OOC:

Welcome, my friends, to the conclusion of the Belgaroth story arc. It’ll be one to remember.

The large space station complex floated serenely above the multicolored backdrop of the planet below. It hung like a cast ornament in space, glittering- a silent monument to the struggle of sapient life against the cosmos. The dark cold of space, innumerable pinpoints of stars scattered throughout, however, revealed movement, revealed life. Groups of starfighters whisked this way and that, neatly in formation. Bulk freighters heavily loaded with precious durasteel components, slow but sure, drifted toward it as one of their brothers, now empty, pulled slowly away.

Other ships floated nearby, silent ghosts decorated with the flickering illumination of running lights and transparisteel panels shining with the light of the rooms within. The sizes and shapes were legion, for this was a fleet of many kinds of vessels.  Not currently being turned to their one purpose, warfare, they floated quietly, awaiting the call. A few, much harder to notice, sat docked at points about the spacestation. On the hulls of those ships the wavering light of welding torches could be witnessed as repairs, upgrades, and maintenance were accomplished.

The space station, too, was lit. Various portals shone with the light of activities taking place within, manufacturing areas glowing with the heat and light of their work. Within the room seen through one such portal, far from the factories, stood a single being. That person, a male Mon Calamari in Imperial officer’s garb, stood before the portal and looked out, surveying the system before him- its several planets, the occasional asteroid, and even a comet passing through. His eyes drifted from ship to ship, from fighter to fighter, while his mind imagined the many beings, droids, machines, and weapons that made up each and every one. He saw the Belgaroth System. He saw the Vast Imperial Second Fleet. He saw them, knew them, and knew the many conflicting emotions they drew from him.

Turning away from the window, Commander Dracule “Drac” Mihawk approached his desk. Stepping around the corner, he pulled out the chair and seated himself, then set his elbows upon the desktop, steepled his fingers and glanced at the holographic representation before him- the scene outside, miniaturized. Chastising himself mentally for ruminating when he should be working, Mihawk nevertheless continued to consider the things for which he’d become responsible-both those seen and those unseen. ’Am I proud of where I’ve arrived? Certainly. But am I as proud of all of my actions in getting here? No…indeed, I am not. Too many innocents died at Montitia, joining the untold number of others that my actions have harmed since I first trod the path of war. And, yet, how many have benefited? I couldn’t say. As surely as I can see the harm I’ve done, I will never see the harm I’ve prevented. It is the way of things…But enough of this selfish retrospect. Those that serve with me, those I’m tasked to lead, they certainly are worthy of being proud of- worth celebrating and defending. As are those we all serve to protect.’ Drac nodded to himself, ever so slightly, ’We must continue; for the sake of order, peace, and prosperity in the galaxy and at home, we must continue.’

Shaking himself, the dark skinned amphibian dispelled his solemn ruminations and, sitting up straighter, keyed up a query on the console before him. He read the report, nodding to himself as he scanned updates about various ships’ upgrades and final repairs. Everything was back in place now, fully recovered from the battle for Montitia, while those ships returning from the Battle of Coveway were still undergoing some repairs. Their fight had been, quite demonstrably, the tougher of the two. While some minor repairs and cosmetic finishing were still to come, every ship of his command could answer the call to battle if needed.

Before he could move on to the next report, one regarding logistics, a memo popped up on his holoprojector screen. It was from the current Watch Officer, one of his aides, Warrant Officer Yrnnkrsk, informing him that all Ship Captains requested had arrived at the station and were making their way to his conference room. Supplies could wait, as could this occasional bout with moral dilemma. Duty was at hand. Drac keyed a quick acknowledgment, then stood and collected a folder from his desk. It was a walk of but a few paces for him to make his way over to the door leading to the conference room from his private office. He keyed in his passcode, stepped through as the door hissed open, and felt the air stir as it whirred shut behind him.

Seating himself at the head of the table, Drac transmitted some documents from his datapad to the console there and began to perform final tweaks on the routine briefing he was about to give. He remained busy, but tracked the first arrivals as they came in the door, noting them for their promptness. They didn’t salute as they came in, but sat or spoke together quietly, awaiting his acknowledgment of their presence.

About half the attendees had arrived when Drac wrapped up his preparations. Before he could finalize everything, though, the shrieking howl of an assault alarm tore through the room. To a person, the officers within the room flinched in surprise. Then they looked to him. Drac quickly typed in an emergency code and brought up the Watch Officer’s tactical holoprojector. It acted as a comms line too, so he spoke, “What’s going on, Warrant Officer? This’d better be kriffing important.”

Fear and amazement fuzzed the Gran’s voice, “Commander, there’re two fleets in the system.”

Growling, Drac bit out his retort, “I assumed as much, Yrnnkrsk! Ours and theirs. Who are they?!”

“Um, sorry sir. Let me correct myself: there are three fleets in the system. Ours, and the two that just jumped in on attack headings.”

Drac ruthlessly crushed down his alarm before it could show on his face, though he felt his barbells twitch, “Ah. I see. Poor tactics, them coming in at the same time. What’s their commander thinking? But disregard that: What’s their strength relative to ours?”

“Sir, each fleet is somewhat larger than our own. But, sir…there’s something else. Something ‘s wrong.”

’Of all the blackhearted sithspawn…’ Drac narrowed his eyes as he replied, “Aside from the odds? Kriff it, Yrnnkrsk, we don’t have all day! Tell me what it is!”

The Gran’s voice was openly trembling now, in reaction to both his angry commander and the sudden assault, “Okay! Sorry! I mean, yes Commander! If I’m reading the IFF tags correctly, one of these fleets is New Republic, probably their sector garrison…and the other is Imperial Remnant.”

Alarm shot through the room like the Death Star’s laser, “They’re coming after us together? They allied against us?”

“Um, I don’t think so. They’re not moving together and…yes, I think they’re beginning to fire at each other. Starfighters are beginning to engage each other. Advanced elements of their fighter force are also engaging our fleet- about eight to ten squadrons, total. They’re fighting each other as much as us, right in the middle of our ships.”

Drac spared the shortest possible moment for consideration, looked at the silent officers around him, then spoke gravely, “Warrant Officer, send out a Mayday signal to the nearest Vast Imperial forces. I don’t know if we’re going to survive this, but we’re kriffing well going to try…and if we don’t we’ll pare these fools down enough for Commodore Atrasin or whomever to clean up the pieces postehaste.” Shaking his head, he cut the transmission, ’Of all the insanities the galaxy could inflict upon us…and while all of our senior Captains are on the station and not their ships! This is too convenient. This meeting must have been leaked. Once again, we have been betrayed.’ His eyes narrowed further, growing as cold as anyone had ever seen them, ’Heads will roll for this. I swear it….But now to react, and quickly. We’ve been badly caught off guard.’ Out loud, he addressed those around him, “Gentlebeings, there’s no time for politeness or neat order: get on your ships and get on them now. I will relay orders to you shortly. Anyone whose ship is docked on the station had better be out of this room by the time I finish speaking. For the rest: Those who’re qualified to fly starfighters are to come with me; I have a squadron’s worth of mixed craft available as extras. I’ll expect you on your bridges by the time I’ve landed my fighter- got it? Those who aren’t pilots should load up on Lambda shuttles and make straight for your ships as well. Requisition a flight each of starfighters for escort. Go!”

The group split in two, with some Captains running for the main hangars or the repair bays as seven or eight others followed close behind Drac as he sprinted for his private hangar and the ready room attached. As he stepped through the door his datapad, forgotten but still clenched tightly in his left hand, chimed an urgent message tone. He activated it and began to read without missing a step. Mihawk was gratified to see it was a report from Captain Ongol, detailing the forces arrayed against them:

TO: COMMANDER DRACULE MIHAWK, 2ND FLEET HQ
FROM: CAPTAIN ONGOL, ISD II HALCYON WARRIOR
RE: INCOMING ENEMY FORCE ANALYSIS

NEW REPUBLIC:
2 – MC80A MON CALAMARI CRUISERS
4 – MC40 MON CALAMARI CRUISERS
2 – NEBULON B FRIGATES
8 – CR-90 CORELLIAN CORVETTES
24 – GAT-12 SKIPRAY BLASTBOATS

ESTIMATED STARFIGHTER STRENGTH:  240 (20 SQUADRONS)


IMPERIAL REMNANT:
2 - IMPERIAL-II CLASS STAR DESTROYERS
2 – VICTORY-I CLASS STAR DESTROYERS
2 – VICTORY-II CLASS STAR DESTROYERS
3 – STRIKE CLASS CRUISERS
2 – LANCER CLASS CRUISERS
6 – CARRACK CLASS LIGHT CRUISERS

ESTIMATED STARFIGHTER STRENGTH: 342 (28.5 SQUADRONS)

END REPORT

Drac ran the numbers in his head, grateful that he’d reviewed them just minutes ago. The majority of 2nd Fleet was in-system as they staged for their next assault, and the ships available included all of Taskforces Aurek and Besh, as well as another six Light Cruisers and a full wing of starfighters stationed on the shipyard itself, for a total of 22 squadrons available. So…things were pretty even on the starfighter level. Unfortunately, his forces were outweighed rather heavily in the area of capital ships, their enemies have both more numerous and larger craft at their disposal. The defensive guns on the shipyards would help make up a little of that gap, but he knew all too well that his fleet was the weakest of the three.

Then he skidded around the last corner and darted toward the hatch before him. It hissed open, revealing a small ready room. He sprinted in and angled toward his locker as the others rushed in hot on his heels. Drac started shucking his officer’s dress uniform even before he reached the locker, determined to get on the bridge of his ship with an absolute minimum of delay.

OOC:

Word Count: 1827

Let the battle begin!

SCAPs: If you’re getting in a fighter, feel free to pop a starfighter or two on your way out to your ship. BUT no more than two. I’m offering this opportunity as a bit of fun, but we’re not fighter jockeys any longer and our absence from the bridges of our ships would cause more damage to our forces than we could ever do to the enemy in the cockpits of fighter craft.

Everyone should be reacting to the alarm and trying to figure out what’s going on and what they should be doing about it. Make sure you read what others have done before you and try to come up with something novel, rather than repeating their actions. If someone was already in the Mess Hall when the alarm went off, maybe you were in the gym. That sort of thing. Use a post or two to react and get prepared to fight. After that the pilots should be in their cockpits and the ship crewmembers should be at their stations. And be creative! Why run through a hall when you can run through a hall while having to avoid the huge puddle of caf some idiot cook spilled when the alarm scared him?

Best of luck to everyone. I look forward to seeing how this turns out. As always, I’m available for questions and to give ideas.

Artur Phylas stood at the center of the Defiance’s bridge, staring absently through the vessel’s main viewport with his hands clasped behind his back.  The bridge of the Corellian-built corvette was quiet behind him, and beyond the transparisteel, a thoroughly unremarkable scene played out on the deck of the massive cargo bay in which Defiance sat docked.  A dozen load lifters plodded ponderously back and forth across the cavernous room, their flat arms cradling inconceivably heavy equipment, while countless technicians – so much smaller and weaker, and yet so much more clever and proud – scurried to and fro like self-important insects beneath and between the huge droids.  Everything seems so normal, Phylas thought to himself.  Here, in this little corner of the Belgaroth Shipyards, in this little corner of the Vast Empire, in this little corner of the Galaxy, I could almost convince myself that nothing at all is wrong…

“If only I didn’t know better,” Phylas muttered under his breath.  The truth, of course, was that much and more was wrong in the Galaxy, in the VE… and even, Phylas suspected, here at Belgaroth.  And no amount of self-convincing would change that truth.  The Corellian officer sighed. 

If I ever get my hands on the incompetents running Navy Intelligence…  The familiar thought came unbidden, bringing the familiar anger with it, and Phylas ground his teeth as he remembered the last private conversation he’d had with Wyl Trykon – his oldest and best friend, and his commanding officer.

“They were ready for us,” Phylas had complained over matching glasses of Corellian brandy in Trick’s berth, not twelve hours after they arrived at Belgaroth after the near-disastrous assault on the pirates of Coveway.  “The criminals and the rebels both!”

Trick had worn his characteristic frown, Phylas remembered, but his friend’s eyes had looked even more troubled than usual.  “I don’t think so,” Trykon murmured, before taking a sip of the liquor.

“Trick, we lost a squadron’s worth of pilots and even more TIEs, and the Fearless… we went in expecting to chastise a few ill-equipped pirates and we nearly lost the Task Force flagship!”

Trykon had set his glass down on the table and stared at Phylas then, his expression unreadable.  “But we didn’t lose the Fearless, Art, and neither did we lose the battle.”  Phylas recalled clearly his friend’s tone: half cold calculation, half something closer to… contrition?  Why didn’t you notice that strange tone then, Art?

Instead, he’d blindly raged on: “My point is that Intel fracked up, Wyl!  Someone on our side is feeding information to the bad guys, and we’re getting kriffed!”

Trykon had looked away then, Phylas remembered.  “If the New Republic knew Task Force Besh was coming, they would have had more assets in-system,” Trick had said.

“Fine, then maybe there wasn’t a security breach on our end,” Phylas continued, “but still, the Greys should have warned us about the New Republic’s connection to the raiders!  If they even knew about it, that is.  We all face death and destruction every day to do our jobs – I don’t think it’s too much to ask the Naval Intelligence folks to do their own damn jobs, too.”  The fire of the Corellian liquor had felt good as it burned its way down his throat: liquid righteousness with the aftertaste of home.

“They are doing their jobs,” Trick snapped, turning around suddenly.  “And they’re doing them day in and day out without any recognition for their service and despite the constant condemnation of ignorant people like you.”

Heat had rushed to Phylas’s face.  What in hell has gotten into Trick, he thought.  The thoughtful Kuati was usually very even-tempered, and revealed little of his personal politics or beliefs.  “Ignorant?!  How is it ignorant to draw a line between ‘Intelligence told us it’d be an easy mission’ and ‘we all almost died?!’”

“Yes, we almost died, Art.  That’s our job, as you so fittingly put it.  Don’t you remember?  Our job’s not to reason why…”

“…Our job’s just to do or die,” Phylas had finished the refrain grudgingly.  “I still say they messed up,” he said quietly, swirling his drink.

“Intel’s job isn’t to preserve individual units or personnel,” Trykon said, turning away again.  “They fight just as hard as we do, but their concern is the survival of the Vast Empire as a whole.  I’m not going to question orders, and I’m not going to start blaming my brothers-in-arms for doing their duty.”

In short, you’re not going to face the truth that we’re losing the Intelligence war.  Phylas had risen unsteadily from his seat.  Even drunk, he’d recognized that the strange conversation had reached an impasse.  “VENI fracked up, and good beings died.”

“Yes.  Yes they did,” Trykon had said, his shoulders slumping.  “But try to remember who killed them, Art: pirates and rebels.  Not the Greys.”

“Oh yes sir,” he’d said sarcastically, tossing off a mock salute.  “Permission to finish my drink in my own berth, sir?”

“Take the bottle and go,” Trick had said.  He had not turned around.

Phylas had left his friend’s room, and Trykon had not yet invited him back.  They had gone about their professional lives, talking on the bridge, and exchanging pleasantries in the Defiance’s corridors, but their friendship was effectively on hiatus.  All because the damned idealistic fool doesn’t want to badmouth the damned Greys, Phylas thought bitterly, and because I got too damned drunk to hold my damned tongue.

“Oh well,” Phylas said quietly, turning away from the viewport, and setting aside the memory of the disagreement.  No matter what Trick says, we have a serious problem, Phylas thought as he glanced at the members of his shift’s bridge crew.  The New Republic is working with Bacta thieves, and our own intelligence sources seem to be getting most of their information from post-battle analysis, instead of before the battles.  It wasn’t a comforting thought, with most of the Fleet’s Ship Captains gathered together at Belgaroth to plan the next offensive.

“Did you say something, sir?” asked Evir Norith, the on-duty Communications officer.

“No, it’s nothing, Mr. Norith,” Phylas said with forced geniality, “I was just…” he trailed off as a light began to blink on the Comm board.  “We’ve got a call,” he said, nodding past the officer’s shoulder at the light.

Norith opened the line, and a voice flooded the bridge: “Repeat, this is Belgaroth Command to all Vast Imperial Navy ships: two hostile fleets have just jumped into the system, and are moving to attack.  You are instructed to engage.  This is not a drill.  I repeat: this is Belgaroth Command to all Vast Imperial––” Norith cut the audio, and went to work, coordinating intra-ship comms and liaising with the various other communications staff of the station and scattered Fleet.

The rest of the bridge crew reacted just as calmly, Phylas was pleased to observe.  Within minutes, the ship was ready for action, and Norith had confirmation that Captain Trykon was on his way.  The Executive Officer thanked his team for a job well done, and began the tactical analysis Trick would be sure to request the second he stepped aboard.

It wasn’t good.  The feed from the Halcyon Warrior showed hostile forces outnumbering friendlies by almost three to one.  The only encouraging news – if also incredibly odd news – was that the hostiles were not all working together: reports indicated the attackers were actually two distinct fleets, one from the New Republic and one from the Thrawnist faction.  Even as they reached the defensive perimeter around the shipyards, the invaders began to engage each other as well.

Within a minute of the initial strength estimate, Trick stepped onto the bridge.  But so did four other people that Phylas did not recognize, all wearing featureless grey uniforms devoid of any insignia.  Naval Intelligence, Phylas realized, though he derived no deep understanding from the insight.  “I have the initial tactical plot, Captain,” Phylas said formally, doing his best to ignore the four shadows at Trick’s side.

Trykon nodded, and held up a finger as if to say, hold on.  “Mr. Norith, you’re relieved,” the captain said, and then he indicated one of the four spooks, and raised his voice so the whole command team could hear him.  “This is Mr. Grey: he’ll be on comms duty here on the bridge.  Mr. Norith, you’ll stand by to assist him at need.”  Bewildered, Evir Norith could simply nod, while the nondescript Intel man slid into his usual seat.  Trykon turned to the remaining three members of his entourage: “You have your orders.”  They saluted, and jogged out.  What in hell is going on? Phylas wondered.  “I’ll have that tactical plot now, Mr. Phylas,” Trick said.  “Let’s go over it with Zark, shall we?  Mr. Drackon, take us out, if you please.”

A thousand thousand questions came to Artur Phylas’s mind, but there was no time for any of them.  The tactical display made that clear, with the huge Mon Calamari and Kuati death machines closing on their position.  Cursing silently to himself, the XO of the corvette Defiance left his questions unspoken, and when he did finally speak, it was to lend his own voice in support of his captain: “you heard the man, team.  Let’s go win another battle.”

And with that, the ship cleared the hangar’s forcefield, and was in the fight.

OOC:

1,563 words.  Let's go get 'em, Second Fleet! 
After Action Report: The XO of the Defiance, Artur Phylas, blames VENI for the VE losses at the Battle of Coveway, and the corvette's captain Wyl Trykon argues that the Intelligence service is probably doing a lot behind the scenes.  Then, when Belgaroth is invaded, a group of mysterious "Greys" - the slang term for Intel agents - accompanies captain Trykon onboard.

Commander William Hammondfins, the new XO of the Dreadnaught Heavy Cruiser Monarch, sat next to his captain, Captain Bacredi, and the second mate, Lieutenant Commander Michaelson. The conference room was littered with first and second rate captains and the throw ups from the captains service, along with a few decorated officers who now served in the upper echelons of the second fleet. Bacredi tilted his head at Slasher, a sign of greeting from the anti-social man.

“What the hell is that?” Bacredi said, his neck shooting straight up into the air as alarms descended from the ceilings.

“Ring the Monarch, bring them into the closest possible location. We’re going to have to head back there soon.” Hammondfins said; Bacredi was beginning to dislike his headstrong attitude already.

“I’ll step out, meet y’all at in the hangar.” Said Michaeson, bowing out of the room; the room was now at full attention, and Drac moved to speak.

“Gentlebeings, there’s no time for politeness or neat order: get on your ships and get on them now. I will relay orders to you shortly. Anyone whose ship is docked on the station had better be out of this room by the time I finish speaking. For the rest: Those who’re qualified to fly starfighters are to come with me; I have a squadron’s worth of mixed craft available as extras. I’ll expect you on your bridges by the time I’ve landed my fighter- got it? Those who aren’t pilots—” Bacredi and Hammondfins were already out of the room by the time Drac had said “Go!” and were on their way to the turbolift lobby. Bacredi unbuttoned the top button of his dress uniform, and Hammondfins had unbuttoned his entire jacket.

“Do we have a fighter squadron meeting us?” asked Bacredi as the turbolift closed to the faces of many captains.

“Two Interceptor squadrons are meeting us, I think.”

“Good,” Bacredi said as the doors opened into the hangar bay, with a beautiful row of Lambda-Class Shuttles awaiting all of the captains.

“Captain, welcome. We must hurry, looks like it is about to become a massive storm of shit out there in the next couple minutes,” said Michaelson, who had already been preparing the shuttle for takeoff.

“Get me to the Monarch.”

The Monarch
Command Deck

“Battle stations, shields to 100%, evacuate the lower levels and move them to general quarters.” Hammondfin ordered the bridge around as if he was in the charge, and Bacredi was annoyed—wasn’t the time for him to interject, though. “Okay, give me a readout on—”

“Hammondfin, learn your place.” Bacredi ordered, shutting the poodle up. “Who the hell are these people? Give me a number and the size of their fleet.”

“We’re getting a report from the admiralty now, sir…uh, appears to be New Republic: 240 starfighters. The Remnant is here as well…with around 340 starfighters.”

“Refresh that message, it has to be wrong.” Michaelson ordered; he was still smiling at the way Bacredi had told Hammondfin to shut the hell up.

“Refreshed, it’s correct.”

“Put our turret defences on high alert! Hammondfin, get down to the starfighter chambers, get the pilots ready. We need them in the best shape for battle that they could possibly be in.”

The Monarch
Engine Bay

The head of the engine, Zhar Mundango, was a man that hailed from a long line of civil servants—assistants, brothel masters, magistrates, pilots, captains: all of that—and now he was serving aboard the Monarch, but as a engine coordinator. He considered it the greatest effort at trying to impress his family, and it did not really work—they were still disappointed in him.

“Sir, the rotator on engine number two is looking a little slow.” Reported a crewman from the bullpen of the engine room—Zhar was up in the control center, a 2,000 square foot sound proofed room.

“Hey,” Zhar turned around at the second in command, “HEY!” he immediately woke up. “Inform the bridge that we’re going to have to turn off one of our engines.”

“Got it,” said the XO.

“I’m heading down there now to go check it out.” Zhar got into the turbolift and headed down, meeting the crewman at the turbolift lobby. “So what is it?”

“The rotator on two is just not moving correctly, for a full rotation it’s taking 2.46 seconds, that’s .09 off!”

“Are there are other anomalies?”

“Nothing besides that.”

“Okay, stop it!” he ordered over the roar of the massive engines. The engine stopped immediately.

Three lone starfighters emerged from hyperspace. At first glance, the ships were an odd group. Two of the ships were TIE fighters and the third ship was a Kaminoan KE-8 Enforcer. Why a Kaminoan fighter would be with Imperial fighters was unknown to all but the three pilots who were flying the ships. They had only just escaped a near-fatal situation at Chalcedon.

The system they had just entered, Belgaroth, seemed desolate, with the only thing in plain sight being shipyards. After a few minutes of what seemed to be either discussion or re-orientation, each of the ships engaged ion drives. They were heading toward the shipyards. Imperial capital ships were dispersed throughout the shipyards, but all seemed barren.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Senior Crewman Tosth “Fishhead” Aaaiser, the current pilot of one of the two TIE Fighters opened up his comm to the other two ships, piloted by a Kaminoan called Atama So and a Vast Empire Naval Intelligence officer named Dan Wolk.

“Alright, guys. You two know where we’re headed. The shipyards and the Defiance. I’m sending the coordinates of the Defiance right now.” He cut off the transmission and proceeded to log the coordinates to both fighters. “You should have received them. I’m locking in my final flight path. See you two aboard the Defiance.”

“Acknowledged, Mr. Aaaiser,” The Kaminoan’s voice cut through sharp and clear. “Thank you again for saving my life back there. I look forward to working with you.”

“As I have said before, I believe you will make an invaluable addition to the medical staff aboard the Defiance. I was honor-bound to save you.”

The comms were silent for a few minutes as the ships drew ever closer to the shipyards.
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Halfway through the journey to the shipyards, a lone RZ-1 A-Wing emerged out of hyperspace, close to the three starfighters.
“What the kriff?” said Tosth, opening up his comm channel. “Guys, are you two seeing that A-Wing?”

“Affirmative, sir. It looks like a New Republic scout. Why it’s here is unknown to me. We should-“

An explosion suddenly lit up the system.

Jerking around his cockpit, he became ready for a dogfight. “Wolk, Atama, are you two okay?”

The Kaminoan’s voice cut through on the comm. “I am fine, sir. I believe Mr. Wolk’s ship has just been destroyed. I must remind you that I am defenseless.”

“I know, Atama.” Orienting himself towards the A-Wing, he was determined to avenge the Intelligence officer. “Continue towards the shipyard. I’ll take care of this kriffing bastard. You’ll be clear to land.”

“Alright, Mr. Aaaiser. Good luck.” The comm went silent.

His focus was now on protecting Atama and destroying this New Republic pilot. “All right, you sleemo. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

He sent a barrage of laser fire at the A-Wing. As he expected, it easily missed. But it did what he wanted. The pilot’s focus was on him exclusively now. The A-Wing pilot easily turned around and began flying toward him.

Tosth grinned. This was it. He kicked his ion drive into full gear and fired a few more bolts at the A-Wing. It grazed the shields. Let’s play a quick game of chicken. Centering his flight path directly on the enemy, he started firing again. Then he realized his mistake. No shields on this starfighter. He quickly dived out of the line of fire.

He took a moment to brake and reorient himself. Oh no you don’t, he thought to himself. The pilot was going after Atama. This is way too easy. He lined up behind the A-Wing.

That was when things changed.
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The display inside of the Kaminoan’s Enforcer suddenly shifted. Atama So looked down at the display and found what looked to be two different fleets that had just arrived in the Belgaroth system. Not knowing who these fleets were, he commed his colleague. “Mr. Aaaiser, I don’t know if you have seen this yet, but there are two unknown fleets that have arrived in system. And they are quite large.”

There was a moment of silence on the comm in which Atama felt more scared than he already was. His ship did not have any weapons installed. If these fleets happened to be more enemies, he would be in even more danger.

“I don’t know whose fleets they are. Hold on. Let me blast this bastard.”
An explosion lit up the space behind Atama. He was safe. For the moment.

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Tosth opened up a new comm channel. “Let’s see what this is about,” he muttered to himself.

“Senior Crewman Tosth Aaaiser, Junior Bridge Officer of the Defiance to the Defiance. Requesting contact with Warrant Officer Trykon or Executive Officer Artur Phylas.”

“Senior Crewman Aaaiser, this is Captain Grey of Naval Intelligence. What is your current situation?”

“Captain, I’m here with a Kaminoan who needs to board. He’s defenseless. Dan Wolk of Naval Intelligence has been killed in action by a New Republic A-Wing. What the kriff are these fleets that just showed up?”

“Crewman, those are fleets belonging to the New Republic and the Imperial Remnant. Do you wish to see the estimated numbers?”

“Yes, sir. That would be much appreciated. Is Warrant Officer Trykon available?”

“One moment. I’m sending you the numbers. I’ll see what I can do about Warrant Officer Trykon.”

The Mon Calamari closed the comm channel. Seconds later, the fleet estimations came in. The situation did not look good. “Atama, do you want to look at these numbers? I think you should take a look.”

As these words were uttered, the amphibian’s eyes bulged. He had to get aboard the Defiance. He knew he wouldn’t have much time to get both of them aboard.

“Of course, Mr. Aaaiser. I would absolutely love to see how much more my chances of being killed have just increased.”

Tosth had a moment of pure surprise. A Kaminoan with a sense of sarcasm? He never thought he would live to know this fact. “Sarcasm, Atama? I’m surprised.”

Sounding amused, Atama ignored the amphibian’s statement. “Might as well try contacting the Defiance again. It’s getting mighty dangerous out here, Mr. Aaaiser.”

“Agreed.” He shut the connection down and opened one with the Defiance once again. “Senior Crewman Tosth Aaaiser to the Defiance. Requesting contact with Warrant Officer Trykon.”

“Crewman Aaaiser, this is Captain Grey. Give me a few more moments and I can have Warrant Officer Trykon up here.”

“Affirmative, sir.”

Sure enough, a few moments later, “This is Warrant Officer Trykon, captain of the Defiance. Who am I talking to?”

“Crewman Aaaiser, Junior Bridge Officer of the Defiance.”

“Ah, Mr. Aaaiser. What’s your situation?”

“I am accompanied by  Kaminoan Doctor Atama So. Atama has to get to aboard. His ship has absolutely no armaments. Intelligence Officer Dan Wolk has been killed.”

“We can get that arranged. I presume the recruitment went well?”

“Well, actually, sir, there was an assassin on Chalcedon. His only target was Atama. Dan and I did not seem to matter at all to the assassin.”

“I’m glad to hear you got out safely.”

“Yes, sir. I have a quick question for you.”

“What is it?”

“How long until you leave the shipyard and enter combat?”

“Three minutes at the most. I suggest you hurry.”

Tosth glanced at their distance to the shipyard. They were about a minute away from the shipyard.

“We’ll be there.”

“Alright. I’m not sure of having the Kaminoan on board, though.”

“Sir. I pledge my career as a Naval Officer that he is trustworthy. Chalcedon has proven that. I can give you evidence of this. Besides, you have a Naval Intelligence Officer aboard, don’t you?”

“Actually, there are four. But I concede your point. He will be alright aboard. Besides, I’m sure Mr. Gibbs will enjoy his presence.”

“Acknowledged, sir. We’ll have our approach vectors plotted in a moment. Have the corvette ready. I’m getting worried.”

“It will be taken care of, Crewman. Good work on Chalcedon.”

The Mon Calamari felt a sense of elation from the praise. He shut off the comm channel and opened another, connecting both the Kaminoan.

“This is it, Atama. Let’s get our final approach vectors for the shipyard plotted. Atama, you’ll be meeting Doc Gibbs, I presume. Our medical officer aboard will be honored to meet you.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They arrived at the shipyard. Ejecting as quickly as possible, they ran toward the Defiance.

That’s an odd sight. A Kaminoan running. Keeping the thought to himself, he ran up the already lifting gangway.

He was getting quite a few looks. A new officer accompanied by an unknown being. He didn’t care right now. There was too much at stake. He had to get to the bridge.

“Come on, Atama. Not much further now.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They stepped onto the bridge and heard Artur Phylas say, “you heard the man, team.  Let’s go win another battle.”

“Sir,” Tosth said, addressing his Commanding Officer, “allow me to introduce Kaminoan Doctor Atama So. Am I to report to Doctor Gibbs?”

OOC:

Word Count: 1501

I'm honored to serve with you guys. Let's get this rolling!

~~~Twelve Hours earlier~~~

The Reaper was out on patrol, when they received a message from Commander Drac.  Ensign Arthur you are to report to the space station in the Belgaroth System for a SCAPs meeting in about twelve hours.

“You heard the Commander take us to the Belgaroth System.”

“Roger that sir.”  Harald Hissack said as he punched the hyperspace coordinates in.

“Ariyn you have the bridge.” Arthur said as he began to leave, “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

“Roger that sir, I’ll keep her safe.”  Ariyn responded.

~~~Four hours earlier~~~

When they arrived in system he had the Reaper patrol the outer edge of the station defenses’.  He and the 9 marine detachments he had assigned to go on leave made their way to the hanger bay and the troop shuttle.  The pilot finished the preflight check and began to unseal the Hanger bay doors.  It was a short flight to the shipyard past the few other ships of 2nd fleet.

They landed in one of the hangers and they quickly disembarked the vessel.  Arthur walked over the med-bay to check on his Chief Engineer.  He walked over to the chief medical officer to find out the condition of Jason Womack.

“How much longer is my Chief Engineer out for?” Arthur asked the medical officer.

“He will be ready for duty in about four hours.” The chief medical officer replied.

“Thanks I’ll be back then.” Arthur said.

He walked over to the gym for his hour long training bout.  After he finished he showered and grabbed a bite to eat before the meeting.  He was one of the first people in the hall and he sat in the back away from the rest of the captains’ as was his normal routine when summoned to these meetings.  He saw the rest of the captains’ talk about what they though the meeting was about.  He heard the shrieking howl of an assault alarm blaring, and waited for the order to run to his ship which was the farthest from the station, but the closest to the enemy.

~~~Current Time - The Station~~~

“Gentle beings, there’s no time for politeness or neat order: get on your ships and get on them now. I will relay orders to you shortly. Anyone whose ship is docked on the station had better be out of this room by the time I finish speaking. For the rest: Those who’re qualified to fly star-fighters are to come with me; I have a squadron’s worth of mixed craft available as extras. I’ll expect you on your bridges by the time I’ve landed my fighter- got it? Those who aren’t pilots should load up on Lambda shuttles and make straight for your ships as well. Requisition a flight each of star-fighters for escort. Go!” Drac told them.

They started to run down the hall to the hanger bay.  When they ran past the med-bay Jason came running out and joined them.  When they arrived at the hanger with the Reapers shuttle Arthur made the request for an escort.  Arthur walked on and seen the trooper team he arrived on station with, and they were already seated and waiting for Arthur to arrive.

“Let's get to our ship and take this fight to them.  It looks like our ship will be the first to be engaged in the upcoming battle.  Pilot lets go.” Arthur ordered.

~~~A few Minutes Earlier – The Reaper~~~

Ariyn Holts was walking the bridge of the Reaper keeping a vigilant eye on the space before her.  They just passed one of the defense satellites, when the New Republic and the Imperial Remnant fleets entered the system.  As soon as Ariyn saw them arrive she began to bring the Reaper to battle readiness.

“All crew members to battle stations! I repeat all crew members to battle stations!” Ariyn announced over the comm system.

The Reaper quickly became battle ready, and the defense stations came online as well.  The Reaper moved between two of the defense stations and tried to keep anything from getting past them hoping the rest of the second fleet would soon join in the battle.

~~~Aboard the troop transport~~~

They made their way out of the shipyard hanger and met up with their escorts.  The escorts opened a com link to the shuttle and the pilot paged Arthur to the cockpit.

“What do you guys need?” Arthur asked when he arrived to the door of the cockpit.

“Message from the lead escort sir.” The pilot answered.

“Patch them threw.” Arthur said.

“Where are we bringing you sir?” Atter the lead TIE pilot asked.

“We are heading to the Reaper, and it appears to be at the far edge of our defense systems.  You are to engage anything that gets in our path, and once we get to the Reaper I want you to fall back to your squad.  Let’s move out.”  Arthur said.

“Roger that sir, follow us and will get you there.” Atter responded.

~~~Aboard the Reaper~~~

“We are currently the only ship fighting this battle; I want a static update on the rest of the fleet.” Ariyn ordered.

“We are seeing power going to all the ships but we’ll be out here alone for a little while.”

“Ariyn we have a message coming in from Arthur patching it through to your consul.” Jaeron told her.

“What is the static of the ship, and also how many are we looking at so far?”  Arthur asked.

“Ship is holding a blockade between two defense turrets, and we’re currently at 75% battle ready and we will be up to 100% before the first craft arrives.  As to the amount so far all I can say is that I hope we get some help out here soon, or this will be the first craft we lose.”  Ariyn reported.

“Roger that I’ll be aboard as soon as I can and you should have help soon enough.”  Arthur said before he cut the connection. 

“Um I have serial squads moving to our location from all three fleets the closest are ours.”  Elither said, “I also have three smaller crafts moving towards the station.  It appears to be two Interceptors, and a Kaminoan KE-8 Enforcer.”

“Hold location till Arthur is aboard and only fire on the three crafts if they fire on us first.  I’m not sure who side they are on yet, but watch them.  If they try to pass hail first and if no response fire once above the cockpit of the lead Interceptor.”  Ariyn told the crew.

“Roger that.”  The bridge crew responded.

OOC:

WC: 1076
Let kill us some NR and Imps.

Shucking his dress uniform, the dark skinned alien pulled his flightsuit on in record time. Grabbing his helmet, one specially designed for Mon Cals, he sprinted out the second door in the ready room and out toward the walkways that led to the TIE fighter craft in the hangar. Zipping up his flightsuit and checking the seal, he smiled and shoved his helmet down over his head as he approached the craft nearest the entrance. After all, he’d been a fighter jockey for a long time and, now that he had a good bit of seniority and all possible certifications, the craft awaiting him would be a joy to fly.

Drac slid in through the hatch and reached back to pull it closed behind him. The mixed bag of fighter craft in this hangar were kept in a constant state of readiness, needing only to be started up and run through an abbreviated pre-flight before being ready to launch. The Commander ignited the engines, tested a handful of critical systems, and fired up the repulsorlift coils. Flicking another switch, he disengaged the ship from its docking claw and felt it sink a meter or so until the repulsors balanced out with a reassuring thrum and it was clear of the claw.

Transmitting for the first time, Drac addressed the shipyards’ flight controllers, “Flight Control, initiate executive override Cresh-Mern-Three-Two. Confirmation code Cresh-Mern-Four-Seven-Aurek.”

The reply was instantaneous and twofold. First, the hangar doors began to part. A fraction of a second later, Flight Control replied, “Cresh-Mer-Three-Two confirmed. Good flying.”

In the seconds before the doors opened, Drac switched over to the private channel only these craft shared, addressing the other SCAPs. They’d all managed to get into their craft by now and most were finishing their pre-flights, some having already dropped free of their docking claws, “Remember: Get to your ship. Kill what you have to, but get to your bridge. And for Kadann’s sake, don’t get killed!”

The doors weren’t finished opening, but there was room enough now for a starfighter to exit. So, suiting his actions to his words, Drac throttled up and couldn’t subdue a delighted grin as the mighty TIE Defender surged forward like the very wrath of the Empire itself. Behind him the mixed group of TIE Interceptors, TIE Avengers, and even another TIE Defender or two shot out singly at first, then in larger groups as the doors continued to open.

Whirling his starfighter around to face the center of battle, Drac used sight and sensors to analyze the battle for a moment while he was still beyond his enemies’ reach. Nodding to himself as he chose targets near the outer fringes of the enemy formations, he switched over to the highly encrypted 2nd Fleet Command & Control frequency, “This is Commander Mihawk to all 2nd Fleet personnel: All elements of Taskforce Aurek are to engage the Imperial Remnant forces. All elements of Taskforce Besh are to engage the New Republic forces. Do NOT interpose yourself between the two enemy fleets. Capital ships of Taskforce Aurek are to focus fire on the ISD II Prognosticator. Capital ships of Taskforce Besh are to focus fire on the outer pair of MC40 cruisers. Fighters are to engage enemy fighter craft, while maintaining defensive screens on our own ships. Shipyard based fighter groups are to split into two groups, one to assist Aurek and one to screen the shipyards. Bomber squadrons focus on disabling the smaller enemy capital ships and keeping them from harrying our main battle ships.”

Confirmations rolled off on the channel and Drac nodded grimly as he accelerated. ’I hope I’ve made the right decision…Slasher’s going to have to hold out against pretty bad odds until I can kill the Prognosticator. If we can break the back of the Remnant formation we’ll be able to spare more craft to assist Besh, at least until the Remnant re-form their line.

Then he shot through the defensive screen already forming in front of the shipyard. The first squadrons of enemy craft were approaching, still in formation. They’d try to plunge straight through his lines like a sword thrust, injecting themselves into the heart of the shipyards and threatening the still-vulnerable ships that had yet to lift. That just wasn’t acceptable. Glancing at his sensors, Drac was pleased to see three of the SCAPs formed up directly on him. He switched back to their private frequency, “Alright, SCAPs. We’re Noble Flight for the moment. Form up and lets dull the edge of the incoming thrust. Push right on through, and kill what you can. Looks like a squadron of Interceptors and one of TIE Bombers.”

Switching his weapons control over to Proton Torpedos, Drac waited for the range to scale down to just two kilometers, then spitted the lead Interceptor with the crosshairs. He got a lock tone almost instantly and triggered the missile before switching over to lasers. He set those to fire in offset pairs, then shifted 75% of shield power to the forward arc. Seconds later he began firing as the proton torpedo flew true and ruined the enemy squadron commander’s whole day.

-----

[Location: Bridge of the ISD II Maxima Culpa, just after re-entry.]

Admiral Frinleigh broke into a short run, moving forward to see out the main viewports of his flagship, “What in the Emperor’s Black Bones? Republic cruisers? What the kriff is the New Republic doing here?”

His communications officer turned at his seat, “Um, sir? What orders should I send?”

Scowling ferociously, the Admiral slammed a fist into his palm, “Kriff it all. Order the Prognosticator and her group to engage the shipyard’s defenders. Try and get some fighters into the shipyards so they’ll have something closer to home to worry about than us, and get them in position to possibly sabotage the station. Order our group to engage the New Republic forces in-system. Take any target of opportunity, but if we don’t end up owning this system at the end of the day I’d rather see it in anyone else’s hands before I’d see it in the hands of those alien lovers.”

-----

[Location: Bridge of MC80 Cruiser Reef City, just after re-entry.]

“Admiral! There’re two enemy fleets in system!”

“Let me see.” Admiral T’kala, a stalwart Sullustan female, scanned through the data rolling across her screens. “Interesting. It appears we weren’t the only ones who seek to get back lost territory. It appears the nearer fleet is from the Imperial Remnant, while the station’s defenders are Vast Imperials, as expected. Obviously, the Remnant battle group is the more immediate threat. Inform Taskforce One that they should engage immediately. Attempt to penetrate their starfighter defenses while our larger ships focus on the ImpStar Deuces. Then inform the Coral City that her group is to engage the Vast Imperial forces directly. Have our Skiprays focus on their larger craft. Massed fire from them may be able to disable even the main battle ships. Inform all elements that the shipyards are not to be damaged unless absolutely necessary. We want those intact.”

“Yes, Admiral…one moment…Orders relayed, Admiral.”

“Excellent. Now, to business. Handled correctly, we stand a good chance of victory upon this battlefield.” T’kala settled into her chair, a slight frown of concentration creasing her face as she considered her options.

OOC:

Word Count: 1218

There you have it, people. Read through this post for your Taskforce’s objectives. Note the two enemy commanders, their orders, and how their personalities may affect the tactics and behavior of their troops. You’re now free to engage the enemy. Unit commanders are to chose appropriate targets for their units in line with the orders from their superiors, then seek to destroy those specific targets. In short, follow the general guidelines provided by Slasher and I here and in the 2nd Fleet discussion thread, but choose your specific target yourself. Don’t worry about the defensive screens, unless you’d like to post as an NPC flying in that area.

A quick note: Here are the names of the larger capital ships on either side:

MC80 Starcruiser Reef City, NR Flagship
MC80 Starcruiser Coral City, NR Capital Ship
ISD II Maxima Culpa, IR Flagship
ISD II Prognosticator, IR Capital Ship

All other enemy ships have no official names yet. Feel free to name them as you will.

“All right, that’s it – we’re ready to go, sir,” Artur Phylas said finally, once the last of the corvette’s personnel were aboard and all battlestations reported ready.  He looked up expectantly at his friend and captain, Wyl Trykon.  “Sir?”

To Artur’s surprise, Trick shook his head impatiently and gestured for him to wait, then turned to the Intelligence agent who’d followed him onto the bridge and who now sat at the Communications Station: the brown-haired lieutenant Trick just called “Mr. Grey.”  “Ready?” Trykon asked.

“Hold one,” the spook replied in a distracted tone.  It took a lifetime of discipline for Artur to hold his silence.  The battle’s started, Trick!, he wanted to yell.  Since when do you wait to join in?  “Ready,” the lieutenant confirmed, after what felt like an eternity.

“Take us out, Mr. Phylas,” Trick commanded, and the bridge crew leapt into action, while Artur tried to quiet his private misgivings.  Drackon was ready with repulsorlifts, and once they were correctly oriented, he punched the main drive and the Defiance was clear of the shipyards.  Kath Notra reported multiple sensor contacts almost immediately, and he and Zark chose the little Vast Imperial warship’s first target: a group of three Skipray blastboats which had separated from the main New Republic formation, and was accelerating hard toward the shipyards.

Notra called out the targets, and Artur stepped up behind the Twi’lek to look at his display.  “Three blastboats breaking off from the rebel fleet to hit the shipyards.”

“Intercept course,” Trykon ordered without hesitation, and the ship seemed to slant slightly as Drackon changed their heading to comply.

Phylas was inhaling, about to order Zark to go weapons-free, when the mystery lieutenant spoke first: “Black Group has Second Key,” the man intoned.

“What the hell?” Artur muttered, and then he remembered the incoming targets.  “Zark, fire on the blastboats!”

Defiance’s turbolaser batteries opened up, and the New Republic light capital ships broke and spun to avoid the bolts.  Their evasions were not completely successful – all three of the small craft were hit before they reached their maximum effective range.  But then again, all three did survive long enough to open fire…

Blue lightning arced out from the little blastboats and slammed into the corvette’s deflector shields.  The ion blasts did their work all too well; Defiance shook with the impact, and the lights dimmed momentarily before the engineering crew could reinforce the shields and redistribute power.

“Hold your fire!” a voice rang out above the din.  What is Trick thinking? Artur wondered, before he realized with mounting unease that Trykon wasn’t the one who gave the order.

“Who do you think you are, Lieutenant?” Artur demanded of the spook, his voice dripping with malice.  “Zark, shoot ‘em!”

“Belay that order, Mr. Zark,” Trykon said then, and Artur turned to face him.  Trick’s features were twisted into a scowl of disapproval.

“But sir, they’re coming back!”

Trykon's jaw muscles worked as he ground his teeth.  “Mr. Grey?” he asked.

“Not yet,” the lieutenant said, shaking his head.

“Take evasive action, and dump power from weapons into the shields," Trykon said.

“We’re running?!” Artur asked, unable to keep the incredulity from his voice.

“Set course back to the shipyards,” Trykon confirmed.

Artur searched his friend’s eyes for a moment.  It’s still Trick, he thought, only he’s hiding something.  Trying desperately to ignore the doubts roiling in his stomach, Artur Phylas bit his lip, and turned to coordinate his ship’s withdrawal from the front line.  As the second volley hit the Defiance’s aft shields, he reminded himself that he trusted Wyl Trykon with his life.  When the third hit, and Trykon again consulted with the spook before again deciding not to return fire, Artur Phylas wondered whether or not that trust – and indeed, his crew – would survive the coming battle.

OOC:

637 words.
AAR: Defiance engages a group of NR Skipray Blastboats, but when the VENI agent on the bridge indicates that "Black Group" is in the process of obtaining numbered "Keys," captain Trykon turns the ship around and retreats under fire, confusing and frustrating his XO, Artur Phylas.

The chaos of battle was all around.  Imperial craft large and small traded fire, a confused spectacle of destruction that only a genius could hope to take in and understand.  The vast capital ships of both sides drifted among the carnage, made to look like they were standing still by the tiny fighter craft that darted between them.  The black of space, its dark punctuated by laser fire, seemed anything but peaceful.

In the heart of the trouble, Trou Belin of Deathriders Squadron swung his TIE Interceptor from side to side, dodging shots of green energy.  He was irked by the fact that his pursuer was in a starfighter identical to his own.  Normally, Interceptor pilots enjoyed a speed and manoeuvrability advantages in a dogfight, but not today.

Going up against the Imperial Remnant was strange for all the pilots of Deathriders Squadron.  Both sides knew each other’s fighters and tactics, but for Belin that was fine.  It just meant that the will to win was all that separated them, and in that realm, the Vast Empire could not possibly lose!

Having already lost his wingman, Belin was finding it hard to shake his pursuer.  He twisted and rolled his fighter, shooting past one of the Victory Star Destroyers of the Imperial Remnant fleet and dancing between its turbolaser fire.  He lost sight of his attacker for just a moment, and used that time to pull his Interceptor sharply onto a new course.  He had hoped to shake the persistent pilot, but no such luck.  Belin checked over his shoulder and saw the other Interceptor right back on his tail in moments.

The Deathrider kept going, angling back towards his own forces, hoping to shake the guy among friendly fire.  However, too late he realised that his foe was a step ahead.  Belin had lost his wingman, but had made the rookie mistake of not noticing his attacker’s lack of a wingman.  Suddenly the other Imperial Remnant Interceptor swept in from his aft, firing with deadly accuracy.  Belin had not been evading his pursuer, he had merely been herded by him into a trap!

Yes, thought Belin, the will to win was very important.  However, sometimes numbers had a say in a battle too.

-----

At the communications post of the Vast Empire’s Halcyon Warrior, Petty Officer 2nd Class Pherik Zail heard the words of Belin over the starfighter channel.  Zail recognised him immediately as one of the Deathriders squadron, one of the Warrior’s TIE contingent, and a group recently devastated in an ambush due to a communications leak.  Zail still felt bad about the incident, thinking he could have prevented it, though his superior, Chief Communications Officer Jash Warnock, told him otherwise.  So it was that when Belin’s words came through hopeful instead of with a death cry, Zail instantly took note.

“This is Deathriders 12!” Came the male voice, tense but calm.  “I am being attacked two-on-one!  Taking hits!  Am attempting to eject!  Ejecting now...” And then the transmission cut off.  Clearly the TIE Interceptor had been destroyed, but had the occupant escaped in time?

Pherik Zail wasted no time in aggressively checking the communications traffic for a distress transponder.  If the pilot had ejected, he would be floating in space and the transponder would be transmitting his location for a Search and Rescue team.

Nothing.  Zail frowned, and checked again.  No, there were no active distress signals on any of the Halcyon Warrior’s fighter channels.

The Alderaanian sighed, suddenly feeling the weight of his role, and the battle in general, descend on him.  Another life extinguished, he thought.  Wearily, trying to force back the tide of emotion as he had been trained, he got back to his other tasks.

-----

Belin floated in space, a lone speck amid the titanic clash of mighty fleets dedicated to mutual destruction.  He had barely managed to eject in time before his ship blew, but the blast had done its damage.  The Deathriders pilot checked his life support equipment, and saw it was clearly compromised.  Worse, his emergency transponder had also been hit, and a check of it made his heart sink.  Holding the small and damaged box in his hands, the pilot opened it and studied with mess of wiring inside.

Several key systems were blackened and burnt out, causing the transponder to lose its positioning systems, as well as the security codes for the Halcyon Warrior’s emergency com line.  Still, as Belin investigated, he saw that the small communication device was still functioning on a basic level.  It could still send signals, but simply had nothing to send.

The pilot wondered just what he could do.  If he had a datapad to hand he could easily wire it to the transmitter, but he had nothing like that.  He frowned, pondering his next move.  With nothing but time on his hands, he began to think.  With no data, wondered Belin eventually, what exactly would the transponder transmit if he activated it?

His TIE pilot helmet still had its internal microphone and headset, though of course now lacked the fighter they needed in close proximity to make use of.  Carefully, Belin located the wiring for the helmet communications, pulling it free, and wondered if he could connect it to the transponder.  Twisting off its casing to expose the insides, he recalled his school electronics classes and began to attach the headset to the (he hoped relevant) wires inside the device.

The transponder’s limited communication equipment could not interpret and broadcast his voice, so the microphone element of Belin’s helmet gear was useless.  However, the earpieces could help him hear what the emergency device was broadcasting when he turned it on.

He heard a long, single tone, and smiled.  Carefully, he unplugged one of the transponder’s internal wires and heard the tone cease.  Tapping the wire back to its connector momentarily caused the tone to resume, until he removed it again.  Belin could now tap out a simple on/off pulse and broadcast it.  However, with the transponder’s security codes lost, it would have to be a general signal aimed at the Halcyon Warrior.  Whatever he was going to do, it would not show up as a military priority.  He just preyed that whoever was at the communications post on the bridge would hear his beeps amid the din of battle.

Slowly, carefully, Belin began to tap out his distress signal.

-----

Zail continued to listen to the noise of battle, occasionally relaying orders from nearby vessels to First Officer Ongol.  Slowly, he grew aware of a background beep amid the com traffic.  It was more annoying than anything, but once his conscious mind had noticed it he was unable to ignore it.

“What is that beeping?” He asked the Com Chief at his side.

Jash Warnock shrugged.  “Just a broken transponder, Mr Zail.  It’s not even on a military channel.  Ignore it and focus on your duties.”

Zail nodded, and kept up his work of relaying orders, but still he could not put the noise completely out of his mind.  Eventually he found himself counting the beeps.  They seemed to be in clusters, with long pauses between them.  2 beeps, then a pause, then 5 and a pause.  12,9,14, then a long pause, then 8,5,12,16, and another long pause.  And then the sequence started again.

Curious, Zail was suddenly reminded of the primitive flash codes he had studied at the academy.  Making sure that Chief Warnock did not notice, he carefully typed out the Aurebesh alphabet on his datapad, and numbered all thirty four letters.  Quickly, he began to transcribe the noise...

BELIN.  HELP.

Belin?  What did that mean?  Suddenly hitting on another idea, he brought up a list of Halcyon pilots, fully accepting that, aside from a few members of Nightshrike Squadron he had helped in a mess hall fight, he did not know all the TIE pilots on board.

There!  Trou Belin, one of Deathriders Squadron, and one listed as shot down and currently MIA!  Moving quickly, he called over a young Crewman.  “Here, take this to the sensor officer!”  Declared Zail, shoving a datapad into the young man’s hands.  When the Crewman did not immediately move, Zail snapped, “NOW!”

The younger man hurried off, and Zail saw him swiftly arrive at the correct part of the bridge.  The orders on the pad were simple, to track the source of the beeping signal and correctly ascertain Belin’s position.  As soon as the Crewman had returned to Zail confirming that that was done, he promptly activated the ship’s internal com and spoke directly to the hangar bay.

-----

At first Belin thought he was imagining it, but as time went on he grew more sure.  The damage to his life support system was even more serious than he had at first thought, and he was slowly running out of oxygen.  The recycling system was failing, and he was starting to suffocate.

Soon the TIE pilot was experiencing laboured breathing, and was finding it hard to think.  Still, though, he kept tapping out his signal, struggling to keep the count of what he was doing, but slowly Belin realised that he was making mistakes.  Too many and it would not matter who was listening, his gibberish would be unintelligible.

As his eyes struggled to focus on the battle still raging all around, he was dimly aware of one vessel drawing closer.  At first he could not fathom it.  Too large for a starfighter, it was still nothing close to a capital ship.  A transport?  With Vast Empire markings?  Could it be...?

-----

Back on the Halcyon Warrior, Zail heard the report from the Search and Rescue ship.

“Halcyon Warrior, this is S&R 3.  We got him!” Said the officer in charge of the rescue.  “Confirmed, Belin is injured but alive.  And he wants to buy a drink for the guy at the Com Station who saved him!”

Pherik Zail allowed himself a smile as he replied.  “Tell him I look forward to it.  Halcyon out,” And so saying, he turned to the Com Officer sat at his side, who had heard the whole thing.

Chief Warnock just looked back, and nodded once in acknowledgement before returning to work.

Zail accepted the silent praise and got back to his duties as well.  However, he now took to his work with renewed vigour and determination.  He now knew that even amid all this death and destruction, there was still hope, there was still a chance for a small Junior Bridge Officer like him to do some good.

He vowed that he would not forget that.

OOC:

1770 words. This completes my little “Wreck Deathriders Squadron” duology. My next post will feature the demise of an enemy ship, I swear it!  And yes, I am terrible at making up names.  Trou Belin is just a lazy anagram of ‘in trouble’.

After Action Report: One of Deathriders Squadron ejected as he was shot down, and left adrift in space.  He managed to send a message to the Halcyon Warrior which my character noticed, and enabled Serpent to have the pilot rescued.

Slasher looked around the bridge of the Fearless as the mighty warship prepared to leave the drydock which had held her while she was repaired from the damage she had sustained during the Coveway engagement. "Mr. Cevdis, signal all ships of the Task Force to form up on us and begin to move on a course toward the outer edge of the New Republic Fleet. Once you have completed that please accompany me to the War Room, Chief Warrant Officer Helin, you have the bridge." As Slasher turns and heads toward the War Room, the location just aft of the bridge on the Flagship where he commands the whole of Task Force Besh, he looks longingly over his shoulder at the command chair, where Acorn now sat, confidently giving orders to the bridge crew. It had been a little difficult deciding on who to make his new executive officer when Nuee'lan had died at Coveway, partly because he didn't want to let anyone else fight his ship, but he had been lucky enough to see a transfer request had been put in my Akate Helin, his former Helmsman from the LCR Onyx, she had been promoted to be the XO of a Corvette in one of the quieter sectors, which had not sat well with her, and so she had put in for a transfer to a Corvette that was closer to the front. She had been surprised to find that instead she had come aboard the Fearless, been promoted, and was now XO, but when she saw who was the commanding officer, she was not in the least bit surprised.

You know, pretty soon and she is gonna be ready for a command of her own, he muses, listening as she carries out the orders he had issued to the task force, taking them into battle.

His thoughts quickly came back to the battle at hand and he began to look over the holographic representation of the battlefield before him.

The Defiance and the Reaper are moving well, but the Burnish and the Amaranth are a little slow out of the starting block

Hearing Master Chief Petty Officer Cevdis entering the War Room and moving to the communications console behind him he quickly begins to issue orders.

"Have the Defiance and Reaper move in closer to the New Republic fleet, I want them in the front of the formation to open a hole for us as we come through,"

"Aye Commander."

"Also, inform the captains of the Burnish and the Amaranth that if they don't hurry up and get over here we'll help them with their obviously malfunctioning engines courtesy of one of our Tractor Beams."

"Aye sir," Cevdis relays this message, and then reports, "The captains say that they will be fine without the help, they were just a little slow getting into position, but they are keeping up well enough now."

"Very good, have you sent the message to the McElroy?"

"Yes Commander, they have acknowledged receipt of the message and are on their way here."

OOC:

509 Words, Alright Beshies, all the ships have your orders, let's see some action.

The sound of a stifled cough broke through the heavy silence, causing all the organics seated around a large table to look up nervously. Despite the smoke that lingered in the air, each of the five specimens still somehow managed to achieve eye contact with one another. They knew better than to think this would be enough to give them an edge but they did it all the same, being driven by only instinct and experience.

"So I hear some of your boys caused a bit of a ruckus in the mess hall the other day", one of the seated individuals stated matter-of-factly. Upon hearing this Seth Qorbin looked up, knowing he was the one that reply was addressed to. "Oh?" the Warrant Officer replied, feigning ignorance in the same matter-of-factly tone. He too of course heard the rumors and more importantly received an official memo regarding the incident. The man however had absolutely no intention whatsoever to let that affect him in any way - not now nor later either. He planned on dealing with the individuals involved eventually but for the time being the Onderonian was more than happy to just relax and enjoy his well deserved downtime.

"You're seriously not concerned about this?" the human female seated in front and a bit to his right interrupted. Seth turned to look at her and just stared in her eyes for a few seconds before calmly answering with a casual "Not really, no." He questioned her interest in the matter and wondered if by chance she knew something he didn't or on the contrary wanted to know something that maybe he knew in regards to it. He was still slightly curious about it when the woman parted her lips to speak yet again - "You're terrible, you know that?" Although she said that her face was actually smiling and the tone she used also happened to be playful as well.

"So they keep telling me..." The Master Chief smiled back and placed the five cards he'd been holding on the table, all of them face down. The man to his right and the woman from before followed his example within the next minute. It was now time to reveal those cards and see just which of the five individuals would win, and most importantly what exactly would they stand to win as well...

"Here goes", the current round's dealer announced as he slowly began flipping over his own cards. The man was Myrc Tua'th, a Petty Officer serving as a technician aboard the Warrior. He also happened to be the host of the day's games, graciously allowing the other players to make use of his quarters that would afterward no doubt require quite a bit of cleaning up and re-ventilating.

"Eight of Coins, Nine of Sabres, the Mistress of Coins, an Idiot and... the Balance card. That's 19."

The five exchanged looks once more making sure their faces did not betray any emotions. Then the players enjoyed their cigs and booze for about another minute before the next individual reached for his discarded cards. This time it was a Warrant Officer, a Trandoshan named Haq'kua Brosj. He was also the only alien at the table that could usually be seen serving as a security guard stationed near the hangars. The humanoid reptile squeezed the cards together and flipped them over all at the same time revealing a Six of Staves, Eleven of Flasks, a Master of Staves, a Balance card and an Evil card as well. Quickly adding the values together revealed that the fearsome looking creature had alas only managed to get a sum of 5. Everyone knew that he had already lost that game no matter what the remaining three fellows would reveal.

"Guess that's my turn then, huh?" the blond human began as his fingers were already gripping the first card, turning it over and revealing its value - a lowly Three of Coins. Slowly Seth reached for the second and then the third cards, turning them over as well revealing another Eight of Staves and an Evil One. More than halfway through and things weren't looking too good for the Onderonian. Even so the fellow still kept a straight face, knowing that win or lose at least he'll be able to maintain an air of superiority and indifference afterward. Thus in a relaxed manner the squadron commander revealed his second to last card, a Queen. The other players were just finishing calculating the current sum - a puny minus six. They knew they were safe so long as that final card would be anything save a high face card.

"Quit stalling already, will you?" the man seated next to Seth spoke, a hint of anxiousness identifiable in his voice. The Onderonian smiled as he ever so slowly reached for that final card, picked it up, raised it in the air for a bit and then casually let go of, allowing it to drop face up above the other discarded cards. The sound of that card falling down felt like going on forever as the whole room was now silent. Except for Seth Qorbin who was now sporting a wide grin on his face, everyone else just kept on staring at the revealed Star, a card equaling a dazzling minus seventeen all by itself.

"Unless I'm mistaken gents... and lady, that's a minus twenty three, isn't it?" the Warrant Officer finally asked wishing to both end the silence and rub it in for everyone else as well. His victory wasn't yet assured of course as there were still two more hands to be played for the round to end but the chances of him emerging victorious were quite high indeed. He knew it and everyone else knew it as well. Myrc smiled defeated, the Trandoshan glared menacingly, the anxious fellow from before looked dumbfounded and the woman alone managed to maintain a professional sabacc face.

"Ensign, I believe it's your turn now" Seth encouraged the anxious fellow from before. The man's name was Follnor Xemo and he happened to be the only officer at the table, not that rank had any bearing on the game of course. As a matter of fact it was a fairly rare occurrence for officers to play sabacc or generally spend time with enlisted personnel. Most were either too stuck up to begin with or otherwise preferred spending their time with other officers. Especially when it came down to such clandestine activities...

Follnor scoffed as he heard Nightshrike's CO bait him and thus turning the tables on him. The man knew the Onderonian was no doubt enjoying the situation and he really wished to get back at him somehow but alas knew there wasn't really anything he could do at that time. Trying to save as much dignity as he still could the Ensign quickly turned his cards upward, one at a time. From left to right they were: Eight of Flasks, Four of Flasks, Five of Staves, Seven of Coins and finally a Queen. The Trandoshan was the first to react to the sum of twenty two, loudly bringing down his fist on the table, causing some credit chips to fall down on the floor. Everyone turned to face him but the giant lizard just turned his head as he uttered some native mumbo-jumbo. From the tone of his voice however it wasn't that hard to guess what he was saying though.

"I for one agree with him", Myrc tried to joke in order to deal with the tense atmosphere. First a pure sabacc hand and now another one just short of trumping it. It wasn't that uncommon but it definitely wasn't too frequent either. A good thing too as such occurrences could really ruin people's nerves...

"This turned out to be a great round - a fitting end to a good game too."

The voice belonged to Erinn Novar, a Senior Chief serving as the executive officer of a different squadron. It wasn't the first time Seth and her played at the same table, though the Warrant Officer happened to be the one doing most of the winning in the past. The Onderonian liked the woman's style both as she played sabacc and as she flew in missions as well. The latter Seth could determine during some joint missions Nightshrike ended up performing with its sister squadron.

"Before i reveal my hand... care for a little wager Qorbin?" she asked seemingly out of the blue. Rather intrigued Seth brought his hands beneath his chin, making a long "oh?" sound in the process. "If you win I'll end up owing you a favor which you can collect whenever it suits you..."

The Onderonian's eyes narrowed as he began thinking about the strange offer. "And if you happen to beat my hand then I'll end up owing you in exchange?" Erinn smiled as she nodded yes. Seth continued looking the woman in the eyes for almost two full minutes before finally agreeing to those terms. The chances of her having a better hand were very slim so from this point of view the former smuggler wasn't too concerned. The fact that she nevertheless proposed such a deal made him wonder about those odds though. In the end he agreed thinking that either he would indeed win and would then be able to collect on a free favor at some point in time... or he would lose and end up finding out just what exactly the Senior Chief had in mind. Hardly as great an outcome as the former but equally intriguing nevertheless.

"Excellent. Then here goes", the woman started as she turned over her first card revealing a One of Sabres. "As you know the only way to beat a minus twenty three" she continued as she revealed her second card - the Idiot. "Is by either managing a plus twenty three" she continued speaking as she turned over her third card, a Two of Flasks. "Or by achieving an Idiot's Array" she said as she turned over a Commander of Coins. "So the question now is - do I have that? Is this next card going to be a Three of Flasks?"

The Onderonian knew she was just messing with him and even though his exterior didn't show it, inside he was definitely becoming more and more agitated. She's good, he thought as he just stood there waiting for that final card to be revealed. Win or lose he had to give Erinn credit for a job well done creating a suspenseful finale.

"And the answer is..." Erinn began as she slowly reached for the final card. "Not!" she finished abruptly as she turned it over revealing just an ordinary Eight of Coins.

"Well guess that settles it then. The hand pot... The sabacc pot... And that favor you'll owe me as well... All of it mine, huh?" As Seth reached over the table to collect all the credit chips Erinn faked a cough that caused the Warrant Officer to pause briefly and look in her direction, making sure she wasn't trying to discretely - or not so discretely - signal him.

"You didn't count them, did you Qorbin?" Erinn grinned as she asked that in an arrogant and superior tone. It took the squadron commander a couple of seconds to realize she was talking about her own cards. Indeed he didn't bother adding up the values as the woman made it seem that she was playing for an Idiot's Array, a formation that never came after all. Taking another look at the Senior Chief's cards caused Seth's shoulders to drop even as he was still leaning across the table.

"You're kidding me" he stated - more to himself than to anyone else. Although Erinn didn't manage an Idiot's Array she did somehow manage a pure sabacc hand. A hand summing up to a positive value of twenty three. She was the winner of the game. She knew it all along and that's why she decided to play with him earlier. Still, the Warrant Officer couldn't help but admire how well she hid this and how well she revealed it as well. As the other players realized what just happened and began congratulating the new winner and otherwise just muttering things like "unbelievable", "incredible", "beautiful" and so... well Seth just continued staring in the woman's eyes.

"Nicely done", the man finally said as he dropped back into his seat, no longer having a valid claim to the winnings. "You mentioned a favor earlier... What is it?"

"You're taking it better than expected Qorbin, I'm impressed. As for the favor, I was thinking about..." Just as she was about to reveal it alarms started howling across the ship cutting her off.

"Seems I'll have to hear about it later after all", Seth said as he stood up and made for the door, the others following close behind. Saved by the hand of fate... and these monstrous alarms.

Petty Officer 1st Class Tosth “Fishhead” Aaaiser was waiting on the bridge of the CR90 Corvette Defiance with one other non-human. It was an odd sight to see members of these two species, Mon Calamari and Kaminoan, among an Imperial Naval vessel, for reasons known to most. Of course, the Imperial Remnant was more relaxed about non-humans than Palpatine’s Empire was, though not to the extent of blind trust. The Mon Calamari was a Vast Empire Naval officer. The Kaminoan, though, was an unknown element. Everyone but Tosth had reason to distrust this member of an untrustworthy race.

Tosth and this Kaminoan, who was called Atama So, had narrowly escaped with their lives on two occasions. One was an assassination attempt and the other had just happened. Two enemy fleets arrived soon after they had arrived at the Belgaroth Shipyards. They were safe for the moment.

“Petty Officer Aaaiser,” said his Executive Officer, Artur Phylas. “So you survived. And you’ve come back. I was sure you would default.” The look he gave Tosth was of utter disgust. It was obvious that Phylas despised the amphibian.

Phylas then looked at Tosth’s companion, the Kaminoan. “So you’ve brought more…  Whatever you want to call yourselves. You are to report to Petty Offficer Gibbs. Now. And take that Kaminoan with you.”

Without another word, Phylas turned around to return to conversing about the impending battle with the Naval Intelligence Officers aboard the Defiance and its Commanding Officer, Warrant Officer Wyl Trykon.
--------------------------------------------------
The amphibian still could not believe how much his XO hated him. It seemed amplified now. Looks like I’ll just have to get used to this kriffing treatment. He pushed his angry thoughts out of his head and decided to begin talking to Atama.

“We’d better get going, Atama.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll follow your lead.”

“Alright.” He left the bridge, with Atama close behind. “So. Sorry about that guy, Atama. I don’t know what his problem is with me or even you, now.”

“If I may be so bold, sir. We are both of species that never supported the Empire in any way whatsoever. That may be where his problem may lie.”

“That must be it, Atama. Your insight is always amazing. Glad you’re here with me now.”
---------------------------------
“Ah… Mr. Aaaiser. You’re back. And you have a…”

“A friend and a new medical officer,” the Mon Calamari finished. “Atama So.”

“Ah. Welcome, Mr. So,” said Petty Officer 1st Class Docker Gibbs. “Petty Officer Aaaiser, I need to go over battle protocol. Mr. So, you may as well listen in. You’re one of us now. But before I begin, I believe introductions are in order. Tosth, you know everyone here. Mr. So, I am the ship’s head medic. My specialty is psychology. Tosth here works with insectoids and surgery of all species.”

Atama began by saying, “Thank you, Mr. Gibbs.” He looked around and continued. “My entire family are doctors. Well, they were doctors. Until they died or were murdered. But I am quite knowledgeable in every aspect of the medical field. I will need some time to adjust to new equipment and the new environment.”

“Understandable, Mr. So. So… To business. Protocol for these situations. From what I’ve heard, we’re way in over our heads, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” both Tosth and Atama said together.

“Alright. We are always on call for any situation that hints at danger… Explosions. Hull breach. Anything. With that said, I’m going to continue training you, Tosth. It’s lacking right now. “

“Understood, sir.”

At that moment, one of the Naval Intelligence officers from the bridge walked into the sickbay.

OOC:

604 words.

Commander Tressan Foix, captain of the Lancer – Class Frigate Mikasa, stared impassively at the map of the battle unfolding before him.  His white hair and lined face made him look far older than his age of thirty five, but it gave his visage the gravitas appropriate for the CO of a warship of the Empire.

“Come around twenty degrees and hold position,” He ordered calmly, his large and obviously cybernetic eyes swivelling in their sockets and glowing a baleful red.  Foix had been blinded in battle years before, and even with the mechanical optics installed he was no longer fit to pilot a TIE fighter anymore.  However, he had made good use of his knowledge of starfighter tactics aboard the Mikasa, such as in battles like this when he was assigned to anti-fighter duty.

An ensign nearby confirmed completion of the order, and Foix pondered his next move.  The battle at Belgaroth was not going as planned, for the presence of the New Republic deeply complicated the simple (but, he did not delude himself, not necessarily easy) battle with the so-called Vast Empire.

Foix scowled at that thought.  He despised the Vast Empire, as he despised any other warlord faction that dared to pull the true Empire apart.  The Republic, composed of rebels and terrorists though it was, at least had loyal people in its ranks (misplaced though that loyalty was).  Breakaway groups like the Vast Empire only existed because former Imperials had broken their oaths and betrayed the Emperor’s memory.  Foix would see them slaughtered for their treachery.

“Incoming fighters, captain!” Said a lieutenant nearby.

Foix nodded.  “Ready quad-laser batteries!” He commanded firmly.  Admiral Frinleigh had given the Mikasa strict orders to prevent enemy TIEs penetrating deep into the Imperial fleet, and the Commander vowed to achieve that goal.

-----

Petty Officer 2nd Class Pherik Zail was starting to feel the stress, as the battle rolled on with no end in sight.  He focused on his job at the Comm Station of the Imperial II Star Destroyer Halcyon Warrior, a vessel that was in the heart of Taskforce Aurek’s battle with the Imperial Remnant Fleet.  As such, his ears rang with communications traffic, the good and the bad.  Mostly it was bad, such as the trouble Captain Bacredi was having with his ship, the Dreadnaught Monarch, but there was lighter talk too, such as the banter of Nightshrike Squadron (talking about a stash of liquor for some reason).

To listen to a battle was an odd experience, almost like listening to a holodrama but not actually being able to see it.  Zail followed events as best he was able, but could not get an overall idea of how the battle was unfolding.  Such was the job of people higher in the command chain, a position he desperately aspired to be in one day.  But not today.

As he sat in the crew pit and continued his coordinating efforts, Zail glanced up at the command walkway and saw the man currently in charge of the Halcyon Warrior, Fist Officer Lance Ongol.  The Executive Officer watched the battle unfold, witnessing the conflict in all its brutal glory, for the viewport of the Star Destroyer offered Ongol a spectacular vantage point.  Eventually the XO turned and walked the length of the walkway over to the sensor station.  Conversing with the officer there for a few moments, Ongol strode quickly to the comm station, looming over the crew in the pit below.

“Chief Warnock, Mr Zail,” Said Ongol firmly, addressing both Zail and his Comm Officer superior.  “As you know, we are trying to punch through the enemy line and hit the Remnant’s Imp Star Deuce Prognosticator.  However, the enemy are using a Lancer – Class Frigate called the Mikasa to screen our starfighters and prevent them making a run on the ISD.  The rest of Taskforce Aurek are occupied, so call on some of the ships from the Belgaroth shipyards to deal with the Mikasa.  Tell them we are assuming control of their TIE Fighter Squadron Goldfang and the Guardian - Class Light Cruiser Watcheye.”

Zail and Warnock understood, and instantly got to work.

No sooner had Warncok spoken to Belgaroth Shipyard Control, than Zail had gotten through to speak to the Watcheye.  Close by, Ongol barked out some orders for the Light Cruiser, and the Junior Bridge Officer began dutifully repeating them.

-----

Lieutenant Commander Sverich, captain of the Watcheye, took the communication himself.

“Understood, Halcyon Warrior,” He said firmly, his crisp Anaxi accent seemingly born for military use.  “We shall proceed to engage the Mikasa immediately.”

“The Goldfang TIE Squadron will meet you in two minutes, sir,” Elaborated Zail at the other end.  “Coordinate your efforts, and eliminate the target.  Halcyon Warrior out.”

Sverich turned to survey the viewport of his ship.  The battle raged before his eyes, and he was glad to finally have clear orders as to what he had to engage.  However, the lieutenant at his side, a female Zabrak who served as his first officer, looked less delighted.

“How do we do this, captain?” She asked.  “The Mikasa is over five times our size, and we are being assisted by regular TIEs, not even Interceptors.  They expect too much.”

Sverich winced.  “True,” He admitted.  “But a Lancer is armed only with quad-lasers, not really designed to deal with larger craft such as ourselves.”

“They still outgun us,” Continued the lieutenant, well aware of a Guardian’s mere four laser cannons to their foe’s ten.

Commander Sverich nodded, accepting her grave worries but determined to get the job done regardless.  “Get me the leader of the Goldfangs, I need to speak with them before we reach the target.”

-----

At his comm post on the Halcyon Warrior, Zail listened in as the plan to hit the Mikasa was discussed between Commander Sverich and the Squadron Leader of the TIEs sent to assist him.  Up until now, the Alderaanian’s knowledge of strategy and tactics had been confined to historical readings and academy war games.  Now the Junior Bridge Officer was getting an education in real fleet warfare.  Were the situation not so deadly he would have considered it fascinating.

-----

The attack began mere moments later.  The Watcheye and the Goldfangs hurtled through the deadly chaos of the three-way battle that dominated space around the Belgaroth shipyards.  The Imperial Remnant fleet was engaged on one flank with the New Republic fleet, and with the Vast Empire fleet on the other, and had deployed a Lancer – Class Frigate to each side.  The Mikasa guarded its flank like a wolf guarding its cubs, lying in wait for the attackers.

The Goldfangs went in first.  The TIEs swooped in on the Mikasa, dodging and rolling in the face of its hail of quad laser fire.  The full strength squadron, twelve fighters in all, struck as three Flights of four, focusing their fire on key areas of the frigate.

From the bridge of the Watcheye, Lieutenant Commander Sverich watched.  At his side, his Zabrak first officer observed, “The shielding on that ship is heavy, the TIEs will never get through.”

“They aren’t meant to,” He told her.  “Comm Officer, send the signal to the Goldfangs.  Gunnery crews, prepare to fire!”

At the given signal, the TIEs broke their formations, swarming the Mikasa in pairs rather than flights.  After a few moments of their uncoordinated offensive, the TIEs broke their pairs and reformed with other wingmates, and continued the attack.

The crew of the Mikasa responded exactly as expected, firing in vain at the constantly shifting TIE formations, trying to discern some pattern or tactics to an attack that had none.  And while they were busy, the Watcheye swung into position and targeted the other ship.

“Fire!” Ordered Sverich.

The four laser cannons of the Watcheye were far better equipped to damage a capital ship than the weapons of the TIEs, and the Mikasa rocked under the barrage.  Still, the Lancer was a much more powerful vessel, and it would take a lot of hammering before its shields fell.

“Now,” Mused Sverich.  “Will they keep firing at the TIEs and give us the time we need to bring them down, or will they turn their guns on us?”

-----

On the bridge of the Mikasa, Commander Foix watched the offensive unfold.  The attack was simple enough, but he had to congratulate the enemy on their timing.  Those TIEs were breaking and reforming extremely smoothly, and he reviewed upwards his opinion of the Vast Empire Navy.

When the Guardian - Class Cruiser arrived and began firing, he realised at once what they were up to.

“Sir, gunnery crews requesting target priority,” Said an Ensign.

Foix smiled.  He knew exactly how to deal with this...

OOC:

1462 words. This is part one of a trilogy of posts where I deal with the Mikasa. The rest will follow when I get a chance.  As ever any comments welcome.  And as for the name, I got it from the real-life Mikasa, now a museum ship which I visited on a trip to Yokosuka last week.

After Action Report: The Imperial Remnant is using a Lancer – Class Frigate called the Mikasa to ward off starfighter attacks.  Serpent is now liaising with the TIE Fighter Squadron Goldfang and the Guardian - Class Light Cruiser Watcheye and directing them against the Mikasa.

~~~Aboard the troop transport the Esaro~~~

Arthur was half of the way to his ship when the first wave of fighters made it to him.  He was paged to the cockpit of the Esaro.

“Sir, our escort is requesting permission to brake off and engage.”  The pilot Master Chief Petty Officer Aitak said.

“How far are we from the Reaper?” Arthur asked.

“We are about half way there sir.” Aitak responded.

“Patch me through to the leader.” Arthur ordered.

“Roger that sir, its live now.”  The co-pilot Chief Petty Officer Onnec said.

“You have permission to engage them, just keep an eye on us.” Arthur told her.

“Yes sir we’ll do that,” Senior Chief Petty Officer Asy said, and switched over to her flight.  “All fighters engage, but stay close to the transport.”

“Right sir breaking off to remove this threat.” the flight responded.

~~~Belgaroth station Beta Flight~~~

As soon as they received the go ahead to engage the X-wings they broke off and hunted down the ones around the transport.  Asy was still holding her position just behind the transport when an X-Wing moved in from its port side and began to fire at the Esaro, she quickly broke off to begin the dog fight.

The X-wing pilot quickly preformed a Break Turn when it was sure it had the attention of the Interceptor.  Asy was quickly on its aft and  was waiting for the lock and had it for a brief second before the X-Wing made a Barrel Roll to its starboard side, and forced it to slow quickly to get behind the Interceptor.  Once it was giving chase it opened fire on the flight lead.  The first barrage had only a few bolts that made contact with the shields.

The X-Wings second barrage slammed against the shields and dropped them down to 58%.  Asy quickly made a Barrel Roll and slammed it into a Break Turn which the X-Wing pilot was not expecting and overshot the Interceptor, allowing her to get behind it and fire a missile, with a barrage escort.  The missile made contact with the shields and about half of the bolts hit the shields dropping them but not removing them.  The second barrage from the Interceptor was cut short by the X-Wing pilot making a Split-S maneuver.

The maneuver was successful until a missile came flying out of the interceptor and collided with the engines and completely disabling them.  Now that the fighter was out of the fight the Flight lead formed back up on the Esaro, and was joined by the rest of the flight who either had a successful kill or watched another flight or even squad take the one they were after.

~~~Aboard the Reaper~~~

After Ariyn was informed on who side the two Interceptors, and the Kaminoan KE-8 Enforcer were they allowed them to pass and waited for contact.  The first wave of X-Wings made it to them.  Ariyn gave the order to fire and watched as a few of the crafts failed their maneuvers and were destroyed, while the others flew passed to fight the fleet on the other side of her.

Ariyn gave the order to prepare to form up on the Fearless when it was close enough.  I don’t want anyone to think I’m running for the safety of the fleet, and besides if I give the order we will leave Arthur exposed.  If I don’t give the order I will be disobeying a direct order. What am I suppose to do?  Lets see if I send the Reaper to pick up Arthur and then head to the Fearless that might be ok, here goes nothing.

“We are going to make our way to Arthur and then we will form up on the Fearless as was ordered.”  Ariyn told the crew.

“Yes right away XO.”  Harald Hissack said.

~~~Aboard the troop transport the Esaro~~~

“Sir the Reaper is turning to us and says they will pick us up on route to the Fearless.”  Aitak told him.

“Right I’ll tell the marines to brace for an on the move land.”  Arthur said as he walked towards the back.

Arthur told the marines and they all strapped into their seats a few moments later the Reaper was in range and the tricky landing maneuver began.  The transport began to slow and rotate to land inside the hanger.  They were waiting for the docking clamp to latch on when they received word that it was not responding and they had to seal the door for them to hover above it and drop Jason Womack off to fix it.

~~~Aboard the Reaper (Hanger) ~~~

Jason Womack quickly got off the transport and ran to the control panel to repair the clamp.  He removed the cover and began to carefully move the wires aside and found the problem was a wire shortage that would have started a fire if he did not find it.  He quickly spliced a replacement wire to it and the clamp was soon moving to lock the shuttle into place.

When the shuttle was successfully attached Jason Womack ran back to the shuttle and it was brought up to its landing level everyone disembarked the craft and ran to their respective posts.  Jason went to the engineering room, the marines went to the armory, and Arthur had the farthest to run to get to the bridge.

~~~ Reaper (Bridge) ~~~

Arthur made his way to the bridge with little trouble he found his command post was still empty with Ariyn giving orders from her post.  I though I told her to use the captains post to give orders?  Oh well I got a battle to join.

“What is the status of the ship?”  Arthur asked.

“Shields are at max, so are the weapons.  Right now the engines are operate ring at 87% normal capacity with Jason back on-board we should be back up to full in a short while.  We are currently moving to form up with the Fearless as was ordered sir.” Ariyn told him.

“Ok I want us to be on the Fearless port-side right out in the lead patch me through to the fighters that gave us an escort out here.”  Arthur ordered.

“The com is live sir.” Jaeron said.

“You are going to follow us to the Fearless engage any bombers on the way if you need some assistants with removing some X-Wings tell my gunners they will help.”  Arthur order Asy.

“Yes sir forming up on you now.”  She said.

OOC:

1087 words

A full standard minute elapsed before the trio of New Republic blastboats gave up their pursuit of the Defiance; the corvette had been entirely defensive during the chase, but her retreat course eventually brought her into the protective embrace of her allies’ overlapping fields of fire, and the rebel craft were forced to veer away and seek more isolated targets in the face of the massed firepower of the Vast Empire’s Second Fleet.

But even as the Sensors Officer reported the enemies were moving off, the Defiance’s Executive Officer - Artur Phylas - grimaced.  “You have something to say, Artful?” Captain Trykon asked.  Although his friend’s tone was playful, his expression was stern, and his green eyes flashed with disappointment.

“What are you doing, Trick,” Artur whispered.  “We could have taken on three blastboats without turning tail.”

Trykon was nodding.  “Yes, we could have, Art, but that wasn’t what I ordered,” he said.

“The damn Intel guy seems to be giving the orders!” Artur replied.

Trykon glowered, and pointedly glanced at the other personnel all around them.  “I don’t have time to explain, Mr. Phylas.  Do your job.”  And then he turned and walked away, to speak with “Lieutenant Grey” at the Communications station.

What in hell? Artur asked himself, not for the first time.  Vaguely, he was aware that he was panting with unexpressed rage, his hands balled into fists, in the center of the bridge.  He forced his hands to open, and strode over to Zark at Weapons.

“Ordersss?” the Trandoshan hissed as his human XO approached.

“Just let me see the tactical plot,” Artur rumbled, and the reptile brought up a three-dimensional image of the Belgaroth system, up-to-date with the positions and dispositions of the entire Second Fleet, as well as their enemies’ forces.

“Reaper isss exsssposssed at the leading edge of the engagement,” Zark observed.  “Wolf-pack tacticsss work better when there isss more than one wolf.”

“Mind your panel.  Trick knows that better than anyone.”  At least, he should, Artur thought.

“Third Key!” yelled the strange Lieutenant, and Trick clasped the man’s shoulder.

“Mr. Phylas, location of the blastboats?” Trykon asked suddenly.

“The—what?” Artur stammered.

“The Skiprays we engaged,” Trykon said, his face a study in impatience.

Kath Notra at Sensors provided the information: “A couple of flights of Interceptors – ours – are strafing a Carrack-class the Remnant brought along, and the Skiprays are inbound to that fight: starboard 104 degrees from our present course, three minutes out at max. speed.”

“Thank you, Mr. Notra.  Mr. Drackon, intercept course, best possible speed.  Mr. Norith, tell our fighters not to attack the New Republic ships, but to keep focusing on the Carrack-class.”  The acknowledgements were prompt, if a little uncertain.

“They can’t just ignore the blastboats, Trick,” Artur whined.  “If they fixate on their big target the little guys’ll blow ‘em away from behind!”

“I told you to do you job, Mr. Phylas,” Trykon said severely.  He turned back again to the spook at Communications.  “I’m going to destroy the Carrack-class.”

Lieutenant Grey nodded.  “Very well, then.”

Artur Phylas had had enough.  “Trick, we can’t go head-to-head with a Carrack-class cruiser, even with fighters in support,” he said, and then his voice got even more shrill: “especially not with a group of hostile blastboats on hand who're out for our blood!”

“Mr. Phylas, that’s enough,” Trick barked, but Artur could no longer hear his friend.  Trykon had to be ill, or confused, or… no, he can’t be a traitor, Phylas thought.  But I won’t let him get us all killed, either way.

“That is enough,” Artur said gravely.  “Drackon, turn the ship back and link us up with the Reaper, as per Gorma’s orders.  Captain Trykon, you’re relieved.”

There was stunned silence for a heartbeat, and then the Intelligence agent jumped to his feet and began advancing menacingly toward him.  Artur took an unconscious step backwards.  The Captain’s sudden laughter stopped everyone in their tracks.

“Artful, you brave idiot,” Trykon chuckled.  “I can’t believe you!” he said, his laughter growing louder.

It occurred to Artur that he’d never once heard Wyl Trykon laugh before that moment.  He wanted to feel happy at the sound, but in their current situation it only reinforced his belief that something was seriously wrong with his friend.  “Report to Medical, sir,” he said, but Trick couldn’t stop laughing.  The captain raised his hand, as if to ask for a moment to collect himself, and then—

The VENI man moved faster than Artur Phylas had ever seen a human attack, and suddenly Artur was face-down on the deck with the taste of blood in his mouth.  An incredible weight was pressing down on his midsection, and he couldn’t feel his left arm.

“That’s enough!” Trykon’s voice cried out, any trace of mirth gone.  “Stand down, Grey!”  The weight eased up slightly, but not by much.  “We’re almost there.  Let him up so he can see.”

Strong hands lifted Artur Phylas bodily off the ground, and then the Intelligence man roughly spun him around to watch the three-dimensional display.  Artur noticed that none of his fellow officers even spared him a glance.  Like serving under Vader, he mused whimsically, as the Defiance entered the weapons range of the enemy ships.  I wonder if we'll die as spectacularly as he did.  The Defiance is no Executor, though.

But then something incredible happened, and Artur Phylas forgot all about his doubts and the growing pain in his left arm.  As he and the other bridge personnel looked on, the New Republic Skiprays joined in on the Vast Imperials’ attack on the Remnant ship, as if the NR and the VE were the greatest of allies.  The gunners on the Remnant cruiser slashed out in all directions, desperate to escape the stings of the circling fighters and blastboats, but once the Defiance added her turbolasers to the mix, it wasn’t long before the Carrack-class lost its port-side shielding.  The hole successfully punched, Defiance withdrew, and the smaller craft swarmed around the crippled Remnant ship, loosing projectiles against its unshielded side.  The Carrack exploded, and the Vast Imperial fighters scattered, after waggling their wings in victory.  But perhaps most incredible of all, the blastboats did not then turn on the VE forces; instead, the three New Republic ships took up flanking positions to either side and in front of the Defiance, flying in formation with the corvette.

“What did you do?” Artur asked into the quiet, his voice filled with awe.

Trykon flicked his head at the Comm station, and the VENI brute released Phylas from his grip and returned to his seat.  “I started to win this battle,” Trick murmured, “and I proved to you that we aren’t losing the Intelligence war, after all.”

OOC:

1,127 words.
AAR: When word comes to the bridge that "Black Group" has found the "Third Key," captain Trykon gives more strange orders.  This time, he tells his crew to find the same blastboats that chased Defiance back to the VE fleet, and to go to them without attacking.  He then tells VE units in the area to ignore NR forces.  The nonsensical orders are finally too much for Artur Phylas, who attempts to relieve Trykon of command, thinking his old friend must be ill.  The VENI agent defends Trykon, who then makes Phylas watch as the NR blastboats begin cooperating with local VE forces (including Defiance) as if they are all a part of the same battle group.  Somehow, Defiance and the mysterious "Black Group" have commandeered the New Republic blastboats.

Quote:Note from Vice Captain Drac: The struck-through content in this post has been struck from the mission due to contradicting orders and established plot and should be disregarded. Only the clearly visible parts are to be considered canon. The post still counts toward Bernie's career total.

Junior bridge officer Bernard “ Bernie “ Simpson was annoyed. Very annoyed.  As he sat in the navigation crew pit of the Fearless,  his colleague, navigator Avonf Scaview  had accidentally spat on the yaw control. A Remnant Tie bomber was bearing down on the bridge with a load of photon bombs while he couldn’t even maneuver to give point defense a better shot without getting spit all over his fingers.

He didn’t imagine space combat was like this. I thought only grunts  in the army got nasty fluids on their fingers during combat. Nevertheless, he pressed the button, swerving the massive Imperial II frigate, only to no avail. The bomber was chased  away by a fast-moving blur. 

Someone on the other side of the bridge shouted,
“ What the Kriff was that! “ Bernard drew breath, and pulled up the tactical display, expecting it to be an interceptor of Regents, or maybe Nightshrike. Upon focusing on the still in progress chase, he turned his head upon realizing it was an A-wing. Idiot. It’s good for us, but why would he , or maybe she, do that? Wouldn’t an alliance terrorist fighter want to let him release his payload first?   

The woman in the swiveling command chair,  Akate “Acorn” Helin directed another volley of fire. The Republic MC40 light cruiser Cilgal was bearing the brunt of this storm of green turbolaser bolts. Dac built shields were good though, and despite its smaller size, that cruiser was taking a lot of punishment.

Bernard, yet again, raised his head in perplexment, asking the nearest officer, “ Hey, why do we have a command chair? I don’t think any big Imperial cruisers have chairs? “

The ensign responded, “ Slasher. Personal choice I guess. “
Bernard replied, “ I’m not seeing the wisdom. It blocks space, and creates a mentality of staying in one spot, rather of constant observation, balancing out any ergonomic benefits. “, to no one in particular.

Looking through the bridge windows for too long wasn’t healthy though, as the bright flash of an exploding Carrack-class cruiser’s reactor giving way momentarily blinded the assembled crew.  Avonf Scaview leaned over to Bernard, and tapped his shoulder.  He whispered, “ Hey, Bernard, what the Kriff is this. Take a look at this. Weird, right? “

Bernard took a look at the dispay, which showed a group of interceptors from the shipyards flying in formation with a wing of New Republic Skiprays! They, along with Wyl Trykon’s corvette Defiance  had just taken out the Carrack class.

What was this? Turncoats? Allies of convenience? Or merely a particularly well thought out ploy.


He shouted at gunnery, “ Sir, you men should see this. Look over there, at….. the group of fighters by the corvettes!  The men at gunnery did so, and paused fire. Akate “Acorn” Helin immediately rose out of the chair, and  started shouting.

She yelled, her anger washing in waves over the hapless men at gunnery, “ Hey! You imbeciles! What the Kriff are you halting for. This is Treason! This is Mutiny! Kill that Calamari light cruiser… Now! What are you waiting for! Its shields are finally down, purge the system of that hulk, this instant! “

Bernard had made a key mistake. He had left the thrust at 12% of maximum capacity while watching Acorn’s monologue, and the resulting drama.

Slowly realization dawned onto her beetroot red face, “ Ah. I see. You’re targeting that Nebulon-B over there. Go on. Crack the spar, all batteries fire. “

The gunners didn’t fire on the Nebulon. One intrepid man dared say, “ Um, Acorn, look at those ships by the Defiance. She understood at once, and nodded at Chief Petty officer Scaview. By now, the combined formation was tackling a Victory II, bathing it in green bolts of energy.
The Cigal had paused firing as well.

It suddenly angled to the left, as if it was a crashing terrestrial airspeeder.

____________________________________________________________
    T’kala had ordered them to cease fire. No one knew why. Veteran Tai’ni Commander Blnek was in a fury, as he had that Imperial frigate in his sights, and was going to hurl a torpedo cluster into its ventral reactor bulge, for sure scoring him a promotion.
    In his wrath , Blnek had attempted to override fleet command, and accidentally struck the navigator, causing the MC40 to turn.
_______________________________________________________________

Echelon, a damage control officer with nothing to do ( The Fearless’ shields were still at 89% and rising integrity )  began a highly verbal argument with Helin over the right side to ally with.

He argued, “ The New Republic slaughtered my parents, shouldn’t the Remnant be the side to ally with? I mean, they’re imperial too, and aren’t they more trustworthy?” in the start of a convincing debate.

Bernard, had stopped fuming about the spit in time to yet again, conspire with Scaview.

Avonf muttered, “ This impromptu alliance with the, well, alliance is going to kill us. While we team up to fire on the Remnant, they’re going to sneak something, and right after the Maxima Culpa turns to dust, or even before, we’re going to take a lot of torpedoes to the engines. Even so, mutiny is worse.” he said with a sickening grin.

Bernard grimaced at the situation. He grabbed the yaw and pitch control, and deftly wielded the gargantuan cruiser.
The Fearless was now directly over the Cigal, a perfect s
pot for the New Republic cruiser’s dorsal turbolasers to target the vulnerable belly of the frigate. Nevertheless, the republic gunners ignored the fat target of the Fearless’s reactor to pummel the shields of a distant strike cruiser.

Bernard had returned to his duties, finding himself in the worst possible area for betrayal . He slapped his head in a vain, illogical manner. What was I thinking? If I suddenly go back to the Vast Imperial fleet, those damn rebels will think I’m betraying them. If I stay the course, we’ll be slaughtered by the rebels when they turn.

Acorn opened  up a channel to Naval Intelligence officer lieutenant Grey on the Defiance, and they began to converse on the state of the battle in private, the command chair spinning in the wake.
________________________________________________________________
            On board the Halcyon Warrior , primary sensor officer Bracuf Nolent was racing toward the bridge. His rank wasn’t high enough, so as again, he was forced to take the public turbolift all the way from the hangar decks to the command bridge.

            On the way, he counted at least 40 people entering and exiting. He furiously pounded on his military datapad, but alas, the thing has taken damage at Coveway when it fell into a vat of soup.

Only one other crewman came all the way to the bridge, Warrant Officer Yrnnkrsk. He had the exact same data, on the Fearless. His arrival severely antagonized Nolent, as he was only one level below the command bridge when Ymnkrsk entered the capsule

    Upon reaching the main command bridge, they pulled up the tactical display of an area separate from the main taskforce. This quadrant, much to the chagrin of the command crew, elicited a shout from Captain Dracule Mihawk, who at first incredulously stared  at the awkward positioning.

    He then, without a word, stepped into the comm booth to speak with VENI operatives.

OOC:

1331 words. I hope you know what you're doing Trykon.