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Drac
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Drac
 
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  Wildfire Squadron: Running Wild!
November 16, 2016 2:35:21 AM    View the profile of Drac 
“Alright, everyone, let’s get it together.” Paxton Marok smiled at the pilots around him, who had been engaged in lively conversation before he’d walked into the ready room. The various shades and colors of their faces and hair made a sharp counterpoint to the bland Imperial grey of the room, and a slight tang of sweat that never quite went away completely at least added some character to the otherwise dry, recycled air.

Continuing in his slightly gravelly voice, the young Warrant Officer 1st Class got his pilots’ attention, “Now, then. Is everyone ready for another training run today?”

A round of groans answered his question, and Pax smiled again. Of course they weren’t. They were fighter pilots, and after several months of simulator work and training runs since the squadron’s formation, they were more than ready to get out there and take someone down for real. Fortunately, the datapad in his hand carried the news that they’d all been waiting for.

Nodding judiciously at the groans, the Mon Cal waved the datapad, “Well that’s good! Because today is no training run. It’s time to get out there and get into some real action.” A round of whoops followed that announcement and the mood in the ready room rose immediately, though it was tempered by the presence of the several veteran members of the squadron who’d already seen plenty of action over the last couple of years.

“Our target is a New Republic outpost in the Zaadja System. It isn’t particularly large or important, but it is uncomfortably close to VE space…”

Pax continued on with the briefing, passing around datapads showing first the local space around the Zaadja System and then a system map itself. The New Republic outpost was on the sole inhabitable planet in the system, the frozen wasteland that was Zaadja itself. He noted that, per their usual policy, the New Republic had usurped what others had built before- the outpost was constructed out of the remains of a Separatist droid factory that was destroyed during the Clone Wars nearly 40 years before.

As the briefing continued the young Mon Cal fielded questions from his people to the best of his ability, working off of the limited knowledge available to him. There wasn’t a lot of resistance expected, but the intelligence reports did say to expect somewhere between a flight and a full squadron of NR Starfighters on-site to defend the outpost, plus eight to ten gun emplacements in and around the outpost itself. It wasn’t the softest target ever, but neither was it too much for a single squadron to handle.

As they wrapped up the briefing, Pax gave his pilots a nod, “The Dead Gun is already on her way to the Zaadja system, so be in your cockpits in twenty minutes. Make sure you’ve got a full load of concussion missiles. We’re going to hit this outpost fast and hard, and leave them nothing to rebuild with.” He paused, breathing deeply, and channeled his excitement for his first mission in command and his confidence in his pilots into his voice, “We’re ready for this people. Stick with your wingman, watch each others’ backs out there, and let’s all come home together. I’ll buy the first pilot to get a kill a drink tonight.”

OOC:
Meet & greet, interact with each other, and react to the mission itself. Do a little CD if you want and get your characters into their cockpits. Each of our Interceptors has six concussion missiles in its payload, in addition to its lasers. I’ll post the initial roster in the squadron discussion thread sometime tomorrow.
NCC/LCPT Drac/ISD II Halcyon Warrior/TF: Aurek/1Flt/FC/VEN/VE
Captain of the ISD II Halcyon Warrior
[SoA][MC1][MC2x2][NSR1][NT1][SoV][CBV][SoL][SWC][NSR][GCR][GWC][*AO*](=*A*=)(=*SA*=)
"Think Ackbar, but Imperial."

TRN/INI Drac/VEDJ
[This message has been edited by Drac (edited November 16, 2016 9:04:07 AM)]
Raigen
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Raigen
 
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  RE: Wildfire Squadron: Running Wild!
November 16, 2016 4:57:45 AM    View the profile of Raigen 
Raigen had shown up on time to the briefing, but out of uniform for the most part.  Actually he was out of regulation by any sense of the word.  Just at first glance, the twenty five year old was sweating profusely, or at least he was recently. He’d taken what little time he had onboard for PT, physical training.  A five mile run, followed by thirty minutes of calisthenics, another five mile run, weights, and a final five mile jog just to cool down.  Under a sweaty, freshly shaved head, he was sporting a scruffy looking five o clock shadow.  A sleeveless white shirt, sweat stained, hung over a slender but chiseled build.  A red krayt skull tattoo emblazed his right bicep, and the blue phoenix wjng insignia worn proudly on his left.  Raigen was truly a man of two very different worlds.  Around his waist, the top half of black coveralls were tied via the sleeves with a certain lack of care.  They were borrowed, as he had no belongings to speak of and his uniforms had yet to be delivered to Hellfire Squadron’s new barracks.

Raigen stood quietly in the back of the briefing room, not drawing any attention to himself as he stood, arms crossed watching and listening intently to his new commander.  Raigen rolled his eyes as the briefing drug on, however short it may have been.  His eyes locked with Warrant Officer Marok for a moment.  They hadn’t spoken yet, but it was no secret that Raigen was unhappy with his placement in the squadron, a point he made emphatically to the upper echelon upon assignment.  He had insisted upon being placed in a shipboard role.  And why shouldn’t he be? As many years AWOL as he may had been, he had more experience than many of the faces in the room, many of which he only knew through personnel files, and he wasn’t eager to climb back into the Imperial deathtraps they passed off as Starfighters.  Especially not with a rag tag squadron of which Raigen had never served with before and had flown together, at most, once.  Not eager to put his life on the line, and less eager to put it in the hands of the men around him, Raigen hoped he could survive long enough to be reassigned to a role with. . more retirement options.

His jaw dropped as the briefing continued, his reservations apparent.  Warrant Officer Marok more than likely would have seen his disapproval, even before the meeting was over and the squadron filed out of the conference room. Marok would have been on his way to the fighter tubes when Raven approached him from behind. “Sir. . .Sir, you can’t be serious.  They want us to engage this outpost directly?  With no word if the enemy will have reinforcements in hyperspace range?  Lieutenant.”

“Stow it, pilot. We have our orders, we launch in twenty minutes, less now.”

“Sir, I didn’t say this in the briefing room for a reason, I don’t want to worry them anymore than necessary, but doesn’t this seem like something that could be done from orbit, with turbolaser batteries? With all due respect, sir.”

Paxton Marok continued walking as they spoke, “With all due respect, crewman, I’ve read your file.  You didn’t want this position, even though you have as much experience if not more than the other members of this squadron.  You didn’t want to put your neck on the line. You came onboard as a fugitive from the New Republic, a prisoner. And you serve at the pleasure of this Navy, this vessel, and in all honesty, myself.  So my suggestion is to tighten up and show you can be a member of this group before you start making suggestions, or you may find yourself in a very familiar situation.” Paxton Marok continued on without as much as a look back before sighing and turning to Raigen, "We have a second squadron on standby.  This mission is as much about brushing up as it is eliminating this outpost, so if you're so confident you know what you're doing, show me."

Tough love, Raigen thought as he broke off for the barracks, where he was lucky enough to at least find his pressure suit and what had to have been a used flight helmet from the scorch marks.  Dressing quickly, he made his way out of the squadron barracks last. Sprinting, he caught up with his squadron still climbing into their Interceptors. He thought, at least we aren’t flying the toscan leftovers.  In fact, compared to what he was used to, these were fairly new. . .newish.  Raigen pulled the black helmet over his head, the life support tubes trailing down to his chest pack.  Lifting himself with both hands, he swung his feet over the cockpit hatch on top of the interceptor and dropped his body inside. Some things never changed, including the checklists and layout of the familiar craft.  If he was going to fly a deathtrap, he thought, he was glad it was a highly advanced one like the Tie Interceptor. 

“Green lights across the board, Hellfire 12 checking in. Call sign is Dirty, if anyone needs me."
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CPO Raigen DarkBlayde Tei-Yehn/VE (=*A*=)(=*SA*=)(=*BO*=)[VC:B][SWC][BRC][NS-2] ==RETIRED==

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[This message has been edited by Raigen (edited November 16, 2016 4:18:38 PM)]
Raigen
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Raigen
 
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  RE: Wildfire Squadron: Running Wild!
November 17, 2016 6:03:00 PM    View the profile of Raigen 
Briefing minus 2400 hours


    Petty Officer 2nd Class IIan Trask, originally a helmsman he was moved into a logistics position and given the command of a small cargo freighter before navy personnel moved him into the straighter corps to fill the growing need for adept pilots.  Barely breaking into the top half of his class, his personnel file was full of strong character recommendations such as unimpeachable moral standards and team player.  At any rate, IIan spent more time in the simulators than any pilot in the squadron.  And the time spent was not lost on him, over the past few years, he’d actually become a competent pilot, rivaling the aces in the starfighter corps in ability, if not overall kills. Nevertheless, he still spent every spare moment in what the Navy had taken to referring to “The Game Room.”

    The same size and layout as the tie tubes on most star destroyers, entering one of the simulators required dropping oneself into the eyeball shaped pod just like any mission.  Notable differences were that, instead of a viewport canopy, there was a digital three dimensional display, and the eyeball cockpit was attached to large mechanism that rotated the ball in all directions to simulate the momentum and g-forces found in various mission environments.  As pilots were allowed to program in their own missions, a variety of different options had become available over the years, and the most popular had become, killzone.  Killzone was a zero G space battle between two flights in the mist of a larger AI controlled squadron.  Both teams were provided with tie interceptors painted either red, or blue based on which side you were on.  Score was kept based on kills, saves, and assists weighted differently for the three with a bonus score for staying alive and number of teammates alive at the end of the battle.  And over the years, one name had conspicuously made its way to the top of the scoreboard, PO2 Trask.

    It was just after mess, and the ceremonial game of after breakfast killzone was about to begin.  In fact, it was not uncommon for the Navy’s best pilots, or those that likened themselves that way, to race through their breakfast to get a spot in one of the eight simulators. Likewise, scores of younger pilots would rush through the meal to get a glimpse on the viewing screen near the entrance to the game room while the more seasoned pilots, and even some army personnel, would watch on their datapads or have the footage streamed to one of the viewscreens in the mess.

    IIan Track was not one of those pilots.  IIan grabbed only a portion of fruit and bottle of water, skipping mess entirely for a quick jog about the ship that ended at the simulators well before anyone was finished their meal.  On any other day, he’d be the only one present, the first one there.  Today, IIan was surprised to see a rather rough looking crewman with gray overalls half-on, tied about his waist.

    “Don’t tell me the sims are down.  You may have a riot on your hands.” IIan remarked as he crossed his arms, examining the scruffy looking crewman.  The man didn’t speak at first, only looking at IIan; exchanging inquisitive, he finally replied, “I’m a pilot, I haven’t been assigned yet.” The man spoke harshly, as if the fact that he would soon be assigned angered him somehow.

    “Ohhhkay? You’re here for killzone, then?” IIan looked the man over again.  He surely didn’t look like a pilot.  The man looked more like a mechanic, and the coveralls and black sleeveless tunic weren’t helping that effect.

    “I’m just here to use the simulators. . .Apparently it’s not accessible during mess hours.” The man seemed angry, a scowl cascading over his face as he spoke.

    “Yeah they do that so people skip lunch, then it kinda became a tradition that there be a killzone game after every meal.  The best pilots play after breakfast, lunch and dinner are a crapshoot.” IIan tried to smile and console the man who merely scoffed at the word ‘best.’
    “So you’re the best pilot, then?” He asked, facing the petty officer with disbelief.

    “Well, no. I mean, the scores only keep track of this ship, and the more you play the better your score is, and I happen to have the high score on this particular game.  I wouldn’t say I was the best pilot, not even the best on this ship.” IIan was taken aback by the man’s ferocity.  Bu the man simply nodded as IIan spoke, as if he had said the exact words he wanted to hear. IIan shrugged; and the sound of scores of pilots barreling down the corridor toward the Sims could be heard.  There was a loud his, as the hatches opened.  IIan would take the forward most hatch, the man moved to the last, they’d be on separate teams.  IIan was curious.

(( OOC: Anyone wants to jump in on this, feel free to write yourself in. ))
==================
CPO Raigen DarkBlayde Tei-Yehn/VE (=*A*=)(=*SA*=)(=*BO*=)[VC:B][SWC][BRC][NS-2] ==RETIRED==

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[This message has been edited by Raigen (edited November 17, 2016 6:04:12 PM)]
Slasher
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Slasher
 
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  RE: Wildfire Squadron: Running Wild!
November 19, 2016 12:09:11 AM    View the profile of Slasher 
Jix gulped deeply from the mug of non-alcoholic synthale that the barkeep had placed on the counter in front of him for a small sum of credits. He would have preferred to drink the real stuff, but as he was technically on duty he had to avoid it.

They do these rotations through alert squadron just to force me to sober up and stop getting into fights, though it's not exactly my fault...

It wasn't his fault, not really. Jix had a weak spot for the hard stuff, and when he started to get a little tipsy he would lose control of his pheromones. It wasn't so much that he picked fights, as that his body picked them for him.

Suddenly an alert tone interrupted Jix's musings, it was his comlink, with instructions to report to the briefing room. With a grunt and a sigh of resignation Jix heaved himself off of his stool and made his way out of the bar and through the corridors of the Dead Gun.

When Jix reached the doors of the briefing room, he looked down and quickly took inventory to make sure that his uniform was in order before stepping through the door and taking his seat among the other pilots. He saw several that he recognized from their time on the simulators. Jix had not bothered to learn the names of most of the pilots yet. He had seen far to many squadron mates die in his nine years, and had learned to never make friends until after the first couple of missions had passed and whoever was still there at that time was obviously at least a decent pilot.

“Alright everyone, let's get it together.” came the somewhat gravelly voice belonging to the squadron commander, another Warrant Officer 1st Class, had introduced himself as Marok if Jix remembered correctly. Chances were good that Jix himself could have been in that position had he not been involved in so many fights, and had it not been for his crazy antics in combat. He half listened to the briefing with ears trained from years of such briefings to seize upon the important information and file it away for further review at a later time if needed.

Jix took the datapad that was offered to him and reviewed the information contained within.

Zaadja huh, and occupied by those accursed New Republic Huttspawn no less, I only hope I'll be able to add more of them to my kill count.

As the briefing came to a close Jix stood and moved quickly out of the room. His earlier annoyance forgotten, he had a chance to kill some New Republic soldiers, and that was all he could have asked for.

Jix quickly moved into the equipment room across the way, and began to pull on his equipment, he slid off the uniform jacket, and pulled on the harness that holds ten of his throwing knives, before replacing the uniform jacket, and beginning to pull on his flight suit, but not before he stashed four or five more in his uniform pockets. Finally he pulled on his flight harness, slide the pair of Q2s5s into his boot holsters, and slid an FSK-7 combat knife into the sheath on the inside of his boot. That done he slipped an additional 5 throwing knives into the sheaths he had placed into his flight suit pockets, and started to make his way toward the hanger deck.

Jix pulled his helmet over his head, where it sealed with a slight hiss, and began to make his way down the ladder into the cockpit of his TIE Interceptor.
CPT Slasher | Chief of Naval Training


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[This message has been edited by Slasher (edited November 19, 2016 12:10:14 AM)]
[This message has been edited by Slasher (edited November 19, 2016 12:10:56 AM)]
Slasher
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  RE: Wildfire Squadron: Running Wild!
November 19, 2016 5:49:39 PM    View the profile of Slasher 
==Same time period as Raigen's last post==

Jix sat and mused as he picked at the food in front of him. He ate only as much as he absolutely had to keep his strength up, and then stood and left the mess hall. He made his way toward the simulator rooms, not excited exactly, but curious as to what the next round of simulations would bring. He saw that Trask was already in the simulator section, as was a Crewman who had just been assigned to his squadron as well...

What was his name again...? Riekkan, Reagan, Raichu? Honestly it doesn't matter, he'll probably be dead before the end of this mission anyway.

“Trask,” Jix calls out, “how many times have I killed you so far, ten... twelve?”

“It's nine, and that last time doesn't count, spinning me into one of my own sides bolts doesn't count, you didn't actually perform the kill yourself.”

“I did something, somebody died, that's the same in my book.”

“Just steer clear of me this time Wenol, I'm not in the mood.”

Jix laughed as he stepped up to a simulator, and made sure that he was in one that would be opposite Trask, he loved baiting that man. As he entered the simulator he absently twirled a throwing knife in his hand, a careful observer may have noticed that a blue light flashed from the handle of the knife.

A crewman doing work on a busted simulator was hard pressed to keep a straight face as they listened to the comments being made by the pilots.

“You call that an attack? THIS is an attack you nerf herder!” followed by a yell from farther down the line of another pilot. “You just shoved me, where is that muckracker!” the simulator that this yelling had been coming from opened and a young petty officer came out, his hands balled into fists. Jix's simulator opened as well, and he stepped down, he held his throwing knife between his fingers, occasionally it twirled back and forth between his fingers as he walked down the row of simulators and out the doors, heading toward the target range, eager to get a little target practice in before he heads to the bar for a quick drink.
CPT Slasher | Chief of Naval Training


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Nazgul Captains Own, Long Service Medal

Imperial Navy Special Warfare Combatant, Imperial Navy Imperial Marine
Raigen
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Raigen
 
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  RE: Wildfire Squadron: Running Wild!
November 19, 2016 9:26:16 PM    View the profile of Raigen 
IIan closed his eyes for a moment, centering himself before strapping himself in.  The simulated environment was chosen at random, today’s being an asteroid field, “Okay guys, you know the jist. Let’s stay together go after the larger groups before picking off the rogues.  Save your missiles for the end.  Harmon, is that you in sim three?”

    Petty Officer Harmon was a brash pilot, but seasoned and well respected by the those aboard the Dead Gun.  “You know it Trask, you think I was gonna let these Nerf herders beat me t the morning killzone?”

    “Not a chance.  Wingman then?” IIan set his flight stick responsiveness and pulled his seat forward to reach the foot pedals.

    “You got it.  Let’s show these rookies why we hold the high score on this sim.” The simulation came to life, the TIE/LN Starfighters of Blue Squadron in a V formation if three boxed flights of four ties each. Harmon switched flight positions with Blue 2, a chief petty officer in his own squadron on the Dead Gun.  The squadron broke off into flights, flying in tight formations as they entered the asteroid field.  “Where are they Lead?  I don’t see them on my sensors”

    “Ionization interference from the asteroids, seems they’re leaking radiation of some sort.  We’re all eyeballs today guys, keep an. . .Contact three o clock low.  Element two, break right and take them from above.  Hothead, Split S and draw them out.”  The flight split, the rear ties reddening right and moving around a larger, stationary asteroid to take a position above the element of red ties.  Trask and Harmon rolled right, pulling up as they inverted and pulled back on the stick, performing a half inside loop until they were in front of the enemy element.  “Intermittent missile lock Hothead, break left then right, don’t let em paint you.  Blue 2 where y’at?”

    “Coming in now, no missile lock, Blue 4 don’t fire until we’re right on ‘em.” CPO Hepheth led his wingman down in their own Split S that dropped them behind the red ties in pursuit of Trask and Harmon but out of effective firing range.  They closed in slowly as the enemy yawned right and left, firing lasers cannons at their targets but unable to acquire a missile lock. “Taking too long, let’s do that Tattooine Sandwich you showed us last week, Lead.  I’m pretty sure they’ll follow.”

“You got it Two, Inside loop in three, two. . .now!”  Trask and Harmon pulled up on the flight sticks, their pursuers tightly in tow as they entered the inside loop, which was essentially a backflip in an airplane.  Blue Two and Four, waiting just long enough to close the gap, pulled up in their own inside loop, but tighter, sacrificing speed for area of target, and when both loops were complete, they had begun their acceleration before the enemy and closed the gap. Laser canons ripped through the Twin Ion Engines of the red ties and the heads up display scored a solo kill and save each for Blue Two and Four.

“Nice one Trask,  I owe you a kill.”
SCRW Raigen Tei-Yehn/FM 12/Cresh Flight/118th Wildfire Squadron/25th Desolation Wing/VSD-II Dead Gun/2nd Fleet Detached Force Alpha/2nd DEP Naval Warfare/VEN/VE (=*A*=)(=*SA*=)(=*BO*=)[VC:B][SWC][BRC][NS-2]
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Drac
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Drac
 
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  RE: Wildfire Squadron: Running Wild!
November 30, 2016 1:47:58 AM    View the profile of Drac 
OOC:
Let's run with the 24 hour flashback for a bit, to add some variety to the story. Simulator work, a bar scene, whatever you guys want to do.


Warrant Officer Paxton Marok reached forward and adjusted the settings on the viewscreens in front of him, barely noticing the minor task after several years of having to adjust such things to be clear for his Mon Calamari eyes. It had been incredibly irritating at first, especially in the Academy, and he'd often wished that his species didn't see a slightly different set of wavelengths than humans, but it was what it was. Changing a simple setting was no great trouble, though it did make the occasional amusing conversation when someone looked over his shoulder or on the rare occasions he forgot to return the settings to default when he had finished.

Today he was serving an inevitable and sometimes boring duty for any officer within a ship's starfighter wing: Training Officer for the simulator room. He sat behind a bank of screens that tracked the various simulators and the programs running through them. For the next six hours or so it'd be an endless cycle of setting up training runs, running pilots through them, observing and critiquing their performances, and reporting their scores (and fielding the inevitable complaints when their actual scores didn't match their perceived achievements).

He watched pilots and technicians move around him, some speaking quietly while others joked together or shot mocking comments back and forth. Over by one of the simulators he could see a stern-faced human woman, a Master Chief Petty Officer and flight leader from Firestorm Squadron, using her hands to describe a maneuver to a confused looking Senior Crewman. A few rows over, a pair of veteran pilots joshed each other before ducking into their simulators.

He checked the program set for those machines- ah, yes. A relatively straightforward dogfighting program, pitting VE-standard TIE/LN Fighters against each other. It was a good program for benchmarking pilots' skills- when everyone was flying the same bird, it was less about the machine than it was about the pilot inside it.

He noticed a rather high percentage of veteran pilots in this particular group, though, and decided to throw in a little twist to spice things up for them. The program had randomly chosen an asteroid field for the simulated combat zone, so after a moment's thought he quickly programmed some radioactive materials into the rocks before combat was joined. The rads coming off the asteroids would foul the TIEs' sensors at long and medium ranges, leaving the pilots to rely on visual contact with the enemy unless they happened to meet each other point blank. They should also serve to scramble the tracking sensors in the TIEs' missiles, making them unpredictable and unreliable.

Beyond just the direct tactical implications of the fouled sensors, though, it would be an interesting way to test the ad-hoc wing pairs and flights on their combat communications and coordination. A pair that worked well together would be constantly talking, reporting enemy positions, numbers, and headings to each other so that both had as complete a picture of the combat space as possible. Pairs that didn't communicate, though, would likely find themselves falling victim to attacks from behind by enemy fighters they'd lost track of in the melee. It was likely that most of the less experienced pilots would suffer a premature exit from the simulation due to his chosen twist, but better an embarrassing but teachable moment in the simulators than a fatal mistake on the battlefield.

A Chief Petty Officer and his flight approached a moment later, requesting their scores, and Pax obliged. It was a good day to be running the sims- that was to say, it was a busy day. Everyone knew that they were likely to finally see action soon, and even the less prudent pilots within the wing were showing up to sharpen their skills and, hopefully, increase their survivability.
NCC/LCPT Drac/ISD II Halcyon Warrior/TF: Aurek/1Flt/FC/VEN/VE
Captain of the ISD II Halcyon Warrior
[SoA][MC1][MC2x2][NSR1][NT1][SoV][CBV][SoL][SWC][NSR][GCR][GWC][*AO*](=*A*=)(=*SA*=)
"Think Ackbar, but Imperial."

TRN/INI Drac/VEDJ
Raigen
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Raigen
 
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  RE: Wildfire Squadron: Running Wild!
November 30, 2016 9:50:23 AM    View the profile of Raigen 
To Raigen, the simulator was little more than exorcise, a morning run.  Even the way he strapped himself into the flight seat was casual, making adjustments to the range of his lasers.  He chose a close shot configuration that had his lasers crossing less than a hundred meters in front of him.  Of course, the targeting computer would compensate in flight.  He set the sensitivity to the flight sticks lower to compensate for any involuntary muscle movement.  Too many blasts to the arms and shoulders wreaked havoc on a nervous system leaving injuries even the best medical droids couldn’t repair.

    Raigen wasted no time breaking away from his flight once the simulation began, heading to the farthest corner of the allowed field of operation before activating his sensors and taking a look at the battle. . .No sensors.  Only a murky field of blue static on his radar as he eyeballed the asteroid field for targets.  Ionization meant no sensors, but it also had another effect, more power.  The Tie/LN’s large solar arrays drew in that sort of energy to power the craft, meaning he could lay on the throttle and lasers as much as he wanted.

    The veteran pilot wasted no time increasing his velocity and reentering the shifting rock field.  Using mostly the foot pedals to yaw his craft in a sliding motion, avoiding asteroids as he came upon them.  A flight of computer controlled ties came into view. He could tell the difference by the way the leading pilot slowed as they turned to allow the wingman to adjust.  Humans wouldn’t fly so unnaturally in a break.  Raigen reached forward and toggled off his targeting computer.  It wouldn’t do him any good in this field.

    The red eyeball craft used the asteroids to mask his approach angle, leading his marks enough to close the gap.  This sort of battle was a dead man’s game.  The large pylons that provided power to the TIE also limited visibility.  Combined with the added discomfort of not being able to use your sensors to cover your flank meant he was going in blind and leaving himself open for an attack.  Raigen rolled his craft to check his blind spots, peering into the rear viewscreen above him periodically as the trio of multicolored craft came closer.

    He ‘rode their blind spot,’ punching the throttle at the last moment before sliding into the target’s ion trail.  A pull of the trigger, count to three, roll and break.  He was working off muscle memory, exercise.
SCRW Raigen Tei-Yehn/FM 12/Cresh Flight/118th Wildfire Squadron/25th Desolation Wing/VSD-II Dead Gun/2nd Fleet Detached Force Alpha/2nd DEP Naval Warfare/VEN/VE (=*A*=)(=*SA*=)(=*BO*=)[VC:B][SWC][BRC][NS-2]
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