside of his craft as well as its wings and the cockpit ball. Jegora was rather impressed. This whole ship seemed to be top of the line.

Moving towards his ship, Jegora continued to peer around the hangar. He noticed many TIE Fighters and even a couple TIE Interceptors being serviced, as well as some armor barges and shuttles of various makes and models. In fact, to Jegora it seemed that the brass aboard this particular Star Destroyer wanted everything in perfect condition for the next mission. That thought along comforted Jegora more than he could have believed possible.

When Jegora reached his ship he sat his bag down and peered at the TIE Interceptor. He had received a new TIE Interceptor to replace the painted one that he had borrowed from Atrick after his first Interceptor had caught fire. He hadn’t had the new one painted yet, and he didn’t think he would, as the painted ships simply didn’t match his personality.

Dropping his flight bag and helmet at the base of the magnetic rack, Jegora mounted the ladder and began to inspect his TIE. As he did so, the tension and worry slowly leeched out of him and the troubled thoughts were banished from his mind by the demanding work of modifying a TIE Fighter.

OOC:

1497 words, more to come on the modifying of my TIE in my next post. Gotta save some for later =)

Dante was talking to one of his mechanic friend when his datapad started to play his favorite song from his home world. Excuseing himself from the conversation Dante took a step away and pulled out the datapad and read the message sent from his wing-mate, squadron commander, and flight commander Trevor.

Your flight, shuttle bay C8, fifteen minutes

"Fun, well Jeff it looks like I have a mission or something coming up, so how about when I come back me, you and a bottle of whiskey will be in a bunk room and continue this chat about the variation on Star Destoryers, kk?" Dante said as he grabbed his flight jacket from the create next to them that it was laying on and turned to leave. Dante looked up at the entrance sign and laughed, "Looks like I am the first one here ha." It turned out that Dante was in C8 to begin with, so having fifteen minutes Dante decided to go off and inspect his TIE quickly to get a feel for it. Dante wanted to have a deep connection with the craft that wold be his entire way of survival in the near future. When Dante reached the ID computer to find where his ship was he typed in the ID he had memorized on the first day of joining Nazgul, "Lets see here 2-0-0-8-4-3," with that he pressed in the code and saw that his ship was already packed up into a shuttle and en route to a VSD-II called Calamity, "So I guess we really are going on a mission huh." Dante was rather nervous about going on this mission now that he had a chance to think about it, his wing mate Trevor had been on leave since he joined and he missed the meeting where Trevor made his appearance so Dante had never meet him before.

While in mid-thought Dante was interrupted by a beeping sound on the compute screen, it was asking for him to fill out a registering on his ship. Dante pressed okay and watched as a survey looking/forum opened up. The first question was what was his ship to be name, "Uhmm how about.....uhhh," Dante thought about it for a good minute before coming up with a perfect name for his ship, "my ship's name will be Iron Heart," he pressed in the buttons and hit enter sealing it into a database some where on the ship. Filling out the rest of the survey with ease Dante looked at his watch and saw that he had took up 15 minutes to do that. "Convenient, if I do say so myself." Dante walked over to where Trevor was standing and gave him a quick salute.

Dante stood silently as he waited for the rest of his comrades to arrive. Slowly one by one they arrive and then the meeting started. "“Alright, here’s the deal: apparently there was a disturbance in one of the eastern border systems. NAVCOM wants it checked out. Much more than that, I don’t know. There’s a briefing once we get to our carrier, the VSD-II Calamity. Our Interceptors have already been shuttled over. Lets go.” Trevor said and then quietly turned and walked onto the ramp of the Lamba-class shuttle behind him. Dante said nothing and took and deep breathe and followed the rest onto the shuttle to go onto his first mission with his new friends in Nazgul Squadron.

OOC:

574.......not the greatest length but it will do for now i suppose

While Zark ate breakfast he noticed most of the squadron pilots come into the mess hall and eat breakfast as well, but none of them paid much attention to him. He was fairly certain the only people who could put his name with his face were G and Roth, and the only people other than that, that even knew he was here was the CO and MCPO Jegora Fal. While he was distracted by the last of the grey goo on his tray, someone sat down beside him, it was his flight leader G.

"You settling in alright, Roth says you didn;t rack out until 0130 last night." G said startling Zark.

"I'm settling in alright, I was just going over the specs for my fighter and making sure that there aren't any issues." Zark replied.

"Alright, I'm glad to see you have your head in the game. You know if you have any questions or need anything you can come to me right?"

"Rodger," Zark nodded. "If you don;t mind, I think I'm going to go. I have to catch up on a few things I didn't get around to last night."

G nodded with a mouth full of food. Zark excused himself from the table and headed for the exit, disposing of his tray on the way out.

Zark headed back to his room to change into his workout uniform before going to the gym to work out. When he got back to the room Roth was gone, his bed made. Zark finished changing and headed for the door when his datapad chirped indicating he had a new message. He checked to see who it was from.

"Ali'shrae?" he said surprised. He hadn't spoken to her since he left home. He set the datapad down on his bunk.

"I'll have to read it later," he said aloud. He was trying to get his morning workout done before the gym got busy.

When he got to the gym it was empty. He headed over to one of the treadmills and started off at a quick jog. A few minutes into his run Master Chief Petty Officer Jegora Fal entered the gym.

"G'morning Master Chief." Zark said with a smile, not yet out of breath.

"Good morning," Jegora Fal paused for a moment, "Senior Crewman Zarkheim."

"Um, I was wondering," Zark began as he increased the speed of the treadmill. "If I may get access to the simulators later. So I can familiarize myself with the interceptors." He paused trying to catch his breath. "I'm not very well acquainted with the specifics of all the systems."

"I think that that is a great idea." Jegora Fal said as he started jogging on his own treadmill. "I think I'll join you as well, I can teach you some things while you're at it."

Zark nodded breathing too hard to continue talking.

After a few minutes Zark slowed his pace down to a stop, he was done with his workout.

"What time should we start at the simulators?" Zark asked.

Jegora Fal slowed his treadmill down some so he could catch his breath to talk. Slightly perturbed with Zark for interupting his run, "After lunch, let's say 1300."

"Rodger Master Chief, see you at 1300."

Zark left the gym. 'Good' he thought to himself, 'it gives me plenty of time to look over the specs again, read and reply to Ali'shrae's message. But first I'll hit the showers.' He walked back to his room.

OOC:

I’m gonna cut around your placer, Roth. My post won’t involve you, anyways. Next time, try not to leave a placer up though.

Jegora was asleep again, although this time his dreams weren’t so morbid. In fact they were quite pleasant dreams about a rather pretty girl and some unspeakable acts. Jegora was rather enjoying the dream when his datapad went off at 0500 sharp, snapping him awake. For once he wished he could sleep in, but he hadn’t slept in since he was sixteen. Usually it didn’t bother him; he only needed six or seven hours of sleep to run at max performance. Today, however, he had been having a pleasant dream that he hadn’t wanted to end.

With a sigh Jegora through his legs over the side of the bunk, stood up, and staggered into the ‘fresher. He was always groggy and disoriented until after he had taken a shower. Then he was completely awake and alert. As Jegora took his ritual morning shower, he couldn’t help but think about ‘Liz. Shaking his head, he moved his thoughts from the woman and towards his plans for the coming day.

Hopefully they involved the woman.

Jegora sighed, figuring his situation was hopeless. He had never felt this way about any particular girl before; sure he had found some attractive, but this was more than simple attraction. Jegora had a crush, and if his squadron mates ever found out about there would be hell to pay. First Jegora would have to suffer through the insults, then his squadron mates would have to suffer through Jegora when he had had enough of the insults. It was a two way street, and not one he was looking forward to going down any time soon.

After a shower, Jegora had to shave. He shaved every day, sometimes twice a day. He would grow a goatee, except that it was against regulations and Jegora didn’t think he had been around long enough yet to get away with it. Still, he was looking forward to the day.

After a shower and a shave Jegora put on a pair of running shorts and an old Corellian Stout tee-shirt and left his room, taking a moment to lock it before he took off for the gym. For the last four years it has been his practice to wake up, run, and then lift weights. The results were an amazing physique and incredible stamina. The only trouble was he didn’t quite fit into a TIE. Jegora hoped, however, that his most recent modification would give him some more leg room; it wouldn’t be much, but maybe it would be enough.

Breaking into a jog on the way to the gym, Jegora made good time. He covered the entire distance (almost four hundred meters total) in what was most likely record setting time. When he reached the gym Jegora slowed to a walk and opened the rather heavy door. He scanned the inside and found it mostly empty, except for one pilot that he recognized.

"G'morning Master Chief,” the pilot said. Jegora thought his name was Zark.

"Good morning," Jegora Fal paused for a moment, making sure he had the right name before continuing, "Senior Crewman Zarkheim."

"Um, I was wondering," Zark began as he adjusted the speed of the treadmill, "If I may get access to the simulators later. So I can familiarize myself with the interceptors." Jegora waited while the young pilot took a breath, already liking the idea. "I'm not very well acquainted with the specifics of all the systems."

"I think that that is a great idea,” Jegora said as he started jogging on his own treadmill. "I think I'll join you as well, I can teach you some things while you're at it."

Zark nodded, obviously breathing too hard to continue talking.

After a few minutes Zark slowed his pace down to a stop: he was done with his workout.

"What time should we start at the simulators?" the young pilot asked.

Jegora Fal slowed his treadmill down some so they could hear each other. His thoughts had drifted back to the recent deaths in the squadron, and Jegora’s voice reflected his now black mood. "After lunch, let's say 1300," the senior pilot said, his voice hard.

"Roger Master Chief, see you at 1300." With that the newest Nazgul left the gym, leaving Jegora alone with his now dark thoughts.

Jegora slowly increased the tempo of the machine until he was jogging at an extremely quick pace. Even his well conditioned body was beginning to feel the strains. After seven minutes at a near sprint, Jegora had to cut the pace.

Slowly Jeg decelerated into a walk. After a couple minutes of walking Jegora had his breath back. He had been on the treadmill for almost twenty minutes, and just under half of that had been at a break-neck speed. He was sweaty, hungry, and rejuvenated. Walking slowly over to where a droid was waiting to spot him on several weight exercises, Jegora wiped his brow.

Just then the door opened, and a now very familiar face walked in. Jegora’s face broke out in a big grin.

OOC:

868 words. I’ll finish it tomorrow. It got late on me. Zark, if you want you can advance yourself through lunch and get yourself in the sim. Just don’t have me arrive yet. Do a practice run or something. Or not. ‘Tis up to you.

Dante pulled his chin over the bar one more time and then collapsed on the ground, "One huff," he took a deep breath, "hundred chins ups," he started to pick up his breathing more and more trying to keep up with his heart rate. Dante looked down at his watch

Five o'clock in the mourning huh? still earlier then I thought I would get done with my workout. Maybe I will go lay down for a nap, I doubt the others are up yet so I should be good.

Dante picked up the shirt he had thrown on the ground and grabbed his Darth Water bottle and took a good long drink sucking the whole bottle down in one gulp. Instead of walking back to his bunk and taking a nap like he planned, Dante decided that going to grab some coffee from one of the "lounges" was a better idea. Entering the Catina Dante pulled out his credit chip and handed it to the bar tender, "One coffee please, black with two sugars." The bartender nodded and turned to the coffee cup a poured Dante a large cup of fresh hot coffee. "Thanks man," Dante said as he took his credit chip and his coffee and walked over to an empty table and sat down. Dante closed his eyes as he took the first sip of his coffee, Dante hated almost every beverage that wasn't made with some type of alcohol in it but for some reason coffee was one non-alcoholic beverage that he made an exception for. The coffee was a good brew, something hard to find onboard a Imperial starship nowadays.

After finishing his coffee and talking to someone from Ragax squadron Dante got up and went down to the hanger to go look at his craft and tinker with the settings for a couple of hours or so. While walking down to the hanger his datapad vibrated, when Dante turned on his datapad and saw that he had a new message. The message was from Denethor and was called A Well Earned Reward and Dante got a little excited about what could be in it. Quickly opening it he found it read...
From: LT2 Denethor, Phoenix Wing XO
To: Nazgul Squadron
Re: A well earned reward

At the request of your command staff, every member of Nazgul has been promoted. Job well done, and keep up the good work.

Chief Petty Officer Jegora Fal to Master Chief Petty Officer
Petty Officer 2nd Class Rustichituk to Petty Officer 1st Class
Senior Crewman Gshlecc to Petty Officer 1st Class
Senior Crewman Lamel_Evas to Petty Officer 2nd Class
Leading Crewman Lousy to Senior Crewman
Leading Crewman DanteDevant to Senior Crewman
Leading Crewman Roth to Senior Crewman

"Oh my god, I actually made Senior Crewman without getting onto the field. Theres a shocker for once," Dante said while putting away his data pad and continuing down to the hanger. The hanger was pretty much empty except for the Nazgul craft, he saw the Jeg's ship had a lot of parts that looked strangely familiar laying out around it, while Driver had a couple of techs painting what looked to be a uncompleted picture of some type of girl.

Wonder what those parts are...I have seen them somewhere but I can't just place them, and who is that looker going on Drivers ship?

Dante walked over to his ship and looked at it in amazement. Never before in the sims or the practice runs had Dante thought about how he would spend his entire career, placing his entire life into ONE star fighter. It would become an extension of his body, actually more like him becoming part of the machine in Dante's option, and know it back and forth before long. Dante ran his hand over the huge exterior of Iron Heart and tried to imagine himself inside it on the battlefield flying at high speeds dodging lasers and thumbing that fire button and watching as the sublaser zoomed across the black void of space only to end up piercing the hull of an enemy star fighter. The chaos that would come on this mission would be glorious and a beautiful art to Dante while he was inside of Iron Heart. Dante only imagined the sight of dozens of fighters zooming around in a giant sphere of light and metal. The idea of it was like a elegant dance where all the dancers know where to go and give off a show that is like nothing us twirling and spinning, flipping and diving with unmatched grace.

Dante opened up the hatch and slip in be careful that he didn't bang his head as he did. There were two problems with being a tall pilot. One was it is not uncommon for a pilot to bang his head on almost every entrance or exiting to his ship, or taking to long to get in it. The second was that once inside the ship the pilot was usually cramp and uncomfortable inside the little cockpit the TIE Interceptors had. Now Dante was fine with the size of the cockpit but he had heard others who were tall complaining about it.

Once inside of the cockpit Dante slowly lowered himself down into the seat and slowly grasped the control yoke for the first time, he had of course held over ones and had even flew actually interceptors in the academy, but this time it was completely different. This time this was HIS ship, and HIS control yoke. The control yoke fit his hands perfectly and felt as if they were made for him. Dante flipped on the ignition and waited as the red lights around his cockpit light up and his systems turned on with a low humming sound that quickly disappeared, Dante was breathless as he sat there as it all went on.

After a couple of seconds Dante flipped the ignition switch again turning it off and climbed out of the cockpit and then jumped down back onto the hanger floor. Dante knew what he had to do for his ship. Quickly running over to the techs that were at G's ship he asked, "Hey guys where are the paints I can use to put an image on my ship?"

The tech looked at him for a second before answering, "That will the stuff we are using here. You can get some over there in that pile," he point to a group of boxes that were stacked over by the wall. Dante quickly thank the man and ran over to the boxes. He quickly searched through them and found a verity of greys and metallic silvers and filled an empty box and walked back over to his ship. He grabbed the darkest grey and started to paint on a huge circle on the center square, right where the top and bottom half meet, of the right wing. He took a very metallic silver and painted on a silver heart afterwards that took up the entire circle. On that Dante painted the name Iron Heart in it in a silverish-grey that was in between the base and the heart. The whole process took him about an hour and a half. He did the same process oh his left wing, by the time he was done with both wing it was about 10:30 in the mourning.

Wow its not even noon standard time yet is it! Wow I don't think I have anything else to do today.

OOC:

1254 words

Getting out of the transport ship he immediately hurried his behind towards his new temporary home, the place where all the oil monkeys hang around and work in conditions where they're buried to their neck in electronics. When he suddenly heard one of his fellow Nazgul yell at him to not get lost he turned around, smiled and waved causing him to trip over something and falling down, hurting his back. Crawling back up he held his back with one arm but his face was still wearing a big smile.
He started running again and hurried towards Mechanic Pit. Once arrived he immediately headed towards his TIE-Interceptor. Looking at it he hugged the landing gear, almost crying out of joy. When the Chief Engineer stood behind him he had a smile on his face as he saw how enthusiastic Girias is. He opens his mouth to speak but you could definetely hear the joy in his voice.

"Heh, I see you like your TIE-Interceptor And your custom paint job. It wasn't that easy you know, painting a believeable Computer Chip on that thing without making you a huge blinking target for enemy laser fire. Although it was a bit hard I'm still amazed by the result. As you can see, we've even taken the liberty of adding some paint to look like makeshift computer cables running around your entire TIE-Interceptor. Enjoy this little puppy, I know I would if it were mine. Oh, and we've also finished those rebuilding plans but you should go see that for yourself. Now, I'm going to get back to work ..."

Smiling and waving at the man Girias was still almost jumping out of joy. When the Chef Engineer had turned his attention to one of the other TIE-Interceptor of Nazgul Squadron, Girias climbed the ladder up and jumped inside the cockpit. It was just like the plans and simulations, except that he had removed several unnecessairy pieces of equipment to make more room for the pilot and for small extra power generators to enhance his Shields, Lasers and Hull Integrity. He tested out several movements and found out that, although he had increased the space, he could still barely move his legs. When he had moven around enough he got out of the cockpit with a smile, yawned and looked around. He had decided to have some fun and to go help the other mechanics. Hurrying up he got near the Chief Mechanic and begged him to let him help him. He had little to no choice and gave him a few extra chores to do.

Sweeping up bolts and screws, followed by removing the dust out of several engines, is a bit amusing but annoys him after a bit. When he passed a Mechanic getting angry over a computer he offered some help. Dusting it out he noticed that several wires were crossed and misplaced. Some fast switching and some making sure every piece has been attached later he hits the button, yet nothing happens. Fake coughing in his left hand he smashes down on an exact place with his right hand causing the motor to spur and then to activate.

Getting good recommendations he gets to do some more yet more difficult tasks this time. At a certain point, he's head and torso into a huge shield generator. At a certain point he's working with several cables that, if wrongly connected, will cause the entire generator to explode. Dripping with sweat inside of it, he's very nervously connecting the wires. Dropping his hydrospanner due to a cough causes him to swear but to reach down and get it. After some last work everything's A-OK and he's just taking a breather while still halfway inside the Shield Generator. Suddenly though, his communicator goes off, scaring him and makes him hitting his forehead against a rather sharp side inside the big hump of metal. Getting his head of of it his vision is kind of bloody. Wiping the blood out of his eyes gives him enough time to read the message on his Communicator.

"Bla bla bla, yadda yadda yadda, names and promotions. Oh, how very inters ... ting ... Holy crap, I'm a Senor Crewman now. Sweet, I'm no longer the lowest ranked officer in Nazgul. Kickass, now I get to boss around the newbies."

Once again his vision got bloody and blurry before all of a sudden a female Mechanic, a bit of a tomboy, punched him in the gut causing him to collaps. When he was coughing on his knees she took him in a headlock. Being stuck he tried to move but he was in no apparent place to use some decent power to fight himself free and the Woman Mechanic is pretty strong. She wiped the blood off and stuck on a pretty large band-aid, covering the gash on his forehead. When she let go he got up and started yelling before being punched in the gut again. She took a moterhlike pose with he hads on her hips and looks at him pretty seriously.

"Now, who do you think you are bleeding in my part of the workshop. You mechanic failure of a pilot. I hope you learn that you pilots make a makeshift mechanic. You're equal to maybe a first timer so leave the real mechanic work to us."

Feeling insulted he challenged the girl to prove that he himself is a very good mechanic and a good repairman in electronics. The two of them are both heavily focused on repairing, although that in the middle of it all the two of them smile at each other several times. During tightening bolts, connecting wires and adjusting several other pieces of the equipment they're fixing she introduced herself as Marianne. After finishing, they both recognise the other person as a very good mechanic.

"Say, Marianne, do you maybe think you and I could, you know, get together after this and get something to drink? I know you might not be interested as in I'm just a pilot and you're a mechanic, but I'm a guy and you're a woman and you know ... Ye god I'm horrible at his."

Marianne heard his rambling and his offer and just laughed at him, very hard. She looks at him pretty seriously though she cant' stop herself from laughing at him.

"I'm sorry, though I'm very flattered and all it just wouldn't work. You're a pilot going off to die on suicide missions while I'm a mechanic fixing all this crap. Besides, you're just here on a temporary stay. Maybe if you were one of the greasemonkeys stationed here we could try it ... just don't die. You're one of the few pilots who can fix their own ride, the Navy wouldn't want to lose you, right?"

Feeling shot down he just smiled and started working on a laser cannon that had a few problems with the actual firing part. Feeling annoyed he started taking it apart to see what exactly's wrong and to see if he can repair it.

DUH, DUH, DUH…

  The strains of the Imperial March once again roused Driver from his slumber.  Still somewhat asleep he flailed blindly to kill the sound. 

  “Can no one call during normal, fracking hours!” he shouted for no one but himself.

  He fumbled with the bedside light and thumbed the message.  It was from Jeg. 

  Master Chief or no Master Chief anything short of the Emperor being reborn and I’m gonna kill him

To: PO1 Atrasin
Fr: MCPO Fal
Re: Mission Briefing

Driver,
  I’ve been held up in a separate, unrelated briefing with Shazam.  I need you to give the mission briefing to the team.  I will join when able.
Jeg

  “Damn!”

  The thought of reading through Imperial Intelligence briefs and Jeg’s notes to give a cold briefing to the men did not make G feel shiny.  He flung himself out of his bunk and hit the fresher.  He didn’t shower or shave.  He threw on a dirty sweatshirt and a pair of pant and stomped down to the Mess.  Foul mood oozed from his every pore.  Those who encountered him in the passageway parted as if they could feel the white, hot ball of ‘frack you’ building up inside of him.  He hit the mess, grabbed a mug of kaf and hunkered down at a back corner table. 

  G pulled up the mission Intel in his pad.  As he read it crystallized for him.  He could see the whole plan falling into place. Only one thing was wrong.  Missions weren’t flown on data pads.  He read the entire Imp Intel brief, and Jeg’s side notes.  He reread it and reread it a third time, committing most of it to memory.  He sat for a bit and thought of several scenarios that the others may ask about and searched for answers in the Intel and in his own experiences.  He wanted to make sure he had everything they might need.  This was going to be the first live fire mission for a goodly part of Nazgul, and he wanted them all back in one piece. 

  After about an hour or two of reading and 5 cups of kaf, he was ready.  He keyed in all alert code for Nazgul and punched in a message.

To: Nazgul Squadron
Fr: PO1 Atrasin
Re: Mission Briefing

  Mission Briefing:  0730 hrs, Briefing Room 13, Deck 15
                                 
  Full Flight Gear

  Short and sweet.  Let’s see how they like getting up early

  He hit the send button and instantaneously his data pad chirped the message received.  He accepted and cleared it and headed back to his bunk.  He had 45 minutes to get ready.  He jumped in the shower, shaved and dried himself.  He slid into a fresh body sock and jumpsuit. He pulled on his flight gloves and secured the wrist seals.  Within fifteen minutes G stood before his bunk mirror.  A knight armored in plaz, nomex, and circuitry ready to slay the dragon. 

  He strode into Briefing Room 13 and positioned himself in front of the assembled Nazzies.  All were present save for Jeg, Trevor and Rogue.  The only other person as senior as he was Rusty, and he outranked him by virtue of his Flight Leader status.  The Squadron came to attention.

  This is one of those times I wish I was still a noob

  “At ease, take your seats and let’s get to work.” He stated as the rest sat down. 

  Driver powered up the visual system and their objective appeared in holo form in front of him.

  “This is our target: Bannath.  This quite literally is the ass-end of the Vast Empire.  There’s not a lot out here ‘cept gas, space and rock.  However, this is some pretty valuable rock.  The ore extracted from these asteroids is vital to the economic and military life of the Vast Empire, and it has been hijacked. “G stated succinctly.

  “Our job gentlemen, it to take it back.  We are currently rolling in hot with seven capital ships and auxiliaries loaded with six fighter squadrons including us.  This is the tip of the spear.  We will be behind covering the troop convoy pulling over 500 Stormies and their associated firepower.”

  He waived his hand over the holo projector and the Fleet materialized along with the troop transports in the distance. 

  “In front of us is a numerically inferior force.  There is a kicker though.  Firebase: Calamis. “

  The holo formed the firebase.  It had all the appearance of a mushroom studded with needles.

  “This little ball of sunshine has room for a crew of 300, a garrison of forty, a fighter contingent of four squadrons, and over 180 laser barrels, and not one bit of it is controlled by us.  The OpForce has taken control of this station and WILL use it against us.  Now for the bad news.”

  The TIE jocks chuckled at the fact that THAT was the good news.  Driver continued.

  “We are going to launch as soon as the Calamity drops out of hyperspace.  We are going to drop in quite a ways out and they WILL know we’re coming.  Our only chance is to hit ‘em hard and fast.  We will be flying cover for the troop convoy.  If we don’t do our job they can’t do theirs.  The others will punch a hole in their fighter umbrella and make it big enough for the ground pounders to get in.  Our job is to make sure no one slips by, we need make sure they get the chance to kill the bad guys.  Once they are in, we can hunt.  When you start hunting stay together and listen for instruction.”

  Driver aimed his comment squarely at Rusty, remembering how the Wook had gone solo during the run on the Furious One.  Rusty listened impassively as if oblivious to the words intended target.

  “Now, in one final note gentlemen, this information comes directly from Imperial Intelligence.  We ALL know those words are an oxymoron.  Keep your heads on a swivel and talk to your wings.  There will be surprises out there, let’s be the ones who give ‘em.  That is all I have, are there any questions?”


  Zark raised his hand, “What kind of fighters are we facing?”

  G hit he holo controls and an array of fighter craft materialized.

  “Our preliminary reports show that there may be, but not exclusively: A-9’s, Preybirds’, Interceptors, Regular TIE’s and Bombers.  How many, we’re not sure of.  I can guarantee that whatever comes at us will be well piloted by determined individuals.  We are NOT in sims anymore.  Do NOT underestimate your opponent or you WILL NOT come home. Understood?”

  The collected heads nodded in unison.

  “Anything else? No?  OK, mount up Nazgul we launch in less than thirty.” 

  Driver strode down the center aisle of the briefing room toward the door.  The rest of the squadron followed suit, discussing the mission and possible tactics.  G noted how the wingmen gravitated to each other and compared notes.  There’s nothing like holding someone’s life in your hands to make you communicate.  He found Roth and Zark and informed them that since there were only the three of them in the flight that they’d act as his double wingmen.  He put Roth on his right and Zark on his left.  They then moved as on to the hangar.  They had work to do.

OOC:

1205 words

Driver strode out of the briefing room, and caught Zark and Roth as they were chatting.  He called them over to a quieter spot to talk.

  “OK, for both of you this is your first live fire, so I want to lay out a few things.  Since were down a man in the flight you will both be my wingmen.  Roth since you and I have worked together more, you’re on my right.  Zark, no offense, but I don’t have a handle on your skills yet, you’re on my left.  Keep a tight formation as we launch and keep an eye up for incoming.  Otherwise, you two are good to go, and I look forward to buying you a drink on our return. “

  The junior pilots nodded as G headed to the launch bay.  He had not had a chance to check the Stunner since she’d been brought over, and the time before launch was perfect for him.  He climbed the support scaffolding and dropped into his fighter.  The interior looked and felt the same as before, although it did have a slight new paint smell to it.  The Chief had cleaned the interior and everything looked good. 

  He ran through a pre-flight and all the lights pegged green.  With the checks out of the way, he pulled out his data pad and did the other things they don’t tell you about in the academy.  He reactivated the auto sets on his will and his post-mortem letters to Da, Bedav, and Yulia.  He set them for minus-12 hours mission start.  Usually, that would be enough time to take care of business and get back before they went out.  If he didn’t come back he sure as hells didn’t want them to get an “In the Service of the Empire” letter delivered to their door.  It would be better hearing it from him.  He hadn’t set this up when he went on his first mission, but when Weasel bought it- he did.

  He stowed his pad in his Pilots Pack and checked his gear, rations, clothes, pistols: all there, all good.  His chrono beeped. 

  “Time to lock and load.” He said into his comm flight channel

  He heard the squadron’s engines begin to spool up with that familiar whine.  All the simms they’d flown lately failed to have that sound present, and it was comforting. 

  A jaded voice crackled across his comm, “Nazgul Squadron, prep and ready. Cleared for launch in ninety seconds. Control out.”

  Trevor acknowledged the tower and dropped free of his berth.  The rest of Flight One followed suit and waited for the green light.  As soon as it lit, they were out of the bay.  Jeg and Flight Two came next and finally Driver and the kids.  He felt the clamps release and the unsteady moments before the repulsors fully level the ship.  He liked that, it made him feel like he was…free.  He pushed the TIE forward and slid through the magnetic barrier into the void.  Roth and Zark were close behind and formed up on cue.

  Not bad boys, not bad

  G hadn’t really had much time to work with them as a team, but it was nice to see that some things were already hard-wired in. 

  Trevor’s voice cut through the engine sound and said, “Nazguls sound off.”

  Everybody called out their presence in order, Rusty growled his – with a bad interpretation.

  “Nine is around here somewhere.” He reported, grinning the whole time.

  Roth and Zark chimed in and once the checks were in Trevor piped in again.

“Right, that’s everyone then,” Trevor said. “Lets go. We’re going to form up with the Ferum Umbra. We’ll be escorting the convoy. Form up.”

  They all dropped into battle formation and headed toward the convoy fleet.  G could see the Umbra and the other corvette bracketing the transports.  A little further down he saw the frigate.  The Nazzies took their station and waited for the Fleet to engage and the show to begin.

And what a show it was.  Driver could’ve sworn he heard Zark go ‘ooh’ over the comm when the first shots lit up the black of space.  He felt the same way, but he wouldn’t say so.  He was command now, and had to, at least, sound like he’d been here before. 

  Twenty minutes or so into the battle and still not one hostile had made it through to the convoy.

  “Are battles always this boring?” queried Roth.  The anticipation and eagerness bit hard into his words.

  Driver didn’t blame him.  He knew what it felt like to be the noob wanting to cut his teeth and show his stuff.  He also knew that battles were seldom this neat, and never ‘boring’.  His prescience was confirmed as he heard the convoy Tactical Officer over his comm. Inbound hostiles.

  “Finally.” Zark said, the relief dripping from the word like icing off a birthday cake.

  “Nazguls,” a low voice said, “Be warned. Radar signatures are consistent with A-9 Vigilance fighters.”

  “And what exactly do we know about these new A-9’s?” Trevor asked.

  There was a slight pause. “Absolutely nothing,” the operator said.

  Wonderful

  Driver switched to the Flight only comm channel, “OK, eyes up, talk to me when you get something.  DO NOT play hero.  Stick with your wing and talk to the rest of us.  As the man said nobody knows what these are.” 

  “Roger that.” Replied both Roth and Zark.

  Driver kept an eye on his radar.  He saw the red indicators of inbound hostiles.  It took and agonizingly long time for the fighters to close the distance with Nazgul.  Time enough to think about everything you ever did or didn’t do.  Time enough to second and third guess yourself, and time enough to get your mind right.  The incoming came into range.

  “Bogey, Bogey, Bogey, in coming hostiles on our 12.  They look like freaking Ice Skates.” He shouted into the comm.

  As the fighters roared into the fray, he commed Roth, “Still bored sunshine?”

  All he got was a “WOOOO HOOO!”

OOC:

1011 words, see you all later this week.

Trevor was mildly surprised none of his squadron members had come to see him the entire six days they were aboard the Calamity. He had been hiding out in his room for most of trip, not necessarily to avoid his crew, but to get some time to think about how things were going for him. In the Navy, things were excellent. People came and went as they always did, but he stayed in relatively the same position. Not that he had any problem with that, he personally loved being in charge of a squadron and getting his dose of power while still being able to fly.

It was the entire situation with Tokijin that bothered him. As far as he knew, she was still thinking he was dead and off on some vacation to try and get her head about her. He was still in the same old seat he always had been, but with a different state of mind, a state he had long ago hoped wouldn’t come upon him when he was flying. Depression. Of all the moods that a pilot could be in while flying, depression and rage were the most dangerous.

On one hand, rage was dangerous to both the pilot experiencing it, and his targets. Wingmen were also affected, although not as seriously. Depression, on the other hand, was safer in the way that it only affected the pilot experiencing it. The downside was that it made the pilot a danger to himself, especially if the depression was to the point of thoughts of suicide. Trevor was nowhere near being suicidal, but if he couldn’t pull himself out of the funk there was no telling quite how far he could slip.

Most of the six days was spent sleeping or doing paperwork that he had let himself get behind on. He was still finalizing mission reports from weeks ago, and going through various training exercises, but not at a very quick rate. The depression was keeping him from working hard, and he spent most of the time not working or sleeping at his desk, drinking more then he could remember. He’d been through a bottle and a half of his favorite brand of whiskey, a drink that would normally last him a few months on a single bottle. It was probably best that no one came to visit; he wasn’t sober enough to deal with visitors.

He had surprised himself slightly by keeping his routine of showering and having breakfast at the mess, although he purposely avoided being seen by any of his squadron members, doing his best to go at erratic time intervals, mostly later or earlier than anyone else would have gone. The booze clouded his thoughts on the mission, and he was beginning to have trouble remembering names and faces by the time the day of launch came round. The night before he put a cork back in the bottle and hid it away in his duffle bag, and mixed up one of his own home-remedies for hangovers. When he finished he put it in the small refrigerator included in his room as part of the preparation process and wandered off to the ‘fresher to have a cold shower before hitting the hay.

When Trevor woke up the day of launch day, he skipped the briefing. He had already been informed of what was going on and wasn’t too worried about being there for it, and had already been told the G would handle the briefing. This didn’t concern him, it meant he could have a few more precious moments of sleep before getting dressed in his bulky flight suit and downing the hangover killer. He almost vomited as the concoction oozed down his throat, but managed to suppress the gag reflex and force it down.

He then carefully packed a small pilot’s bag with all the things he liked to have with him; An extra sidearm aside from the standard issue one, a compass (although he felt it would do him little good where he would be crashing), and various other objects that would be of use if he happened to end up on foot. If he ended up floating through space, not much would do any good. Next stop was the hanger, where the rest of Nazgul would soon be boarding their craft and taking off. A small countdown timer showed how long it would be until the Calamity dropped out of hyperspace. Only a few more minutes and they would be within firing range of their enemy.

“Sir, your ships are ready for combat. We’ve just finished a final pre-flight check on all of them, although we still recommend you do your own. The computers may have missed something.” A crewman told him after stepping out of nowhere and saluting him. “The only problem we found was that your ejection seat didn’t seem to respond, and we don’t have time to fix it. If you wish, you can leave a link open and we can try to repair it through the computer, although that’d only have limited success.” The crewman told him as Trevor shook his head, trying to help the hangover medicine work faster.

Perfect. Just perfect. My one most used tool and it’s broken.. Trevor thought with a frown as he glared up at his craft. It was almost new, hardly been used, and still had kinks that needed to be worked out. The idea of being able to repair it while he was on the go was an appetizing one though, so he nodded to the crewman in agreement. “Sounds like a plan. Just don’t go setting it off on me while I’m in there. I remember seeing a movie once where a pilot died because his canopy wasn’t out of the way when he ejected.” Trevor joked, watching the face of the tech turn grim at the thought. He nodded and wandered away, shaking his head. Whether it was at the twisted humor pilots had or the idea of how possible it could be to make such a mistake, Trevor wasn’t sure. He shrugged and made his way towards the bright yellow ladder leaned against his cockpit.

It was a different way of entering then from the catwalks above like he was used to, although the VSD II had a slightly different system than most of the other ships he had been on so far. Although it had docking claws like all the others, this ship lacked the catwalks required to simply drop in from above. Instead they had mobile ladders that were pushed to the cockpit by a deck hand, similar to the system employed by the New Republic when it came to their snub fighters. All we need now are astromechs and we’ll be the same. I wonder if they can fit Zip into one of these. He thought, remembering the droid he had in his quarters on the Atrus.

He tossed his flight bag in first, and then clambered in himself, narrowly missing his head on the edge of the cockpit. He then fired up the reactors and began gong through the system checks, checking everything he could remember from basic training as well as a few things he liked to make sure worked fine out of habit. As he ran over the ejection readouts he sighed, noting the red light and hoping that it would either be fixed or he wouldn’t need it. Preferably the latter.

As he was finishing up his check he noted that the rest of Nazgul Squadron was filing in and beginning to get into their craft. He spotted a few faces he recognized, one or two he didn’t, and a walking carpet that was hard to miss. He suddenly began to feel as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and the depressive feeling ebbed away. It’s good to be back in a cockpit. He thought as he finished his checks and slid his helmet on. They still had two minutes until they reverted to real space, but he felt like listening in on the comm. chatter between the other pilots. Nothing but the usual banter, random conversations about the night before and curses as something seemed to go wrong then was quickly righted.

Finally the numbers on the digital timer hit zero on the opposing hanger wall and the stars reappeared from the swirl of pink and blue that was hyperspace. In the distance Trevor could see the enemy fleet, six ships hanging in space. Not that they had many more, but they had the support of a VSD II as well as other formidable ships. Not to mention the best pilots in the galaxy.

A different voice came across the comm., one from the control tower above. “Nazgul Squadron, prep and ready. Cleared for launch in ninety seconds. Control out.” Trevor nodded to himself and acknowledged the information, waited the ninety seconds until he was waved out of the bay by a deck hand, and began calling roll.

“Nazguls, sound off.” He said, any nervousness from the mission draining from his body. He was ready to go, and didn’t plan on letting a little bit of butterflies ruin his flight. He wasn’t going to push the fear out though. If he knew anything from his years of experience as a fighter pilot, it was fear that kept you alive. You’d only push your ship so far, try only certain risky moves, and fear was usually what brought a pilot home at the end of the day. Trevor, despite his depression, planned to come home.

As they launched the ships around them began to move into battle positions, and it would only be moments until they started exchanging fire with the enemy fleet. It was Nazgul’s job to remain behind until the commando shuttle was ready to disembark, until then they were simply working as pest control on anything that broke through the front lines. Twenty minutes was all they had to wait before a pack of A-9s broke through and made their way straight at Nazgul Squadron.

Unlike the stock paintjob of white, these had been painted a dark grey smeared with black, blending them almost seamlessly into space. Had they been able to recreate a realistic star effect, the fighters would be well camouflaged. At the moment they were merely tougher to see. After a quick exchange with the Calamity, Trevor racked his brain for anything he new about the A-9. He remembered that they were very nimble and quick, and felt as if he had fought them at least once in his career. They were new fighters, but that didn’t mean he had never seen them before.

“Ok, Nazgul. This is a fairly new enemy for us, and I can’t think of a weak spot we can try to exploit. Needless to say, taking on an unknown foe head on is stupid. All the same, engage at will, but keep to your wingman. No need for anyone to become space dust this early in.” Trevor explained quickly as the A-9s silently screamed closer. His own engines hummed softly behind and below him, but to anyone outside his fighter they would hear nothing. Space combat was deceiving in the way that compared to atmospheric combat, you couldn’t hear your enemy coming or shooting at you. Instead you had to rely on instruments and other things that Trevor didn’t like to trust his life with.

“Nazgul Squadron, fire as soon as they come into range. If my memory is right their firing range is slightly shorter then ours, so we can get a jump on them. No mercy, boys.” Trevor explained, a cold, calculating tone coming to his voice that hadn’t been there since before he started dating Tokijin. I guess old tricks come back to old dogs when things change. Trevor thought as he dialed the targeting computer knobs, attempting to get a lock on the lead fighter. As soon as he did it was entering his firing range, and he didn’t hold back. Arcs of green raced across the empty space, headed for the cockpit of the enemy fighter.

**

“Heads up Trophy Squadron, these guys aren’t kidding around.” Trophy One exclaimed as he swung his fighter around and out of the way of Trevor’s fire. His squadron responded by scattering in random directions like flies, avoiding most of the shots Nazgul Squadron had released.

“They’re on the offensive quick, lead. Do we move in?” One of the Trophy Squadron pilots asked, taking note that his shields were already down to 18%. He had taken quite a pounding in the initial bombardment, but was going to receive no mercy from his kamikaze commander.

“Absolutely we do. They’re hanging back here for a reason, and whatever it is we can’t let them succeed. If they were just some random squadron they would be up at the front lines, getting killed like the rest of them.” One explained, barreling his fighter closer to the agitated Nazgul pilots. “We can’t let them live through this, boys.”

WC 2200. I’m back, boys. Expect to see me posting more often; I hope to have more free time. In the mean time, lets kick some butt.

Arriving almost late after a very late night of repairing some last engines and modifying his own Shield Generator, Weapon Generator and Engines. Hearing about the mission, something inside his mind went blanc, pondering again why Marianne refused him until the Commander said Nazgul which shook him out of his thoughts. While hearing the part of the briefing for Nazgul, he couldn't help but wonder that this is mission is going to be part boring and part suicidal. When the briefing was finished, he walked outside at a slow yet steady pace, back to the hangar.

When he got into the hangar, he looked around at the other Nazgul pilots, getting inside their TIE Interceptors and launching he climbed inside his cockpit and was doing a final flight check. While checking he looked around for any possible objects he might hit when taking up, and he saw Marianne fixing some console. Looking at her he smiled but when she suddenly looked up, their eyes met. Girias blushed and looked back inside his cockpit, observing his Generators powering up. When the flight check finished, everything around the TIE-Interceptor decorated with a gigantic Computer Chip and Computer Cables was moved out of the way and he took flight, through the hangar bay and outside, into the vast space.

Flying in formation, he really doesn't like the fact that his Wingwoman's gone on a holiday to recover from past events. Although she probably deserves it, this does leave him with a very dangerous situation of having noone to cover his rear end from laser bolts. Flying around in formation he looks at his two other flight mates, Trevor and Dante. The two of them are flying pretty good together, almost like two bees buzzing around with one looking for a flower and the other one standin guard for other bees. All of a sudden, his train of thought has been disturbed.

"Nazguls, sound off."

Dislodging from his thoughts he takes a bit to regain his senses and remembers that he's going on his first mission with real people to kill, instead of those damn simulators. Looking around he touches a few buttons and then speaks to the rest of Nazgul, without really being capable of hiding his excitement.

"Nazgul Three is here too."

Looking around, he notices the mission objective, guarding these pretty big ships from fighters who had accidentally gotten past the main attack and defense line. For a good while they see nothing of combat besides what they see off far, where the main battle is. Whistling out of boredom he goes sight seeing until, finally, the proximity alert sounds. Sounding excited he hits it and the scanner button, deactivating the alert and causing the scanner to find out what's heading towards us.

Seeing the unknown fighters almost scare Girias, he has never seen these things nor has he ever heard of them. But then he remembers that he's with Nazgul Squadron, one of the best Fighter Squadrons there is, which causes his worry to just drift away. When he hears the attack orders he fires several shots, hitting nothing but space but it does make the A-Nines scramble, almost scaring them. He tries to stay with his flight but he quickly sees that the two of them are fighting on their own.

He stays close to Trevor and Dante but is forced to let them go when they attempt to lure and trap one of the enemy A-9s. Smiling he flies around, always making sure he knows what's happening. When a single A-9 had sped up to meet with Girias he had decided to meet the challenge on his own. Hitting the throttle, the TIE-Interceptor does what it does best. Speeding up to very high speeds. Girias is being pushed back into his seat but since his arms are long enough, he can still easily operate the TIE-Interceptor. The two ships fly towards the two of them and are getting close to hitting each other. Though at the last second the A-9 pilot pulls up and lowers speed to escape destruction so early.

Smiling he kept up this gigantic speed and made a vertical U-Turn, one he had used in the simulator to catch one of the Simulated X-Wings off guard and killed him. He thought that this would work, though he would be proven wrong. Everything happens perfectly like last time, the enemy still flying vertically and Girias coming in Horizontally. Just when the Laser Bolts are about to find their target he suddenly speeds up and escapes destruction, though some of his rear shields get hit and drop to about 7%, or atleast that's what the scanner says. Flying after the A-9 he does his best to manouver around but when he's about to get a lock on the A-9 he hears another alert, one telling him that someone's getting close to his rear.

Cursing that he needs to leave his opponent alone he sees through rear view the new A-9 closing in on him. It's about completely behind Girias at slightly bigger speed yet the same horizontal height. Though Girias, the smart guy, had thought of a fairly simple plan to get the A-9 away from his rear And to take him out. He lowered subtely so that it's hardly noticeable and suddenly pulls back his Throttle, killing his speed. This causes the A-9 to fly over him, although he slightly bumps against the upper shields of the TIE-Interceptor. Hitting the throttle again Girias chases the A-9 now and fires several Blaster Bolts. The pilot is good, and dodges most of them, but the few that hit him are all on his right wing and tears it off. This causes it to pull to the right and straight into a last series of shots from Girias. He had taken out his first human opponent, and was pretty damn proud of it.

"This is Nazgul 3, I almost entirely killed the shields of an A-9 and destroyed another A-9. So, one down and another badly damaged."

OOC:

1026 words

Zark felt his ship push off of the Calamity's deck and out of the SSD.  He was the last one of the squadron into space. The rest of the squadron was calling up that they were ready, and finally it was his turn.

"Nazgul eleven, ready and waiting." Zark was excited and couldn't help letting some of it leak in to his voice.

He heard the command to form up, so he headed to his position to the left of his flight leader G. Time ticked by as the capital ships engaged each other, but no enemy fighters were to be seen. Twenty minutes went by until enemy starfighters were spotted. He heard the tactical report overe the radio.

“Be warned. Radar signatures are consistent with A-9 Vigilance fighters.”

“And what exactly do we know about these new A-9’s?” The squadron commander asked.

There was a slight pause. “Absolutely nothing,” the operator said.

A-9's, Zark thought to himself. Who uses those? They were obsolete when Kuat Drive Yards first pumped them out.

He was eager to prove himself to the squadron, every part of him wanted to go toe to toe with the enemy fighters. His sense of duty kept him in line, and kept him from breaking formation and heading straight for the enemy formation.

He watched as the enemy fighters approached, and he watched the other fighters take the shots that they were given. His positioning had kept him from getting a shot at the oncoming fighters. The other Nazgul's fired and the enemy fighters scattered to avoid the shots. Zark saw shields flare and an A-9 wink out of existance.

Flights one and three stayed in formation as flight two broke off to hunt down the enemies.

"We're fracking bait!" Zark yelled in his cockpit, as he punched his seat, not aware he had keyed up his radio to G and Roth.

"You might want to refrain from abusing your equipment, at least until after the battle is over." G said over the radio.

The blood rushed from Zark's face as he keyed his radio to reply.

"Rodger three one, I'll save it for the enemy, three three out."

At that moment Zark noticed one of the fighters from the second flight start making evasive manuvers to avoid a missile. The missile refused to lose target and crept closer and closer to the fighter until it detonated mere meters from the ship, sending it straight towards the regrouped enemy fighters.  The pilot must have pushed the throttle all the way up. The other ships from the second flight turned to provide cover for the ship.

Throught the sudden mass of radio chatter that broke out Zark heard the squadron commander give orders to the rest of the formation to change course and head for the enemy formation, and to protect the disoriented ship.

Zark took a deep breath. Finally he thought to himself.

Trevor was fairly glad to have a whole squadron for once, as it meant that he had more people to cover him and it was harder to be outnumbered. By the way this battle was going though, he felt as if they had been put up against fresh recruits. The enemy pilots were very uncoordinated in their flying, and barely seemed to be able to get a shot off with the exception of the missile that had pursued Jeg and a couple of shots on Roth. So far four A-9s had been destroyed, giving a couple of the newer Nazguls kills. It might be Trevor’s turn soon though, as he and Dante were working over another A-9. While he was well within firing range and could have taken the shot, Trevor was hoping to get Dante the kill. Dante didn’t seem to want to take the shot from a mere one hundred yards either, so Trevor urged him to do so by telling him a bogus plan that only might work.

After explaining the plan to Dante, Trevor realized just how dumb it sounded spoken aloud. Try and force him into a port side turn? Yeah, because I can control which way he wants to roll. Screw it, might as well try it now. Might get myself a kill. He thought as he fired a couple shots to the right of the enemy fighter. It rolled to port but not quite as far as he wanted, so he repeated the maneuver. This time the A-9 was on the path he wanted and he began lightly peppering the shields so they would be down when Dante finally made his move.

A bright flash of red and they were out, and the fighter began jinking and twisting to avoid Trevor’s fire. It didn’t bother turning out of his way again, more intent on outrunning him and regrouping with some buddies. Out of the corner of his cockpit Trevor spotted Dante beginning his run at the fleeing A-9, but he wasn’t going to get a chance to see it end. Trevor realized his error of not paying close enough attention to his radar display when he was hammered from behind and had to quickly stomp the starboard floor pedal and push the yoke forward.

“Damn, Dante, kill that one for me, I’ll handle this one myself, no problem.” Trevor said, hoping his squadron mate would take the easy kill and let Trevor work his magic on this other fighter. The A-9 had picked a fight with the wrong pilot. Trevor easily had over one hundred kills to his name, and was one of the longest lasting pilots in the VEN excluding those who had retired. His active duty spanned more then two years, which gave him seniority to most of the pilots he knew, and plenty of those he didn’t. While the VEN had plenty of long-surviving pilots, most were moved out of active duty for more administrative jobs after a year and a half, if they were in busy sectors. There were plenty of long lasting pilots in the boondocks who never saw action, but Trevor didn’t count them.

A quick flick of his wrist and a tap on the left pedal kicked his fighter into a port roll, narrowly avoiding an A-9 fleeing from someone, and also just avoiding the pilot giving chase. “Watch it!” A voice hollered, but Trevor didn’t recognize it. He wasn’t even paying attention to his comm., his goal was to disorient the enemy pilot and catch him with his guard down. Why do I always end up with the skilled ones, damn it. I want some that are easy to paint on the fuselage… Trevor thought as a warning beacon went off inside the cockpit, making Trevor jump. He yanked back on the stick before throwing it forward again, using the yo-yo to get behind his opponent.

“Lock didn’t last long, did it.” Trevor said to himself, opening up with his own cannons on the scarcely protected rear end of the A-9. A few shots missed, but most concentrated themselves on the rear section of the fighter. The shields flickered blue and red before flicking out with a splash of orange. The A-9 pilot was no slouch and wasn’t planning on going down easily. He pulled off a sharp rolling loop, a complex maneuver in and of itself, and was bearing down on Trevor from above, cannons blazing. Not good.

Trevor’s shields didn’t stand up very long to the barrage and by the time he was able to get out of they way they were already down with mild hull damage. A quick systems readout told him that the shots had done nothing more then disable a few external lighting systems, nothing that would be of any use to him out where he was. The only thing that worried him was that the system readout screen noted that his life-support systems were shorting out on and off, creating a potential hazard if his suit systems were to fail.

Just as Trevor was about to request assistance, Dante got on the comm.. “I got him, sir. One more down!” Dante said excitedly. Trevor nodded to himself before pressing his own talk button. “Good job. I’m a ways away, but if you could get someone to come and give me a hand that’d be awesome right about now.” He said, grunting as he through the fighter into another gut-wrenching roll. If not for the years of hard physical training and hours upon hours of in-flight experience, he wouldn’t be able to perform the maneuver, let alone stay conscious throughout it. Hoping that his pursuer was less experienced and wouldn’t be able to copy the move he took a risk and glanced out the rear view port, but the enemy was still right on his tail.

Why do I get the experienced ones. This is not going to be easy. Trevor thought as it struck him that this might be a squadron leader on squadron leader dogfight.

OOC:

WC 1016. Don’t kill off the fighter that’s giving me hell, I have a bit of a plan for that one. Aside from that, five A-9’s down. May I remind Y’all not to kill more then one per post. Thanks, keep up the good work.

As Jegora slowly became aware of his surroundings he realized just how big of a mess he had gotten himself into. His first tactical decision in a combat setting had been a disaster, and now he was going to pay the price. Ah well, Jegora thought, better me than someone else. A laser bolt punctuated Jegora’s thoughts. Realizing he was still flying in a straight line, he flung his ship into a roll, attempting to avoid any more laser fire from his six o’clock position.

Jegora wasn’t dead yet. And he was determined to prove it.

Quickly running his eyes over his radar display, searching for some sort of refuge from his pursuers, Jegora pulled a hard turn to port. Even as he checked his radar, his stomach gave a jolt. There were no friendly ships near his current position, and he had three A-9s slowly chasing him down. The smaller and lighter ships were faster than Jegora’s own TIE Interceptor. The A-9s would eventually catch up to Jegora, and that was not something he was looking forward too. Lightly shielded and lightly armed, three to one were not odds Jegora wanted to gamble on.

Blinking his eyes, trying get rid of his newly acquired headache, Jegora ran through a mental list of possible maneuvers. None of them seemed like a good idea. Anything he pulled might work on one, or even two of the pursuing fighters, but the third craft would stay back a ways and observe, ready to strike if the opportunity presented itself. So, Jegora had to improvise.

Suddenly, unbidden, a thought rose in Jegora’s mind. It was the memory of his old flight instructor at the Academy, his first teacher. Jegora couldn’t remember the woman’s name, but he clearly remembered her last bit of instructions:

“And in a dogfight, no matter how desperate you get, never, ever improvise. Stick to the defined tactics, and you will survive.”

So much for that, Jegora thought. He didn’t have much choice.

Jegora checked his radar again, and even craned his neck to get a visual on the pursuing fighters. He had to know exactly where they were, and what they were doing. At the moment, it appeared as if two of the fighters were closing the gap while one held back. Suddenly, Jegora knew what he had to do.

Tensing and relaxing his grip on the flight sticks, Jegora took a deep breath. Then he yanked his ship into an upward climb at full speed, the wing struts of the TIE groaning in protest. Jegora was slammed back into his seat, the TIE’s inertial compensator unable to keep up with the sudden change in direction. As the TIE achieved a ninety degree change in direction, Jegora kept the stick pulled back and rolled the TIE to port. Soon he was traveling the in the opposite direction, all in a matter of seconds. And all it had cost him was a little discomfort.

Quickly he checked his radar. The pair of A-9s that had been pursuing him were a ways off. While the Vigilance fighter was faster than the TIE, the TIE’s vectored thrust technology made it more maneuverable than the A-9. Acting quickly, with little time to spare, Jegora focused on the enemy pilot that had been lagging behind the other two. The A-9 was close, only a few hundred meters in front and below him. Wasting no time, Jegora spun a targeting dial, got a rewarding beep that signified a lock, and let lose with a barrage of green laser fire. The enemy pilot was unable to avoid the majority of the laser fire, and its light shields quickly gave out. One laser bolt struck a pylon that connected the A-9 to its powerful engines, snapping the engine off and sending the A-9 into an uncontrolled spin.

Well I’ll be damned, Jegora thought, congratulating himself. It actually worked. Jegora’s mood was quickly dampened by a warning beep. Reacting on instinct the pushed his throttle up and rolled his craft, trying desperately to avoid whatever threat was incoming.

Glancing at his radar, Jegora saw that the two A-9s he had momentarily lost were back, and they were pissed. They kept up a constant stream of laser fire, and while Jegora was able to avoid most of it, the enemy fighters did land a couple of hits on his shields. Another beep sounded in the cockpit as Jegora’s shields were reduced to fifty percent. With a muttered curse he flung his ship in a different direction, but it was no use. The  A-9 pilots were on the top of their game; Jegora couldn’t shake them.

Suddenly, off his starboard wing, three TIE fighters screamed in, flinging lasers at the Vigilance fighters pursuing Jegora. The two lightly armored ships were immediately vaporized.

“You’re clear, Jeg,” Gshlecc said.

Jegora let a grin slip and clicked on his comm. unit. “Thanks gents, I was in a spot of trouble there,” the young flight leader said, his cold demeanor slipping slightly. Jegora had turned his attention back to his radar, trying to discern the current situation, when he heard Dante call for assistance. Jegora got a location from his Radar and clicked on his comm. unit again.

“Driver, back to Trevor; it would seem their in a tight spot,” Jegora said, his voice hard again. Driver responded, but Jegora didn’t hear it. He was already processing the situation, trying to figure out what to do next.

OOC:

Ok, one fighter on Trevor, and two left somewhere else.