"Aye." Hades shot a glance at the two men that were talking just out of hearing range, where Ryn was indubitably headed. He wanted to go with her, just to provide support. He knew how men could be, especially since Blackguard's commander was there. But he had his orders, and Ryn could handle herself well enough. "You heard the Chief!" Hades bellowed happily to the other squadron members; they knew he meant no harm by his words and most of them would be used to it by now but if not, Hades would have fun with them. "Master Chief!" He bellowed as Maroy unfolded herself from the transport hold. "With all due respect, the acting commander has ordered us back to barracks to get our stuff together. You included, hop to it!

"Lizard-boy, Sushi-brain, Half-horns, fluffy tail!" He called in turn as the members exited the dropship. Eli was Lizard-boy, Xenon was sushi-brain, Fyston was Half horns on account of the broken horn on his head, Darian was fluffy tail because.. well, Hades felt like it. "Barracks, ASAP. Stow your gear and pick your bunks, if anyone's unhappy with their bunk please forward your complaint to 'Admiral-General We-Don't-Care' and await a response. Do not wander around the ship en-route, straight to the barracks if you please! Move out!" They filed past one by one, and more than one of them shot the young SCPO a bitter or unhappy look. Maroy seemed amused, but did what she was told anyway. I wonder if those headtails actually do anything other than get in the way. Hades mused to himself, although he knew that they did serve a different purpose. There were many rude jokes about them as well.

Hades waited until the last Tuk'ata had passed before shooting another glance Ryn's way. He thought he heard laughter, although judging by her expression it was not funny enough to warrant a smile, even. He half smirked and saw her turn as he picked up his small bag, that had been stowed in the cargo hold. Ryn approached, picking up her own bag with a groan and a roll of her eyes. "It went well then?" He ventured, green eyes flicking back to where the Blackguard CO just now was departing.

"Oh. Yes." She responded with a brightness that her expression did not convey. "It went brilliantly. They even made me laugh." Hades grinned at Ryn's sarcasm as his eyes fixed on Fyston's huge back down the corridor. As if the Zabrak felt his gaze, the Petty Officer turned and fixed Hades with a dangerous look, before turning away. Hades narrowed his eyes -- the Zabrak was dangerous in his own right, but so was Hades. If someone needed to be shown their place, Hades would not hesitate. He had served under the big man in Nightshrike and he felt no loathing towards him, but he speculated that out of the entire squadron, he would be the most difficult in adversity. The others were more reliable and Hades had guessed something was off about Fyston. The first time they'd met, Fyston had been aggravated and twitchy -- both signs of drug use or withdrawal, and while Hades could prove nothing even if he wanted to, he could suspect all he liked. And boy did he suspect. He trusted Fyston enough to watch his back, but always had one eye on the man.

"That bad, huh?" Hades finally responded to Ryn. She nodded subtly and he shrugged. "That's the Navy for you."

"The navy can kiss my-" Hades cut her off with a tsk sound.

"You're a Squadron Commander now. You mustn't be speaking ill of our glorious employer." The SCPO grinned wryly.

"Acting Squadron Commander, thank you," She corrected sharply. Ryn had dived headfirst into the role just as much as Hades had followed her, but she didn't seem pleased by the change. "Anyway, the WC wants us for a briefing after we've stowed our gear."

It was Hades' turn to grimace, and he did so. "Let the chewing out commence" the SCPO murmured. Ryn nodded and smacked him on the shoulder.

"Perhaps that will teach you not to start massive fights within his beloved wing." Ryn retorted. Hades frowned but did not respond. When they reached the barracks, his brows lowered into a deeper frown and he looked to Ryn with a question in his eyes.

"If there are no official standings, who gets the SC and XO cabins?" He queried hesitantly.

"We shouldn't really choose yet, but I get the SC's room." She remarked officiously. Hades scowled; an SC's room was always bigger than the XO's, but he agreed.

"If we get a new CO, I ain't shifting from the XO's room." He poked his tongue out at her.

"Fine." She retorted again and he grinned as they parted ways. He began stowing his gear as ordered, pulling out the stuff he had so unceremoniously packed. His spare flight suits, spare uniforms, bottles of smuggled booze and a few other assorted items. There was not much there, though, and he was soon done. He sat down on the spartan bed and exhaled slowly -- the Warrior was a far cry from the Atrus, even if it had a distinguished history. It had a different atmosphere, different layout, different people. Not that Hades minded -- to tell the truth, Hades had grown a little bored aboard the flagship of the VEN. There was plenty to do aboard, like going to the gym, bars, PX and numerous other distractions, but it grew repetitive, especially since the only missions they embarked on were the occasional patrols or milk runs. Many honed their skills on the simulators as Hades had done. But it still had grown repetitive. So would the Warrior, Hades knew, but the first month or more would be interesting as they learned the layout of the ship and the way of things around here.

Hades had never served under Drac, so he didn't know how the Mon Calamari Chief of Naval Warfare ran his ship, but judging by what they'd seen before he ran it efficiently. The corridors were clean and polished, and everything he'd seen so far had been pressed to perfection. Either Drac was one of those perfectionists, or he inspired his men. On what he'd read, Hades presumed -- and hoped -- that it was the latter. He'd served perfectionists before and most of them had been either paranoid to the point of stupidity or focused on appearances more than performance, nice and obdurate in their manner as well as acrimonious if told different. The young Senior Chief Petty Officer checked his chrono and stood up, pacing to the door. As it hissed open, he called out through the barracks. "Briefing is in exactly two-zero minutes." Hades informed them, "Be ready."

Most of them replied with 'aye, sir', which he would never get used to -- he was scarcely more than a Flight Leader  in name, but he was more than that with the demise of Wager. He was acting executive officer of the squadron and although he had migrated into the role well, it still felt alien to him.  Some didn't reply at all, with only a nod. Hades made a note of who did and who did not before turning and going back into the XO's room. He scrolled through his datapad, reading over some of the reports he'd received. Some people were requesting new parts for their fighters, while others still were asking for better rations. Hades smiled; he could remember when he was a lowly flight member, a green recruit. The SCO had been the ultimate power in the universe, the XO his right hand and enforcer of his will, so he knew how it was.

He made a mental note to remember that. Someone who had been in that position was more likely to treat his subordinates well than someone who had started off with it all.

OOC:

Wordcount: 1,332

AAR: Hades gives everyone a friendly nickname and debates a few things with Ryn when she comes back from meeting with the Blackguard SC, before getting assigned the XO's cabin, which technically he's not entitled to. 

Note; Everyone should feel free to present the background to what they were doing and what they will do, as long as it doesn't contradict the posts made by Ryn and I.

You goddamn good for nothing sons of banthas... This was the last bleeding straw... I order all of you to the closest airlock, where you are to await vacuuming procedures!

Javelin's Wing Commander had considered a very, very, very brief and to the point meeting - not unlike the one described above. He would've gone through with that plan too if that would not have posed three extra problems. One, convincing the bridge crew to go ahead and vacuum the specified airlock. Two, convincing Drac that it was an honest accident... on the bridge crew's part, not his own of course. Three, that getting rid of these imbeciles could potentially force him to end up dealing with even worse imbeciles yet. And there was also the paperwork. Blasted paperwork...

"Report to the brig!" Qorbin coldly spoke and next said nothing else. Given the stupefied expressions of the pilots, the man figured they were waiting for some long-winded speech, possibly involving fancy words such as etiquette, protocol, regulations as well as a bunch of other adjectives such as proper, insubordinate, chaotic all topped with a whole bunch of no-s in between.

If that was indeed the case then tough freakin' luck because Seth planned on not wasting any more energy than he absolutely needed by further dealing with this incident. "Dismissed!" the Ensign remembered to add, hoping the extra order would be enough to snap everyone else back to their senses. Not that they had a lot of sense in the first place by starting up a bar fight and getting caught doing so as well. Such a rookie mistake...

~~~~~~~~~~

When the Tuk'ata pilots would eventually reach the brig they would find that they had to further wait in line for another group to be processed first. A group that they easily recognized as the wing's top guns, the Razors. "Check it out, boss already finished with the Tuks", one of them muttered, and the ones not already placed in cells turned to stare at the new group.

"What are you guys doing here?" Hades was the one to ask on behalf of not only himself most likely. Though most of the elite squadron ignored the fellow, the pilot going by the codename Spyke turned to face him. "Same thing you are really - just waiting to spend some quality time alone with our thoughts, meditate on what's wrong with the universe and otherwise just invent new and improved ways of twiddling our thumbs doing nothing. Pretty great, right?"

"You too?" Hades asked surprised, though a similar look of surprise could be seen on everyone else's faces too. "Yeah, boss already dealt with us on our way here. Gave us a bit of time to unpack and then we were supposed to report here or face things we apparently do not with to face in our lifetimes... Still sort of curious what he had in mind though."

"What of Blackguard Squadron?" This time it wasn't Hades asking but Ryn. The female Human tried not to stand out or look particularly interested or happy but the thought of the other squadron made her curious enough to ask. "Oh, they'll probably see the boss next. Given how fast he finished with you guys, I think you'll meet them here before the sec guys are finished with you." The man's response made Tuk'ata's acting CO smile. Not necessarily a malicious smile but more of a - aw, who was she trying to fool anyway? She was definitely happy those other pricks would end up sharing their fates as well...

At least to some extent anyway - punishments would not be awarded equally for the whole group but rather for every individual instead. Most of the Razors would only get 1 or 2 days in the brig. Most members from Tuk'ata would get 3 or 4, with Hades 5 for being foolish enough to start the whole thing and for having a whole bunch of witnesses doing it too. Most members in Blackguard would also get between 2 to 4 days. There would of course also be exceptions - the members that didn't participate would obviously not need to serve any time at all.

It was mostly a decision based on just how much damage a particular member was responsible for and whether or not there were extenuating circumstances on his or hers behalf. The Razors for instance would claim they only joined the fray in an attempt to stop the fighting - a fact that Qorbin would acknowledge not necessarily because it was the truth (was it?) but more because of a certain sense of loyalty to his own squadron.

OOC:

WC: 777
AAR: Short post to deal out punishments that will be followed by a short series of posts of you either serving those punishments or doing something else while finishing for everyone else to finish, after which Ryn or Hades will be able to further move time ahead (awesome, eh?) and start the actual story.

Xenon hadn't known what to expect from his squad mates when he was ridding the shuttle to the Warrior. All of them seemed so experienced and tough. He had been told that they were all in some deep trouble for getting into a bar fight before they had left, which only made Xenon feel somewhat weak. The most trouble he had ever gotten in was for not coming home on time when he was younger. He had never gotten into fights. Some would say he was scared but it was only that he didn't want to have to experience any punishment that he might receive, so he stayed out of trouble.


When the shuttle landed in the hanger, everyone gathered their things and sat as Hades gave out orders and some new nicknames. When he was finished speaking, the squad filled out of the shuttle and into the halls of the Halcyon Warrior. Xenon didn't have the slightest idea on were he was going so he just followed the group. Everyone was talking about the fight as they strolled though the hall. By the time they got to the barracks, Xenon felt like he had been a witness of the event.

As he strolled down the rows of bunks, Xenon watched as the rest of his squad quickly took their places and unpacked their things. There was an empty bunk in back corner of the room so Xenon quickly walked over and sat down. He saw out of the corner of his eye, on of his squad mates glare at him and walk to a different bunk somewhere in the room. Then he started to unpack his bag. Inside were only a few sets of cloth, a picture of his family, and a few cosmetic things. Xenon noticed a open locker at the foot of his bed and proceeded to put his belongings in it. It was small and metal but he didn't care for all he had was the things in his bag. When he was done he looked around and noticed the rest of the squad rising from their bunks and filing out of the room. Xenon felt confused until Hades called from the back of the line. “Sushi-brains, briefing. Get your sushi-ass over here.” Xenon rolled his eyes at Hades two remakes and quickly joined the squad on their way out of the room.


The briefing was, well, brief. There was yelling, disappointment, and a lot of hung head. And Xenon sat right in the middle of it, extremely confused on why he was getting yelled at. He hadn't done anything extremely wrong, unless being late was an extreme offense. As he thought about it, Xenon realized that that was an offense and that this was just his punishment. He felt something inside him slowly die as the briefing continued. By the time it was done and the entire squad was ordered tot he brig, Xenon felt like a child in school again.


It was silent as the squad walked down the halls of the Warrior to the brig. Xenon felt sorry for himself, like anyone else how had ever been yelled at. The sound of the outside world swirled into a horrible shade of grey as he sunk into a shell of solitude. When the the squad got to the brig, Xenon watched as one by one the members of his squad said their names and we're slowly escorted to their cells. It took ages for it to be Xenon's turn to be “thrown” into the brig. When he walked up to the desk in the brig, the man asked for Xenon's name.

“Xenon Kara Lepturia” he replied. The man went silent for a second as he searched through his computer for the name.

“Well, your name isn't appearing on my list. It's your lucky day, I believe your free to go.” The man then smiled and looked past Xenon to call for the next culprit.

Xenon moved to the side and watched as a “lizard man” stepped up to the desk. When the man asked for the “lizards” name, he replied Eli.

“One name down, however many more to go.” Xenon thought to himself as he walked out of the brig and back to the barracks.

OOC:

WC: 718
AAR: Xenon gets off the shuttle, heads to the barracks, feels sorry for himself, then is let free to be lonely in the barracks.
PLEASE PM me if I need to change anything, any suggestion... so on.

First time getting drunk, and I end up in a bar fight. I'm definitely not doing that again. Maroy gingerly rubbed the bruised patch on her lekku where Blackguard's squadron commander had grabbed her. I'm honestly surprised I didn't get beaten up more than I did. From what it sounds like, almost everyone should be getting a few hours in the bacta tanks. Especially the new SC. He got smashed up pretty bad.

She walked up to the desk, fingers crossed for a short sentence. "Master Chief Petty Officer Maroy."

The man checked his list. "Says you were causing a disruption prior to the fight, but you didn't cause any substantial damage and you cooperated with the medical teams afterward." He looked up with a slightly malicious gleam in his eye. "Of course, that doesn't excuse you from a short stay to think things over." He motioned two more guards over, and they took her to her cell.

It looked like it had been used fairly recently, but it still wasn't as bad as she expected. The cot was reasonably clean, and while fairly spartan in nature the cells weren't much of an eyesore. She stepped through and stood clear as the forcefield activated, trapping her inside. She laid down on the cot, carefully keeping the sore part of her braintails out from underneath her, and tried to sleep.

"Hey, Maroy." She slowly opened her eyes and sat up with a groan. Lunei was standing outside the forcefield, a slightly worried look on her face.

Maroy indicated the two armed guards flanking her. "They throwing you in here, too?"

The girl shrugged dismissively. "No. I stayed out of the fight, so they couldn't pin me with anything. Just thought I'd check in on you." Her eyes wandered the cell. "Not a bad prison cell, as they go."

"Spent time in one before?"

"Only once. Got into an argument with Dog. That's what we call our squadron commander, although of course not to his face." She paused for a moment. "Speaking of him, sounds like he'll be in here for at least four days. He did quite a bit of damage back there, and the higher-ups aren't happy about it."

Maroy sat back down and smiled. "Good."

One of the guards tapped Lunei on the shoulder. "Time's up, ma'am."

"I need to go check on my wingman in sickbay. I'll talk to you later, Maroy."

The woman and the two guards walked away, leaving the Twi'lek alone again. She laid back down, but gave up trying to sleep. The cot was just too uncomfortable.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed before she heard footsteps on the polished mental decking again. She sat up to find a bulky human staring laser bolts through the forcefield at her.

"You're going to pay for this someday, wormhead." He snarled.

She gave a grin in return, and he struggled against the six guards holding him back. "If it isn't my old friend. Well, I hope you'll at least have some good insults to use by then. Wormhead is pretty pathetic."

He yelled at her and tried to lunge forward, but the guards overpowered him with some effort and dragged him off.

I should probably be worried, but as long as he's stuck in here too.. I think I'm going to sleep very well.

OOC:

WC: 570
AAR: Maroy is also placed in the brig, but will only be in for two days. She talks to Lunei, who isn't being punished, and Dog, who's getting the longest term, while he's being taken to his own cell.

"Listen here, sleemo, I outrank you in every sense of the word. Now you listen-"

"I have my orders, Senior Chief Petty Officer." The man said imperiously; a lowly Petty Officer with an overinflated sense of self importance. "Now you can, respectfully, bugger off."

"Oh that's it. You're in for it, Mr.." He narrowed his eyes at the man's name tag. Why does a quartermaster have a name tag in the first place? Hades was in no mood to ask. "Mr Villik, I'll have you busted down to janitor and sent back to the Naval Academy to learn some discipline, respect, and how to do your job properly!" The quartermaster -- Villik -- puffed out his chest in a way he probably thought was menacing. Small man syndrome, Hades mused as he looked down at the Petty Officer.

"Oh I do my job properly, just not for HOPPOs like you." The quartermaster said with a smirk. It was evident he was an Imperial born and raised, not like Hades. HOPPO = Horribly Over Promoted Petty Officer, a poke at the fact he was not 'highborn'. Technically, he was what highborn folk would refer to as a gutter rat, scum, trash, and a number of other names not worth repeating. Despite this, he'd shown them all that he was as capable -- if not more so -- than any obsequious, unctuous highborn and he was not about to let this snotty Petty Officer tell him different.

"You want to see how a HOPPO fights?" He said, raising his voice with a growl and straightening his posture.

"I'd rather keep my eyeballs. I don't fight with nails and teeth." 'Villik' said self importantly.

"More fool you." Hades smirked back, "brains are worth more than honour, sleemo."

"I'll be sure to make that clear to your Squadron Commander!" He snapped back. Hades laughed and thought of Ryn.  Oh, that would be a sight to behold.

"Please do. She'd enjoy picking the flesh of your bones, no doubt." The quartermaster paled slightly, but lost none of his self importance.

"We shall see about that!"

"I do not doubt it, Petty Officer Sleemo!" Hades felt a tug on his arm. He turned, thinking it one of sleemo's cronies, a hostile expression on his face. It softened immediately when he saw Ryn looking at him with a slightly misted expression. Hades shot the quartermaster a glare before letting Ryn pull him away. The man he had termed 'sleemo' tried to address Ryn, knowing she was the SCO, but got only a glare that said 'annoy me and I'll rip you to pieces'. Probably due to the fact she was still drunk, or hungover badly at the very least.

----

“Fine, I'm fine. Now lets move on so I can drink a gallon of water and put my booze away.”  Ryn said dismissively after their short exchange. Hades frowned and followed her -- something more than alcohol was up, and he could tell. She knew it too, but she didn't want to spill the beans. Not to him or to anybody else, that much was clear. Hades grimaced and followed after her, striding powerfully to bring himself level with her. She stumbled slightly and he caught her arm. Definitely not fine. Ryn murmured her thanks and kept walking, Hades following closely.

"Ryn.." Hades cautioned.

"I'm fine, Hades!" She snapped. He was taken aback by her abruptness.

"..I was going to say it's best not to let the squadron see you like this." He said quietly.

"I'm sorry, Hades, I didn't mean to snap at you like that." She said in a softer tone, realising she might have lashed out. He regarded her with a concerned gaze.

"I know. Others might not, so watch it. We're not just grunts anymore.." He warned in a steady tone, "we have to present an example for our subordinates to follow, we can't afford for you to be irresponsible like this."

"What's irresponsible about getting drunk?" She asked with an annoyed tone.

"You don't need me to explain that." He responded patronisingly, pulling her to the side. "We're not going to the barracks" the SCPO said firmly, his mind set.

"We're not..?" She asked, somewhat confused, before rolling her eyes, "spare me the lecture, please."

"I might do that. But you need to sober up and look respectable before the Squadron sees you." Demetrius pointed to the showers they'd just passed; there were separate men and women's refreshers, but he knew they were both fairly communal. "No-one will be in there and I'll make sure no-one comes in. Have a cold shower, wash the stink of booze off you and possibly get me a caf while you're in there."

"What? Hades-" He shot her a stare that said he wasn't kidding, a glare that had been refined through years of dealing with disrespectful and rambunctious youths.

"Do it." In a normal hierarchy, this would be insubordination. But things were largely FUBAR, even if Hades and Ryn didn't show it, so there was no accusation of insubordination, besides which even if Ryn did accuse him he'd laugh it off. The acting SCO disappeared into the 'fresher as he stood guard. She emerged about twenty minutes later, looking much better than when she'd went in. Misture still glistened on her skin and Hades chuckled. "Didn't you ever learn to dry yourself properly?"

"I'm dry in the places that count." She couldn't help but laugh at the face Hades made.

"Right." He remarked awkwardly, "and how do you feel?"

Ryn gave him one of those 'you-shouldn't-have-asked' looks, "Like crap."

"Better than looking and feeling drunk on duty." He said with a knowing smile, eliciting a scowl.

"Oh, I still feel drunk, just without the high. Thanks anyway," The acting SCO yawned and gestured toward the barracks, "Now it's your turn to get cleaned up."

"I could only put it off for so long," he said wistfully. Ryn crinkled her nose in disapproval. "I jest, Kathryn. Hi ho, hi ho, off to the barracks we go.."

"Like pigs to the slaughter." She remarked wryly. Hades shot her a cautionary glance, "relax, I can joke too, right?"

"No." Hades responded after a few moments, deadpan. She frowned.

"I would punch you but I think I'd make a fool of myself."

"Punching is bad. Violence against men is bad." He shook his head profusely, eliciting another laugh from her.

"Cut it out." Ryn poked him in the side, causing him to jump.

"Yes ma'am." The young man replied with mock formality.

----

The barracks were not deserted, per se, but they weren't alive. There was the steady hub-hub of squadron chatter, but no increased activity. He didn't think they knew about the mission in any case. "Alright, squadron," the acting XO called, "We've got something to do. Chief." He said respectfully as he stepped aside for Ryn who whispered something that might have been 'I'll get you for this' or 'I'll pet you for this'. Either was somewhat applicable.

"Orders from the Wing Commander are to gear up. We're taking our fighters on a test flight in three hours." Her tone was clear and calm, without falter and he smiled inwardly as he stood slightly to her right and behind her, arms crossed. "I recommend you look over your fighters, including those of you who have new ones. Maintenance hasn't been the most effective department due to their huge workload after the ID attack. We're in hangar Alpha-2J. Jump to it." The hub-hub rose again as the squadron talked among themselves. Ryn made to move into the SCO cabin, but turned back. "Any questions can be posed to Hades." She disappeared without another word and Hades nearly groaned aloud, making for the XO's cabin.

"Chief-" Eli began as Hades walked past him.

"Give me a few, I need a shower." He replied quickly, "I'll get to your concern then. Any concerns regarding maintenance, speak to me in the hangar or en-route."

Following Ryn's example, he disappeared into the XO's cabin. It wasn't long before he was showered and had changed into his flight suit, smelling fresh and feeling much better. No more than ten minutes after he disappeared, he re-emerged from the cabin and made his way through the barracks, helmet in hand.

"Chief!" It was Eli again. Hades did not pause.

"On me, Eli." He called, indicating the large Falleen should follow him. The man was already dressed and ready. Seeing Darian close on Eli's heels, Hades told his wingman the same thing. "We'll talk on the way there."

The three pilots exited the barracks, their boots clicking against the polished floors. "What was it, Eli?" He asked without turning.

"Well, sir, are our fighters flight-worthy?" Hades noted the 'sir'. He had told the Falleen to drop it, but he had resigned himself to the fact the young Senior Crewman would not.

"Maintenance thinks so. You got a new fighter anyway, or so I hear. Best to check anyway." The SCPO responded to Eli, before tilting his head to catch Darian out of the corner of his eye. His wingman had been pretty quiet. "What's on your mind, Petty Officer?"

"Chief, are you sure our fighters are fighters? From the way Ryn-"

"-Chief Petty Officer Ryn" Hades corrected.

"From the way Chief Petty Officer Ryn said it, we may as well be flying bits of transparisteel molded together, painted gray and given an engine." Darian remarked cynically.

"From what I know of TIE Interceptors, I believe they do classify as starfighters, yes." The acting XO replied wryly. "Like I told Eli, make sure to check your fighter. Run tests, that goes especially for fighters that were damaged in the ID attack. Eli's lucky enough to have a Wing Commander who does his Logistics and Supply." Even if it was through a subordinate. Hades knew better than to question his superiors in front of his men.

"Aye, sir." Eli responded, again with the sir.

"So basically, if it flies they've OK'd it?" Darian asked. Hades could not help but smile at the man's accurate -- albeit cynical -- insight.

"Pretty much. Just be sure to do your checks and you'll be fine." Demetrius told Darian. Stopping abruptly, Hades nearly sent Eli and Darian both crashing into either of his shoulders, a collision which both of them managed to avoid. "Ah. This is it."

The hangar was a far-cry from what they were used to on the Atrus, but it was still large. It wasn't as busy either, Hades could see. Busy in its own right, it was nothing compared to the flagship they had spent months aboard. Like it or not, this was their new home, and they'd have to get used to that. "Alright, gentlemen, find your fighters and get started with your checks. Come and find me when you're done or if you have any other questions."

OOC:

Wordcount: 1,805. A lot of dialogue in this one.

AAR: Hades makes sure Ryn looks presentable for the squadron, having a heart to heart debate with her about irresponsibility. The squadron is now briefed, and after he showered, Hades headed to the Hangar with Besh flight in tow. Eli and Darian quiz him on a few things.

Myself or Ryn will post in a week or so to move us from the Hangar into the mission -- more details will be forthcoming then.

The transportation of Javelin Wing in its transfer from the Atrus to the Halcyon Warrior constituted mainly of an uneventful flight, probably because the members of the involved parties were licking their wounds, metaphorically of course, after the bar fight they had just recovered from.

Petty Officer 2nd Class Darian Rogue was one such man. He spent the flight over gently rubbing the few (until this point unmentioned) bruises he had received along his chest while preparing for the worst upon their arrival at the Halcyon Warrior. He and most of his squadron, after all, had just been involved in a bar fight. Surely they’d all be facing punishment to the best of their Wing Commander’s capabilities… which from what Darian knew, stretched pretty far.

When they finally arrived at their new ship, they were ordered off to the barracks in a brutal manner characteristic of those in charge by Hades, who happened to be Darian’s new wingman, and were called a variety of insulting names. Apparently he himself qualified as “fluffy tail,” though he wasn’t at all sure how. If the name were at least funny I’d be okay with it, but that doesn’t even make sense. In the end, though, it didn’t really matter. He silently stalked off to the barracks with the rest of his squadron. On the way, he thought of what new experiences he might have on the Warrior, what new memories might be made, what new friendships might be formed, if any. Would he attain greatness here, or would he maintain his lowly position? I really should go on that trench run. Upon arriving at the barracks, he chose a bunk for himself and made sure all his luggage had made it. The first thing he took out was his journal. It’s already becoming so large… He opened it and allowed himself to be momentarily absorbed in the memories, both happy and… not as happy.

However, he was forced to put it away shortly after, for something he had foreseen was starting to take place. It seemed the noble Wing Commander had a desire to see them.

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

The brig. Darian completely saw that coming. He could sense that Wing Commander Qorbin had wanted to say a lot more than just “Report to the brig!” but restrained himself from doing so because it wouldn’t be something an officer would do. It wouldn’t be Wing Commanderly. Except this is the military so it probably wouldn’t even matter, thought Darian.

The march to the brig was dutiful and silent. No one wanted to talk. Nobody wanted to crack jokes about the situation. That’s because it’s not over yet. You only crack jokes when you can look back on it all. Hindsight is the key. We’re still experiencing it, so it’s not the time to joke about how big of an idiot Hades is for starting that fight. He shook his head. Can’t think like that, Darian. He may have started the fight, but he is your wingman and your flight leader. And acting Squadron Executive Officer. Surely that says something about him. It was then that Darian resolved to attempt to forge a bond with his new wingman and flight leader. It’ll be difficult though, with his sarcasm and my cynicism. Not sure how those’ll get along. Yes, Darian fully acknowledged his cynicism, and proudly. It’s part of who I am.

The squadron made it to the brig and ended up in line behind another group, a surprising addition to the population of the brig. Well, best get ready to spend some alone time.

He made it to the front of the line, and, upon being asked his name, said, “Darian Rogue.”

“Hmm,” said the man behind the desk, “looks like you’re in for three days. Right this way, please.” Darian walked in the direction specified and was shown to his new home for the next three days. As he sat down inside his cell, he thought back to another time. Darian had never been formally imprisoned before, neither by law enforcement nor military, but that rival family, that wretched Mantisa clan, well… they weren’t so formal all the time. They had kept him locked in their family holding cells so he couldn’t help with the investigation into his uncle’s will. That whole thing turned out to be a lot bigger than any of us could have possibly imagined before the reading. To think that was his legacy… and Crayack Mantisa’s, or so he claimed. Had he been right, we should have shared that treasure, but… the Mantisas weren’s mentioned in my uncle’s will at all. None of that mattered now, though. It was all in the past. Hopefully this little trip to the brig will be soon, too.

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

5 days later, 2 days after Darian’s release from the brig, the squadron received its orders, relayed by Ryn with the help of Hades, as the final member of Tuk’ata to still be in the brig, Hades himself, was released. An orbital pattern? Field test? Are they saying it’s possible that our fighters might still have problems? I understand those engineers were working their asses off, but the least they could have done was make absolutely sure they were flyable!

He took up his concerns with Hades, but he just gave a standard response. Luckily, my fighter wasn’t damaged too badly in the ID attack. Nevertheless, I’ll follow the good Chief’s advice and run some tests before we take off.

He made it to his fighter and began his tests. Let’s see here… Engines… working. Both of them. Yoke seems to control the fighter correctly… Shields working at full capacity…

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

Just a bit more then I’m done… Targeting computer… seems to be working… Comms… yeah… Can’t test weapons, so that’s it, I guess.

He climbed out of the Interceptor and pulled off the helmet, shaking his hair about. He walked around until he found Hades as ordered, and let him know of the status of his fighter. He saluted and said, “Chief, I have run tests and you suggested and everything seems to check out. Can’t help but feel I forgot something, but as far as I can tell, I will be safe for the moment. I await further orders.”

The acting SXO replied, “Good work, Petty Officer. We’ll start the mission as soon as everyone is ready.”

OOC:

WC: 1,060. I know Darian’s thoughts after our orders are given don’t exactly reflect Ryn’s words to the squadron, but I claim creative license.

AAR: Catching up from arriving on the Warrior to being in the brig to the stuff that happened in Hades’s post to Darian taking Hades’s advice. I’ll try to include some actual Hades-Darian dialogue in my next post but I didn’t see a good opportunity for it here other than what I did at the end.

Sitting on a maintenance crate he watched the readouts from two monitors as a few members of the deck crew worked over his fighter. Tapping a key sequence into the computer he saw the power levels start to slowly climb towards the nice green safe area. However, the warm up sequence was going far too slow. He knew they had given him an aged fighter, but spending the better part of six hours trying to coax her systems back to life meant they had instead given him a coffin with wings.

"Reminds you of anything?" The deck boss said as he stepped away from one of the monitors. "Three years ago, when you all took out that base on the edge of the I-1 system. No shiny Avengers for you then, no we spent three days bringing those outdated TIEs to working order."

Scral half smiled as he watched the newly installed generator begin to finally warm itself to life. He remembered that mission, somehow that had survived and not lost anyone. Most of their missions they were not that lucky, and they tended to use their Avengers doing the truly insane ones. For the benefit of the men watching in the background, neither of them would say what squadron they were referring to.

"I'm going to be outgunned, and under powered now. Just like old times really." Scral said as he stood up slowly, he felt his back twinge for a moment before the muscles worked themselves out. "I wish we could of refitted those lasers with the cannons most of the other fighters have."

"No joy on that one, we had a choice. Keep the old generator that powered up like a bantha, and supplied about as much power as one. Or retro fit her with four blaster cannons." The man said as he began shutting down the diagnostic software.

"Well, if I make it back in one piece I'll owe your crew a drink. I don't plan to be shot down twice in a month, but with my record you never know." Scral said as he walked towards the back of his fighter.

Climbing up the ladder into his cockpit, his brain reminded him it was weird that this Interceptor was not on the supports that hung in various locations around the bay. Instead the quiet thrum of the repulsors kept the craft a couple fractions of an inch off the deck plating.

Dropping down into the seat he slid his feet forward and felt the unfamiliar contours of the worn padding beneath him. Reminding himself not to take a deep breath he leaned back to get a feel for the seat before he began shunting power out of the generator and into the various systems on the fighter.

Easing power slowly into the twin Ion engines, he frowned as he saw their readouts flash red warnings for a few seconds before they begun to spool up. Switching screen he looked over his friend or foe recognition systems, and then his targeting systems.

Hearing some of the squadron check in condition green he thumbed his comlink on and said, "Tuk four, showing two green... barely. Weapons, and targeting at station keeping. Repulsors online and operational. Just found her service logs, she's older than I am."

Changing to a private frequency he said, "Maroy, if I don't make it back you can have my stuff this time. This bloody fighter is older than I am. I can hear the supports bend just with the engines on standby. Frak me, and frak this fighter."

"Well, at least you can safely say this is the worst one you've flown. Even during the I-1 mission they were not this bad. NHC is playing a really bad joke on us I think." Maroy said a few moments later.

"Guess they want to get rid of the malcontents in one fail swoop." Scral mumbled mostly to himself. "Last charge of the light brigade."

"Boldly they rode and well, into the jaws of Death. Into the mouth of Hell, rode the six hundred." Maroy quoted remembering missions where that single line described so much of what took place.

"Just like old times." They said in almost unison.

OOC:

WC-705. My fighter is a coffin with wings.

Bang. Hades' gloved fist slammed into the flickering console with increasing agitation and to his surprise, the console stopped flickering. He stared at it bemusedly for several moments, before shaking his head and running a diagnostic check. The systems hummed quietly as they worked; he had brought his fighter back in pretty damn good condition, but he had been singed more than once by the cheeky Imperial Dominion pilots. Reading one of the after action reports that had been issued VEN-wide, he was surprised – they had taken on a decorated, undefeated, elite Imperial Dominion Interceptor Squadron known as Wingmaw, and they had blown them to bits. Not without casualties, granted, but they had held their own – and technically, they weren't even an elite squadron. Not if their Wing Commander had any say in it anyway; he was all about his beloved Razors. So much for loyalty. Power overrides loyalty, he had once heard it said. Once he had not believed it, but now seeing the way the Ensign treated the rest of his wing after being elevated above Squadron Commander, he most definitely did. He had seen Scral – formerly in Besh flight – return suddenly and was actually surprised. The man had struck him as.. unstable, to say the least. He was slightly vexed by the fact that he had been given his wings back, although he knew what it was like to be forbidden from flying, so he could feel sorry for the man, having been so long kept from his fighter. Torture.

Across the board came up green and orange lights, green indicating the system was running at optimal capacity, while orange indicated that the system was – supposedly – safely operable, but not running at suggested levels. It appeared his ordnance launchers were one of the sections in orange and his comm system was another. Damnit, neither of those things should have been affected by the damage I sustained. If that was the case, it meant the mechanics hadn't done as great a job as they would have Tuk'ata believe. It wouldn't surprise me, Hades mused. He was a better mechanic than many in the navy, hyperdrive and starfighter qualified, but he hadn't chosen to be a mechanic. He guessed that he'd just have to trust their infallibility – or at least, their high resistance to fallibility. Who was he kidding, the mechanics were just as if not more fallible than the rest of the navy, simply because the rest of the navy tended to rely on them. Letting out a bitter laugh at the predicament of the entire Navy, Hades climbed out of his fighter. Darian approached him almost immediately. Fluffy tail Hades thought with some amusement, might call him half-empty instead. Half-empty was a reference to the 'glass half-empty' example of cynicism.

“Chief, I have run tests and you suggested and everything seems to check out. Can’t help but feel I forgot something, but as far as I can tell, I will be safe for the moment. I await further orders.” Darian said matter-of-factly, which almost elicited a smile from the Senior Chief Petty Officer.

“Good work, Petty Officer. We’ll start the mission as soon as everyone is ready.” He caught a glimpse of Scral and Maroy talking to one of the ship crewmen, undoubtedly familiar with him from some Regents mission or other. He was considering banning tales of the Regents; he had heard about a dozen different tales so far from Maroy or from other flight members who had recited her tales, each one more outrageous than the last. They had been crazy, he would give them that. But this was not Regents, that kind of thing would get people killed. And Hades did not intend to let people get killed. Darian turned and walked back to his fighter as Eli approached.

“Chief..” He began uneasily. Hades let his eyebrow raise.

“Yes?”

“Well I got a new fighter.. that's not new. It's an old fighter, and it smells funny.” Eli told him. Hades almost laughed but refrained and kept it to a small grin that would come out more like a bitter smirk.

“Senior Crewman, would you like to be excused from the shakedown run? I know how bad a smelly fighter can get.” Hades responded, half-serious. Eli looked annoyed, and Hades thought he scented some of those dastardly pheromones in the air. He donned his helmet for good measure.

“No sir.” Eli responded, suitably chastened. Hades nodded, and when he replied his tones were muffled and articulated in the way only a helmet could ensure.

“Excellent. When the acting SCO appears, we'll-” Hades cut himself off as Ryn marched into the hangar, looking no worse for wear. Looking closer, though, her eyes were reddened – no doubt from the alcohol – and she looked slightly tired. Other than that, she still amazed Hades at how well she could clean up in such a short time. “Never mind. Prep for take off.” He said absently to Eli as he set off in Ryn's direction.

“Hades. How are we going to do this?”

“Flight positions? I'm not sure. It might be fitting for you to fly as Aurek-1 for now. I'll keep Besh flight, but what do we do with Cresh?” He replied sharply. Ryn blinked and frowned. She hadn't thought of that yet.

“I was thinking of the shakedown in general, but it's details that make a good picture I guess.” She said tiredly and nodded, “the replacement. PO1 Rymil. He's competent, consider him acting flight leader.”

“Not Maroy?” He said cautiously, “She's got the most experience.”

“Experience earned as a Regent. That, added to the fact Scral's back on the squadron and after what he pulled during the battle of Abrae, I'm not risking it.”

“Ryn-”

“-I've made my decision. Rymil has Cresh Flight.” Ryn cut him off and gestured back towards his rack. He raised his hands in a placating gesture, “now get back to your fighter before I get you for insubordination.”

“I'm going, I'm going.” He said in mock fear. She rolled her eyes at him and he turned on his heel, marching back to the place his own interceptor was. The dull grey seemed to glare at him. “Don't look at me like that. I treat you well. Ungrateful bastard..” He muttered to his fighter, more to relieve tension than in seriousness. Climbing into the ungrateful fighter, Hades ran another startup check. He thought his sensors were malfunctioning as two fighters exited the hangar before any of the other Tuk'ata ships. Maroy and Scral, Hades identified bitterly. He shook his head slowly.

“--Aurek 1 to Tuk'ata. Comm check--” Everyone checked in, even Maroy and Scral, before Ryn continued. “--This will be a milk run, Tuk'ata. We're here to test our lovingly repaired fighters first and foremost, but officially we are to run a patrol pattern around the Imperial Dominion's entry vector. Petty Officer Rymil, you are acting Flight Leader for Cresh. I will be flying as Aurek 1 for the duration of this mission. Other than that the flights remain the same. Watch for malfunctions or abnormalities in your fighter and try to lock them down before it gets the better of you. Good hunting. Ryn out--”

Just like that. Not a word about Maroy and Scral, although she was probably contacting them on a private channel. Following that line of thought, he opened a channel with her, “It seems your concerns were rightly based.”

“--Damn right they were. Please hold, Tuk'ata 5--” She replied brusquely, before finishing up some other conversation and getting back to him. “--Keep an eye on them, Hades. And be careful. Ryn out--”

Hades heard the murmuring of general squadron activity across the comms; wingmates checking in with each other, flight leaders checking in with flights. “Besh Flight, this is Besh leader. Comm check, over.”

“Besh 2, reading you loud and clear,” Came back Darian's voice, “but you need to stop mumbling, Chief. Either that or I need to fix my comm, over.”

“Cut the chatter, 2.” Hades shot back, although he was grinning.

“Besh 3 reading you loud and clear, over.” The voice of Besh's replacement pilot was gruff. Yiru, Hades remembered. A human.

“Besh 4 reading you loud and clear. Besh leader, I'm having a slight problem here, over.” Eli's voice sounded confused.

“Go ahead Eli. What is it?”

“My sensors are dead. Only manual targeting works, and I can't pick up anything other than what I can see.” That was bad. With the layout of a TIE interceptor, 'what you could see' consists of a cone-shaped field of vision – but only forwards. Eli was flying blind, in a sense.

“Alright 4, you can still fly. Tell it to the mechanics when you get back. Until then, see if you can keep on 3's wing. Besh leader out.” Hades cut the comm after receiving an affirmative from Eli.

OOC:

Wordcount: 1,533

AAR: We're all in our fighters, and about to exit the hangar.

Tuk'ata, the mission has begun. We will begin our shakedown run by skirting the Vectra system – we'll see a lot of debris as we pass through the edges of the battle, some bodies as well. While skirting the system, most of us will experience non-fatal malfunctions with our beaten-up fighters. Eli already has no sensors, for the rest of you PM me your ideas for what will happen to your fighter malfunction-wise, and if you have no ideas I'll give you one

As we are passing the Imperial Dominion's point of entry into the system, we will detect unidentified ships just beyond the system, but save that for your later posts. Let the fun (or more fittingly the mayhem) ensue. 

Aurek 1- Ryn
Cresh 1- Rymil {NPC}
Besh 3- Yiru {NPC}
Other than that, feel free to make up NPCs for the unfilled roster positions.

Darian patiently continued waiting in his fighter for the mission to start. Finally came the message from the acting Squadron Commanding Officer.
“Aurek 1 to Tuk'ata. Comm check.” Darian checked in with the rest of the squadron, successfully. “This will be a milk run, Tuk'ata.” Hah! thought Darian. If by that you mean it’s possible we’ll become as good as powdered milk in these things, then yes… And that sounded like it would be a lot cooler before I actually thought it. “We're here to test our lovingly repaired fighters first and foremost, but officially we are to run a patrol pattern around the Imperial Dominion's entry vector.” Ah, I see, and if there’s a hostile situation, compounded with any malfunctions we may have, things are going to be fuuuuun! “Petty Officer Rymil, you are acting Flight Leader for Cresh. I will be flying as Aurek 1 for the duration of this mission. Other than that the flights remain the same. Watch for malfunctions or abnormalities in your fighter and try to lock them down before it gets the better of you.” I’ll be sure to do that. “Good hunting. Ryn out.”

Alright, let’s get this started. Darian proceeded to power up the rest of his systems when he heard a voice from the comm. “Besh Flight, this is Besh leader. Comm check, over.” Ah, just Hades.
“Besh 2, reading you loud and clear,” Darian responded. He then proceeded to lighten the mood a bit. “But you need to stop mumbling, Chief. Either that or I need to fix my comm, over.”
“Cut the chatter, 2,” the acting Squadron Executive Officer shot back.
As the rest of the flight checked in, Darian only taking a mild interest in Eli’s malfunctions, he finished powering everything up. Everyone can fly, it seems.

And then, as if it were a practiced routine, which it kind of is, the whole squadron proceeded to pull out of the hangar… except Scral and Maroy, of course, who had already done so, and had probably already been yelled at by Ryn. Darian had no way to know that for sure, of course.
On their way to the entry vector, the members of the squadron were busy testing their fighters’ flying capabilities. Guess I may as well do so, too. Gotta check to make sure speed changing is ok, and that I can maneuver correctly.

Flying through space like this, just testing systems, fairly relaxing stuff… It reminds me of another time. Another place. Bakura. Home. It reminded Darian of when he arrived on Bakura, just before things went to hell.
He thought as he checked various thruster speeds.
He could see his home planet close by. He told the shuttle pilot to speed it up and he’d pay double.
He thought as pulled back and dove, gaining speed and losing altitude.
The shuttle pilot applied more thrust, bringing the shuttle increasingly closer to Bakura. Every second, every minute, Darian watched, as home came back. It was a sad occasion. His uncle had just died. Yet, he was going to be able to see his family again. He would see his friends again. He would see everyone dear to him, all those he had distanced himself from since he joined the VEN. He regretted that immensely. He just wanted a balance. He needed time off. He needed to find himself.
He thought as he pulled back up, coming into formation with his squadron once more, reminding himself that he has two families now.
Finally the shuttle touched down on the planet. Darian paid the kind pilot and hopped off the shuttle with an uncharacteristic glee. He was home. Looking around the spaceport, he spotted his father.
He stopped thinking about that.

Something is wrong. Wait… what the hell? Messages were constantly coming and going over the comm, some just idle chatter, others flight members checking in with their flight leaders. Why the hell is it skipping out?! He turned on and off the communications device, hoping it was just a fluke, but to no avail. The Interceptor’s built-in comlink was just was skippy as before.
Hopefully it can at least have the good grace to only be on my end. He spoke into the comm. “Besh Leader, this is Besh 2, do you read me, over?”
The reply came swift… but not exactly easy to understand. “Rea—you loud an—lear, Besh t—” So it is just on my end, Darian thought. Good, that will make it a bit easier. Darian hit the comm, just to see if it did anything. It helped for a second as Hades’s voice continued, “—at is it, Petty Offic—. Over.”
“Unfortunately, Chief,” replied Darian, “I don’t read you so loud and clear. Try to keep communications with me short for the time being, since if you say a really long sentence, I won’t hear it all. My comm device seems to be all wonky, and this time it has nothing to do with you mumbling.” Darian always had to get a quip in there, even at a time like this. “Voices are skipping out; I only hear half of any given word, some I don’t hear at all. I’ll keep you posted in that regard. I’ll try to keep fiddling with it and I’ll try to see what’s causing it. Just wanted to let you know. I’ll report back in a few minutes. Over and out.”

Hades may have briefly replied something or other about Darian doing so, but Darian was too engrossed in, indeed, fiddling with his comm. Nothing he did seemed to fix it. The farther away the Squadron got from the Halcyon Warrior, the closer to their destination, the worse it got, the harder it was for Darian to understand messages. Indeed, flying at higher speeds also seemed to agitate the situation more. It was during one of these bouts of high speed flying that Darian noticed something… off.
What IS that?! He put his ear closer to the comm, and he most certainly heard some sort of rattling within its bowels. Are you SERIOUS?!
He contacted Hades again.

“Besh Leader, this is Besh 2, I’ve figured out some of the problem. The farther away we get from the Warrior and the faster I go, the worse it seems to get. I can barely understand a thing at this point. I’m not exactly sure why these particular actions agitate the situation, but I can tell you that there is definitely a part loose in my comm that is probably the root cause of at least some of it. Over”
“O—2. –alk—gineers late—. You – still fly. Over”
Uh… thought Darian. Something about either him or me talking with the engineers later, but I can still fly. “Alrighty, Chief. I’ll see if I can do something about maybe redirecting our communications into my personal com-link for the time being. That’ll take a while though. We’ll talk later. Over and out.”

OOC:

WC: 1,165.
AAR: DR experiences some comm problems. He will attempt a temporary resolution, but will need the engineers to fix a loose part to bring a more permanent solution.

Maroy thought back to the stinging rebuke she and Scral had gotten from Ryn for leaving the hangar without orders. Given their shaky relationship with the SC, they probably shouldn't have been using a private channel right before a battle. But as usual, that didn't stop them. "The TIEs shouldn't be too hard to take down, but that Tartan is going to be a big problem. It's not responding to IFF, but it's probably safe to assume it's not friendly. Any ideas?"

Scral remained silent for a moment, thinking it over. [[We've got a single missile each. That might be enough to take her out, but with all the equipment failures there's a good chance the missiles will blow two or three of us up instead.]]

"Right. We need a different plan. We could probably batter it with enough laserfire to disable it, but it'd be able to take out a few of us pretty easily by then. Can't run away, either. Tartans are almost as fast as we are when they get up to speed."

Dammit. This isn't looking good. An anti-fighter ship gunning for a bunch of broken Interceptors. The techies promised the ships were in working condition! Comm failure, weapons failure, targeting failure... these Interceptors are practically falling apart. I don't see how they could miss stuff like this. Maroy sighed. They're going to have a lot to answer for when we get back. The looming patrol cruiser, bristling with twenty fast and dangerous laser cannons, argued otherwise.

Maroy glanced up at the rangefinder on her targeting computer. "Back to the squadron frequency. We're getting close."

Scral clicked his comm in response, and they both switched over.

They jumped into the middle of Ryn briefing Tuk'ata on their plan of attack. [[...first pass at them, and then break off into flights before the Tartan gets a solid lock. I've contacted the Warrior and they're scrambling another squadron, but it'll be a while before they get here. The flight deck isn't exactly combat-ready at the moment, as you might have noticed, so we're on our own. Everyone got that?]]

Everyone chimed in a quick 'affirmative' or 'I copy' except Darian. [[I didn't catch most of that, but I'm going to get a few shots off at one and then break off with my wingman. Over.]]

The SC's annoyance with the state of the fighters bled through the channel. [[Yes, please do that.]]

The range finder ticked down rapidly as the formation of twelve TIE Interceptors approached the formation of nine normal TIEs.

A full head-to-head volley would kill them a lot faster than it would kill us, so they'll probably break off quickly as well. She mentally plotted the probable escape vectors her target TIE would take and got her own ready to go. As long as the Tartan stays out of effective range, we've got a chance.

She linked her fighter's cannons and got a firmer grip on the flight controls. The targeting computer flashed a warning as they came into the limits of the enemy cruiser's range. A few emerald blasts flew past Tuk'ata as the enemy began tracking them, and the enemy fighters lined up for what would be killshots if the Vast Empire Interceptors didn't have shields.

[[Fire and break!]]

Forty-eight laser blasts streaked in toward the Dominion fighters, and eighteen blasts came in return. They took less than a second to reach their targets, but in those split seconds almost every fighter had managed to pull away. One Dominion fighter exploded, and one Tuk'atan fighter glowed as its shields absorbed an oncoming shot. Maroy released her trigger and corkscrewed off to the side, narrowly missing a bolt aimed for her. The enemy fighter performed a somewhat less elegant but no less effective roll, getting him clear of the Twi'lek's quad burst but unfortunately putting him right into Scral's sights. The latter's shot went wide, hitting the tip of the TIE's port solar panel and vaporizing a sizable chunk of it. Scral moved in for a killshot, but something stopped him. We forgot something.

[[I'm hit!]]

Eli's broken targeting computer hadn't warned him of the cruiser's laser lock. His shields absorbed most of the blast, but the shock shook his fighter around.

[[Eight, what's your status?]]

[[Shields are down to 73 percent. Nothing else appears to be damaged.]]

Tuk'ata completed their initial maneuvers, and the fighting broke out into smaller engagements of three flights of VE Interceptors against three flights of Dominion TIEs. The cruiser's laser cannons continued to fire indiscriminately at any VE fighter that strayed too far out of the cloud of machines.

Maroy snapped a shot off at another fighter and quickly looped away as another laser blast flew past her.

"Someone get the one behind me!"

Two of the fighters closed in on her. Rymil flew in at an angle and singed one, causing it to break off, but the other one got a clear shot off at her despite her erratic flight path. It punched through the shields and hit the back of the cockpit at reduced power, narrowly avoiding the engines. The engines began letting out a loud squeal. The Interceptor stopped accelerating, and the Dominion pilot rolled off to engage another member of Cresh.

Maroy looked over the damage. The laser blast had probably knocked a few things in the engine housing loose. She flushed the engine control circuits and restarted the engines and was rewarded with the hum of the engines returning to a normal pitch. She slowly increased the throttle again, and the fighter responded by abruptly jumping to maximum speed. She struggled to regain control of the fighter, quickly becoming separated from the rest of her flight.

"Eleven here, I've lost throttle control!" She desperately flipped switches and kicked durasteel, trying to get the engines to stop. She finally activated the emergency engine cutoff, which meant that when her fighter finished slowing she would be sitting dead in the middle of a dogfight. I need to fix this, and fast. It won't take long for that Tartan to pick the easy target.

OOC:

WC:1017
AAR: Tuk'ata engages the enemy fighters. They have a quick head-to-head shootout before breaking up into flight vs. flight dogfights.
1 Dominion fighter destroyed by Ryn and Hades
3 Dominion fighters damaged by Scral, Rymil, and Darian
2 Tuk'atans hit, 1 damaged

Ignoring the loud creaking his port-side strut was making, he followed the TIE fighter through a series of tight loops and rolls. Glancing behind him he smiled as he saw another TIE lining up a shot, and behind him two of his squadron were angling in for shots of their own. Chopping his throttle down just a hair more he lovingly squeezed the triggers and waited for the nice implosion the TIE would make in a few seconds. Instead he saw the TIE simply fly through the spot his lasers should of gone through, but decided to fly two meters above where they should have been.

"Frak this targeting system, and frak the technician that cleared this fighter!" Scral angrily shouted into the open commlink. "I want his head on a spike in my room by the time I land." His cursing boiled down to growls, grunts, and screams of anger as over the commlink it could be heard loud popping noises and things being beat into submission.

"Easy Scral, just..." Maroy's voice trailed off for a few moments, after a second she came back on the line and said, "Tuk 11 to lead. Reporting all close fighters making hard turn and burns towards the Tartan. I repeat, all fighters breaking off."

"Roger that eleven, I confirm." Hades said after a few moments. "Tuk's converge at my location, damage reports if you please."

Punching one of the monitors again he keyed the throttle to full and forced his fighter into a tight loop. Leveling out he felt the engines find their feet as his craft settled down and eased herself into the speed she was built for. The fighter was an older model, run hard and put up wet more than once. Port side radiator strut sounded like it wanted to remove itself from being part of the fighter, and the targeting systems were full of lying gremlins. The engines though, they felt like they could give an Avenger a run for her money.

"Tuk 4, port side strut is complaining, and the targeting system is a guessing game. Everything else is all green, and I swear someone stole engines out of an Avenger. I've given her all the power I can and she wants more." Scral said into squadron's frequency.

Switching to a private frequency he knew Maroy would be own after she gave her report he said, "Five to one odds says we are making a suicide run at that ship." Chopping the throttle he eased his fighter into position with the few members of the squadron that had arrived at the location.

He heard Maroy flip a few switches then sourly say, "Maybe, he's not the type to be insane though. We are clearly outmatched in all regards, I just hope he sees that. Dying is not something I'm really interested in doing today, tomorrow maybe, but not today."

"Tuks, we have some options. As you can see we are out-classed currently. Those fighters may be the first editions, but ours are older and worn out. So, we have the choice to run and let them live, or we give chase and pray." Hades said a few minutes later after he had checked over the damage reports.

"Could try a broadside salvo." Scral thought it was DR who said it, but he could not he sure.

"A pretty line of Interceptors, we fire, they fire. We blow up." Maroy said in an annoyed voice. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"Easy, children." Hades said with a grunt. "That ship is designed to eat fighters for breakfast, that holds too high of a risk."

"Strafing runs with lasers?" Someone said a few seconds later after the chatter had died down.

"Won't work, the Tartan's power systems are designed to be routed quickly between systems. Even if we all got off perfect shots I doubt it would work." Maroy said.

"What about with missiles then?" Hades said, his voice cutting through all the chatter suddenly.

"That... might work. Only get two options though, forward or aft. Plus you need to be at top speed when we fire, the breakaway is the highest risk part. The sensor smokescreen caused by the explosions will shield you but only for a few seconds." Maroy said slowly as he brain worked over the plan.

"Tuk 4, you did say you thought your engines may have belonged to an Avenger right?" Hades said quietly, Scral could hear the smile the young man had on his face.

"I've not laughed in Death's face yet today, so why not. However if I die, Maroy still gets all my stuff." Scral said softly as he turned and ripped off one of the panels in his cockpit, he had work to do if he was going to pull this off in this bucket of bolts.

OOC:

WC-806.
Fighters fly off, we decide to do an insane move to take out the Tartan.

Forcefully removing the alarm that had been sounding for the last couple seconds Scral glanced at the temperature indicators of his engines. They were rapidly climbing towards the point of large explosion, and he was going to push them even hard in the next few minutes. He was not overly worried about that fact though, the one thing he was worried about were the eight missiles trying their hardest to shake his hand.

"I want an Avenger out of this, I'm bloody qualified for one and I've served in squadrons that used them. No, I'm not talking about Regents either, Nazgul originally had them." Scral said into the mic as he watched the hulk of the Tartan get closer and closer. "And another thing, I did not hear one word of complaint about shooting at me. Not from any of you, you could of at least pretended to be worried."

"Cut the chatter Tuk 4 and concentrate on what you are doing." Hades voice sounded over the comm, a few moments into the silence.

Swearing under his breath he wanted very much to punch the man dead in the face in that instant. He was attempting to pull of a very insane stunt in a ship that by all rights should not be flying. Ignoring the fact this is the legacy they had built for themselves, it still seemed unfair that the Naval High Command had given them these ships to pull off stupid things in.

"So four, you up for buying the first round when we get back?" Maroy said quietly.

"You know I don't drink, 11. Besides, you just spent some time in the brig for drinking. I think you should lay off the hard stuff for an eternity." Scral said as he keyed over to his power management system. Being in no mood for the automatic safety protocols to come into play he disabled the main computer relays. A few moments later he disabled all power to his weapons, targeting, and shields. Then shunted everything into the reserve capacitor for the engines. In theory it would give him almost an afterburner effect based atmospheric planes. In all likelihood it would just cause his engines to redline and explode brilliantly. Either way it would be a good way to go out.

"Good point, you buy the first round of tea then. None of that Naboo green tea garbage though, I swear those bloody Gungans created that from their armpits or something." Maroy said as she sighed a moment later. "Tuk 11, ten seconds to target. Going dark."

"They actually do, 11. Good hunting, I'll see you on the other side." Scral said as he heard her click off the channel. During their more insane stunts talking slowed them down, though it did annoy anyone listening and particularly during the debriefing. Nothing but recordings from the computer would be shown, what happened in the cockpit from the pilot remained largely a mystery.

"Tuk 4, twenty seconds. Alls wells that ends." Scral said as he clicked off the open comm as well. "Well, you piece of space garbage. If you do turn out to be the Death of me, then I'm going to drag you straight to hell with me. Now, give me everything you have!"

Rolling the ship starboard he punched the throttle to full and keyed over to the capacitor release. He would need it to get clear of the ship, otherwise the blast wave from the missiles, or the angry gunners would get a bead on his unshielded fighter and turn him into space dust in an instant.

Even if this works, we won't get the credit. This man who taunts us openly will die by guns of the Halcyon Warrior. Not you, or the squadron. A voice in Scral's head said right before he made the last move to come in line with the Tartan's engines.

"What if he got away though? We could hunt him, the squadron could come together as a whole for the first time in a long time." Scral said to the quietly beeping monitors around him. "Frak me, I'm getting demoted and yelled at for this one." Flipping his fighter over vertical he watched as the top of the ship sped by him. Angling down more he winced as the tips of the solar panels nearly began scraping the paint off the Tartan.

"Tuk 4, what the frak are you doing!?" The angry voice of Hades shouted over the comm system.

Flipping the comm on he said, "Something rash."

Pushing the yoke all the way forward he watched as the tip of the Tartan narrowly missed cutting his fighter in half. Keying on the capacitor he felt the engines suck in the extra power and propel him away from the explosions of the missiles, and the randomly firing gunners who were currently blind from the impacts.

Watching as the Tartan disappeared behind him he tried to bring the throttle down on his engines but noticed they no longer responded. Looking over at his engine monitor he clicked his tongue as the indicator read past the red line. A few moments later he felt the fighter begin to slow as the engines shut down and began quite literally melting from the inside out.

"Tuk 4, got a bit of engine troubles. Going to need a tow on this one." Scral said as he engaged the emergency cooldown program.

OOC:

WC-906.
Changed targets from the engines to the bridge. The Tartan is damaged but operational, since Scral made the choice of hopefully bringing the squadron closer together in the hunt for the man that taunted us and got away.