Imperial Star Destroyer II,
Adjudicator. Grent "Gurlanin" Notimo was underneath the TIE Interceptor that had been assigned to him when he joined Strill squadron. Grent made it his business to help out the maintenance crews, so that he knew what was going on in his craft. He also wanted to make sure the ol' girl was ready for combat. There had been reports of New Republic activity in this area, which was the whole reason the
Adjudicator was out here in this blasted asteroid field in the first place. It's was Grent's turn to go out on patrol soon. He had to take a fairly rookie pilot with him, newly graduated from the academy. It was meant to be a fairly straightforward mission: go out, patrol the set area, come back. If there was any contact with enemy fighters ... well, he would find out what the rules of engagement were in the brief. Speaking of which...
"Hey, sir? Time for the brief."
It was the rookie. A Twi'lek man, just. He was young. Naïve. Eager to please. He reminded Grent of himself when he first joined the Navy. He was very impressionable back then, absorbing everything anyone said. This man was very much the same.
"How many times must I tell you not to call me 'sir'? I'm not an officer, Ji'lark."
"Sorry, si-.. Grent." Stammered Ji'lark, slightly out of breath from running to the hanger which Grent was in.
"You'll learn, kiddo," Grent said, as he slid out from under the starfighter, wiping oil off his hands on his coveralls.
The two pilots walked out of the hangerbay, Grent's strill, Tracyn, who had become a familiar sight to the mechanics, lolloping behind them. The sauntered through the pristine ship, mouse droids scuttering about beneath their feet, as they passed, and saluted, officers. Eventually, they reached the briefing room, stopping briefly to let Grent change from his coveralls into his flightsuit. They then went into the small room, and sat down in a couple of the seats facing the board. Images of starcharts, asteroid drift predictions, and patrol areas floated across the screen. Their briefing officer, Ensign Lewis, was waiting for them in the adjoining room. The two pilots stood up in unison, as he walked in and stood behind the lectern.
"As you were, gentlemen," he said, indicating for the men to sit back down, "I'm Ensign Lewis. I shall be giving your briefing for this flight. As you know, we are here because of reports of New Republic activity in this asteroid field. We don't know what they're doing here, or even if they are still here, but Naval High Command wants us to make sure they're gone before we leave." The Ensign tapped a few controls on the screen in front of him, and brought up the map of the area, highlighting a portion, "This is your patrol area, between checkpoints Delta and Foxtrot. Your flight will be 'Papa' flight. Gurlanin? You're flight leader." Grent nodded in understanding, and started taking notes.
"What are the rules of engagement, sir?" Grent asked.
"Standard SoP: don't fire unless fired upon. We don't know if they've got a cruiser nearby. If you see any enemy craft out there, call it in, and get back here ASAP. If they do fire upon you, you are authorised to return fire. Anything else?"
"No, sir."
"Good luck, gentlemen. Dismissed."
Ji'lark and Grent stood sharply, once again, before making their way out of the briefing room, and heading to the hangerbay, once again, to start their pre-sortie checks. Grent approached his Interceptor. The mechanics had finished up, and had loaded it with a full armament. He bent down, and took his helmet from Tracyn, wiping the slobber off, before putting it on and climbing into the cockpit. He started running his pre-flight diagnostics, checking off everything on his datapad: everything was good to go. He commed Ji'lark.
"Ready to go on your first patrol, kiddo?"
"You bet I am."
"Just remember: no heroics. You're no good to anyone dead."
"Roger that."
The two TIE Interceptors took off, and slowly exited the hanger, passing through the ray shields, and out into the asteroid littered space. Grent plugged in checkpoint Delta into his navi-computer, and banked off towards it, Ji'lark on his six. All was quiet. They had to change course a couple of times to get out of the way of some of the larger asteroids, but other than that, they saw nothing. It was a perfect first patrol for the newbie: or so it seemed.
As the two Interceptors rounded checkpoint Foxtrot, and started making their way back to the ship, three New Republic X-Wing fighters rounded the asteroid in front of them.
Space went silent, quieter than quiet, as the two opposing forces considered their options.
Grent decided to play defensively, and banked hard right, shouting "evasive manoeuvres!" down the comm to Ji'lark. The New Republic pilots had gone for the offensive option, and opened fire upon the pair. Grent dived behind an asteroid, two of the X-wings on his six. The other went after the rookie behind another asteroid. Laser fire streamed past Grent's cockpit, as he poured everything he knew into getting out alive. His first thought, however, was for Ji'lark: he wasn't prepared for experienced X-wing pilots. Grent rounded the asteroid, just in time to see the X-wing pursuing the rookie find its mark. The red lasers stormed into the rookie's Interceptor, tearing it apart. One of the wings came off. The last Grent saw of Ji'lark, was what was left of his fighter spiralling out of control, and into an asteroid, exploding on impact. Anger surged through Grent at the loss of a fine young man. He opened fire on the X-wing that had killed his friend, only just managing to graze it. His vision blurred: his only thought was to kill that X-wing.
But the training he had received kicked in, and he frantically opened comms to the
Adjudicator, desperately trying to stay calm, "This is Papa Leader. Have encountered enemy X-wings. Lost my wingman. Requesting assistance."
There was a pause before any response came through, "Roger that, Papa Leader. We're scrambling help for you now. Just stay alive."
"That's easy for you to say!" Grent responded angrily, as more laser bolts scorched his fighter, "They're all over me!"
Grent headed straight towards a moving asteroid, swerving erratically to try to prevent any more hits. He had all three X-wings blasting at him now. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed an asteroid drifting towards them. If he timed it right .... He sped up, forcing the fighters following him to do the same to catch up. Suddenly, Grent threw on the reverse thrusters, sending the X-wings hurtling ahead of him, and into the path of the asteroid, before pulling back on the control column, until he had gone through 180 degrees, then levelling out. It would give him some breathing room. Two of the NR pilots saw what Grent had nearly tricked them into doing, and performed evasive manoeuvres, splitting off in wide arcs to avoid the large space rock. The third pilot only saw it too late, and disappeared in a ball of fire. Grent hoped it was the one who had killed Ji'lark.
"One tango down," reported Grent over the comm, "Approaching checkpoint echo. Will proceed to ... woh!" Laser fire told him that the two remaining X-wings had re acquired him. They were persistent, Grent would give them that. He wasn't sure if he was going to make it, however. Yes, he had taken one down, but is by the merest chance, and the was only so many times he could reply on Lady Luck to help him out. More laser fire, the red light illuminating the many asteroids around them, threatening to crush them.
They had passed checkpoint echo now. Gurlanin angled his fighter towards Delta. From there, it was a clear shot back to the ship. The Mandalorian focused on that, on getting home and back to Tracyn. He was sweating madly. The leader of the flight that had been scrambled to assist him had just commed to say that they were two minutes out. Two minutes to survive, or die. Grent prayed to Manda that it would not be the latter.
Another idea sprang to mind, as a laser bolt hit him, causing an array of warning lights to start flashing on his HUD. In a desperate attempt at survival, Grent threw the thruster controls back once again, decelerating massively, before pulling up on the control column, going around 360 degrees, and coming down behind the enemy fighters and accelerating again. Now the tables were turned. He locked onto one of the fighters, and fired off a stream of laser bolts from his canons, the green lines speeding through space, hitting asteroids, even breaking a couple, sending chunks flying. Grent had to stop firing momentarily to dodge one of the chunks.
Then, from the silence, came a voice over the comm, "The cavalry has arrived, everyone."
Grent breathed a sigh of relief, as the shapes of four TIE Interceptors emerged from the darkness, and engaged the X-wings. The New Republic pilots fled, tails between their legs, but not quickly enough. They were expertly shot down, and destroyed by Grent's rescuers. Grent opened comms again.
"Thanks, Joamer. I owe you one."
"More than one, Gurlanin. But I'll let you buy me a drink back in the mess." Replied his Squadron CO.
"Ha ha," Grent laughed, adrenaline still coursing through his system, "I'd say you've deserved it."
"Here that, everyone? Drinks are on Gurlanin."
Grent had never been happier to see his wingmates. It had been his first proper engagement with an enemy, and he had survived: just. But one man hadn't. Grent knew that he would carry the burden of Ji'lark's death for years to come, as he sat down that evening at his desk, and started writing a letter to Ji'lark's parents. He had requested that he be the one to write it. He felt it was his duty.
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- WC: 1,691
