Roth sat down at an empty chair in the debriefing room away from most everyone else. He listened to the mournful sounds in the room, and to what Shazam had to say. He was slightly amused at the tale of Trevor’s recovery, but didn’t know much else beyond the fact he was squadron captain, and flight leader. He didn’t know why he was there, he was too late to be a part in the mission, and to top that, he was bored, at least until he heard about the training assignment. It wasn’t as good as the real deal, but it would be some welcome experience.

As the debriefing ended, and the squadron filtered out of the room, Roth slowly made his way past groups talking in amazement about Trevor’s return. He continued his way to the training room, and as he walked, he absorbed bits of information, though none of them seemed to have any substance behind them…most seemed, to him at least, to be rumors. But he was new, and had a lot to learn. Roth shouldered his way past some other people, they had become like clots in the arteries of the Atrus. A few glared at him, but were too busy talking to care otherwise.

Roth was the first to reach Training Room B, as it announced on the door. He looked at the key card slot, curious, he hadn’t even been assigned one yet. He decided to wait by the door, feeling a bit miffed about it. But, he sighed to himself, the Vast Empire was a bureaucracy as much as anything else, and sometimes things got looked over. He tucked himself into a nearby corner, and examined the hallway. It was bland, sure, and clean, for the most part, but it always amazed him that it was out in the vastness of space. He knew he was early, a full day early at that, but he still wanted to find the place.

He thought about the enemies he will face, pirates, or rebels, it didn’t mean that much to him, as long as he got to fight. He wondered what kind of ship he would be assigned, and personally hoped that it wouldn’t be the standard TIE fighter. He had heard many spacers on Corellia call it a grave with wings. The TIE he was really looking forward to working in, and he’d seen glimpses of them, where the snazzy TIE Interceptors. He didn’t know if it was customary, but if he was assigned to one, he knew what to name it…’Death’s Blade.’ He knew it would seem a bit gruesome to many, but he wanted to inspire fear into his enemies, regardless of who they were.

He imagined flying the Interceptor, he knew they were fast and agile. The profile was unique as well. He had memorized many of the statistics of the craft, and many maneuvers as well. He wondered what the total 4,240 g’s of acceleration would feel like, strapped into the machine tightly. He smiled, a rare and fleeting occasion.

He snapped out of his mild day dream, to the sound of footsteps on the hard metal surface. He quit leaning on the wall, and did his best to look sharp in his new VEN uniform, Nazgul patch on his shoulder, and looked attentive, expecting a CO.

He waited for a minute, but nobody came along. He shook his head, “I guess it was a stupid move to come here this early anyway.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, and headed off to the nearest cantina. Once again, he passed knots of people in the hallways, but he ignored them, and they he. He wandered around until he found a cantina. It was a medium sized one, compared to what he’d seen back home, but he sidled up to the bar anyway, and asked for one of his favorites, a Corellian ale. The keep nodded, and soon enough the dark amber liquid was in front of him. He took a hearty swig, and set it back down onto the bar. He sighed, and gulped the rest of the liquid down. He ordered another one, and this time sipped on it a bit, since he quenched his thirst on the first one.

OOC:

WC 712, took a lot of edits to get it satisfactory for me…

Roth released the man’s hand fairly quickly. “Just call me Roth. All the Squadron members were told to attend.” He looked back to his drink. He wouldn’t tell Dante of the training tomorrow morning, just to mess with his mind. He ordered a third drink, and slammed half of it without even looking back. He thought to himself, “What a cocky attitude this one has...”

He turned toward the tender, “Another one.” He slid the empties toward the tender, and another Corellian ale slid his way. He sipped it and looked around. Many pilots and officers were in the bar, enjoying drinks together. Most were human, but he also saw Zabrak, Twi’lek, and many other species. He didn’t see any other Nazgul patches, except for on Dante, so he turned back to his drink disinterested in the crowd.

Roth stared into the deep amber liquid, and remembered the first time he ever drank the liquid. ... He was eighteen then, and he had finally steeled his nerves to enter the shady cantina. The owner, Roth knew, didn’t care about age, just so long as he got his credits. Roth glared at a nearby smuggler, who returned it in kind, and Roth walked farther into the scummy depths of the cantina, and sat down at the corner. It took a couple minutes to catch the keep’s attention. He was a slimy looking Twi’lek, and his lekku hung limply on his shoulders. The blood red eyes glared at Roth, then finally walked over to him with a smirk.

“Aren’t you too young to be in here, whelpling?” he snickered.

Roth frowned at the man, “Like you care.” He jingled some coin in his pocket, and smiled briefly.

The twi’lek’s eyes opened wide, and beads of sweat rolled down his brow in anticipation. “Fine, whaddya want.”

Roth looked around, and he saw a bottle of dark amber liquid. “I’ve heard of that, it’s supposed to be good. Traditional Corellian Ale. A bottle of that, and hurry up.”

The twi’lek hurried, and brought the bottle over, and uncapped it. It fizzed and popped, as it was slid over to Roth. He laid down the creds, and the twi’lek clasped them, as if fearing they would be stolen.

Roth sipped his drink, enjoying the slightly bitter taste. He soon finished it, and requested another one. The twi’lek swiftly obeyed, and another transaction was made. The twi’lek smiled, as he handed over the large bottle of ale. After he finished that one, he was about ready to order a third, when he saw the local officials enter the cantina, likely to enforce the local alcohol laws. Roth frowned, he was only a couple of years too young, and he didn’t need jail time.

He grabbed the twi’lek by the greasy tunic he was wearing, “You have a rear exit?”

The greasy twi’lek smiled, “Nope,” but eyed the bag of creds suggestively.

“Fine.” Roth growled, throwing the bag of creds at the counter.

The twi’lek made to grab it, but was still pinned by Roth. “It’s in the back. Make a right and two lefts; it’ll get you to the back alley.”

By that time, the officials had seen him man handling the twi’lek, and had started to chase after him, yelling “Stop!” They pulled their stun batons, and ran after him. Fortunately, for Roth, that is, he had already made the right and the first left, and by the time the officials made it back into the alley, Roth was already halfway over the fence. One official pulled out a stun gun, and fired a bolt at Roth, just as he turned a corner, clipping him on the right arm. Roth gasped in pain, but continued running. After finaly eluding the officials, Roth let out a breath of relief....

Roth smiled, back to the present, and downed the entire glass. He looked around some more, but still, no one from Nazgul Squadron. He slid the glass back to the tender, who grabbed it, starting to clean it.

OOC:

wc 670

Now that Trevor was back from the dead, Rogue could go back to just being the XO. Which meant good and bad things. The good news was that he didn't have to mend the squadron. But the bad news was that it meant he was back in charge of training.  So after everyone left the debriefing room, he headed for the training complex and its simulators instead of the cantina.

He found Training Room B, and his ID provided him access to the control room with the instructor's controls. He brought the programming to life and started programming in a series of training sequences for the squadron to work through. He spent the next hour or two coming up with increasingly complex sequences and problems.

Suddenly, his focus was interrupted by the sound of his com unit going off. Groaning he trigged the unit strapped to his wrist.

“Rogue, you there?” Trevor's voice rang out.

“Yes sir. I'm in the simulators. Working up some scenarios for tomorrow.” Rogue replied.  “Something else up?”

“Yes. So stop what your doing. I've just come from a meeting with Shaz. Effective Immediately, I am being sent on leave for rest and recuperation.” Trevor announced.

“That was to be expected. So I'm holding down the fort then?” Rogue asked.

“Not exactly. You have the same orders as me. Rest and recuperation leave.” Trevor replied

“Say what? Did I hear you right?” Rogue inquired.

“You heard me. Shaz has put us both on leave. He will supervise the squadron's training exercises. Jeg as senior flight leader will lead during the exercises.” Trevor explained.

“Well I don't like it. We really need to integrate our new people with our veterans. But I guess I'll do it.”  Rogue replied.

“Good. Now get out of the simulators and get to the nearest bar. Out.” Trevor ended the conversation with.

Well this kinda sucks. How do I do just nothing?  Guess I will find out. But I can leave a surprise or two.

His hands flew over the controls. For one option, he set it up so two additional fighters were always with the squadron,  then programmed the AI's to mimic he and Trevor's styles of flying.  Then for another option, he programmed the same AI's to fly two of the enemy fighters.

That will throw them a curve. Flying against their own CO and XO.

Then he thought up a third option. He programmed in two small cap ships as options. One helping the squadron while the other option had the same ship helping the bad guys. Then he assigned to it, the AI based off himself.  It had been a while since he had done that stint commanding a gunship for the Rebels, but even parts of it would work for the simulators.

That's it. Its all done. Now I guess I should at least try this leave.

He logged off the console and left the training complex. He headed for the nearest cantina. A drink sounded good.

Have a few drinks, then guess its off to my ship. I can spend the time tinkering with my fighters.

OOC:

528 words. Ok, this makes it offical. See the main squadron thread for more details.

Lams sat there and turned to a bar droid..."Beer for starters please?" She then giggled as her order was brought to her..A fight was about to break but she calmed herself for now, Reaching into her pack and grinning, Taking out a cigarette package and thumping it a few times..

A second later She glanced and shrugged taking a puff out of it. She grinned and was preparing to take another puff when a burly guy grabbed her shoulder and she smacked him without thinking.."Hey..." One, two three, he was down on the floor with a knife to his throat. Lams would not put up with it.

She growled and grabbed the man's arm "Now...let me be if you wish to live...If you want a cigarette, Ask for one you fool!" A member of viper he was and she grinned "Oh...And take this!" She kicked at him with her boot..Another was on top of her knocking the wind out of her as she slammed the back of the knife onto the other member's head.

"I'll...i'll..." Suddenly the man disappeared Lams growled What the..? She growled as she got up, When suddenly the man kicked her grinning to the ground stealing her cigarettes. Lams spit out blood onto the floor "Unnh...damn.." She growled and without thinking...Placed her hands about the man's throat squeezing it. "You'll die for this!"

The man, a member was grinning and growled when he realized Lams had his goose cooked. A grin was sufficed when she kicked him. She had to really grab the cigs and be off, Yes she wanted her beloved cigarettes..They were hers..Her precious, ..She laughed as she kicked the guy in the head...How dare he steal her cigs from her!!!!!!!

-------------------Several minutes later----------------------------------------

She was sitting there grinning as she smoked a cigarette when a person handed her a flask..She grinned not thinking..Not thinking at all and unscrewed it. She began to drink off of the flask and she didn't know or care that there was anything wrong with the taste until she found herself on the floor. "Unnh.." She said as she lay there on the bar floor, Her

head spinning "what the hell is in this shit?" She went to get up and kicked the fucker right in the balls..The very man who had given it to her..A strange look was in Lamel's eyes as she kicked him..She grinned as she shoved a steel toed boot in his nuts. A true look of anger was in her eyes as she squeezed the man's neck

“Die...” said she as she smirked..A fight he had wanted and a fight he had got!

Roth accepted the drink with a slight nod and drowned it. He frowned and shook his head. He wished Gshlecc hadn’t said anything to Dante about the training assignment. It kind of ruined Roth’s buzz, so he turned away from then, and ordered a shot of Corellian whiskey. The tender grabbed the empty beer mugs, and handed him a shot glass full of a light caramel colored liquid. Roth took it, with a sight grumble to the tender, “Keep’em coming.”

He downed it in one quick swig, and no sooner than he sat the glass down, the tender had another one filled and ready to go. He slid it along the synthwood and brought it in front of himself. He hated waiting around, when he was on Corellia; he had to wait for no man. He was used to being his own person, but, if he wanted to succeed in the Navy, a lot would have to change. He knew it, yet didn’t have to like it, and even though he didn’t, he had extraordinary control over his impatience, for the most part anyway.

By now, Roth was beyond tipsy, and he was getting a splitting headache, the very sound of conversation was painful. Groaning, he slammed the rest of his drink, not one to waste good alcohol. He paid his tab, and then rested his arms on the counter, his head falling to rest on his hands. He looked at the wall; it had several liquor bottles on the shelves. Some he recognized, some he didn’t. Of those he couldn’t recognize, half of those were in a different language.

He silently asked to pass out, but at the same time, he knew he wouldn’t…his body was too strong, even when he asked for weakness or death, usually the later rather than the former. Roth is not suicidal, but there were times when his rage would get him into fights he could not win, and upon defeat, he would rather they finish it, but it never happened. It seems, to him, nothing ever works out. All his life to him seemed to be failure. He some how failed his parents, although he was orphaned at birth, he failed the orphanage, by never getting adopted, he failed his gang by losing fights, he failed himself, for being weak. The heart of the matter, for Roth, is his fear of failure, that is why the never ending lust for power…for strength.

And again now, another failure, his body misbehaving, not letting him pass out, forcing him to kill time, some how unwilling to cooperate. “Another whiskey,” he mumbled, barely loud enough to reach the tender through the din of a full bar.

The bar was in full swing now, many from other squadrons had arrived, not to mention the mechanics, and the other civilians who have low class jobs; cleaning, cooking, laundry, etcetera. Some one had turned on music, and its loud beat was in sync to the throbbing headache Roth had. He slammed his drink on the counter, and headed over to it, and with a small frown, pulled the electrical cord out of the plug.

Many stood to their feet, all members of a squadron Roth didn’t recognize. They stood and started encircling him.

OOC:

Word Count: 544

Jegora was lying on his bunk, letting his thoughts run wild. In the last forty-eight hours he had experienced a full range of emotions, from the deepest reaches of despair and grief to the apex of elation. He was exhausted, having slept little in the last two days. All he wanted to do was sleep, but his raging thoughts and his adrenaline-filled body refused to let him rest.

Suddenly his datapad let out a high-pitched beep, alerting Jegora to a priority message. Groping around his nightstand, Jegora managed to grab his datapad. Pulling it over to the bunk, he opened his weary eyes and stared at the message he had just received from Naval High Command. It read:

Jegora Fal,

Due to recent events on the previous mission, both Commander Trevor Evenson and Executive Commander Rogue will be taking a leave of absence for an as-of-yet unknown amount of time. You are hereby promoted to Flight Leader of Flight Two, and G’shlecc has been promoted to Senior Crewman and Flight Leader of Flight Three. Petty Officer Max Fagron has been moved to Kaph Squadron. Wing Commander Shazam will take over primary command of the squadron until Lieutenant’s Evenson and Rogue return from leave. You will be expected to lead your squadron through their training exercises and handle any minor issues that arise.

Naval High Command

He read the message twice, and then groaned. He was going on his third day without sleep, and now he had to lead the squadron through a training exercise. Swinging his legs over the side of his bunk he tried clear his head. He had quite a bit of work to do. His first job was to inform G’shlecc of the current situation. Although Command would have sent a message to the older man as well, Jegora knew that the majority of the squadron was out drinking in celebration of Trevor’s return. The newly christened Flight Leader wasn’t sure if G’ would get his message in time.

Rummaging around in his closet Jegora found a pair of slacks and a VEN tee-shirt and threw them on. He quickly walked out of his room, taking a left towards the nearest cantina.
   
A Few Minutes Later

Jegora moved slowly through the throng of people in the cantina. Supposedly these ‘cantinas’ were off-duty lounges, but Jegora knew that they were little better than bars. Jegora hated to enter such a place, preferring instead the solitude of his own room, but he knew that the majority of the squadron would be in the bar.

Spotting G’shlecc with two men he didn’t recognize, Jegora pushed his way through the crowd towards the bar. His size and stance, not to mention his NCO status, allowed him to make his way relatively unhindered. He reached the three men, and spoke.
“Hello there gents,” he said. G’shlecc looked up and nodded. The other two men offered their hands, which Jegora shook. After the greetings were done, Jegora spoke again. “G’shlecc, I need to speak with you.”

G’shlecc nodded and opened his mouth to respond. Before he could speak the taller of the two unfamiliar pilots broke in. “Ah, come off it man. Let him drink in peace.” Turning to face the pilot that had spoken, Jeg raised one eyebrow.

The man was young, the same age as Jegora. He was nearly as tall as well, and well built. His eyes were a stunning shade of green, and his nose was crooked. Jegora could tell that this was a man who had been in many fights. The thing that caught Jegora’s attention, however, was the Nazgul Squadron patch on the man’s shoulder. Must be one of the new recruits, Jegora thought to himself. 

Jegora raised an eyebrow at the man. “This is none of your concern, Mr…”

“Roth, Roth Leber,” the man said.

Jegora tried to be polite. “Well, Mr. Roth, as I said, this is none of your concern. May I suggest removing yourself from this cantina? I believe your presence is required in a simulator tomorrow morning, and I am sure your fellow pilots would appreciate clear-minded thinking on your behalf.”

The man simply gaped, unable to comprehend someone telling him to stop drinking. Jegora didn’t wait for a response, instead turning to G’shlecc, who had a grin on his face. “Congratulations on the promotion,” Jeg said.

When the older man looked a little confused, Jeg pointed at his datapad. G’shlecc quickly pulled out the personal computer and checked his messages. When he got done reading he looked at Jeg. “Ah hell,” he said.

Jeg gave a half-smile and nodded. “My feelings exactly-“

He was cut off by a loud roar. Roth had a smaller man by the collar of his shirt, and was pulling a fist back to strike a blow. Moving with a quickness that belied his size, Jegora darted in and grabbed Roth’s wrist just before he swung. Roth’s head snapped to where Jeg was standing, his mouth agape.

Roth roared again, this time at Jeg. Even from a distance of two and a half feet Jegora could smell the liquor on the man’s breath. It was obvious he was hammered. Jegora was about to say something when a blow struck him across the shoulders.

A smaller man would have been knocked down by the blow, and as it was Jegora stumbled, but he maintained his balance. Spinning on one foot he managed to turn and duck the next blow. Jegora glanced at the man wielding the pool cue and saw that it was the man Roth had been going to hit. It seemed that the man had forgotten all about Roth, and was now bearing down on Jegora.

The man swung again, and Jegora dodged backwards. The miss threw the other man off balance and Jegora managed to get inside the cue’s range. With a roar he hit the man in the stomach, doubling him over. He then elbowed him in the back, knocking him to the floor. The man grunted, tried to get up, and then collapsed.

Not wasting anytime, Jegora looked around. The bar had gone silent. The man on the floor groaned again, and from behind Jegora heard a snicker. Jegora turned to see Roth holding in a laugh. Suddenly furious, Jegora grabbed the young pilot by the collar of his shirt and pushed him towards the door. He then looked around.

“Nazgul: out. Now,” he said, his voice cold and hard as steel. He glanced around the cantina one last time, then turned his attention back to Roth, who was about fifteen feet ahead of him.

Right before Jegora’s eyes, Roth took a swing at another man. Jeg groaned, and before he new it Roth had three people on him. Jegora waded into the mix and pulled two of the men of Roth, casting them aside. Thankfully most of the patrons in the bar were drunk and proved little obstacle for the sober Jegora.

A large man, over six and a half feet tall, stepped in front of Jegora. Instincts saved the smaller pilot, for he just managed to duck under the man’s giant fist. Cursing, Jegora stepped back and raised his fists, watching his new opponent. The man did likewise. While Jegora could tell that the tall man had been drinking, he held his liquor better than most of the patrons in the bar. Jegora knew that this would be an interesting fight.

The man swung, and again Jegora ducked underneath the blow. Wasting no time he struck the tall man three times in the stomach with quick, powerful jabs. The man grunted, but otherwise Jegora’s attacks were ineffective. Jegora was at a loss. Before he could move, the big man grabbed him by the shoulders and hoisted him up in the air. His mind racing, Jegora took the only option open to him. He extended his leg and kicked the man in the groin as hard as he could.

The man immediately dropped Jegora and fell to his knees. Jegora grabbed the man’s head and kneed the man as hard as he could in the nose. The man screamed in pain, then slumped forward, unconscious.

Spinning around, Jegora checked the area for any other threats. The scene around him astonished him. While he had been fighting the large man, the situation in the cantina had deteriorated into an all-out brawl.

Swearing once again, Jegora moved off, trying to find his pilots. Avoiding kicks and punches and flying bodies, Jegora moved around the bar. Several times he caught sight of his squadron mates, only to find them gone by the time he got to where he had last seen them.

Finally Jegora found G’shlecc in the crowed nearby, and moved to him.

Speaking rapidly, he asked the older pilot, “What the hell do we do now?”

OOC:

1447

Roth had grabbed a small skinny many by his shirt, this was the man who tried to throw the first punch. Roth drew back his arm, ready to punch the small man back, when a man restrained it. He looked back and was surprised to see it was a Nazgul member.

A roar left his mouth, and before he could push Jegora aside and go after the little man, he was surrounded. He grabbed one man by the throat, and threw him aside, only to be dog piled, a hail of fists pummeling his body. He mumbled to himself, “Damn…” as all turned to black.

He was out cold, but could somehow still hear the fight going on. It created quite the din, and all Roth could think was, “Can’t they shut up? I’m finally going to sleep…” A minute or so later, Roth felt himself being lifted up, and then he finally fell into a deep sleep. He heard, as if it was a far ways off, a blaster shot, and circuits sizzle.

One hour before training

Roth finally woke up to the sound of his chrono going off. He had set it right before heading to the bar, and he was glad he did. He started to rise out of bed, but was restrained. He frowned, and tried to see what it was that restrained him, and was surprised to see it was duct tape…and a vast amount of it too. He struggled some more, but couldn’t rise. He heard some ripping, and tried to focus on the area. He was rewarded with more ripping. He was able to move his head a bit further, and he could move his left hand, but that was it. He was alone in the room, and he was worried that he might miss the training. His breath reeked of alcohol, and he knew he needed a trip to the refresher. He hollered, “Oi, can anybody here me? Come here and give me a hand!” A small pause and Roth yelled the seldom uttered word, “Please?”

He looked at the chrono, and fifteen minutes had gone by, the alarm still beeping right next to his head. He looked up at the ceiling and frowned. “What a show I put on last night. Humph…getting knocked out within minutes…I won’t hear the end of it, I suppose, for a long while…”

He looked at the chrono again, and grimaced, finally noticing the shiner he had on his left eye. It was black and blue, with tints of yellow here and there. “Just great…” He struggled some more, but still, no progress was made. “I hope someone will get me the hell out of this thing…”

He sighed, another five minutes had gone by, and now Roth was starting to feel cramped, and claustrophobic. He screamed out again, “Ok, you’ve had your fun, will someone please get me the hell outta here?” He struggled harder, and the entire bunk shook, and nearly tipped over, but it leaned back to its original place, and it rammed the wall so loudly, it seemed the entire ship shook. Roth smiled, and determinedly struggled again, and it rocked, before again slamming into place, bam, bam, BAM. Roth shook his head; he gasped for air, and decided to wait it out a little longer. By this time, another ten minutes had gone by, leaving only half an hour to get cleaned and over to training room b.

OOC:

WC 574

"How's your sister?"  Shazam hick-up'd and temporarily lost focus; his eyes were having an especially difficult time of keeping on target.  Lense, his apron temporarily tucked away, managed a chuckle; he was on one knee, frantically searching the cabinets while his friend, the former Nazgul fighter pilot, tried to remain stationary on the counter-top.

"I tell ya, I don't know how you get into this, but if I had a credit for every time..."  Shazam interrupted, having heard this on more than one occasion-

"You'd get that little place outside Coruscant and finally get a real job..."  Lense, after all, was a cook.  Always had been, and probably always would be.  When Shazam had first met him (was it five years ago?), they'd both been recently assigned to the Atrus.  Shazam, having survived his first couple of battles, was feeling rather inflated, and, like so many others before him, became caught up in the pilot's life.  While he still had focus, and more than enough drive, it wasn't unusual of him to carry on into the early hours of the morning.  What it was he was doing?  Well, that was anyone's guess.  He could have finally worked his charm on an innocent girl, or finally found another person on board that played an instrument, as Shazam played many, or, even, plopped himself into the messhall to talk trash about the enemy.  This was where he'd met Lense.

He remembered that Lense and he were friends, for whatever reason, right from the get-go.  The pilot had been trying to pull the cook into the trenches of the early hours with him, but Lense refrained, deciding, instead, to work on a new dish for one of the higher-ups, or just cleaning the kitchen.  Strangely, Shazam would stick with him, and the two would just talk; in fact, Lense probably knew Shazam better than any other person, having heard bits and pieces of his stories from other planets and younger times; but Shazam only did the occasionally.  Usually, he would be elsewhere.  And so it wasn't irregular for Lense to be found in the lower levels of the Atrus- for Shazam, that is.  He would receive a message, usually about four hours into his sleep cycle, and would, without a word, get himself out of bed, dress, and find Shazam.  From there, he would drag him to his own room, help him into bed, and make sure to check on him in the morning, usually with a meal prepared.  This, of course, appeared rather one sided, but Shazam was more than grateful and, as was his custom, made sure that Lense knew it...

"That's not so unlikely, y'know..."  Lense had closed the cupboards and was now trying the drawers; Lense had his own kitchen area, but it was more like an actual kitchen, with drawers and cupboards of items that had nothing to do with cooking.  One cabinet was full of used batteries and another rife with...  "YES!"  Medications. 

"You know I don't like that stuff..."  Shazam was saying as he began to croon the tune he'd heard in the lift on the way up.  "I recall...  Central park in fall..."

"You're just lucky the sis is a nurse, my friend."  And then, after a moment," and a rather forgetful one at that..."  Lense cleared his throat and leveled with Shazam, a plastic baggy with four capsules hovered in front of him.

"What is that?"  The commander queried but was less interested then he acted; the majority of his attention was actually on on the beauty in the back of his mind; Lense's sister was now fading back into memory.  Yes, he could remember her well; caramel skin, long brown hair, and...

"I don't know exactly, heh..."  Lense seemed to hear how careless the statement sounded and managed to recant it with- "But I've seen them work before..."  Taking one of the capsules from the baggy, he indicated for Shazam to say "Ahhh" and carefully placed it on his tongue.  For a moment, nothing really happened; Lense withdrew slightly to see the outcome of his work, but Shazam just shrugged.  Then he closed his mouth.

The commander's face turned sour at that point and Lense began looking for a glass to fill with water.  "What is this?"  Shazam was now hacking away, ready to cough up a lung as he slipped off the counter and onto the ground.

"It's supposed to clean out your system, bud," Lense was back with water in hand, but Shazam wasn't having it- his body was trying to expel the poison that'd entered his system.  Indeed, one had to be careful at the bars, especially in the lower levels of the Atrus; it wasn't uncommon for one drink, which was meant for one species, to be mixed with another, or to have just been opened after being next to a radiation panel...  This was the first time the commander had caught one of the bad drinks...  Lense was ready to get help after about a minute of hacking, but Shazam began to quiet, and the heaves were becoming less severe; taking drinks and breaths intermittently, Shazam managed to say-

"How long does it take to get through the rest of my system?"  The commander was still hallucinating between coughs, so he knew the hacking had only cleared the materials from his esophagus.  Lense shrugged and said-

"Atleast a couple of hours; food takes half a day to make the journey, I can't imagine this would work horribly faster..."  The commander nodded at this, the coughs subsiding fully; as he took in some more breaths, he said-

"Well that's just great...  I'm supposed to run Nazgul through training exercises and I'll be trying to figure out which snake is the control yoke..."

“Let’s go.” Said Jeg.

  G looked at him and snorted approval.

  Damn, how did we miss someone

  The pair picked up the pace, and was soon at a dead run.  G’shlecc wasn’t out of shape, but he found he couldn’t keep up with the faster, younger man.  He knew where they were headed so he let him take the lead.  As he ran G thought about what they left, and were now headed back to.  He knew that fists alone and the occasional chair leg wouldn’t get them through in one piece.  He needed something more.  Something that would shift the tide to them, without getting anyone killed.

  Or me court-martialed

“Damn!” he shouted as he skidded to a stop.

  His breaths came ragged as he reversed direction.  He had completely forgotten about it.  It was sitting in his other bag, the one he’d left behind on the Atrus when they’d gone to the Furious One.  He cut down the hall and found the turbolift.  Not wanting to wait for the lift he dove into the nearby ladders.  He quickly climbed up the one deck and continued his sprint back to his bunk.  He crashed through the door and pulled the spacer’s bag from beneath his rack. 

  Where is it, where is it, damnit…Yes!

  Just where he had left it, he found the source of his inspiration; a DL-22 Stun Pistol.  He’d picked it up before one of his dicier design visits.  A Warlord in the Outer Rim had wanted some custom engines built into his new corvette and he refused to come to Kuat for a consult.  G had to haul himself all the way out to Tatooine to meet up.  He’d picked up the DL because he A. didn’t want to go unarmed and B. didn’t want to kill anyone who may have friends who’d want revenge.  In the end he hadn’t gone.  The Warlord ended up getting himself killed in a New Republic raid.  He’d lost the contract, but gained, what he hoped, was the solution to his problem.  He ran out of the bunk with his new found toy, and checked the charge pack as he went.  It blinked green.  Happy green; the color of a full charge, and at least 30 shots.  That would mean that he’d get at least half of the room before he’d really need the backup plan he’d already set.

He hit the gangway and slid down the ladder to the previous deck. He ran over a few troopers as he headed back to the cantina.  He hoped there were still Nazzies to rescue.  He knew if there weren’t then the holdout blaster was gonna have a lot more work than the stunner.  He found the cantina door forced open.

  Surprised it held this long

  Squeezing through the partial opening he saw the melee was still in full bloom.  Holding the stunner in his left, he dropped a few drunks with his right as he scanned the room.  It didn’t take long to find Jeg.  He was the only person not swaying in the room.  He also was in big trouble.  G figured there were at least 15 bloody, drunk, angry folk pressing down on Jeg.  He managed to see Jeg mouth, “Oh shit” and drop into one of his more deadly fighting stances.
 
  Driver didn’t waste any time. He deftly dropped one, then two and a few more with the stunner.  He waded in and continued firing.  The crowd’s reaction was, needless to say, stunned.  One moment they were about to tear this whelp from limb to limb the next they were unconscious heaps on the floor.  Jeg twitched slightly as he saw his attackers melt away and turn to face another opponent.  He saw G moving toward him, blaster bolts spewing like cheap Bangle Beads from a Carnival Week float.

  Not one to leave a good tactical advantage lying on the barroom floor Jeg went on the offensive.  Whomever G didn’t drop, he’d pop.  By the time Driver reached him the charge was more than ¾ empty and the room nearly half cleared.  Some less adventuresome souls decided that enough was enough and bugged out, however there were still over 20 left and still only 4 of them.  G had noticed that Lams was right beside Jeg standing in front of a youngish man inexplicably throwing punches with one hand and cupping his groin with the other.
 
  What the hells…
  He didn’t want to know. He just wanted to make it out of here in one piece, get some sleep and not get court-martialed.  The second part would be no problem; he was half dead on his feet now.  The third part would be a miracle; he’d already brawled with or stunned at least 20 crewmen, fired a blaster on board, and failed to pay his bar tab.  The first part was what really concerned him now.  He stunned another attacker and the charge light went red.

  Well, it was fun while it lasted

  He tucked the empty pistol in his belt and proceeded to throw haymakers at anyone and everyone who came near.

  Jeg finally spoke up after what seemed like an eternity, “You need to take up running, you sounded a little winded earlier.”

  “When I get out of the brig, it’ll be the first thing I do.  Lammy, how’re ya holding up?” he inquired.

  “Just fine G.  Actually having fun.” She retorted between punches. 

  The remaining 15 or so men and women pulled back a bit and huddled together.  They seemed to be planning something.  Something decidedly not good.

  “If they rush us all at once, I don’t think we can hold’em off.” Remarked Lams.

  Jeg and Driver nodded in unison.  G scanned the Nazzies.  It had been one Hells of a fight. He was cut and bleeding. Jeg was too, but less.  Lammy’s duty uni was torn and nasty purplish bruise was forming over her left eye.  And the unknown guy was still holding his Johnson. 

I don’t think I want to know

  His thought was broken by the sudden dispersal of the clumped angry mob into a broader angry mob.  They formed a semicircle and slowly moved in on the foursome.  G and the rest went back to back and readied themselves for the battles endgame when a table suddenly flew from across the room.

  “What the Hells is that!” exclaimed Jeg.

  G smiled to himself and relaxed, “That sir is the cavalry, a very angry, sleepy, furry, SOBER, cavalry.”

  Jeg smiled.  He watched as Rusty started chucking bodies across the room, bellowing the entire time.

  GARRROOWWWW, WUFF, WUF, WOOAAAORR

  His translation droid hovered above the ruckus and broadcast for all to hear,” [YOU MOTHERLESS LITTLE WHELPS! MAKE ME WAKE UP! ME WAKE UP! YOU WILL ALL BE DEAD BEFORE YOU HIT THE GROUND!}”

  Driver couldn’t help but laugh now as the remaining combatants fled for the door.  In a matter of moments the bar was clear except for the 5 Nazguls.  Everyone grabbed a seat and relaxed.  Rusty was still in a foul mood, till Jeg reached over the bar and slid him a huge jug of Cortyg.  The Wookiee barked a snide reply and hunkered down to chug the jug.  G hopped the bar and poured everyone cold Corellian ale.  He took a slug and sighed.  He knew what was gonna happen, but he didn’t care, he felt good. Sore, but good.  While he was behind the bar he noticed the paystation was still functioning.  He tapped in his name and found his tab.  He added the 4 Ales and the jug of Cortyg and paid up. 

  “At least I ain’t going to the brig for not paying my tab.” He proudly stated.

  The rest of Nazgul just looked at him and laughed and laughed.

OOC:

1303 words - now that is a fight

Jegora glanced around. With the arrival of G’shlecc, and even more so Rusty, the tide had turned for Nazgul. Now, however, they had thirty or so incapacitated patrons laying around the bar, and five very much conscious Nazgul pilots. The evidence against them would be overwhelming. If they were lucky they would all spend a night in the Brig. G’shlecc might face some weapon charges, but nothing serious. A slap on the wrist and a black mark on his record would be it. Jegora, however, wouldn’t get off so easy. As the ranking pilot he was expected to show some kind of restraint. Instead he had knocked a fourth of the bar unconscious.

The five pilots sat down at a table. Jeg slid Rusty a bottle of Cortyg Brandy to keep him occupied. He didn’t join in the conversations, but he did laugh when G’shlecc paid for his tab.

“At least I ain’t going to the brig for not paying my tab,” the older man proudly stated.

As Jeg suspected, it didn’t take long for security to get to the bar. Sixty drunken people running around a Super Star Destroyer at two in the morning was bound to attract some attention. As the first security officer entered the room Jegora felt a stab of hope. Turning to his fellow pilots he spoke quickly and quietly.

“All of you go back to your rooms. We have about four hours until we have to be up for the simulation. Try to get some sleep.”

The rookie pilot and Lams nodded, quite satisfied to leave the bar without getting arrested. Rusty just snorted. As the wookie opened his mouth to speak, Jegora cut him off. The security officer was making his way slowly to their table. He didn’t have much time now.

“Rusty, I’m tired. I’ve been up for forty-eight hours, and I’m not likely to get any sleep soon. For once, just do as I ask.” His pleading had little effect on the wookie. Seeing a dangerous glint in the giant’s eye, Jeg sighed. “You want to rip my limbs off? Fine. We’ll make it a date. Now get the hell out!”

Whether Jeg’s tone or the Wookie’s generosity, Rusty nodded slightly and walked out of the bar. As he passed the security he growled slightly, making the young man stumble a tad. Jeg turned to G’shlecc, who hadn’t moved.

“How do you plan to get out of this one?” the older flight-leader asked.

Jeg closed his eyes. “First, I’m going to take up religion. Then I’m going to pray. Now go. We need someone who has actually flown before for the exercises.”

G’shlecc turned to go, not looking happy about it. Jegora sighed in relief. Glancing up, he noted that the security officer had stopped nearby. Jegora waited until G’shlecc left the room, and then turned to face the officer.

The man was tall, if not as tall as Jegora. He was about 5’11, 180 pounds. He was fit, with brown hair and brown eyes. Most of the women he had ever met would call him handsome. As Jegora approached, the man just watched him. Eventually Jegora was only a few feet away. The Nazgul flight leader stopped, and returned the man’s gaze.

The two stood there, four feet apart, staring at each other. It was a battle of wills. Jegora’s cold blue eyes met the officer’s dark brown eyes, both of their faces betraying no emotion. They stood like that for what seemed like several moments. Jegora never broke his gaze, nor did the other man.

Eventually, after almost four minutes, the brown-eyed man blinked and broke eye contact. Jegora’s face split into a huge grin and he rushed forward, embracing the man in a giant bear hug.

Laughing, the brown haired man pushed Jegora away. “Well look at you,” the security officer said, “all grown up and a real pilot.”

Jegora laughed again. “Look at yourself. When did you join the Vast Empire?” As far as Jegora had known, this man, whose name was Tristan Roe, was still on Corellia. They had been good friends until Jegora had run off to join the Vast Empire. Neither had had any contact with the other since then.

Smiling, the man took a seat at a nearby table, one of the few that hadn’t been overturned. Jegora followed suit. After a moment of silence, Tristan spoke. “After you ran off for the Naval Academy, I went to work for your parents.”

Jegora nodded. Tristan had lived next door to Jegora, and had hung out around the shop quite often. He had been one of Jegora’s few close friends and had been a common sight around the shop. It only made sense that when Jegora left for the Navy Tristan would take his place, helping his parents out around their small shop.

“Well that makes sense, but it doesn’t explain why you’re now a rather significant ranking officer of the Naval Security Bureau,” Jegora said with a grin.

Tristan bowed his head. “No it doesn’t, but I’m thinking that is a story for another time. Now, would you mind telling me exactly what happened in here?”

Trying to grin, and failing rather miserably, Jegora lied through his teeth. “Well, you see, I and a few of my pilots decided to come get a drink to celebrate our Squadron Leaders return from the dead.” At this Tristan raised an eyebrow, but Jegora continued. “We walked in on quite a fight. A regular old barroom brawl. Anyways, there was a gent with a stun pistol, hence all the stunned gents lying around.” Jegora stopped and took a drink of ale.

Using the drink as cover, Jegora studied his old friend to see how his story was holding up. From what he could tell, things weren’t going so good. Tristan had an amused look on his face, and his eyebrows were nearly up to his hairline.

“Anyways, when the five of us walked in the six remaining gents decided to take off, I suppose. We had just sat down for a drink when you walked in.”

Holding his breath, Jegora waited for his friend to laugh at him. Hoping against hope that Tristan would believe a friend over his own common sense, Jegora waited.

After several moments of studying his glass, Tristan finally nodded. “If that’s what happened,” he said quietly.

Jegora let out a long sigh. He understood. Tristan hadn’t believed his story, but out of friendship he was looking the other way. Together the two men got up and walked out of the bar where the rest of the security force was waiting. Six men stood in padded leather armor, carrying riot guns and stun batons. All looked surprised when Tristan walked out with Jegora in tow.

One of the men, a short fellow with green eyes, spoke up. “Is this the fellow that started this mess?” he asked in a voice like gravel. Tristan shook his head.

“Not quite serge. It would appear that whoever started this is long gone.”

The sergeant nodded and motioned for his men to go on inside. Jegora turned and shook his friend’s hand. “Tristan, thanks. Look me up sometime and we’ll get drinks on me.”

Tristan laughed and shook his head. “I don’t think so. First of all, you’re not a very good drink, and second of all people get hurt when you and I drink,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

Jegora found the laugh infectious, and soon he was grinning himself. “Alright then. I’m sure you’ll think of someway for me to pay you back.”

When his old friend nodded, Jegora turned and headed back to his room. He had three hours. He pushed the thought of sleep out of his mind, but he could have a shower and shave, and then go over the simulation specs. Breaking into a jog, he worked his way through the maze of corridors aboard the Super Star Destroyer Atrus.

OOC:

1333 words. We should all be back in our respective rooms by now, or on the way there. We have four hours or so until we have to be in the simulators, so be creative.

YEEOWCH! Roth grimaced in pain as he ripped the last bit of duct tape. He quickly stripped and stepped into the fresher. He knew he very little time, and he would be late. He grumbled to himself, “Late…LATE…the very first fracking assignment of my career…”

He stumbled out of the fresher, and dried off. He looked at the mirror and cursed again, his eye was swollen, and though he could see just fine out of it, he had only two thirds of his left peripheral range.. “I hope I’ll be the right hand wing…”

He jumped into a fresh uniform, and ran down the hall, he barreled past people who heard his bellowing to move aside, and this way he made it to the training room, two minutes late.

He stopped short of the door, and he calmed down his breathing and wiped some sweat off his brow. He tidied his uniform, and quickly opened the door and walked in. Some of his Squadron members were snickering at him, his black eye throbbing with each beat of his heart, and some were scowling, sporting bruises and cuts of their own. Roth quietly thanked the stars that they couldn’t see his major source of pain, a throbbing patch of skin about two feet square on his chest and sides.

He walked to the end of the Nazgul squadron and stood away from the rest of the group, and snapped a salute to Shazam as way of apology for being late. Roth only hoped he wasn’t called on it…he already angered the rest of the squadron anyway.

He resisted the urge to rub his chest; it was aching terribly, but ignored the temptation by letting his eyes wander around the training room. He spotted some TIE cockpits around the room, and a few 3D sim helmets, and many other things he hadn’t a single clue as to what they were. The room was the standard VE gray, with standard black base boards, and the room was spotless, though had the feeling of frequent use.

Roth looked a little closer at the TIE cockpits, and he felt a tinge of excitement. Finally he would be able to fly…it wasn’t real, he knew that, but he still looked forward to it. Even though his eyes were flying over the controls, the cockpits, and the other gear, Roth’s body remained rigidly at attention.

The man inwardly smiled to himself, thinking about the missions to come…the one thing he didn’t want, was escort missions, to him, they were very boring. He didn’t even know yet what type of TIE he would be flying, unknowing that Nazgul flew interceptors. He personally hoped TIE Interceptors would be assigned to the squadron, as he liked the side profile; it set the Interceptors apart, not to mention the speed and maneuverability of the craft. He heard the murmuring of the squadron die down, and he turned back to the Commander. He returned his eyes to front and center, and listened in to what Shazam had to say...

OOC:

Word Count: 507

"Let's ride ..."

The words echoed silently through the simulation chamber followed by several people shouting "Yes Sir", clacking their boots together and marching towards the simulators. He himself was one of the last to start moving. While walking over to his simulator he put his nose to his pilot suit and took a swift whiff. Thinking it doesn't smell all That bad he got into his simulator. Sitting down, he grabbed the helmet laying in the seat and looked at it a bit funny.

"So, this is where I am now, after getting out of that damn academy? Man, if I told the people back in the home town they couldn't believe it. Of course, they can't since most of them are dead but still, it's pretty amazing what I managed to achieve. Now, lets see if I manage to kill at least two of the X's before getting shot down myself. That should be a decent minimum, right ?"

He was asking himself the question while connecting the straps on his helmet to secure it from moving. Before taking a seat in the simulator he made sure that the communicator was aligned properly next to his mouth, that it worked decently and that he could communicate with the others through it. When done with all that preliminary stuff he got inside the simulator and saw a cockpit resembling the one he woke up in a few days ago. He grabbed a hold of the controls, made himself feel comfortable, adjusted the seat to his length for maximum comfort, yawned and closed the lid of the simulator, making himself feel trapped. Almost immediately after closing the lid the simulator started working, lights were turned on, it started produce the same kind of noises a regular fighter would make. All of a sudden, the pitch black walls suddenly started showing lights from stars, planets, moons, asteroids, everything you could find in space but it was only done rendering everything when he could see the other pilots, the other Nazguls. After flying a bit he decided to fly into formation and joined his flight, flight one. He especially started flying near Lamel, remembering he's her wingman and she's his wingwoman. He contacted Lamel briefly, to make sure she knows this.

"Hello Lams, I'm Nazgul 3 but you know me better as the guy you kicked in the groin. I'll be your wingman for now so I'll be covering you a fair bit, hoping you'll do the same. Basically, lets hunt some X's together."

He smiled as he ended his sentence, knowing that she probably can't see his smile. He just likes smiling alot, it comforts people. After hearing a small annoying high pitched noise he looked down on his radar and could see 15 little bleeps that would all just love to shoot Nazguls out of space. He could see how the other flights of the Nazgul squadron were forming as well. If one of those Xs would look at us, they could see exactly how the squadron is sliced up in three smaller parts, whom are all flying close to each other. Suddenly, Shazam's voice echoed over the comlink.

"Happy Hunting everyone, first one who takes one down gets a drink in the bar next time ..."

Every Nazgul pilot got fired up by this and got antsy for combat. After a short while of flying there was finally a visual of the enemy, 15 little grey spots in our line of sight. Seeing this made Girias a bit uncomfortable, being outnumbered isn't all that bad but flying for the first time together with Nazgul might make this a bit weird and he'll probably screw something up. The 15 Xs get bigger, and bigger, and for every inch they grew bigger Girias felt more and more at ease, since he needs to learn as much as possible about the other pilots, being new to Nazgul.When in firing range Lousy quickly fires a few shots at the Xs, without aiming the Xs don't even have to dodge these few starting shots. When the two squadrons clash it turns into a huge dogfight, Xs & TIEs flying everywhere around him. He sees Lamel chasing an X with one behind her as well. Seeing as it's his duty he dodges some blind shots and started pursuit. It took him a fair bit of good flying and concentration to get decently behind the X and get him in sight. While locking on, the X started swaying from left to right, trying to avoid Lousy. Wasted effort was the main idea inside his head, following the same movements over and over was just a little tap on the controls. When he finally got the X perfectly in sight he didn't waste a single second and fire a dozen rounds. The first six were still dodged but when the seventh shot hit one of the engines the other five got an easy target and pierced the X, destroying it. While smiling, he felt this uncomfortable feeling in his stomach that something's wrong. Then all of a sudden, Devant confirmed that feeling.

"Lousy, you got an X on your tail. Get the heck away from him."

Looking behind him he could see it, only that it was too far away for a decent pursuit and decided to do something neat. He raised his TIE to vertical level and flew upwards, making it easier for the X to follow him. When he suddenly broke off, he was flying upside down on a horizontal level now, thus performing a modified Immelman. The X was still climbing but made motions that he was going to perform an Immelman aswel to get a decent shot at Lousy. Lousy, however, just made a quick vertical U turn, turning his upside down craft to normal and flying towards the X, who's trying to finish his Immelman and unable to dodge. But before he could even start Lousy fired a dozen shots at him, each hitting it dead on, causing another explosion. But before he could cheer he suddenly was surrounded by 2 Xs who performed a very difficult maneuver Lousy doesn't even know yet, causing them to end up above and below him, each firing into him. Getting shot down shocked him as he quickly pulled of the helmet, cursing and almost screaming.

"Oh, right. Simulation, not dead. I keep forgetting that ..."

OOC:

1065 words, and I'm out.

Once Shazam said, “Let’s ride.” Roth moved to take the fourth slot in his flight, but before he could move, he overheard Jeg talk to G, assigning him to third flight. Roth moved to follow G instead. He snorted, and entered his cockpit. It was cramped, he had to pull the seat away from the yoke as far as it would go, but Roth strapped himself in and put on his helmet just in time for his new flight leader to chime in, “Nazgul 10, this is 9, copy?”

Roth responded quickly, and in what sounded like a half amused tone, G said not to get him killed. Roth gave a dry chuckle before switching the comm, and responded, “I will do my utmost to keep you from becoming dust, sir.”

He listened quietly to G’s commands, and acknowledged. Roth kept quiet, then finally, “Affirmative, G...” he switched off the comm, “What kinda name is G?”

He followed his flight leader out of the simulated hangar, and stayed where he was assigned and inversed G’s offensive split as he kept an eye open for bandits. They spotted an enemy settled into a pocket, they both pulled a scissors maneuver, and on the pass they both fired their cannons, but the x-wing juked, and both blasts missed.

Roth could hear chatter of other flights, as well as the other noises common in space battle. He had the fighter in his sights, but decided to wait for G to make his move, which he did, resulting in the destruction of the enemy.

G hooted in the comm, “Scratch one bad guy!”

Roth nodded, and looked around for another enemy, but G had beat him to it by executing a yo-yo, demolishing another bandit, this left G low and away. Roth started to move to rejoin him, but he spotted another bandit coming in hot and fast, but he couldn’t fire, due to G was in the firing path.

“G, bogey on your tail,” he practically shouted, “I can’t get to him.”

Roth could only watch in awe as the enemy pilot matched G move for move, unfortunately ending in a large explosion of his flight leader’s craft. He cursed, “Shit...” Roth pulled a high g turn, trying to get a sight on the enemy fighter before it could escape. Roth fired a couple of shots, but it slipped out of the sights just as he squeezed off the shots.

“Hells...” Roth muttered as he realized the pilot had somehow managed to get behind him. Now focusing solely on defensive, Roth managed to avoid several shots, but soon found himself out maneuvered, and in a last ditch effort to not be a total waste of time, headed for a nearby enemy, hoping to shake the one on his tale. Roth pulled several corkscrew turns, barely evading the shots, but they got closer and closer.

Finally a shot hit his right wing, sending it into space, and with his system failing, Roth closed the gap to the second unaware fighter, another shot hit the back of his cockpit, but just in time, Roth plowed into the enemy fighter, who just spotted him and tried to evade. The system registered two kills, one being the AI crafted X wing, and second, Roth.

He didn’t know whether to be angry or pleased, he was destroyed, quite handily, but at least he took out an enemy in the process. He stepped out of the cockpit, and tossed his helmet into the cockpit. He leaned against it, and looked around, so far only G, and the guy he knew as Lousy.

OOC:

Word Count: 603

Jegora sat down into the simulator and proceeded to strap himself in. He had to resize several of the straps to fit his large bulk, and he could only imagine what Rusty was feeling. After buckling the last strap he rubbed his eyes, trying to make his blurry vision a bit clearer.

He wasn’t actually wearing a helmet, but he was wearing a headset so he could communicate with his squadron mates. With an efficiency brought upon by close to a year in the Naval Academy and then seven months in a combat squadron, Jegora went through his preflight procedures. He quickly powered up his reactor, and then kicked on his engines. After the main and secondary power systems were online he flipped another switch. Four green lights came to life on his right hand side, indicating his guns were operational. He finished out the procedures quickly, and then radioed the squadron.

“Alright Nazguls, roll call,” he said, his voice cold. The effect was not intentional, but 48 hours without sleep and put him in a bad mood.

“Nazgul 1 is here,” Shaz called out, sounding surprisingly joyful.

“Nazgul 2 is ready and waiting,” Dante replied.

“3 is here,” Lousy called.

“I’m here,” Lamel stated.

“5 is present,” Jeg said. After that, he quit listening. He was lost in his own thoughts, pondering the exercise. 15 X-Wings weren’t very challenging for Interceptors, normally. However, with the newer pilots, it would be interesting. Still, Shaz had said that Rogue had created these exercises, and Rogue liked to make things very, very interesting.

Suddenly he heard Roth say, “Nazgul, er, 10 here.”

Jeg had to smile at that. The new pilot still seemed to be hurting from the night before, and in addition his position had just changed drastically. Jeg instantly forgave him for his slight pause, and moved on.

“Alright, here go lady and gentlemen. Form up on me,” Jegora heard Shazam say over the radio. Instantly Jegora had his ship in formation, the rest of Flight 2 following him. Its nice to work with pilots that are experienced, he thought. Lately he had been dealing with new pilots fresh out of the Academy. It had become tedious, not to mention dangerous, and Jegora was happy with the change.

Jegora took the moment of relative calm to check his radar and his view ports. Nothing could be seen visually, but his radar indicated 15 X-Wing type profiles at one o’clock. Jeg knew that rather than turn and face the heavy ships dead on, Shaz would try to lead them in at an angle to avoid any jousting situations.

The TIE Interceptors were fast; in mere moments the X-Wings were within visual range. They were painted in a style Jegora had yet to encounter in any actual missions, but he recognized the paint scheme. These X-Wing’s were older Rebel Alliance ships; not as formidable as the newer, more advanced X-Wings the New Republic employed, but still a force to be reckoned with.

Well, isn’t that interesting, he thought to himself. Apparently the programmers had been bored. As the squadron neared the X-Wings, Jegora flipped yet another switch and brought his targeting system online. Instantly the threat warnings in the cockpit started to go off. Grimacing at the sudden output of noise, Jegora reached off to his left and punched a button. Instantly the noise quieted, but didn’t disappear. Jeg didn’t even notice the quite buzz, though. Now he was focused, his lack of sleep forgotten, distractions ignored. Seven months in combat had brought with it experience, and the ability to tune out distractions and ignore one’s body.

Totally focused, Jegora tensed and relaxed his muscles, preparing for the g-forces that would come soon. He watched the rest of the squadron, and kept an eye on his own flight. 1 Flight broke formation first, which was to be expected. They immediately started firing, and several of the X-Wings went down. Jegora could only shake his head before his own flight met the enemy.

Flight 2 consisted of Rustichituk, GBM, and Jeg himself. They were the most experienced flight. As they approached the enemy, Jeg opened a channel to his flight and spoke quietly.

“Alright gents hold formation and hold your fire. Let them pass through us.”

The flight did so, and soon the three pilots were behind the enemy. In unison the men pulled their TIEs into a tight loop and came back behind two of the X-Wings. In one smooth motion all three pilots leveled out and opened fire on the nearest X-Wing, which immediately exploded. Jegora quickly targeted the other X-Wing and opened fire, and was soon joined by Rusti. GBM was a newer pilot, and as such hadn’t been able to reacquire the second target as fast a Jeg and Rusti. It didn’t matter though, for the even the heavily armed and armored X-Wing couldn’t survive two direct blasts from a TIE interceptor.

“Good shots gents-” Jeg began, but was cut off by red lasers off his starboard side. He immediately broke formation, as did Rusti. Ginger, however, being a new pilot, didn’t possess the combat reflexes of Jegora and the wookie. The two X-Wings that had snuck in on the flight quickly demolished the new pilot, and Jeg swore.

“Alright Rusty, look sharp,” he said, his voice even harder than usual.

Rusty roared in what Jeg assumed to be agreement. The two pilots pulled out of the fray, turned, and observed for a second.

“Nazguls, head count!” he heard Shazam order over the radio.

Jeg checked his radar and swore again. “We lost Roth, GBM, Lousy, G’shlecc, and Lams sitting dead in the water. Looks like were down to four.”

As he spoke, Jegora saw two of the X-Wings pull a complicated maneuver that effectively cut Shaz off from Dante. Jeg winced, knowing what was about to happen. With a roar no one could hear he flung his Interceptor towards the two pilots at full power, and Rusty did the same. They were too late though. Dante exploded in a ball of fire as the two X-Wings fired simultaneously, the ones fire forcing Dante into the others. It was a brilliant move. And not one I would expect from a program… Jeg thought to himself. Most programs were stale, by the book simulations, the enemy pilots executing the perfected techniques with precision. They were, however, unable to improvise, and as such were severely limited.

Still, the two X-Wings that had taken out Dante had performed a maneuver that Jeg had only seen in books. And they had pulled it off with a degree of ability that impressed the young man. Unfortunately, now he was going to have to blow them up. Pushing his throttle forward even more, Jegora sped towards the twin X-Wings.

He never made it, however, as three X-Wings cut him and Rusty off before they could get halfway. Just then Shaz came on over the radio. “Boys, were down to five X-Wings, and there’s three of us. I’m commin to ya, hold on there.”

Jeg nodded, and then remembered the gesture couldn’t be seen. “Roger that 1, we’re sittin’ pretty at the moment.”

“Roger that 5, good work.”

Jegora then spoke to Rusti. “Alright, lets tie ‘em up. You go high, I’ll go low.”

The big wookie roared again, and Jegora wished the translator droid was operational. It had been damaged in the bar fight, and Rusti hadn’t had time to find a replacement. Jegora trusted the big creature, though, if only when they were flying. With that final thought, Jegora forced his ship into a move only a TIE Interceptor in zero-gravity can perform.

Cranking his controls, Jegora flung his TIE into a downward spin so suddenly that the restraints just about bruised his chest. At the same time Rusty pulled his ship into a sharp climb. The two X-Wings, lacking in maneuverability, had to come around and dive/climb behind the two Interceptors. Jegora had to grin. They had taken the bait.

“Now!” Jegora yelled, and together the two Imperial pilots acted.

Jegora jerked his throttle to zero, spun his ship, and accelerated again. He found himself directly behind the pilot that had climbed after Rusti, just as Rusti found himself directly behind the pilot that had dived after Jegora. Perfect, Jegora thought. He spun his targeting knob slightly, and then depressed his trigger.

The effect on the X-Wing was immediate. For a second the shields splashed blue, then they collapsed and the lasers tore into the other pilot’s engines, causing him to go into an uncontrolled spin. That was all Jegora could watch, though, because out of nowhere red lasers lanced by his TIE, glancing his shields and setting off several warning lights. One stray bolt even managed to puncture his shields and take out one of his cannons. Immediately going evasive, Jegora checked his radar for any sign of the ship that had shot at him. As he did, he grunted. Somehow he had forgotten about the third X-Wing. He didn’t have to worry long, though, because a roar over the radio signified that Rusty had made the kill.

“Roger that, 8, thanks for the help. Let’s find Shazam,” Jegora replied to the roar.

Again Jegora checked his radar. Shaz wasn’t very far away, but he was tangoing with the two remaining X-Wings, the ones that seemed to have a more difficult level of programming. Immediately pushing his throttle to the max, Jegora came within range and opened fire, not waiting for a targeting lock. Rusti did the same, knowing that they had to distract the X-Wings if Shaz had any chance of survival. It worked, the two X-Wings separating and then coming together again a ways away. The three Interceptors formed up as well, each taking inventory of the others.

Shaz’s left wing was smoking slightly, but it didn’t look serious. Rusty hadn’t been hit yet, and Jeg only had three operational cannons, and next to no shields. Jegora’s computers told him that the X-Wings were still fully operational.

“How you want to run this Commander?” he asked over the radio.

There was a brief moment of silence and calm in the simulated space. Each side seemed to be resting up, allowing each other some time for a breather by mutual agreement. Most unusual for a simulation, Jegora thought, but I’ll take it.

Finally Shaz spoke. “Jeg, you and I are gimped a bit. We’ll take the one on the left. Rusti, I hope you can handle the one on the right. I’m afraid that these two have a higher level of skill than the others. If we don’t split up, they might just take us.”

Jegora voiced his agreement, and Rusty roared. Together the three pilots accelerated, their dagger-shaped Interceptors slicing through space at an impressive rate. The X-Wings also picked up speed. As the two sides met, no one opened fire. These five pilots were too experienced and disciplined for such a rookie display of passion.

With cold precision the TIE pilots spun their ships around, hoping for a quick shot at the aft of the X-Wings. They had no such luck, as the X-Wings had expected the move and had pulled into a sharp climb immediately after the pass. Not for the first time, Jegora swore. He had no idea how they were going to split the two pilots, as they appeared to have the sense to stick together. Then he had an idea.

Quickly he armed one of his concussion missiles. The X-Wings and the Interceptors were flying right at each other again, trying for another pass. He heard Rusty roar, and Shazam’s terse question.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

Jegora had no time for a reply. His idea probably wasn’t the smartest one in the history of Nazgul, but he thought it would work. He hoped it would work. As the two sides neared each other he quickly made the calculations, entered the data into his computer, and let the missile fly. There had been no time to get a lock, but it would work all the same.

“Dive!” he yelled over the radio.

Not wasting time to question Jegora’s order, both of the other Nazgul pilots followed the young pilot into a dive steeper than the one Jegora had made earlier. Shaz swore, Rusty roared, and Jegora just prayed. As the missile detonated he felt the shock wave rock his ship, but otherwise he sustained no damage. He checked his radar. It had worked! The two X-Wings had been forced to separate, and even then they had been knocked farther apart.

“Rusti, take him. Shaz, lets finish this,” Jegora said, his voice as hard as steel.

Jegora thought he heard Shazam mutter something about ‘crazy Nazgul pilots’ but he shook off the comment. The yelling would come later. Now they had to act. Together Shazam and Trevor bore down on the X-Wing, forcing him into a series of more and more evasive maneuvers. Finally, he had nowhere left to go, the two TIE pilots unloading their green lasers into the space he was occupying. Still, the Interceptor pilots had trouble hitting him. For Jegora it was the hardest target he had ever shot at, and that included X-Wings and the few Avengers he had flown against. He had to give the programmer of the ship credit: he knew his stuff.

In the end, however, the one X-Wing was no match for the two Interceptors. At first just a few bolts made contact with the X’s shields. Then more and more started landing, until eventually the X’s shields collapsed, and shots started ripping through his armor. After a well aimed shot by Shaz to the X-Wings engine, the ship exploded in a ball of fire.

“Nice shot!” Jeg exclaimed over the radio.

“Not to bad yourself, there,” Shazam responded. “Rusti, how you doing?”

A happy, or what Jeg thought of as happy, roar came over the radio. Jegora checked his radio and saw that Rusty had taken some damage but had managed to take out the other X-Wing. Smiling Jegora slowed his ship, then stopped it, and waited for the simulation to end. As the cockpit went dark and the hatch opened, Jegora stepped out. Shazam and Rusti were doing the same. The sight that greeted Jegora made him self-conscious, something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

All the pilots were staring at the three of them. Finally Rusty couldn’t take anymore and roared, and Jegora had to agree. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

G’shlecc, the only one who wasn’t standing there in total amazement, shook his head. “These pups have never actually seen real flying. They were quite impressed.”

Jegora grimaced when G’shlecc pointed towards a large screen that showed the progression of the simulation. Great, he thought, I have a fan club.

Shazam spoke up, putting an end to his thoughts. “Alright ladies and gentlemen, next simulation. And this one won’t be so easy.”

A chorus of groans met that announcement, and Jegora had to grin.

OOC:

2,514 words. Now that’s a story post =P

Jegora winced as he strapped himself in to the simulator again. Some of the maneuvers had caused the too-tight restraints to dig into his chest and shoulders. The bruises were superficial, and would only last a day or so, but they were sore and made sitting in the craft extremely uncomfortable.

When everyone was strapped in Shazam spoke up over the radio. “Alright Nazguls, this simulation is going to be a little different. We’re flying TIE Interceptors again, but this time we’re running a patrol through an asteroid field. A fairly stable asteroid field, not a lot of small debris, but still: watch yourselves.”

A chorus of groans erupted at the news that the squadron was going to have to fly through an asteroid field, and fly a patrol. The two things any pilot hated most. Even Jegora, who took most things in stride, sighed at the news. Still, orders were orders. Running through his pre-flight checks, the simulator started up and suddenly he was in an asteroid field.

Shazam had been right. It was a fairly ‘clean’ asteroid field, as such things were measured. It was mostly consisted of large methane-covered bodies, the largest being a few kilometers in length, the smallest only a quarter of a kilometer. Well, this shouldn’t be so bad, Jegora thought. The large bodies would make easier targets to avoid, and the lack of debris was always helpful. Interceptor shields weren’t effective in the least against rocks.

As Jegora pulled his ship into formation he noted how much easier it was for the new pilots to do the same. During the first simulation it had been awkward and sloppy. Even now, just a short while after the first attempt, it was smoother and more cohesive. Jegora was pleased. The rookies were going to fit in nicely.

Turning his mind back to the patrol he scanned his radar. Nothing, except the asteroids. He grimaced. Anything could be hiding behind one of the larger asteroids. For all the Nazgul pilots knew they were about to fly between two Lancer frigates. Wouldn’t that be a joy. Jegora grinned at the silly thought. Lancer frigates wouldn’t survive in the asteroid field. But there WAS the risk of anti-starfighter emplacements on the asteroids themselves.

As if his thoughts had triggered the event, the sky lit up with red bolts. It seemed that the cannons were extremely accurate, and the programming behind them was smart. They aimed for the flight leaders. Shazam was quickly blown out of the sky under the combined laser fire. Jegora threw his ship into a crazy barrel roll, trying to avoid the same fate, but to no avail. Soon his shield warning lights came on, and then his wing fell off, followed by one of his guns exploding. Finally the simulator went dark as a shot connected with his engines.

Swearing quietly, Jegora pushed the hatch open and climbed out. He was greeted by the sight of Shaz, who was also fuming. Shaking his head, Jegora just walked past the other man to stand in front of the panel of screens. After only a second the Wing Commander joined him. Together the two men stood at attention and watched the Squadron, which now consisted of mostly fresh recruits, try to stay alive.


***************************


The technician had to let out a laugh. It wasn’t very often he got to pull surprises on the pilots in his simulators, and when the opportunity arose he took special pleasure in demolishing the pilots one by one.

The technician, whose name was Norman Deth, wasn’t a bad man. In fact, he was a quiet individual who enjoyed the company of his friends and family, both of which would testify that Norman was a great guy. He just didn’t like pilots.

Norman had enlisted in the Naval Academy on his 18th birthday. He had been accepted, and had flown to Abrae within a day of his acceptance letter. Once at the Academy he studied, practiced, learned, and tried to be the best pilot in the entire VEN. He was a gifted student, grasping and mastering the teaching faster than any of the teachers had ever seen before. It was expected he would become an officer one day.

It was not to be, however. Norman failed his first simulation. It wasn’t through any fault of his own; not consciously, at least. Norman had been running basic maneuvers when he had flown his TIE directly into another recruits ship.

For this act, which stunned everyone, including Norman, the young pilot had no explanation. He simply hadn’t seen the TIE craft that had been sitting in his path. The superiors shrugged it off, thinking it a one time mistake. Norman went back to his studies, back to excelling, and forgot about the incident.

Everything was going fine until the next simulation came along. During that simulation, there was another incident similar to the first one, expect this time in an asteroid field. Norman had failed to dodge a rather large asteroid traveling right at him. His superiors were at a loss. How could such a talented and gifted student be so impractical and foolish while flying? Norman himself had no answer. He couldn’t understand what the problem was: he simply didn’t the asteroid.

After a week of medical tests, Norman was diagnosed with a blind spot in the center of his vision. It only affected things coming directly at him, but it effectively destroyed his career as a Navy pilot. He had, instead, become a technician, one of the best in his field. And now, instead of flying in the simulations, he was controlling them from the outside. And that fact angered Norman Deth to no end. So, whenever he got the chance, he killed off the pilots in his simulators.

Grinning sadistically, Norman thought about what to do next. The gun emplacements on the asteroids had only managed to get two of the ships before the fast and agile Interceptors had strayed out of range, but he had another surprise for the Nazgul pilots. Pressing two keys on his control pad, the young technician brought up the specs for a squadron of A-Wings; twelve of them, to be exact. With a child-like glee, Norman hit another key. The spec sheet closed and a window popped up, saying that the forces had been deployed.

The dark-haired technician sat back in his chair, took a sip of caf, and waited for the show to start.

OOC:

1076. New simulation is up and running. Ya’ll are in an asteroid field with 12 A-Wings screaming at you. Remember, A-Wings and Interceptors are pretty evenly matched. I don’t want to see ANY multi-kill posts, and if you do make a kill make sure you involve your wingman. Remember that it isn’t always as simple as pulling a maneuver to get behind one fighter: there are eleven others out there that will shoot at you too. Also, for the moment Shazam and I are out of it, meaning that you’ll all probably lose. I know, it’s not always fun, but its important to remember that sometimes we DO lose. However, if you guys do a good job and put some work into this one, you may just win. We’ll see what happens.