The blinking interior lights of the shuttle illuminated its occupants. Half illumined figures sat in its confines. Only one could be made out with any kind of distinction. Ruffled hair, straight nose, reflective and thoughtful eyes, with a hint of wry humor to the corners of his mouth, but for now his face was set in a thoughtful expression. He ran fingers through his disorderly hair, worsening its appearance. If someone had looked closer they could have seen that he wore the duty uniform of Imperial Navy personnel. His rank insignia identified him as a Senior Crewman and his position symbol as a Flight Member. As per custom, no medals bedecked his chest, although he had achieved some in his short career. 

His name is Tycho Shorn. And he is being transferred to Nightshrike squadron. Ask him how he feels about this and he’ll tell you he doesn’t know. And that’s the honest truth. Tycho Daevion Shorn had spent only a short time with Nazgul Squadron, before personal issues had arisen and he had had to take a short leave of absence. Prior to that he had been in Raptor training squadron, where he had reportedly done well and received a double promotion for his efforts and achievements. Now Nazgul was a deactivated squadron and he was being transferred. Surprises always seemed to wait at the end of a leave of absence, whether good or bad.

So now here is the man they call Tycho, callsign Cipher, occupying space in the interior of a shuttle, waiting to arrive at his destination. He doesn’t worry about what will happen, why should he? The Empire is his home now, regardless of the allegiances his family has. Regardless of his dying sister, cause of his brief absence. Dying, but not dead. She was receiving the best care the New Republic had to offer. But the best they had was not enough. It darkened his mood and made him brood over it. His recent trip had only furthered to strengthen his ties with the Empire, rather than weaken them as his father had hoped, as his brothers had hoped, or at least one of them. The other Tycho hadn’t seen for a long time. Shorn wondered if he might have died in some engagement or other, but no, that wasn’t likely. Silas Shorn was a superb pilot and he wouldn’t die easily, not until he had fulfilled his purpose in life. So far that purpose only seemed to revolve around how best to kill Tycho. But thinking of Silas only made Tycho’s mood grow sour and sad. His sister was dying and he could do nothing for her now. Thinking of it only made him frustrated.

He wished he could just leave his personal issues behind, but it wasn’t that easy. He had always been the ‘rich’ kid, the one with all the money, who could afford any school he wanted. And he had. But that was a different life. Whatever degrees he may have received didn’t matter now. He was a fighter pilot, that was it.

The ship rocked to one side and bolted Tycho out of his thoughts.

“What was that?”

A voice crackled over the com, “Don’t worry, just a slight miscalculation in our jump.”

Tycho sat up straighter. Slight miscalculation? What did they think they were doing? A slight miscalculation could get them all killed! He didn’t have to enumerate on the various ways in which you could be sucked into a black hole or brought too close to a sun. He stood up and walked forward, careful to keep his footing as the ship rocked back and forth. What was going on out there? The murmur of other voices in the shuttle’s passenger bay grew louder. He reached the forward hatch and pushed the activation panel. There was a hiss as the hatch slid open, to reveal the forward cockpit, and numerous floating objects. The Lambda-class shuttle rocked back and forth violently as its pilots tried to steer clear of the objects in their large craft. Tycho had to steady himself against the walls of the access hatch to keep from falling over. As a larger floating object passed in front of the viewport, Tycho recognized it for the asteroid that it was and realized what had happened. They had come out of hyperspace too soon and had landed amidst the small asteroid cluster next to their destination.

“We came out too soon.”

The co-pilot whipped his head around and began to talk fast, “Yeah, we just came out and straight into this asteroid cluster, its too dense to move through, we can’t make any headway and we might be hit by one of those things at any moment.”

Suddenly, the entire shuttle began to quake even more violently than the previous times. And now the primary pilot was screaming murder.

“Blazing hells! We have to get out of here.”

Shorn decided it was time to stop watching and take control, “Everyone, shutup.” The yelling dissipated instantly, “Alright, do we have a clear path to move vertically?” Shorn didn’t ask about the other directions because he could already see the asteroids blocking their path.

“Vertically?”

“Yes, vertically!”

The pilot took a quick look, “Yes, occasionally there looks to be several gaps coming up, but they’d only be open for a couple seconds and I can’t make it out of here going 40MGLT, anything higher risks losing the ability to react in sufficient time.”

Already at the hyperdrive console, Tycho was punching in coordinates and calculations, “Just point us up. You won’t need to fly out.” Shorn’s fingers flew across the panels, he hit one last button and looked straight up, “Tell me when there are five seconds to a clearing.”

“What?!”

“Just tell me when.”
“U-uh....n-now!”

Tycho punched the button. Blue lights began to fold around the Lambda shuttle, then they wrapped around it entirely. Without warning, the blue lights disappeared, but there was no sign of the asteroids.

“Did we just take a microjump?” asked the primary pilot, who was now regaining his composer.

“Yep, you guys failed algebra didn’t you?” replied Tycho, now wearing a smile and a sarcastic tinge to his voice.

Both pilots gave shaky chuckles, the co-pilot checked the redoubt on his console, “Well, I guess we’ll both be keeping our jobs, looks like the nav computer’s hyperdrive systems have been set automatically to -1.”

“So it will automatically take one away from our calculations....stang. Looks like some poor technician will be ought of the business though.” The primary pilot stared at his own redoubt, then looked at Tycho, “Nice work with the micro jump there, never seen someone who could do a those calculations that fast.”

Tycho shrugged, “I try.”

Their rank insignias identified them as senior and leading crewman respectively. That meant that Tycho wouldn’t get yelled at for practically giving orders to superiors, a relief. Shorn returned to sit down in the passenger bay, closing the access hatch to the cockpit among words of thanks from the two pilots. And he sat in the blinking lights again, half-illumined by them. A peaceful aura settled over the shuttle, now safe from the little drama it had experienced and safely continuing on its route. Tycho now felt a little bit better. Action always distracts the mind.

A few moments later he felt the shuttle land and filed off the landing ramp along with his other compatriots, whom he had yet to see clearly.

OOC:

WC: 1,258

…Chiga chiga chiga chiga … Van’s fighter shot out a few rounds of ammunition. A flash occurs, an explosion perhaps? A loud agonizing scream goes out over the intercom. Another flash engulfs Van and his fighter…
…A man sits in the corner, his hair scraggly and messy a beard on his face that says he is a veteran of battle covers his face, asleep. He wears an old uniform that has a logo of the Nazgul Squadron on it; above the Nazgul patch there is a pristine and new one that says Nightshrike. Overtop of his uniform he wears a tunic that is full of blaster holes and has seen much use in the field. He suddenly awakes from the nightmare of a mission gone wrong.  Van grabs his interchangeable rifle quickly and aims it out. He is still dazed from his dream. There are a few pilots on the transport. It is dark and no one really notices the estranged pilot that is pointing a blaster at them. They all looked to have seen some battle in their time. However to experience as much pain as Van had, no they could never have done that. Van lays down his blaster next to himself once again and falls back asleep as the ship moved into light speed…
…He wakes up in a hospital doesn’t remember much grabs his gun. A fight ensues. All of the men are injured but not dead. He is re-commissioned soon after. He begins in Nazgul. Another fight his ship explodes he just barely escapes with his life…   
…Still asleep Van’s face contorts into one of agony. Then Anger…
    ...He is decommissioned now and goes to a bar… more fighting… a friend is killed and he blame himself for the mistake. He moves out to a small apartment complex and buys drinks. He drinks himself to sleep every two nights for close to two years. He gets a job working on citizen class shuttles. Van is very good at this and excels. An officer not aware of who Van is offers him a job as a pilot in the Imperial Navy after seeing Van win three ship races in a row. Van gets his colors back and is reassigned to the newly instated Nightshrike squadron. Soon after this he is told when he will be shipping out. Another friend dies this time from drinking. Van quits drinking to honor what his friend was not what he became... A terrorist bombing hits a naval academy where Van goes back to train… More death …Van is hit by one of the concussive blasts that come from an almost fatal grenade… He feels the shrapnel hit him and a light consume him…   
…He wakes up again realizes that this flight will be a rough one. It will bring back all of the memories that he wish he could just get rid of. Van pulls his cloak around himself and makes himself a little more cozy. He just hopes that in this squad they don’t become his friends so when they die he doesn’t have to add another deceased person to his list to mourn over. He touches his scar that was left by the terrorist bomber. It goes down over top of his eye but his eye is still usable. Luckily he covered his face enough that he could still use both eyes. When his two fingers are finished touching the length of the scar he pulls them into a fist. Then silently as he watches the stars go by he falls asleep for the first time with no dreams to haunt him.
   
____________________________________________________________   
604 a little short for my first post in a while but im gonna work on that

OOC:

Note: I will always include relevant information and/or instructions in an OOC box at the bottom of my mission posts. If at any time that's not enough, please ask me what you need to be doing. Also, a quick warning: This post will be a long one.

Master Chief Petty Officer Dracule “Drac” Mihawk looked up from some paperwork as his holopad trilled an incoming message tone. The Mon Calamari looked at it with a puzzled expression, since there really wasn’t any reason that someone should be contacting him this early in the day. He’d come in early in an attempt to get caught up with things, both in the squadron and in the VE. Having just returned from an…absence…there were things he needed to get up to date on- especially considering his new position.  He’d been sidelined as a squadron officer and then had left the Vast Empire for a time, all as a result of a mission no one would ever know happened. He’d gotten his head screwed back on, though, and returned to this squadron he’d helped design.

He’d be assigned as a normal flight member in Gamma Flight originally, which was no more than expected considering the fact that he’d more or less screamed at the Wing Commander when he gave his resignation. Actually, knowing Atrasin, it was actually a pretty good fate. The Lt. Commander was not normally such a forgiving person.  But, to his surprise, the Executive Officer spot opened just a few days after his arrival and Hunter, the Squadron Commander, had requested that he fill the spot. The result was his presence in his small office at an early hour- and on a day he was supposed to be off duty, at that. Of course, it was his choice to be there. If he was going to do this, he would do it right.

Curious, the pilot glanced at the message’s origin point...Admiral Denethor’s office. Huh. It must be an automated message, one of those Starfighter Command-wide ones we get from time to time. It would make sense to send one out now, at the beginning of the day, I suppose. He almost dismissed it for a moment, but ended up opening it with a shrug.

Quote:[b]TO: Master Chief Petty Officer Mihawk
LOC:  26th Tuk’ata Squadron Offices, mSSD Atrus
FROM: Rear Admiral Denethor
LOC: Naval High Command Offices, mSSD Atrus
PRIORITY: HIGH

RE: Summons

Master Chief,

Please report to my office immediately when you receive this, regardless of your current duty or activity.

-Admiral Denethor

That, Drac thought to himself, is most definitely not an automated message. Sithspawn. This doesn’t sound good. Orders were orders, though, especially when they came from the Naval Commander in Chief. Drac quickly locked out the holopad to keep it secure, then stood and checked his uniform. He’d donned a normal duty uniform out of habit, and just in case one of the pilots happened to stop by with something that needed handling. Everything seemed to be in order, so the Mon Calamari walked out of his office and stuck his head into the other office connecting to the squadron’s main barracks room. Hunter Morrell sat at his desk within, going over some reports. Drac knocked, “Hey, boss. I’ll be out for a bit- thought I’d let you know.”

Looking up, the human pilot shook a strand of blonde hair out of his eye and nodded, “Sure, Drac. What’re you up to?”

“I don’t know.” Hunter’s eyebrows rose at the uncharacteristic response, so Drac continued, “Admiral Denethor just sent me a message ordering me to report to him as soon as possible. I’m on my way to his office to find out what he needs to see me for.”

The squadron commander’s eyebrows lowered again as he frowned, obviously considering Drac’s recent return to duty and the High Command’s relative silence in regard to that rather unique episode, “Well, good luck, then. Hopefully it’s nothing bad.”

“I couldn’t agree more, sir.” Drac nodded his goodbye, then turned and left the barracks.

The trip through the Atrus was relatively uneventful- the usual maze of corridors and turbolifts stocked with crewmen and officers hurrying about on their various tasks. As he walked, going in the general direction of where he knew the Naval High Command offices to be, Drac thought about the situation a bit more. Now that I think about it, this is my first trip to the NCC’s office. The last opportunity I had, before Sarek, I stayed with the squadron in the hangar. At least the holomap is well marked. I should be able to get there without any problems…of course, I suppose I’m more concerned about what my possible destination upon leaving Denethor’s office may be. From what I’ve heard, the Admiral can be a hard man.

Past the first ring of security, the NCC’s secretary checked Drac’s ID and then wordlessly led the pilot directly into the office before stepping back through the door and closing it behind her. When it closed Drac snapped a salute at the two men he faced, but spoke directly to the Admiral, “Master Chief Petty Officer Mihawk reporting as ordered, Admiral.”

The Admiral returned his salute crisply, as did the other man- a 2nd Lieutenant by his bars. Denethor then seated himself and waved the pilot toward a chair on the other side of the desk, “Please, be seated, Master Chief.” When Drac had settled into the chair, he continued, “You’re wondering, of course, why you’re here?” Drac nodded, “Well, first let me say that it has nothing to do with your recent absence, nor your return. You can rest easy in that regard.”

Drac nodded his thanks, then replied, “Thank you, sir. If I may, though, why did you summon me if not in connection to that?”

Rather than answer, the Admiral posed a question of his own. Beckoning toward the other officer, he asked, “Do you know the Lieutenant, Master Chief?” He continued when Drac shook his head, “This is 2nd Lieutenant Jaden Scoff. The two of you are here today because of an event you do not yet know about- namely, the resignation and retirement of Lt. Commander Geordi Atrasin.”

Drac thought he saw a shadow of anger pass over the Admiral’s face as he mentioned Driver, but decided to ignore it. Instead he considered what he’d just learned before replying, “As surprising as that is to me, Admiral, I’m afraid I’m not tracking. Can I get help files?”

Nodding, Denethor spoke again, “The Lieutenant here is to be the new Wing Commander for Javelin Wing, taking over the Lt. Commander’s duties.”

The Mon Calamari returned the Lieutenant’s nod and smile, “Good to have you on board, sir. I look forward to working with you…” he glanced at the Admiral, “or at least I think I will be.”

Leaning forward, Denethor placed his elbows on the desk, “Master Chief, what can you tell me about the 213th?”

Drac replied with a slightly confused frown, caught off guard by the abrupt change in topics, “Nightshrike, sir? I know they’re part of Javelin Wing but, if I recall correctly, they’ve been having some problems putting together a roster and command staff. They’re the only Javelin Wing fighter group that isn’t yet operational. I had heard, though, that their problems were clearing up somewhat and things were starting to happen.”

“That’s pretty much the holograph, yes. I see scuttlebutt is just as healthy as ever.” Drac couldn’t suppress a small grin in reply. “However, some of that information has changed recently. You see, Master Chief, Lt. Commander Atrasin was the one who was supposed to clear up those problems. With his departure, the squadron was left is much the same situation it has found itself in since its inception.” Drac nodded, keeping his face blank. In his current state of mind, still worried about his unorthodox return and what might happen because of it, he couldn’t fathom why the Admiral had chosen to explain all this to him. He was about to spin off another imagined punishment when his attention was snapped back to Denethor as the man spoke one last sentence, “After careful consideration, I believe you are the man for the job, Master Chief.”

Huh?For a moment Drac didn’t really understand the import of what the NCC had just said. When it hit him, he blinked several times in rapid succession (quite a sight when it’s a Mon Cal doing the blinking), but disciplined his voice into a relatively normal tone before speaking, “Uh, sir? I mean, I’m honored, of course, and don’t want to question your decision, but why me? Most people who’ve heard of me still think I’m a traitor, and I’ve only been back in the service for a few weeks anyway. Surely there’re other who would provide more experience and less controversy.”

Denethor’s response was surprisingly frank, “Yes, there are. But I’m not asking them, I’m asking you. And the only opinion you should be worrying about is mine, understood?” Drac nodded, still thunderstruck. “Master Chief, Nightshrike is almost completely filled with new or relatively new pilots, many of them fresh out of the Academy. They’ll need a leader who is both a commander and a teacher. You, Mr. Mihawk, fit the bill. Now, I do not make it a habit to explain my every decision to my subordinates and I don’t plan to start now. Will you accept the position of squadron commander of the 213th Fighter Squadron or won’t you?”

Still dazed, Drac looked down for a moment as he thought about it as best he could, I don’t want to leave Tuk’ata, that’s for sure. I haven’t been there long, but the friends I have there are good ones. Hunter especially is one I don’t want to let down. But…still, this is what I’ve always wanted: My own command and the opportunity to lead a group of pilots. And the pilots…what was the old saying again? Most pilots die in their first five missions. Sounds like Nightshrike’s pilots are set up to reaffirm that saying if the right person isn’t there to prevent it. I couldn’t stand to hear that, especially if I helped train some of them. But what if I take the offer and they die anyway? He shuddered ever so slightly at that thought. Well, in that case I will at least have tried. That I can live with- but choosing not to try and watching good men die…that would take me far too close to personifying the reason I tried to leave the VEN in the first place. Right, then. He stood up and saluted, “I accept, Admiral. I will do my best.”

Denethor smiled ever so slightly and rose, returning the salute, “That’s all we’re asking, Master Chief.” He reached into a desk drawer and removed a box. Setting it on the desk between them, he spun it around and opened it so that Drac could see its contents: a datapad, security access card, and new squadron patches, “In which case, these are now yours.” Drac removed the items from the box, stowing the patches and security card in his pockets and holding the datapad in one hand.

Movement off to the side drew his attention, and he saw the Lieutenant standing as well. The human extended a hand with a friendly smile, “Congratulations, Mr. Mihawk.”

Drac shook the man’s hand, returning his smile, “And to you, sir.”

Denethor stepped back into the conversation, addressing Drac, “On that datapad you will find information about your pilots, your craft, the locations of aforementioned pilots and craft, as well as the location of your squadron barracks and hangar. The squadron will be assembling on Abrae for an initial training exercise, so make your way to the base mentioned on the datapad. There is a lot to be done to get Nightshrike operational, Master Chief, and you need to get it done as soon as possible. There are also other things I must discuss with your Wing Commander. Are there any questions you can’t leave without asking?” Drac replied in the negative. “Good. Then you are dismissed. Good luck, Master Chief.” The two officers exchanged salutes with the pilot and then the office door opened again and Drac found himself exiting the room, trying to reconcile his expectations of the meeting with the actual course it took.

A minute later Drac was back out in the passageway. Okay. That was not what I expected. In fact, I must be dreaming. He glanced down, lost in thought, and caught sight of the datapad clutched in his left hand, Sithspit. It is real. Quietly, though, he whispered to himself, “Get it together, Drac. You can’t let an unexpected tide throw you on the rocks. You’ve got a job to do, so get to it.” He shook himself, shaking off the shock and reasserting complete self control, “Right.” Squaring his shoulders, he directed his steps toward the Tuk’ata barracks, opening the datapad as he went and skimming the information available there. He needed to go there first, both to pick up some items and to have a conversation he’d known would come some day but hadn’t expected to arrive quite this soon. Hunter’s going to get tired of picking new Executive Officers at the rate he’s going through them.

OOC:

Word Count: 2182

Not all of my posts will be monsters like that one, guys, so don't worry. I will almost always put up 1000+ words, but very rarely do I break 1500.

Now, your instructions: Each pilot is to finish his journey on whatever transportation you're using, arriving at base Osk-5 on Abrae. Everyone should gather in Briefing Room 7. Have some fun getting there, and have your pilots get to know each other when you arrive. Once everyone's there I will reveal the next section of the story.