The briefing room was small, a necessity in the confines of a space-faring vessel, where space was always a premium. Despite this, the smooth white walls and polished black floor kept the room from appearing at all cramped. In fact, the briefing room appeared downright spacious, despite the fact it most certainly wasn’t. The architecture of the Galactic Empire was a cunning blend between functionality and regality, psychologically crafted to appear impressive. Of course, the impact wore off after a little while, and the man standing at one end of the briefing room, beside a large, wroshyr-wood desk, had been in and out of such rooms for almost a year now. He rested a gloved hand on the polished surface of the desk, and looked at the three other Imperials in the room with piercing blue eyes.

He wore the rank patch of a Petty Officer, 1st Class, but his uniform bore no less than eight medals of various descriptions, marking him out as an unusually decorated individual. Standing on the other side of the room were a trio of pilots, dressed in the distinctive black uniform of the Imperial Fighter Corps, the dark cloth offset by polished silver on the belt and cap. Though none of them bore medals on their own uniform, the sheer fact that they had made it through the notoriously difficult Imperial Academy was proof enough of their determination and skill. The Petty Officer studied the faces and expressions of the three pilots carefully, knowing that he would be having to trust these people with his life on the battlefield, as they would him. Of the three, only Katheryn Kerdi had seen combat, aboard the SMC Surprise. The other two, however, had scored well on the Academy tests, and he had full faith in their capabilities.

After a moment, he spoke up, his Timbra Ott accent filling the room as he addressed the new recruits, launching straight in without any pre-amble.
“See that critter on yer unit patches? That’s the Tuk’ata. Nasty bugger – massive teeth an’ claws, venomous stingers, and they’ve got the bulk to knock you off your feet in an instant. If they were dumb brutes, they’d be a handful as it is – but they ain’t. That’s the scary thing about ‘em – they’re smart.”
The man tapped his temple as he mentioned their intelligence, to emphasize the point. His temple, and the rest of his skin, was still a reddish tone, the result of major reconstructive surgery after a disastrous mission with the Stormtrooper Corps.

“They hunt as a pack. That’s their greatest strength. They can communicate complex strategies and ideas amongst each other, and put them into action instantly. Anything they can’t take down with brute strength, they’ll outmanoeuvre and outsmart. You think you’ve got one cornered, and two’ll come at ya from behind. They’re deadly, because the moment you underestimate them, you’re dead.”
He slammed an open hand into his other palm in a chopping gesture, as further emphasis, his voice raising a little at the last word. He waited a few moments, to let the message sink in, before he continued, a little quieter.

“Ain’t for nuthin’ that we’re called Tuk’ata Squadron. You were all hand-picked because you’re able to not only take orders, but work as a team. You will become like the Tuk’ata – your reflexes will be honed to a razor edge, and your resolve will be harder than steel. You will learn to stalk your prey, and you will learn to use deception to get in close. You will learn advanced manoeuvres and tactics, so that together, you can outwit your foes. You will hunt as a pack, you will fight as a pack, and you will WIN as a pack.
Make no mistake, we are Tuk’ata, and together, we’ll become the best Starfighter Squadron in the Empire.”

The man clapped his hands together, and looked at the three recruits. Hopefully, they had gotten the metaphorical picture he had painted for them. While he was in charge, Tuk’ata was going to work together – no more of the ‘lone wolf’ stuff he’d seen in Regents and Nightshrike while he’d been serving there. He waited a few more moments, to make damn sure the message had sunk in, before sitting down behind the large desk, and kicking up his feet on it. He wasn’t much of one for protocol.

”Allright, take a seat, enough of this standin’ on ceremony. Pour yerself a glass of the Blue Stuff if ya like – we’re off-duty, so I’m not gonna yell or anythin’. I haven’t met any of you lot yet, so let’s get introductions outta the way. If we’re gonna be fighting for our lives together, we might as well try to get along while we’re at it. So, let’s get some introductions outta the way. I’m Sam Dunn, and I’ve been with the VE for almost a year now. Served in the Navy and the Stormtrooper Corps, so I’d like ta think I know my way around this place. Joined the Empire because the planet I was born on was a convict poodoo-hole, and I wanted out.

So, tell us a little bit about yerselves – once we get introductions outta the way, we can figure out a way to celebrate the formation of a new squad properly.”

OOC:

Word Count: 886 Words.
TL;DR, Dunny introduces himself, and gives a little spiel on Tuk’ata. This is a chance for your character to introduce themselves to the squad – after all, we’re gonna be working together, so we might as well get to know each other a little. After introductions are outta the way, I’ll present some options for directions we can take the story.

Slammer glanced around, and realized that it was his turn. "Uh, I guess I'm up," he said, somewhat awkwardly. He grinned a bit at his own shyness. He hadn't been shy for a long time.

"I'm Titus Green. You guys can call me Slammer," he paused, thinking for a minute. "I guess I'm a green boot, but I've been around the Galaxy once or twice, seen a few things. Guess I just like to have a good time."

"Don't ask how I got the nickname," he continued, "'cause I'm not gonna tell ya."

There was an awkward silence in the room as the other three pilots eyed him dubiously. "Guess that's about it for me," Slammer laughed nervously.

It was stupid, really. During his sabbatical Slammer had served with pirates, smugglers, bounty hunters, and security forces across the galaxy. He had seen more things than any five regular men put together, and he was smarter than any ten. And here he was, nervous about meeting his new squadron mates. It had been a long time since Slammer had felt young, even though he was only twenty-one. At that moment, however, he felt five years younger. He felt like a kid again, surrounded by adults who didn't quite believe him. It was a feeling he hated, and a feeling that he had hated for as long as he could remember. Right then and there, Slammer made a promise to himself. As the other three pilots turned their attention away from him, he swore that he would prove to them and to himself that he wasn't simply a little kid.

He would prove to them that he was one of the best pilots they had ever seen.

Finbar "Echelon" Bandoran sat quietly to himself in the mess hall. Alone at his table, he listened to the collection of noise that echoed in the room. People talking. Plates clanking. Silverware jingling. His food, a low quality casserole, sat on his plate, barely being touched by Echelon, who was indeed hungry. But it was his mood that offset his appetite at the moment. Looking around, he saw everyone else having a good time, getting to know each other, being friends. But here he was, alone at the table. No one to talk to. No one to be friends with. In short, Echelon felt lonely.

Back on his old ship, the Fearless, he had plenty of friends and it was a very close community. Being a small ship, he almost knew everyone on board, but here, on the Atrus, a 20 kilometer ship, everyone seemed new, and it didn't have a sense of community. Even the command crew, a smaller sect of personnel on the ship, seemed so large, and nobody really wanted to talk to him. Echelon didn't like it.

How other people seemed to make friends, he didn't know, but he would just have to deal. His duty to the Vast Empire came first. His social life second. Nevertheless, it made his morale drop lower and lower. But today, though he didn't know it, things would change. And it would begin with two TIE squadrons coming into the mess hall.

From one end came the infamous Nightshrikes. A group of experienced TIE fighters, and Echelon used to fly with them. Though, there was nobody he knew in the squad. Except Maroy, that is of course, an old friend from Regents. He assumed they either left or...perished.

From the other end marched the Tuk'ata squad, a newly reactivated squad with a commander who Echelon recognized, Dunny. He stood tall (compared to Echelon), and he was decorated with a variety of medals.

It was funny almost to watch. The two squads marching in at the same time. Almost like an old western Tatooine stand off. They stopped and looked at each other like rivals, and he swore the room became silent for a moment, to cast an aura of suspense and thrill.

Echelon then remembered something he heard awhile ago, about Nightshrike squadron stealing booze from the other squadrons. He waved it off as rumors. Alcohol wasn't entirely allowed on the ship, but the rule wasn't enforced. But by the look of Tuk'ata, it looked as if someone had stolen their liquor. We're they going to spar in the middle of the mess hall? Echelon hoped not.

He spotted Maroy and headed over to her to possibly delay the forthcoming brawl. It had been awhile since he had seen her, and she could potentially keep Echelon company on this dull hunk of metal.

"Maroy!" Echelon greeted, "Great to see you again. I remember us on the Fearless together. Good times."

Maroy chuckled. Her green Twi'lek head tails flopping about. "It is good to see you again as well, Eche," she replied.

"Who are the other 'shrikes?" Echelon asked, making conversation.

"I'm Hades," said a male human behind Maroy stepping forward. He had shiny black hair, and he was a bit taller than Echelon. Though, he looked friendly enough.

"Nice to meet you Hades." He shook Hades's hand. "I'm the Damage Control Officer on this ship. You know, defense and that kind of stuff?"

"So if our barracks is torn apart I can blame you?" Hades asked, smiling.

Echelon gave a brief chuckle. "Yes sir. I'm the scapegoat on this ship."

Not wanting to favor one squad over the other (because that could lead to trouble), he strode toward Dunny. He hadn't fully known Dunny, but they recognized each other.

"Sam," Echelon yelled, "I see you've returned to the Navy."

Dunny grinned in a way no body else could. Echelon couldn't tell what it was, but Dunny was just...just like able. He had a dazzling charisma that couldn't be beat, and his accent was enough to make anyone smile.

"Yes sah," Dunny replied, "They couldn't keep me away forever. What're you doing 'ese days?"

"Well, I'm a Damage Control Officer now. Just here to keep the ship alive. Want to introduce me to the other Tukatata."

"You mean Tuk'ata?" Sam said, smiling the entire time. "Well, this 'ere is Ryn." A young woman stepped forward. She was short but had an interesting hair color.

"Nice to meet you Ryn."

"And this is Ryuno, a new one."

Echelon recognized her. "I believe I taught you in the academy. You did very well. Very well indeed."

"And finally," Dunny continued, "we have Slammer. He's pretty good in a cockpit. You should see 'im."

"I believe I have. I graded his finally exam. He performed superbly."

"Well, if you'll 'cuse me Eche, we're going to go talk with these 'shrikies," Dunny said leading the Tuk'ata squadron forward. Echelon gulped, and hoped there wasn't going to be a brawl, but at least he had made friends.

OOC:

Word Count: 835. Not a very good post, but I just wanted to introduce everyone to Echelon. You don't have to follow the story I sort of set up in the post. If you want to go to the simulator, that's fine with me, or, you can have a small skirmish with Nightsrhike.

Hades did not recognise the miniature damage control officer who introduced himself as Echelon. It was a wonder he could see over his console. Demetrius "Hades" Aita largely did not pay attention to him, he was more focused on Tuk'ata. His eyes caught on Ryn and he lost his breath for a moment, but quickly regaining it as she walked over to him and slapped him on the shoulder.

"So couldn't find a wingman as good as me and had to come running back I see." She jibed. Yes, every answer in Hades' brain screamed at her Yes! But that was not becoming of their relationship. So instead of screaming what his brain was screaming, Hades responded to her jibe calmly - a calm he did not feel inside.

"No, but I figured we should see who had the better squadron. Care to join us in the sim?" 

At this point Hades noticed the other members. Short female, one male.. and Dunny. Hades hadn't officially met  Dunny, but he'd heard a lot about him. He had almost been caught stealing booze from Tuk'ata by Dunny. Keyword: almost. Ryn had begun talking as Hades' eyes drifted around the room, him and Maroy being the only present Nightshrike members.

"-ready when you are." Hades caught the back end of her sentence, and nodded. The six starfighter pilots entered the simulation room to find the nine seats ready. The simulations officer - Talnoa - began talking about how the simulator was ready. Hades flicked his gaze first to Ryn.. she was probably around his level. Then his gaze traveled to Slammer and Ryuno, and this 'Nexu' fellow.. looked like a stiff-backed wet-nose straight out of the academy. .. Them he could probably beat based on experience alone. They both had pretty good scores - both of them had received the prestigious Star of the Academy.. much to Hades' disgruntal. But he himself had gotten an excellent score, failing to receive the Star of the Academy only because they were in a transitional stage when he had completed flight school.

Yet he'd been into combat with his fighter once in the VE, and had experienced several unorthodox encounters with the enemy, not to mention was a certified Special Warfare Trainee with a background in martial arts, having completed the advanced flight maneuvers course as well. He'd come from a place where combat was necessary to survive - Ryuno, as he understood, had been a pretty good pilot even before the Academy. So she might be better than he gave her credit before.

Then his eyes rested on Dunny. Sam 'Dunny' Dunn, the unique - and some might say strange - leader of Tuk'ata. A veteran of the VE and probably the most experienced fighter pilot here, after Maroy. Hades narrowed his eyes - Maroy would have to best him. Natural talent rarely beat earned experience. Although Dunny was only one grade his senior, Hades did not make any assumptions. He just wanted to get into the sim as fast as possible and smoke them. He knew it wouldn't be that simple, but one could hope. He looked Ryn in the eyes and nodded, saying without words that he missed her being in Nightshrike. Her response was enough to indicate that she did too..

Hades turned and slid into the mock-cockpit of the simulator, donning the Pilot's helmet and sealing the capsule, bathed in absolute silence. It was peaceful, and these days among the only peace Hades ever got. Switching on his comm before battle, he could the Tuk'ata chatter. Sloppy, he thought, they're on an open channel. Maroy opened a comm to him on a private frequency, her voice calm and collected, smoothly cutting through the silence.

"--no matter how much you miss her, do not let it interfere with the mission--" Came the short sentence from Maroy. Not unkind, but helpful - she was obviously speaking from experience. Hades nodded slowly, realising that she could not see him nodding.

"Understood." He replied curtly. A little too curtly. "Thanks, Chief" He added to soften his tone. And he really meant the thanks.

OOC:

Wordcount: 703

AAR: Hades ponders over Tuk'ata and Nightshrike's respective chances.

What I'm thinking here is a simulation where we work together - because we all know that working against each other ends normally in someone unhappy - but still competitively, trying to attain the higher score. To this end I suggest we appoint a judge, of sorts just suggestions of course

Naomi only listened in silence to the communications chatter of Tuk'ata Squadron. As a recruit that had only boarded the Atrus not even three days ago, she felt she had little place giving tactical input other than answering a question on what the Vast Empire's guidelines said should be done in certain situations. She took this time to close her eyes and muse- Listening, but dividing her thoughts.


She felt that she should have become further acquainted with the squadron before hopping into even a simulated mission with them, but there would be time to do so, at a later date. For now, she made a mental note to make sure she rectified this issue before they would all be thrown into actual combat together. Her general lack of socialization in the last few days had also prevented her from forming opinions beyond the appearance of her squadron mates.


Their Lead, Sam Dunn, was interesting at the least. Maybe a little strange. But eccentricity was good for a Squadron Commander. It meant he was never dull, and it kept her on her toes.  Then there was Ryn. Dunny had been rather quick to remark on the similarity between that nickname and Naomi’s family name ... Which was, easily, the most reasonable excuse she had heard or could think of, herself, for use of her childhood nickname ... The interest of eliminating miscommunication. There was Slammer, whom she knew even less about than Dunny or Ryn, but she’d heard he was good. There was Nexu who was at the most basic sense of the word, Imperial. He smelled of the Academy just as much as Naomi, but by behaviour was infinitely more disciplined in his ways. Unlike the others ... With whom she had exchanged, at least, passing glances, she and Nexu hadn’t once spoken. Not a word. She would take it for disdain if she didn’t know it to be Imperial-characteristic formality. Maybe he would soften with time, or maybe she wasn’t behaving properly and should take a lesson.

Naomi’s thoughts had just turned in the direction of Nightshrike Squadron when their Lead, whose voice she recognized but name she didn’t know broke into her thoughts over the open communication channel.

She focused on the sound of the Twi’lek’s voice as the mission was explained. That they were to be flying escort to a supply convoy against a Star Destroyer and waves of fighter-bombers to be launched in pairs, and that their goal was to hold back the aforementioned Star Destroyer and fighter-bombers until the supply convoy could make it to hyperspace. It didn’t matter that it seemed impossible, a mission was a mission.

Taking this information in, Naomi keyed her communicator with the absolute first query that came to mind. “Did they make it out? The original pilots, I mean.”

The Twi’lek’s ominous reply, coupled with the tone with which it came unsettled Naomi, but she put the thoughts behind her as the simulator’s viewscreens lit up. The simulator seemed to start her on launch and in formation with Tuk’ata Squadron as the Kobaru’s hangar shrunk behind them. She throttled her engines back and depressed the pedal underneath her right foot as she eased into a light turn that would bring her circling about into a basic, close-escort formation with the Kobaru.

Her subtle changes in formation and positioning as the Interceptors fell in line were enacted based on a combination of visual cues and IFF tracking, that denoted on her sensor readouts the positions of her fellow Interceptors and their supply-convoy objective as blue and green blips, respectively. It was more than likely her close attention to such sensors that sparked her notice of the single, red-blipped contact that had just exited Hyperspace ... Just outside the maximum range of the Kobaru’s laser cannons, but well within the range of long-range sensors. She keyed the communicator in her helmet, and opened a closed frequency that would transmit to Tuk’ata and Nightshrike Squadrons simultaneously.

“All Squadrons, Tuk’ata Four. I have one unidentified contact holding short of visual range. Say again, confirmation requested on unidentified target.” She knew that this was their combat objective, the Brigia, she also had an idea of what it would do based on what Maroy had said and assuming that there wasn’t some spin on things ... But she was sticking to protocol for the sake of protocol.

OOC:

That sounds fair to me, Maroy.

Word Count: 728

Just a quick post, mostly contemplating Tuk’ata Squadron and recapping what was already said from Naomi’s perspective. I introduce the Brigia to keep things moving, but I didn’t kick off the combat. If it wasn’t time for the aforementioned ship yet or I need to make any revisions, let me know and I’ll strike it and/or do so.

Also a little behind-the-scenes: I’m revising from an already (Kind of) established notion that Naomi has trouble seeing in a deep-space simulator because that bit, thinking about it, didn’t entirely make sense to me considering the backlit screens and whatnot that give everyone equal visual chance. But as she’s going to have to get used to flying with sensors anyway (And knows this, of course), I will still treat it as if she does.

The strategy was brilliant- although completely useless in an actual battle, and considered cheating to some degree. It took advantage of the fact that most large starships, particularly the earlier-model Star Destroyers, suffered from sharp power fluctuations upon reversion to realspace, leaving them particularly vulnerable. The plan involved using one squadron to feint at the the Brigia, forcing it to jump away, while the other squadron waited at the probable reentry point and delivered a torpedo salvo. If the squadrons participating were incredibly lucky, the salvo would collapse the shields and do enough damage to force it to retreat. The strategy had been attempted thousands of times, but only one squadron had ever been lucky and crazy enough to do it successfully: Regents.

[[Nightshrike, come in. I repeat Nightshrike come in. This is Beta 2 of Regents squadron, turn hard one eighty and race back to the convoy. Hyperspace exit points are behind them, you are out of position, over.]]

Maroy almost instinctively reacted to the advice, doing an Immelman and speeding back toward the convoy. Sure enough, the Brigia was hyperjumping in on the complete opposite side of convoy and launching another wave of fighters. If they hadn't been warned, Nightshrike wouldn't have been able to reach them before the bombers attacked.

Safely back on track, Maroy took a second to relax. Then she picked up on the pilot's designation.

"Beta 2? Of Regents? That makes no sense, they... oh, hell no." She double-checked the ident information on the lone Avenger, practically in shock.

"Scral?"

[[Good guess, now turn around before the convoy is destroyed. With two members of Regents we at least need to make a good impression on these young pups.]]

She double-tapped the comm in confirmation, too confused to say anything. Another Regent still alive, and Scral no less. Last I heard from him, he was sent to some psychoanalysis center for severe PTSD. What's he doing on the Atrus?

The Brigia launched three more flights of fighters and then microjumped again. Tuk'ata began moving to engage, so Nightshrike took up a position near the Kobaru and waited for the enemy destroyer to reappear. Scral wasted no time in showing off his craft's superiority, diving toward the NR destroyer's probable destination. He dove at the hangar as soon as it materialized, launching a torpedo at the first wave and taking down a Y-Wing before the simulated hostile had even cleared the hangar.  The dead bomber's escorts immediately turned to engage the faster ship, which drew them right across the shrikes' firing arcs. A few quad bursts later and the flight was history.

"Thanks for your assistance, Regent 6."

She flipped to a direct channel. "But the computer always adapts after the first volley."

[[Well, we may know we are going to lose this. Let's at least make them work for it.]]

The moved in to double-team another enemy flight, flying with that sort of subtly synchronized rythm that only forms between seasoned pilots with long histories together. They were about to strike when the comm interrupted them.

An unfamiliar, panicking voice, probably one of Tuk'ata's pilots, cried out in frustration. [[Tuk'ata lead is down! I repeat, Dunny is down!]]

Yep. We're frakked.

OOC:

WC:533
Not as long as I'd like. A little more insight into the way the sim works, and a possible way to beat it. Bonus points to anyone who can come up with an alternate solution.

Hades swerved left and right, blasting away at formations of bombers with his wing-mounted lasers, not wasting any of his missiles yet. He knew he would have use for them later on so had no desire to be left without them. He dove, followed by Ryn as she stuck close to his wing, their fighters an almost perfect combination, two graceful birds of prey, vicious and deadly to boot. They reminded Hades of the Nightshrikes - the animals, not the squadron - who were fearsome predators, bringers of death. Hades liked to kill things, but he did not kill unnecessarily.

Hades growled as a bomber exploded close - too close - to his flight path, causing him to veer right, almost clipping Ryn's wing. Dunny was downed a long time ago, the squadrons had formed into one - only six of them remaining - and Ryn had become his de-facto wingmate, easily sliding back into the role they'd held back before and during the battle of Brinlik. It was like nothing had changed - he watched her back, and she watched his. Maroy and the unexpected addition - Scral  - seemed to be doing a similar thing as they flew together, while Ryuno and Slammer became wingmates by elimination. Hades could hear vague comm chatter coming from the two veterans.. He couldn't quite understand it.

"--have to pull a Starfire Snare--" came the male voice of Scral, to Maroy. Hades had heard of a Starfire Snare in his studies of Naval History and Tactics. He was a bit hazy but he recalled the basics.. Starfire Snare... Hades thought vigorously, trying to recall it in more detail.

"--I don't know, Scral. It's never been tried on a ship this size--" came Maroy's voice in response, her tone wavering. But Hades could tell she was going to accept Scral's reasoning. After all, things were going pretty badly as it was, they couldn't get much worse.

"--It's the only way we can win this. You and I both know it--" was the short but persuasive response from the former Regent. There was silence for a moment as Maroy thought. She made up her mind, her eyes flicking over her displays as her thoughts raced.

"--You're right. Let's show them how it's done--" She said firmly, her tone confident. Hades frowned and bit back any questions he may have had, until a comm buzzed him "--Hades, we're going to perform a Starfire Snare. Do you know what that is--"

"Yes Ma'am" Hades responded shortly.

"--excellent. I need you to coordinate with the other pilots to get us into position. The bombers are no longer our primary concern--"

"Understood." Hades nodded to himself. He opened a channel to the other pilots, one by one on an encrypted frequency to prevent the enemy star destroyer from getting wind of their plans. Once the outline was done, Hades cut the tranmission without further ado, until Ryuno commed him. Hades made an irritated expression, but did not let it show in his tone.

"--why are we letting all the bombers past?! I thought our objective was to--"

"-our objective's changed, Ryuno. Master Chief's orders" He cut her off, his tone not altogether kind, but not venomous either. He was simply in an impersonal mood that was perpetual when he was in battle. Hades wasn't a nasty person, per se, but he wasn't a very nice person either - except to those close to him, for whom he would go to the very edges of the galaxy. His loyalty was one of his core principles, uncompromising and solid. It was something few people understood and fewer still earned. Ryuno must have felt stung by the quick response and cutting her off, because she merely clicked her comm in acknowledgment.

Starfire Snare... Hades thought once more as details slowly came back to him. Maroy and Scral had evidently performed it some time in their past, and so would have much better knowledge of it than himself.

Hades frowned - what they were going to attempt was highly unorthodox. But then, that was Regent tactics for you. Crazy and against most regulations. That was what made the Regents so widely known and recognised as one of the best, if not the craziest squadron in the Vast Empire. Hades had heard of their reputation and his opinion of them was not very high.. although he was sure he'd fit in well, being almost as crazy as they were. So technically he was as 'bad' as they were in that department. Come to think of it, most good starfighter pilots were slightly out of their mind. The best were complete nutters.  Hades grinned to himself before forming up with the rest of the fighters.

OOC:

Wordcount: 823

AAR: Hades ponders a few things, and he and Ryn are flying together like they used to. Hades thinks of the Regents... and the squadron has a plan!

Sitting quietly in the cockpit of his Avenger he felt almost at peace, he knew it was a fabrication of a real Avenger. The simulation did much to improve upon the realism, but for one who had nearly grown up flying he still felt the wrongness of everything. Plus, this one did not feel like his old Avenger. The one he had been given in Nazgul, and the one that had ultimately saved his life as it crumbled around him when they had flown into an asteroid all those years ago.

Looking out at the stars he knew they were false, but part of him were comforted by the fact he was even flying. Even if it was just a computer simulation and not the real thing. Moving his shoulders around he tried to settle the straps into their normal positions, but the uniform he had on was not the flight suit he should of been in. Everything sat slightly off, nothing to annoy him overly much but it was just enough for him to register it was something else that was wrong with the whole thing.

His time in Regents was filled with the sort of suicidal missions you would expect from a squadron that lived one step past the edge. Their tactics were designed to use every bit of luck they had, then hope the universe was in a good mood on top of it. The starfire snare was one such tactic, even if it was designed for a full wing and on a much smaller target. It all came down to if the computer was having a slow day or not, if it was not that meant one of them was going to be rammed by a destroyer pretty soon.

  Years ago he remembered hearing about the tactic that had been designed for a much larger squadron. Almost a full wing was needed to pull this one off, but Regents being ones that you never told they could not do something a full wing nearly could not pull off had pulled it off. Their attempts had numbered eight to his knowledge, and only twice had it succeeded. Now they sat in a rough star formation around the destroyer waiting for her to make another micro jump, he hoped the adaptive computer would not pick out the maneuver and change course directly into one of them.

[[All fighters, hold your positions. Calculations show she should jump within thirty seconds, if not break formation and run.]] Maroy's message came over the encrypted channel. He noticed she was using a modified version of one of Regent's older encryption, apparently some things were hard to let go of.

Adjusting the shields constantly as the destroyers turbolasers tried to get a bead on him he watched as his overall power levels begin to decrease bit by bit. Sitting the cockpit of the Avenger felt right, even if it was just a simulation. The Interceptor did not have the beauty or grace the Avenger did, plus the Avenger could out fly any Interceptor any day of the week. Only reason the whole Navy was not flying them was that they were very expensive, and every squadron had a high turnover rate for nuggets. Regents was no exception, on average one out of every six recruits survived their first mission.

Juking back and forth just enough to give the computer a mechanical breakdown he smiled as he imaged some machine stamping its many legs in anger as it tried to get a good bead on him. Flipping the Avenger up and over, he watched as a turbolaser entered the space he had just narrowly avoided moments earlier.

[[Alright, the computer really dislikes me right now. Phase one is complete, with six of us hopefully we've kept it's attention long enough. Tuk flight, full throttle. Dive in, divert all power to weapons. Let's hope she runs.]] Scral said as he punched the throttle and diverted all power to the weapons, he saw the shield indicator go red as he generators screamed for more energy.

The tactic had to modified from the original to better fit a computerized program. If it was anything like the programs used by the old guard it was outdated, and a bit slow to come up with what was really happening in a simulation. If they had overloaded its memory, then it would not be paying attention to where it would micro jump out of it. He just hoped the convoy was in position, they might of only been computer programs on those ships but a distant part of him felt bad for what was about to happen.

[[She's jumping.]] Ryuno said as she nimbly dodged one turbolaser blast.

Cutting the throttle to half Scral watched as the destroyer seemed to shudder before jumping into hyperspace, arcing his fighter around he pointed her towards the distant convoy as two smaller points jumped into the system.

He heard someone say, [[Frak me.]] softly as the destroyer jumped back into the system, directly into the middle of the convoy, and the two small fighters that had just arrived. A moment later he could see the explosions from the convoy ships, the destroyer and the two fighters.

He heard some members of the flight beginning to cheer as they watched the Kobaru, and three surviving ships jump out of the system once they had cleared the debris from the explosion. He smiled as he marked down another Regent inspired mission he had survived. 

He removed his hands from the controls as the simulator began to shutdown, removing the restraints he climbed out of the top hatch onto the small platform and made his way down. Looking over at the other simulators he saw the surviving members beginning to climb out as well.

Jumping down he walked over to the operator and said, "Those two new comers, who were they? I never got their names before we watched them play chicken with the destroyer."

"Master Chief Sayree Kazhos, a Zygerrian by the looks of her. The other was Chief Warrant Officer Seth Qorbin." Chief Talnoa said as he began shutting down the simulation. He looked up to see Scral's frown as he tried to place the name. "Your wing commander."

"You mean, we just..." Scral said as he looked up to the half grinning Chief. "Oh frak me, I think it's time to go have a drink."

OOC:

WC-1077. We won, though we did blow up half the convoy, our SC, and our WC. Opps.