The 22 year old cruised next to her wingmate, looking for an opportunity to clear the way a little more. Her green eyes scanned both the space in front of her and her targeting computer. Looking up she saw Dunny, her odd new CO. He was dealing with quite a few TIE’s. That didn’t worry her though. What worried her was the one TIE behind him, the one her didn’t seem to have noticed. Fletcher pulled away from Makenna, making up her mind in an instant. He’s gonna owe me she thought with a grin.

      Fletcher had always operated on last ditch, jeopardous plans. Her hot head got in the way of her calculating mind, and her choices were often compromised by pride, and confidence. In hindsight perhaps another route would have been better, Flether probably should have left well enough alone, but the heavy blooded cabby - from which she got her callsign- inside of her screamed to action. Fletcher wheeled around and accelerated towards her new opponent. Just like the last time, she thought to herself with a determined grimace. Only now, she had an exit strategy, a perfect plan. Fletcher felt in control as she surged forward towards the TIE that was on Dunny’s tail. She hopped the spook the Dominion’s TIE Fighter, a tactic that worked well in races. Swerving violently towards another racer normally caused them to stop, to veer off course.

    “Comin’ through,” Fletcher said half to herself, half to Dunny as she broke through the space between his fighter and the one of his tail. Dominion’s TIE jerked backwards, caused to suddenly break as Fletcher cut him off. She turned sharply and shot towards her new target, which had lost all interest in Dunny and now had all gun’s trained on her. A shiver ran down her spin and she rushed forward. Fletcher bared her teeth as she diverged from a shot at her, before lining back up with the other, locking onto him on her targeting computer. She pulled the trigger and watched in shocked horror as she hit her mark and the craft went up in flames. A sick guilt dropped heavily in her stomach as she steered away from the wreckage.

    Fletcher was taken by surprise as her ship was hit on the side. Her shield protected her fighter, but it didn’t stop the force from blowing her into the shards of the Dominion’s TIE. From the corner of her eye she could see someone take down the TIE that had hit her, but her attention was drawn away from that as she was jolted upon impact. Fletcher tried to regain control of her TIE. She was thrown against the side of the cockpit and she gasped loudly as she felt her shoulder crunch uncomfortably. Fletcher ground her teeth together as she steered out of the wreck, trying not to jostle her shoulder more than she had to.

    The young girl groaned in pain as she rolled her shoulder back, wincing at the sickening pops and the grinding feeling. She blinked rapidly, trying to keep back tears. Before becoming a pilot Fletcher had lead a pretty rough life, she had broken her knuckles in fights more times than she could count, she had crashed in races more frequently than others, but nothing in her life had been like what she felt now. She shook herself, trying to forget the throbbing pain. Pain she could deal with easily, just breathe. But never had she encountered this kind of guilt. The simulator had prepared her for the stress of a battle, but it didn’t come anywhere close to preparing her for the feeling that tagged along with the knowledge that you had just put an abrupt end to someone’s life. Knowing that they would never take another breath, never look upon the face of their loved ones, never smile, never laugh, never cry again.

    “Don’t cry darn it,” Fletcher growled at herself, a mixture of remorse and pain had made their home in her chest. She rolled her shoulder again and snarled again at the sharp daggers of ache. “Come on Fletch, don’t be a baby,” she reprimanded herself severely. Fletcher would not break down her first time flying, she refused.

    “You alright?” came Makenna’s voice over their channel, full with concern. A tear rolled down her cheek and Fletcher blinked them back.

    “Yeah,” she took a few deep breaths. “Yeah, I’m good. I might have messed up my shoulder. But I’m okay.”  Fletcher swung her TIE around to meet up with her wingmate. She ground her teeth together. “I think I just saved your butt Dunny,” Fletcher said to the man, trying to keep the pain from lacing with her words. “You’re welcome,” she said a little cockily, grinning despite the pain that was now climbing down her arm, and dancing along her fingers. 

OOC:

wc: 813
AAR: Fletcher saves Dunny's butt, shoots down her second TIE and as a result  hurts her shoulder.

Lock on beeps and klaxons alike blared in each Vornskr craft as the elite pilots both targeted their approaching ID pilots as well as found themselves targeted in return. The first strike on either side would consist of a missile volley meant to both diminish the opposing side's numbers as well as hope to demoralize and scare them off.

"They're still coming", a pilot observed calmly after noticing the enemy TIEs made no attempt to dodge or break off their attack. Neither the pilot in question nor any of the other members of his squadron however believed this to be strange. In the face of danger it was often a better idea to risk it all and fight rather than turn tail and run.

This principle may not have fully applied in most circumstances and certainly not when considering the larger battles fought by the gigantic capital ships that shadowed the very stars. The idea did on the other hand apply pretty well as far as dogfighting was concerned. Just like a simple game of chicken, the winner was often the participant knowing both when to keep going as well as when to turn away. Problem was that turning away too soon often resulted in showing one's back to the opposition and that frequently turned out to be a major - and usually final - mistake.

The Vornskr pilots knew as much and thus made no attempt to veer off and break their attacks. The approaching ID forces however also seemed to have consisted of above average pilots, as their too managed to maintain formation and approach as if the targets painted on them were of no consequence at all.

"This should be good", another pilot mused only seconds before systems indicated optimum range of fire - a moment that neither side failed to notice nor take advantage of. Concussive missile were once more sent flying through the emptiness of space, moving from one group to the other as both VE and ID pilots hoped to manage as many kills as possible.

No sooner had the missiles launched that all Vornskr pilots began evasive maneuvers - looping, diving, barrel rolling and in three distinct cases speeding up towards the enemy's missiles, hoping and believing their craft's agility would prove superior to that of the missiles coming their way.

Time slowed down and breaths were held in as all eyes were split between the scene that could be observed outside through their viewport and the tiny red blips that menacingly got closer to the green ones that found themselves tightly packed inside the small monitor linked to the sensor packages.

Bursts of light and heat briefly disrupted those sensors as the vibrations sent through the empty space lightly shuddered the advanced crafts caught in the blast zones.

The squadron's CO was still alive though and he immediately requested a status report. One by one the other pilots answered until a pause was suddenly noticed. In most squadrons the leader would've no doubt attempted to retry contacting the member in question but Seth knew that would've been pointless in this case. He was not the only one either - in fact all other members of the squadron knew all too well what must've happened to the silent pilot.

"Another devil returns home", the blond VEN officer muttered as he took back control of his Avenger and angled it towards the ID force's scattered fighters. "Let's not send him off alone", the squadron's XO commented as he too made his way to the closest ID target he could find. The other pilots remained silent, whether out of respect for their fallen colleague, or anger towards the ones that robbed him of his life, or perhaps simple indifference towards that particular loss.

Such was the way of war after all - one side always had to lose in order for another to call itself victorious. As much as sacrifices were feared and even dreaded there were still individuals that understood that such sacrifices were in fact also necessary. A bloodless victory held little meaning and was unlikely to last in time. A win baptized in sufficient blood and death however - that was something that both sides could learn from.

As far as the veterans pilots in Vornskr were concerned however, that was already a lesson they went over again and again as previous colleagues and friends fell alongside them whilst flying in different squadrons. Some hated themselves for being unable to do anything about it. Others were happy and relieved that they were still standing. All however were united by their feelings of anger and revenge.

"Leave none alive", Qorbin instructed in a cold voice as he dropped behind one of the enemy Interceptors - his finger itching to send out crimson bolts of destruction as soon as he would get the weaker craft fully in his sights.

OOC:

WC: 815
AAR: The force I've mentioned in my previous post turns out to be better than expected. A salvo of missiles is exchanged and one of Vornskr pilots kicks the bucket as a result. Enemy casualties as well as continuation (and conclusion) will be dealt with in the next 2 posts I plan on pulling off this week.

OOC:

VENI NPC Post

The Arkanian scientist heard the blaster fire in the distance and correctly surmised that at least part of her team managed to reach the labs before she had a chance to. It did not matter though. the VENI agents may have killed off the eggheads but they would not have dared destroy the virus using conventional methods out of fear of infection and death.

The best thing about an intellectual's mind was that a similar minded individual could easily understand it by merely gazing upon the former's work. There, hidden beneath the surface of words, rhymes, mathematical equations or even genetic genomes, the true nature of a man could still be found. Thought processes, stages of preparation, degree of bravery (or fear) and most important of all - the ability to pull off that which at some point seemed but a distant dream.

Irya Pael did not need some ID scientist to explain her how or why she made a virus. What she needed was the virus itself for it was that deadly creation that Irya could prod, slice and synthesize until such a time that she would understand how it came to be. What elements were used in its making, what strings already evolved from the original one and what more strings could further evolve given time and a little helpful nudge in the right direction.

Besides, in the Arkanian's experience actually talking with another so called genius led only to arguments - most of which unable to ever be resolved without a few million credits worth of research or some insignificant race on some backwater planet used as lab rats. That wasn't the only problem either - from what brief interactions the Near Human had with others at least partly sharing her interests, Irya was unimpressed with their linear way of thinking.

It was as if they could see a goal and merely did everything in their power to reach that goal. They did this in a most simplified fashion however, trying to reach point B using a straight line beginning somewhere around point A. It was not wrong of course... Heck, most self proclaimed scientists actually promoted this sort of simplicity, hiding it under the guise of efficiency: least amount of resources required for optimum amount of benefits.

That however was not the way Pael's brain operated. To her getting the answers was as crucial as actually learning what they were. Experimenting with new genetic samples, trying out new methods - some of her own creation - and if needed be sacrificing as many sentient life forms as required. The challenge, as well as the sweet taste of success upon conquering that challenge... to the Arkanian that was the greatest addiction of them all, far surpassing anything else mere mortals may dream up next.

Interesting, the not fully sane woman paused and pondered after entering the lab. There were scorch marks on the walls made by blaster fire as well as a few stiffs resting in small pools of blood. What struck Irya as odd however was the fact that inside the lab there were still a few living scientists as well. Knowing Grey, the woman would've assumed such witnesses - civilians or not - would not be spared.

There however they stood - cowering and quivering in the shadows and behind larger pieces of expensive looking equipment. "What happened?" the woman asked plainly as she effortlessly raised her blaster in an attempt to further make herself seem more intimidating than her appearances may have otherwise led the eggheads to believe.

None of the remaining scientists spoke however. They appeared too shocked or scared to open their mouths and offer explanation of that which occurred not so long ago in that very same room.

"Aaah!" a female scientist cried in pain as a blaster shot caught her squarely in the chest, sending the unprepared Human to the floor. There the injured ID civilian quaked and shivered for a few more seconds before her body grew still. "I don't like repeating myself..." Irya Pael explained as she targeted another weak looking scientist.

"Wait! Wait!!!" the frightened man managed to utter as he brought his hands up in both defeat and submission. The man quickly proceeded to tell Irya everything that had occurred once Grey and her team barged in. It was not a hard thing to do, having happened only minutes before and given the traumatic nature of the encounter all the details that he was able to discern in the fighting were still quite vivid in his mind.

"I see", Irya muttered as she lowered the blaster and made her way to the center of the room, towards the vats she knew contained the virus that the Vast Empire was so frightened of. She approached the nearest console and began typing. Given the fact that the virus did not affect Humans, the fact that the labs were supervised both electronically as well as by undercover military personnel on site and also the fact that Rakelle Vice was a fairly arrogant specimen, there were no passwords or firewalls that required hacking - not that the Arkanian had not already prepared for such scenarios beforehand. Just in case, she thought as she recalled the brief detour she ended up taking instead of rushing straight for this place.

Within seconds the vat before her gulped what looked like air bubbles as from another console directly linked to it a small vial popped out. With a great deal of confidence the Arkanian approached and reached for the greenish looking vial. She brought it closer to her face, and stared at it once it was at eye level. She still wanted to analyze it, understand it and exploit it to her own ends but she knew this was neither the place nor time for such things - not if Grey was honest about there being a fusion bomb ready to put another giant crater into the surface of the crimson moon.

Not giving the other ID scientists another look, the woman casually strolled right out of the labs, disappearing in the corridors beyond. Escape was now her priority and thankfully she had already seen to securing such a way off that rock. The only questions were whether she would encounter any obstacles along the way and whether those obstacles would be found wearing ID... or VE uniforms?

OOC:

WC: 1065
AAR: Irya Pael finds her way to the labs shortly after all the commotion dies down. There she shoots one surviving scientist and questions another - finding out about all that transpired upon Grey's unwelcome visit. She next acquires a sample of the dreaded virus and then disappears, her actions once more shrouded in mystery. I expect I'll be making 2 more VENI posts as well, one from Pael's perspective and another from Hayek's - not necessarily in that order.

The battle for Bloodmoon was in full swing. Destroyers, Frigates and Corvettes filled the space above the moon, and the green streaks of Turbolasers, the blue jolts of Ion blasts and the red trails of missiles and torpedoes filled the space in between the two armoured battle-lines, a deadly firestorm that no sane being would ever seriously consider entering. The Adjudicator dominated the battle, massive and overbearing as she pounded on the hull of a Victory-II Class Crusier. Below, near the surface of the moon, tiny green streaks and blue ion trails told of another, smaller battle raging far below.

For almost two decades, all battles of this size had been fought between two factions: The large, dagger-shaped monsters of the Galactic Empire versus the hodge-podge forces of the Rebel Alliance. This conflict was drastically different from anything that had been fought in the past – it was a ‘blue-on-blue’ war, without a single Mon Calamari cruiser in sight. This was a purely Imperial battle, and as massive Star Destroyers squared off, the agile, fragile Twin Ion Engine craft of the two Imperial forces fought a highly mobile war, screaming through manoeuvres impossible by any Alliance craft. Blindingly fast, utterly devastating.

Twin Ion Craft, known as TIE’s, were the symbol of the Empire’s war doctrine. Faster and more agile than anything around, they were lightning quick, well armed, and almost completely defenceless if anything struck them. It made for quite a light show, the blue ion trails dancing and intertwining as the fighters jostled for position, occasionally joined by green traces of laser fire or the red explosion of a Concussion Missile. It was a knife-fight, at close to point-blank range, where any mistake, any misstep; the slightest errant twitch of a hand on a joystick could mean an instant death.

For Sam Jack Dunn, the rookie commander of Chlovi Squadron and a part-time Imperial Assassin, this was nothing less than home. He spotted a red blip on the sensor screen to his right and immediately pulled the two-handed control yoke back hard. The dagger-winged TIE Interceptor he flew, its solar panel wings adorned with cyan ace stripes that showed he’d made at least ten fighter kills, climbed sharply and looped up over itself, flying upside-down in the direction he’d come from a scant second before, the highly advanced Twin Ion Engine screaming a ear-splitting warcry that no-one would ever hear.

Peering through the transparisteel canopy at the front of the ball-shaped cockpit with ice-blue eyes, the fighter jock’s gaze fixed itself on a single metallic glint in the space ahead, brighter than the stars that filled the backdrop of space. His eyes narrowed just like the targeting computer located in the middle of his control yoke as they both locked onto their target, and a minute adjustment of the control yoke brought the rapidly-approaching fighter into his line of fire. He could see it now, two large hexagonal wings around a ball-cockpit that matched his own perfectly. A TIE Fighter.

The pilot of that outdated craft was good. He’d managed to throw his fighter into a dizzying dance of evasion to out-race the concussion missile that Sam had thrown his way, doing far better than his now-dead wingmate, but with his concentration entirely on the missile up his tailpipe, Sam had been able to waltz unfettered right up to his hapless victim, ready to put four emerald-green lasers right into the cockpit. He hadn’t expected the bugger to actually somehow manage to dodge his carefully-laid ambush and, just to rub some salt into the wound, get that fighter behind him!

He loved it! His foe’s craft was outdated, fragile and packed less than a third of the firepower his own did, and none of the protection. It was slower and less agile than him, but the pilot obviously knew every single inch of his craft and had learned every single advantage and limitation it held. The smile on Sam Dunn’s face, hidden by the jet-black blast helmet that all TIE Pilots were required to wear, was wide and honest as the elusive little fighter jinked just a little to port, spoiling his targeting solution and showing another feat of skill.

They’d already been dancing for half a minute, Sam constantly on the attack and the little fighter eluding him every time he got close to a target lock. The fighter must have been fitted with tiny thrusters along the wings, because the agility and precision it had displayed was as stunning as it was aggravating. It wasn’t every day that Sam Dunn found something that could evade even better than he could, and he was finding the exercise both exhilarating and frustrating. It couldn’t go on for much longer, though, he had his elusive little foe right in his sights.

“This guy’s beautiful.” Sam said to himself as he adjusted instantly, his fighter flying upside-down as he tried to predict what his opponent would do next, knowing that he only had to get right once to be able to finish this waltz. He jinked to starboard, then dove a little, his fighter climbing even farther above the target purely on a hunch. Sam Dunn has always had a talent for prediction, and it served him well now, as the fighter mirrored his move exactly. His targeting computer reported a solid lock, the fighter’s outline immediately glowing green on his screen.

He fired at the exact moment that his opponent did, his thumbs jamming on the triggers just as a pair of emerald-green laser bolts spat out from the chin of the opposing fighter and lanced towards his ship. Even as the first four bolts shot from his Interceptor’s wings, Sam was jerking his control yoke hard to starboard, barrel-rolling in a disengagement to get him out of the opponent’s line of fire. He could have just activated his forward shields to absorb the two bolts, but TIE craft had powerful lasers, and Sam didn’t want to develop any ‘sloppy’ habits.

He considered shields to be the tools of cowards, and as he rolled clear of the enemy’s fire and heard the beep of his targeting computer that told him his opponent was slain, he inclined his head in a silent salute to his fallen enemy. The pilot had flown beautifully, despite his outdated craft, and he’d earned Sam Dunn’s respect. Still, beautiful flying hadn’t made up for the technological disadvantage, and only the living could appreciate such flying. Dead, he reflected to himself, was dead. He once again was astounded at how responsive Cobalt 1 was. He liked the craft.

It was small, agile and deadly, like the daggers he favoured in personal combat. He keyed the comm mounted in his fighter and reported “Got ‘em,” just a second before his wingmate, John “Kilroy” Varl, likewise reported the same. Over the Squadron channel, other members of his team were reporting that they’d taken out their targets, and Sam was gratified to hear that only a couple had scored their two kills before him. In under two minutes, two entire squadrons of Imperial Domininon TIE’s were nothing more than collections of scrap metal and dead pilot, annihilated by the new Squadron.

All except one lone fighter.

The lone surviving TIE Fighter must have somehow slipped through the net that the 50th Squadron had cast, desperation and terror lending the outnumbered, outmatched pilot an animal cunning. Sam Dunn, still buzzed from the vicious dogfight and trying to process all the kill reports at once, didn’t notice the hostile TIE that slipped in behind him until his targeting computer blared out a warning: a hostile had locked onto him! He didn’t pause to think or strategize – the moment his ears picked up the sound, his hands were already moving on the control yoke.

His Interceptor decelerating sharply as he dove into an evasive Wotan Weave to try and shake his pursuer. He diverted all power from his weapons into the Twin Ion Engine, knowing that he didn’t need to attack: His opponent was outnumbered by a factor of more than ten to one – one of the 50th would swat the last fly from the black for him. He switched seamlessly from a Wotan Weave into a Skywalker Loop, climbing sharply as he fired his ion manoeuvring jets to tighten the loop even more…but he needn’t have bothered. Screaming in came a TIE Interceptor.

“Comin’ through.” The warning came over the Squadron channel, and though Sam Dunn didn’t recognize the voice, his helmet’s Heads Up Display told him that it was Cobalt 11. If his memory was good, that meant Cabby had come to the rescue. He watched on his sensor screen as the green blip screamed in on a direct intercept course straight towards the target…fast, aggressive and with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Well, he mused to himself as he watched green bolts lance from her fighter and slam straight into the ball cockpit of the foe, it was certainly working.

Right up until the moment that she kept going through the expanding debris field of the fighter she had just killed, her deflector shields sparking blue and white as they absorbed the energy of the supercritical reactor. The debris from the fighter, though, passed straight through the deflector shields and sent the fighter spinning away. His breath caught in his throat for a moment as he began to worry that he’d lost a pilot already, but after a moment the little Interceptor righted itself.
“Are you allright?” He asked, trying to keep his tone controlled. Alive didn’t necessarily mean unharmed.

[[“Yeah, I’m good. I might have messed up my shoulder. But I’m okay.”]]
Well, it could certainly have gone a lot worse. It wasn’t a clean kill, but one thing was for sure – those two TIE Squadrons were history, and not a single member of 50th had been shot down. For a first fight, it wasn’t too shabby at all.
[[“I think I just saved your butt Dunny. You’re welcome.”]] Cabby added, with a mischievous grin Sam could hear as clear as crystal. He chuckled and shook his head.
“Good shooting, but…try to remember to dodge next time, Cobalt 11.”

First blood to us. Sam thought triumphantly as he snap-rolled back into formation, his sensor screen informing him as the rest of the Squadron’s Interceptors also began to move back into a standard patrol formation around him, and the comm. channel was filled with exclamations of joy. Chlovi’s first real battle couldn’t have gone better – they’d punched the enemy formation hard, then tore them apart before the TIE’s could recover. The hard training, evidently, had paid off in full. He felt proud of every single one of the pilots under his command. They’d risen far above his expectations for them.

Four days ago, his Squadron had not even existed. For fully half of its members, this was the first time they had been in a real battle in a TIE Interceptor. They’d only had a couple of day’s training before being thrown into battle, and even Sam Dunn had only been in one full-scale battle before this. And yet, they’d already taken out twice their number.
“Team, that was flawless. Our first victory. I’m proud of every one of you. C’mon, let’s go find us some more Dominion bantha-botherers to kill.” He sent over the comm., before checking his scanner.

Only to find that there was absolutely nothing. He couldn’t see any other fighters on the little screen to his right. No enemy fighters on radar. No allied fighters, either. That couldn’t be right, he knew that the rest of Chlovi Squadron were formed up around him, they should at least show up on the screen. He tapped the screen with a gloved finger, his brow furrowed in puzzlement, before it came to him. There was only one explanation for a sudden and total sensor failure. Something was jamming him!
“We’re about to be stung! Break Break Break!”
Too late.

OOC:

WORD COUNT: 2,000
AAR: The rest of Chlovi eliminate their targets, and Dunny finds himself starting to enjoy the challenge. The team doesn’t have time to celebrate their first victory, however, as they get ambushed. But whom are these mysterious ambushers? Stay tuned and find out…

OOC:

128th Imperial Dominion Interceptor Squadron – SCO “Seeker”

At the outskirts of the battle, just outside the gravity well of Bloodmoon, twelve little metallic shapes appeared into existence without any warning. One moment, their little bit of space was empty, and the next, it was full of titanium alloy and murderous intent. Twelve TIE Interceptors floated in the void, each surrounded by a large circular contraption that appeared to have a pair of massive engines at the top and bottom points. The hyperspace booster rings were old technology, rarely seen since the Clone Wars. The fighters were instantly linked to the nearest Star Destroyer via their inbuilt communicators.

The TIE Interceptors looked different to the rest of the craft in the battle. They were painted in a light durasteel grey that covered even their solar panels, a uniform colour that was broken up by distinctive markings on each of the fighters. The fighter that rested in the front and center had no less than twelve royal blue pinstripes on each solar panel, and inside, the pilot’s durasteel grey helmet was covered in blue pinstripes. No other Interceptor in the galaxy bore those markings. This, then, was Seeker, the most infamous Squadron Commander since the legendary Baron Fel himself.

He looked at the battle that waged both above and below his Squadron with a veteran’s eye, an eye that had gazed over more battles than the man could care to remember. Hidden beneath the durasteel visage of his flight suit’s helmet, his expression was grim as he looked upon the devastation that the enemy was wreaking upon the Dominion’s fleet. The sight of war and devastation was not new to him: He had been present at the treachery of Gerrard V, where the 128th’s former squadron commander Kasan Moor spat on her Imperial oath and revealed herself a traitor.

He’d been present during the victory on Hoth, where his Squadron, still under suspicion, had been thrown into a suicide mission to slow down the fleeing Rebel escorts. There was no glory in surviving that nightmare. He had even been there, above the forest moon of Endor, during that fateful day when their beloved Emperor was slain, and it was the efforts of his Squadron that saved the ISD Stalker, their original mothership, from the forced of the hated Rebellion. Of all the battles and disasters he had seen, the spectacle unfolding before him reminded him most strongly of Endor.

It was a full-scale fleet action, with no less than four Imperial Star Destroyers and dozens of support ships taking part. Seeker’s veteran instincts told him one inarguable fact about the battle that he was seeing: The Dominion was losing. A soft, heartfelt sigh left his lips. The idea of protecting a biological weapons plant left a foul taste on his lips, but orders were orders, and has he had been forced to demonstrate again and again for distrusting superiors, he was nothing if not loyal. He tapped the comm-panel on his fighter’s dashboard and sent a short, terse message.

“The Saints have arrived. Give us a target.”

[[“Hah! Give us a challenge is more like it. I’m sick of dealing with these VE neeks.”]]
The voice that sounded over the Squadron channel was female in cadence, filled with confidence and bloodlust. Her words carried a distinctive Nar Shadaa drawl, and the comm screen at the top of the cockpit canopy of Seeker’s fighter identified her as Saint Three, but even without the accent or cadence, he could recognize the sheer aggression of Clint anywhere.
[[“I concur. They place too much faith in their technology and not enough in themselves.”]]

This voice was in the calm and measured tones of an Eriadu accent, and from the barely disguised yawn it was quite clear that the Squadron’s 2nd in Command, bearing the callsign ‘Trophy’, was already bored with the situation. Seeker felt the corner of his lip tug in the ghost of a smile. They had a point – so far, the Vast Empire forces they had been facing possessed an overwhelming technological advantage, but many of their pilots simply lacked the experience and skill that the 128th did. New recruits, he guessed, to replace the losses inflicted in the early invasion.

“Don’t get cocky, you two. A second-rate force wouldn’t be winning-“
His admonishment was cut off by an incoming transmission over the command commnet, sent by the ISD Virulent with their orders. He immediately stopped talking and listened up – orders were orders, and they had jumped in-system to fight, not to bicker.
[[“128th, this is the Virulent. We are pulling out – targets being uploaded to your targeting computer now. Strike hard, then pull out.”]]
Seeker’s grim expression began to fade as the corner of his mouth tugged into a small, determined smile.
“Your will be done, 128th will engage. Out.”

Glancing down at the sensor screen to his right, Seeker could see one squadron of hostile TIE Interceptors holding high orbit above the Bloodmoon facility, as well as an Interceptor and Bomber squadron providing escort for the nearest enemy Star Destroyer. There was no hesitation – his orders came immediately over the Squadron channel, his tone authoritative, his Coruscanti accent lending a clipped and precise air to his words. No single Squadron would be a match.
“Besh Flight, engage escorting Bomber squadron. Cresh Flight, the Interceptor escorts are yours. Aurek, on me – the ones above the facility are ours. Close in.”

[[“Saint 5 here, moving to engage.”]]
[[“Saint 9, closing for the kill.”]]
Even as he heard the acknowledgements, Seeker’s gloved hands moved on the control yoke of his own Interceptor, the lightweight fighter responding instantly to his commands as it pulled a tight turn to starboard and dove on an intercept vector with the hostile squadron, which appeared to be mopping up some TIE/ln stragglers. Without shields or concussion missiles to slow the fighter down, the sleek, dagger-winged Interceptor flew like a thing possessed. He opened up the throttle, and the machine streaked forward, racing at 125 MLGT and climbing.

[[“Jamming successful. Surprise will be ours.”]] That was Cloak, Saint 4, whose acceptance into the 128th was largely due to his excellence at ambush. His fighter’s jamming suite, ripped out of a pair of New Republic A-Wing Starfighters, was enough to render the advanced sensor systems and communications network of most fighters utterly useless. Now, unless someone saw them coming through their fighter’s viewport, there would be no warning of the impending doom.  Seeker’s smile widened as he lined up his fighter against a pair of Interceptors that had strayed slightly from the main formation, his targeting computer switched off.

“Seeker to Flight. Stoop and sting.”

OOC:

Word Count: 3,006
AAR: Introducing Saint 1, also known as Seeker, and the 128th Imperial Interceptor Squadron.

OOC:

VENI NPC Post

Reeza Hayek was crouched low behind a door frame with Drazin towering above her - the two of them ensuring the corridor opening on the other side would not get crowded with enemy forces anytime soon. on the other side of the door Trathras similarly kept watch and ensured no enemies would have a chance to approach in one piece. So the trio stood for what felt like forever as far as the pilot was concerned until finally the youngest member of the team could hold in it no longer and parted her lips to speak:

"On second thought I don't really want a hero's death after all. Boring looking people will show up, hold a few boring speeches about duty and honor, then go on about saying how unbelievably awesome I was and how they were privileged I flew for them. Then they'll promote me a few ranks and award me some fancy medal and finally they'd lower a pretty but empty coffin in the cold ground of Abrae. Then..."

The pilot was going to continue when the bulky Sergeant looked at her straight in the eye and simply blurted out "It's a classified mission." Reeza looked at him expectantly upon hearing this and no further explanation. She blinked several times as she stood silent and continued waiting. When she finally realized that explanation would not come after all she gave up and asked just what the man meant.

"There will be no funerals. Our service records will reveal that we eventually died in other missions sometime in the following months and eventually those very records will become lost until such a time that not a single trace of us will be left anywhere within the Vast Empire's archives. We'll be... erased."

"Say what?" Reeza asked dumbly, not really believing what she was hearing yet not really doubting the veracity of the statement either. "Uhm, Trathras thought so too. Trathras not mind though - Trathras' death will be fitting given Trathras' life", the fur covered fellow grunted as if on cue.

"Oh!" the pilot slumped her shoulders upon hearing the other's agreement. "That actually sort of makes sense", she continued in a calmer manner. Getting up to her feet Hayek winced in slight pain but still managed to stand straight. "What are you doing?" Drazin asked as he still ended up looking down at the woman.

"I'm busting out of this joint", the wounded Human female stated matter-of-factly. "I figured I wouldn't mind dying on some gods forsaken moon that could in the future turn out to be a great tourist attraction... So long as I got a hero's death with all attached benefits to it - well I could almost live with that knowledge. Or die with it rather... If there'll be no such benefits though then I sure as heck ain't gonna waste my good looks and awesome skills only to be forgotten by everyone else."

"If only things were that easy", a different yet at the same time fairly familiar voice rang from somewhere outside the room and all eyes turned to cover the still empty corridor. A single blaster was visible first and as it slowly crept into view, a female hand and finally a blonde head followed.

"Grey-girl!" Reeza chirped as she recognized the lead VENI agent now carefully making her way to the other three. The pilot could also recognize Corporal Elsek as well as the geeky doctor and a few other folks she was pretty sure she didn't help ship in.

"And Doc too! Dang... I get shot for one minute and you go ahead and find yourself a whole new bunch of people to play with. So typical!" Hayek joked as she left the room and crossed the corridor to meet the other group of people.

"We have less than seventeen minutes to reach the Nightdancer and leave this place" Ensign Grey announced simply, intentionally choosing to disregard the pilot who seemed to have regained most of her spunk from earlier - as annoying as that may have been.

"Finally! We're finally in agreement Grey-girl!" Reeza smiled and almost jumped for joy... until she actually tried to and realized - painfully so - that perhaps that was not the best way to show her eagerness after all.

"Move out", Ensign Grey commanded simply before adding a foreboding "Double time!!!"

OOC:

WC: 728
AAR: Went ahead with a post centered more around dialogue rather than more action as I figured I may as well unwind the atmosphere a bit... as well as provide a bit of contrast for the final post which will have more action, thrills and unexpected turns of situation.

The battle still raged fiercely, but it was akin to a low burning fire: it still burned and crackled loudly, hot enough to sear unexpecting victims, but reaching the last stages of its life as it ran out of fuel.. It was often in these closing sections that the outcome of a battle was secured or overturned, and commanders had to be wary of that peril.. Though it was not so dangerous here. True enough, a big enough slip up on the part of the Fleet Commander of the VE - Trykon - could lose the battle, but minus that there was little that would turn the clash from defeat into victory for the ID.

Word was trickling down, now, through the various stages of command to the enlisted. The word was that the Imperial Dominion had begun their retreat, realising now that the battle was lost. The Hangar bay was still a hive of activity this late in the battle, with damaged fighters and shuttles getting repaired as well as the added chaos of escape pods being dragged in and survivors that needed immediate treatment being laid out on the hangar deck to be stabilised before they could be moved to the medbay. The constant vibrations of the Adjudicator's turbolasers did not help the organised chaos subside.

Amidst this hive stood a Squadron Commander without a Squadron who, with some seniority and an excellent knowledge of TIE fighters, had taken command of several mechanics to apportion them to each particular TIE and help them figure out what was going wrong. Under his guidance, it was running smoothly. For some reason the head mechanic in the hangar bay had positioned himself under an opening shuttle and had several bones broken by the lowering ramp - an unfortunate affair by any means, leaving mechanics without a single authority. Some of them had got to work, using their training and experience to help them, but other more junior mechanics sat there dumbly, gaping until Hades came along.

Right now, the Master Chief was making sure the TIE's got the best possible repairs -- he knew the damage a faulty fighter could do -- and making sure the mechanics at least did their bit to keep the hangar orderly and well-disciplined. "Master Chief! Master Chief!"

"Yes?" Hades turned; sharp gaze focusing on the one who'd called out. It was a mechanic he'd sent up to the medbay to check on the head mechanic.

"We've just gotten word that the Imperial Domi-"

"I sent you to check on the Head Mechanic, Crewman, not to hear gossip about the battle." Hades waved away what he thought to be idle chit-chat between crewmen.

"He's fine, but I thought you'd like to know that the ID is retreating!" The crewman managed to blurt out, before retracting back into his shell of silence, fearing reproach. Hades' green eyes examined the man for any sign of a lie or uncertainty. He found none and, to the Crewman's relief, turned away, dumbfounded.

A million thoughts went through his head at once, foremost of which being the fact that he had not participated in the battle and secondly that Vrail could have escaped. He vaguely heard someone else call his name, but did not respond. The sound persisted, though, and Hades turned his gaze up from the ground to the offending mechanic. He was asking about some power converter or other, and was not expecting what came next. Hades’ eyes burned with a fury he’d not often experienced before, a gloved fist coming up and slamming into the panel of the closest TIE fighter. The sound was rather loud for a simple punch and, while undamaged, the fighter in question vibrated with the blow. Ignoring the pain, Hades turned and stalked away from the mechanics, seething about the realisations.

At first he blamed Trykon, the Chief of Naval Warfare for not allowing him to fly during the battle, but following a logical train of thought his anger turned only to himself. He had been captured, it was his fault and his fault alone. Not Trykon’s, not the mechanics who’d needed his help, not even the dastardly Lieutenant Okyr Vrail’s – No, Hades did not have anyone to blame but himself.  A dark expression covered his handsome features as he walked briskly down the corridor, a menacing energy about him. He had been so close to ensuring the death of one of his most hated rivals and yet he’d been foiled. He was almost certain now that Vrail had survived the encounter..

A Chief Petty Officer was walking down the same corridor in the opposite direction, and Hades stopped the man. “What news from the bridge?” He asked abruptly.

“I beg your pard-“

“I asked you; what news from the bridge?” Hades cut him off coldly.

“News of what?” The now confused CPO responded.

“Your grandmother.” He retorted sarcastically, “the battle you imbecile; what Imperial Dominion ships have been destroyed?”

“I only handle Engineering, Master Chief. I wouldn’t –“ He was cut off again as Hades once more stalked away in a dark fury. Did nobody know anything? Hades was frustrated with himself most of all, but to a minor extent the incompetence of others. Normally, the Master Chief was a fairly understanding and patient man, but given his current mood, incompetence was exacerbated.

Continuing his angered journey, Hades reached one of the numerous turbolifts, slamming the button for the barracks. With a painfully slow hiss, the doors closed and elevator shot into motion, taking Hades directly to the floor he’d chosen. As the lift doors open, he stepped out and breathed in deeply, calming himself down somewhat. One way to look at it was positively, which was not a quality of Hades’, but he tried. Benefits? I’m alive and free, and I took down Vrail’s ship. Those were two pretty good benefits to Hades, though he was reminded that he’d failed to kill the villain as he’d hoped. He didn’t know that for certain, but he was fairly positive that Vrail survived as well.

Fate had a way of playing tricks on him that way.

--- --- ---

Fate had a way of playing tricks on everyone, it seemed. Varys’ expression contorted into one of rage as he learnt of Team 23’s demise and their failure to do.. well, anything really, other than slow the enemy down. Varys did not wait for anything else, he was barking orders into the comm. Before the bodies of team 23 had gone cold. “All teams converge on the exits! The VENI team cannot be allowed to escape, I repeat, all teams converge on the exits!”

Ziel looked at Varys with a dangerous expression. “You forget yourself, Varys. I’m in command here.”

Varys turned very slowly as he stopped, colourless eyes regarding the head of security with contempt. “You never were willing to gamble. Maybe you’ll think twice in the next life.” Varys raised his compact blaster pistol and fired, the bolt impacting the head of security perfectly between the eyes. Ziel slumped like a ragdoll, and Varys turned away, continuing to make his way toward the exit.  He knew he had at least four teams left – five if team 10’s comms were malfunctioning as he assumed – and of those four, two of them were closer to the exit than the VENI team could possibly be. Luckily for him, Ziel’s teams had already been sent ahead of them so no-one witnessed the Head of Security’s death.

Varys was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost failed to notice a figure scurrying across his path. He raised his blaster and fired quickly, three shots in quick succession tracking the fast moving figure. He missed, though, and the figure – it looked like a woman – disappeared behind a corner. Varys broke out into a run, diving into a roll as he came around the corner, bringing his blaster up to fire – at nothing. She was gone. “So that was the straggler..” Varys murmured, more curious than angry at losing her. She too had been heading for the exit. “Interesting.”

Varys knew VENI operatives were highly skilled and independent, but this didn’t seem like a coordinated movement. It seemed more like a lone-wolf style tactic, which was not common in VENI’s arsenal. Varys brushed the analysis of tactics from his mind as he continued toward the exit. He took the side route, so as to avoid any potential VENI teams between him and the exit. It was faster too, and known to few people in the facility. Without further delay, Varys came out around five meters from the exit. Three teams had taken cover in various location, with a fourth coming down the corridor rapidly towards them. This was good – more than a dozen men all up were now between the VENI team and the exit. He’d like to see them trick their way out of this..

--- --- ---

Petty Officer 1st Class Lyle Nyhun of the magnificent ship Reactionary was a complex man. With close shaved black hair and ice blue eyes, he was quite an intelligent looking individual. To anybody else, he looked like an underpaid, unrecognised Petty Officer in the Imperial Dominion’s navy, working in Starfighter Control as the assistant Starfighter Control Officer. Little did most know,  his name was actually Ripheus Kane and he was born to a wealthy family on Anaxes. After his parents had died, Ripheus had bought himself a TIE Interceptor off the black market and customised it to suit him – he’d soon mastered the controls.

Nyhun – or Kane – was not only a pen-pusher, but an ace starfighter pilot known colloquially as the Red Viper. He’d become an ace in the Vast Empire’s starfighter corps. Strangely enough, he was now in the Imperial Dominion.. Or so it seemed. Ripheus Kane, callsign ‘Nighthunter’, was a VENI agent undercover in the Imperial Dominion.  Out of all the VENI agents, few had attained the level of infiltration that Kane now enjoyed. His mission? Report on tactics used by the Imperial Dominion and, where possible, sabotage their efforts. In his position as Assistant Starfighter Control Officer, that was far from hard.

During the entire battle, he’d made sure that each of the Dominion’s squadrons had somehow experienced a malfunction with their docking controls and thus delayed their addition to the battle. The best thing was it could not be traced to him – if anyone, it would be blamed on his immediate superior.

When the order to retreat came through, Kane knew exactly what he could do. Surviving TIEs would be docking sometime soon, and their docking clamps could malfunction (again), causing them to drop the fighters onto the hangar bay below. There was no way that it could be traced to him again, because his superior thought that the PO1 did not have access without his authority to the docking clamp controls. Luckily for Ripheus, he was not only a fighter ace, but a qualified slicer too.

“Mr. Nyhun!” Kane pretended to be annoyed at the deliberate mis-pronunciation of his fake name.

“With all due respect, it’s Nyhun, sir. Not ‘Neehaan’.” The agent responded tiredly.

“It’s whatever I want it to be, clear?” His boss, Warrant Officer 2nd Class Kurt Vymn was in much the same position as Kane’s assumed identity – underpaid, unrecognised and frankly, going nowhere. But, while Kane was pretending.. Vymn wasn’t. “Now, we’ll have a heap of fighters coming in – stay on your toes, I’m going to get a caf!”

“Yes sir.” Kane responded obsequiously. Inside, he was laughing. It was no wonder that the ID had lost this battle, with idiots like Vymn around. He’d effectively opened himself up to a whole range of court martials that Kane could use much to his advantage.. Though he’d not think of denying the Imperial Dominion the pleasure of having Vymn under their command; but if it came to it, the evidence could be used to blackmail the bullying Warrant Officer.

Turning his thoughts from the blackmail, Kane looked at his sensors. The entire fleet was slowing down to wait for the Bombastic. Whoever was in charge knew their stuff, true enough. The more ships the ID could muster for the eventual ‘final’ battle between the VE and the ID, the better off they were. As a Starfighter Control Officer, there was nought he could to to assist the Bombastic in dying. He could only watch and interfere with their fighter patterns to a minor extent, lest he reveal his secret. Crossing his fingers, the agent hoped that the VEN ended up eliminating the damaged Star Destroyer.

OOC:

Wordcount: 2,104

AAR: A post from three view points. First, Hades finds out the ID is retreating and is furious that he's missed his chance to make sure Vrail was gone once and for all. Secondly, Lieutenant Varys turns treasonous by shooting Ziel and taking command of the facility, ensuring all guards are headed for the exits after he takes a pot-shot at the Arkanian on her way out, and finally introducing Ripheus Kane, a VENI agent undercover aboard the Reactionary who has been helping the VEN in subtle ways..

OOC:

VENI NPC Post

From the shadows Irya watched as the Human from earlier - the one that tried to shoot her dead - passed her by. All the while she tightly gripper her blaster and aimed it at the other's head, knowing full well it would be quite an easy task to just squeeze the trigger and put an early end to the individual.

She held back however. For starters there was nothing to be gained by killing the man. Vengeance had never interested her in the slightest after all. Plus there was also the matter of complicating Grey's plans as a bonus. Regardless of whether the ID troops would deal with the infiltrators or whether the VENI team would manage to rip right through them - Irya had nothing to gain one way or the other. If anything, she would be most pleased if both sides wiped each other out. Barring that it was not a bad idea to at least slow each other down enough to die in the ensuing explosion.

Once the Human's footsteps grew distant enough, the woman pulled out of her hiding spot and returned to the brightly lit corridor. Rather than following the ID male however, Irya Pael instead made her way to the main turbolifts - the destination she was aiming for from the start.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ensign Grey's group was still rushing towards the exit when Corporal Elsek - the infiltration expert who was leading the way - suddenly stopped in her tracks. "How many?" Grey inquired as if not only understanding the reason for which they stopped but also realizing the situation was in all likelihood not that great if the experienced infiltration specialist believed they would be unable to deal with the others all while managing to remain mobile in the process.

"Not sure", the other woman replied in a lowered tone of voice. "A lot?" she continued in the same tone of voice. At this point both Frayne and Hayek turned to look at each other, lack of understanding yet also a hint of suspicion apparent in their gazes. "A lot of what?" Reeza asked doubtfully, as if not really all that keen to actually learn the answer she was demanding.

"Enemies."

It was Trathras who replied bluntly yet at the same time in a seemingly helpful and uncynical manner. "Oh right... enemies", Reeza nodded understandingly. "Just curious but... why the heck are we heading towards the enemies!?" she cried out louder. Before she had a chance to get a reply from anyone else present, one of the geeky ID scientists bolted towards the exit, hoping that the enemies would cover him and then keep him safe from the bunch of lunatics he was forced to travel with.

The man barely managed to make half a dozen steps before a blaster was heard going off and his corpse ended up sliding forward a couple of feet. There was a fuming hole in his back and doctor Frayne realized that Ensign Grey's outstretched blaster pistol was similarly fuming at the end. Part of him was glad that a so called scientist that helped create such a dangerous weapon met an only befitting end. Part of him felt like gloating to Grey, about how he tried to oppose her decision of bringing these good for nothings along in the first place. Despite such strong feelings however the man also found himself feeling pity for the gunned down individual. He never learned his name nor his exact specialty. Come to think of it, Argolo Frayne knew next to nothing about the man other than the fact he was some sort of intellectual that ended up working for the Imperial Dominion.

If things would've turned out differently maybe Frayne too would've ended up sharing a similar fate. Maybe he could yet become such an individual... No! the man thought as she shook his head sideways. No, there was no way in all of nine hells that he would ever become a freak the likes of Rakelle Vice or Irya Pael. Unlike those two monsters in Humanoid bodies, he was different. He had principles. He had morals. He had... hope.

"A pity... I could've further used his services", Rakelle Vice muttered to nobody in particular. "He also made fairly decent caf as well". Ensign Grey turned to look at the woman in the eyes and for a few moments the two just stood there staring at each other. There was a certain coldness and indifference that both women recognized in each another.

Unlike the naive VE male doctor however, Ensign Grey knew fully well that which she was and that which she could yet become. Unlike Frayne she had long since accepted and even embraced her dark side. She no longer feared that which she may become for she rather doubted she could become something even worse...

Blaster fire suddenly came from further ahead, the bolts hitting and ricocheting against the floor and walls. Everyone took cover and began considering their next course of action.

OOC:

WC: 837
AAR: Pael has almost reached her final destination. Meanwhile the rest of the team are faced with the majority of the guards still alive and able to move. One of the ID defectors has also decided to re-defect when presented the opportunity and that leads to him getting shot in the back by Grey.

Right, so sometime tomorrow most likely I'll post my final VENI post as well as final VEN post. The two will be sort of connected at one point so as to make transition into Death and possible future VENI stories easier.

Pherik ‘Serpent’ Zail watched the chaos of the Battle of the Bloodmoon unfold before him in the panoramic viewport of the Brilliant’s bridge.  Here and there his keen eyes picked out flashes of explosions, arcs of turbolaser fire, and the glint of sunlight on steel.  It was as terrifying and brutal as it was spectacular and magnificent.  However, he was not so blinded by the mixed glories of battle to fail to notice the pattern of activity in the enemy fleet.

His First Officer, Vagen Eosel, approached and confirmed what Zail had been witnessing.  “Message from the Adjudicator, sir.  The Imperial Dominion fleet is disengaging.  They will be in position to withdraw in a little over eleven minutes.”

“Thank you,” Said Serpent.  So, the end of the battle was in sight.  As ever the conclusion of such an encounter created a mixture of emotions in Zail.  On one hand he was glad that the fighting was ending and that he and his crew had once again survived.  However, there was always that pang of regret, like a missed opportunity, where he wished he had more time to... to... he was not even sure what.  The sight of any surviving enemy ships made him believe that he had failed somehow.  He longed for a decisive win over their enemies, not this piecemeal chipping away at their fleets.

Next time, he promised himself, the next time I face the Imperial Dominion I shall crush them, and none shall escape.  The Vast Empire has bigger fish to fry than this backwater faction!

Before that, though, the current battle had to be resolved.  Looming large in his line of sight was the Enforcer-Class Cruiser Cyclonus, a ship barely two-thirds the size of his own Victory II-Class Star Destroyer and hopelessly doomed.  The smaller warship was now trying to pull back with the rest of its armada, seeking the shelter of the enemy flagship, the Reactionary.

The Cyclonus would not get that far!

“Their rear shields are down to twenty-seven percent!” Called the Brilliant’s Sensor Officer.

“Continue focusing fire on that area, Mr Yandeer!” Serpent ordered smoothly to his Gunnery Chief, watching the sustained barrage pounding their target.

“And order our TIEs to continue hitting the same area!” Added Vagen Eosel.

“No, belay that,” Said Zail firmly yet thoughtfully.  Looking at his XO, he asked, “If our roles were reversed, and it was us speeding away from a larger foe who was pummelling our rear shields, what would we do?”

“You mean, what did we do?” Replied the First Officer, recalling their time commanding smaller ships, like the CR-90 Defiance.  “We tended to channel shield power from other parts of the ship, particularly from our... front...” He said, trailing off as he realised what his superior was getting at.

Serpent smiled.  Having commanded a range of vessels both large and small was giving him an informed way of looking at tactics, and he was pleased that Eosel remembered his basics too.  “Have Shock and Awe Squadrons come about and strike the front of the Cyclonus,” He ordered.

The First Officer nodded, and relayed the command to the Com Officer.

For a few minutes the offensive continued, and the Cyclonus was not going without a fight.  Even as it moved to rendezvous with the rest of the Imperial Dominion Fleet and escape the Brilliant’s wrath, it fired back continuously.??The deflectors of Zail’s ship absorbed the damage with minimal effort, and he found himself glad that he had ordered the Brilliant to take a break from the fighting and regain some shield strength before returning to combat.  It was a cautious move, and an overly cautious commander was a poor one.  True leaders knew when to be careful and when to be bold, and though Serpent was still learning to walk that fine line it seemed he had made the right call this time.

Then, suddenly, his introspection was shattered by a flash of light upon the enemy warship.

“Report!” He barked at once, hope surging through him.

“Shock Squadron reports that, on their last attack run, several of their torpedoes got through!” Came the excited reply of a Junior Bridge Officer.  “The Cyclonus’s super-structure has taken damage, and their bridge has even been hit!”

“Order them around to strike again!” Ordered Vagen Eosel quickly.

Meanwhile Serpent turned to the tactical hologram.  He stared at the image of the enemy cruiser and watched as this new battle damage was uploaded into the display for his analysis.  “They are slowing!” He declared, feeling victory draw closer with every passing moment.

The news poured in thick and fast after that, and Zail knew that it was over.  The eports from various bridge stations were like music to his ears, an avalanche of victorious updates.

“Shock Squadron confirms further multiple torpedo contacts!  Direct hit on their bridge!”

“Their rear shields have now collapsed!  Reporting explosions in their main engines!”

“The Cyclonus is now spewing escape pods!”

“Massive secondary explosions among their port side!”

“She’s going critical!”

At that last one Serpent ordered his ship to withdraw, satisfied that it was well and truly over.  The only thing left for him was to sit back and brace his eyes for the amazing flash of light that signalled the end of the Imperial Dominion warship.  As he squinted at the burning ball of superheated metal and gases, he heard his command deck erupt in whoops of joy.  Zail permitted the breach of bridge discipline and allowed himself to smile and share in their sense of triumph.

As the racket died down, he turned back to the tactical display, and saw that the enemy fleet was now completely withdrawn and ready to jump to hyperspace.  There was no way that the Brilliant could reach any of them before they fled, and so he and his crew could now declare their part in the Battle of the Bloodmoon to be over.

“Sir!” Said Dev Mishima from the Com station.  “Incoming transmission!”

Serpent marched over to the man, looking down at him in the crew pit beneath the command walkway.  “Who from, Mr Mishima?” He asked.

The Petty Officer looked about nervously.  “You know,” He whispered mock-conspiratorially, “And I know.  But what you know is something that I shouldn’t know, and neither should the rest of the crew.  So I am telling you and then forgetting it, which is easy since, to my knowledge it never happened.  Right?”  And so saying he winked in an exaggerated fashion several times.

Zail sighed.  Never trust an idiot with a secret, he mused.  “The VENI shuttle is returning, I take it?”

“Just so,” Said Mishima.

“Angle around to retrieve them,” Ordered Serpent, acting in his role of the Naval Intelligence Fleet Liaison.  “It’s time to see how well they did...”

OOC:

1133 words.  And my contribution to Counterpunch: War is at an end!  As such I threw in a comment about the recovery of the VENI team, but have avoided stating who is on board the thing, as that subplot still holds some mystery....

After Action Report:  The Brilliant completes its victory over the Imperial Dominion warship Cyclonus just before the rest of the enemy fleet withdraws.

OOC:

Strill NPC, Pert

Penom “Pert” Rtaq was only a Leading Crewman, and it showed. Though, he was happy that he was able to be alongside his Squadron Commander. The man seemed cold, but he clearly knew what he was doing, and that helped make the situation somehow seem less dangerous than it already was. The fact that the VE Navy entrusted Strill, a green squadron, with such a mission was strange to him. Sure they had had ground training, but to take an ion cannon and point it towards the stars? It seemed a bit much to him personally.

Now as he was taking his position behind the dune alongside Joamer and Bright, he could feel the pressure. They were already down by a couple squadron members.  He hoped they wouldn’t lose anyone in this firefight, but he had a feeling that someone somewhere along the line was going to drop.

He’d soon find out.

When the firefight finally did break out, Pert was barely aware of himself. Though he was more than nervous, he had always had a way of calming himself for certain situations. Some said it was in his blood, but he knew better than that. Nobody could just pick up a gun and run. No. He had the training before he became part of the Navy, and he was merely tapping into a mindset that had taken years to develop. It was easier for him to deal with life when all he cared about was making his shots hit every target every time.

Then, when the first conflict was over, Pert allowed himself to breathe. He heard the chatter of the com and heard the words, “KIA”. He shook his head to himself. Another one down. Who would be next? He sighed and followed Joamer and Bright as the 58th met up. Pert glanced around as Joamer handed a thermal charge to Honeydew and gave the commands for Besh and Cresh to head around and create their own entrances in order to storm the facility. Pert turned back his attention to his SCO as he stated that they’d be taking the front door. Should have expected as much. He was with the big guns after all.

Besh and Cresh quickly made their way around the building. Pert waited patiently, their coms relatively silent as the other two groups found their positions. First Besh reported, “In position.” Not many seconds later Cresh soon came in with the same reply. Joamer glanced at the two beside him before replying, “On my mark.” Pert readied his gun and glanced at the people beside him, wondering if he would see them after this. The facility was small, obviously built for a single purpose. Once they blasted the walls, the chaos would begin. Pert hoped that he wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire.

Silence ensued as they all waited in anticipation for their SCO to give them the go ahead. The coms were even silent for once as they prepared for their, hopefully, final confrontation.

“Now!” Joamer called through the com. He busted through the door, and the explosions went off simultaneously, rocking the facility and its inhabitants. The sound of screaming was already emanating from the scientists there. The three guards plus a couple others that had been inside began to open fire. Pert threw himself to the side, making himself a smaller target in such a small space. The room could only hold about 20 people at most, so the options for cover were not the greatest. He watched as the chaos of the small room played out.

Cresh had done well to storm their side. The bodies of the Dom scientists were scattered around their feet. Whether they were unconscious or dead, he did not fully know. Besh on the other hand seemed to be thrown off by the general chaos. Many of their shots were missing the mark completely. Pert turned his attention away from that though and found his target guard. He breathed in, holding his breath and letting the background symphony fade away as he marked his target for dead. The melody of his specific shot ringing out from his gun and finding its mark was always thrilling to him.

And then it was over.

It had all been too fast really. The small room had made the chaos of the three-pronged attack too simple. The explosions had caught them off guard; forget the fact that many of them were scientists and not soldiers. Pert glance around, stepping over bodies and pointing his gun at anything that moved. When it became clear that no more shots were being fired, Joamer finally said the words to help them relax, “Room secured.” Their SCO glanced over at Edge, “They’ll have reinforcements coming to get us. Edge, take Iron 7 back to his fighter. Rig his fighter to explode after we get out of here. That will help us get away,” Edge nodded and made his way out of the facility.

As Strill was beginning to unwind and wait for Joamer’s next orders, Pert walked over to the ion cannon controls, looking over the readings. Though he was not the most familiar with the specific technology, he noticed something odd. The readings for the ion cannon were not adding up at all. The power levels were slowly climbing higher and higher, and suddenly the color from his face drained as it became clear that their mission was quickly going to come to a very immediate end.

“Joamer—”

OOC:

WC: 917

AAR: Strill leads a three-pronged attack into the ion cannon facility which ends rather quickly. The guards are dead and the scientists either dead or unconscious. Joamer orders Edge to go set up a trap for any reinforcements that may follow them. Meanwhile Pert has discovered that something is amiss with the cannon itself.

OOC: Helping Strill with their arc.

OOC:

VENI NPC Post

A confident grin was plastered all over Varys' expression as he watched the hail of blaster fire being shot in the one corridor where most of the VENI agents were now hiding in like trapped rats. The unnerving infiltrators had managed to keep one step ahead of him all the time but things were different now. Now he and his men had the distinct advantage.

They had the numbers. They had the guns. They had the tactical position and most importantly they had him to directly guide them so as to ensure no further blunders would be made. As far as the man was concerned the situation he found himself in could yet be salvaged provided he could kill off - or less likely, maybe even capture - some of the VENI agents.

Their progress and success thus far could easily be blamed on the former CO's negligence and inability to properly command his troops. A shame alas that the latter would be unable to stand proper trial back on Tilsec Prime, but Varys would make sure to try and salvage the man's reputation as much as he would be able to. A few facts would perhaps slightly change in his reports - such as the manner in which the former commander was gunned down by one of the VENI operatives and how driven by both duty and revenge, the Head of Security took it upon himself to valiantly take hold of the situation and turn things around... as befitting a man of his skills and talents.

It was all bound to go down perfectly and new opportunities were bound to open up to the intelligent and ambitious individual. "Grenades!" a trooper shouted and everyone immediately reacted and took cover as the distinct sound of metal hitting metal could be heard faintly echoing throughout the main entrance hall. Instead of going off with a loud bang and a blinding flash of light, the grenades merely began hissing weakly - thick white smoke emptying from their contents and all throughout the room.

"They're trying to sneak past us... Fire! Keep firing!!!" Varys shouted and clenched his fists tighter, the man knowing this would likely be the climax - the moment he would take down the VENI rats and in so doing ensure an even brighter career ahead of him.

The echoes of blasters firing once more spread throughout the room, the colored bolts barely visible through the artificial fog however. "Aagh!" a trooper standing a few dozen feet from Varys cried as he dropped to the floor and by the sounds of it did not get back up afterward. They're coming, Varys told himself as he blindly fired in the general direction the VENI team would likely emerge from.

Blaster fire was still being exchanged between forces unseen in all the smoke when a light tremor shook the entire facility. The echoes of a few explosions from somewhere on the higher levels also reverberated throughout the entire installation and Varys instinctively looked up and wondered what that could be.

Enemy bombers? Possibly, though the facility's shields should've still held for a while longer. Plus those explosions did not sound like hitting the armored plating outside but rather felt like something was blowing up from inside. But what? And why? Was this supposed to be VENI's getaway diversion? If so it was neither impressive nor even efficient either.

Before the man could give the issue more thought, shades in the dissipating smoke slowly became clearer and the Lieutenant aimed at those. Again and again he fired and the man smiled once he noticed one of the larger shadows shudder after being hit. Even through the clearing smoke however Varys was still able to somehow see the shade turn towards him and point something his way. It was a long something. Almost as long as a-

The man barely had time to realize the answer when a splash of red suddenly grew before his eyes. The color was soon enough accompanied by a warm sensation. Next, wetness could be felt accumulating around his forehead. "Damn!" Varys cursed as he felt his body dropping to the floor, the entire world around him going dark and silent...

~~~~~~~~~~

"Move! Move!! Move!!!" Ensign Grey instructed as the team made its way through the rain of fire and toward the exit. She knew that stopping to take the enemies out first would've been both hard and entirely unpractical given the deadly package she had left on the Nightdancer. Normally if things were different then she would've retreated further back in the facility and there she would've prepared traps and ambushes to further diminish the enemy's ranks once they would come looking for her.

Since that was not an option however she had no choice but to order everyone to put on their masks and run like hell for the exit. Both Frayne and the captured scientists were placed in the middle so as to both better protect them and also help better keep an eye on them. Corporal Elsek led the way, followed close behind by Reeza Hayek and Trathras, with Sergeant Drazin and herself securing the formation's rear end.

"Seriously!?" Grey heard a familiar voice crying out all of a sudden. "Twice in one frakkin' day?" the Ensign heard the haughty pilot exclaim and finally it dawned on the VENI agent that the youngest team member had been most likely shot once again. Well at least she was still alive, which Grey could not state about one of the other researchers she had liberated. Jumping over his corpse the agent pushed forward, knowing that escape was just within reach.

~~~~~~~~~~

Irya Pael smiled as she tilted the shuttle's control yoke forward, slowly bringing the ID craft out of the hangar in which another two shuttles now burned away - the result of the Arkanian woman's discovery of her own craft's weapon controls. It was the facility's secondary hangar bay that the woman had been aiming for all along, ever since she discovered the facility's blueprints as well as found out that there were present shuttles currently docked there - the information not even classified in any of the messages she read whilst the rest of the team were busy searching for the virus' recipe.

These shuttles would be the quickest way off the rock - if not necessarily the safest as well. The reason that the woman couldn't simply run over to the turbolifts and take a ride there was that she first needed to access a different part of the facility from where she would be able to reroute power from the doors normally blocking access. Even with her limited knowledge of engineering it was not hard to cut the isolation off a couple of wires then crossing them together so as to achieve the desired effect.

The reason she decided to shoot down the remaining shuttles was to ensure that she would not be followed by neither the ID nor VENI, provided the latter would attempt to take a different way out. Flying had otherwise never been a problem as far as the Arkanian scientist was concerned. She was no fighter jock and could likely not compare with neither Hayek nor Grey inside a craft's cockpit. Be that as it may, she knew enough to get by and manage to safely run away when the situation called for it...

~~~~~~~~~~

"What's that?" Elsek asked as she turned to look at the shuttle not hover above the facility. There were still other fighters and bombers even further above but those seemed to either be engaged with ID counter-forces or otherwise trying to avoid the installation's few firing flak guns that remained operational.

As Ensign Grey turned to face the looming craft, a thought just would not leave her mind - what if the one piloting was known to her? Granted the chances were higher it was in fact the base commander and his elite staff trying to make a run for it. It could also be some messenger sent in to deliver viable samples of the virus to the fleet. Given her obnoxious ability to stay alive and keep popping in when least expected however, Ensign Grey just could not dismiss the Arkanian female either. Not given what she already knew of the woman. Not given all she didn't know about her...

"Hey, what's he doing?" Reeza asked after turning to face the crimson sky as well. The VE pilot watched as the shuttle tilted forward and gulped loudly - fearing they were both seen and out there in the open with nowhere near enough cover fire to protect against missiles, turbolaser or even heavy blaster shots. To her surprise however the shuttle turned further away and instead opened fire on the group of Stormtroopers that had amassed outside the facility's entrance. The latter had followed the VENI group outside and were otherwise trying to hunt them down - being slowed down only by Drazin and Trathras who returned fire from a larger rock formation a short distance off.

"Is that ours?" Reeza asked a different question. "Oh, oh... is that the Silver Bitch out there? Think she'll drop down and give us a ride if we raise our thumbs and promise to pay her afterward?" Nobody answered though. Instead everyone's eyes were still glued to the metallic sheen of the craft hovering in midair. Everyone saw the shuttle turn back to face them after having decimated the Stormtroopers and everyone feared they would be next. Surprisingly though no shots were fired.

Whether this was because the pilot allowed them to leave on purpose or because a VE Interceptor took a few pot shots at the shuttle showing hostile on his IFF - the answer to that dilemma would remain a mystery for Grey's group. At least for a while longer at any rate...

One thing Ensign Grey promised herself was to fix her mistake - find Irya Pael, capture her if possible or terminate her if not and next bring her back to the Tower. She took the alien out from her comfortable little prison and she would be the one to bring her back when the opportunity would finally present itself. Soon... Ensign Grey thought to herself as she rushed alongside the rest of her team back to the Nightdancer - and to their own escape.

OOC:

WC: 1733
AAR: Varys has the team cornered but fails to prevent their escape - dying instead in the attempt. The Arkanian scientist's goal is at long last revealed - a simple shuttle to take her off the rock. As the VENI team exists the facility and rushes to their own shuttle, Irya ends up giving them a helping hand - though it remains uncertain whether she intended to immediately afterward make Byss cheese out of them.

Bridge of the Adjudicator
Bloodmoon System


The capital ships of the Vast Imperial Second Fleet seemed momentarily to increase their rates of fire, like pack-hunting animals howling and pawing the ground because they sense their prey’s imminent escape.  Sure enough, moments later the remaining Imperial Dominion vessels stuttered in pseudomotion and jumped to hyperspace, leaving only empty space through which the final blasts of energy streaked, harmless.  A lone proton torpedo curved lazily for a time, still dutifully seeking a target, until finally it struck a piece of debris and exploded.  The resulting flash lit up the suddenly-still battlefield for a single heartbeat, as if some cosmic holographer were documenting the war-torn scene for posterity.

On the bridge of the Adjudicator, Commander Wyl Trykon watched the last enemy capital ship icon blink out of existence on the tactical hologram, and he knew that the Battle of Bloodmoon was over.  Some scattered starfighter resistance remained, but those few Dominion pilots would be gone soon enough: any who flew advanced crafts with hyperdrives would follow their fleet, while the rest of the stragglers would be killed or would surrender, soon enough.  But while sighs of relief and little whoops of celebration sounded all around him on his flagship’s bridge, the Kuati Chief of Naval Warfare maintained his silence.  No doubt, the battle would be categorized as a victory for the Vast Empire.  But was it really? he thought to himself.  How decisive was this action, really? he wondered, as his gaze again came to rest on the image of the slowly-spinning moon, with its secret weapons lab.  Did the VENI team succeed in its mission?

But then, even as he looked questioningly at it, the hologram of the moon distorted, and several new color-coded icons came up.  The data feed from the sensors began to scroll along the side of the image at high speed – thousands of numbers went by too quickly for Trykon’s brain to process – and then the holo just… froze.  Trykon opened his mouth to ask what the malfunction was, but before he could speak a bright light flooded the bridge from the port-side viewports.  Fighting the instinct to turn toward the light source, Trykon grabbed the holotable’s edge, shut his eyes, and widened his stance.  “Brace for impact!” he yelled as loudly as he could.  “Brace, brace, brace!”

Only one thing Trykon could think of was capable of producing a flash that bright, and soon after the flash the ship was struck by a roiling shock wave, confirming his suspicion.  The vacuum of space was not an ideal medium for transmitting such forces, but still, the fission explosion was powerful enough to generate a wave of energy and debris so powerful that when it hit, the 1,600-meters-long Imperial II-class Star Destroyer rolled over onto its side.  Trykon’s stomach lurched as the deck seemed to fall away beneath his feet, but soon the inertial dampeners caught up with the unexpected movement, and the comforting regularity of artificial gravity returned.

Panting, Trykon released his hold on the holotable, and opened his eyes.

Despite the shockwave and the battle, the bridge looked… surprisingly normal.  A few crew members had lost their balance, and the medics were still attending to a couple of casualties, but overall, his people seemed okay.  The only oddity was that those who weren’t injured were all staring through the port-side viewports, their mouths agape.  Trykon frowned, and followed their line of sight with his own eyes.

In contrast to his bridge, the Bloodmoon looked… unsurprisingly abnormal.  The blood-red moon was where it was supposed to be, but it was smaller than it had been just moments before.  A huge chunk had been blown out of the surface where the bomb had gone off, and large pieces of the planetoid were drifting away from the truly massive crater.

“You could have mentioned that, Grey,” Trykon muttered under his breath, thinking of the being who’d replaced him as Chief of Naval Intelligence, and who had obviously ordered the VENI team to use a fission bomb to destroy the Bloodmoon facility.  Never mind the fact that VE pilots had been in the area when the bomb went off.  Never mind the fact that Trykon had planned on using the moon as a forward operations base and staging area for the next stage of the invasion.  Never mind the fact…

Abruptly, Trykon’s train of thought was derailed by a memory: he thought suddenly about the day he had revealed his identity as the Chief of Naval Intelligence to Dracule Mihawk, who was then the Chief of Naval Warfare.  Drac had raged then, and Trykon had patiently accepted the Mon Calamari’s ire, secure in the knowledge that his own actions were necessary for the preservation of the Vast Empire.  No doubt the new CNI feels the same way now that you did then, a voice reasoned in his head.  "No doubt," Trykon whispered aloud, his tone still angry.  With an effort, he pushed aside his feelings, vowed to be gentle when he screamed at the new Captain Grey, and focused on the task at hand.

“Report?” he called out.

In response to their captain's call, the stunned crewers turned away from the viewports and went back to work.

OOC:

876 words.  I was waiting to see what would become of that fission bomb...  Having it go off changes things just enough that I've decided to post what I've been working on, and work up another post to close the story a little later, after PHAB Comp officially ends in... 7.5 hours or so.

AAR: The Dominion fleet jumps to hyperspace, leaving several destroyed capital ships behind, as well as many of their starfighters.  [Precise numbers of both will be detailed in my next post, the final of the story]  Before Trykon can get into the nitty-gritty of mopping up the fighter hotspots and starting the post-battle analysis, Bloodmoon explodes.  The shockwave is massive, and rolls the Adjudicator onto its side [though it will affect different vessels differently, depending on their relative sizes and orientations and their distance from ground zero].  Quickly, Trykon gets his crew back to work.

Not a whole lot happens in this post that hasn't already been mentioned.  Important things to note:

1.) The timing of events.  The ID Fleet escapes, leaving many TIEs behind.  THEN the bomb goes off.
2.) Because of that, Chlovi/Strill/VENI can still be dealing with ID figher threats, even after they react to the explosion.
3.) Read Deep's post: the explosion disrupted everyone's sensors, which is a good thing to take advantage of as you take your last actions of the story.  In addition, he mentions an address to the fleet from Trykon, so I'll be working that into my own finale. 

Hearing his name called out in a worried voice, he walked over after motioning to Bright with a hand signal to check the outside. He knew they did not have long before possible reinforcements arrived. The time they had been given without hostile fighters coming down on-top of them worried him, something was obviously very wrong. Years of experience were screaming at him something was wrong.

Glancing at the various readouts on the monitors he frowned as training he had rarely used came back to him. Something about the power levels seemed odd, nothing he could see indicated it could of been sabotaged but he still had to voice his thoughts. "Could it be sabotage, maybe. That would not explain these readings though, why do such a slow build up like this. Judging by these readouts the cannon has been on buildup for hours possibly days now. Building a slow charge, for one big blast. Possibly enough to take out the Adjudicator when the time was right."

"These readings are red lined though, it's like they missed their moment to fire." Pert said as he typed something into one of the terminals. "Frak, they did not use their command ship for the sensor data. Looks like their comm ship was damaged sometime during the battle, so they lost sensor feeds. Without those, on a tight beam transmission nothing else could cut through the interference."

"Those crazy fools built this as a one off weapon, it had to fire at a certain time and burn out the generator otherwise it goes into overload. They were trying to shut it down, but it's gone rogue now it can't be shut down." Joamer looked up suddenly as realization dawned on him. "Strill, back to the fighters! On the double MOVE!" He shouted as he pushed his squadron out the main door as they took off at a hard jog. It would be a grueling run but they had to clear the area before the cannon overloaded fully.

He fell to the back as he kept everyone in front of him, he saw Bright pushing the ones beginning to struggle ahead of her to keep them moving. He would not leave anyone behind, no matter what. He had done it too many times, and he vowed right now to bring everyone home.

"Edge." He said slowly, his breathing was easy but fast. It was obvious he was not as young as he used to be. "Can you program a quick course for sevens fighter? We need it to leave the atmosphere and quickly travel away from the main battle, but far enough away to clear any debris that might be from the exploding ships up there. Then have it cut its engines, so rescue and recovery can pick it up sometime later?"

"Frell, you are fahrbot you know that, and I'm an fekkik to follow you. Give me a few minutes, least that is easier than rigging this thing to blow." Edge said over the comm a few seconds later, luckily they had cleared the interference enough for the transmission to go through.

He knew most fighters had some form of slave circuitry installed, made it easier for their home bases to recall fighters when their pilots were too badly injured or had outright died. It was part of the old Empires ideals, fighters were more valuable than their pilots. Even now in the new Empire, some things has not changed. Right now he was just glad they could save his body, and when they had time allow him to be buried properly.

"Launch him when you are done, we won't have time to before we get back. Fire up your fighter too, I want off this moon as fast as possible this place crawls." Joamer said as he put a hand on Xanin's shoulder and kept pace with him. He knew most of the pilots were not used to physical exertion of this magnitude, he would need to draw up plans for daily exercise once they got back.

The minutes passed quickly, as he wondered when the cannon would explode. From the readings they saw it seemed only minutes, but now the minutes had kept ticking by and no explosion. Which was good, a blast of that sort would likely fry their fighters electronics if they were just lucky.

He knew they could not push the squadron much more, everyone was beginning to falter. This pace was harsh even on the old army dogs in the group. He considered slowing down as he saw someone up front stumble, and for a moment thought against it as he saw two others suddenly grab the trooper to steady him. "We can do it Strill, our ticket home is almost in sight. Let's prove to the unbelievers an unorthodox group can push through the hardships and get the job done."

He did not think his impromptu speech did much, but they only needed to keep going a little bit more. His HUD was indicating the small clearing was only a few hundred feet in front of him. Stumbling through the semblance of rocky tree like objects they emerged into the clearing where their fighters sat waiting with low hums coming from all of them.

"Man your fighters, go to green and launch. We don't have long." He said as he rushed up to Edge just as the man jumped down from Negom's fighter.

"It's done, it's not pretty but it's done. She'll launch in thirty seconds and head somewhere below the moon. Her beacon won't start broadcasting till we send out a coded signal, so hopefully no one will come around and pillage her cargo." He said as he walked over to his own fighter and began climbing up the side of it.

Looking around Joamer saw most of the squadron either inside their fighters bringing their engines online, or in the final stages of getting inside. It was not easy climbing the exterior of an Interceptor in full armor, but it had to be done. They needed to have some sort of ladder installed if this was going to be their lives in the future.

Jogging over to his fighter he slowly made the climb himself and dropped inside. Removing Lurk's egg and his particle rifle he locked them in place and quickly brought his engines back to life. Easing power into his repulsorlifts he eased her off the ground and followed Iron 6 into the air.

"Form up, hard burn away from here. It's time we get off this rock." He said into the squadron's comm channel.

Pushing his engines to max he leaned back in his seat as the slightly nimble fighter screamed for space. That place in the pit of your stomach that warned you something bad was coming was turning flips right now. He knew they had to get away and fast. He felt the shock-wave before his systems started acting up, a moment later his fighter tried to stale but luckily they had only been touched by the tail end of the ion cannons explosion.

"First explosion of Strill squadron, too bad none of us got to see it." Edge said in a half mumble.

"Oh, don't worry. There will be others, have no doubt about that." Rikky said with a slight laugh.

Joamer looked at his sensor readout for a moment in disbelief, what he saw was coming from the moon and coming on fast. "What the frak, that's not possible." The chatter died fast as they heard the worry in his tone. "BREAK BREAK BREAK! All fighters, full burn and scatter!"

He had no time to look at anyone else, but he knew the shock-wave that was coming would disorient all of them. Flying in close quarters would be suicide. Pushing the stick all the way forward he heard his fighter scream at the sudden course correction. He saw on his display his squadron breaking off into different directions, a moment later the shock-wave hit them.

His sensors lasted only a second before they shorted out, his readouts for his weapons, and power systems sparked once then died. The worse part was full loss of control over the fighter itself. Chopping the throttle to nothing, and setting the auto-stabilization he leaned back in his seat and held on for dear life as the fighter began a death roll. Luckily the wave passed them quickly, leaving them mostly disoriented but still alive.

Grabbing the controls again he punched the throttle to full and turned off auto-stabilization. Feeling the fighter he eased back under control as some of his systems came back online. He considered shouting a oorah over the comm but thought against it, hearing his comm crackled then suddenly a voice shouted an insane war cry he half smiled as someone stole his idea.

"Frak me, what was that?" Someone asked a few moments later.

Bringing his fighter around in a slow loop he cut the engines as he starred at what was left of the underside of Bloodmoon. He knew the squadron was forming up around him and doing the same, the dead silence that echoed through the open comm channel was frightening.

"Did we do that?" Xanin asked quietly a few moments later.

"I doubt it, I hope we did that would be an epic ending to our first mission but somehow I really doubt we caused that. Everyone fall in, any serious damage report it to your flight leads. Flight leads report in to me." Joamer said as he waited for everyone to run checks on their own fighters. Bringing his fighter back around he eased her throttle to the mid-point and headed towards the beacon for home. Seeing their ship ahead of them he blinked slowly and said, "Well, that is one thing that unnerves you. An Imp-II trying to barrel roll."

He saw the Adjudicator on her side for a long moment before she righted herself. He could almost visualize the ship shivering suddenly as she realized what had almost happened. Seeing the squadron forming up on in their own wings, and then in formation with him he brought them slowly alongside their mother ship.

"Iron lead to Adjudicator, reporting in. Setting up for a CAP and awaiting orders." He did not know where her close combat fighters were currently, but he had no real desire to go take on the remaining Dominion forces. Sadly, being back in comms with the higher ups that choice was out of his hands now.

Breathing slowly he realized for the most part his first mission as commander of a fighter squadron was coming to a close. It was not text book, nor was it perfect. In fact he would probably get flak for his decisions during the debriefing but he got as many of his squadron home as he could. They ones flying with him were still alive, and that was enough for him.

OOC:

WC-1837. Strill does not get to fire the Ion Cannon after all, but it does explode which was probably epic. However none of them saw  it, congrats and a big REALLY? to VENI for one upping our own explosion. I know Bloodmoon was an eyesore(Pun intended for those of you in the know.) But, wow folks. Squadron is currently in CAP formation and awaiting orders. Thus ending our objectives.

This is Strill Lead, Commanding Officer of the surviving pilots. Signing off.

It was unbelievable. Hayek had a smart remark for almost anything (at least, what she considered to be smart), including the recent run in with whom she termed the 'silver bitch'. But she was still stunned as they legged it back to the Nightdancer. She couldn't decide whether she liked Irya for getting rid of the stormtroopers or whether she still thought Irya had done it out of convenience ran than her inherently helpful nature.. Given past interactions, anybody would believe the latter over the former but recent events had made Hayek reconsider what she knew of pretty much anything. The pain of her second wound of the day was really getting to her, especially since they hadn't had time to stop and administer proper anesthetics, and it was exacerbated by all this running they had to do. Reeza had a stich, both her wounds were aching, her eyes were foggy and her head pounded from such constant and intense noise.

Sometimes Hayek had given up on things; school projects, sleazy boyfriends - but a culmination of the things she was now experiencing tempted her, in a little voice, to give up on life. It tempted her to sit down among these rocks and die with the horrid place that was Bloodmoon. But somehow, she kept running and running until the Nightdancer's beautiful form came into sight. Only Hayek would call it beautiful, being a shuttle an all.. but she had an attachment to this fighter. Stumbling the last few steps, Drazin caught her arm and led her aboard. Grey, being one of the most surprising of them all, had proved herself to be fitter than almost all of them combined, and was - unsurprisingly - aboard already. The woman seemed rather flushed for a change.. or was that just the pilot's vision fading into red? She didn't know.

"Move, move, move! We've got no time!" Grey had already started the engines. Hayek could hear them whining with power. Those were her engines, and Grey had started them up.. Hayek might have taken offence if she wasn't dropping in and out of consciouness. All aboard? It seemed so, as the ramp raised. Where are Trathras and the Doctor? she realised urgently. A ragdoll came flying through the steadily closing ramp and slammed onto the floor, skidding until it came to a halt. Was it a missile? A dud explosive? The ramp sealed with a thunk, but the shuttle had lifted off even before that. It was then Hayek realised that it was the doctor! She almost smiled.. but how?!

She did not see Trathras anywhere, and realised what had happened. The experiment, whom everyone considered the least humane out of the team even given Grey and Irya's cold apathy to suffering, had done the most decent thing out of any of the team members. He'd literally hurled Doctor Frayne onboard the shuttle, knowing that one of them would make it.. and one of them wouldn't. It made Hayek sad; she'd developed a kind of teddy-bear affection for the big man. Yes, she thought of him as a man and, given what he just did, she refused to think of him as anything less than a great one. Hayek passed out with watery eyes, blackness engulfing her as Sergeant Drazin knelt with the first-aid kit, tending her second wound. She had no idea why she'd survived and someone as selfless as Trathras hadn't.

--- --- ---

Grey had watched Hayek carefully and, determining she didn't have it in her to make it, began lift-off procedures. To her frustration, Drazin had helped her aboard. Trathras and the Doctor Frayne were lagging behind further still, Trathras not so much, but the good Doctor could not keep up with the fitter counterparts of the VENI team. She determined that Trathras might make it, but Frayne would not. Not a total loss then. Figuring her assessment was done, Grey returned to the cockpit and began to lift the shuttle off, confident Trathras would jump aboard.

But what she didn't assess was the fact Trathras had gone back for the Doctorm and now carried him fireman-style over his shoulder, sprinting full speed. The big cyborg realised that he wasn't going to make it so, utilising his augmented limbs, Trathras did the only human thing he could. He sacrificed himself for the Doctor, hurling the small man through the gap in the closing ramp, satisfied in seeing him disappear into the Shuttle. Trathras was simple, but a smile crossed his face. He had done well..

Grey piloted the shuttle like a madman - or woman - burning for the relative safety of outer space. A few bandits latched onto their tail, and Grey pushed the yoke in various directions, weaving to avoid the faster fighters' blaster bolts. With an increase and subsequent decrease in temperature, they burst into the blackness of space - though it was red, influenced by the Bloodmoon's color - and saw the carnage. Grey was not impressed, amazed, or disgusted, merely pleased that she saw more VEN forces intact compared to the scattering of fighters that read ID IFFs.

But they'd escaped not a moment too soon; a flash of light reflected off nearby wreckage and Grey knew what was coming - "Everyone brace!" Sergeant Drazin, Corporal Elsek and Grey all knew what to do.. Frayne did not.

Sergeant Drazin used his body weight to hold the unconscious Hayek down while holding onto the bulkhead, and Elsek held the edges of the seat, already strapped in. Frayne just stood up dumbly and said, "I beg your pardon?"

The shockwave hit in perfect unison with Frayne's question and it would have been hilarious had it not shorted out or sent haywire all of the Nightdancer's sensors. Grey cursed and tried to wrestle the shuttle back under control, to no avail as she heard a thunk from behind her. Then another thunk, and another. The Ensign grimaced but finally the shockwave had passed and its EMP effect with it. The Shuttle's systems booted back to life slowly, but surely, and Grey was relieved to see VE fighters speeding toward them on the readouts..

It wasn't often Grey allowed herself the pleasure of relief, but she did now, leaning back in her seat as the shuttle followed a course toward the Brilliant. We did it.

OOC:

Wordcount: 1,083

AAR: THE VENI TEAM ESCAPES, but only by the hair of their.. posteriors. Unfortunately, Trathras is left behind, but the Cyborg and the least prone to humane things, saves Doctor Frayne in the process. The Nightdancer is now en-route to the Brilliant.. Mission accomplished!

Command Bridge, Adjudicator
The Bloodmoon System
The VE-Occupied Territories

“Report” Trykon called out.

The veterans of the Adjudicator’s bridge crew snapped into action, as if a spell had been broken.  They turned away from the viewports in unison, and worked at their stations for a moment.  Seconds later, Trykon’s Executive Officer had a preliminary report.

“Looks like a fission explosion, on the moon’s surface,” Commander Zhar Bacredi confirmed.  “Shockwave hit us at a very inconvenient angle, but ship seems to be okay.  Minor injury reports, but no significant damage.”

Trykon let out a breath.  We were lucky, he thought to himself.

Bacredi continued: “The electromagnetic interference from the blast temporarily overwhelmed sensors and communications, but systems are coming back now.  Doesn’t look like any other ships in the fleet were taken out by the shockwave, either.”

“Were any starfighters?” Trykon asked, his concern evident in his tone.

Bacredi hesitated.  “Aye.  We don’t have a count, yet, and we don’t know how many were Dominion and how many were our pilots… but there were fighters in the blast zone when… when it happened.”

“Right,” Trykon said with a frown.  “I want to know when systems are back to optimal, Mr. Bacredi.  And I want to address the fleet.  While I’m doing that, send a long-range secure holo transmission to Abrae: I need to consult with the NCC, as soon as possible.”

“Aye sir,” the older man confirmed, before turning on his heel to make the preparations.

“Sir, what just happened?” a vaguely familiar voice called.

Trykon turned toward the interruption with a scowl, and to his surprise discovered a VE pilot standing by the rear lift.  His brain took a moment to confirm: it was Master Chief Petty Officer Demetrius Aita.  “An explosion on the Bloodmoon’s surface,” he answered carefully, squinting at this interloper as he remembered the man worked for VENI as well as the Starfighter Corps.  “Origin unknown.”

The formerly-MIA VENI asset echoed the phrase quietly, but Trykon decided he had more pressing duties than talking to a recovered pilot with divided loyalties.  “I’m about to make a fleet-wide broadcast, Master Chief,” he said dismissively, and turned to look again and the tactical display, which was working again.  “You’re free to stay and hear it, but I must insist you follow protocol in future.  Barging onto the bridge is rather rude, you know.”

The pilot made an embarrassed acknowledgment that Trykon didn’t fully hear, because his Communications Officer was holding up a polite finger for his attention.  Trykon crossed to the communications foyer at the rear of the bridge.  “Ready?” he asked Lieutenant Evir Norith.

“Yessir,” Norith said softly, “but we also have urgent traffic incoming from our Squadron Leaders.  I have Blade Actual for you,” he said, indicating his headset.

What now? Trykon wondered.  Deep knows what’s expected of him.  He grabbed the headset impatiently, and keyed the transmit button: “DeepSix, hold on… I’ll make a Fleet-wide announcement momentarily,” he said curtly.  He flung the headset back at Norith.  “Mr. Norith, call over to Mr. Notra at Sensors.  Ask him if the TIEs are still engaged.”

Seconds passed.  The two bridge crewers shared words.  Then after about a minute Norith looked up.  “All remaining Dominion fighters have either surrendered or have withdrawn to hyperspace, sir.”

“Very good.  I’m broadcasting now,” Trykon declared, and walked over to the holorecorder.

Norith nervously nodded to indicate the channel was live, and Trykon started to speak.

“Gentlebeings of the Second Fleet, we did it.  We have successfully wrested control of the Bloodmoon Corridor from the Imperial Dominion.  One more hyperspace jump, and we will be in their home space.  One more hyperspace jump, and we will be clear of the Tangle and free to hit them wherever we choose.  And that means we are just one hyperspace jump away from ending this war!”  He made a fist to punctuate his words.

“The Dominion fleet is bleeding,” he said after a pause.  “It’s time to run them down, and make the kill.  That means time is of the essence, as we repair and resupply.  Now, the Bloodmoon facility is not available as a forward base,” Trykon said wryly, “so we will have to pull back to Kamlott to regroup.  But I want us to make this quick, Second Fleet.  Take on supplies and replacements, and offload wounded, and then we press forward to the next system.  Ship captains, you’ll have orders transmitted to you momentarily.”

He flicked his eyes over to Norith, to indicate he was almost done.  The Comms tech nodded in understanding.  “The Navy hasn’t seen a fleet action this big since Belgaroth,” Trykon said into the holorecorder, “and during that battle we lost nearly as many people and ships as the enemy did.”  He frowned sadly, but then raised his head defiantly and looked straight into the lens.  “But not today.  Today, we destroyed at least six enemy capital ships, and damaged a handful of others so badly that I wouldn’t be surprised if we found their burned out hulls scuttled in the next system!  Today we brought the Dominion’s Starfighter Corps right up to the breaking point: they lost TIEs to our forces at a rate of almost two to one.  This was the day we turned the tide decisively in our war against the Dominion, people.  Tomorrow, after a quick refit, we bring the war into its final stages.”

Trykon walked out of the holorecorder’s field of view, and Norith dutifully cut the transmission.

OOC:

913 words.  And that's it!

AAR: Trykon address Second Fleet, congratulating them on the most successful large battle in recent VEN history.  He orders all ships back to Kamlott (the planet at the other end of the Bloodmoon Corridor, near the Vectra System and Navy HQ) to make battlefield repairs and resupply.  ASAP, 2nd Fleet will smash forward, beyond Bloodmoon, to the mysterious system called the Sollamens Asteroids...

...and that will be the subject of the final story in the Counterpunch arc, subtitled Death.