A First Lieutenant... I never thought I'd live to see the day I made Ensign... and now... First Lieutenant. My thoughts snap back to the present as I hear a faint beeping from the computer console across my quarters at my desk. Glancing over at the chrono I sigh at the time, swing my legs over the edge of the bunk, and go to answer the page. "This is Gorma," the voice on the other end is instantly recognizable as that of Chief Petty Officer Cevdis, recently promoted to Night Watch Comm Officer. "Captain, communication coming in for you from the Dead Gun it's Commander Mihawk." I nod and absentmindedly respond, "Put him through to my quarters holo-projector." I turn to face the projector, quickly checking to make sure that my uniform doesn't look to bad after sleeping in it.

There's only one reason that Drac would be calling at this time of night, and that means a very time sensitive mission. As the holo shimmers into existence, I salute the Commander of the 2nd Fleet, "Commander," the Mon Cal officer returns his salute and begins to speak. "Lieutenant, how soon can your Task Force be underway?" I turn to the computer interface on my desk, and quickly pull up the status of our re-supply. "We are fully re-armed, and ready to move out, the Desanne is bringing aboard the last of our replacements for injured personnel right now. So I estimate ten minutes for Fearless to be underway, 30 to get the entire Task Force to hyperspace." the holo-image of Drac nods its head, "Very well, I'm sending you the information for your mission right now, I need you to leave as soon as possible, remember, time is of the essence." I salute and turn toward my closet as the holo-image disappears, reaching in quickly I grab a fresh uniform and slip into the refresher to get myself presentable, at the same time giving the Desanne an opportunity to get aboard and begin unloading.

Well time to get this show on the road, I turn, exit my quarters and board a lift at the end of the corridor outside, hitting the button for the bridge.

===Fearless Main Bridge===

Petty Officer 1st Class Kazack is looking out of the bridge viewports at the other ships of the taskforce arrayed around the Fearless when he hears the doors of the bridge lift open behind him, and hears the voice of 1st Lieutenant Rorran "Slasher" Gorma issuing orders behind him.

"Senior Chief Peol, we're gonna need full power to the sublight engines in 4 minutes, get on it," The Senior Chief Petty Officer turns to his engineering console without a word, beginning the power transfers that will get the ship ready to move out while he converses quietly with the engineer on duty in Engineering.

"Chief Cevdis, contact the Defiance, Reaper, Burnish, and Amaranth, I need their commanders ready to receive a briefing in 20 minutes. Also all department heads need to be present in the briefing room in 15 minutes, have the squadron commanders report there as well." The Rodian at the communications console nods, "[Aye sir,]"

===Fearless Briefing Room===

Entering the briefing room I sit down at the table, with my code cylinder to confirm my security clearance I pull up the message that Drac has sent me and begin to read.

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Word Count: 562
Ok ladies and gentlemen, this story is underway, look for a briefing from me to be posted sometime tomorrow if not earlier, until that time post here, you have approximately 20 minutes to work with, from the time I get the message to the time the briefing starts.

New NPCs:
Senior Chief Petty Officer Peol: Bridge Engineering Officer, Night Watch

Looking around once more to ensure that everyone is present, I stand and activate the holoprojector, clasping my hands in the center of my back as I take a breath and begin the briefing. "I apologize for the lateness and suddenness of this briefing," someone grumbles something about demons never needing sleep, to general laughter from all present, "but we have received information that we must act on before the target becomes aware of our knowledge of this information."

OOC:

The map referred to can be found here: http://comnet.imperialnetwork.com/topic/14903/  the third post.

Pulling up a map of VE controlled space, with a couple of systems highlighted, "Following the attack on our officer corps that led to the massive restructuring of the Naval Command, it became vital that we get as much bacta as possible, both to aid the recovery of those officers who managed to survive the attempted assassination, and to address the increased bacta consumption that of course accompanies any offensive operation." I motion to the highlighted systems, "Unfortunately, with increased shipments of bacta moving along the hyperspace routes, the instances of pirate attacks also increased."

"Probably smelled the money they could make off of the bacta shipments." comments Master Chief Petty Officer Trykon's hologram, "The highlighted systems, Ryoone, Lutrillia, and Gerrenthum, all have had convoys ambushed just outside their systems. About two weeks ago, while we were put in here for repairs, an attempt was made to get more of our convoys through by switching their route. They decided to send several convoys through the Lipsec Run, and then route them from Cepany to Abrae." numerous locations along the second route flash red, "While successful, they have recently also come under heavy attack, with each of the flashing markers indicating a location a convoy was ambushed." The Koda Run is highlighted, some sections in blue, but most if it in red, "Unfortunately the attempt by the Fourth fleet to clear the Koda Run between Koda Station and Gerrenthum has been making very little headway over the past two weeks, with those sections in blue currently under Imperial Control, with a less than 1 in 15 incidence of ambush, while the sections in red are currently a 3 in 4 incidence of ambush." there are some good natured jabs at the quality of the commanders in the Fourth Fleet, which I smile at, but quickly quiet, needing to press forward with the briefing.

"However, approximately five hours ago we had a major breakthrough." The projection focuses in on the area between the planets Lipsec and Virgillia, "The Warden Class Light Cruiser Dubious was on a customs patrol here between Lipsec and Virgillia late last week when they stopped an Action VI Bulk Freighter on a run from Lipsec to Virgillia, carrying the ID of Healer's Touch. Something rubbed the Dubious' commander wrong about the ship, and a check with Lipsec spaceport control indicated that the ship had entered the Lipsec run just along the near edge of the Lipec system. Not from Cepany by way of Tadath, as they first reported." overlaying the course of the Dubious and the Healer's Touch before continuing, I take a second to breath.

Damn all this talking leaves one parched, I'll have to get some water before I return to the bridge.

"The commander allowed the ship to continue on her way, but not before placing a tracking unit aboard. As she suspected the freighter did not continue along the trade route to a Vast Empire aligned world as they claimed they were doing, but rather offloaded their cargo at Virgillia, and then proceeded to a large asteroid in a field on the edge of the Coveway System, where they have remained ever since." Manipulating the controls so that the The Coveway system expands to fill the entire projection area, I continue to the more interesting section of the briefing. "A recon of the system by Intelligence revealed the presence of a large pirate base on that asteroid, with many ships coming and going. Also interrogations of a couple of captured pirates revealed that the primary functions of the base are to store and transfer products from their raiders to freighters such as the one encountered by the Dubious, and to provide repair and resupply facilities for their combat vessels." Multiple symbols representing various craft of the task force appear in the projection as I move on to the next segment of my briefing.

"Our goal is simple; get in, destroy or disable the defenders, and capture as many of the enemy freighters as possible. At the same time a raiding party will go in to secure the base while attempting to keep the supply warehouses and storage units holding the bacta supplies relatively intact." Warrant Officer 1st Class Cayden Travers is the first to take advantage of the pause to comment, "Excuse me Lieutenant, but how are we supposed to get in there without them realizing we're coming and flying the coup?" I smile, having expected this question, and ready to answer it, "We are going to go in under a disguise of sorts, we will be changing our IDs to indicate that we are Imperial Freighters that were coming into the Coveway System. However we will play it like someone miscalculated the jump, and we came out closer to the Asteroid field than we had intended. In order to assist with this ruse we will actually have 10 Sigma-Class Bulk Transports traveling with us when we enter the system, though as soon as the trap is sprung they will micro-jump back to Coveway."

Ensign Romanflame's holo-image wrinkles its forehead, and asks, "Respectfully Lieutenant, won't they just be able to look out their command deck viewports, same as us, and see that we aren't freighters?" I shake my head, smiling, "The outer edges of the asteroid field are patrolled by two YQ-400 Monitor Droid Patrol Ships, they will be relying on our sensor IDs, I've dealt with them before, they are amazingly easy to fool, though once they are onto you there is no way to escape but to destroy them, as they are generally programmed to pursue until destroyed, although the pirates might have changed their programming to just attempt to disable, I do not want to take that chance." Deactivating the holo-projection of the system, I sit down as I finish the briefing. "You have the mission, I want plans of attack on my desk before we reach Koda Station, where we will meet up with the Sigmas, the task force will be getting underway in 10 Minutes." hitting some buttons on the briefing console incorporated into the surface of the table, I send them each a file before dismissing them, "Information files on the enemy base are on their way to your personal datapads, as of this moment no communications are to go out from any vessel without first going through the Fearless, and they must be cleared by myself or Petty Officer 1st Class Kazack. Dismissed"

OOC:

Word Count: 1155
Those Information Packets should be in your PM messages SCAPs, Amacuse, and Maroy, from them you'll make up your own attack plans, and will figure out what you're going to do, please send similar PMs of relevant information to anyone under your command, and send me a copy as well.

Arthur was setting in his office on his newly assigned CR-90 the Reaper.  He was trying to learn all he could about his new ships capabilities, when he received a meeting request from 1st Lieutenant Rorran Gorma.  He made his way to his holo-projector and turned it on and waited for the meeting to began.

After the meeting he was glad he was finally able to put the CR-90 to the test.  He knew that it was in battle previously but not under his command, and wanted to see how well it would last under his control.  He walked over to his desk and paged for Ariyn Holts his XO, and Matker his 3rd watch commander.  When they got to his office he held a small meeting.

“First off, I would like to know if everything on board is running smoothly?”  Arthur asked Matker.

“Sir this ship is running better than I could have hoped for.  The previous commander treated her well.” Matker responded.

“That’s good to know.  Now for the reason you two are here we were just given orders to steal some bacta supplies from pirates in the outer asteroid belt of the system Coveway.  We will change our sensor Ids to make us look like a large group of Freighters.  We will have ten Sigma-Class Bulk Transports with us so they believe it.  When they attack the ten Sigma-Class Bulk Transports will micro-jump to safety and we spring our trap.  The plan for our attack is up to us to come up with.” Arthur said.

“Where are the ten Sigma-Class Bulk Transports going to be placed in our set up? Sir.”  Ariyn asked.

“In my plan I want the Fearless in the center of our mass with the two Warden Class Lt. Cruisers towards the front and the CR-90s holding the rear, and the ten Sigma-Class Bulk Transports scattered all around the Fearless but in a place where they can easily jump out from.” Arthur answered.

“So do you have a plan for the battle then? Sir.” Matker asked.

“It will require us to take a few hits from the Droid Patrol Ships while the main force joins the battle then the CR-90s, and the two Warden Class Lt. Cruisers move to cover the Fearless and the Bulk Transports, make it seem they have the bulk of the bacta and we’re going to do what we can to save it.  The Fearless holds its Fighter, and Bomber squads until the second burst message flares.  The First will signal the Bulk Transports to make their micro-jump.  If there is a jamming signal present we will flare our engines, one long burst and two short followed by a finial long burst for both signals. Then the fun will really began.”  Arthur responded.

“Sir, what if we have half of the Bulk Transports make the jump and the rest look like they are stranded sending off a distress call the Fearless included and when our second signal gets sent the rest make the jump and the Fighter, and Bomber squads come join the battle?” Ariyn asked.

“That might help bring the pirates closer so we can send the strike team and they can get there unhampered.” Arthur said, “I’ll let 1st Lieutenant Rorran Gorma know of our plan and he can tell us were to go from there.  Everyone dismissed.”

OOC:

560 words

I just haven’t done enough yet. One thing after another. I swear we’re not gonna get any sleep soon. Vanity broke away from formation to engage the bombers. Her mind was still preoccupied with old thoughts. So much had happened in such little time. Her emotions were swept across the board, from rage to content. The thoughts in her head were jumbled and confusing.

So she settled on just being generally annoyed by everyone even if she had no reason to be. It helped clear her mind.

Now, as she approached the Y-TIEs, she found herself gawking. This was the first time she had seen the ugly ships before. It was kind of disgusting; the image of a Y-wing and a TIE mated. She shivered. To each their own I guess…

Beside her, Regents A-3—otherwise known as Coren—came up beside her. “Vanity, let’s corner these guys together.”

“Way ahead of you, Coren.” She dove under an incoming Y-TIE and began to circle around. Coren did the same. The two began to approach one from behind. The bomber was so slow. Good. That made her job easier. She leveled herself alongside Coren. The Y-TIE began banking, giving Vanity some great shots. Unfortunately, nothing seemed to be making much of a mark. So they make up for lack of speed in strength. That’s nice.

Suddenly she heard a curse come from Coren. “I got one on my tail as well.” He said as he began to speed up.

“Oh lovely. These things just keep getting more and more annoying.” She quickly began to work on the one she was already following. Its shields couldn’t last forever, and she had the upper hand on speed. What could possibly go wrong?

She banked hard to the left before the Ye-4 Gunship could get a lock on her. For once, it was a good thing she was actually paying attention to her surroundings unlike seemingly every other time. Vanity curved around in order to get behind the Y-TIE that was still somehow behind Coren. She fired at it nonstop, but it just didn’t want to break down. Screw it, she thought and fired a torpedo at the Y-TIE. Finally, the bomber was hit, and Vanity struck it down indefinitely.

“Right. One down, how many more?”

“I hear you. They might be slow, but they are going to put up a fight.”

“That’s not what I want right now. At all.” Vanity flew in alongside Coren. The rest of Regents were engaging the Y-TIEs as well. From her viewport, Vanity watched as Ellesmere shot down one after coming out of a roll. It was a pretty good shot too.

“Vanity, behind you!” Her first impulse led her into a roll as yet another Y-TIE shot at her. The shot glanced off of her wing, leaving a small scratch behind. She began turning her attention to defensive maneuvers as the bomber began engaging her fighter. She could hear Coren as he formed on its six and began blasting away. The battle, at the moment, was nothing more than a game of cat and mouse. It actually succeeded in boring her, to a point.

The situation began to seem very real though, once her shields shut off. “Really?!” she threw herself into a break turn. The bomber didn’t want to be left behind. It fired a torpedo at her, and she fell into a state of annoyed panic. There were seconds before she would be hit!

Vanity threw the TIE into full speed. The torpedo kept level. She dove underneath a Ye-4. And suddenly there was an explosion as the torpedo, unintentionally hit the wrong target. Her laughter could be heard on over the com. “And that is how it’s done!” though in the back of her mind she knew that it was only pure luck that such a maneuver had worked.

OOC:

WC: 646
Well, I got some action going anyway. XD Have at it Regents.

The corvette Defiance came out of hyperspace at the edge of the planet Coveway’s gravity well, followed microseconds later by the twelve TIE/ad Avenger starfighters of Reprisal Squadron.  Wyl Trykon, standing over the shoulder of his sensors tech on the Defiance’s bridge, released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as he finished counting the full dozen friendly signals on the technician’s display: all were where they were supposed to be, when they were supposed to be.  So far, so good, Wyl thought.  Nodding appreciatively, he glanced at the mission chronometer.

“Six minutes, fourteen seconds,” he intoned, loud enough for every being in the corvette’s command center to hear.  No one said anything in reply; there was no need.

Still, it wasn’t truly silent on the bridge.  Trykon closed his eyes and listened intently to the muted noises coming from all around him, consciously turning his thoughts away from the recently resurrected ghosts from his past who'd come back to haunt him, and focusing his entire being for the coming engagement.  The crew was preparing themselves, as well: Communications techs squawked a confirmation to Reprisal One, while the Astrogation team fed the Avenger squadron the updated coordinate data for the coming jump back out to the System's edge, and audio cues from a dozen stations pinged out a staccato rhythm over the steady hum of the corvette’s massive engines.  The vibrant soundscape brought a moment of calm and reassurance.  So much life here, Wyl thought. But death is so close.

Doubts crept into his mind’s dark corners, tearing at his efforts to center himself.  What if I miscalculated, he thought, or what if there are problems with the jump?  His brain raced, chronicling the scores of ways the plan could fall apart.  I wonder how the Main Group is doing…

“This will be a glorious day for the Vast Empire,” Wyl said aloud suddenly, surprising himself as much as any being of the bridge crew.  “The pirates’ predation on our shipping will be ended, and the Empire will re-secure a significant supply of Bacta…”  He trailed off, his small, hollow words sounding unconvincing even to his own ear, and he looked around at his officers.  His heart sank as he saw his failure to inspire reflected back at him in the uncomfortable expressions on their faces.  Great speech, Wyl thought bitterly.  You’re the very model of an Imperial Captain, really.  The belittling interior monologue grew more vicious: You’ll never be anything more than a greedy telbun boy with delusions of grandeur, his mind jeered.  What's more, you know it, deep down in your heart.

“Thirty seconds,” his XO said quietly, laying a reassuring hand on Wyl’s shoulder.  Trykon bowed his head slightly in response to the gentle touch.

“I’m taking an awful risk, Artur,” Wyl whispered.  “This had better work.”

Artur Phylas flashed his friend a sympathetic smile.  “It will, Trick.  Rest assured.”  Trykon felt a momentary pressure as Phylas squeezed his shoulder. “Let’s go save the Galaxy.”

A minute later the little group had vanished from realspace, bound for a battle which – they could only hope – had not yet started.

OOC:

wordcount: 522.  Great work so far everybody!  This is just a short post to transition us from mission prep to real action.  If you have a pre-battle post you've been working on already, go ahead and put it up asap, but don't start any more: from now moving forward IC, we fight.  Stay tuned for Maroy's initial post from the Main Group, and then develop the battle as you see fit.  As always, discuss options with your co-authors on irc and the ComNet, and above all, enjoy yourselves! 

The only sound that could be heard in the deserted corridor was the muted click of Imperial Navy jackboots on the plasteel floor, and a jaunty tune that someone with absolutely no idea what tune or key was deemed fit to whistle as loud as he could. The man making both sets of noise was garbed in the jet-black pilot’s uniform of the Vast Empire Starfighter Corps, but he definitely was not wearing the uniform to regulation standards. The jet-black shirt complete with his two brand-new medals, was unbuttoned and opened, revealing the grey undershirt and ID tags that he wore underneath. Not only that, but the sleeves had been rolled up, revealing the pair of tattoos that graced his shoulders. On the right, a convict’s serial number and barcode. On the left, proudly emblazoned, was the Imperial Emblem. His hair was slightly over regulation length and no matter what the instructors had told him during training, his stubble was there to stay.

He wore the rank and insignia of a Senior Crewman, a member of Regents Squadron, ‘The Captain’s own.’, and next to those stood two medals – the ‘Star of the Academy’ award sat on his breast pocket next to the Merit Cross, First Class. Given that less then three days, he had been a trainee with no rank, medals or combat experience whatsoever, he was pretty pleased with how the week had gone. Hence the horrible tune and the jaunty swagger in his step. That mighta been because the rucksack he had slung over his shoulder, containing within it everything that he owned, was bloody heavy. Or it mighta been his good mood. He wasn’t entirely sure yet, but he had plenty of time to think about it. After all, he reckoned he’d have at least a day or two of getting to know the rest of his new squadron and generally settling in. It wasn’t like he was going to be rushed into combat on the first day as a combat-qualified pilot or anything.

Speaking of his new squadron, as he headed towards their crew quarters – his new home – he found himself reviewing in his head the overview that his training officer, Wyl Trykon, had given him as a heads-up. Their combat record was astounding, overall the most solid of any fighter squadron in the Vast Empire Navy that was still in service, and they flew Interceptors. Handy, since they were the only fighters he was qualified with, other than the ancient V-Wings from the Clone Wars. However, there was a downside. Trykon had said they were a little eccentric, but the perhaps horrifyingly impressive track record they had in the way of infractions, charge reports and reprimands, it was clear that Wyl Trykon had been modest when he had called them “Slightly Eccentric.” They were, it seemed, just plain crazy.

So. A squadron of crazy geniuses. And, he noticed, a squadron that had a higher female percentage than any other fighter squadron in the Navy. His whistle petered out, replaced by a soft, grim chuckle. He had a funny feeling that he was going to fit right in with Regents Squadron. As long as they could take a joke, of course – if there was one thing that Sam Dunn didn’t like, it was people without a sense of humour. There should, he reflected, be some kind of law against that sort of thing.
Eventually, he rounded a corner and came to a doorway that was clearly marked out as the entrance to Regents Squadron’s barracks area. He didn’t bother with any ceremony, he simply opened the door and stepped inside, expecting something to be thrown at his head, or at least a friendly greeting.

Instead, there was nothing but silence. A yawning chasm of emptiness that couldn’t help but betray the fact that the quarters for Regents Squadron was entirely devoid of the Squadron Members. No life signs here, Captain.

He sighed as he continued on through to the bunk beds near the back of the area, and found the bunk assigned to him. Regent Eight, that was him. He was pleased to realize that he had managed to snag a top-bunk. This was something that was really important to him. The streets of Timbra Ott had taught him that the high ground was something you wanted to have when you slept – being out of reach was very, very important. Those dark times were long past, but the habits he had fallen into in order to keep alive, those stayed. Probably would forever, knowing him. He dumped the rucksack, covered in the Wampa Hide seat cover that he had bought with the spending money from his first paycheck onto the bed and vaulted up onto it. Now, it was just a matter of settling in and waiting until the rest of the group got back from wherever they were.

Turned out he didn’t have to wait long at all.

The translation klaxon started to blare, and Sam Dunn realized that the ship was about to exit hyperspace soon. That was the ten minute warning – which meant that wherever it was that the Fearless was heading, it had almost reached its destination. Then, his commlink started to buzz, and a stern voice told him that all Regent pilots were to report to their fighters. Immediately. Sam Dunn hit the ground running, zipping up his flight suit on the way, his wampa-hide cover draped over one shoulder as he sprinted towards the hangar bay, trying to juggle his armour, helmet, seat cover and his M5 Blaster Carbine (never enter a combat operation without one). By the time he reached the hangar bay, he’d managed to get his gear sorted, and was enjoying the delights of the recycled air that his flight suit’s life support system fed him. Fortunately, he had a way around the horrible taste.

That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. Sam Jack Dunn was chewing on a mint leaf.

It took him but a few seconds to locate his TIE Interceptor, but he was dismayed to find that the rest of Regent wasn’t there yet. Obviously, he had beaten them to the punch. However, the Crew Chief was ready and waiting for him, the maintenance crew busy fuelling and prepping the fighters for launch. Still, no-one was there to perform the pre-flight checks, and that worried Sam slightly. He waved for the chief’s attention and called out a question, his melodic Timbra Ott accent somewhat at a contrast with the harsh, metallic tone that his helmet’s speakers lent to his voice.

“Oy! Chief! How long left on the clock until launch?”

“Six minutes, pilot. Gonna be a bit of an embarrassment if your squadron doesn’t get here soon.”

Well. He immediately sprinted along the gangway leading to the closest TIE Interceptor and jumped into the pilots seat. The fighter was listed as Beta 1, the leader of his own flight. His fingers flew across the dashboard in a series of movements he had practised in the simulators for so long that it had become instinct, little more than muscle memory. He got through the first half of the checks, and then made to exit the fighter. Now, the thing about TIE Interceptors is that usually, the pilot needs assistance to exit the craft. There’s no way out on your own. Thus it was that Sam Jack Dunn was forced to literally leap from the fighter cockpit, grab onto the side of the hatch and climb back up to the gangway. Then, he dived into the next fighter, Beta 2. He repeated the process again and again, until he had reached his own fighter. Beta 4. First thing that he did was to make sure his seat cover was in place. Then, he started to perform his own pre-flight checks, and made sure the controls were all tuned to his specifications. Exactly the way he liked it – too responsive for anyone else to handle.

He heard the thunder of boots on metal as the rest of the squadron arrived, and the crackle as the rest of the squadron patched into the combat channel.
“Regent Eight, or alternatively, the FNG, reportin’ in. Beta Flight, first half of ya flight checks are outta tha way – took care of ‘em for ya while I was waitin. Now, will SOMEONE please tell me what’s goin on?”

OOC:

WORD COUNT: 1,395

Arthur received word that his plan was going to be combined with Trykons’.  Arthur had his ship moved into place and watched as the rest followed suit.  They received the Ids codes they were going to use and programmed them in.  When everyone was ready Slasher gave the order to move out. 

It was a short jump to the Coveway System, when they all dropped out Petty Officer 1st Class Elither Anderson spotted the two YQ-400 Monitor Droid Patrol ships as they sprung to life.  They moved closer to the group and scanned them, when the scan was complete its sent the information to the pirate base.

“Right let them past our defenses we need the pirates to come out and play.” Arthur said.

I really hope they buy this whole ploy we’re doing.

Within two minutes the pirates were ready to try to steal the “bacta” that was within arms reach.  Petty Officer 1st Class Elither Anderson  spotted 2 of the Ye-4 Gunboats, along with the two YQ-400 Monitor Droid Patrol ships move into attack range.

“Not yet wait till they are closer guys.” Arthur said.

They moved in closer to where Arthur was going to give the signal when a few more enemy blips appeared on the screen.  Arthur gave the signal to move to defenses position to protect the Fearless. As they moved into the position they received several hits from the Ye-4 Gunboats.

“Damage report.” Arthur said.

“Shields took the blast and dropped to 85%.”

“Lets hold a little longer.” Arthur said as the second wave moved closer.

“Give the first signal and a light return fire.”  Arthur ordered.

The first five Sigma-class Bulk Transports micro-jumped out of the battle.  They fired at the first droid patrol ship at 45% of their weapon power, to give the allusion that they were Freighter designed.  The second wave made its way to the group and fired at the Reaper and dropped its shields down to 70% with no hull damage.  I hope this is close enough.

“Sir the Defiance jumped into system.” Elither said.

Arthur gave the second signal three minutes after the Defiance made its appearance.  The pirates split to try to protect their “bacta” source.  Then the last five Sigma-class Bulk Transports jumped out to show the Fearless and all her glory pouring out the fighter and bomber squads.

“I want full power on the closest of the Ye-4 Gunboats.”

They locked onto the Ye-4 Gunboat and fired two missiles, with a barrage of lasers spread over the shields trying to get the to drop.  The Ye-4 Gunboat, and the YQ-400 Monitor Droid Patrol ship continued its assault on the Reaper.  Dropping its shields to 50% with a small breach in one of the small crawl spaces.

“Damage report.”

“Shields at 50%, hull beach on our port side can’t tell where.”

“No injured as of yet reported.”

“Continue the assault.”

The three crafts continued to exchange fire, when the Amaranth, and the Burnish moved into range of  the YQ-400 Monitor Droid Patrol ship and allowed the Reaper to focus on the Ye-4 Gunboat.  They fired another two missiles and it punched a hole into the Ye-4 Gunboat starboard aft.

The next barrage from the Ye-4 Gunboat was aimed at the engines of the Reaper.  It slammed against the shields but was deflected and adsorbed.

"Fire directly at the bridge." Arthur ordered.

The bolts from the Reaper ripped through the shields and slammed just behind the bridge. There was no sign of damage on the hull.  The next barrage coupled with the first bore a hole about three feet wide in the hull protecting the bridge, crippling the vessel.  Arthur was not happy stopping there he wanted to rip it to pieces, but held off and just had them fire at the few remaining active turrets, and the engines.

“Now what do we have out there Petty Officer Elither?” Arthur asked.

“There are two YQ-400 Monitor Droid Patrol Ships, two more Ye-4 Gunboats, and two Light Patrol Ships are in range.” Elither said.

OOC:

676 words

Sam Jack Dunn, the newest pilot of Regent Squadron and, surprisingly, the first one to be prepared for launch, had time to spare as he reclined on the pilot’s seat of his new TIE Interceptor, the factory-fresh Beta 4. Cushioned by his Wampa-hide seat cover, he looked as if he had been sitting there all day, pondering on the great mysteries of life. His helmet sat beside him, and his messy brown hair hid his eyes from view as he scratched absent-mindedly at the stubble of his scarred chin. Of all of the members of Regent Squadron, it was perhaps surprising that his pulse was the slowest, completely at resting pace. His jet-black flightsuit monitored his vital signs, and he knew that his blood pressure and heart-rate were perfectly normal. His hand, ungloved and again covered in little nicks and scars was playing around with the power management system of his Interceptor, trying to find the right balance between speed, firepower and protection.

Needless to say, he’d rerouted all power from his shields and divided it up between the fighters powerful Twin Ion Engine and the four wing-mounted blaster cannons long ago, now he was just trying to tune the performance. He didn’t have time to do anything more – he might be able to get more power out of the reactor if he had a week to play around with it, but time wasn’t a luxury, so he contented himself with tuning everything until it was just right. His mind, however, was elsewhere. The remarkable thing about his calm was the fact that it existed in the situation he had found himself in. About two days earlier, he had been in a simulator, undergoing his final exam at Naval Academy. This was not only his first time flying with the members of Regent Squadron, but it was also his first time in actual combat. He was, to use the jargon, as green as it was possible to be.

He ran his hand through his hair and pushed it out of the way of his storm-blue eyes, which were fixed on the view outside the hangar bay, on the blue-white streaks that were stars, flashing past at well beyond lightspeed. It was a beautiful sight, and it was also rumoured to drive those whom stared into it for too long insane. That was not a problem for Sam Jack Dunn – he had his own special brand of crazy, the one that could only come from living an existence where every second could be your last, and tomorrow was never guaranteed. He had learned to never worry about the future, just as he had learned not to agonize over the past. Whatever was going to happen, would happen. He’d face it when it came his way, and not before. For now, he was content to simply watch the stars flash by and idly chatter with his new comrades.

He listened to his flight commander, Maroy, as she gave him the outline of the mission. So basically, they were on anti-fighter duty. That meant dogfighting, exactly what his fighter was made for, and his favourite thing to do in space. He grinned, obviously enjoying the prospect, and made a minute adjustment to his power settings. He was expecting standard pirate craft, which meant uglies and outdated stuff from earlier wars, probably Y-wings, a Sorosuub or two and if he was really lucky, some old Clone Wars gear. He patted the M5 ARC Rifle that was sitting beside him, and grinned. He liked the feel of the Clone Wars weaponry. It was rugged, it was built to last, and it was powerful. Sure, they guzzled power and gave away your position like a thermal detonator, but he liked that.

“Heh, sounds good, ma'am. I'll jus' follow along and figure it out as I go.”
His reply was calm and composed, sprinkled with a dash of mirth and perhaps the slightest hint of flirtation. He’d quickly noticed that out of all of the pilots he had been introduced to so far, the entire lot were female. He smiled as he leaned back in his seat and listened as his wingmate, a young woman named Sarah who, it turned out, was the squadron’s resident sawbones. She quickly laid down the ground rules, and though her manner struck him as a little too serious and uptight, the content seemed fair enough, so he agreed, then introduced himself in turn.
“Nah worries luv – name’s Sam Jack Dunn, but ya can call me Dunn or Dunny if ya prefer.”

With that, the streaks turned back into stars as the Fearless returned to realspace. He quickly donned his helmet and gloves, and by the time the docking clamps were released and his fighter was free to launch, he was fully suited up and had adopted a position that actually had his feet on the pedals. When the green light to launch was given, Sam Jack Dunn showed the true extent of his reflexes, opening the throttle of his TIE Interceptor and showing just what the machine could do when the majority of its upgraded reactor’s output was dumped directly into the Twin Ion Engine, then optimized for maximum torque. Needless to say, the sonic boom as the Interceptor tore out of the hangar and into the vacuum of space was deafening, accompanied by a high-pitched scream as the engine propelled the Interceptor out of the hangar before the green launch light had even reached full brightness.

First out of the hangar bay, Sam Jack Dunn looped the fighter up and around, neatly falling into place next to Sarah’s fighter as the rest of the flight left the hangar, allowing himself to slow down the fighter enough to keep pace with her. He sighed to himself as he contented himself with going at the speed of the rest of the squadron, which though in reality was actually faster than an A-Wing Interceptor, felt like a snail’s pace to him. He watched as the enemy fighters came into view, a large number of Y-TIE Uglies. He sighed – of all the Uglies they could have faced, it just had to be the single one that had actually proven to be effective, hadn’t it? Heh, at least he’d get a challenge.

“Looks like the welcoming committee’s here, Dunn. Let’s show them what we’re made of but don’t get too trigger-happy…We don’t want to shoot down any of our own”
“Roger that – time to see if I can impress you ladies.”

Sam Dunn had encountered Uglies before – as a member of the Timbra Ott’s defence force, he had been a part of anti-pirate raids at two points in his pre-Imperial career, and he knew the Y-TIE Uglies by more than just reputation. He knew full well that they were painfully sluggish, so slow that to an ordinary TIE Interceptor, let alone an upgraded one of the Vast Empire’s fleet, the bastardized bomber might as well be a stationary target – the Y-Wing’s various systems and high power consumption meant that the Twin Ion Engine that was bolted onto the back was starved for power. Problem was, that was because the generator of the Ugly, added with the Solar Panels of the TIE Fighter’s wings, gave it unprecedented durability and firepower.

Simply put, the shields were as strong as those on a gunship. The laser and Ion cannons were also impressive, able to take out most fighters with a single hit, no matter how poorly placed – and with the Y-Wing’s complex two-stage targeting computer, the shots were surprisingly accurate for an Ugly. Many people saw the cobbled-together bomber as weak, but Sam Jack Dunn respected it for its strength, and respected the resourcefulness of the people who had managed to make such a hideous-looking craft so deadly. He was glad he’d powered down his shields – against this kinda firepower, they would not have helped. His only chance was in being faster than the gunner sitting in the back seat.

That, and the fact that the TIE wings extended beyond the protective bubble of the Y-Wings shield generator. Given the choice of extending the range of the shield generator or intensifying its power, every pirate he had ever faced had chosen the latter – after all, you could get another pair of wings, and only the tips of them were exposed. Better to have an invincible cockpit. Hopefully, his knowledge would give him the advantage that he would need to survive this onslaught. After all, he had almost no combat experience and was working with a team he didn’t know, and to be honest with himself, didn’t really trust yet. He shrugged his shoulders and allowed himself a boyish grin. This would be fun.

When their cannons came into range, Sam and Sarah’s TIE Interceptors opened fire on the lead Y-TIE, engaging it head-on. Knowing that with its shields full-forward, he wasn’t going to get any shots through it, he set his lasers to rapid-fire and aimed for the large solar wings of the Ugly. Its front profile would be nearly impossible to hit, but a lucky strike would give him the opening that he needed. From this angle, even one of his Concussion missiles wouldn’t cut it. He watched as the Y-TIE absorbed everything the two were throwing at it. This wasn’t working. He fought down the panic before it had a chance to manifest itself properly, and snap-rolled to port just as a blue flash of ion cannon fire streaked towards him. Damn it, at this range in a slugfest, they weren’t going to stand a chance!

“Those overcharged shields are too strong for lasers! Sarah, I’m gonna try and clip their wings. Without the solar panels, they won’t be able to keep up the shield output.”
After sending the short communiqué to his wingmate, Sam Dunn opened the throttle and gave the enemy a taste of the full speed of Beta 4. Keeping pace with the rest of Regents had not been his only reason for slowing his craft down – as far as the enemy was concerned, his Interceptor was exactly the same as the rest of the Regents. In actual fact, it was – mechanically, it was no different at all to any of the TIE Interceptors of Regents. The only difference was that he was using the engines at their full potential, sacrificing defence for offence.

He had lured them into a false sense of security. Now, it was time to pounce – and pounce he did. Just like he’d done to the X-Wing Starfighters in the simulation before, he made damn sure to strike from surprise – the last thing the pirates had to be expecting was for a lone Interceptor to accelerate faster than his craft was supposed to be able to in an all-out assault. It showed, and he was able to punch straight into the center of their formation before the sluggish bombers could react or evade. On the way through, he aimed a point-blank blast at the wing of the lead bomber, and fired a quad-linked burst. The curse as he missed the wing entirely died on his lips as the leader’s wingman caught the blast right on the sweet spot, and the stress of the impact sheared fully half of the wing away.

“Hah! Got the little bastard – he’s all yours!”
Unable to follow up on the opportunity, he sent a quick message to Sarah, who hopefully had a clear shot at the wounded enemy. Sam Dunn wasn’t worried about getting kills, and he didn’t want to hog all the action: In fact, he was more than content with getting through today without any at all, if it got the Regents through the mission in one piece – if Sarah wiped out every Y-TIE here, he’d be damn happy. By the time he swung around and headed back towards the enemy flight, they had broken formation and he could see three of them scattering – no sign of the fourth. He couldn’t be sure, but he damn well hoped that Sarah had gotten the kill. A quick check informed him of something he hadn’t realized: apparently one of the Y-TIEs had lost shields. An unlucky ion hit from an ally, or the handiwork of the Regents?

Didn’t matter – it was one opportunity that he was willing and ready to seize. He immediately jinked to the left as he saw an ion turret moving to target him, and had time for a single quad-linked burst at it before he was forced to take evasive action again and hide behind his target, evading the ion fire coming his way. He didn’t see if it was destroyed or not – he was working far too quickly from that. Keep moving, keep pouncing, don’t give up the initiative or he was a dead man. As long as he could keep the flight’s formation broken, the rest of Beta Flight should get some beautiful shots. All he had to do was keep the pressure on, and keep alive.

OOC:

2,170 words: Suppressive fire, Dunny style.

As the vortex of blue and white lights swirled and spun beyond the transparisteel of the bridge viewport, Captain Wyl Trykon felt a sudden pang of acute anxiety stab into his consciousness.  Something’s wrong, he thought, his doubts about the coming battle abruptly waxing full yet again.  But before he could even try to reassure himself, the lightshow of hyperspace slowed, stretched into starlines, and finally ended.  Their quick hop was complete, and the CR90 Defiance reverted to realspace at the outer edge of the Coveway System.

Unable to allay his sudden unease, Wyl stepped up behind his Twi’lek Sensors Chief, Kath Notra, and watched the being's displays as they refreshed.  The pirates’ asteroid home loomed ahead and slightly to starboard, surrounded by banged-up looking freighters, maybe ten or fifteen klicks distant, and off to port, beyond visual range, the scopes picked out a confused jumble of signals which looked like a scattered convoy of merchant ships.  “Looks like the plan is working, sir,” Notra said.  “All of the armed enemy ships have scrambled to intercept the Main Group.”

It’s your imagination playing tricks, Trick, Wyl told himself.  Everything’s going according to your design.  “Very well,” he said aloud.  “Mr. Notra, Mr. Phylas: you’re on.”

His XO, Artur Phylas, shot him a lopsided grin, and keyed for an open comm channel.  “How many times are you civies gonna get lost on this run, anyway,” he droned in a bored tone of voice, playing up the twang of a native of the more rural parts of Tadath.  “Reform on Defiance, and the Avengers, and we’ll head back to—”

“Sir!  I’m reading a base on that big asteroid just ahead!  And there are armed ships heading for the convoy!”  Kath Notra’s voice was shot through with panic.  Don’t overact, Mr. Notra, Wyl thought.  Keep it believable.  “Sir, they’ll get the Bacta!”

“Blast it!  Convoy, break off and jump away!  We’ll hit their base!”  And with that, Phylas cut the transmission, the short script finished.  His self-satisfied smile was matched by Notra's sharp-toothed grin.

“Yes, yes, I hope you had fun, Artful,” Wyl said.  “Now, let’s get to it.”

Lerak Drackon was at the Helm position, and he swung the CR90 around to point its hammerhead shape straight at the big rock which served the criminals as a depot and fueling station for their shipping raids.  Then he opened up the throttle, and the corvette proved how ships of its class had earned the nickname, “Blockade Runner.”  Still, the TIE Avengers of Reprisal Squadron were capable of still greater speed, and, their pilots having grudgingly fulfilled their mission imperative to appear confused when they first arrived, now streaked out ahead of the corvette, eagerly searching for targets.

Targets to scare, Wyl reminded himself, not to destroy.  It was critical that the Avengers merely disable the pirate transports, or frighten them into surrendering, rather than simply blow them up, with all their ill-gotten Bacta aboard.  Stop worrying, Trick! Wyl scolded himself.  You chose Baird for a reason.  Messic Baird, flying as Reprisal Leader, was young, but he had a well-earned reputation for following orders to the letter, even in adverse circumstances.  He’ll do the job.  Wyl frowned and shook his head, as if to physically rid himself of the lingering doubt.  It’s a good plan.

Kath Notra’s voice cut through Wyl’s fragile, hard-won peace of mind like a vibroblade: “Sir, uh, I’ve got another group of signals, now, heading our way.  Looks like they were lurking on-station on the far side of the main base.”

“What?” Phylas asked, the understated-but-real fear in his voice so much more chilling than the playacting of a minute before.

“What are they, Notra,” Wyl prompted, his own voice taut.

“They read as New Republic B-wings, sir.”  The twi’lek’s lekku twitched.  “Twelve signals in all.”

A full squadron of reshie heavy starfighters, Wyl thought, his chest suddenly tight and his throat dry.

“The best-laid plans...” Phylas murmured.

“Tell Messic to intercept them,” Wyl snapped at his XO.  “We’ll just have to make this up as we go along.”

OOC:

680 words, and the Second Group is officially in action!  Great work so far, everybody.  Really great!  Slasher's back now, so clear any major plot decisions from here on with him.  Happy writing!

“Beginning pre-flight checks now.”
“Power levels nominal – recharging sequence complete.”
“Linkage systems are holding, looks like a success.”

The technicians poured over the starfighter, their view obscured by the coolant mist being sprayed all over the craft, working quickly to avoid being burned by the massive Ultraviolet lights that had been erected in the corner of the hangar, which shone down with brutal, unrelenting heat onto the wings of the craft, pouring energy into them until they were red-hot. The air around the fighter’s wing shimmered, like a mirage. Little wonder the deck crew had been liberal with the coolant spray. They adjusted the crystal matrixes that powered the vehicle’s complex ion weapons, made some last-minute tuning modifications to the alignment of the shield projectors, whilst a crew of droids polished gleaming armour plating that had been set aside. Black with intricate gold tribal patterning, it was clear that this craft was considered something special.

A commander should always lead from the front – first to fight, and first to risk his life. It shows solidarity to the men. But how can I take to battle before my craft is ready? If I appear in an eyesore fighter, I’ll look like nothing but more pirate scum. How can I be respected if I don’t make a good appearance? I’d be ridiculed! Inside the dark cockpit of the fighter, the pilot fidgeted with his black and gold flightsuit, occupied with his own thoughts as the technicians performed the long and complex pre-flight checks and maintenance that were required for the fighter every time it was about to launch.
“Arriving to the battle late won’ undermine my authority, will it?”
He glanced over his shoulder as he asked the question, directing it at the gunner sitting in the seat behind him. A glint of durasteel armour was visible, and the gunner replied smoothly.

“Of course not, sir. By waiting until the men appear to be in trouble and then launching, they will see you as rushing to their rescue – and by forcing the enemy to wait for you, your appearance will make much more of an impact.” The pilot smiled at his gunner’s reassurance, feeling slightly calmer. He stopped fidgeting with his uniform and settled down as the techs made the last adjustments to the fighter. Good old Jan. The pilot had no idea what he would have done without the ever-loyal gunner by his side, and didn’t want to find out, either. He turned his attention back to the tactical channel, where his men were keeping him appraised of the situation outside. He had no idea where these Imperials had come from – but damned if he was going to let them destroy the operation he had worked so hard to build.  He gritted his teeth and prayed that the technicians would hurry up – his men were dying out there.

“Two fighters have broken off from the main group – they’re trying to get in close.”
“Nexu 4 here! I’ve lost my port wing!”
“Sarlaac 2 is down! Sarlaac 2 is down!”
“What do we do, sir? We’re taking casualties!”

Jan spoke up softly from behind him, his comforting voice managing to draw his attention without needing to be raised over the volume of the communications. The pilot had learned that the man had a knack for figuring out what the enemy was planning, and because of this, he always gave the man’s advice some weight when he was considering his options
“Just two? Sounds like they’re trying to spook us, sir.”
That sounded right. There was little damage that only two fighters could be expected to do against two squadrons, unless the squadrons treated the fighters like a bigger threat than they really were, and panicked. The Y-TIEs were at their most powerful in formation, with their shields and turrets providing cover fire to each other. He scratched his large, bushy beard and thought for a few moments, considering his options. When he finally spoke over the comm, his voice was deep, booming and charismatic – just what you’d expect from a successful pirate leader.

“Do not let them spook you, my friends! Trust in your formation, your gunners and your wingmates, and we shall prevail. We have strength of numbers and our cause is pure – they cannot hope to win!”
He heard words of assent through the commlink, and smiled to himself. Even if he was not in the fighting he would be with his team in spirit. He leaned back against the seat of his cockpit and waited impatiently until the technicians had finished the preparations, his eye on the miniature Star Destroyer that he could see from the open hangar bay doors. He’d never captured anything that big before. It would make an excellent flagship, he decided, as he listened to the reports and continued to give them direction.


The Y-TIE Bombers seemed to finally get their act back together and fall back into flight formation, the two flights with damaged or destroyed members merging into the next nearest one, plugging the gaps in their line. Presenting their fronts to the enemy, the pirate bombers started to fire in volleys from range, laying down a vicious suppressive fire from their particle cannons – it was clear that at least one bomber in each flight had been modified to carry heavier Particle Cannons, a common modification from the Galactic Civil War. The bombers with laser cannons kept up a vicious rate of fire, trying to box in the enemy Interceptors so that a particle shot could finish them off.

Their strategy was aimed at keeping the enemy at arm’s reach, and with the Ion Cannons filling the area near them, it seemed to be working. Dunn and Vanity found themselves under punishing Ion fire as the Y-TIES from nearby flights pitched in, trying to keep the two Interceptors from coming anywhere near them, forcing them to concentrate on evasive manoeuvres. It was clear that someone had started to organize the pirates, and that they were responding to the attack with an unsettlingly solid defence. The heavy bombers were trying to force a long-ranged gun battle, something that their superior defences and weapons would let them win.

Your move.

OOC:

[WC: 1035. Enter the PIRATE COMMANDANT!

Most TIE pilots, no matter how brave, would balk at the sudden, unexpected appearance of a full squadron’s worth of New Republic B-wings.  Even those who would not retreat outright would most likely waste precious seconds in hesitation as they took a moment to adapt to the new, far more dangerous reality of the engagement.

Luckily for the Vast Empire, Messic Baird was not a typical TIE pilot.

A veteran of two tours of duty with the Navy’s Starfighter Corps, Baird had earned his position as the commander of Reprisal Squadron.  His people were the elite of the service, equipped with advanced hardware, and they – and he – knew it.

So, when a full squadron’s worth of New Republic B-wings did suddenly and unexpectedly appear, from behind the pirates’ asteroid base at the edge of the Coveway System, Messic Baird did not balk, as most pilots would: instead, he calmly aborted his attack run on the nearest pirate freighter, brought up his missile targeting system, and loosed a pair of concussion missiles into the heart of the rebel formation.  Baird neither ordered his people to follow suit, nor did he check the displays to check that they had: the Reprisals knew the correct response to almost any scenario, and Baird trusted them to perform.

The veteran’s trust was justified: twenty two missiles joined his own a heartbeat after he launched, and the mass of projectiles streaked out towards the oncoming B-wings.  A flicker of pity for the enemy pilots flashed across Baird’s face, but the expression was hidden under his flight helmet, and the emotion was short-lived.  It was almost as short, in fact, as the missiles’ flight-time to their targets.

The B-wings did not change course, and did not slow down; they made hardly any attempt to evade the Imperial volley at all, and so it happened that all twenty four concussion missiles detonated within milliseconds of each other, briefly enveloping the entire New Republic squadron in a massive series of overlapping explosions.

It was an impossible thing: twelve starfighters killing twelve opponents, all in the same perfect, glorious moment, with no struggle, and no losses of their own.  The Reprisals sat in their cockpits, stunned, as the grisly perfection of the moment seemed to stretch itself around them even as fire engulfed their foes.

But of course, such a thing was, in fact, impossible.  Too late, the elite Avenger pilots saw the B-wings emerge from the fireball, apparently unscathed.  Too late, the Imperials began to ready a second attack.  Without warning, and with all of the coordination of long-practice, the entire New Republic formation let loose with twenty four projectiles of their own: proton torpedoes, fired at nearly point-blank range.  Suddenly, it was too late to do anything at all.

Messic Baird screamed, as two torpedoes slammed into his Avenger’s front deflectors.  He screamed, even as most of his pilots died, all around him.  He screamed, and his hand spasmed, pulling the emergency ejection lever in one last expression of his superior training, extensive combat experience, and grace under pressure.  And then, it got very, very quiet for Messic Baird.

OOC:

521 words.  Yeah, Second Group has run into some problems, it seems...  The Defiance is going to be in deep trouble before this is all over, I'd wager. 

Sam Jack Dunn chuckled within the cramped cockpit of his VE-TIE Interceptor as a flash of light and a blip on his scanner confirmed that one of his flight-mates had made another kill. That was two down – and the enemy flight literally cut in half. He heard the distinctive warble of a target lock, and immediately looped his fighter up and back the way he’d come, flipping his fighter upside-down in the process. Looking up, he watched as a brilliant blue ion blast flashed where he had been before – now above him. He broke off the loop half-way and rolled his fighter starboard, avoiding another blast. For him, evasive manoeuvres came naturally, and he did his best when he didn’t think about them. When he had his mind on something else, his body seemed to take charge of not getting shot for him. He remembered an old bloke back at Timbra Ott talking about such a state, calling it ‘Wei-Wu-Wei’, or ‘Action without action’.

He lounged inside the cockpit, looking totally relaxed, even inside his environmentally sealed flight suit, one hand maintaining a light grip on the control yoke, moving it with the slightest of motions. It was clear that the sensitivity on the yoke was at its highest possible setting, enough that an errant twitch could send him spiralling off in some unknown direction. He had complete, total and utter control of his fighter, and one mistake would be enough to end him in as messy a manner as was possible. He preferred it that way. His other hand was resting on the throttle, though it didn’t need to be – anything less than top speed wasn’t something that Sam was willing to consider at the moment – not with his shields down in the middle of an enemy formation. Speed was his only friend, and he wasn’t gonna ditch it anytime soon. Concentrating on his next move, on tactics and strategies and his internal picture of the battle, he left his instincts in charge of his fighter.

Enemy remaining – two in this flight. Minus what looked like one from their other squadron, destroyed by a TIE Interceptor whom had, it seemed, emulated his own tactics. He nodded in silent approval, pleased that someone else was not too proud to follow the example set by the new guy. If it had been anything but pirates, he would have been way out of his depth – he was lucky that he had been part of the TODF before joining the Empire, or he’d probably be dead by now. As it was, the only thing keeping him in one piece was his evasive flying and the fact that the Y-TIEs seemed divided on wether to fire on him, or the rest of the flight. Sam exploited their indecision ruthlessly, and blew the other wing off of his prey with a quad-linked blast that surprised even him with its accuracy. He didn’t have time to celebrate, however. There was still one undamaged Y-TIE left in the flight, and it finally decided to just concentrate on him, and him alone. Only his quick reflexes saved him from a burst of Ion fire.

Then he felt a near miss rock his fighter. No laser blast or ion shot could have done that. He cursed under his breath as he realized that the pirates had taken the bomber aspect of the Y-wing a little too seriously, and installed a pair of particle cannons in the nose cone. Sam Dunn swore again, before taking a few moments to breathe and restore his shattered calm. One hit, even a glancing one, from one of those monsters would obliterate him entirely. That was okay, though. He always operated on the assumption that one shot was all that it would take, this was no different. At least that meant the slower rate of fire would mean he had to dodge less.

“Nice one, luv.” Sam signalled to the pilot who had just obliterated another TIE, taking an educated guess that the person he had just commed was a female. He had to keep himself distracted, because the moment he started thinking about what he was doing, the Y-TIE would get him. As he was promptly told to go and crash into one of the Uglies. Well, she seemed to be in a very bad mood. As he looped downwards then broke off the loop just after he started and rocketed to starboard, he shook his head and sighed at the indignity of her insult. Crikey, weren’t they meant to allies or something like that? As he barely escaped the clutches of a missile lock, he flicked the comm back on and fired off an appropriate response.

“Oy! Same team!” The young man protested as an explosion behind him confirmed that the third Y-TIE had been finished off by the rest of his flight, barely masking the missile lock tone. Enough of this crap. His expression was neutral as he diverted power from his laser cannons straight to his engines with a flick of his thumb and grinned as the high-pitched screech of the Twin Ion Engine rose to a tortured shriek – full power to the engine wasn’t something that the Interceptor could take for long, and he didn’t know the fighter’s limits yet, so he only gave it two seconds of full juice, and enjoyed two seconds of godlike speed and agility. It was enough for him to execute the tightest loop that he’d ever done before, and scream straight past the target before it got the chance to fire the proton torpedo it had been aiming.

He restored power distribution and executed another tight turn, and found himself sitting right behind the Y-TIE, sitting in its control zone. As he watched the Ion Turret slowly turn to face him, he realized he had but a moment to take the shot. Quad-linking his laser cannons, he distributed full power to the lasers and emptied his mind of everything except placing the shot. The long stream of the curses being directed at him by Vanity were forgotten as he sighted his target, lined up the crosshairs and squeezed the trigger on his control yoke twice. He felt the recoil as four streams of bright green laserfire blasted from his Interceptor’s cannons and seared clean through the jet-black wing vanes of his target, shearing the top end off entirely. White-hot sparks streamed from the damaged components, and Sam had to quickly jink to the left to avoid a large chunk of wing – enough to throw off his second shot and cause it to be a clean miss. He didn’t have time to fire off a third, however. The Ion cannon had him bracketed now.

He restored power back to the engines and pushed his control yoke all the way forward, diving down and away from the fight for a few seconds. He had yet to score a single kill, but he didn’t care. So long as he ensured that his flight was able to defeat the enemy, and make things easier for the rest of Regents as a whole, then he was doing his job. Besides, he was the new guy. How the hell was he going to take down one of these big ugly bastards all by himself? Simple answer – no bloody way. He rejoined his flight, falling in beside Sarah and willing to await further orders for now, using the opening ordered in the gap in the enemy’s formation to grab some breathing room. And to figure out just what the hell was riding up on Vanity – she seemed to have a hell of a bone to pick with him, and he had no damn idea why.

“The bloody ‘ell did I do to you?” He demanded as he restored power to the configuration he’d flown out with, and looked around him, checking on the situation. The flight he had charged were all destroyed, and it looked lke B-2 was also doing the same. He heard Maroy screaming at him to fall back into formation as the pilot doggedly engaged one of the other flights, taking down three Y-TIEs in quick succession. Sam Dunn carefully moved the control yoke sideways and moved himself into a position where he could cover both B-1 and B-3, plugging the gap in their formation. “Do me a favor. If you really are a part of Regents, pay attention to where you’re flying and stop talking to me!” The reply finally came over the comms, and he heard the click of her cutting off the conversation. Well fine then, to hell with her.

A quick head-count showed him was most of the enemy squadron down – Beta Flight was proving themselves to be too fast, smart and determined for the enemy Y-TIE Uglies – they were swiftly pushing them back. He only read four active hostiles left – two of which B-2 was playing a deadly, almost suicidal dance with. Sam decided then and there that he didn’t care much for the pilot of B-2: He wasn’t just putting himself at risk, he was neglecting the rest of his flight, and that wasn’t something that Sam was happy with – especially as he was having to plug the gap. He kept in close with the other two pilots, making sure to watch their backs and firing opportunistic shots at the two Y-TIEs that B-2 was engaging…

…but he wasn’t flying by the seat of his pants anymore, and it showed. His carefully calculated shots impacted uselessly against the shields of the Y-TIES, unable to penetrate their indomitable defences. That was when he saw an Ion blast impact with Vanity’s TIE Interceptor, as two of the Y-TIES decided to ambush the lone Regent who didn’t have a wingmate. Sam Dunn narrowed his gaze as he took a closer look at the two. Maroy and Sarah could look after each other for now – there was no way in hell that Sam was going to leave Vanity out there to get herself killed by the damn pirates. He didn’t know why, but for some reason he simply could not sit idly by and watch.

He activated the comm, and sent a message to Maroy and Sarah, his voice betraying the most emotion that it had so far, even more than when he had been arguing with Vanity. Thick with concern and a sense of urgency, he warned them of his impending rescue attempt.
“Damn it! She’s all alone out there – I gotta do something. You two can ‘old out ‘ere, yea?”
With that, he poured power into the Twin Ion Engine, opened up the throttle and accelerated away from the two at top speed, pushing his fighter to the very limits of its endurance without even realizing just how fine he was cutting it. He didn’t particularly care – all he knew was that he had to help out his team-mate.

“Need help, sweetheart?” He commed, keeping his voice its casual, calm and flirty self in order to deflect the fact he was actually worried. Better that he came off as an asshole than a coward. He immediately targeted the Y-TIE that had taken the shot at Vanity, and screamed in towards it at full throttle, charging with the same wild abandon that he had shown when pouncing the Y-TIE flight at the start of the battle, screaming past its port side with lasers flashing at maximum rate of fire, performing a textbook strafing run on it. He smiled as the Y-TIE peeled off from its attack to respond to him, and executed a tight loop to come back around for another run. It was time for a proper duel. One against one, and he wasn’t going to let up until his target was dead.

Hopefully, he’d earn his first kill.

OOC:

1,965 words. Sorry for the crappy post quality - not feeling so wonderful right now.

This is going to be bad, Wyl Trykon thought to himself, as the leading flight of the enemy starfighters converged on his command: the Corellian-built corvette Defiance.  The incoming craft were B-wings: large, peculiarly-shaped heavy-assault fighters that had been designed specifically to threaten Imperial light capital ships, back when the upstart foes were still calling themselves, “The Alliance to Restore the Republic.”  The ships, sometimes called Blade-wings – for, when one viewed their attack from head-on, they rather resembled a collection of swords hanging in space, with the cockpits as pommels, the stubby strike-foils as cross-guards, and the flying-wing fuselages as blades – were grossly well-armed, boasting a pair of proton torpedo launchers, two laser cannons, and no fewer than three ion cannons, and Wyl recognized their pilots as exceptional as well.  Let's review, he thought.  They took the whole Task Force by surprise when they entered the fray from behind that damn asteroid, they punched their way past an Elite Squadron in TIE Avengers, and despite taking some losses of their own, they're still exhibiting remarkable discipline.  The B-wing pilots were calmly pursuing the most appropriate tactic, given the circumstances: pressing home a potentially devastating attack on an unsupported Imperial light capital ship.

Tactical theory is fascinating, Wyl, an impatient voice snapped in his mind, but in case you hadn’t noticed, the “unsupported Imperial ship” is yours, in this case!  The tangential chain of detached thoughts broken, Wyl Trykon found his focus, and his voice: “All discretionary power to forward shields!” he yelled, his mind flashing a rough comparison between an estimate of the corvette’s maximum shielding under the circumstances, and his approximation of the B-wings’ armaments…  It was an unfavorable match-up for the Defiance.

And then everything started to happen with seemingly impossible rapidity, and even Wyl’s sharp mind could not keep pace.  The four New Republic fighters were in weapon’s range, and firing on Wyl’s ship, and arcing blue lightning was playing in brilliant flashes all over the corvette’s deflector shields.  Then Wyl’s Trandoshan Chief Gunner Zark was returning the sentiment, hissing orders to the other gunners scattered throughout the ship and coordinating a vicious riposte.  Art Phylas whooped victoriously as a B-wing exploded, even as an alarm warned of multiple new weapons locks on the Defiance.  And then, the rebels hit them again, this time with torpedoes.

The combination of ion shots and a torpedo salvo proved to be too much for the bow shields, just as Wyl had feared: they failed, and the ship shuddered as her hull absorbed some of the excess blast energy.  Well, you were right: it was bad, he thought.

“I could stand to be right less often, I think,” Wyl said, and then, more loudly: “Comms, general call for support!  And Art, get a damage report together!  Zark, I’m going to have Drackon bring us in closer to the Asteroid, slingshot around and try to get clear for a jump to hyperspace… we should have enough speed to keep our nose ahead of ‘em, but it’s up to you to keep our aft clear.”

A chorus of “Aye”s echoed throughout the command center.  “We’re running?” Artur Phylas asked, careful to keep his tone neutral as he asked.

“Haven’t even decided yet,” Wyl replied with a bitter shrug, “but if we can just keep them thinking about us for a few more minutes, the Main Group should be here…”

OOC:

566 words.  Figured the taboo against double-posting didn't apply when the story'd been idle for a week.  Let's pick it up, Besh!

Arthur was watching the scanner to see if the fighter crews could leave the Fearless with out any hassle.  He saw a group of Y-Ties start to get threw his line between the Amaranth and the Burnish.  Our lines are falling apart I hope we can pull through this with their bacta. 

~~~Amaranth~~~

The Amaranth and Burnish moved to cover the Fearless while they dropped their fighter squads.  A Ye-4 Gunboat moved to break a hole in the line to allow their Y-TIEs access to the Fearless.  The Ye-4 Gunboat began the assault on the Amaranth.  The fist wave slammed against the port side making the ship shutter dropping the shields down to 85%.  The Amaranth returned fire but their shots were not getting threw the shields of the Ye-4 Gunboat.

The next assault slammed against the engines doing minimal damage.  Their shields drop down to 65% and a hull breach on the port side just in front of the engines.  The Amaranth turned around to reveal their starboard side trying to minimize the damage to one side or the other.  They hammered the Ye-4 to little avail dropping the shield to 85%.  The next barrage hit the Amaranth dropping their shields to 45% and a small hull breach the crews sealed the breaches when a final assault slammed into the engines and they began to fail.

“Give me a com link to the Reaper now.”  The Captain of the Amaranth ordered.

“It’s opened Sir.” He replied.

“Reaper this is the Amaranth this Ye-4 Gunboat is too powerful for us to handle.  We need your help.” The captain said.

“Roger we are going to make our way towards you shortly.”  Arthur said.

~~~Reaper~~~

Arthur ordered the crew to attack the Ye-4 Gunboats that was attacking the Amaranth.  The path they had planned to take lead right threw the Regents and the Y-TIEs.  Arthur gave the order and the large CR-90 turned and cut right threw the mess giving the Regents cover fire with the ion cannons weakening some of their shields.  They made three full contacts on the uglies before they were within range of the Ye-4 Gunboat and shifted fire.

The first shot was aimed right at the bridge.  That got their attention; they turned to face their new threat.  The Reaper fired another barrage at the ship dropping the shields down to 60%.  The Ye-4 Gunboat finally made its way around to fight the Reaper, when the third barrage slammed into the port side turrets.  The Ye-4 finally made its return fire and the shields on the Reaper absorbed the shots dropping them down to 38%.

“I want four missiles punching a hole into that hull.”  Arthur ordered.

~~~Burnish~~~

The Burnish was finishing up the YQ-400 Monitor Droid Patrol ship.  When the Y-TIEs broke threw the line a second YQ-400 Monitor Droid Patrol ship moved into range of the Burnish. It opened fire and hit the Burnish port side engines punching through the shields.  The Burnish fired its last two missiles at the first YQ-400 Monitor Droid Patrol ship destroying it and then shifted its fire to the other YQ-400.

The engines on the Burnish began to flare out and suddenly cut off.  The alarms on board the Burnish were blaring.

“Somebody shut that alarm off.” The captain ordered.

“Yes sir, right away sir.” A crewman said as she began the process.

~~~~Burnish engineering room~~~~

There was a large fire burning next to the engines power generator that the fire suppression droids were having a hard time trying to put out.  The lead engineer was trying to get one of his staff out of the room to the med-bay, when the engine power generator cable was melted by the fire causing the generator to spike.  Two of the repairs droids near the generator were struck by the arc from the loose cable and overloaded causing a small explosion which just fed the fire.  That soon spread to the shield generators.

The fire suppression droids were slowly getting the fire under control when the Lead Engineer walked back into the room.  He went right back to work trying to fix all the damage that was caused in that short time frame.  He was down a man and need all the repair droids active and working on the engines.

~~~ Reaper~~~

The Reaper was firing its third wave of missiles at the Ye-4 Gunboat.  They finally punched through the shields and punctured a hole in its port-side just in front of the engines.  The Ye-4 fired another wave and they ripped threw the shields and melted the armor into one of the port-side double cabins.  The Reapers’ next barrage ripped the ship in half.  The front half held the bridge, and two laser turrets.  Those were still firing at the Reaper.  The rear section was completely dead almost as if it was devoid of power.

A sudden flash sparked from the rear section that soon engulfed the whole section and then it set off a stream of fuel that was oozing from the front section.  The fire was quickly at the large open section on the front and soon the near oxygen deprived fire was rekindled by the semi-active life support on the front half.  Once the fire hit the leaking fuel tank the ship was suddenly quite as the tanks’ metal was turned into floating shrapnel.

The Reaper was moving towards the YQ-400 Monitor Droid Patrol ship to assist the Burnish when the CR-90 the Defiance was getting hammered by the B-Wings.  I can either assist the Burnish or help the Defiance.

"Open a link to the Fearless." Arthur ordered.

"Done sir."

“Lieutenant, permission to strike at the B-Wings?”  Arthur requested, there was a short pause while Arthur waited.

“Permission granted Arthur” Slasher responded.

“Move to intercept those B-Wings, and send a message to the Amaranth to assist the Burnish when they are able.”  Arthur ordered.

“Yes sir.” The bridge crew responded.  They turned off their current path and moved to intercept the B-Wings. 

OOC:

1005 Words I finally got it posted.

Sam Jack Dunn yanked sideways on the control yoke and sent his tiny TIE Interceptor, Beta 4(R), hurtling to starboard as a brilliant blue flash of Ion fire shot past his port-side wing, barely missing him. He twisted on the yoke and turned the sudden course change into a spin, corkscrewing around and climbing sharply as more shots sailed underneath – and, as he flipped upside-down – over his Interceptor, and the young pilot growled out a long string of his favourite curse words, insulting the parentage of the pilots currently crewing the Y-TIE that was pursuing him, along with their various sexual deviancies and shortcomings. He made sure to voice his opinion on their ability to maintain their fighter, and remarked that if they went after women in the manner that they were hounding him, it was little wonder that their only sexual partner was a stray Mynock – and each other.

The problem was, though his TIE Interceptor was easily faster than the pathetically sluggish cobbled-together piece of dren bomber that was trying to take him down, and though the pilot’s ability was seriously lacking – especially in comparison to his own, the gunner who was manning the bomber’s Ion Cannon turret must have been some kind of prodigy – even with a far superior fighter and reflexes sharper than rykk blade, it took every bit of piloting skill that Sam Jack Dunn had at his disposal to keep himself from getting his fighter fried by his determined adversary’s gunfire. He had long since given up the offensive, and at the flick of a switch diverted power from his cannons to his Twin Ion Engine, putting every bit of juice that his Interceptor had into keeping himself from getting shot up. He broke his ascent and performed a sudden dive as his targeting computer beeped again, warning him that the enemy had lined him up again, and barely avoided another blast of overcharged Ion fire.

There was nothing he could do but keep dodging, wait for an opening and hope like hell that Vanity, the pilot he had recklessly rushed in to save, was having better luck with her own opponent than he was. Sighing to himself, he realized that he had let his composure shatter, and that was the reason he was having so much trouble. Some people could fly angry – hell, some people flew at their best when they were enraged, but Sam Dunn was not one of those people. He realized he was breathing hard, and heaved out a deep sigh, emptying his lungs of everything. Just like he had learnt in the Timbra Ott police force, he put all of his anger, frustration and fear into that breathe and pushed it the hell out of his body. Then, he drew in a breath, long and slow, and resumed his breathing at a nice steady pace. That was better. Then, realizing that in this chase he couldn’t abide any distractions, he let his eyes softly flutter shut.

Almost instantly after, his targeting computer started to beep fiercely, the lock alarm warning him that his opponent had him bracketed again. Already running high on adrenaline, his hand moved instantly, pushing down on the control yoke and twisting it towards the right, whilst his hand diverted some of his power to his targeting computer and cut his speed to a crawl, using his fighter’s ventral thrusters to arrest his acceleration and turn his dive into the tightest turn that he had ever performed, a vertical pirouette, and by the time that the blue flash of ion fire shot overhead, he had looped until he was facing the way he had come and began seeking a target lock, the quick press of a button kickstarting his computer’s active pinging for a target. He was below the enemy fighter now, where its Ion cannon could not target him. He diverted his power from the engines to his four laser cannons and let inertia sail him forward, relying on the ventral thrusters to keep him aligned.

Opening his eyes, he saw the enemy bomber approaching, rapidly, growing larger as it came closer, starting to fill up the vision of his front viewport. Time seemed to slow to a crawl for him  as his reflexes and adrenaline sped up his own reactions, and it took him less than a second to quad-link his laser cannons, lead the target and fire his top-aft thruster at low burn, sending his fighter into a slow upwards turn that kept him in line with his target. A small smile appeared on his young face, completely devoid of the lines that his anger had etched on it only a few seconds ago, and he felt more at peace than he ever had before as his targeting computer flashed green, and his finger squeezed the trigger of his control yoke. His calm restored, he knew that this pirate didn’t have a tauntaun’s chance in a supernova – and he smiled as four brilliant green bolts of superheated laser-fire streaked from the wing-mounted cannons of his fighter, and the recoil sent his fighter into reverse. He didn’t watch as the bolts speared through the left solar collection wing of the Y-TIE and sheared it clean off.

He was already breaking contact, diverting power back to the engines and streaking off again. If his enemy had been anything weaker, he knew he would have scored his first kill, and the prospect of first blood against the enemy galvanised the young pilot. He shot out from under the enemy bomber and let it pass, before quickly turning to starboard and coming back around, now comfortably in his enemy’s control zone, settling into place behind the enemy bomber. He jinked to port as the ion turret turned to face him and sent a burst of fire his way. Taking in a long breath, Sam Jack Dunn diverted power from the Twin Ion Engine and straight to his laser cannons again, lining up his first kill. His pulse wasn’t even racing, and he had forgotten everything but the moment – the mission, his new squadron, even the fact that this was his first combat mission drifted away, and for a moment nothing existed but the wounded, limping Y-TIE that sat before him.

Target locked.

His finger squeezed the trigger once, and then twice, before he dived down and out of the way of the fireball that he knew was coming. The first shot struck the bomber right on its rear, in between the two wing pylons, burning away the armour and sending a plume of smoke from the bomber.
The second shot hit it right in the hyperdrive, and the resulting detonation tore a hole in realspace for a split second, as the heat activated the melting drive and sent the ship hurtling out of the system, the pilots dead before the stars even became streaks. The wings, structurally weakened by the damage they took and the shoddy retrofit that had attached them in the first place, were left behind, spinning uselessly through the stars, a silent testament to Sam Jack Dunn’s first combat kill. A small smile appeared on the man’s face, unseen behind the blank visage of his armoured helmet, and he flicked the comm channel on.

“That’s one to you, Dunny!”

He did not know who had said it, but the voice was definitely female in cadence – not that it mattered much, since there were only two males other than him in the squadron. He nodded to himself, as he peeled off from his attack vector and with a quick flick of his thumb restored power settings to normal. The form of the Y-TIE that Vanity was battling filled up his vision, and his soft, content grin turned predatory, rolling his Interceptor to meet it.

Yeah, he thought. One to me.

OOC:

1,305 words. First kill - had to fight every step of the way for this one. I've got a long way to go till I get used to navy work.