G watched as Jeg strode down the aisle and out of the room.

  That bastard

  He stood up and moved to go after him only to be intercepted by Ibram.

  “Driver, good to see you again.  Where have you been?” he asked, pumping G’s hand in an overly enthusiastic shake.

  G’shlecc’s concentration on Jeg broke and he looked Ib full in the eye.  Ibram was good pilot, a great Squadron Commander, and a hells of a man. 

  “I’ve been on picket duty on the New Republic border.  Keeping an eye on the Rebs, making sure they didn’t start anything while you guys were dealing with Draken.  That and teaching the snot nose noobs how to fly.”

  Ibram laughed, he turned to a young man standing to his left and said, “G, this is my XO in Viper, Anden Beliam, and the bucket of bolts over there is C-3PX2.  He’s the SC of Kaph.  Handshakes went around, except for the droid, he just nodded.

  “Wow, I feel distinctly underachieving here.  I’m just a lowly pilot from out in the boonies…wonder why they chose me?” he teased, laughing through every word.

  Beliam looked confused until Tyrol backhanded him in the chest and said, “Don’t let this guy fool ya Anden, remember he was Nazgul XO before that whole mess in Bannth.”

  G’s smile faded.  The merest mention of Nazgul was a sore spot for him.  It had been several months since Bannth, and still he knew nothing of the fates of his former squadron mates, and had received no word from Den about its reactivation.  Ibram noticed the change in Driver’s appearance almost as the words left his mouth.  He wished he could retrieve them, eliminate them, but they hung there like a disabled ship in space.

  “Yeah, well, that was a long time ago…” he intoned flatly

  G moved past Ibram and the rest to the door.

  “Let’s get a move on, the clock’s ticking and you don’t have much time to familiarize yourself with the ETA.”

  The four pilots made for the Charon’s launch bay.

  Anden broke the silence, “What do you mean ‘you’ don’t have much time…none of us have ever seen this ship before.”

  Driver smiled grimly, “Well, you haven’t, but I have.”

  The statement piqued the curiosity of all.  C-3 asked, “You have, how?”

  “Hells I designed its engines.  Some of my friends kept me updated on it when I joined up, just in case I ever had to fly one.”

  Anden, Ibram and the droid nodded in unison.  This bit of inside information could be useful in learning the new craft quickly.

  “So, give us the skinny. What’re they like?” asked Anden.

  “Well, if memory serves me right, they aren’t as fast as the TIE/in, however they make up for that by being almost twice as maneuverable.  Think of a TIE and have it swallow an A-wing. There’s an Eta-4. “

  C-3 whistled.  The mere act of a droid whistling caught the three human pilots off guard, and caused G to break out in a hearty guffaw.

  G continued, “What they packed into her in the way of weaponry, I have no idea.  That was not my department.  She was fast, and nimble.  We’ll enjoy flying her. “

  The four pilots arrived in the main docking bay and saw the gleaming craft waiting for them.  As G had stated they looked like A-wings that had swallowed TIE’s.  The bulbous cockpit protruded from the center of the craft.  Her snubbed delta frame hid the solar panels that would add extra power in flight.

  C-3 noticed she had not the standard two Turbolaser mounts but three, and coupled with that were twin missile launchers.  He accessed his files on the Eta-2 and saw the similarities, but he also saw the improvements.

  Ibram popped the shield compartment cover and checked out the generators.  They were more powerful than what the TIE/In had.  That coupled with the maneuverability and the extra weapons made this one hell of a beauty.

  G punched the canopy open and dropped down into the cockpit.  As he thought it had much of the same control layout as the early mockups he worked on.  They were not too far off from standard
TIE’s and was rather simple.  The main advantage was that it worked off of a stick and lever system of controls.

  The lever handled throttle control and could be switched from one side to the other dependent on the pilots’ dominant hand.  The stick controlled all flight movement, and had the weapons built in.  Driver scanned the rest of the gauges and found the fuel, temperature and ammo indicators.  The canopy, unlike a TIE was clear and provided an almost full panorama view.

Nice, no more total reliance on sensors

He called the rest of the group over and ran through a quick tutorial on the layout and positioning of the instruments.  They all agreed that the set was simple and easy to learn, and it was a good thing because at that moment, the alert klaxon sounded.

  “ATTENTION ALL REAPERS, ATTENTION ALL REAPERS.  IN-BOUND BOGEYS. SCRAMBLE, SCRAMBLE, SCRABLE.”

G’shlecc smiled, “Let’s make the first one interesting, C-3 you and Anden be wings, Ib – you and me.”

The remaining unseated men mounted up and brought their craft to life.  The smooth purr of the engines was different than the high whine of the TIE’s.  This ship practically screamed “Brawler” whereas the TIE’s were dancers. 

  G led the new Reapers out to meet the ‘enemy’ followed closely by C-3, Ibram and Anden.  The newly minted wings formed up 2 klicks out from the Charon, and the HUD quickly pinged the incoming hostiles.

  “G, we’ve got contacts on our 2.” Called out Ibram. 

  “Roger that Ib, Reapers lets harvest.”

  The cheesey line echoed throuout the four craft as they split their solar panels and hit the after burners. 

  The cold vacuum of space was rent with the very un-Navy-like cry of “Yeeee Haaaahhh!” that emanated from Driver’s lips. 

  Damn, if this ain’t gonna be fun

“ATTENTION ALL REAPERS, ATTENTION ALL REAPERS.  IN-BOUND BOGEYS. SCRAMBLE, SCRAMBLE, SCRABLE.” The Ship’s internal comm. sounded, It was time for combat.

Chief Warrant Officer C-3PX2 began his walk to the Hangar Bay, one for his memory banks. This would be the first time he would pilot any craft of the Eta Series Interceptor, let alone a fourth Model of it. He knew that if he had the ability to be anxious or nervous, that he would definitely be that.

He recently received an Imperial Holo-Mail Message informing him of his acceptance into the Vast Empire Naval Intelligence Division, and placement into “Operation: Reaper”. After reading more into the message, he found what Reaper was. “Reaper” is the name given to a new Squadron of Pilots who does what can not be done by the Empire. If there is an action, that the Imperial Navy wants or needs done, but cannot have their name on, they call Reaper Squadron to take care of it. During their time on mission with Reaper Squadron, the Pilots became Cuy’val Dar, Those who no longer exist. While they were not listed as KIA, MIA, or AWOL; their whereabouts where listed as “Unknown”. No one but the highest of the ranking officers in Imperial Navy knew the truth about the squadron. Even fewer know where they are on mission.

He walked down the corridors of this, outdated, ship; he wondered why this Acclamator was still in service. While the Charon was heavily modified, it was still an old class. It served its purpose, thus being the only real reason it could still be in service. To house and Transport Reaper Squadron, along with its Craft of choice. It would do for now, it was not falling apart at the panels, so it would do.

C-3PX2 walked to one of the entrances to the hangar observation deck. He approached the door, but noticed it would not open from motion, it had no motion sensor. He leaned over and pressed the door panel, and the door slip open. Once it opened, the deck was revealed, a full observation deck, with entrances to the hanger operations center and a service elevator to the hangar deck. C-3PX2 slowly walked over to the window, to see four Eta-4 Series Interceptors sitting on the deck, fuelled and ready for pilots to get them off the deck and into space.

C-3PX2 turned right face, and headed for the service elevator. He pressed the “call” button, and awaited its arrival to the observation deck; it began its accent to the deck. It was only a few decks up, not a long accent; it arrived within three fourths of a minute. C-3PX2 boarded it, and pressed the button on the panel for the hangar deck, the doors of the elevator closed and he was beginning his decent to the hangar deck to board his Interceptor and get into combat, his first Live Flight/Fire exercise of his time in Reaper Squadron.

Jeg’s cold harsh words echoed through G’s cockpit.  ‘Mistake’, he’d never been called a mistake before.  He was flying as well as he could, hells, as good as he EVER could, and Jeg was still making him look like a gundark.

  “This ends now,”commed Jeg.

  G pulled his craft out of the dive and saw Jeg’s TIE shoot away.  He lost contact as he swung his craft around to re-engage.  Over his comm he heard Anden and C-3 screaming at each other to ‘…watch out…”, and “…he’s behind me…”.  Driver saw Anden’s signature go red and fade first.

  One Reaper down, three to go.

  He frantically searched for Ibram, who’d overshot the mark and was nowhere to be seen.  C-3’s metallic voice called out for support and cover.  His ship too turned crimson and faded.  Now all that remained was he and Tyrol.  He finally heard Ib’s voice crackle across the comm as he cursed Jeg’s parentage…loudly.  He disappeared from the scope as well. 

  And then there was one.

  Driver had never felt so alone before.  In Nazgul and even now in Raptor he’d always had at least one person out here to help him.  Now, it was just him against Jeg.  Not good odds, even before Jeg’s sudden skill leap.  His scope showed empty space.

  “Damnit, Fal. Where are you,” he bitterly thought out loud?

  His long-range pinged.  Jeg was several thousand klicks out and closing.  Driver didn’t see his wingman, not good.  He made for Fal, knowing he’d have to be extra fancy this time out.  Jeg’d already disposed of three of the Empire’s best, and he didn’t want to be number four.  He knew he probably would, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t put up a better showing.

  The young lieutenant’s ship continued to close.  G’s warning klaxons went off at the detection of incoming missiles.  He threw the ship hard to port and executed a series of figure eights in order to confuse the warhead’s heat detectors.  He lost it in time to see another missile almost on top of him.  He quickly punched up a dumbshot of his own last missile and set it for an almost immediate detonation.  He had barely cleared the blast radius when it went off.  Luckily, it took out the other practice shot.  Now it was just Jeg and his guns versus Driver and his.  Scratch that, Jeg and his wingman versus Driver. 

  “Why does this crap always happen to me, “he asked of no one in particular

  Not realizing his comm channel was open, Jeg replied, “You’re just a lucky man G, very lucky man indeed.”

  His peripheral caught sight of Jeg’s wingman moments before he opened up with his cannons.  G did a hard break roll dive to starboard and still got his wings singed.  The warning lights popped off one by one.  He was losing coolant in his port wing and the engines were going to start overheating soon. 

  “Yeah, I’m one lucky, lucky man.”

  Screw this, if I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die on the offensive

  He found Jeg’s wing and slammed the throttle to full.  He was pressed back in his acceleration seat as the Eta-4 leapt toward the opposing fighter.  He pushed the craft to its upper limit and was upon the TIE in moments.  He unleashed a barrage of cannon fire, but only as a herding shot.  The wingman flew exactly as G thought he would, and as G completed the yo-yo the TIE caught the full brunt of his secondary shots.  The opposing fighter’s signature flared red and faded.

  “It’s one on one now, Jeg.  Come out and play.”

  “I’m already here, I’ve been waiting for you to stop messing around and give me something to shoot at,” chuckled Jeg as he lined up on G’s nose.

  “Shoot at this.”

  Driver threw his ship into a corkscrew spin, firing as he went.  The result was a circular tunnel of cannon fire –twice the size of a normal field of fire.  Jeg was actually caught off guard by that, and pulled out at the last moment.  His port wing, now damaged, sloughed off bits and pieces as he streaked in the opposite direction.

  “Now, were even.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so, “snarled Fal as he brought his TIE around, firing as he went.

  Driver now had arguably the best pilot in the Navy on his six.  He knew he wouldn’t shake him, and it was only a matter of time before Jeg got him.  He contemplated using the spin move Jeg had executed earlier, but knew it wouldn’t work.  Not because he couldn’t do it, rather because the Eta-4 didn’t have the capacity for it.  So he went with option two. 

  Jeg was lining him up for the kill when suddenly he had a view screen full of fighter.  He slammed his yoke down hard trying to avoid the collision, but to no avail.  The colliding fighters ripped off substantial parts of each other.  Jeg lost everything above his cockpit roofline.  Driver lost both outer wing structures, and his starboard engine.  G nursed the crippled fighter around in a long arc until he came back to where the disabled Jegora floated.

  “What are you waiting for, shoot,” Commed Jeg sardonically.

  “Well, boss, it’s like this.  I’d shoot ya, but that debris you see floating past your viewscreen are both of my wings and cannons.  So, I thought I’d just come over and talk you to death.”

  Jeg snickered, “I’d prefer to be shot.”

  “I know you would, if I was in your position and had to listen to me, I would too.”

  “Not exactly a winning maneuver was that?” queried Jeg.

  “Oh I wouldn’t say that.  You stopped shooting at me, and according to what’s left of my sensors, your radio is gone.  So, I’m still alive, and I can call help.”

  Jeg was silent for a while, “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  Fal growled, “Are you going to call for help?”

  “I already did, turn around.”

  Jeg turned in his seat and looked out the rear window and saw the approaching outline of the Charon.  The massive ship moved over them like a protective mother bird and tractored them into the main hangar bay.

  Both pilots waited as emergency crews cut them from the wreckage of their ships.  G was out first, then Jeg – looking none too pleased.

  “Do you know how much those Eta’s cost?” he yelled.

  “No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.  Do you know how much the three experienced pilots you killed cost?”

  “Not a damn thing, because it was training fire.  Ramming my ship is a real cost, a cost you’ll help pay,” continued Jeg, poking G in the chest.

  “Oh, I don’t think so.  If you do that, then you’ll have to pay as well, because you didn’t say we couldn’t use every means necessary to survive.  I did and this is the out come.  Chalk it up to experience. “

  “I didn’t mean destroy an expensive fighter!” screamed Jeg

  “Well, it’s not my fault you weren’t specific.  Besides, how did you avoid my radar?  You kept popping in and out?”

  The still angry Fal threw his helmet into the remains of his TIE, “I was hopping in and out of hyperspace.  I’d jump a light year out, get tactical from the Charon, and jump back.”

  “That’s cheating.”

  “That’s being resourceful,” Countered Jeg.

  “My point exactly, “smiled G, jerking his thumb toward the ruined fighters.

  “Gaaahhhh,” growled Jeg as he began to stalk off.

  Driver followed, “Did I pass?”

  “YOU passed.  The others I’m not sure of.”

  “C’mon you know they're good,” pleaded Driver.

  “It’s not about being ‘good’.  It’s about being the best.  You at least show initiative and uncommon thinking.  The rest…”

  Driver stopped his next comment before it formed.  Instead he asked, “How’d you do those turns and stops?  TIE’s don’t normally do those, not even Interceptors.”

  The Charon had partial control over her, and the ship had been modified for stunt work.  So the cards were heavily stacked against you, and you still managed a draw.  Be proud.  You earned it, “he stated as he entered the turbolift.

  The doors closed leaving Atrasin standing alone.  He cocked his head to the right and smiled.  G turned and walked over to the remains of his ship. 

  “Is she salvageable?”

  The deck Chief looked up from the wreckage, “Yeah, it’ll take a bit to put her back, but she’ll fly again.”

  “Good, she’s mine,” he pulled a notepad from his flight suit pocket scribbled something on it, and handed it to the Chief, “When you’re done, paint this on her.”

  G turned and headed to his quarters, he needed a hot shower and a cold beer.

***Three Days Later***

  The Chief finished the paint job.  It wasn’t flashy, but it’d do.  He didn’t quite know what it meant, but hell, who knew with pilots.  Across the starboard side, in large red letters were the newly painted words, ‘Passing Mark’.  Whatever that meant.

removed by writer

“I’ve got you now Jeg.”

Ibram watched as Gshlecc lined up his shot…and then felt his jaw drop as Jeg pulled off one of the most insane manoeuvres he had ever seen.

“Frak!”

With Jeg now at a dead stop, there was nothing stopping Ibram from just over-shooting completely.

Frak…this thing has manoeuvring thrusters doesn’t it? Well let’s see how they handle…

Grabbing the control-yoke, Ibram used his thrusters to flip 1180 degrees, so that he was once again facing the Lieutenant…and the stray missile they had fired earlier…

Ah. Forgot about that…

Ibram braked and rolled, letting the missile fly right by him. Unfortunately, the heat from his engines was just enough to set off the missiles detonator. The explosion sent him tumbling.

Ibram heard Jeg commenting over the coms, ““If that’s the best you’ve got, we made a mistake.”

Damn him…

Ibram pulled on the yoke hard, his thrusters going off wildly trying to settle the fighter. Ibram could see Gshlecc forming up behind him.

“You ok Ib?”

“Yeah, got it under control G.”

“Right, we’ll form up again, and this time-“

“We can’t do that G, it’s C-3 and Anden’s turn now…”

As the pair circled the engagement zone, they watched C-3 and Anden make their run, and failing just as bad.

Well, nearly just as bad…

C-3 had taken some damage, and Anden sounded more then a little rattled. Gshlecc’s impatient voice came back over the coms.

“Now can we have another go?”
Ibram wiped some sweat from his brow, and kranked his engines up to maximum.

“Yes.”

The two of them tore through space, back into the skirmish. Jeg brought his fighter around and opened up with this lasers, forcing them to split up. They crossed over, and came up behind him, letting loose with their own weapons. But Jeg had anticipated that, and so had diverted all power to his rear shields.

As they closed the gap between them, Ibram was struck by a sense of Déjà vu.

“G, Break! He’s going to pull another stunt.”

“But how could you..”

“BREAK!”

They both split up again, just as Jeg killed his thrusters. Only this time, instead of getting one up on his enemies, he just became a sitting duck.

“C, Anden, Now!”

The other two reapers, like death-gods themselves, came swooping in from their position out side the engagement zone. Laser’s set to maximum, they quickly over powered Jeg’s shields.

But the Lieutenant wasn’t done yet. Just as Anden came flying by, the LT used his thrusters to flip his fighter so that he was facing the underbelly of Anden’s ETA.

Had this been a real exercise, Anden’s fighter would have been shredded by Jeg’s close-ranged “lasers”. As it was, his fighter simply shut down, and he tumbled away into the distance.

“Impressive,” he said. “But you still have much to learn.”

Ibram had to resist hitting his dashboard.

One down…three to go…