“Eight fighters?” Queried Petty Officer 2nd Class Pherik ‘Serpent’ Zail, staring at the orders on the datapad before him.  “Is that it?”

The question was directed to no-one in particular, but at his side in the crew pit, the Chief Communications Officer Jash Warnock answered.  “We don’t exactly have fighters to spare, Mr Zail,” He said with an edge of harshness.  “You are not here to query orders, merely carry them out.”

“Yes, sir,” Replied Zail, and turned to the comm system.  He contacted two squadrons from the twenty-two that were serving taskforce Aurek in its battle against the forces of the Imperial Remnant.  First he spoke to the TIE Interceptors of Bladetooth Squadron, and requisitioned a flight of four of theirs for the task at hand.  Then he spoke quickly to the CO of a TIE Bomber Squadron, called the Blackanvils.  Once again, issuing orders under the authority of his superiors here on the flagship Halcyon Warrior, he took four of their starfighters too.

Zail now addressed Bladetooth Nine, a pilot by the callsign of ‘Sheath’, who had been assigned command of the eight fighters.  “Nine, your target is the Imperial Remnant Strike Class Cruiser Ark of Wrath.  Its starboard side is facing our forces and is strong, but its port side has no shields at all.  It appears to be affecting repairs, and we have no intention of giving them that chance.”

“Understood,” Came back Sheath’s youthful voice over Zail’s headset.  “My Bladetooths will escort the Blackanvils into firing position, where they will unload enough torpedoes into its hull to ensure it never threatens us again!”

Serpent smiled at the eagerness in the young man’s voice.  “Good hunting, Nine!” He said.  “Halcyon Warrior out!”

-----

At the edge of the Vast Empire lines, just out of range of the maelstrom of laser fire that filled space, the Ark of Wrath lay quietly.  Throughout the ship, engineering teams wrestled with the power grids and shield emitters, trying to restore the port shields and get the mighty vessel back in the fight.

On the bridge, Captain Brustel had passed mere ‘impatience’, his desire to resume combat now manifesting as random outbursts at the bridge crew.  He mostly ranted on the intercom, berating the Chief of Engineering for his teams’ slow work, but anyone else in range also felt his wrath.

“Captain,” Said Commander Swuuth, his smooth voice betraying no fear of his enraged superior.  He found Brustel’s behaviour irritating rather than intimidating.  “Sensors detect incoming VE fighters.”

“Again?” Replied Brustel, referring to a recent fly-by by other enemy TIEs.  “Another mere annoyance.  Inform me when our cowardly foes send us a real threat, like a capital ship.”

Swuuth gritted his teeth.  Even he could see the chain of events unfolding.  “Sir, I suggest we take this threat more seriously.  The first sweep identified our weakness, this second group clearly have orders to target our vulnerable port side!”

The Captain sighed, but decided to humour his XO.  “Fine.  Send Dreadwing Squadron to deal with them then,” He said, wondering just how he had ended up with such a jittery first officer.

The answer did not exactly meet Swuuth’s approval.  The Dreadwing TIE Fighters had taken casualties, and barely outnumbered the incoming eight VE attackers.  Still, the Commander knew better than to argue, and was lucky to have gotten this much from his arrogant Captain.  “Thank you, sir,” He said instead, and turned to relay the orders to the Communications Officer.

-----

“Sheath, we’ve got incoming!” Said Bladetooth Ten to the leader of the TIE strike force.

“I see them, Ten,” Sheath replied to his wingman.  “Count nine hostiles.  Bladetooths break and attack, keep them away from the Blackanvils.  Bombers, stay on course for the Ark of Wrath!”

A flurry of acknowledgements echoed over the comm and he swung his TIE onto an attack vector.

-----

The Bladetooths closed with their foes head-on, knowing that though the Imperials had superior numbers, their Interceptors were the superior craft.  The pilot of every TIE watched the range finding on their scanners carefully, waiting with tension for optimum firing distance in three.... two... one... now!

Laser fire blazed out in the dark void between the two closing forces, and the instant they fired each side banked away and threw themselves clear of the return shots.  The experienced pilots of both sides were fast to come back around, an experience-born sixth sense for combat telling them when they were clear to angle back at their foes.

Sheath was among those who turned and struck back quickly, a neat duo of shots well-placed upon the cockpit of a closing Dreadwing.  He flew through the exploding TIE, his wingman right by him, and emerged the other side firing wildly.  He knew he was not going to hit anyone firing blind through a fireball, but his intention was to scatter and distract his foes, not harm them.

The Dreadwings broke, diving and climbing in various directions under the assault, and the other two Bladetooths were right there to pounce upon them.  They were far more precise in their firing, but the Remnant TIEs slipped between the green lasers and veered off safely.

The initiative lost, classic dogfighting now asserted itself in the combat, and here the Dreadwings’ two-to-one numerical advantage told.  With instincts like predatory animals who hunted in packs, the Ark of Wrath’s TIEs bore down on their Vast Empire rivals, chasing and ambushing them through one twisting manoeuvre after another.

Suddenly, a scream erupted in Sheath’s helmet earpiece, and a quick glance at his scanners revealed that Bladetooth Eleven was gone.  The odds were now even more seriously stacked against them, and he vowed to sell his life dearly.

The one silver lining was that his TIEs had managed to hold up the Dreadwings well, and with every passing second, the Blackanvils got further away.  Just a little longer and the Bombers would be in firing range on the Ark of Wrath.

Just a little longer...

-----

The Strike Class Cruiser opened fire at the incoming Bombers as they approached the starboard side.  Not the most manoeuvrable of TIEs, the Blackanvils were still fast enough to dodge in and out of the turbolaser fire.  The Ark of Wrath’s unwieldy weapons were designed for capital ship combat, and the Vast Empire Bombers were glad that they were not dealing with the precise anti-starfighter weaponry of a Lancer Class Frigate.

“We need to get around to the port side!” Snapped Blackanvil Five, the leader of the group, swerving her bulky TIE in and out of a spray of laser fire.

“Understood, ma’am,” Replied Blackanvil Six.

“How do you want us go about it?” Asked Eight.

“Sweep close by the Ark of Wrath, quick but dangerous?” Asked Seven, “Or loop past at long range, slow but safe?”

“Stand by,” Said the lead pilot.  “Halcyon Warrior, this is Blackanvil Five, we are on approach to the Ark of Wrath.”

Back on the flagship, Zail sat at the comm station and heard the words.  “We hear you Five,” He responded, and then listened to their dilemma.  Understanding immediately, he put in a transmission to the Bladetooths.  Quickly he got to speaking with Sheath.

“Nine here!” Came the stressed reply.  Zail could tell from the pilot’s voice that he was in the fight of his life.

“The Blackanvils need to know how much time they’ve got,” Said Serpent without preamble.

“Tell them to take their time,” Said Sheath, forcing his natural cockiness back into his voice.  “We’ve got the enemy TIEs busy here, they aren’t getting away from us anytime soon!”

“Thanks, Nine, Halcyon Warrior out,” Said Zail, and switched back to Blackanvil Five.  “You are cleared for a slow and safe loop to the Ark of Wrath’s port,” He told the Bomber pilot.

“Will do, Halcyon Warrior,” Came the reply, and the Bombers began their safe run, ensuring that all four of them made it to the target area.

Given what they knew then, it was the right move.  No one would blame the Bombers for the action taken, for Blackanvil Five had merely chosen the avenue of attack that was best for both the lives of her pilots and the success of the mission.

However, it was, in hindsight, revealed to be the wrong decision.

If the Blackanvils had taken the faster but riskier route, those that survived would have struck the Ark of Wrath, perhaps fatally so.  Alas, none of them got the chance to fire, for before completing their loop, the enemy played their trump card.

Reinforcements arrived.

-----

At the comm station, Zail’s eyes went wide in horror as his ears were filled with cries of disbelief edged with panic.  Reports spilled in from fighters and capital ships throughout Taskforce Aurek, speaking of a second wave of Imperial Remnant capital ships, consisting of Dreadnaughts, Corvettes, and others, all led by an Imperial-II Class Star Destroyer!

The new forces appeared in perfect position to sandwich the Aurek forces between the two IR taskforces, and as the new hostiles disgorged fresh waves of TIE fighters, Zail knew that the Vast Empire was truly in trouble.

The flood of chatter was overwhelming for Zail and Chief Warnock, but they took to the task with dedication, quickly re-establishing order on the fleet’s busy word traffic. However, in the midst of his activities, it dawned on Serpent that he had heard nothing more from the attack on the Ark of Wrath.  He switched over to a secure channel and tried to speak to the Blackanvils, but got nothing but static in response.  Zail knew that they were awfully close to the new arrivals, and he knew that there could only be one reason why he could not raise the TIE Bombers.  They were gone, and the enemy Cruiser had survived.  The news made him feel even worse about their chances.

It was at that point that word tumbled down from Captain Mihawk.  The CO of the Halcyon Warrior and commander of the Second Fleet was ordering the Vast Empire forces to fall back to the Belgaroth Shipyards.  Much as it pained him to relay the orders, Zail did as he was commanded, and sent the fall-back instructions to Taskforces Aurek and Besh.

Today had seen Zail’s first taste of battle.  It also now seemed that it would see his first taste of defeat.

-----

On the bridge of the Ark of Wrath, Captain Brustel watched the tide turn with the arrival of the Imperial reinforcements commanded by Commodore Rhike.  The fat-faced Captain disliked the Commodore (primarily because he disliked serving under a woman, regardless of her abilities), but was glad of her timing.

“Ha ha!” Enthused the CO, smacking a right fist gleefully into his left palm.  “See how they run before us, Commander?  I told you we had nothing to worry about!”

“Yes, sir,” Managed Swuuth through clenched teeth.  He knew for a fact that Admiral Frinleigh had not told Brustel about when their reinforcements would arrive, and knew it to be sheer fluke that Commodore Rhike’s force had arrived and intercepted those VE Bombers.  He dared not say this aloud, however, and instead let the foolish CO enjoy the moment.

Regardless, Swuuth did feel some joy himself.  The arrival of the rest of the fleet had been well executed, and the Vast Empire was now in retreat.  Victory would soon belong to the Imperial Remnant...

OOC:

Word count 1904.  My fourth Ark of Wrath post, and I had originally intended to destroy the Cruiser with this one.  However, the recent development of the Imperial Remnant’s reinforcements have caused me to reconsider.  Instead I’ve decided that the Ark of Wrath will continue on for a little while longer...

After Action Report: The Vast Empire has sent four TIE Fighters and four TIE Bombers to strike at the damaged Imperial Cruiser Ark of Wrath. The attack was going well, but the arrival of the Imperial Remnant’s reinforcements have forced the attack to abort, driving the VE back and saving the Ark of Wrath.

Turbolaser to the right of them,
Turbolaser to the left of them,
Turbolaser in front of them
Weapons that none should meet;
Storm'd at with laser and blast,
Boldly they flew and fast,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Fought the Second Fleet.

Pherik ‘Serpent’ Zail had not been with the Second Fleet long, but in that time he had come to firmly identify himself as a proud member of Taskforce Aurek.  When the Battle of Belgaroth had begun, and the fleet had separated into elements Aurek and Besh to engage the two hostile fleets, the Junior Bridge Officer had felt the ghost of pride upon him.  He and the Aureks would wrap up their battle and then rush to the aid of their less-capable fellows.  Or so he believed.

Zail now saw that view for the conceit it was, for the battle was hardly going to that simple and optimistic plan.  The well-timed arrival of the Imperial Remnant’s reinforcements had forced Taskforce Aurek into a full retreat, and with it, the idea of complete defeat for the Second Fleet seemed likely.

It was not now a case of Aurek saving Besh, but of a miracle being needed to save them both.

-----

Serpent was sat at the Comm Station, as he had been since the start of the battle, hands a blur of motion as he flicked from one transmission to another, trying to sort out of the chaos.  The flurry of noise continued to echo through Zail’s headset, calls and cries from a fleet struggling to maintain its coherence as it fell back in the face of overwhelming odds.  As cacophonies went, it was not a pleasant one.

Every other moment it seemed he needed to liaise with the Navigation Officer over the disposition of Aurek ships, or clarify orders with his superiors to relay to the rest of the fleet.  Zail’s mouth rarely stopped flapping, which for a man who was commonly few of words, was rare indeed.

“Fall back to co-ordinates 03482...”

“Negative, hold position and give the TIEs covering fire...”

“Rendezvous with Goldfang Squadron and angle back towards the Halcyon Warrior...”

Again and again he relayed commands to various ships and squadrons, trying to ensure that the fleet withdrew with a vague semblance of order.  Generally, their efforts were successful, with both Aurek and Besh staying together in their retreat.

However, there were a few oddities.  One of them was the Besh corvette Defiant, under the command of Captain Trykon, which Zail was getting some strange comm traffic from.  If he did not know better, he could swear that it was trying to provoke a fight with a New Republic Nebulon-B frigate, defying not only orders, but also common sense.

It was not the only straggler, however.  There was one, far closer to the Aurek side of the battle, a ship that Zail had dealt with before...

-----

Lieutenant Commander Sverich, Captain of the Guardian - Class Light Cruiser Watcheye, watched the incoming horde of TIE fighters, as they swept past his craft, splashing laser fire against the shields and hull.

“Report!” He barked to his first officer.

“Bad news, sir,” Replied the Zabrak to her human CO, her eyes darting from one display to another, listening to frantic reports from the handful of bridge officers.  “The engines are a mess, and we have barely half our normal speed.  Shields and weapons systems are being pushed to the limit, and power generators are struggling to meet demand.”

Sverich, an experienced officer who hailed from the planet Anaxes, a world renowned for its naval tradition, dealt with the grim news calmly.  “Continue efforts to repair the engines, and redirect all life support power to shields and weapons!”

The XO was about to reply that, devoid of LS, their oxygen would not last long, but the Zabrak knew what her superior would say.  The simple truth was that even with life support, their odds of surviving this storm of enemy fire were slim to none.

Suddenly the ship rocked, the latest of several recent high impacts from a nearby CR-90 Corvette.  A bridge officer shouted a warning about shields and Sverich responded by ordering his ship to back off and continue to return fire.

The Watcheye had taken a pounding in its recent battle with the frigate Mikasa, and was not a powerful capital ship to begin with.  With their fighting ability reduced, the crew of the Watcheye had been trading fire with TIEs and other small Imperial craft, but as more Remnant capital ships arrived Sverich knew that they had to do more.  There was a fate that the Commander feared far worse that seeing his vessel destroyed, and that was seeing it become irrelevant.

“Incoming message from the flagship, sir,” Said the Communications Chief.  “The Halcyon Warrior demands to know why we aren’t falling back.”

Sverich grimaced.  “Lie.  Tell them we will comply in full once we have disengaged ourselves safely from battling this corvette.”

His first officer raised an eyebrow.  “But sir...” She began.

The Commander silenced her with a glance.  “We can’t retreat, lieutenant,” He said.  “Our engines continue to fail, so there is no running away for us.  That second Imperial taskforce is all but on top of us, we are about to be surrounded.  If the rest of the fleet knows that, they may be tempted to do something stupid, like attempt a rescue.”  His face hardened.  “I don’t want anyone else coming to die with us,” He announced clearly, for the whole bridge crew to hear.

The XO straightened her back, and looked calm as she accepted his words, understanding.  “Of course, sir.  So, what are your orders?”

“First, I’m ordering an evacuation,” He said.  “I shall stay behind to distract the enemy and give the rest of you time to escape.  Now, everyone move!”

The Zabrak woman did not twitch.  The other bridge officers likewise remained at their stations.

“Lieutenant, I gave you an order,” Warned Sverich.

The XO shrugged.  “You said it yourself, Captain, we are surrounded.  I have no intention of being captured by the Empire.  The crew and I would rather fight to the death with you.”

At her words, he ran his eyes over the bridge crew, and saw the same resolve on their faces.  Sverich allowed himself a tight smile, and then spoke.  He did not thank them, did not praise them, for there was no time for such things, and such things did not need said anyway.  Instead, he simply gave orders.

“Target the TIE fighters!  All weapons fire!  Engine room, give me everything you’ve got!”

-----

On the Halcyon Warrior, Serpent looked at the report from the Navigation Chief.  It reported that the Watcheye was still not following orders.  Zail knew that the small Cruiser was part of the Belgaroth’s defence forces and not truly part of the Second Fleet, which was fortunate for its CO.  Captain Mihawk, commander of the Second Fleet, would take a dim view of any officer under him who was as bad at following orders as the Watcheye’s captain was.

“This is the Halcyon Warrior to Watcheye,” Said Zail, trying to reach his counterpart comm officer on the light cruiser.  “You are ordered to come about and rejoin the fleet!  Watcheye please respond and confirm receipt of instructions!”

Nothing.

It was then that Zail received a follow-up message from the Navigation Officer, and his blue eyes widened in shock.  The Watcheye was not only not rejoining the Second Fleet, but it was now pressing further into the enemy lines!

“Watcheye please respond!” He called again into his headset, alarm clear in his voice.

Still, he got no answer.

-----

Commander Sverich sat in his command chair and watched the firestorm of laser fire that bore down on his ship from all angles.  The Watcheye was now totally surrounded by the Imperial Remnant fleet, and on his orders was firing randomly at every ship in sight, both capital and starfighter.

“Come about, new heading!” He commanded, and helm swiftly complied.  “Bring us between that ISD and that dreadnaught!  If either fire at us, I want them to miss and hit each other instead!”

Helm rushed to comply, while his Zabrak first officer liaised with the sensor operator.

“Another squadron of TIEs is coming after us, sir!” Called his XO.

“Excellent!” Replied Sverich.  “Fire a few shots at them to keep them interested!”

As if confirming the fighter’s continued interest, the Watcheye shook under more fire, and the Commander did not need a bridge officer’s update to know that shields were now teetering on the brink of total collapse.

“Keep going!” He ordered firmly.  “Let’s see how many of the fools we can tie up!”

-----

Zail was close to giving up on trying to contact the Watcheye, when he noticed some activity from the Navigation Chief.  The officer in question was clearly interested in something, and Serpent could see her speaking now with Captain Mihawk.

Not too long after, another report was delivered to Zail.  Defying all logic, several Imperial Remnant capital ships and fighter squadrons were now engaged in trying to bring down the Watcheye.  It was not many, certainly not compared with the mass of forces now arrayed against the Second Fleet, but it was more than was sensible to deal with a small Guardian - Class Light Cruiser.

And every ship the Empire sent after them, was one less involved in the pursuit of the Second Fleet as they continued their retreat.

Zail had his orders, and began to send a text-only message to the Watcheye.

-----

“Casualty reports from the engine room!  A major fuel rupture!” Called a bridge officer.

All around the bridge, sparks flew as power conduits overloaded and the systems of the Watcheye continued to fail.  Commander Sverich knew that they had just seconds left to live, but every second they fought on was another few in which his fellows got a chance to withdraw.

“Another TIE destroyed!” Called the XO, who had taken the place of the Gunnery Chief (who had suffered an exploding monitor to the face a few moments previously).

Sverich nodded.  In all likelihood, that would be the last ever kill of his proud little ship.  So be it then.

Rising from his chair, the Commander’s eyes swept the bridge.  His crew noticed instantly, and despite the chaos around them, he had their undivided attention.

“It has been an honour to serve with you all,” He said, eyes sparkling with pride.

He met their gazes, each in turn, his last words said.  However, one last matter broke the silence.

“Sir!” Said the Communications Officer.  “Incoming message from the Halcyon Warrior!”

Sverich raised an eyebrow.

“It says... ‘thank you’.” Said the young man, smiling.

The Commander accepted this with a smile of his own.  Then, somewhere nearby, a turbolaser lanced out, piercing the hull of the Watcheye.

With a silent explosion, the small craft and its crew were then no more.

-----

At his post, Pherik ‘Serpent’ Zail knew that the Watcheye was gone.  He took the news stoically, trying not to feel anything.  The crew of that ship had died with honour and bravery, and should be celebrated, not mourned.

Or so he kept telling himself.

Forcing himself to resume his duties, Zail switched over to another comm channel, and like so many it was filled with panic and bad news.

There was, he knew, a lot more death yet to come.

When can their glory fade?
O the brave defense they made!
In all their glory replete.
Honour all they attest!
Honour Aurek and Besh,
Noble Second Fleet!

OOC:

Word count 1946.  The closing and opening poems are adapted from Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s Charge of the Light Brigade.  While the (tragically true) story of the Light Brigade is not exactly applicable to the Second Battle of Belgaroth, I felt that the parts about serving bravely in the face of impossible odds were appropriate.

After Action Report: The Light Cruiser Watcheye, one of the Belgaroth defence forces, has had its engines damaged.  Unable to join in the retreat of the Second Fleet, the CO, Commander Sverich, ordered his ship to harass the Imperial Remnant forces.  The ship and its crew sacrificed themselves to buy others the chance to fall back to the shipyards.

We hear, quite frequently, soldiers and pilots relate combat and flight to 'the simulation'. This, in fact, is only partly true. Flying, itself, is, in most aspects kin to simulation. The Engineers had designed the machines, and controls in perfect likeness to the controls and feel of the cockpit of an Interceptor, and the Vast Empire's programmers had done a very nice job of emulating the responsiveness, and structural integrity of the same. Still...In spite of the genius of the programmers and Sim' designers, and the amazing end result of their labour, there was absolutely no way that this could have been perfectly simulated. Because in the Simulations, if a pilot, or a soldier messed up, there was no cost. One could always try again, tomorrow. In a proper combat situation, there's very little, if any, room for error.

The chime of a warning on the flight computer's readout, embedded into the dash of Senior Crewman Keedra Xaex's TIE Interceptor snapped the Twi'lek from her thoughts, in time to study the readout where scrawling across a screen in red-lettered Imperial Basic was a warning, indicating missile lock. Mentally swearing, she throttled her engines to their maximum, and launched her fighter into a sharp dive-roll, which served, temporarily, to break the missile lock. The subject in question, an 'A-Wing' Interceptor which Keedra hadn't, in fact, even realized was tailing her, pitched easily into the maneuver and once again lined its sights.

This was the problem with Keedra; This being her first actual combat mission...She flew as the simulators and manuals told her she should. She obeyed alarms, and even listened intently to the sounds made by her cockpit. If it so much as creaked the wrong way, she stopped whatever she was doing at the time; Because, frankly, she didn't yet know what her Interceptor could do, and wasn't any good to anyone, structurally compromised. Just the same, a seasoned pilot would find her remarkably easy prey. This did, indeed, seem to be the situation in which she presently found herself.

Her computer chimed in warning, once again, and this time, the A-Wing didn't hesitate in loosing a single concussion missile. Of course..There was battle around her. People had problems of their own. Concussion missiles, proton torpedoes, and turbolaser blasts streaked through Space's vacuum. They did not discriminate; Imperial, Republic, or Remnant...For most, a hit of one or the other meant that the hit subject in question would join the ever growing ranks of the unfortunate pilots to vanish in the cloud of superheated gas that is the death of their ship. But in this instant, in the transition from Lock-warning to missile launch, none of this chaos around her mattered. What did matter, however, was the missile on her tail, that had locked onto her exhaust port.

She pitched her Interceptor into a sharp dive, and the missile streaked after her, following along effortlessly. The A-Wing itself, however, seemed to leave her more or less to the missile as its pilot broke engagement and overshot the now diving Interceptor to join its flight in the continuous fighter engagement around them.

This was a tight spot, surely...But not something that she didn't think she could get out of. Inertia brought about by her quick, snapping maneuvers pressed her firmly backwards, against her seat, as she pushed her already screaming engines and pulled hard out of the dive. It was with this that she would level off and streak her Interceptor towards the ongoing fray, visibly tightening her jaw as her heat-seeking little friend followed suit. And obviously, upon her moving close to the action, someone had noticed her little 'situation', and apparently, her straight-and-steady flying caused her to appear not to.

Her communications relay lit up, and a voice crackled to life over the speaker in her helmet. "Two? You've got a-"

She stopped the pilot there, keying her microphone and speaking in her usual calm, collected manner- Though her voice was noticeably tinged with a combination of tight-jawed determination and irritation. "Missile? Yes. But don't let it know that." Whether sarcasm or merely humour, she fully left the comment to interpretation.

She had intended to close her communications, completely. Apparently, though, she hadn't; A mistake which she, presently, rectified. Of course, there was no disrespect, or otherwise ill feeling meant in the gesture, but she did, kind of, need to concentrate, and communication chatter, be it ambient, tactical, or directed to her, as the previous had been, was distracting.

Streaking through the fight, now, the Space around her noticeably changed- Becoming, if anything, more chaotic than it had been not long at all ago. Her viewport was alight with turbolaser and ion blasts- Some coming far too close for her comfort, causing her Interceptor, even in passing, to shudder somewhat. Looking for an instant, then, to the panel on her dash responsible for controlling deflector screens, she elevated power to the port and starboard, diverting from forward and rear, as she would be flying, for the moment, through the fight, rather than into it.

In the thick of the fray, she and her missile were only present for an instant, long enough to be seen by one looking her way, but not by much more than the vapor trail left by a concussion missile's sublight thrusters and residual ion trails, shimmering a faint blue in the vacuum, left behind by her own engines. In passing through the chaos, she would switch her stabilizers off, as well. In so doing, she instantly felt the full resistance of her Interceptor..Every little bump and jolt in flight rocked her just as much as her ship, but, fighting the controls, she managed to keep it in line.

Clearing herself of the thick of combat would serve multiple purposes: The first being that she and her missile were more or less alone with each other, as starfighters brawled and larger ships stared one another down, behind her. Now, what she did next..She had attempted once, but only in simulation; And that simulation, she had failed. But frankly, she could think of no other option but to improvise. Swallowing caution, she shifted her eyes to an overhead panel, and immediately followed with her left hand, moving it from the throttle control. At this point, she fingered the switch marked 'Ignition: Engine I', for an instant, before switching it to the 'Off' position.

As a direct result, her Interceptor launched into an erratic, horizontal spiral to the right, much kin to that of a disabled or dying TIE. She didn't fight for control; Merely going with what she was given, with one hand on her engine ignition, and the other on her stabilizer controls. Alarms screamed at her to stop, and her mind screamed at her to heed them, and she was certain that, if she'd had her communications online, someone, somewhere, would be screaming the same. With her right hand, she moved her shield controls to divert all allotted power to the starboard side, as her missile was passing her wing, close enough to trigger its proximity fuse.

Her shields shimmered and boiled away, having absorbed the brunt of the detonation's force, but she was easily launched into a spiral of which she was not, by any means, in control. Between being thrown about in her cockpit, against her restraints, she lifted her arm to click off her remaining active engine, and her other to reengage her stabilizers, as she closed her throttle and took hold of the fighter's control yoke, fighting to right her craft as she spiraled continuously away from the fight.

She wanted, desperately, to remove her helmet; Knowing that she was sweating, because she felt it on her forehead, and it stung her eyes, and the inside of her helmet had become unbearably stuffy, as the filtration systems fought to compensate for elevated breathing. All, the product of adrenaline..All will fade, She told herself, upon observation of these facts, as she hung lazily in Space, in an all but powered down Interceptor. Systematically, she proceeded to bring herself online, beginning with the main computer. Through her slightly-fogged helmet's lenses, she studied the readout, and spoke at confirmation of online status.

"Run a preliminary system assessment, report the results. As quickly as possible, please. I don't want to sit here, for long." Her voice had by no means lost its perpetual calm, but she was surprised at just how....Hollow she sounded, in addressing the computer. Perhaps it was disbelief, brought about by the success of a desperate maneuver? Yes, that and the shock of being tossed about my cockpit for...However long. It was with that thought that she absently checked the chrono' on her dash, to find it dead. It was about this time that her computer chimed, reporting the results of her ordered assessment.



She let out a breath, her blue eyes studying the relayed information as it scrolled across her flight computer's display. Of course, she could have, and probably should have asked for a more in-depth assessment, but she wanted to get moving, again. "Bring everything you can back online. Make sure everything works, leave engine operation to me. I want to get moving..But not until I'm sure I can." She cocked an eyebrow at the wooden confirmation given by her flight computer, and inwardly wondered if it would be acceptable to alter its personality core...Or rectify a lack thereof.

Slowly, her systems came back online, starting with...Annoyingly, communications. But she didn't switch them back off. If anyone was going to say something about her little stunt, it would be where she couldn't simply mute them. She sat back, against her seat, drifting through space as her Interceptor's functions made a comeback, until her computer chimed complete, and she shifted her eyes to the display, and exhaled. "All too brief pause, right?" With that, she moved her left hand to the overhead panel and triggered her engines.

The high-pitched whine filled her cockpit as her Ion drives lit, and she quirked a faint smile, and moved to slowly ease the throttle. Her craft, however, being more damaged than her basic assessment revealed, though compliant, shuddered into the action and was notably sluggish to respond to the turn that would carry her back towards the fight. Even as she increased her throttle further, her craft shuddered and groaned, but there were no structural alarms or warnings on any of her indicators. Maybe it was a lack of power? A hit like that had to have damaged her Solar collectors, and, frankly, she was interested to see what her craft looked like...But that could wait until she got back to the Fearless. For now, she twin-linked her cannons, and limp-ran her way back to the chaos.

OOC:

Gonna leave it open, there.
Also, Word Count: 1832
And Summary: After lengthy avoidance and improvised maneuvering, Keedra's taken a nasty concussion missile hit. Thankfully, her shields got most of it, but her right wing's pretty banged up by, not only the detonation, but being sprayed with shrapnel. On the bright side, she's alive, and her craft...By her own standards, is fit to fight.

“Well, Art: you still think I’m unfit for command?”  Captain Trykon’s question was pointed, but his tone was almost playful.

Artur Phylas still couldn’t quite bring himself to believe in miracles, though, and the idea that a little corvette could somehow remotely commandeer much larger enemy vessels in the middle of a battle was ludicrous enough to require nothing less than a leap of faith.  He looked again at the tactical holo, but there he found that the proof of the miraculous was still staring him in the face: the New Republic Nebulon-B escort frigate Memory of Mobetta was now keeping pace with the Defiance, in perfect formation just behind and to starboard.  Ahead, the three Skipray Blastboats from earlier were also still flying in support, spread out in front of the little hodge-podge battlegroup as it made its way belatedly back to the protective cover of the rest of the Vast Imperial Second Fleet and the heavy weapons emplacements which ringed the Shipyards at Belgaroth.  I don’t know how you did it, Wyl, Phylas thought, but I’ll concede that you did, in fact, do it.

“Yeah, okay, you made your point.  Sir.”  Phylas hazarded a grin.  “It’s a nice trick, Trick.  Care to let me in on how it works?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets, Artful,” Trykon replied.  His expression was deadpan, but his grey-green eyes were smiling back at Phylas.  They looked simultaneously hopeful and sad.  Then the captain’s glance seemed to shift, and he frowned.  “Looks like explanations will have to wait.”

Art turned again to the tactical plot, and saw the danger immediately: the Imperial Remnant forces had been reinforced, and the newly-arrived ships were going to intercept the Defiance and its newly-made New Republic allies before they could rejoin the VE fleet.  Phylas opened his mouth to begin giving orders, and then thought better of it.  He turned to Trykon: “I suppose you have something in mind?”

“Now you’re getting the idea, Art,” Trykon said, and then he bent to confer with the Intelligence guy who’d taken over the Communications position.

Phylas, with nothing left to do but wait for the next unnatural miracle, wandered to the back of the bridge, and leaned heavily against a bulkhead.  Before Belgaroth, he was a rising star in the Vast Empire’s Navy: the Executive Officer of a ship of the line, the protégé to one of the most decorated and well-respected commanders in Task Force Besh, and an experienced warrior in his own right.  Now, before the battle was even over, he felt that identity slipping away.  You have no idea what’s going on aboard your own ship, let alone out there with the rest of the fleet, his own interior self-critic admonished.  What an impressive warrior you are.  And as for your career, you tried to stage a mutiny against your captain – and you failed!

But his self-pitying thoughts were interrupted as he began to see Trykon’s moves unfold.  Somehow, Trick got the rebel Nebbie to shield the Defiance while they ran the gauntlet of Remnant fire.  The Blastboats did their part too, swirling around the closest enemy vessels like angry insects.  All three of the starfighter-sized craft were destroyed, and the Nebulon-B heavily damaged, before they made it to the safety of the shipyards.  The Vast Imperial corvette, though, hadn’t been hit once.  The skill of the New Republic crewers, their valor, and their sacrifice – Phylas had never seen anything like it.  And he still couldn’t understand how Trick had gained their wholehearted cooperation.

“Bring us about to face the Memory of Mobetta’s damaged side, where her shields failed,” Trykon ordered.  “And get their captain on the holo.”

Phylas stood, and straightened his uniform.  Trick never was one to withhold his gratitude.  I'd want to thank those beings face-to-face myself, too.

The grainy image of a Sullustan male wearing a New Republic uniform shimmered into being and began chattering in Sullustese.  Before Phylas could even think to ask if anyone spoke the language, “Lieutenant Grey” began a running translation: “Defiance, Captain Arithmani and most of the command crew is dead.  I’m Lieutenant Dien Phurub,” Grey said.  Phylas looked at the spook in surprise.  What are the chances he just happens to know Sullustese?  Grey continued to translate: “We’re in bad shape, here.  I don’t know what’s so damn important on that little ship of yours, but we followed our orders to the best of our abilities.  Are you alright over there?”

“Mr. Zark,” Trykon said, cutting off Grey’s voice, though the Sullustan continued speaking, clearly unsure if the communications connection was working properly.

“Yesss, captain?” the Trandoshan gunner asked.

“Fire everything we have at the Memory of Mobetta.”

“What?!”  You must have misheard him, Phylas tried to convince himself.  “Trick, wait Zark, Trick, Trick!  You can’t kill all those people!  They just saved our lives.”

“Phylas, dammit, shut up!” Captain Trykon yelled.  The New Republic lieutenant kept speaking animatedly in the background.  “Mr. Zark, shoot ‘em!  Aim for the spar that connects the forward areas with the engine assembly!”

The reptilian Imperial gunner nodded, and carried out his orders.  Concussion missiles and turbolaser blasts burrowed into the thin skin of the frigate’s hull, and with a somewhat understated explosion, the New Republic vessel split in half.  Atmosphere vented into space, and the crew of over 800 beings died within seconds.

Phylas looked with fascinated disgust at the stranger who wore Wyl Trykon’s face.  “Why?” he heard his own voice ask.

“Because it needed to be done,” Trykon said simply.  And then the man turned away again to talk to Lieutenant Grey.

OOC:

936 words.  Not my best work, but I had to get something up before the next phase of the battle.

AAR: The VENI operatives on Defiance manage to commandeer another New Republic ship - a Nebulon B frigate called the Memory of Mobetta.  But the little battlegroup is cut off from the withdrawing VE forces by the arriving Imperial Remnant reinforcements.  Somehow, the VENI agents manage to get the Nebulon B and the Blasboats to heroically escort the Defiance back to the relative safety of the shipyards.  But once they arrive, Trykon cold-heartedly orders his crew to turn on the damaged Memory of Mobetta and destroy it, killing the hundreds of NR crewmembers who just saved the Defiance.  Artur Phylas, Trick's XO and friend, doesn't even recognize the monster that Trykon's become.

"I've got multiple lacerations to the face and torso, arterial bleed from the neck. Pressure dressing applied....and it's good. Pressure reestablished, he'll need an IV immediately."

Fyston grabbed the medical equipment that he had taken from the unconscious medic and ran to another patient. This one looked oddly familiar, for some reason. Then it hit him. This was the head chef, Jar-Jar something. She'd served him many of his meals aboard the Halcyon Warrior and Fyston wondered what she was doing at this end. Unfortunately for her, her legs were crushed under a fallen blast door. On the other hand, bleeding was stopped due to the pinching of the veins and Fyston looked at her.

"Meesa sorry. Meesa trying to help in the battle. Meesa want to go home."

"You're going to be fine. Guys, she's gone. Thigh and below are crushed and she's got major pelvic damage according to the scanner. Injecting pain meds....now. We can't move her, so I'm gonna pile up some rubble."

"Meesa can't be hearin' yousa. Meesa scared. Meesa want to sleep badly."

"I know I'm just one of thousands that you serve, but you did some good here on board the Warrior. Take your rest, ma'am. Your job is done here, and we thank you for your service."

Fyston stayed with her until she breathed her last and his heart dropped as he noticed the light leaving her eyes. He'd been around death before, but it'd always been between fighters. He had flown through countless enemies and their remains but nothing would remain. He wondered what would happen but paused to have a moment of silence for the dead of the battle. He closed her eyes, leaving bloody streaks down her face from the gore on Fyston's gloves.

"Alright, everyone! We're done in this section, let's move through the next ones and try to find survivors."

Fyston stood up, grabbed his bag, and quickly made his way to the next section of the ship with the rest of the others. The ship shuddered as they arrived, causing Fyston to stumble. He regained his balance but slipped on his helmet to protect him from a possible breach. He felt bad for the medical personnel, as they weren't in proper gear for a sudden breach. His gear was better than none, as he could at least survive for a day or two in his suit if he conserved his oxygen and energy.

"Flyboy?! Flyboy?! Are you kriffing there, pilot?!"

"I'm here, what's wrong!?"

"We've been trying to raise you for five minutes! We've done the best we can, and your engine's good for the battle. Our repairs are finished, so you should probably get back to the battle."

Fyston cut the link and shoved the medical supplies at the nearest medic. He saluted everyone and began the run back to the hangar where he was docked. He almost stopped, but reminded himself that he could do more good offensively than on the ship.

They're trained to take care of the wounded. I'm trained to fly. I can do more with my squadron than I could with these guys. Plus, I'd never forgive myself if something happened while I was relatively safe in here.

Fyston skid to a stop and jogged into the hangar. His craft was one of the only ones there and Fyston nodded his thanks to the mechanics as he climbed up the ladder. He dropped into his fighter and closed the cockpit with the familiar sound of a seal being established and the transperisteel locking into place. He made a few checks and shot out of the hangar like an akk dog after its prey.

"Thanks for the repair, Control, 6 is back in the game!"

Fyston had just located his squadron and was nearly upon them to rejoin the formation when he saw a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye. He flipped his craft around to see a large number of Imperial vessels on the other side of the Halcyon, the same one where he'd just launched from mere moments before. He unleashed a string of curses and then realized that his helmet comm had picked up everything. He shrugged in his fighter and it wasn't long after that he received orders for a fighting retreat.

"Kriff, this is going fast."

Just as he began looking for the nearest enemy, however, he noticed a large amount of Vast Imperial bombers on the way.

Is this what I think it is?

Not wanting to test his theory, Fyston swung around his Interceptor and spun into a dive to put himself out of range of missiles and the subsequent frantic flying by the enemy pilots. After he watched a large number of them explode, however, he noticed a single fighter that managed to slip past a weak point in the fighters. He shot upwards and dove down upon the fighter like a hawk. The Imperial Interceptor swung left and Fyston cut his engines to avoid overshooting his foe. He squeezed his trigger and bolts of energy shot forth from his cannons. The first three overshot, causing Fyston to sigh as he realigned his crosshairs to adjust for the lead. Two volleys slammed into the right wing, causing minor damage but bringing the shield level down. After another miss, another bolt slammed into the right side of the cockpit. The Interceptor peeled right for a moment before exploding.

At least I haven't lost it. It's a shame I didn't change my gloves, at any rate.

Fyston turned his craft back to meet up with the rest of the squadron and pounced on the opportunity to down another enemy fighter by diving in on another Imperial. The fighter that he pounced on was damaged, as Fyston could see flames licking the pylon connecting the cockpit and the left wing. Fyston simply slammed his finger into the trigger after adjusting his crosshairs. Twice he missed before hitting the inside of the right wing as the fighter swung left. The enemy dived and Fyston swung into a dive after his foe. As soon as he did so, however, Fyston couldn't see his opponent. He was wondering what was happening just in time to hear the crackle of shields and watch as the numbers counted down in his shields. Fyston rolled left, then right, and then began frantically trying to lose his foe any way he could.

He zipped in and out of debris and towards his squadron, hoping to force her to break off. It wasn't until another Imperial Remnant fighter, chased by another Nightshrike, zoomed straight for him did the pilot break off. Fyston had dived at the last minute and the shots meant for him slammed into the belly of the enemy fighter, as it had mistaken its friend for foe. That fighter was soon downed and Fyston felt more beads of sweat forming on his head. He was nervous and felt as if his end could come any minute. It could and probably would during the battle, as he was a single fish in a sea of the same fish. He closed his eyes during a lull in the battle and readied himself for what was to come, whether it be death, injury, or returning to the Halcyon Warrior after a victory. He realized that he had lost track of time and wondered what he would have been doing were it not for the attack.

"Hey, does anyone know how long we've been fighting?"

OOC:

WC 1253. It's a bit shorter than my last try, but if I had remembered everything that I had in there, the post would have been longer.

After Action Report: Jar-Jar Shelly dies from severe trauma and I end up rejoining the fight. I shoot down one and get shocked back into reality by another. I had to play more catch up with this post rather than my attempted post due to Drac's new orders, so if I left anything important out, let me know.

~~~Reaper Medical Bay~~~

Petty Officer 1st Class Hanna Chambers was currently running and setting up a few tables when she received her first patient.  Her patient was carried in on a stretcher and placed on one of her tables.  She looked over his body and found a piece of metal sticking out of his leg.  Hanna quickly injected a local anesthetic and began to remove the shard.  Once it was removed she quickly stopped the bleeding and stitched him up enough to place him in one of the bacta tanks.  Shorty after he was submerged Hanna received her next patient.

~~~Reaper Bridge~~~

The Reaper finally broke through the Sierras’ shields when a proximity alarm went off.  Arthur looked at the sensors and saw the Imperials had reinforcements waiting just out of the systems.  He soon received the message to fall back to the station.

“Sir what our orders, do you want us to fall back now or should we finish this CR-90 off?”  Ariyn asked, and the whole bridge waited for an answer.

If I stay here I risk losing the ability to fall back after we finish the Sierra off, but if I fall back now I risk losing my ship.  This is just the kind of choice I hate to make, either I disobey an order and die, or I follow the order and die.  Arthur thought.

“What is the status of our shields?”  Arthur asked.

“We are currently sitting at 25% but they are dropping fast sir.” Matker replied.

“We can’t run for it, so lets take this thing out then fall back.  Tell Drac we will not be able to fall back until we deal with this CR-90.”  Arthur ordered.

“Yes sir.” the bridge crew replied.

The Sierra began to fire two of its missiles when a blast from the Reaper slammed into the launchers and they blow a large hole in the ship taking out the port side forward turbo-lasers.  With the Sierra weakened the Reaper could now finish it off with little fuss or make a break for the station before being cut off.

“Fire three missiles into that hole, and try ripping that craft in half, if the attack is unsuccessful fire four short burst then fall back.” Arthur ordered.

“Yes sir.” the bridge crew replied.

The missiles left their tubes and flew straight and true into the smoldering hole and made contact, but the CR-90 was still in one piece.  The shorts bursts that soon followed did not break the Sierra in half.  The Reaper began to fall back to the station as was ordered and took a few pot shots at random ships that were unlucky enough to fly into its range.

The Reaper moved into range of the station and opened its hanger-bay.  Arthur sent the shuttle to the station to pick up some refugees.  The Reaper moved into a defensive position around the station, and waited for the battle to make their way there.

~~~Reaper Damage Control Team~~~

Petty Officer 2nd Class Igin was the head of the Damage Control Team and was running down the hall towards the crew quarters to patch the large hole that was newly created.  Igin and the Wookiee Haearrtk got pasted the blast doors and sealed them off they quickly tied off.  They sealed their exosuits and began to purge the atmosphere so they could begin their work without fear that they would be sucked out and lost out in space.

Haearrtk grabbed the patch plating and began to place it over the hole.  When the entire hold was sealed Igin began to weld it into place.  He started with the sides and when both had strong enough welds he and Haearrtk finish the welding process.  The work was quickly finished with the both of them welding and when Igin was satisfied with the welds he had the atmosphere restored to truly check his work.  The second they noticed a small leak Igin ran over and built up the weld and that was all it needed.

~~~Reaper Gunners~~~

Ferth Wazz was trying to get a fix on one of the NR X-Wings, but could not get the perfect shot off.  He decided to shoot anyways and hoped that he killed his target.  The nimble X-Wing was able to dodge the first blast and was grazed by the second.  The shields buckled from the graze leaving the craft defenseless.  Ferth took another shot and blasted the X-Wing right on the nose.

“There is no way that pilot survived that.” Ferth said to Jonathan his fellow gunner.

“Yeah well I still did more damage to the Sierra and killed two NR bombers.” Jonathan responded.

“I had to give you some kills, and damage this battle.”  Ferth said.

“Your just jealous that I am doing this well.”  Jonathan replied.

“Well you both need to focus on the NR fighters that are escorting those bombers.”  Harth said.

OOC:

820 words

Summary: The Reaper almost killed the NR CR-90 Sierra, but managed to cripple the vessel enough to fall back to the station.  It also sent its shuttle to gather refugees from the station.

"DeepSix to Tuk'ata flight", the Onderonian addressed his temporary wingmates. "Sitrep for shields and payload", the Warrant Officer demanded, already considering another move.

"Beta Five, 64% shields and three torpedoes."

"Beta Seven, 57% shields and four torpedoes."

"Beta Eight, 71% shields and three torpedoes."

Well the stats may not have been ideal but they were however still decent enough. If nothing else the 2nd Fleet squadron commander believed it was enough to at least attempt another bold maneuver. That CR90 corvette they took care of earlier wasn't the only one being a pain for everyone else after all. The small group was also fairly close enough to a second such corvette, and chances were they'd risk themselves about the same by either trying to reform with their allies or trying to deal some more damage instead.

Besides, by merely sticking so close to the enemy lines the small group of fighters could help out their comrades. Statistically speaking the four Vast Empire fighters were nothing against the might of the incoming Remnant ships. Certainly not against a Remnant and New Republic combined force. They were like mosquitoes standing in the way of large jungle predators.

But what if such insignificant critters could bug a predator enough to stall him? What if in so doing its prey would manage to run away and find refuge? Better yet, what if the pesky mosquitoes carried some nasty disease capable of eventually killing even something many times their tiny size?

Seth was of course not interested in all that. He knew that his actions could maybe benefit other fighters, bombers, shuttles or even small capital ships. He knew that it was possible for his current course of action to gain him some fame, popularity and just as well maybe even a military trial. The Onderonian knew all this but honestly couldn't care less about any of it. His actions were no longer ruled by duty and military common sense anymore. Rather, the Warrant Officer only wished to test himself against this stronger enemy.

The blond human knew that in so doing his true self would surface and once that would occur then the man would be able to determine once and for all just what exactly the Vast Empire meant for him. He already determined what the military had failed to change but he still needed to find out just what exactly it did manage to change, or at least slightly affect at any rate. He could always scram should things become too dangerous or once he would have his answers, so it didn't really sound like such a bad idea.

"Warrior, you up for a repeat performance?" Seth asked the 2nd Fleet's flagship. It had already proven itself a deadly companion in that simple game of tag so there was really no reason not to use it once more. "If you're feeling up to the task Nightshrike One then the Halcyon Warrior would indeed be ready to repeat the previous success and be thankful for your help in doing so. Your new target, Nightshrike One?" the Imperial Destroyer's comm operator asked, a hint of excitement in his voice.

"Another corvette... 27 degrees west of my position. Like before, I'll announce when it's ready - you just keep some guns pointed in the right direction, ready to deal the final blow. We have a deal, Warrior?" Qorbin asked in a cocky voice that sounded quite confident even if that wasn't fully the case though. "Acknowledged Nightshrike One. The Warrior's respective gunners will standby, waiting for your signal. Good hunting out there!" Seth smiled as he thanked the faceless voice.

"Alright Betas, we're cleared for another target. Still up for the task?" the Warrant Officer inquired his wingmates who one by one replied with an affirmative answer. They were good lads, Seth realized. Sure their motivations may have been driven by duty, loyalty, vengeance or even a pursuit of personal glory for that matter... but they were still good pilots ready to put down their lives for the Vast Empire, their squadron and in this particular instance even the blond Onderonian human leading them. The latter in particular made Seth happy.

"Excellent then. Same as before for the most part - get close enough, launch torpedoes, break away and try another run if possible. This time around it'll be even easier as we'll approach from the side, and go straight for the engines. We'll then continue our attack from the aft, so as to make the most of our opponent's weakness. Questions?" the blond pilot asked but none of his wingmates replied. Perfect!

The Warrant Officer once more found himself waiting to get in range of his target. Unlike before however, this time around the 2nd Fleet pilot managed to take out another enemy Interceptor on his way there. Now whether by accident or not, the pilot in question ended up flying straight in Seth's crosshairs... It all happened very fast of course, maybe a moment or two, but it was still enough time for DeepSix's finger to instinctively twitch, letting out four laser bolts, of which three hit the Interceptor fully in the left solar panel, the final one even piercing it and slamming the cockpit found on the other side. The Onderonian maneuvered slightly so as not to pass straight through the debris but otherwise just continued on his way. He had bigger fish to fry after all...

"Alright everyone, ready ordnance and prepare to fire on my mark", Seth instructed as the small group got close enough to the second enemy corvette. Four... three... two... one... clear! "Mark!" the blond pilot shouted and watched as more torpedoes left his and his allied Avengers' tubes. Except for a single torpedo, all the other ones impacted the CR90's engines. The corvette's shields absorbed some of the damage too but even so one of main engines appeared to have caught fire as a result.

"Break and make another run on it", the Warrant Officer ordered as he prepared to deliver another blow straight in the corvette's backside. "Warrior, ready those guns", Seth let the cavalry know as well, not wishing to waste more time after he'd disable this new target. "Fire!" the pilot changed channel and ordered the three other Avengers with him. More torpedoes left their launch tubes and flew briefly until hitting the small capital ship's engines, like the other projectiles before them.

"This is Tuk'ata Seven. I'm hit! I'm hit!" a voice suddenly broke the silence and caused Seth to first check his scanner and next turn his fighter around to get a visual of the situation as well. Like the Avenger pilot said, his ship was indeed hit judging by the way it was shaking as well as the still burning hole in one of its solar panels. Frak!

"Five and Eight - engage enemy fighters but be wary of turbolaser fire as well", the Warrant Officer reacted. He figured the two other Avengers would give the damaged one a better chance to stay alive for at least a little while longer. "Warrior, try shooting it now!" the Onderonian switched channels to signal the big ship as well. Injured comrades or not, it would've all been pointless if their efforts till that point would've been for nothing.

"T-Seven, can you make it back in your current state?" the blond pilot asked the fighter that still shook unsteadily. "Sure thing... is what I would've loved to have said. Realistically however I don't think so though", was the other pilot's response. "Is your hyperdrive still operational at least?" If it was then the pilot would be able to plot a jump to anywhere else and still get there in his current state. That is assuming the jump wouldn't aggravate things and end up killing him instead. That was always that nasty possibility with damaged ships.

"It might still work but my onboard instruments are on the fritz. No way to be sure if I can input a destination and whether the nav computer will actually take me there afterward." Well there went that idea. Seth's eyes narrowed as he understood the other pilot's situation. He was about to speak again when he noticed a large green bolt of energy narrowly missing the damaged corvette. They missed...

"Pilot, you know what this means then, right?"

"Yes, sir", the damaged Avenger's pilot answered in a seemingly calm and serene voice as if having already made peace with his fate. "Then there are only a handful of choices for you. Power down you ship and hope the Remnant takes you in alive. Eject and hope you survive long enough to be captured alive. Lastly, you can choose to fight to the bitter end. I will personally state, under oath if needed be, that whatever decision you made was the right one - this I can promise you. So just think carefully and choose... whilst you still can, that is."

Yeah, it wasn't exactly easy fending off a bunch of enemy TIEs especially when they kept on coming and coming and coming some more. Seth knew damn well they wouldn't likely be able to survive for long out there. Rather than risking himself and his two other pilots, the squadron commander would eventually be forced to take off before the situation would truly become hopeless.

"Thank you sir, I appreciate the gesture. Still, I think I'll go down fighting. That's how I'd rather be remembered", the Tuk'ata Seven said and Seth silently nodded upon hearing the other man's call. He didn't necessarily agree with that decision but he did however respect it all the same. "I'll use my fighter to guarantee that corvette doesn't leave anywhere. It's what we came here for, isn't it?"

After destroying another enemy fighter Seth turned to see the lone Avenger making his last and final run against the much bigger target. The pilot shot its remaining torpedo first and got closer and closer, even using his lasers for some extra damage before inevitably blowing up himself. Whilst it was indeed true that the impact of the Avenger would be more than enough to fully cripple the fleeing corvette, the blond Warrant Officer wasn't particularly happy with that resolution. It fitted his plans perfectly so that wasn't the issue, but rather the fact that the kamikaze pilot would only die knowing he just helped in taking down the enemy ship. To Seth that didn't sound like a truly glorious death.

Granted the man was forcing his own standards on others but even so the Warrant Officer didn't really care. The Onderonian sped up towards the damaged Avenger, checking out both his speed, his target's speed and also the distance between the Avenger and the CR90. "You will be remembered for going down fighting", Seth began as he ignored the IFF indicator and targeted the other pilot. "You will however go down fighting, all the while taking that corvette with you. I'll also see you get some postmortem recognition for it." The target indicator changed, showing a proper lock and as soon as that was the case Seth fired one of his remaining torpedoes, making sure it would hit at about the same time the Avenger was likely to smash against the corvette.

"So long pilot", the Warrant Officer whispered as he watched the Avenger getting closer to the corvette and the torpedo getting closer to both. "It was an honor sir", the other pilot clearly replied mere moments before becoming a ball of flame. It turned out the Avenger had hit the corvette's engines first, the torpedo reaching him a second or so later, blowing up all that debris further into the no longer shielded CR90. Although it didn't fully turn out the way Seth expected, the primary and secondary explosions were enough to cause a chain reaction. In no time at all smaller explosions could be seen across the entire ship's surface. It was definitely dying...

It was in fact still "dying" when another large green bolt of energy hit it, almost immediately afterward causing it to blow up completely, the debris even hitting a few of the escape pods as they were distancing themselves from the entire mess. "Nightshrike One this is the Halcyon Warrior. The CR90 corvette Freedom Forever was also destroyed. Like before, we're thankful for the assist."

"Negative Warrior", Seth's voice was serious unlike the comm operator's whose sounded excited and joyous. "The corvette in question may indeed be history but the one to have made it possible is the pilot flying as Tuk'ata Beta Seven. It is on his behalf that we thank you for the assist."

A few moments of silence followed before the comm operator's voice was heard again "Duly noted Nightshrike One. We're happy to have been of assistance in that case." Good, this meant the fallen pilot may yet have his rightful recognition... provided the 2nd Fleet wouldn't be annihilated first. "Thank you Warrior. With any luck we'll be rejoining everyone shortly. Nightshrike One over and out."

OOC:

After Action Report: Same as above for the most part. D6+3 Tuk'ata Avengers work together with the Halcyon to take out yet another CR90 corvette. Another Tuk'ata casualty as a result of this.

A few other and random notes: I split the action in two posts to make it easier to read. It was my intention to show in this small arc the difference between superiority fighters such as Defenders and Avengers when compared to regular TIE Fighters and Interceptors. It was also meant to show that despite being "better" there was still only so much they could realistically accomplish.

I randomly named the two corvettes Hand of God and Freedom Forever - names I may have witnessed someplace else but that I would surely never use to name any of my own ships now or in the future. Assuming Serpent doesn't mind the comm operator's replies then he could've been him. Otherwise it was just another random, nameless fellow - it's why I never referred to him in any specific manner.

OOC:

Alright, due to internet stability and a rather large storm, I've been delayed. However, I've decided to follow up on the Vulpe Astuta's story.

"Sir, we're coming out of Hyperspace in 3....2....1.... And we're out."

"Thank you. Inform the Prognosticator of our recent ideas to see what will be done."

"Of course, sir"

I'm sure to earn a commendation from the Fleet for that, nobody else addressed it during the briefing. Maybe a promotion and a medal, if everything goes as planned!

"Sir, the Admiral wants to talk to you directly."

"About what?"

"He wouldn't say. He says it's important."

"Of course it is."

Captain Magus Drenup walked stoically over to the communications officer and looked down at him. He was extremely agitated to be called from his view at the shipyards, which would be theirs within hours. He was agitated that the communications officer couldn't merely announce the admiral's decision to the bridge. Even if it was a negative, it would still be preferable to being called away from his viewport. He sighed and wiped his face of emotion to prevent the admiral from learning of his agitation and walked down the nearby stairs into the pit.

"Yes, Admiral?"

"Captain, this needs to be private. Are you ready to proceed?"

Magus plugged in another headset that he had upgraded to prevent being overheard by those waiting over his shoulder. He was once a communications officer and saw the need to be able to break the news to his captain in a way that would avoid a backlash from him.

"You're clear to go ahead, Admiral."

"Right, I think that your stra- WHAT IN THE EMPEROR'S GREAT THRONE IS THIS?! Gunnery officer, order the starboard side to open fire on that Rebel fleet! Captain, take the three Carracks near you, as well as the Deadly Demon to protect our flank from those rebels."

"Three Carracks, A Victory I, and a Victory II against that fleet?!"

"Are you questioning me?"

"No sir! Just wanting to confirm your orders."

"Remember, they also have to worry about these Vast Imperials, as do we. They'll break off some of their ships to engage, and this is why you're getting this. Do well and we'll see about a promotion."

"Yes sir."

Magus unplugged his headset a second after disconnecting from the channel. He wrapped it up, stashed it in his toolbelt, and tried to prevent himself from running up out of the pit. He succeeded, though only barely. He lost his calm as he ran up the stairs, though regained his professional posture as he stepped off of the last stair. He glanced around as saw faces lit up with artificial light, eyes staring directly at the screens. He did not know if they felt his gaze, but knew that they didn't glance up from their tasks. That was something he liked, and he smiled a crisp smile, pressing his lips into thin lines that curved around the edges,

"Gunnery crew, are we in range yet?"

"No, captain. We're flying in a standard formation but the Rebels haven't opened fire yet."

"They're out of range as well. It seems they haven't broken off. Call all ships in, I want us sharing shields. If they don't break off, those shields may save our life. Let's give them more time to see us and break off, cut 25% power from the engines and give it to the shields."

"Yes sir, sending out your orders."

With the reduced speed, it was 15 minutes before they were in range. By that time, the New Republic had formed its own battle group to battle the Imperial Remnant. Magus was smiling on the outside, though butterflies began to form in the pits of his stomach. He'd been in battle before, though his recent promotion to the rank of captain, as well as being given command of his own ship, was a new thing for him.

"Sir, we're just in range, though the same can be said for the New Republic. Estimates given show that we won't be hitting consistently, even with our crews. Given the range, our bolts will be suffering from the loss of energy. Shots that do hit will do minimal damage to their shields, as well as waste our energy."

"Hold fire. We'll continue on our way, and both of us are moving towards each other. We'll be in a decent range soon."

"Yes sir. All ships hold fire, maintain speed and heading."

Magus waited with bated breath as they neared. The New Republic opened fire, though their shots glanced off of the shields of the Remnant ships. Magus counted down the seconds in his head, thinking of the equation that he had memorized during command school.

"Three.....two.....one..... ALL SHIPS, OPEN FIRE!"

"All batteries, all ships, OPEN FIRE!"

The opposing battle group, consisting of three CR-90 Corvettes and headed by an MC40 Corellian Cruiser, was advancing quickly towards the Imperials.

"Focus on the nearest Corvette. We'll take them down one at a time to prevent fire. Order the Carrack with the ion cannons to open fire on the shield generator."

As the communications officer relayed the orders to the others, the broad spews of random fire from the Imperial ships narrowed into a tight strain of green energy at the nearest CR-90. Blue bolts of energy spewed from a CR-90, weakening the shields. Before long, the superior volume of fire overwhelmed the shields of the Corvette, causing a chain reaction of explosions to usher forth from the holes in its hull. Although the Imperials received return fire, their choice to share their shields caused vessels to share the impact, lessening the effects on individual ships.

"Change target to the nearest CR-90, rinse and repeat."

"Sir, we've lost a Carrack!"

"Which one?"

"Let me rephrase that. We lost the one with the ion weapons."

"Kriff me. Overwhelm the CR-90 through sheer firepower."

The ships again continued to fire, though the lack of blue ion blasts weakened their cause considerably. As if learning a lesson, the New Republic tightened their fire onto one ship, another Carrack. Mere seconds after the second CR-90's shields fell, a second Carrack exploded in fiery wrath and shrapnel blew in all directions. It took more time to destroy the Corvette, time which Magus spent frowning. Just as the second Corvette lashed out in a violent explosion, he was updated by his gunnery officer.

"Sir, the second Cor-"

"I KNOW! OPEN FIRE ON THE NEXT TARGET!"

It was longer still before the shields were down and the hull of the Corvette began taking a pounding. Using visual aid of the advanced bridge, Magus could see the plates welding and the individual turrets being taken out by the rogue shots. It took what seemed like an eternity for the last Corvette to die, it's hull a mere shell after the minor explosions inside destroyed the crew and important systems but left the shell intact.

"OPEN FIRE ON-"

"Sir, the last Carrack has gone down. Reports show the MC40 sending out her fighters."

"Wait, why would they.... They took out the Carracks, which held antistarfighter capabilities. Order the starfighters scrambled. Continue your barrage, take out the turrets first. I want to play with our food."

As Magus glanced around, he realized something terrible. He had lost track of time. He couldn't remember the time it took to destroy each enemy ship, nor could he remember how long it had been since he had been given the order to take on the Rebel fleet. As he looked up out of the viewport, he received a report.

"Sir, we've got reinforcements!"

"Wait, what?"

"It seems the Admiral requested more ships, and they appeared on the other side of the Vast Imperials."

It was even more time between the arrival of reinforcements and the appearance of visible damage on the MC40. Turrets would go down, sure, but it took time for the damage to the turret systems to be visible. One or two turrets would go down at a time, though it took forever to be able to tell the effects on the amount of fire. Magus smiled as he realized that he had won and glanced around.

"SIR!"

"WHAT?!"

"I've been trying to tell you. We've got major damage to our shield generators. They've got few turrets, but they're focusing on us."

"I want us to begin retreating back to the main force. Have the Deadly Demon cover our escape, doing as much damage as we can. We've taken most of their turrets out, so they can't do much. We'll retreat past them and repair ourselves, then get back in the fight."

The helmsman nodded and Magus could see movement out of the corner of his eyes. He kept his eyes glued to the transperisteel for an unknown amount of time but felt them drawn to the right by a sudden flash of light.

"Oh....My....God.... That was the Prognosticator. Run a sweep for life scans and pick up any escape pods."

"Sir.....No escape pods are detected. It is assumed that all hands were lost."

"Kriff me. Pull back, we need to do damage control and repair. Have the Demon provide cover."

"Yes sir, do you want an update sent to the reinforcements? They've requested information."

"Send them our condition and damage reports, as well as my orders to Lieutenant Frug aboard that Victory II."

"Yes sir."

A mere two minutes later, and Magus was getting a video feed from the leader of the reinforcements.

"Captain Magus? We must press our advantage on these Vast Imperials. Why are you withholding precious resources?"

"Commodore, our shield generator is heavily damaged, and I believe the Deadly Demon has engine issues. We must repair and we shall take our forces around the flank to attack from the rear. It seems that their forces are weaker on one side, so we shall press there when we are able."

"Very well. We require you up here as soon as you are done with repairs and not a moment after. Any insubordination shall be dealt with by force, by destroying your ship if we must. Do you understand?"

"Yes Commodore, we'll be with you shortly."

OOC:

1674 words.

After Action Report: I went over the tales of the Imperial battlegroup and their impact on the battle with the New Republic. They did considerable damage, destroying three CR-90s and damaging the weapons on an MC40. The Vulpe Astuta and Deadly Demon took some damage that would have been worse were it not for the shield sharing of the two major vessels. Due to having to make up so much time, I had to rely on time skips and forgetfulness. I hoped to make it as realistic as possible, but I have no amount of experience outside of a starfighter setting.

Driver stewed in his own juices of anger and frustration.  As second-in-command of the Vast Empire Navy he had full access to every single operation, mission, project, and initiative…except the one he was about to fly into.

Belgaroth was not on his agenda. Hells, he wasn’t even sure he knew why he was headed there at flank speed, but he was about to commit his task force to its defense...or something.  His coded message to Stormz had yet to be answered.  The longer it took the more foul his mood became, and despite his reputation, he did not work well when angry.  Mistakes would be made.  Lives would be lost, lives he needed.

“Mr. Pans, status on my comm to the Admiral?”

Hesitantly the Iron Duke’s Executive Officer replied, “None yet M’Lord.”

He snorted his acknowledgement, and attempted to run thru several calming exercises he’d learned during his long rehab after Lehon.  Lehon.  Would Belgaroth be the same cluster?  Would he fail his men and his Empire when they needed him most?  The self doubt crept over him like a slow tide.  He repeated his mantras and pushed the dark waters back, back and back some more until he was free of their cold uncertainty.

“ETA to Belgaroth?”

“One Hour M’Lord.” 

Clean, antiseptic, efficient.  Not a trace of the anticipation of battle. No fear. No doubt.  Pans career would be a good one.  He was what the Vast Empire had hoped to achieve when they began overhauling the Academy three years ago.  It was almost to the Pre-Endor level again, soon, it would surpass it.

“M’Lord, status update from the Renderer and the Gnasher.  They have matched our speed and will rendezvous with us at the moment we arrive at Belgaroth,” he stated.

Driver nodded, having the two new Imperial-class Frigates would help.  He’d purposefully gone to Sedratis underpowered. He was looking to poke Caerbellak, not start a war…yet.  He was still a bit light for his tastes, but each craft was superbly captained, and that accounted for more than sheer firepower.

“M’Lord, the Admiral is hailing us.”

Driver turned to the stocky Taanabian and nodded.  The Wookiee NCC’s holo materialized before him, life size.

“Admiral.  Care to give me some sort of briefing on Belgaroth,” his irritation and impertinence bled through every word.

The Wook hurfed and cocked a fuzzy eyebrow at his junior officer, “[I can, but watch yourrr tone.  It seems the New Rrrepublic wants theirrr shipyard back, and the Rrremnant wants to take it from them and us.]”

“And I’m sure something’s gone wrong.”

“[It has.  The 2nd had somewhat prrreparrred themselves for the Rrreshies to rrreturn.  Drrrac thought he could hold them without rrreinforcements...till the Rrremnat showed up.]”

“Damn fool fishhead.  Do you have a preference of who I engage…or don’t engage?”
y
“[Focus on the Rrreshies firrrst, but if the Rrremnant decides to continue theirrr attack, so be it.”

“Aye aye.  Any sitrep on the battle?”

The Wookiee sagged, “[Not much, it’s still touch and go.  Hopefully, you can tip the scales.  I’m still severrral hourrrs out.]”

“Understood, I’ll try not to kill all the Rebels before you arrive. Atrasin out.”

The holo faded into ether and left only the XO in its place, “We’re about to arrive at Belgaroth.”

“Excellent, I want shields raised the moment we drop out of hyperspace. Inform the rest of the task force that we are coming in hot. Weapons free.  Fire at will, preferably New Republic targets, but they will not be faulted for taking out hostile Remnant forces.”

Clicking his heels and pivoting expertly the officer chimed a curt, “Aye, aye.”

“Comms open a hailing frequency to the Halcyon Warrior when we drop out of hyperspace.”

“Aye M’Lord,” the streaking stars shrank back to pinpoints and the six ships of Atrasin’s task force popped into the edge of the Belgaroth System, “Channel is open M’Lord.”

“Captain Mihawk, i hope you've left me something to kill?”

OOC:

ok, part of the 1st fleet is here. i have 1 ISD (Iron Duke), 2 Imperial-class frigates (Gnasher and Renderer), one DP-20(Bastion), and 2 Wardens(Carmine and Ecru).  write me in to the battle and give me something to work off of, i can't read all the back story to catch up.

The Communications Suite, aboard CR90 Defiance

Word came to One from Four up on the bridge: the New Republic was pulling out.  Damn, the commander of Black Group thought to himself.  If any of them escape, they’ll be able to analyze their losses from today… with time – and luck – they might be able to guess what we’ve been able to do here!  “Tell Trykon to wipe out all the rebel ships immediately!” Commander Grey ordered Four.

“I copy, One.  Stand by,” came Four's reply.  One knew it was a hopeless situation: one corvette could not take on all of the remaining New Republic warships by itself, let alone destroy them before they could complete the jump to hyperspace.  Even so, he had clear orders, direct from the Chief of Naval Intelligence: “Once the Operation begins it is imperative that every single New Republic vessel in the system be either destroyed or detained.”  We have to do our best to follow Captain Grey’s orders, he thought.  But whether Captain Trykon would feel the same way and try to somehow destroy the retreating remnants of the rebel fleet, or whether the career Navy officer would instead ignore the suicidal order from Naval Intelligence, the leader of Black Group could not guess.  “I’ve done my job,” he muttered under his breath.  “Other beings can take care of doing theirs.”

OOC:

The members of VENI's Black Group are the first to know the New Republic forces are thinking of pulling out of the battle, since they're monitoring/messing with NR communications.  They pass word to the bridge of the Defiance, and they hope Captain Trykon will honor his commitment to Naval Intelligence, by somehow managing to stop the entire enemy force from retreating (since if New Republic personnel and/or data recorders get away intact, there's a chance the NR could figure out that VENI has completely broken their communications security, and they'll be unable to make this "remote commandeering" trick work again).

Sweat stung his eyes and his vision was blurred.  In the stuffy flight mask and helmet he had trouble breathing, though the life support systems of his TIE were fine.  His problems were psychological, not physical.

Their faces flashed before him.  He and his eleven friends had shared all the good times and the bad.  He saw the parties, the games of sabacc, the drills, the commendations, the reprimands, and a thousand other shared experiences that forged not only a fighter squadron, but genuine friends.

And now they were gone.  Every last one of them.  Only he remained.

Over the last few hours, the Battle of Belgaroth had picked off his friends one by one.  With each death, every scream of pain and rage that echoed over his com, another little part of himself had died.  And now there was nothing left.

Nothing but revenge.

-----

Pherik ‘Serpent’ Zail was once again marvelling at Captain Mihawk’s tactics, as the New Republic fleet disengaged from the Battle of Belgaroth and jumped to hyperspace.  If Zail had been in command, he would have pursued them futilely, and taken the Second Fleet from its defensive position at the shipyards.  Fortunately, his Mon Cal CO was more patient than Serpent, and had made the right move in holding back.

For a few moments, the Vast Empire and the Imperial Remnant fleets glared at each other across the void.  Zail had braced himself for the onslaught, for the Second Fleet was heavily outgunned.  And that’s when the First Fleet arrived to reinforce them.

Suddenly, the bridge of the Halcyon Warrior was a flurry of activity, as Captain Mihawk gave the orders to take the fight to the enemy.  In a few brilliant moments, Serpent’s entire outlook on this heretofore doomed fiasco was changed.  The Republic fleet was gone and his own forces had badly needed reinforcements.

The Second Fleet had fought hard enough when they thought they were going to lose.  With victory now possible they would fight even harder.

-----

The fleets clashed, warships and starfighters assailing each other with relentless fury.  There was something strange about a fight of the Vast Empire and Imperial Remnant, as the vessels and tactics involved were common to both sides.  The winner was determined purely by innovation and desire.  And when a pilot snapped, when he was pushed so far that only rage directed his actions, he had all the determination needed for to take the advantage and use it.

His name was Alexander J Kimil.  He had a callsign and a unit number too, but those were not currently relevant.  All eleven of his fellow pilots had been killed in the Battle of Belgaroth, and now Kimil was consumed by a need for revenge.  He had ignored his orders to return to his carrier, gone rogue in the middle of a battle.

Kimil picked out his nearest target, another of the Vast Empire killers who had massacred his friends, and set an intercept course.

They will all pay, he vowed.

-----

“Halcyon Warrior, this is Deathriders Five,” Came the voice over the communications headset, “We have a problem here.”

Zail listened intently, adjusting the transmission a little to clear up some static on the line.  His console had not been operating at a hundred percent since it had to be repaired, but the Petty Officer could sort it.

“Please be more specific, Five,” Said Zail firmly.

“There is something out here,” Came Five’s somewhat ambiguous reply.  “I don’t know who or what he is, but there is a solo Imp pilot and he is flying circles around my wingmen and me – literally!”

Zail frowned.  Five, alongside Deathriders Six and Eight, were highly competent TIE Interceptor pilots.  How could one pilot be menacing them so?  “Sorry, Five, we are stretched thin,” Said Pherik.  “All other fighters in your area are engaged with pushing forwards.  Whatever is happening you will just have to deal with it alone.”

“Copy that, Halcyon Warrior,” Came the response.  “Five out!”

Zail heard the click that indicated that the communication line had ceased, and wondered about what he had just heard.

-----

More visions, more images.  Eleven faces haunted Kimil’s thoughts, once sources of endless joy, now harbingers only of deep and endless anguish.

Rather than distract him, the flashbacks only drove Kimil harder, focusing his rage and his determination.  Some combination of revenge, and a total lack of caring if he lived or died, had given the Imperial an edge he had lacked in every other engagement he had ever fought.

His took his Interceptor in with a set of banks and rolls, coming in hard and fast against his targets, moving with grace the likes of which he had never managed.  Kimil did not waste a second marvelling at his new skill, however.  He merely wanted to kill.

-----

Deathriders Eight saw the approaching foe hurtling in at his position, and knew who it was.  This guy had been menacing them for the last few minutes, and now he would end this nutcase once and for all!

Eight swung his TIE about to open fire.  He squeezed the trigger and traced a line of bright green death against space, but his foe weaved in and out of the blasts as if they were stationary traffic cones.  The Imperial Interceptor closed relentlessly, single-minded in its approach in a way that Eight had never seen from an enemy.

The target grew ever closer, and then opened fired.

-----

Five saw the attack on Eight but had no time to react to it.  His friend’s shots were bang on target, and any other sensible attacker would have pulled away the moment that Eight began firing.  Five blinked in surprise as the Imperial drew ever closer and nailed his fellow with a single, well-placed barrage.

Eight’s shields collapsed, a wing was severed and tumbled off into the black, and Five heard a scream over his com.  For a single, terrible moment, the flight leader feared that his friend had perished, but his sharp eyes clearly picked out a figure ejecting safely from the downed Interceptor’s central sphere.

“Okay, Six, with me!” He ordered quickly to his wingman.  “Let’s get him!”

Deathriders Six confirmed the order, and together the two accelerated after the lone Imperial.  The foe was breaking off, arcing around and trying to come back at the remaining Vast Empire fighters from a different angle.

-----

Kimil saw the duo approach, then suddenly split in two.  He quickly identified the simple yet effective tactics.  One of the Vast Empire fighters would engage him directly, in an attempt to distract him from the other, who would sneak around and vape him from behind.

The Imperial did not blame his adversaries for such an unimaginative approach.  In two-on-one engagements this tactic was popular simply because it worked so well and so often.

But not today, murders!

-----

Five throttled up hard and fast, giving aggressive pursuit to the Imp who had menaced his team.  He fired at extreme range with little chance of hitting, but that was not his goal.  He merely tried to make himself as fast and angry looking as possible, to draw his foe’s attention while Six moved into position to strike.

The Deathrider smiled inside his helmet at his foe took the bait.  The other TIE Interceptor came about and at him, swerving tightly to evade Five’s shots.

The VE pilot tried again and again to land a hit, but the other was just too smooth with his evading.  Their ranges closed rapidly as they came at each other head on head, and Five knew that his foe was lining up a kill shot.  Cursing, the Deathrider flight leader pulled up, rolling away and clear just his opponent opened fire.

“Come on,” Five snarled, “Stay on me!”

Again things went according to plan, as the Imperial stayed focused on Five, giving chase.

Deathrider Five swerved wildly as the Imperial stayed on him.  He barely evaded the other’s shots, and he could feel himself getting nervous at how close it was.  Who the frak is this guy? He wondered.

-----

Six raced into the fray, dropping in behind the Imperial TIE with perfect precision and timing.  Five had done his job brilliantly, and Deathrider Six could not ask for better positioning on their foe.  He eyed the Interceptor with his targeting reticule, gripped the trigger, and waited for just the right moment to open fire on his unsuspecting prey.

Suddenly his foe burst into action!  The Imperial executed a perfect turn, cutting port engines just long enough to swing his fighter around in the blink of an eye.  Exhibiting a perfection of timing and situational awareness that Six had rarely seen, the Imperial stopped the turn directly facing his foe.

Six was too stunned by the manoeuvre to do anything other than stare blankly, as a series of laser blasts tore through his shields, his hull, and then his torso.

-----

On the Halcyon Warrior, Zail heard the voice of Deathriders Five come through his headset.  The man struggled to sound calm and controlled as a pilot should be, but there was an underlying emotion, a mixture of fear and anger, that told Serpent immediately that not all was well.

“This is Five,” He said.  “Eight has been downed but evac was successful.  Deathriders Six is also down, most likely dead.”

“Five, please clarifiy,” Said Zail, alarmed.  “Is that solo Imperial from earlier responsible?”

A pause, and then, “Affirmative.”

Zail gasped.  Did the Empire have Baron Soontir Fel out there or something?

“I will engage the target myself,” Continued Five, and there was a certain finality to his words.

“Wait!  Five, hold off and let me see...” Began Zail, but it was too late.

Five had closed the communication, and commenced his final dogfight alone.

OOC:

Word count 1642.  A tale of grief and revenge, a poor fool snapped by hours of fighting and too much death.  Frankly, I’m surprised this sort of thing does not happen more often in the Star Wars galaxy!  The conclusion next week!

After Action Report: The Second Fleet is pushing forward, emboldened by the arrival of reinforcements, but the Imperial Remnant is far from finished.  One of their pilots, called Kimil, has gone rogue after seeing all his friends killed.  He attacks a flight of Deathriders squadron alone, downing Deathriders Eight and Six.  Now it’s just him and Deathriders Five.

Alexander J Kimil was lost.  His mind had turned into a yawning abyss, sucking in all his joyful memories and leaving nothing but pain.  With his friends and squadron mates strewn across the Battle of Belgaroth as burned corpses, he knew nothing but rage and anger.  His hopes and dreams fell away, and Kimil wanted nothing but to die.

First, though, he would kill.  And kill.  And keep killing the Vast Empire until he could kill no more!

He had personally dispatched several enemy fighters, and even taken sadistic glee in coming about and mercilessly gunning any foes who had ejected.  And now Kimil had locked his sights on his next foe.  Deathriders Five.

-----

Five was afraid, truly and genuinely, to a level he had not experienced in years.  Not since he had first experienced the terror of actual combat as a rookie had Deathriders Five felt so overwhelmed.  And by what?  An enemy fleet or two?  No.  He was afraid of one lone pilot, one enemy in a TIE Interceptor identical to his own.

Five fed off the fear, used it to keep him sharp, keep him alive.  Unlike Kimil, the Deathriders pilot still had friends waiting for him, still had dreams of surviving the day.  Indeed, Five entertained thoughts of this day being a great victory for the Vast Empire, and soon he would be praised with medals and promotions for having successfully participated in it.

He throttled up, taking his Interceptor towards the solo Imperial rogue who had shot down his comrades, fully intending to fight and win.

Kimil and Five.

Despair and hope.

Their battle began.

-----

The two TIEs hurtled at each other, each holding fire until the very last moment.  Head on head, the two pilots scowled at each other across the black of space.  Though neither could actually see the eyes of their opposite number, both Kimil and Five locked their gazes on the Interceptors that each piloted.

Closer they drew... closer...

Kimil squeezed the trigger, and so did Five.

With perfect timing they fired, shots lancing out in the dark, and a split second later each pulled away from the impending head-on-head collision.

Kimil arced up, Five down, both narrowly avoiding the blasts intended for the other.  Eager to come about onto the tail of the other, each wrenched their fighters around sharply, fighting the inertia that pulled at their bodies.

It was the Imperial Remnant pilot who came about a hair quicker, snapping off some shots in a bid to hit Five.  The Deathrider evaded easily, but the move cost him.  His turn was incomplete, and so Kimil got the positioning he needed.  Now on Five’s tail, he opened fire again and gave chase.

Five cursed, finding himself running from the other TIE and having to dodge and swerve unpredictably to avoid getting a laser in his rear.  He had to concede that his foe was an excellent shot, and it was only by the narrowest of margins that he avoided getting hit.  Alas, a few blasts were grazing his shields, eating at them slowly.

The Deathrider knew that he had to escape, but Kimil matched his every twist and roll, staying on him with single-minded determination.

You want to play? Thought Five.  Okay, try to stay with me through this!

Twisting his Interceptor sharply, he angled about and headed for a trio of nearby capital ships.  Two vessels of the Vast Empire’s recently arrived First Fleet were pounding on the Imperial Strike Class Cruiser Scorpion’s Smile.  Turbolaser blasts crisscrossed the black between them, a maelstrom of death that other fighters were rightfully avoiding.

Deathriders Five charged straight in, daring Kimil to follow.

The Imperial did not hesitate, staying tight on the tail of the other, and together the two plunged into the midst of the chaos.

Weaving in and out of the crossfire at high speed, Five felt a rush of excitement, and as he pulled back hard to climb above a bright green bolt of energy, the Deathrider was unsure of whether he should embrace the feeling or not.  Deciding to go with it, he smiled at the thrill and dived hard, bringing himself closer to the Strike Cruiser close by.

Kimil, beyond excitement, beyond any feeling other than a lust to kill, gave chase.  He fired at his prey as the other Interceptor banked towards the Scorpion’s Smile, but his foe evaded with skill.

The shots flew over the top of Five, and the Vast Empire pilot smiled as they splashed against the hull of the nearby warship.

“Hitting your own side?” He said aloud with a smile.  “Naughty naughty!”

Drawing closer to the Strike Cruiser, Five got a sense of how fast he was actually flying.  So often in a space battle he lost track of speed, with nothing but the empty void of space to measure his motion against.  However, as the Deathrider shot past, his thrill of excitement increased.

Suddenly a turbolaser blast from one of the First Fleet ships tore into the Cruiser’s port side, and a patch of hull Five was passing exploded in a blazing fireball of flaming atmosphere and debris.

Five pulled up quickly, trying to escape, but failed.  The explosion engulfed his ship and the TIE shuddered violently, though was not damaged.  Alas, the flames washed across his cockpit, temporarily blinding the Deathrider, and when he emerged a second later, he had lost track of his Imperial pursuer.

Kimil saw him emerge from the blast, accurately guessing from his foe’s trajectory where Five would be.  The Imperial began firing ahead of time, and the Deathrider flew neatly into the barrage.

The shots pounded at Five’s shields, which failed quickly and to the Vast Empire pilot’s growing alarm.  He tried to get his ship clear but one of the shots tore through, hitting one of his wings with enough force to send the Deathrider into a spin.

Five wrestled for control, trying to right himself before his Interceptor careened into the nearby Cruiser.  Alarms blared in his cockpit, and he spared a glance at the damage readout (though damaged, his wing was still attached).  Gaining control, he glanced about and tried to find his assailant.

Kimil brought his TIE in again, trying to get back on the tail of his spinning target.  Seeing the enemy approach, the Deathrider angled down, skirting the skin of the Scorpion’s Smile and arcing underneath and out of sight.

Kimil, totally focused on his pursuit, gave chase.  He brought his Interceptor down, cutting by the hull of the nearby capital ship even tighter than Five, in an effort to close ever faster.  Once at the Strike Cruiser’s underside, the Imperial pilot checked his sensors and struggled to find his foe.

Too late he realised that his enemy had executed a pinpoint turn during the seconds that he was out of sight.  The Deathrider came at Kimil head-on the moment he cleared the edge of the warship, firing like crazy.  The Imperial struggled to evade, but the shots slammed against his shields, depleting them severely but failing to take them down completely before Five broke off and shot past.

Kimil came about as fast as he was able, but Five pushed hard and tried to stay a step ahead, already twisting about and trying to get another firing angle.  In an attempt to shake the Deathrider, Kimil again plunged back towards the Scorpion’s Smile, vanishing around its far side and using the fellow Imperial as cover.

“No you don’t!” Said Five, giving chase.  However, rather than follow blindly on his rival’s course (and rushing into the same trap he himself had just sprung on the Remnant pilot), the Deathrider came about the intervening Cruiser a different way.

Five gripped the trigger closely as the Scorpion’s Smile rushed past him, and he accelerated over the top and down, and tried to get a visual on where the other Interceptor had hidden.

The Deathrider smiled when he saw his opponent lying in wait, his guns aimed in the direction that he thought Five would come from.  “Got you!” He said, realising that he had got the drop on his foe.  Without hesitation, he opened fire.

The volley of shots rained down on Kimil, taking him by surprise.  His depleted shields gave out completely, and as his TIE’s defences failed, the Imperial knew he had but two choices.  A normal warrior would have tried to move and escape, but Kimil had long passed beyond the concern of self-preservation.  He went for option two, returning fire as his fighter was pummelled around him.

Five’s eyes went wide as the enemy rolled and returned fire, a few return shots slamming hard into his Interceptor.

The two TIEs hit each other, and inside the cockpits, the two pilots raised their hands to block the shower of sparks that erupted from their controls.

-----

Two TIE Interceptors floated in space, facing each other.  Both lacked shields, both had their engines and their weapons severely compromised.  The internal systems of both were a mess.  The two pilots rushed to restore the vital functions of their fighters, fully aware that their opposite number was doing the same.  Whoever won the race, whoever knew their vessel the best and could fix it the fastest would live.  The other would die.

Kimil worked hard to restore the weapons, driven by thoughts of anger and revenge.  His friends were dead, and he sought to avenge them, merely so he himself could die with some petty sense of satisfaction.  He did what he did in the name of death.

Five also worked to restore his TIE’s weapons, also seeking to kill.  However, he only killed to preserve himself, and protect his friends still in the battle, who may yet fall to the rampaging Imperial.  He did what he did in the name of life.

In the battle of death versus life, the latter proved to be the stronger motivation.

Five got his systems working first.

He did not hesitate.

The shots lanced out, ripping through both Kimil’s TIE and the pilot himself.  As he died, the Imperial wondered if he would see his fallen comrades in the next life...

-----

On board the Halcyon Warrior, Pherik ‘Serpent’ Zail sat at the communications station and breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the voice of Deathriders Five.

“Five here,” Came the man’s exhausted voice.  “My TIE is trashed, and I am limping back to the hangar.”

“Understood, Five,” Said Zail.  “We’ll have a tech crew and a Corellian brandy waiting for you.”

He heard the ghost of a laugh on the com.  “Thanks, Halcyon Warrior.  Five out.”

OOC:

Word count 1777.  The conclusion to my little two-part starfighter tale.  Hopefully I captured the speed and desperation of the dogfight, with a suitably chaotic backdrop.  The attack on the Scorpion’s Smile will be the topic of my next post.

After Action Report: The insane Alexander J Kimil, a grief stricken Imperial pilot on a killing spree, had finally been stopped by the Vast Empire’s Deathriders Five.

OOC:

A bit later than I hoped, but here's my return to activity that's more than lurking and reporting

The bright flash of light nearly blinded Fyston as the instant polarizers kicked in, dimming the cockpit and saving his retinas from being scorched by the explosion. He flew through the debris that was all that remained of a rather aggressive Remnant pilot. He saw similar explosions across the figurative battlefield, signalling the destruction of both similar fighters and entire warships. The Zabrak had a few seconds to collect his thoughts before swooping back down into the fight, and he was going to use them.

This battle's causing some major damage to everyone involved. The Remnant's taken a beating and will have to stop their advance unless the plan on using damaged ships, and if the fighting gets much closer to the shipyard, the winner may not even get that. Of course for us, the pilots, our stake is unchanged. We might as well be grabbing at the stars. We'll be doing the same thing, day in and day out, no matter who wins. It's the admirals who truly win or lose, the pilots only live or die. Why should I give a damn who wins and who loses? I took an oath but oaths can be broken...I don't know why I fight for either side, though. As a pilot, it doesn't really matter who wins or loses, as long as I survive. To the rest of these people, it probably doesn't matter at all. There's no emotion in flying anymore, no joy or concern. I just don't give a bantha's backside. I won't disappoint my people, my ancestors, by giving up on them and breaking my oath, but there's no emotion in it for me. I just don't care.

The Zabrak sighed and snapped himself back to attention. He wasn't a deserter and knew better than to attempt an escape, but felt used and a wave of disappointment and grief washed over his mind. He pulled his craft up and to the right, bringing it to bear behind a Remnant fighter that had locked onto a fellow Vast Imperial. He opened fire on the fighter, hitting the left wing and causing the opposing pilot to break off. Fyston fired slightly to the right, forcing the Remnant fighter to swerve to the left, right into the path of the very fighter that Fyston had rescued. Combined fire from both fighters slammed into the shields of the Remnant fighter and tore through them like a vibroblade through a sheet of flimsi. Within seconds the fighter exploded and Fyston braked the craft to allow the Vast Imperial to pass.

"Thanks for the save. My flight was destroyed and my squadron is nowhere to be found."

"Well I gue-"

Fyston was cut off as he swung into a dive. A Remnant fighter had swarmed in on his tail and had begun to open fire. Fyston, mind still on his earlier reflection, had begun to say his final goodbyes and prepare himself for death when more green stitched the space above his cockpit. He looked behind him and saw that the same man that he had saved had returned the favor.

"Thanks for that, let's go meet back up with Nightshrike before they cut us off and we get taken out."

Fyston heard the brief confirmation before bring his craft up and swinging the nose around to point to the rest of his squadron. He had no idea that he had flown so far from the 'Shrikes in such a short time, but wondered what would have happened had he not. He was relieved for a split second when he saw two shapes come out of the system's sun, thinking that they were there to greet them. He brought his craft to bear just in time, as they opened fire. His forward shields, which were strongest, held. His comrade's shields, however, failed. He screamed in protest and brought his craft around, though a well placed bolt from one of the enemy fighters destroyed his left wing. The Vast Imperial flew out of control and slammed into a small asteroid, pulverizing both the chunk of rock and the remainder of his craft.

"Oh fierfek."

Fyston swung his craft hard and accelerated, hoping to get behind both crafts as they made adjustments and turned for another pass. He shot between them and cursed again, this time in his native tongue. His maneuver only partially worked, as he was in the middle in what would appear to outsiders as a small convoy of TIE Interceptors. From the middle, he had a stable bead on the first, but at the risk of being destroyed before he could shoot. He looked around and saw himself being steered towards the Remnant capital ships, most likely for assistance from either the turrets capable of shooting down snubfighters, or from other Interceptors.

"Something tells me this isn't going to go well."

It was extremely difficult to hit the first starfighter while dodging the bolts from the second, but Fyston got the occasional stray hit in, often due to luck and bad timing rather than aiming. Before any major damage could be done, however, the first fighter had lured Fyston deep behind Remnant 'lines.' In front of Fyston was an Impstar Deuce, though not one friendly to him. With the removal of turrets designed to take out snubfighters, Fyston knew that other fighters were imbound. The front fighter broke off and Fyston sighed. He flew up and leveled himself with the starboard shield generator. The sphere got closer and closer and Fyston was determined to at least do some damage with his death. At the last moment, the fighter behind him broke off and flew upwards. Fyston skimmed the bottom of the sphere but opened fire on the exposed belly of the Interceptor. Almost before he could breathe, the fighter's cockpit exploded in a show of fireworks and Fyston shot out past the large star destroyer, bits of metallic debris showering his cockpit.

He was still in shock that it worked, still nervous that he'd died and was just watching someone else's life. However, the sudden presence of an Imperial fleet caused him to snap back to attention. He had to pull up to avoid slamming into one of the turrets and was about to make a desperate run when the transponder codes came in as friendly. The Zabrak sighed in relief and decided to broadcast to anyone who may not have seen the arrival of the reinforcements.

"Uhh, guys, we've got some help. About time, too."

OOC:

After Action Report: Fy begins a slow descent, which will open up a large character arc that starts after the completion of this story. He also saves a pilot, who then dies. He gets lucky and kills another one and nearly collides with the reinforcements.

The Zabrak shot down into action, firing as he went at the fighter that had targeted a Vast Imperial fighter. Their task right now was to defend the newly arrived Impstar deuce from the fighters that had broken off to attack it, though Fyston wondered what was going on in the rest of the battle and how Nightshrike as a whole was faring. He was tempted to try to contact the rest of his squadron, though knew that an interruption at a critical time could cost lives. He made a mental note to check the casualty list from the after action report and his eyes widened at the fact that he had forgotten Xreth.

I'll have to let him know I made it out. I remember him saying he was on a combat fleet, but I don't think it was this one. Either way I'll send him something nice after this is done. I hope it's not found out who is actually sending 'em, else he could get in a crap-ton of trouble.

Fyston realized that the tide had turned when re received the order to go on the offensive. He smiled and, surprisingly, yawned. The Iridonian didn't know how long he had been in battle but took a second to look at the situation. His flight suit was filthy on the outside and absolutely disgusting on the inside. To the man inside of it, the suit smelled like sweat, pheromones, and oil. Just thinking about it made the suit itch and crawl on Fyston's skin and he fidgeted around inside of it, attempting to alleviate the discomfort. He'd need a shower, but Fyston knew that he'd still feel disgusting after two or even three. Coming from a warrior people, Fyston laughed at the notion of hygiene in battle.

Of course, our equipment is free and breathable. The nature of the suit is survival rather than comfort. I guess I'm not taking control of a reek, huh?

As he turned his small fighter towards one of the Remnant vessels, Fyston had to stop himself from picking the suit away from his body. He wondered if he could get away with burning the flight suit to avoid looking or smelling it again. However, as he neared his target, the Impstar deuce that he'd been in contact earlier, his mind returned to the battle.

Our reinforcements have great position on the Remnant, though I wonder how they could have gotten here that quickly. They were probably stationed nearby but their position couldn't be better. The fact that the fighters are ordered to press the attack means that we've got little worry of losing the battle without additional Remnant reinforcements. Let's hope that the Will of the Warrior is with us and doesn't grant them reinforcements.

Fyston neared one of the smaller engines of the Impstae deuce and opened fire with his laser cannons. He knew that he may not be able to do anything, but along with other fighters that were assisting him, they might be able to destroy a single engine. He looped back for pass after pass, green bolts of coherent energy spewing from his fighter at every turn. Combined with the other fighters that were pitching in, the small engine began to show signs of damage. Just as Fyston began to loop back around so that he could gain distance for another run, the small engine exploded in a violent display of ionic energy. The explosion took out Fyston's rear shields and propelled him forward as the waves of energy lashed out, not caring who or what was in the way. Luckily, Fyston had gained enough distance prior to the explosion to avoid being completely destroyed. However, electricity leapt around his console from surface to surface, shutting down systems and even zapping the fingers of the Zabrak.

"Ouch, son of a schutta!"

"Alright there, 'Shrike 6?"

"I'm fine, at least I think so... My fighter isn't. The electrical systems are fried and the weapons are nearly completely disabled. The engines are damaged and down to 54% efficiency and I think my shield generation is crippled."

"Ouch. We'll cover you as you make your way back to the Halcyon Warrior."

"Thanks, guys. I appreciate it."

Fyston kept the majority of his shields adjusted to cover his retreat, directing them back towards the raging battle. The other Interceptors shot around him like tiny insects to a bright flower, swarming around him and providing him with enough cover so that the pilot could calm down. He could feel the warmth of the adrenaline leaving his veins as his brain detected the lack of a need for it. Fyston chucked at the thought that he'd used his reserves of chemicals but wondered what the effects of the battle would be on his body.

"Halcyon Warrior this is Nightshrike 6, requesting permission to land due to technical difficulties."

"Nightshrike 6, this is Halcyon Warrior. Permission granted."

Fyston saw something out of the corner of his eye and turned around to look at the flash of movement from behind him.

Wait...did they just retreat? That means....that means we're done...

Fyston carefully directed the fighter into the hangar, setting it down quickly but gently. A pair of droids wheeled over a ladder and Fyston popped the cockpit. He found it difficult to get his muscles to respond, however, and didn't have the energy to try harder. He summoned his strength and the last traces of adrenaline in his veins and clumsily pushed himself out of his seat and onto the ladder. Luckily for Fyston, it was locked in place, as he nearly fell over the side after missing a step. He fell onto the ground and instinctively rolled, slightly chipping one of his front horns. He grimaced as two of the technicians checked on him and pulled him to his feet.

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

"Anytime, flyboy."

Fyston nodded and clumsily stumbled into the locker room that he'd been in just some time before. He glanced at one of the chairs closest to the door and wondered how long it would be before anyone returned.

Eh, I've got time. They're not the most comfortable chairs, but it's a chair.

Fyston dragged himself over to the chair and slowly sat down in it to prevent from falling over onto the floor. As he relaxed in the chair and found a comfortable position, his eyes began to close of their own will and Fyston found that he had no desire to fight it. His job was done and he would probably wake up when everyone else got back on board. He muttered a few words under his breath while his eyes remained half open.

"Night all."

OOC:

AAR: Fy, along with other fighters, attempts to do as much annoying damage by attacking one of the minor engines, more to anger and annoy the Remnant, who Fyston figured would lose, rather than to cause crippling harm to the ship. The ionic explosion decimates Fyston's fighter and disturbs his nervous system. He lands and is out like a light almost as soon as he sits down in one of the chairs in the pilot's locker room.
The disease known as writers block delayed this post for a few days, though it's up now.