OOC:

VENI NPC Post

Ensign Grey figured that the meeting was going well.  They had established that the Resistance were at least open to the idea of Vast Empire membership, and now they had moved on to the far more pressing reason for VENI being on Tilsec Prime: the death of Governor-General Karstok.

“He rarely leaves his Palace,” Premier Zaqarian was saying.  “There are dozens of living guards, augmented by droids and state of the art security systems.  That palace was once the residence of our elected leader, a place of pride and tradition.  It’s more like a fortress these days,” He lamented.

“Security systems can be beaten,” Said Grey confidently, “Regardless of how advanced they are.  As for the guards...” She thought on this a moment.  “My people can take out many times our own number, but such engagements are not without risk.  If we could reduce that risk somehow it would be preferable.  How many men can you give us?”

The leaders of the Resistance looked stunned by the question.  It was the industrialist, Director Yavala, who recovered first and answered, “Our ‘men’ are poorly trained volunteers for the most part.  Yes, a few of them are my personal security, and no offense to them,” He said, gesturing to those on guard in the small meeting room, “But they are little more than night watchmen.  Hardly qualified to deal with Karstok’s hand-picked Stalwart Guards platoon.”

“We are not asking them to lead the charge,” Interjected Agent QuaD at the back of the room.  “If we had merely a handful of men to follow up behind us and guard key choke points then that would be sufficient.  Their role would be largely defensive, simply to stop our main VENI strike force from being surrounded as they penetrate deeper into the palace.”

“No,” Said Yavala firmly, “Not happening.”

Grey tried another tack.  “Very well.  My people will go in alone, but we need some of yours to surround the palace and lay siege to it.  All this will be for naught if Karstok can simply slip out the back door once he knows we are coming.”

Zaqarian looked over at his fellow conspirator.  “We have to give them some help, Director,” He urged the other man.

Yavala sighed.  “So be it.  But once my people begin attacking that palace then Karstok will just summon outside support.  There are multiple military bases scattered throughout Tilsecara that could send reinforcements in short order.  Either your people move phenomenally fast, or we find some way to slow those reinforcements down.”

“Okay,” Said Agent Strings, his face a confident smirk, “Let’s slow them down then, all of them!  How about a nice revolution to keep them busy?”

Everyone stared at the man, and even Ensign Grey was mildly surprised by the suggestion.  “Can that be done?” She asked.

“Oh yes,” He assured them.  “A few very public attacks on Dominion patrols, plus a city-wide broadcast by the people’s elected Premier, and you can achieve all sorts of chaos in the short term.  The public will rise up on our behalf!”

“Short term?” Echoed the rights activist, Mottl Barristan.  “What about the long term?  In my experience most riots simply burn themselves out.  That, or get crushed by regimes just like the Dominion.”

Strings nodded.  “True.  But we only need a short window.  And besides, we are counting on the rioters getting crushed, as that is what will distract the military from our true goal.”

“You speak too casually of the deaths of Tilsec Prime’s citizens,” Observed Zaqarian, distaste for the other’s words evident in his voice.

Strings did not flinch in his reply.  “Spin this well as yet another atrocity by the Dominion against its people,” He said, “And you gentlemen will look even more like heroes for bringing Karstok down.”

There was silence, but when talking resumed it was to discuss the suggestion as if it was actually on the table.  Grey instantly liked the idea, and pushed it as hard as she could.  They were making headway when Agent Blade, standing at the back of the room, answered his comlink.  He spoke into it quickly, and then marched over to Grey’s side.  Leaning down, he whispered in his superior’s ear.

“Hades and the others encountered enemy scouts about two blocks from here,” He said without preamble.  “He took them all out, but fears that they have been in constant contact with their superior, Commander Vrail.”

Grey grimaced tightly at the name.  She had read Vrail’s file, for he had been a thorn in VENI’s side before, particularly for Hades.  She had no idea what fate kept bringing those two men together, and while she did not blame Ensign Aita, Grey wished that his rivalry could have waited for a better time.

“We have to go!” She announced at once, looking at the Resistance leaders.  “The Dominion are on to us, and we must abandon this position immediately!”

“What?” Exclaimed Zaqarian in horror.  “Have you led them to us?”

“Our people encountered scouts,” Replied Grey, immediately cutting off any train of thought that could destabilise the trust they had been building.  “If they had followed either of our groups the Dominion would have dropped right on this place with a company of Stormtroopers.  Evidently they are just searching the area, so we still have time to move!”

Her words evidently got through, for there were no further recriminations from any of the assembled Resistance leaders.  Instead they and their guards began to make for the exit, hurrying as best they could in the cramped conditions.  Grey let them lead the way, leaving her and the rest of her VENI team to follow last.

As they emerged into the larger warehouse area, Grey activated her comlink.  “Hades,” She snapped in a quick but controlled voice, “Talk to me.”

His voice came back just as fast and focused.  “They have definitely called in backup, ma’am,” Aita replied.  “I am seeing the approach of a single Lartie converging on our position.”

Grey was not as surprised as she should have been at the report of the antiquated gunship’s approach.  Larties, Low Altitude Assault Transports from the Clone Wars, were old craft but dependable.  Just one could carry up to thirty Stormtroopers, and that was far more trouble than they were prepared to deal with right now.

“Fall back, Hades,” She ordered, “But make sure you aren’t seen!  As soon as you are clear meet us back at the...”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Said Aita, cutting her off.  “The Lartie is landing nearby and the Stormtroopers are unloading.  Getting back unnoticed is not going to happen.”

Grey bit back a curse.  They could not allow the VENI team to be seen, or worse, be captured or killed, it would tip their hand too early.  She had to do some bold and spontaneous, but then, that was what she was good at.  “People!” She announced suddenly to the Resistance members who were right then getting into speeders.  “Our public uprising is about to begin ahead of schedule!”

OOC:

1173 words.  Be wery wery quiet!  VENI is hunting Stormtwoopers!

After Action Report:  Grey convinces the Resistance leaders to stage an uprising to cover the attack on Governor-General Karstok.  Meanwhile, Agents Hades, Grim and Grin meet Dominion scouts.  No sooner are they dispatched then a Lartie full of Stormtroopers arrive at Hades’ position.  Grey now decides to launch the revolution early and publically attack the Stormtroopers as a sign to all of Tilsecara City to begin rebelling! 

To think it has come to this.

Tucked under one arm was a monochrome helmet. Black on white and more heavily reinforced than the infamous helmet of the Stormtrooper Corps or the signature helmet of the Imperial Dominion’s TIE Pilots, the additional armour on the top and the armour-plated Mohawk made it absolutely unmistakable, as were the hoses that fed into the back of the helmet, as opposed to the front. The Imperial Cog was embossed on each side of the head in jet-black, a symbol the helmet’s owner had once been able to look at with pride…instead of revulsion.

The arm holding the helmet was covered in an environmentally-sealed flight suit, similar to the ones worn by Imperial TIE Pilots in order to protect them from the deadly vacuum of space, but this example was not jet-black like usual: It was inked in a dull durasteel grey, a colour that matched the hoses that linked the blinking, flashing life support box attached to bone-white chest armour to the heavily armoured helmet. The wearer of the suit found the simple geometry of the cog-wheel emblem to be too much to bear, and the helmet was raised over the pilot’s head.

Better to hide behind the mask than to see the truth of what I have become.

The life support system detected that the helmet was on and the magnetic on the inside of the head locked it against the collar of the flight suit, creating a completely airtight seal. A moment of suffocating claustrophobia was washed away by the cool breeze of recycled air and light as the helmet’s HUD and life support systems flickered to life, displaying vital signs, a transparent crosshair and a dozen other systems. A dozen more, however, were showing nothing but static. No big loss.

If the communications were not being jammed systemwide, I would have shut mine down anyway. No use in having to answer any awkward questions.

There was no patch or insignia on the uniform – any such affectations would have been simply insulting. The colouration and additional armour of the uniform already identified the pilot as a member of the 128th Imperial Dominion TIE Interceptor Squadron. Nicknamed ‘The Saints’ because of the commonly-held belief that they had transcended death itself, they were the fiercest, bravest, toughest and most skilled pilots that the Imperial Dominion could boast. They were also the most loyal.

After that traitor Kasan Moor defected to the Rebellion, we had no choice. We were under suspicion for a decade.

To be even considered for an invitation to the Saints, a pilot had to be able to boast no less than 30 fighter-to-fighter kills, and with only one exception, each pilot had to have also survived no less than 30 combat missions. It was with good reason that the other pilots and the hangar crew gaped and gasped as this living legend stepped out through the open blast-doors and into one of the ISD Reactionary’s high, vaulted fighter launch bays.

We were forced to prove our loyalty, again and again; always thrown into the most dangerous, suicidal missions. We should have died a hundred times over, but we didn’t.

Down below, on the polished hangar floor, hangar bay technicians and crew chiefs paused their feverish work for but a moment to gaze in wonder at the hero whom stood before them, so far up above. “Which one do you think it is?”, one of the technicians asked a comrade, awe dropping his voice to a whisper.
“Do you think it’s the godfather, Seeker? Or maybe the Ace of Aces, Clint?”

How many missions, before we stopped being seen as traitors, and started being seen as heroes? A dozen? Fifty? I don’t even remember anymore. How many lives did it take?

The living Saint walked purposefully along the catwalk, not needing to glance down at the TIE/D Defenders that rested below to know that they were there. The awed whispers were to be expected – it was almost unheard of for a Saint to be seen outside the restricted area of the Reactionary that was reserved solely for them. A restricted area that, included other things, three launch bays of their own.

They hailed us as heroes, but they were wrong. We were just lucky…and determined. Our only chance was to prove ourselves more loyal than anyone else. So we did.

The soft clang of magna-grip boot soles on durasteel catwalk stopped sharply as the Saint paused to accept a salute from one of the black-garbed TIE Pilots with a nod of that distinctive helmet. The Saint did not return the salute – of course not! They had earned the right to salute only one man, and that man was long since dead, gone with the ashes of Endor. Another casualty of war.

He won’t question me. The thought won’t even cross his mind. A Saint, acting against the interests of the Dominion? It is unthinkable. The 128th learned from Moor’s mistake.

When the white-garbed hero pointed down at the TIE/D Defender that was below their feet - resting on the launch catapult and waiting for the black-garbed TIE Pilot to board, the pilot saluted even sharper than before and stepped back. The Saints were qualified with every fighter on the Reactionary from the elite TIE Defender to the ponderous Titan AT-AT Dropship. The younger pilot actually considered the sudden requisition an honour.

Only it wasn’t a mistake. As much as it hurts to admit after all these years, she was right. This Empire does not deserve my loyalty.

The Saint descended down the ladder and into the familiar ball-shaped cockpit of the TIE Defender: The most expensive and advanced craft the Galactic Empire had ever created. It housed no less than six cannons, deflector shields, a hyperdrive and still had room for two missile launchers – and despite all that, it was still the fastest and most agile starfighter ever created. They were infamously expensive, utterly distinctive, and extremely rare. An ace craft.

And I shall not tolerate working for such a regime for one more instant. Today, I am foresworn; a traitor – just as Kasan Moor was before me.

By the time that the crew of the Reactionary realized that one of their finest and most trusted pilots had deserted them, it was already far too late. Regardless, eleven bone-white TIE/In Interceptors screamed from their launch bays, determined to prevent yet another defection from destroying the reputation they had spent a decade working so hard to build. The traitor would be hunted down and destroyed.

Such was the fate of all traitors.

You will try to destroy me; this I understand. I will be forced to attempt to destroy you in turn. This is why the Saints make no friends – why we cannot tolerate comradeship within our ranks. In war, your best friend could die within an instant, or become your worst enemy just as quickly.

Just as we hunted Kasan for so many years, now you will unleash all of your wrath and rage upon me, just like those old, dark days. Come then, my dear comrades, come and destroy me if you can.

This old dog has some fangs left.

OOC:

WORD COUNT: 1,200
AAR: A tired war veteran comes to a realization that an old, hated foe was right all along. Realizing that the Empire the 128th has served for so valiantly is no longer worth loyalty, there is no choice but to follow in the footsteps of the traitor they all swore to one day destroy.

Pherik ‘Serpent’ Zail sat in his office, brooding darkly over his failure.  He had eagerly committed as many of the Brilliant’s Stormtroopers as he could to the search of Gwodd LK Nale, but so far they had come up with nothing.  If they could not find the Admiral – or worse, found him dead – then it was all over.  He longed to be leading the search of the Imperial Dominion asteroid base himself, but no, it just was not to be.  Instead he sat in his office at the back of the Star Destroyer’s bridge, trying to distract himself with reports, and failing.

Suddenly the lighting in his room shifted sharply from stark white to the colour of blood, and the sudden alarm that blared through his warship clearly indicated that they had jumped to Red Alert.  Focusing on having something to do other than feel sorry for himself, Serpent leapt to his feet as the door to his office shot open.

“What is it, crewman?” Zail demanded instantly of the new arrival.

“Enemy fleet, sir!” Said the young man, “Mr Quinn sent me to get you.”

Serpent was already in motion as the other was speaking, and strode briskly onto the bridge.  He rushed along the command deck, watching the bridge officers around him huury to battle stations, and approached his Second Officer, Farish Quinn.

“Where are they?” He asked quickly, activating the tactical hologram that he frequently used to monitor the battle.  He frowned when the image showed little beyond the Brilliant itself.  Even the nearby asteroids, including Gwodd LK Nale, were fuzzy images on the display.

“Over that way, sir, and closing fast,” Said Quinn, indicating out of the forward viewport.

“I asked for a location, not a vague direction!” Barked Zail suddenly.

“Sorry, sir, no can do,” Said the other man.  “The Sollamens Pulsar just spiked in radiation output and all sensors and communications have gone to frak.”  He gestured at the tactical hologram.  “Afraid to say, sir, but that too is useless.”

Serpent processed this information quickly, and as he stared out the viewport he got a look at the approaching enemy armada, manoeuvring their way skilfully around the asteroids of the system and making straight for the VEN’s Second Fleet.  “I doubt the timing is coincidence,” He observed.

“Indeed, sir,” Said Quinn.  “It’s suddenly clear why we were able to take Gwodd LK Nale so easily.  It’s a trap.”

Zail nodded.  “Indeed it is.  Tell me, can we get anything through the interference?”

“Sensors, no,” Said the other.  “Some garbled short-range transmissions, maybe, but not enough to issue anything reliable.  We are blind and mute.  Orders, sir?”

Serpent’s lips parted instantly, but all his usual commands died in his mouth.  No, he could not tell his TIE Squadrons what to do, nor contact the flagship Adjudicator to liaise with the fellow Star Destroyer about who to attack first.  Zail could not even act in his role of Fleet XO and instruct other capital ships to form up on his for strategic attacks.  Quickly he re-prioritised his orders.

“Shields up, weapons batteries lives,” He said after a moment’s pause.  “Now, I need people, lots of people to report to the bridge.”

“Sir?” Asked Quinn, lost.

“We need to be able to see,” Zail told him.  “I want people at as many windows as we can, covering all sides and angles of the Brilliant.  Organise those with the sharpest eyes and best skills at estimating distances.  Arrange them into teams, and appoint co-ordinators for the starboard, port, and rear.  You and I can see the front of the ship just fine from here.  I want these people reporting back on exactly what they can see, giving our bridge officers as clear a view of the battle field as possible.”

“Yes, sir,” Said the Second Officer.  “Anything else?”

“Objects!” Cried Zail.  “Cups, datapads, comlinks, whatever,” He said, grabbing a nearby item and removing a pen from his pocket.  He scribbled Dominion ISD 1 on it and placed it on the useless tactical hologram relative to the lone image of the Brilliant.  “Use whatever comes to hand and label their ships and ours.  I want a map of the battlefield, no matter how crude, and I want it updated constantly.”

If Quinn thought the plan ludicrous then he did not object.  Indeed, he went about his assignment with surprising vigour, as if happy to have some sort of direction where previously he was lost.

Zail left him to it and ran over the crew pits.  Dev Mishima was there at the Com Station, and he was instantly glad to have reinstated the man prior to their arrival at the Sollamens System.  “Mr Mishima, I need a way through that interference!  We have to be able to communicate with the rest of the fleet.”

“Believe me, boss, I’m trying!” Replied the Petty Officer.  “No joy so far in sending even a basic audio-only transmission.”

“Then use military flash code!” Retorted Serpent.

“Sir?” Dev looked up at him, confused.

“It’s an old Republic code,” Explained Zail, “My father taught it to me.  Letters and numbers are rendered in short and long flashes of light.  Rig the Brilliant to send pulses of infra-red light beams to the Adjudicator and try to get some response.  Trick’s a clever man, I’m sure he’s doing something similar right now.”

“Yes, sir,” Said Mishima.  “I’m sure this code of yours is in the ship’s records somewhere,” He said, and got to work trying to find and use it.

Meanwhile Serpent was over at the helm post, talking to his highly skilled Chief Pilot, Ysanne Samasl.  She saluted as he approached.  “Sir?” She asked, ready and willing to help.

“Ysanne we are in a fix here, and I am going to need you at your best,” He told her.  “With no sensors you are literally going to be flying blind.  Are you up to it?”

The strong and determined woman from Bakura nodded firmly.  “No problem, sir!  You tell me what direction to go and how far, and I’ll guide the ship with a blindfold on!”

“That’s my crew,” Said Zail with pride, wondering what he had done to deserve such talented underlings.  Just don’t let them die like you let Vagen die! A little voice inside him said.

Returning to the front of the bridge, Serpent watched the approaching Imperial Dominion fleet.  From their numbers and configurations he guessed the force to be similar to, if not identical to, the fleet they engaged at the Bloodmoon.  Perhaps they are as out of reinforcements as VENI predicted? He mused.

“They’ll be in weapons range in a few minutes,” He estimated to Farish Quinn.  “Let’s get this ship ready for battle before then!”

And so they rushed on with their improvised plan...

OOC:

1134 words.  Actually my inspiration for the above was the planning room table full of toy ships on Battlestar Galactica.  If it’s good enough for Adama its good enough for me!

After Action Report:  Zail comes to the bridge of the Brilliant as the Dominion fleet approaches, and learns of the problems facing the fleet in terms of no sensors or communications.  He sets his people about trying to counter these problems.  Crewmen will look out the windows and report back rough positions of both friendlies and hostiles, and arrange representations of them on a table on the bridge (things like cups with the words ‘Star Destroyer’ written on it).  Meanwhile Old Republic military flash code will be used to send infrared messages to the flagship to try and coordinate the Second Fleet.

Brilliant! the blond Squadron Commander mused to himself upon noticing - as in actually noticing with his own two eyes rather than his sensors - the enemy fleet appearing from further within the asteroid field. One by one the Dominion ships appeared from behind large asteroids and from the looks of things approached confidently.

Like most Vast Imperial officers, Seth too had a bad feeling in regards to the lack of a proper resistance upon entering the system. He knew that if they managed to traverse the rocky belt then they would be able to jump anywhere within Dominion space. They would be able to push forward and attack their homeworld with everything they got or they could leave behind a large enough defensive force and send out smaller ships to harass and wreak havoc in the surrounding systems.

Regardless of whether the higher ups wished for a blitz attack or an effective siege, the truth remained that this particular system was positively essential to the war effort. This knowledge would've been known by both VE as well as the ID however. But if that was the case... where then were the ID forces? That was the question that the Onderonian pilot asked himself upon first entering the system. That was the question he now finally had an answer to.

The enemy fleet was indeed where it was supposed to be. They just happened to be smart enough not to make their move until they used a natural phenomenon to deliver a crippling blow to the invaders. Without firing a single shot the Dominion had succeeded in robing the Vast Empire 2nd Fleet of its eyes, its voice and its ability to properly coordinate.

Even if the Dominion was as crippled as they were, the knowledge that this would happen as well as the knowledge of exactly what forces would be coming for them would ensure they had a far better position in this conflict. For starters they would be able to coordinate prior to the actual attack, picking targets and order of destruction.

They'd also be able to group together in smaller units so as to ensure more damage could be properly dished out at the same time rather than rely on ineffective individual actions. Since both sides used similar military tactics it also would not be a difficult thing to imagine the sort of actions the VE would take upon realizing its grave condition... only to then consider at least one if not more counter-attacks to those very courses of action.

Brilliant! the Blade WC repeated in his head as so many small pieces of the puzzle began clicking together in quick succession. Whoever planned this whole attack certainly deserved some sort of medal. Whether the excellent planning would be enough to tip the scales however... that was still a different matter entirely.

For one, the VE ships would be in a fairly better condition than those of the ID. Even if they had about the same numbers, the VE would still benefit from more and bigger guns. Then there was also the matter of the fighter complements on either side. Although the VE lost its share of fighters above Bloodmoon's crimson skies, the ID losses in that department were considerably larger. Their bombers in particular had suffered quite a serious blow, whereas the VE still had a great deal of their own.

Then again the efficiency of bombers, and ordinance in general was pretty much uncertain given the state of the sensors. Bombers would need to get in quite close in order to manually unload their payload - something that wouldn't be that much of a problem... if not for the fact that they'd be unable to coordinate both amongst themselves as well as with other cap ships so as to ensure the areas, or at least the ships, they targeted would be further pummeled by strong turbolaser blasts.

Most fighters were similarly handicapped thanks to the wretched pulsar. Missiles and torpedoes would nine out of ten cases fail for certain, and maybe connect thanks to either luck or some really otherworldly mad skills. This in turn meant that the remaining fighters on either side would need to rely heavily on dogfighting.

Again, as far as numbers and even skill went, the VE proved itself the superior faction. Then again that was when its pilots were able to coordinate amongst themselves as well as make use of their sensors to detect the actual threats and then further rely on their missiles to help quickly mow down the enemy targets. Would the same pilots be able to produce the same results given the drastic change of circumstances, Seth Qorbin asked himself uncertain.

Well, regardless of how other fighters would fare DeepSix had faith in his own squadron. From the start they were trained and encouraged not to work together but rather to try and fend of for themselves. The lack of both sensors as well as missiles would still interfere with their efficiency but on the plus side all of Vornskr's pilots were handpicked vets that proved themselves capable on more than one occasion.

Given the same troubles would affect both allied forces as well as enemies too, all that remained to be seen was which side's strategy proved strongest. Would it be the ID's pre-planning and ability to learn to coordinate silently and ahead of time... or would it be Vornskr's unorthodox approach, where the strongest preyed on the weak with nigh impunity?

A smile spread across Seth's face as he angled his Avenger towards the approaching fleet. Given his lack of sensors as well as general flying style, the man believed that there was no better place to have an enemy than where you could both see him... as well as shoot him down when the opportunity presented itself.

The arrogant pilot knew that those following behind him would understand his intentions as well. They'd plunge right in the midst of enemy fighters and once there do that which they did best - split up and pick them out... one target at a time. Brilliant! the WC mused for yet a third time, only this particular time not in relation to past events but rather that of future turns and twists - the sort that would have the Dominion shaking and cursing in their boots...

OOC:

WC: 1059
AAR: An analysis of our current predicament followed by SQ's decision to lead the Vornskr squadron straight into the enemy fighter screen.

OOC:

VENI NPC Post

“I’ll stay here,” Said Agent Strings.  “You know, to liaise with our new allies.”

Ensign Grey could recognise cowardice when she heard it, but knew that taking the political genius into a firefight was probably going to do more harm than good.  “Okay, QuaD, Blade, with me!” She said, swiping a rifle from one of the men and leading the way out of the warehouse and towards Hades’ position.

As she went she turned to the Resistance leaders, who were currently making for hover cars with tinted windows in order to escape.  “You men get out of here, and take Strings with you!  However, I want you make public what happens next!  Use your resources, media and news contacts, whatever, just don’t let the Dominion suppress it.”

Premier Zaqarian paused before getting into his chauffeur-driven vehicle.  “What do you mean?” He asked, confused.

“We are going to kill every last Dominion Stormtrooper at that position,” Said Grey firmly, “And then we’re going to show all of Tilsec Prime just how weak Karstok’s grasp on this world is!” She vowed.

“But there is only six of you against thirty!”  Said Zaqarian, amazed by her audacity.

It was Agent Blades who answered.  “Premier, do you know what VENI calls taking on five times its own number and winning?”

The elected leader of Tilsec Prime shook his head.

“Monday,” Said Blades simply, and then he, Grey and QuaD broke into a run as they departed the warehouse.

-----

Grey barked into his com unit as her trio darted swiftly along the nearby alleys.  Blades knew the city of Tilsecara well, and lead them unerringly towards the sounds of gunfire two blocks away.

The noise of the fighting drew clearer as they got closer, and soon the VENI team noticed the Lartie hovering over the large tower building that they were rushing towards.

Suddenly, multiple voices came from Grey’s comlink, some sort of conversation between the other team members.  “Hades, what is it?” She demanded suddenly, sounding almost concerned for the other agents.

“Ma’am, I get the feeling things are about to fall through,” Came the odd reply.

Grey frowned, but then heard the sounds of large scale explosions and demolitions.  As the team rounded the bend at the end of the alley and turned to behold the scene of the fighting, she understood.

“Not good,” Observed Blades, as Stormtroopers in black armour used heavy ordinance to blast out the main structural supports of the building that Hades, Grim and Grin were in.  The street was clear of traffic this evening (probably to do with Governor-General Karstok’s curfew laws) and it was a good thing too, for explosions and pieces of masonry were all over the place.  Heavy fire erupted from the three E-Webb heavy repeating blasters that the Dominion soldiers had set up across the street, pummelling the building mercilessly.

The whole thing toppled, the lower side caving in, and the tower fell down sideways, crashing into the adjacent building in a thunderous groan that echoed all around.

The sounds of grinding steel and smashing stone died down, settling along with the dust and bringing an eerie silence to the scene.

Ducking back into the alley, Grey raised her comlink to her mouth.  “Hades?” She asked.  “Hades, come in!  Grim?  Grin?  Anyone?”

“They’re dead,” Said QuaD bluntly.  “Half our team is gone.”

“They won’t die in vain,” Said Grey, taking action.  She looked over the Stormtroopers who manned the three E-Webbs, counting two operators per repeating blaster and just over a dozen regular soldiers spread out along the street trying to control the area.  They numbered just under twenty in all, ten short of the total number of Stormtroopers a Lartie could carry.  Hades and his team must have got some of the remainder, but there could still be others hidden from her view.

“QuaD and Blades, hit the troopers at the second and third E-Webbs,” She ordered, pointing.  “I’ll hit the first one myself.  Once we’ve killed the operators, I want you pair to go on and take out as many other troopers as you can.  Meanwhile I will co-opt the repeating blaster and turn it on that Lartie before it starts laying down supporting fire.”

“Those troopers are quite spread out,” Said QuaD, peeking around and studying the area, “But even with surprise on our side it’s going to be hard to take them out.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Said Grey.  “With Hades and the others dead, we need to prove to the Resistance that we are still effective, otherwise this mission is over.”

“Understood,” Said the Agent, raising his slugthrower.  “Ready to go, ma’am.”

Grey nodded.  “Okay, then.  On three.  One... two... three!”

-----

The three agents emerged from cover, weapons firing.  Each of them was a crack shot, taking aim and firing almost without thinking.  Four Dominion Stormtroopers went done in the first few seconds, and the rest reacted quickly.  Some dived behind parked speeders or vending machines and returned fire, whereas the others dropped to one knee and fired from where they were.

QuaD broke into a drive roll, reaching the entrance of a shop and firing from there.  He took aim at the troopers working the nearby E-Webb, and before they could turn the potent weapon on his position he fired off a few shots with his pistols.  He caught both enemies, downing them instantly, and smiled in triumph as he turned to seek out new foes.

Blades provided covering fire for Grey as she bolted for another of the E-Webbs, rifle rattling out laser blasts in her hands.  Even on the move she was as deadly as she was beautiful, and both operators were dead before she reached them.  As Blades turned to the third and final E-Webb, Grey reached her goal and grabbed hold of the repeating blaster.

She did not hesitate.  She took the grip firmly, lifted the nozzle, and locked the Lartie dead in her sights.  She squeezed the trigger, unloading shots into the Low Altitude Assault Transport overhead.  The blasts ripped through the front canopy with uncanny accuracy, shredding the pilot and obliterating the controls.

Grey allowed herself a tight smile as the Lartie fell from the sky, dropping like a stone into a building down the street and exploding brilliantly.  Alas, so focused was she on it, that the Ensign did not notice the Stormtrooper taking aim at her from behind a hover-van.

The shot caught Grey in the shoulder, and she cried out in pain as the ground rose up to hit her in the face.

OOC:

1097 words.  Hades, Grim and Grin are crushed inside a falling building, and now Grey is down too!  Game over man, game over!

After Action Report:  Grey, QuaD and Blades arrive at the fight in time to see Dominion Stormtroopers collapse the building that Hades and his people are in.  Believing them dead, Grey orders QuaD and Blades to attack anyway.  They kill a few enemies, and Grey takes control of one of their three E-Webb repeating blasters.  She then uses it to down the nearby Dominion Lartie, but as she does so she gets shot herself.

Pherik ‘Serpent’ Zail looked through the forward viewport of the VSD Brilliant, feeling more anxious and afraid than in any other battle before.  With Sensors and Communications down across the Second Fleet, he felt isolated and alone in the face of the oncoming Imperial Dominion armada.  They approached inexorably, in tight and organised formation that clearly indicated that the radiation from the Sollamens Pulsar was not hampering them as it was the ships of the Vast Empire.

Zail opened his mouth, about to ask how much time remained until the enemy intercepted them, and then shut his mouth again.  No, there would be no answer to that question, or indeed the dozen other questions he routinely asked his crew to keep him appraised of the situation.

He glanced to his side, where Serpent’s crew were hastily assembling labelled objects on a table, creating a map of the battlefield simply by looking out of the windows and trying to judge relative distances by eyesight alone.  It was a poor map indeed, but Zail had nothing else to go on.

He studied the ‘enemy fleet’, made up primarily of stim-caf cups, and noticed the simple tags.  ‘ISD-1’, ‘CR-90 3’, and so on.  “We can’t even read the names on their hulls,” He mused.  Without being able to detect transponder codes they would be lucky to be able to guess the correct names of his own side, let alone the enemy.

“Sir!  Our gunners suspect that the enemy are drawing into weapons range!” Said a Junior Bridge Officer coming to his side.

“Hold position,” He said, noting that most other ships in the Second Fleet were doing the same.  “Have gunners fire at will as soon as they have a solid weapons lock!”  Fortunately the targeting systems on the Brilliant’s guns still worked fine.  His people could fire at the very least.

“Incoming fighters!” Said his Second Officer, Farish Quinn, simply from looking out the viewport.

“All gunners, fire!” Ordered Zail, and was reassured to see bright green fire lance forth from the Brilliant’s bow and jab relentlessly at the waves of incoming TIE Fighters.  For a few terrible seconds he was afraid that the pulsar would inhibit their ability to fire, but no.

The TIEs swept past, peppering the thick hull with shots but doing little to pierce the Star Destroyer’s tough shields.  Serpent’s blue eyes darted about nearby space, focusing not on the Dominion TIEs but on his own.  “Come on, where are you?” He queried aloud.  “Engage.  Engage!”

As if in answer to his prayer, he saw the familiar sight of TIE Interceptors with Vast Empire markings come roaring into the engagement.  Zail may not have been able to simply com then with what he wanted, but the pilots of Awe Squadron knew that their role was to protect the Brilliant, and they did it well.

He turned from the burgeoning starfighter dogfight and towards his makeshift map of the displacement of capital ships.  He had assigned several junior bridge officers to the role of constantly updating and altering the positions of the cups (enemy ships) and now that battle was joined it was imperative that they kept it up.

“Do you see that?  Are they dividing their forces?” Zail asked his temporary XO, studying the way that the ships of the enemy fleet were arranging themselves into clumps.

Farish Quinn nodded.  “They seem to be forming up into teams of threes and fours as they approach our force,” He agreed.  “Well timed and coordinated too.”

“They are no-doubt going to surround and pummel our ships one at a time while we are reduced to fighting alone,” Mused Serpent.  “Miss Samasl!” He cried quickly, speaking to his Chief Pilot.  “All reverse!  Keep us in tight with the Vindictive,” He ordered, naming one of the Second Fleet’s Strike-Class Cruisers in close proximity.  Decent ships in their own right, few enemies would want to pick a fight with a Strike Cruiser and a Victory-Class Star Destroyer simultaneously.

“Yes, sir!” Replied Samasl.  “Reverse... how far, sir?” She queried.

Zail inwardly cursed for not giving the pilot more specifics.  She was flying blind, after all, and could not even see the Vindictive.

“Straight course,” Said Farish Quinn with cool competence.  “Bring us back three klicks and hold position,” He clarified, sparing Serpent the need to.

“Yes, sir!”  Replied the pilot, and got right on it.

For the next few minutes, as the TIEs duelled outside, the Brilliant slowly moved into position.  Despite her skill and experience, Samasl treated the simple manoeuvre as if it was something to be done with great care and effort.  Which, in their current predicament, it was, but Zail could still see that the hard woman felt humiliated by how poor a pilot she was making herself out to be.

This situation is going to make fools of all of us, mused the Captain sadly.

During the move, his attendants continued to update their map, and Serpent saw that no Dominion craft were currently coming for them.  That gave him more time to study the enemy and decide on a plan of attack.  That was, if he could somehow communicate that to several other captains and have them bring up their ships in support of such a move.

As his blue eyes swept the tactical display (such as it was), Zail saw one of the young bridge officers trying to position a hostile, seemingly unsure of where to put it.  The youngster frowned in confusion, and barked into a comlink.  “Say again.  How many?” He asked.

“Problem, Petty Officer?” Asked Serpent.

“I am liaising with the team at the windows on deck 17, sir,” Said his subordinate.  “Earlier they swore that the group of ships over here,” He said, gesturing to the far left flank of the Imperial Dominion fleet, “Comprised four ships.  Now they claim three.”  As he spoke, he held up the ghost 4th ship that he had just removed from the table.  Clearly he was not sure whether to put it back down or remove it from the display entirely.

“What is it?” Asked Zail.

“A Lancer-class frigate, sir,” Said the other.

Serpent frowned, unable to recall how many of those ships he himself had seen.  “Very well, remove it and...” He trailed off.  A Lancer?  Those were pretty small capital ships, small enough to...  “How many large asteroids in that area?” He demanded suddenly.

“Sir?” Queried the Petty Officer.

Suddenly it was so clear to Zail, and he wondered how he could have been so stupid!  “We are relying on line of sight for a battle in an asteroid field!” He exclaimed, gesturing out of the window at the Sollamens Asteroid Field.  “If they start hiding their ships behind those rocks then we have no way of knowing!”

All of the attendants at the display were now looking at the Captain, as was the XO.  “Yes, sir, I see it!” Said Farish Quinn in agreement, as he studied the battlefield, he saw one of their ships, a Nebulon-B called the Fearsome, out near where that enemy Lancer had vanished.  “You think they are moving in for a sneak attack on the Fearsome?” He asked his CO.

Zail nodded.  “Exactly.  We’ve got to get there and help them!  Miss Samasl, new orders!”

OOC:

1214 words.  My character may be an idiot, but sooner or later he does realise the obvious when it stares him in the face long enough.  Thing is, has he been quick enough to do anything about it?

After Action Report:  The Imperial Dominion fleet and VEN Second Fleet meet and the battle has begun.  The Brilliant is thus far being ignored, as the Dominion fleet splits into small combat groups and goes after isolated foes.  Suddenly, Zail realises that, with no sensors, the Dominion could hide its ships behind asteroids in the Sollamens Field and launch sneak attacks that way, giving them surprise as well as co-ordination.  He now rushes his VSD to prevent one such suspected ambush, about to be carried out against the Nebulon-B Frigate Fearsome.

Bridge of the Imperial II-class Star Destroyer Adjudicator
The Sollamens Asteroids
Three minutes before the start of the pulsar’s active period


The Second Vast Imperial Fleet pressed on, deeper and deeper into the asteroid field.  All around the big capital ships, the starfighters and bomber craft of the armada flitted to and fro on their regular patrol routes.  In the uncertain environment of the Sollamens, though, what with the rocks and the intermittent interference, the little ships stayed closer to their home hangars than was their wont.

Aboard the flagship, Captain Wyl Trykon took in the scene from the bridge’s starboard viewports, next to the starfighter operations station.  His people were covering their feelings well, but he could almost taste the fear in the air.  The timid pilots, their whispering coordinators aboard ship… everyone shared a bad feeling about this one.  Trykon frowned, as he realized that his own personal sense of dread was much higher than usual, too.

“Now why would that be?” he murmured to himself under his breath, as another asteroid sailed past the viewport.  The circumstances were harrowing, to be sure – no soldier enjoyed the feeling of scouting enemy territory – but Trykon was a veteran of multiple campaigns, and had faced bad odds and likely ambushes before… So why am I so damned nervous? he wondered.  He focused on the star system stretching out in front of him, and he took a minute to meditate on the impossibly complex patterns of movement expressed by the thousands of celestial bodies.  The millions of asteroids dancing through space, pulled by the gravity of a single, unusual star…

Suddenly, Trykon’s sense of foreboding spiked, and his eyes shot open.  Adrenaline flooded his bloodstream, and he cursed out loud.  He spun around, and yelled at the top of his lungs: “The pulsar!”

Startled, confused looks greeted him.  The Kuati Chief of Naval Warfare had a reputation for maintaining decorum at all times, and none of the bridge crew had ever seen him start screaming in a moment of relative calm.

“Red alert!” Trykon shouted, willing his voice to cut through his crew’s bewilderment.  “Bring the ship about, and signal the fleet to form a defensive––”

But he was too late.  A bright flash of light heralded the start of the pulsar’s active period, and any advantage Trykon’s precognitive warning might have afforded the Vast Imperials was lost.  Still swearing loudly, the Kuati stumbled through the painful brightness, toward the center of his command bridge.  Maybe there’s still time to sound the retreat, he thought desperately.

The visible spectrum quickly returned to normal, but the tactical hologram that normally occupied the T-junction of the command walkways in the middle of the bridge was still dark.  “Report!” Trykon bellowed.

His Twi’lek sensors chief, Kath Notra, was the first voice to answer: “The pulsar is emitting huge amounts of energy, all along the EM band.  The signals are bouncing off the asteroids in a massively reinforcing feedback loop.  Sensors are inoperable.  External communications, too.”

Commander Zhar Bacredi, Trykokn’s XO, chimed in from up near the bow viewports: “Tally-ho!  Multiple spacecraft, incoming!”

Wyl’s gut twisted in upon itself.  His worst fear had been realized: an enemy had managed to lead him into a trap he had not seen ahead of time.  He had failed at the grand game of strategy, and he knew that the cost would be measured in lives, and would be sickeningly high.

Thankfully, the game of tactics was not yet over.

His mistake had left the fleet blind and deaf and mute, but Trykon’s racing brain was already coming up with ways to overcome these handicaps.  Infrared burst signals would probably be able to cut through the soup far enough to enable simple, short-range communications.  And the orders he wanted to give the ships of the fleet were certainly simple enough: “Retreat to the Bloodmoon System, in good order.”  The situation was bad, true enough, but it wasn’t unrecoverable.  Solid tactics could compensate for strategic failings.

Trykon scowled at the distant white shapes: white daggers, aggressively cutting through the asteroids to attack his people.  With grim determination, he began issuing orders to his crew.

OOC:

695 words.  Another little one to insert some choice information.

AAR: Just before the pulsar goes into its active period and the Dominion springs their trap, Trykon has a premonition of the coming disaster.  It comes too late to do any good, but it will serve as motivation for him: he knows he should have seen this coming, and is determined to mitigate his mistake.

The other juicy tidbit of info: Trick's orders, if he can get them disseminated, are simply to "retreat to Bloodmoon, in good order."  Now obviously, that's easier said than done, even under the circumstances.  But nonetheless, those will be the IC orders.

Grimacing as a pilot from Jexxel suddenly exploded beside him he spun his craft around and tried to find members of his own squadron. The matte black color scheme he had had painted on his fighters did protect them somewhat but it also made it nearly impossible to find them amidst the stars. Of course he did see a few of the black Interceptors running with their running lights on and so the original idea behind the colors had failed some of his pilots imaginations.

“Fraking turn off your bloody lights you bantha foddering idiots!” He shouted into the dead commlink angrily.

Glancing down as a habit he saw only the black screen from what would of been his radar and IFF systems. Most of his monitors were off or set to dim so it would better hide his loan fighter from the swarm of enemies circling around him. Aurek flight had become separated sometime shortly after they had met the enemy. He was alone in a fighter designed with numbers in mind and not solo action. He knew how to fly like this but he had learned in a brand new ARC-170 Starfighter. A craft that was stronger, had larger weapons, and better shielding systems. Not to mention much thicker armor that could take a pounding.

Now all he had was luck on his side. Only a few glancing shots had found his fighter but it would use up all his luck if someone simply flew into him by accident.

Throughout the week from Strill’s first inception till now Joamer had tried to instill a sense of solo flying to his squadron. It went against the Navy’s training about always stick with your wing-mate and probably made his brother Scral shout angrily and want to strangle him for what he was doing. It was times like these that would either prove his theory about what could be accomplished flying alone or finally end his life.

Flying like this meant he could not direct this battle. He was powerless once again to make any decisions but what immediately affected his life. A squadron that had trained together for months or years could stick together and know what to do. However with Strill everyone went their own way. He was not sure if all his pilots were still alive but he knew at least one of Jexxel had died moments earlier.

“Oh Trykon, you left us with zero ship support and took your pretty fleet off chasing ghosts. If I survive this I swear to you I’m punching you dead in the face.” He muttered angrily. He meant every word though. This was stupid tactics if he had ever seen them. This would likely seal their death warrants with enough time. The Imperial Dominion fleet had spent years operating like this. This was their home and they would give ground only when the price had been paid enough for them to do so. Second fleet would bleed here and they might even die here.

Breathing in slowly he let calm wash over him bit by bit. He could not change their situation he could only use the resources he had to keep as many as his people home as he could. What do you want to do now, Captain? A voice from his very distant past came to him suddenly.

“Same thing we always do. Fight ‘em until we can’t.” He said softly. Gripping the controls tighter he flipped his fighter over and rushed back into the maelstrom of fighters and transports. “Attention Dominion pilots. This is Commander Reistlin. I am leader of the five eight squadron and the CAG of squadrons Jexxel and Gundark. This is your one warning and single chance to stand down and leave this area alive. Do we you wish to proceed with your attack?” He knew they could not hear him, however as a commander he had to give them a shot to back down. Watching as someone from Jexxel began taking shots from two fighters behind them he continued. “I accept your terms then.” Squeezing the trigger he felt his Interceptor’s weapons shudder for a moment as green lasers played out over the hull of one of the attacking fighters.

A moment later the fighter veered off and tried to stabilize but it was too late. A a few seconds later her ion reactor went critical and exploded. Turning his attention to his wing-mate he followed him through a simple turn designed to see what was behind him but with his lights off he doubted the pilot could see anything. Flipping his cockpit lights on for a moment he waved to the pilot before he fired.

He was not sure what thoughts went through the pilots head as one of his laser bolts went through the transparisteel viewport. He switched his lights back off as the Interceptor began a lazy roll to port before it impacted a transport that had gotten too close.

“So you might not have updated radar systems. That is very interesting.” He said to himself as he increased his speed and dove back into the fighting.

OOC:

WC-858. Joamer has a few moments of self reflection before he gives the ID pilots one last chance to turn back. Of course they can't hear him but he had to do it. Taking out two fighters who were harassing a pilot from Jexxel he comes to the conclusion as the second fighter crashes into a transport their radar systems might still be affected by the pulsar.

Excerpt from Poison, Politics, and Proton Torpedoes: A History of the War Between the Vast Empire and the Imperial Dominion


During Captain Wyl Trykon’s tenure as the Vast Empire’s Chief of Naval Warfare, the Second Vast Imperial Fleet almost always fielded multiple heavy cruisers when it was deployed on offensive operations, and the action at the Sollamens was no exception.  During the so-called First Battle of the Pulsar, the full fighting strength of the Second Fleet was assembled, which included not only the very large Star Destroyers (like the Adjudicator and the Brilliant), but also tough cruiser-sized vessels, including the Dreadnaught-class Heavy Cruiser Peremptory.

Ships like Peremptory were the vital heavy hitters of the Vast Empire’s Navy, in the post-Palpatine years.  Born in the Rendili StarDrive shipyards in the heart of the Core Worlds, six hundred meter long Peremptory was a veteran of the campaign to conquer and hold Belgaroth, and before that had served in multiple deployments with both the Navy of the Galactic Empire and the Navy of the Galactic Republic.  She was one of two VE-crewed Dreadnaught-class Heavy Cruisers present during the First Battle of the Pulsar, anchoring the line of battle along with the four Strike-class Heavy Cruisers of Second Fleet.  Despite her age, Peremptory’s impressive armament – which included ion cannons, heavy turbolasers, concussion missile launchers, and a score of quad laser cannon turrets – ensured her a place of primacy among her fleetmates.

Only moments after the Sollamens pulsar went into the “active” phase of its cycle, Peremptory and the rest of Second Fleet had just entered a comparatively open part of the asteroid field called the Sahvoh Expanse, and it was there that the Imperial Dominion task force struck.  Without warning, still reeling from the loss of communications and sensors, the sentients aboard Peremptory suddenly found themselves buffeted by heavy turbolaser fire.  Blue lightning played on the shields as heavy ion canon fire drained the old battlewagon’s defenses of energy, and silent explosions lit up her decks as projectile weapons detonated over and over again in the cold vacuum of space.

Peremptory’s captain struggled to respond, in the face of the full fury of the Dominion’s surviving navy.  The Dreadnaught-class cruiser lashed out in all directions at once, desperate to beat back her attackers, but the diffuse counterpunch was no match for the combined arms of the Dominion fleet.  A broadside from the Imperial I-class Star Destroyer Reactionary settled the brief contest decisively, collapsing Peremptory’s shields and cutting deep into her hull.  Joined then by the smaller ships of her escort, Reactionary made short work of the outmatched Heavy Cruiser: within minutes, Peremptory was dead in space, and fires raged out of control all along her length.  Captain Raizo ordered his ships to move on to new targets, but in a cruel twist of fate, one parting ion strike shorted out the emergency electrical system aboard Peremptory, disabling all of the ship’s escape pods.  All sixteen thousand Vast Imperial sentients aboard died, most long after the Imperial Dominion had stopped firing at their ship.

But the First Battle of the Pulsar was just getting started, and the Heavy Cruiser Peremptory would not be the last of the Vast Empire’s losses on that day.

OOC:

538.  Phew.

AAR: The Dreadnaught-class Heavy Cruiser Peremptory is one of the first VE capital ships targeted by the ID fleet.  After just a few minutes, the concentrated fire overwhelms the shields, and Peremptory is dead in space.  On fire and with escape pods unable to launch due to battle damage, the crew of 16,000 all die.  And this is just in the first opening minutes of battle.

The chaos of the battle was obvious from the beginning. Even though they had been made aware that their coms would not work, the pilots of Strill were not prepared. The success of battles relied heavily on communication, and when those communication lines were lost, victory was a far stretch of a thought. But this didn’t mean that the Strill pilots would leave. No. Even though most of the pilots were green as a newly planted sprout, they had loyalties. And though some of them may have questioned their loyalties, even subtly, they still had to fight to survive the battle for themselves.

One such pilot questioned his loyalties. He questioned why he was even there and fighting at all. It wasn’t for the VE. Not fully. And his undying loyalty would always remain in a dead remnant that would never be restored. But he had another loyalty he could restore in time, and if he couldn’t find it in himself to fight for the VE, he could fight for that. For her.

The silence was driving him up a wall. The noise of the battle outside didn’t exist. After all sound didn’t perpetuate within space, and even if it did, it would have been muted. It wasn’t the lack of the satisfying explosions of ID ships blowing up though that was driving him crazy though. The lack of communications was driving him mad with paranoia. There had been one time in his life where com units had died completely, and it was within that time that his life had gone to complete and utter hell. He wouldn’t have that happen again. Not this time.

As he slid into place behind an ID ship, he diverted energy into the cannons and kept pace with his target. The pilot was good; trained to work in such an environment. Clearly they had practiced this more than once. That much was obvious as the ID TIE began to bank hard to the left and then down. Thatcher shook his head, “Nuh uh. You can’t run away from a Strill and expect to live.” Chimeras are also pretty dangerous. he added to himself.

Thatcher followed the pilot as he dove, keeping close to him and trying his best to keep the target in his sights. He was reserved in his firing, knowing that without coms, firing without knowing he had his target could lead to friendly fire. But as the TIE decided to stop diving and spin to the right, Thatcher was beginning to get annoyed. He thrust his TIE after him, rolling as he realized that the ID pilot was beginning to brake and allow him to lead. He managed to stay behind him but just barely. At this rate he was going to lose his kill.

“Oh frak it with being careful,” without another thought, Thatcher squeezed the trigger, feeling some satisfaction about the green bolts heading towards the ID TIE.

And suddenly there was another black TIE in his way.

“WHAT THE FRAK ARE YOU DOING YOU IDIOT?!” he shouted to the Strill pilot who would never hear his remark. Instead he was left to watch as a few bolts hit the shields of the Strill TIE and a couple others hit the ID TIE, clipping one of its wings. Thatcher sat back, realizing he had thrust his entire body forward when he had shouted. Now he had realized why the ID dog had been so playful in its movements. That pilot knew he was only concentrating on what was in front of him. He had been so blinded by his single target that he hadn’t been paying enough attention to the battle around him.

With Thatcher’s friendly fire, the enemy that had been following that Strill pilot only had to shoot a couple more times before the Interceptor was damaged. One ID pilot down on his end, and he was happy about that. But now he had caused one of his own to be subject to possible death.

If someone fell because of his own mistakes, he would never forgive himself. Thatcher grabbed the yoke and diverted energy to shields and engines. He’d make sure that VE pilot would survive, even if he had to do something stupid to do it.

OOC:

WC: 711
AAR: Thatcher reflects on his loyalties. He chases after an ID fighter, trying to avoid firing until absolutely necessary. However he becomes annoyed and finally shoots the ID fighter, injuring a Strill TIE in the process. Thatcher turns his fighter around to engage the ID TIE on the Strill Interceptor's tail. 1 ID TIE destroyed. 1 unspecified Strill fighter injured

CR90 Defiance

“Sir! It’s the Adjudicator!” came the cry from one of the lookouts, “Starboard side! Looks like some of the rest of the fleet are with her.”

Ensign Flynn looked to where the Crewman who had called out was pointing. Sure enough, there was the instantly recognisable flagship of the second fleet, Vast Empire emblem clear as day on her sides, even in the darkness of space. Around the Adjudicator, was an assortment of other vessels, some VE, and others Imperial Dominion. From his vantage point in the asteroids, Flynn could just make out another task force of ID ships bearing down on the VE forces. With no way to remotely signal Captain Trykon, Flynn made the decision to break cover from the asteroids, and head to the flagship directly, risking the lives of his crew, and himself. The Ensign had no choice: he had to get the message to the Captain. If he didn’t, then they were all dead anyway.

“Sir, those fighters are coming back around for another pass.”

But first, to get rid of the fighters on their backs. And the bomber!

“Helm,” Flynn spoke in his calm, commanding voice, “All engines full astern on my mark.”
“All engines ahead stern on your mark, sir.”
“XO, get the message to the gun crews: aim the guns past the bow, and fire when the ship slows.”

Continuing his preparations, Flynn thought about his plan. It was going to work … it had to.

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

The ID TIE fighter pilots had trained relentlessly for this battle. Ever since they had joined the Imperial Dominion Starfighter Corps., it had been their sole purpose: system defence. They practised for days at a time, with no radio contact, living in silence. They grew to know each other’s movements, and became in sync with each other: a deadly foe in these situations.

This particular flight was part of a squadron, named Gdan Squadron, formed for anti-corvette duty. The five pilots (four TIE, and one bomber) ate, slept and worked out together. However, they were one of the newest flights in the Imperial Dominion’s Navy, and, as such, were not meant to survive. Instead their job was to keep the foe distracted: in this case, it was the Defiance. With the ship already damaged, and the anti-fighter laser fire missing the mark by miles, it was an easier job than the Gdan pilots thought it would be.

Until Ensign Flynn gave his signal.

The fighters were going in for another pass, in pairs, with the bomber following behind. As they begun their strafing, the Defiance suddenly wasn’t where it should have been, the fighters shooting in front of the corvette, and into a wall of laser fire. Too late, did the pilots realize their mistake, as the hunters were turned into the hunted, and then into space dust.

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

A cheer went up from the ship, as the first, second and third ID TIE fighters exploded. The fourth managed to evade the laser fire, but got a wing caught in the blast of one of his brethren, and spun, uncontrollably, into the depths of space. Flynn wasn’t cheering, however. He knew the bomber was still out there, having aborted its run before it hit the laser fire.

“Helm, all engines ahead full. Take us to the Adj.”
“Aye aye, captain,” the Helmsman said, smiling, “All engines ahead full.”
Flynn turned to his XO, “I’m going to talk to the gun crews. You have the conn.”
“Are you ok, Mike?” Kate said quietly.
“I will be, Kate. We all will be.” Mike Flynn replied, wearily. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince the XO, himself or both. All he knew was that unless there was a miracle, the VE would have to retreat, presumably to where they had come from, and formulate a new strategy.

The Defiance cleared the asteroid field without further incident. The ID task force they had spotted earlier was still hidden away, and would soon be out of sight. CWO Kate McGregor prayed silently, just as the CO had done minutes earlier, that they would reach the Adjudicator, and be able to warn them, in time. Nothing was certain. Everything Kate had been taught could not prepare her for this chaos. She’d never been in a full scale battle such as this before, where all communications and sensors were out of action. Unheard of? No, but there was no preparation for it. How could they prepare for every eventuality? It was then that Petty Officer Dixon re-appeared from the comm centre.

“Ma’am? I’ve had a thought.”
“What is it, Dixon?”
“Well, seeing as how all our comms are down, the CO tasked me with finding a way to communicate with Captain Trykon.”
“Get to the point, Petty Officer!” cried a desperate XO.
“Blink code. Semaphores. Things like that.”
“I don’t think anyone speaks semaphore anymore, Dixon …”
“You can bet the comm officer aboard the Adjudicator understands Blink.”
Kate thought briefly about talking to the CO before making a decision, but he had said enough times that he trusted her judgment, “Do it. Take whoever you need, and set it up.”
“Aye aye, ma’am.”

When Ensign Flynn returned to the bridge, he found it a bustle of activity. His XO quickly filled him in on what was going on, as the Defiance drew close to the rest of the fleet, and came level with the bridge of the Adjudicator, avoiding incoming fire in the process. When they were about a kilometre away, Flynn turned to his comm officer.

“How close do you need to be for this to work?”
“This is probably close enough, sir. They should be able to clearly see it from here.”
“If this works, there will be a medal in this for you.”
“I just hope it works, sir.”

The entire bridge was silent, with the only noise coming from the sound of the corvette’s guns firing at enemy fighters. With baited breath, Dixon signalled for the lights to be cut, and pressed the enter button on the command console. The entire starboard side of the bridge’s viewports lit up, and flashed in a seemingly random fashion. Once it had completed its message, there was a few seconds pause, before it started again. This went on several times, to give the Adjudicator enough time to read the message. It was simple enough:

HAVE SPOTTED ENEMY FORCE TRYING TO FLANK YOU COMING FROM ASTEROIDS ORDERS?

Now it was a waiting game.

OOC:

WC: 1092

AAR: Flynn pulls a daring manoeuvre and destroys three of the four fighters pursuing the Defiance and sends the fourth spinning into space. The bomber peels off and seems to have gone. Having spotted an ID task force attempting to flank the VE fleet, the Defiance draws level with the Adjudicator's bridge, whilst the crew set up a makeshift blink code projector. They then send the message about the flanking ID forces, and wait for a response.

Grey moved alongside her surviving agents, lithely and silently speeding down the darkened alleys and away from the enemy troops. They were heavily outnumbered and with the three agents dead in the building - or so Grey thought - they had to rethink their approach. "Blade," the team leader barked as she came to a halt at a crossroads of sorts, "Where are we going?"

Blade stopped as well, dark, watchful gaze scanning the area as he was silent a moment, skin glistening in what little light there was. Despite said glistening, Blade seemed to blend in with the shadows - and it wasn't just his skin. The way he moved, the way his eyes flickered.. He was a shadow, Grey realised. He lived for infiltration. Finally, Blade exhaled audibly, like a predator. "We're being followed," he growled without turning around. "Don't turn around. Wait here."

"Blade, what-" she was cut off as the other agent moved forward, melting into the shadows. She cursed under her breath, cold gaze swiveling back and forth as she repeated his advice. Don't turn around, he had said. He had ordered her, a Grey, to not do something.. But she trusted him enough to listen. Sure enough, a few minutes later the click of weapons behind them allowed Grey and the remaining agents to realise that Blade was right.

There was a light thud as Blade landed behind the ones who were following them and Grey whirled around, pistol raised and aimed at the location of the clicks she'd heard. She did a double take, "Grin, Grim?" She asked, astounded as their faces were recognised. Blade stood behind them, blaster aimed at Grim, but far enough away so his aim could swivel between the two with ease. "You died in the building's collapse."

"I don't like this," Blade grunted, "it smells of betrayal to me."

"We survived." Grim responded with gritted teeth.

"What about Hades? Did he survive miraculously too?" Blade retorted before Grey could respond. The team leader waved her hand in a calming gesture, but nodded,

"Yes, where's Hades?" She questioned, cold gaze flicking between the two.

The whir of a blaster pistol powering up came from the shadows and Blade spun quickly, in an attempt to locate his attacker - or so he thought. He was faced only with a barrel between the eyes, before he could even get his own pistol up. Two green eyes watched him evenly down the sights, shadowed scar identifying him easily. "I'm still kicking." Hades responded coldly, "enough to end his life anyway."

"Hades?!" Grey barked, now realising they had all survived and there was some tension between them to say the least, "What in the devil are you doing?"

"The structure we were guided to. It wasn't structurally sound. The supports were weak and the Imperial Dominion knew we were there and just how to get us out." His face had a few cuts that had dried blood around them now, "who else knew that?"

Blade scowled but had the intelligence to remain silent. "Blade?" Grey inquired, not entirely dismissing Hades' question.

"I didn't know the building was unsound.." he murmured, shaking his head. "Damnit, I should have. Why else would it be abandoned?" he asked himself. "And the Imperial Dominion didn't know you were there. It's the only logical vantage point for miles, and you took out their advance team who were sent in. How else would they have known you were there? I've been with Grey the whole time and the only contact I have had was with her and you."

Hades continued eyeing Blade suspiciously before he nodded subtly and lowered the pistol to his side, waving dismissively at Grin and Grim to stand down. It seemed he had made his own friends. Grin and Grim looked to be obeying his commands.. Could be dangerous, Grey thought. If he chose to disagree with his orders, in all likelihood Grin and Grim would too. "Now that that's settled, can we get moving again please?" Grey said impatiently as if she'd not noticed the cooperation between the three not-dissimilar looking agents. "IN case you failed to notice, we've got your friends," she waved a hand at Hades, "coming up our ass in some personal vendetta, so right now these streets aren't safe."

"Agreed." Hades nodded, moving past Blade. The other looked to be rather disconcerted by the fact Hades had proverbially 'got the drop' on him. "We need to link up with the rebel forces, probably split into two teams. One with the rebels to aid the rebellion, another to lead a crack team to take out Karstok."

"My thinking precisely," Grey narrowed her eyes at Hades. Perhaps she'd underestimated him, though she had already known he was well qualified. "QuaD, Strings, Grin and Grim.. You're with the Rebel forces. Coordinate them. QuaD, obviously,  I need you to bring out the big guns.. Hit them in their strongpoints with sabotage, make it look like not terrorism but freedom fighting. Strings, coordinate their espionage," she nodded, "Grin and Grim, coordinate their ground forces. You two are the best suited for this job."

"Hades, Blade. You'll be with me." She tilted her head slightly, "I'll need Blade's local expertise and Hades' cross-specialisation for this job.."

The teams nodded respectively, as did Hades, though he watched Grey with an even - if not suspicious - gaze, wondering if she'd figured out that he, Grin and Grim had made an agreement to survive at all costs. They knew he could get them out of this, as he had done in the building, so they followed him willingly. They exchanged glances with Hades before he nodded reassuringly. "Alright. Can't wait to get a crack at this mad man.." The young Squadron Commander murmured.. "If Vrail gets in our way," Hades eyed Grey with a demanding gaze, "He's mine. That's that."

"You don't make demands, Hades." Grey responded smoothly, authoritatively, "I give the orders here. Remember that." Hades gritted his teeth but said nothing, before the woman continued, "I agree, however. Vrail is your quarry, not ours. But don't let it interfere with the mission."

"Yes ma'am." He nodded agreeably in response. Vrail would die.

OOC:

Wordcount: 1,036

AAR: Hades, Grin and Grim are alive. The trade suspicions before agreeing to be split into two teams - one for the rebellion, one for the assassination of Karstok. Hades, Blade and Grey are the assassins and the others are going to coordinate with the big Three to take down the mass of ID forces on the surface, and dislodge the body while Grey and her team cut off the head.

P.S. This is my thousandth post on the ComNet.. :motherofgod.jpg:

The Imperial Dominion Lancer-class warship bore down on the Nebulon-B Frigate Fearsome, barraging it with relentless fire.  Pherik ‘Serpent’ Zail watched the attack, which he had only narrowly been able to warn the Fearsome about, but was his warning enough?

The Nebulon-B’s TIE escorts fell to the Lancer’s shots, as Serpent observed and felt powerless.  The Lancer (with sensors and thus transponder codes jammed he knew not his name) was deadly accurate with its offensive, a stern reminder for the VE not to underestimate their Imperial Dominion foes.

“Is it in range yet?” Cried Zail across the bridge.

His newly appointed XO, Farish Quinn, dashed about the command deck, trying to co-ordinate the crew.  He was desperately trying to get comms back online but was thus far failing.  Turning to his Captain he said, “Another thirty seconds or so, sir.”  Anything more specific was currently impossible.

The Lancer was now down to just a handful of escorts, and desperately making for the cover of Zail’s Brilliant.  Meanwhile other Dominion vessels were rushing to join in the pummelling, for they were still exhibiting a cohesion that the activity of the Sollamens Pulsar had denied the Vast Empire Navy.

“Weapons range!” Said Quinn suddenly.

“Open fire!” Commanded Serpent immediately, “Hit that Lancer with everything we have!”

While inter-fleet communication was currently impossible, the teamwork and professionalism of the VSD Brilliant was as sharp as ever, and no sooner had Zail spoke than emerald-green turbolaser blasts erupted from his Star Destroyer and assaulted the enemy Lancer.

The Dominion warship’s shields blazed bright in the dark of the asteroid field, straining to absorb the intense fire of the Brilliant.  Serpent leaned forwards as he watched, as if trying to will the shots to do more damage.  He thought he could see the shields dimming in intensity, but perhaps that was just wishful thinking.  With no sensors he had no way of gauging just how strong or weak his foe was, and had to put into practice skills of observation and deduction that a career spent staring at data readouts had failed to develop.

“They are turning!” Said Quinn suddenly, and Zail noticed too the Lancer’s sudden change of course.  “We are driving them off!”

Serpent saw the Imperial Dominion vessel begin it withdraw, his people firing after it for all they were worth.  He would have liked to have seen the irksome anti-starfighter frigate destroyed, but no, it pulled back with only minimal damage.

There was no time to dwell on it, though, as a trio of other Dominion vessels came in.  Small corvettes amid a cloud of TIE Fighters, they made straight for the Fearsome.  By now the Nebulon-B had tucked in beside the Brilliant and joined its fire to Zail’s own potent warship, but even here a lack of communications hampered even the simplest of tactics.  As the three hostiles came in, Serpent ordered his people to fire on one (a CR90 Corvette) and had to simply hope that the Fearsome would take the cue and target the same foe.

It did not.  A hail of unfocused fire erupted from the Nebulon-B, and too late Zail saw what the fellow VE ship was doing.  “No!”  He cried aloud, as if the other vessel could somehow hear him, “Target the capital ships, not their TIEs!”

It was no use, however.  That Lancer attack had stripped the Fearsome of its fighter escort, and now the captain of the Nebulon-B was panicking.  That or he simply believed that the Brilliant could handle the three corvettes alone.  Not unreasonable to assume, but Zail would still have liked the help.

“Where are our own TIEs?” Asked Serpent, searching space with his cool blue eyes and being unable to track the nimble craft.  Their small size and grey hulls hardly made the TIE Interceptors stand out against the dark space and dull rocks of the Sollamens Asteroid Field.  Maybe if his own fighters dealt with the Dominion ones, then the Fearsome would join in the attack on the corvettes instead.

“They are rushing to engage the enemy fighters,” Said Quinn, the words music to his Captain’s ears.  “Seems like they have been making extra effort to stick with us and act as our screen even if we can’t give them orders.”

Zail felt relief at that, and made a mental note to thank the Brilliant’s Wing Commander later for training his people so well.  “Excellent,” He said, and resumed watching the battle unfolding nearby.

And then, suddenly, there was a flash of brilliant white light, and Serpent found himself recoiling from it, an arm raised across his face, half to shield his eyes and half in a primal defensive gesture.  When the blotches faded from his vision he glanced about and saw the Fearsome with a gaping wound in its side.

“What the frak happened?” The Alderaanian officer demanded.

Farish Quinn was speaking to the bridge crew quickly, but everyone seemed puzzled.  “Unknown, sir,” Said the Second Officer blankly.  “We think a random shot took out one of the Fearsome’s main power generators, but it could just have easily been a suicidal TIE impact or even some sort of torpedo hit.”

Zail did not know what hit him hardest, the devestation done to the allied frigate, or the fact that it had happened without any of his bridge crew noticing.  Again it comes back to sensors, he realised.  Without them we cannot see what is happening to friend or foe, how weak or how strong they truly are.  We cannot go on like this!

“The Fearsome is venting escape pods,” Said Quinn suddenly.  “Whatever that blast was, she’s out of the fight.”

“Reel them in!” Ordered Serpent.  “Keep firing to drive off those corvettes, but we do not leave this spot until we grab as many of those pods as we can!”

“Yes, sir,” Said the XO, and rushed to make it happen.

Serpent’s order to continue firing turned out to be in vain, for even as he spoke the small capital ships joined the Lancer in withdrawing.  They had taken out the Fearsome just as they had intended, but were unwilling to tangle with a Victory Star Destroyer such as Zail’s Brilliant.

Suddenly, the Communications Officer, Dev Mishima, piped up from the crew pit.  “Sir!  Incoming transmission on the infrared flashcode!”

“I knew other people would have that idea,” Declared Serpent, who had been badgering Mishima about it since the battle had began.  “Let’s hear it.”

“Its short, sir, but it’s from Captain Trykon on the Adjudicator.”  There was a pause, a hesitation, before the Com Officer went on.  “He orders us to retreat to the Bloodmoon in good order.”

Translation: It’s over, get out of here.

“Very well,” Said Zail, “Grab the last of the Fearsome’s pods and chart a course clear of the asteroids.  Sollamens will have to wait for another day...”

OOC:

1147 words.  My triumphant return after a two week absence!

After Action Report:  The Vast Empire’s Nebulon-B Frigate Fearsome has been destroyed, though without sensors Zail is not sure how.  Serpent is rescuing the ship’s escape pods when a flashcode message reaches them from Trykon.  The CNW says that its time to fall back, and Zail cannot argue with that analysis.

Grent was in trouble. His starfighter was very badly damaged, and the firing controls were intermittent. How was he going to get out of this one, he didn't know.

Grent began circling the large asteroid of Gwadd LK Nale, avoiding the fighting whilst he tried to fix the firing. After running a diagnostic's check, he surmised that when the Imperial Dominion fighter had attacked him, and strafed his wing, the laser bolts had disintegrated some of the protective casing around the firing wires, causing them to touch and short circuit, leaving the Mandalorian from Qiilura with no way of attacking. Of course, he could ram an enemy, but he would likely not survive. To quote one of his kin, he was no use to anyone if he was dead.

Resolving to attempt an emergency landing inside the hanger, and get a new Interceptor, Grent took his DC-17m from its holster, and affixed it to his chest holster. The rifle was now diagonal across his chest, which made being in the cockpit uncomfortable, but had the bonus of enabling Grent to switch ships fast, without worrying about personal belongings. Once sorted, Gurlanin began his final approach towards the hanger. He could see an ID transport also attempting a landing. A quick glance around informed the man that there were no friendly forces about to halt the enemy's approach, leaving him as the only way to prevent the transport from unloading whatever was inside: be it soldiers, droids, or a bomb.

Grent made a snap decision, and diverted to intercept the transport. Knowing he would have one burst of fire, the VE pilot stayed his hand until the last moment, when he was almost on top of the ID ship. He got off about five shots, before the firing jammed up again. However, just as he was pulling up, with the intent of looping back into the hangar, a grey TIE, obviously the transport's escort fighter, swooped in behind Gurlanin, and fired. Grent's engine and port wing ceased to be, causing Grent to go into an uncontrollable spin. Inside the cockpit, error lights flashed red. He had but one choice: eject.

Double checking the seal on his Storm Commando armour, and Katarn helmet, the Mandalorian made his first ever ejection in space. Everything went deathly quiet, as the boosters beneath Grent's seat launched him through the viewport at a tremendous speed, the lack of computer systems causing the ejection system to work incorrectly. He hurtled towards nothingness, then a flash of blue, then nothingness, then blue again: he was spinning. But to where? An explosion caught his eye, as Grent flung through the hangar ray shields, and collided with a wall, before falling down backwards several metres and on to the balcony overlooking the hangar bay. Grent landed forcefully on his back, and found he couldn't move, and was struggling to breathe. His HUD was telling him that he had no broken bones, which was a good thing. Winded then, if no broken bones, thought Grent, as he lay on his back, slowly feeling his senses return to him. One hand .... the other ..... both feet .... right arm ..... left arm ......... Slowly, but surely, Grent was regaining control of his body.

Outside the hangar came another explosion. When Grent had ejected, the force of the boosters firing forced the damaged Interceptor on a new course: into the transport. The explosion Grent had seen as he entered the hangar had been his TIE colliding with the rear end of the ID transport. This had led to the steering of the transport failing, as the explosion knocked out the remote signal receiver. The empty transport listed lazily into the side of the asteroid, and exploded, rocking the entire asteroid. Some of the hidden ID men struggled to stay where they were, as bits of rock fell from the ceiling and onto them.

Back inside the hanger, on the balcony, Grent was being treated by medics, who were quickly waved off by the mostly uninjured man. They helped him to his feet, and let him lean against the railings.

"You alright, Leading Crewman?"
"I'm fine. Armour took the brunt of the fall. Suspect I'll have a few impressive bruises, which the ladies will love no doubt." Grent winced as he spoke, which was covered by his helmet. The pain was worse than he let on.
The medic wasn't convinced, but let it slide, "If you're sure ..."

OOC:

WC: 742

AAR: Grent's already damaged fighter gets more damaged, and forces him to eject. His fighter hits a transport Grent had spotted earlier, and had tried to shoot before his weapons jammed again, and destroys the radio signal receiver, causing it to crash into the asteroid (apologies if I spelt the name wrong. Wrote this on the bus). Meanwhile, Grent, minus ship, lands inside the hangar, on the balcony he was on earlier after hitting the wall.

The atmosphere around the central meeting table was somber as the elected leaders of the abandoned Imperial personnel began to form new battle plans. The news that either Second Fleet was now in full retreat or had been destroyed was not easy to chew and swallow for most of them. For the man sitting without his breastplate on as he tried to mend the damaged undersuit, it was not. He had been abandoned once before on Thyveck, and the only thing it did was churn his stomach making him angrier by the minute.

After the news had reached the leaders of the various organizations the newly formed council of Death’s Asteroid began discussing new ways of dealing with the situation. A few wanted to continue to hold the asteroid in an all out fight. These tended to be mostly the younger men and women. The ones only in the service for a few months still harping for Emperor and Empire. The few who had seen enough death in their long careers knew deep down they were in deep trouble. Some of the other ideas involved using the fighters as a screen as a very few select members made a mad dash in one of the transports for freedom with the promise they would return.

He had stopped listening some time ago. The arguments and ideas now being brought up were now bordering on the insanely stupid with moronic sprinkled on top. It was taking all his strength not to draw his crysknife and just start cutting things.

Breathing slowly through his teeth Joamer said “I’ll only say it one more time. We are now in the middle of a siege situation. We are also, at the same time POWs. We have no true way off this rock and when their fleet gets here they can just sit in orbit waiting for us to die off or beg for capture. Our supplies are fine. We have over a month of food and water but our oxygen use is coming into question. Our CO2 scrubbers are not designed to work with the amount of oxygen we are using.”

The statement had the intended effect slowly. The assembled leaders sat down in their chairs and leaned back as their situation had finally sunk in. He knew some of them would never fully trust the leadership of the Empire again. Once you were openly abandoned like they had been it was very difficult to trust those put in power above you.

“Layana.” His voice was soft and he paused for a moment before he continued. “I know you and your crew spent a long time getting some of the racks outside but I need you to move them back inside the hangars now. Also I would like you to rig the doors on every hangar that holds fighters so they can be opened very quickly. Do these two things and I’ll owe you when we get off this rock.”

The woman was quiet but her eyes spoke of a promise he would live to regret one day. Standing up quietly she nodded once before walking off collecting technicians and engineers as she went.

Rubbing his forehead he went back to the quiet discussion taking place about the troop placement and the unasked question on where the bloody hell the Dominion troops were. Most of his headache was worrying over his squadron. Members of Jexxel and Gundark had returned and so had most of Strill. A few remained missing though and one of them was Avalar.

It was not long before he heard the airlock doors open and the sound of running feet heading towards them quickly. Acting on instinct he dropped to a knee and drew his particle magnum quickly. Brefik Mandermin the lieutenant colonel in charge of the battalion of Stormtroopers mirrored Joamer’s movement on the opposite side of the table.

Seeing one of the scouts both men rose as the other assembled people gave them odd looks. Opening his mouth to give the order to report he caught the slight smile from Brefik. After a moment he shut his mouth and waited for the one in charge of the scouts to signal for the report.

“Sir.” The scout said as he skidded to a halt in front of Joamer.

“Don’t call me sir.” Joamer mumbled under his breath.

“We located a down fighter from your squadron. Quarter klick south south east of the base.” The younger man said as he tried to catch his breath.

Grabbing his breastplate he made a mad dash for the airlock. Slipping it into place roughly he grabbed his helmet and forced it over his head as he skidded to a halt inside the airlock. Waiting for the atmosphere to cycle he snapped the breastplate into place and clicked his helmet into the life support system designed into his armor.

Half forcing himself out of the slowly opening door he let his legs find their stride as he ran full out south, south east towards his downed pilot. A thought he refused to let come true came to him suddenly. What if she had not survived the crash.

Darkness. Pure darkness surrounded her. She was aware that she was asleep, but she wasn’t sure whether it was the sleep of a dead person or the sleep of unconsciousness. Makenna was keenly aware of the situation that had gotten her there, and as she wandered through the thick dark cave of her mind, all she could hear echoing around her was the name she had been silently screaming before the ground had destroyed the TIE Interceptor.

“Tamran. Tamran. Tamran Valor.”

It seemed that the dead were indeed haunting her. She had been so close to accepting the loss of so many people, and now she had come to the conclusion that there may have been survivors. Even survivors beyond Tamran.

As she wandered through the thick soup of darkness, she blinked, noticing the touch of cold metal. Then, as she blinked, she saw small dots of what she assumed were stars, and in front of the stars were other shadows. And as she watched, those shadows shattered. The flames that burst inside the ships died as they ran out of oxygen in the vacuum of space. She looked beside her and saw Tamran, but he looked different. Instead of the Tamran she had known then, he was dressed as his alter ego, Thatcher. Makenna glanced to her other side and instead of seeing Zale, she saw Joamer. Then she turned and looked behind her, all of the members of the Chimera unit being replaced with the members of Strill.

“When darkness came and fires fell.”

Watching the hatch explode outward as he keyed the emergency release Joamer pulled himself up halfway into the badly damaged fighter. Sitting crumpled in her jumpseat Avalar remained unmoving as sparks from broken circuits showered down around her body. Tapping into her suit’s systems he brought up her bio readings and then sighed slowly as he realized she was mostly alright just unconscious.

Ignoring the large piece of shrapnel embedded into her left hand, he tapped a few keys on his wrist-gauntlet hoping the sudden injection from her suit’s emergency aid pack would wake her up.

Seeing her head move slightly he rested a hand on her shoulder as she very slowly raised her helmet to where his was. After a moment he smiled inside his helmet and said “You’re late by the way. I crashed half an arn ago.” 

Makenna’s eyes fluttered open as she caught only part of that sentence. Terror took hold of her mind as she remembered her dream. She suddenly sat up, “Tamran! Where is Tamran?” and then the next thing she felt was the pain as she moved her hand. She cursed and looked down, as the adrenaline from the pain made her more aware, “What the frak...?”

“I said you are late. I crashed first however I did not impale myself doing it.” Joamer said lightly as he began unstrapping her. He knew the shrapnel needed to come out but they would need the medics for that one. Lifting her gently out of the ruined cockpit he sat her down softly while still holding her up. “Think you can walk? This is not exactly the best place for a reunion.”

“Sure as hell I can walk,” Makenna grumbled out of breath. She attempted to stand, trying to prove that she had not been injured at all, but it became obvious that she wasn’t going to make it. Her head swam with dizziness, mostly from the blood loss from huge chunk of metal that had pierced straight through her hand. As she began to fall back against the damaged fighter, she felt pain shoot up her leg, “Oh that’s just fracking great. Really wonderful really,” she hissed as it became apparent that her leg had taken a blow in the crash.

Leaning down he scooped her into his arms with one supporting her legs and the other supporting her back. Turning away from the damaged cockpit he noticed someone reach in and unstrap whatever rifle she had placed inside with luck it was still functioning. Beginning to walk back he ignored the no doubt annoyed look she had on her face as she was being slowly carried back to base.

“I can walk dammit,” she muttered.

Stepping over a rock he continued to walk as he tried to find a way to say what he needed to say. After a while and seeing the base was now only a few hundred yards away he said “Iron four never made it back. I think Penom was the one who exploded a few minutes into the battle but I’m not completely sure.”

Makenna sucked in a breath, remembering more fully that they were in the middle of a war and that she had more people to worry about than just herself, “I liked him. He seemed like a really good guy,” she glanced back up at Joamer, “What about the others? Dead? Injured?”

“Casualties from Jexxel and Gundark. Their CO’s won’t release their names only their numbers right now. It’s part of their process for honoring their dead. Luckily only two from Jexxel. Gundark lost a fighter but the pilot is alright. He got too close to a transport and it went evasive on him. The only other that crashed from ours was Gurlanin. He decided to show off and land on his balcony though. I’m pretty sure he planned it too.” Joamer said as he stepped inside the airlock and waited for the atmosphere to cycle again.

“And Ta-Thatcher?” she quickly corrected herself, remembering that no one knew what she knew about the disguised ex-pirate, “I’m also surprised the drunk didn’t crash,” she added, making herself look a bit less obvious.

Stepping through the airlock he headed for the medwing of the large hangarbay. Setting her gently down on one of the beds he removed his helmet and said “They’re both fine. Came in about the same time actually gliding in on hopes and luck. The mechanics said it’s going to take some time to restart their engines. Apparently if you run them dead dry they kinda become annoyed.”

“Heh. Sounds like him...” she trailed off almost to herself. ‘Kenna reached to take her helmet off but remembered her hand which was now going numb, “Help me get this off?”

Reaching under her chin he gently unlocked the helmet and slid it over her head. Her hair was matted to the right side of her head from dried blood and her face looked ashen. “You’ve looked better for sure. Hey medic want to get over here and begin doing things?” He said as he sat the helmet down below her bed.

“Joa,” she said, grabbing his attention, “I can’t help but notice how fast people aren’t moving. What has happened while I was out? I remember seeing some of the ID fighters heading away from the asteroid but I hit ground not long after that.”

Sighing slowly he said “We think either Second Fleet is retreating or they’ve been destroyed. Either way we are now basically POW’s. Everyone is settling in for a long siege as we wait to see what the Dominion will do to us.”

“Great... That’s just what we need. To be left here to die in fire,” she sighed, wrestling with certain similarities between this situation and her past experience with mass death. Makenna then blinked, noticing spots beginning to form more prevalently in her vision, “Oh good. My body just realized how much blood it lost. Fracking lovely.”

Joamer watched as the medic began filling a syringe with something clear. He knew with her injuries they would put her under for the time being so they could better get a sense of what was damaged. He doubted it would be full anesthesia probably only a light form of it so they could take care of her hand. Using his knowledge of battlefield medicine he figured the blood loss was actually minimal it just looked a lot worse.

“Don’t worry. We’ll be here when you wake up.” He said softly as one of the medics injected the syringe into her arm.

Makenna would have responded, but the combination of blood loss and the introduction of the drug had caused her to fade out pretty quickly. Just as she went under, Thatcher burst into the room. Seeing Joamer there, he collected himself before the SC man looked over, “I heard a rumor that we finally found our XO. How is she?” the blond asked Joa as he saw that Makenna’s eyes were closed tight.

“Out like a brick now. She’ll be alright in a few hours for now she needs her rest and hey wait a minute.” He said as one of the medics began stripping off his breastplate. He felt the needle imbed itself into his neck before he was slowly lowered to his own bed. “Trai...tors.” he mumbled before his eyes closed.

Thatcher grimaced slightly at the needle jab, “Sorry, Joamer. Brefit found me and told me to tell the medics that you needed attention. He also made it official orders to take care of you regardless. I’m sure you’ll punch me when you wake up,” but Joamer couldn’t hear anything because he was already out.

OOC:

WC-2048. Collab between Avalar and myself. Ummm, just read it. It can't be explained in a sentence.