OOC:

My first Squadron post! How exciting!

The sun dipped low on the horizon, stretching the inky shadows out to ridiculously long lengths. Ferran wiggled his arms, and admired how their ten foot long counterparts in front of him danced along the ferracrete pavement. It had been such a long time since he had been on a planet. He was unused to such trivialities that planet-dwellers took for granted. In the harsh, artificial light in the upper levels Leviathan, shadows had been rare; the lower levels had been just the opposite, with shadows everywhere. The rigidity of his own shadow, the clearly defined outline of his body: it was alien to him.

The clatter of falling tools and a string of curses echoed out from the hangar, reaching Ferran’s ears out just outside. Reluctantly, he pulled himself away from his musings to investigate. The sun was already almost gone anyway. Before Ferran had reached the wide durasteel doors of the hangar, the sun retracted its last fingers of light from the land and submerged it in darkness.

The hangar was much brighter. Almost too bright, in fact. The lamps on the ceiling slowly flicked on as the outdoor sensors registered the drop in ambient light, casting the whole large chamber in a sterile, white light that reminded Ferran uncomfortably of the Leviathan.

The absense of people in the hangar made it seem larger than it actually was. Ferran felt small as he jogged underneath the large shadows of the TIEs suspended overhead. The ships weren’t expected to be needed for combat operations for a couple of weeks. In the downtime, the last place the techs would rather be was fumbling around with the starfighters. As he approached the back of the hangar, he noted that all five of the technicians in the room were huddled around the fuel pumps where Goralt was cradling his left hand close to his chest.

Goralt was one of the three technicians assinged to Ferran's craft, and, as such, they ended up spending a lot of time together. He was a fairably likeable man, a little younger than Ferran himself, if a bit empty-headed at times. Such as now.

As Ferran approached, the junior technician looked up, face pinched in pain.  “Fuel line burnt me, sir. Made a nice mess out of my hand,” Goralt said, looking down.

“Kriffing hell! What’d you do, stick it straight into the tube?” The hand was a mottled black and crimson mess. Two fingers were hardly even identifiable, fused together and partially melted.  The technician mumbled something incoherent.

“What?”

“I said it doesn’t even hurt, sir," Goralt replied weakly.

“Of course it doesn’t. You burnt all the touchy-feely things away.” Ferran gingerly grabbed the hand and rotated it flat. The back of the appendage was somewhat better looking, if not by much. He’d need a skin graft for sure, and liberal doses of bacta.

The doctors arrived shortly after, trailing the two techs that’d run off to get them.  Goralt protested that he was fine the entire way to the door. If anything, it made the doctors hurry him off faster. In their wake they left seven dull-eyed technicians, wringing their hands uncomfortably and looking towards Ferran.

“Go back to doing what you were doing. I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Ferran reassured them, The assembled techs scurried off, glad to make themselves scarce. Ferran was left alone next to the fuel pumps. He sighed and ran his hand through his close cropped dark hair.

He wasn’t sure what it was that made all the techs look up towards him, but they did, and had been ever since he started lending a hand around the hangar. Especially after they found out he was a pilot. It wasn’t that he was a good technician; he considered himself a pretty lousy one, his skills having failed him since his departure from the Leviathan to the Naval Academy. They just seemed...overawed by his presence among them. Local technicians to a man, they didn’t seem used to having a pilot working in their midst.

“Crewman Adrun Ferran? Viper?” Ferran looked up, his idle thoughts dissipating as soon as he recognized the man. Or, at least, the man’s position.

“Yes,” Ferran replied slowly.

“Operations wanted this to be delivered to your Squadron Commander, but he couldn’t be reached. In fact, most of your squadron is out of touch,” the courier for Operations said, somewhat perplexed. He pressed a small datapad into Ferran’s hand. “We hope you’ll pass this to him a the earliest opportunity.”

Ferran opened his mouth to speak, but the courier was already darting off, no doubt back to the Operations control building for another delivery assignment. Ferran exhaled loudly, his questions dying in his throat, and made off for the squadron’s billets.

He hesitated before knocking on Ibram’s door. If he wasn’t responding to calls from Operations, then he was probably out. Or doing something, and didn’t want to be disturbed. A whole list of things that Ferran’s Squadron Commander could be doing behind the door, some of them considerably worse than others. In the end, Ferran sucked up his pride and rapped the door with his knuckles.

There was some shuffling from inside, a few words, and then the door slid open to reveal Ibram, hair in a mess, wearing a heavily wrinkled duty uniform. He grinned jovially, blue eyes flashing.

“Ferran! What brings you here?” Ferran glanced behind him, at the ruffled, unmade bed, and at the woman nursing a long-necked bottle at the table. She was wrapped in one of Ibram's larger shirts, but nothing else. Ferran flushed and pretended to clear his throat.

“I, uhm, got a message from, err, Operations. Sir.” Ferran handed the datapad over quickly and then found something rather fascinating to stare at intently between his feet.

Ibram read over the datapad in silence, coughing after he was finished and raising an eyebrow at Ferran as the pilot lifted his head ever so slightly. Despite himself, his eyes darted over to the woman for a second, before he looked up at Ibram’s face. His eyes were completely sober now, the former cheerfulness all but gone.

“What, uh, do they say? Sir?” Ferran asked. Ibram shook his head.

“Just...be ready. In case something comes up,” Ibram said simply. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some rather pressing matters to attend to.” He smiled again, his former mood restored, and turned away. Behind him, the door closed quickly, leaving a very confused and somewhat embarrassed Ferran alone in the hallway pondering the meaning of the word ‘ready’.

He sat upon a hill, gazing at the rolling grasslands as the cool breeze swept through his short mohawk. After his second coma, the Navy paid for brain exams that resulted in his signature long, silky hair to be cut down to an inch. Phineus, being the style-whore that he was, decided to grow a two inch mohawk on top. Phineus thought he looked charming. He was the only one.

Phineus felt good to be back in action. After he recovered from his second coma; he was sent on a vacation. That, to say the very least, wasn't much of one; but that didn't bother him. What did irk him was the fact that he hadn't had any squadron action in too long a while. After all, camaraderie was second only to flying. He had a deep passion for both which only grew to be deeper and with more fervency. It was an enchanting sensation to see some of the familiar faces again; and the memories they were made with. It was all quite nice.

Phineus drew in one final, deep breath before standing atop the rolling hill. He took his time walking down the hillside, and continued his inconsequently dilatory stroll through the grasslands, slowly gazing at the pulchritudinous sights so easy to be seen. Nearby, he soaked in the scene of three young rodian children skipping stones on a silver-blue, rushing pond. Overhead, the distinct clatter of Fynocks could be heard as the flock gathered together, forming a distinct V-shape pattern, and headed south. Phineus began to contemplate the appearance of these creatures. In the peak summer days of this planet, the Fynocks intended on flying south to the lower regions, where heat was much less abundant. Is that how life, for humans as well, worked? When the times grew strenuous, do we just head for an easier locale? Do we just give up, conclude that we cannot adapt, and move on? No. No, Phineus had to keep working himself out of his typical dismal mindset. Rather, when times grew difficult, it was our duty as humans to gather our dearest loved ones together and depart for a better environment. Yes. Yes, that sounded right. We needed to protect our family, more than anything. There; that's the panglossian outlook he needed. Thinking optimistically was a strategy Phineus would need to master soon if he wanted to continue along his path of being not only a fighter pilot for the Imperial Navy; but the true owner of an up and coming moon.

To snap Phineus from his current cerebration; a far off volcano caught his eye. Dormant, of course, it still appeared as ferociously choleric as it must have been in it's hay day. Above the volcano, flew a white bird of a species Phineus couldn't see clearly enough to determine. Above the bird, hung a cluster of white clouds, drifting innocently, floating with the wind. The integral envisage was of the utmost beauty, and ignited a dying sense of hope deep within Phineus that he hadn't felt since... since his mother was alive. The feeling was becoming increasingly cognizant to him now. Oddly, strangely, albeit consolingly. This mood- this hope- was a mood Phineus had been experimenting with ever since his comas; and he was starting to savor it.

Phin's day dreaming was suspended by a repeating call from one of the rodian children. Their scoopball had rolled rebelliously away, and had slowed at Phin's feet. An innocent, almost child-like smile crept across his face as he knelt to retrieve the ball; and with his mechanized right hand, he softly punched it back to the children.

-Meanwhile-

Planetary Defense Force Headquarters

The office was small, cramped, and confining. Unpacked boxes littered against the walls as though they were decoration; and maneuvering throughout the office was a strenuous hassle that no one was too happy about. But that's just the hand you're given when you're a newly assembled, green-horned lot whose primary function was to aid in defending the planet. They were short-handed, unexperienced, and were given the most obsolete equipment in comparison to the Army.

Just set us up for failure, why don't you?

The musings of Marshall Krom, the skipper of the whole PDF, were downtrodden and dry. He was a graying man of fifty; was married for twenty-seven years and had three children. He served several stints in various task forces around Kolstor and was given this job mainly out of pity; more than his seniority. No one truly wanted to head the PDF at such an early stage, for obvious reasons, and the aging Krom just happened to be around and half-willing. He had originally held out hope that he can make something of this job; but he's starting to lose that hope more and more each day.

Hope, Krom thought, is a naïve feeling.

Life was quite stressful on Krom of late; if not for his entire career. His marriage of twenty-seven years has slowly but surely been falling apart. His children have either come to loathe him; or they barely know him at all. His oldest son even joined the PDF, though this was prior to learning that it was his father who would be heading the operation. Krom is also a heavy closet-alcoholic; choosing to drown away his days.

We hold on to our past, Krom mused, because our future is a bleak one.

As if his stress wasn't hard enough on him already; Krom had the special task of taking on Corporal Harkness as his number two. Harkness was in his late thirties, and was already beginning to find spots of gray in his hair. This came from his constant worrying attitude.  He can see a problem happening in any situation, and can't help but fear that problem. Eight months ago, his worrying reached such a high level that he unsuccessfully attempted suicide. Because of this, he was transferred from the First Defense, to the PDF in hopes of calming his nerves.

Not ten years ago, Harkness was fired from a stint in the Imperial Army due to a serious spice addiction. He cleaned himself up for the most part, and managed to bribe his way back into the Army. No one truly respects him- least of all Krom- and he is completely unaware of it. 


________________________________________________________

Words- 1, 065  Merely an introductory post

::Strike-class Cruiser Rising Sun-  Kolstor::

A lone individual looked out over the Rising Sun from the command bridge main view port and down onto Kolstor. The figure was slim and stood nearly motionless with her hands clasped steadfastly behind her at the small of her back. Her Naval uniform was crisp with the edges and lines sharply formed. Over all impeccably clean. Captain Ismirala wasn't truly alone as the ship was operating with nearly half of the full crew. The rest of the crew was taking time off on Kolstor. She however would take leave of her ship.


There had been no intelligence, that she was aware of, that would compromise them but she still didn't like the idea of leaving the ship just to enjoy herself. She was one of the youngest Captains in the Navy, and female at that. Obeying rules had not always been her favorite thing-but she found she could do it. Of course it was her over sized punching bag that usually took the blunt force of her stress and over the years it had needed several patching jobs.


Letting out a soft slow sigh she turned on her heel having heard a familiar, hurried pattern of boots on the ships flooring. She nodded to Lieutenant Thance and asked him to report on the current status of the Ships orbiting Kolstor.


“We have received orders to remain in this system, Captain. We also received confirmation that Captain Hunter will be sending a number of Ships to investigate a matter at Sian V.” Thance said at full attention as he answered her questions.


The lieutenant was a man who didn't fool around. Always straight to the point, and not afraid to tell her how things really were. And that was something every Captain needed. It let her know exactly what her options were and what the best choice was. Even in tight spots and potentially disastrous situations Thance had proven to her that he was able to remain stable and clear minded. And they had had their share of tight spots.


Captain Ismirala nodded and began to walk in the direction that would take her to her private quarters, “Very well, the crew deserves a good rest...” they need it. she thought then asked, “Did Captain Hunter give an explanation what matter needed to be addressed at Sian V?”


“No Captain, he neglected to say anything on the matter.”


“Very well,” she said pausing at her door as it opened, “Let me know if there are any changes in the plans for our leave.”


Thance nodded and jotted a small note in his datapad, “Captain, are you expecting our leave to be canceled?” he asked in a direct matter.


“Always expect anything to change lieutenant. That will be all, you're are dismissed.” Ismirala said with a nod.


She stepped into her quarters, the door closing behind her with a smooth and subtle hiss. She sat at her desk and ran through the various reports that had piled up. Much like her quarters, the rest of the ship was all in order. There were only a few matters at hand that needed to be addressed. One incident of a brawl in the mess hall....and apparently one of the members of Viper Squadron was still lingering on board the ship.


A single eyebrow raised when she saw that it was a member of the Squadron who had just returned. What she wondered was what was keeping the pilot on the Rising Sun. His record was not a very long one from before he left and yet he had taken more than a month Leave of Absence. She decided she would go to see what the problem was after she got something in her to feel more solid. Perhaps she would have to make it planet side. So many months of synthesized food, no mater how full of nutrients and supplements, can tend to leave you feeling less than whole.


After thumbing through the pilot's file once more as well as a signing off on some shipment orders on standby then really decided to eat, and thought to herself, “Then I will find out what this obsessed-with-work Beliam is doing still on board my ship.”


::Hangar of the Rising Sun::


R7's beep's came from the side of Eloquence, Anden's personal shuttle. Both Phineus and he had returned from Phin's supposed required time off for recuperation. He couldn't help but smile as he pondered just how “recuperating” their chance meeting on Zoltros had been for Phin. Everything from the very second they met until they left for the end of Sic's time off and Anden's return as well flew through his mind and he could understand why Ibram had leaned into them once he received word that Phin was actually NOT taking it easy.

—One day earlier---

“Phineus!!” Ibram's voice could be heard from well across the hangar just as the ramp lowered onto the Hangar bay floor.


Phin looked at Anden who gave his friend a sigh and a shrug, “You might as well get it over with mate. It's gonna happen anyway. I told you it probably would have been better to answer his transmissions.”


“True...” Phin nodded in mock consideration, “But the messages just kept getting more over the top every time we didn't” he said not able to hold in his laughter any more. He managed to settle down and cleared his throat, got a serious face on as he shouldered his duffel and went down the ramp to face the inevitable scolding.


Anden caught a few phrases somewhere in the rest of the yelling, “Fighting in the streets”, “taking on Gangs”, “Suicidal missions”. Anden smiled because he was sure that Ibram was upset but it wasn't all Sic's idea. He had had just as much to do with the whole ordeal. So he decided that the time had come and he too began the decent down the ramp.


Ibram was pacing back and forth in front of Phin and then caught site of Anden, “And you, Beliam. You might as well step in line. What right did you have to step in, even if Phineus wasn't on a required leave?”


Anden step in beside Phin, following suit and coming to attention, “None what so ever, Sir.” Anden said straight forward and simply.


“...Do you mind explaining why you did then? And it had better be good.”


“Sir, I feel you would have done the same thing, had it been you. That state of security on Zoltros, if it could be called that, wasn't even half ready for the assaults, let alone being capable of planning and executing a rescue mission. We only did what we do best, Sir. Complete a mission. Very well, if I do say so. And now we are back ready to serve, ready to fly, if you'll still have us..and if I may add...it's damn good to be back, Sir.”


Ibram eyed both of them dangerously he could see that neither of them was worse for wear, and the truth of it was that the escapade he left Anden feeling rejuvenated and excited to find himself back in Viper. Finally, their Squadron Commander shook his head.


“And it will be damn good to have you back...both of you. At least we have some actual time for R&R. We are on our way to Kolstor for just that, the whole squadron. So for the next few days...no more theatrics, is that clear?” Ibram said in a tone that seemed more forced than sincerely upset.


They both gave their 'Yes, Sir', he dismissed them and left. Phin looked at Anden laughing, and clapped him solidly on the shoulder, “Just like old times.”


Anden had smiled and took in a deep breath of the recycled air in the hangar, the smell of his true home, “Just like old times.”

R7 beeped again and then Anden could now hear a voice as well, “Chief Petty Officer Beliam.”


It wasn't a question, but the voice and tone captured all the authority of one who didn't need to ask questions to get what they needed. Frak.... He said as he rolled out from underneath his shuttle, and coming at attention.


He noticed her from her image which noted her as the ship's captain when he and Phin had requested docking permission. Captain Ismirala if he recalled correctly. She was in exquisite shape from as much as he could tell with keeping his eyes forward and at attention.


“CPO Beliam, ready for orders, Captain.”


“At ease Beliam, no orders for now. I am here to find out why you are still on board my ship and not taking advantage of your leave.”


Anden settled out of being at attention, “The fore repulsor lift has been operating at lower than normal levels. I stayed on board to fix the problem. Flying it again with the knowledge of the problem didn't seem best for the ship...or myself.”


The captain raised an eyebrow questioningly, “And this matter couldn't wait until after you leave was through?”


“Yes Captain, I suppose it could,” he admitted, “I just prefer to be prepared...for anything.”


Ismirala nodded seemingly satisfied with his answer, “That's one thing we have in common. Continue if you wish Beliam.” She said then turned sharply away to leave.


He watched he briefly as she left then returned back to his solitude under the shuttle. Time down on the planet would come. There was only a little more time he needed to finish the job, then he would go planet side as well and find something do to use up the rest of the squadron's leave time.


Just a little more time... he said in his mind.

Zane's Return

-:::: Regeneration ::::-

It had been a while since Zane had been around. After a fatal ship accident that almost took his life, Zane was rushed to an imperial medical facility. He his injuries were bad enough that they were forced to put him into a regeneration pod. The pod would slowly regenerate his wounds and eventually make it like they never happened. It just took a while to do this. Zane was given several drugs before entering the pod to keep him in submission and keep him from waking up and trying to get out or mess with stuff.

Then once in they had to hook him up to several wires and things to keep him alive, fed and breathing Once all done they filled the pod with a liquid that would regenerate his wounds. It took months before he was as good as new. On the day his wounds were healed the facilities doctors got him out and had to run several boring tests before awaking him.

-:::: Wake Up ::::-

When Zane awoke they told him that some things had changed. They had to surgically repair his cybernetic implants and everything. His right hand and forearm had to be mechanized, and he had to have a replacement for his mechanical eye. Then they gave Zane a mirror. Zane gasped shocked by what he saw. The side of his face with his mechanical eye was completely mechanized. There was barely any skin showing at all.

"Wasn't there anything the pod could do?"

"We're sorry sir, but the burns completely melted your skin, fried your nerves and heavily damaged your muscles in that area. In fact many areas around your body you will feel nothing. Your nerves were fried."

"You couldn't replace the skin?"

"No sir, we're sorry sir."

"Damnit!"

They handed Zane a shiny black face mask that once pressed to his face would form itself to it. It covered all the ugly mechanics at least. Zane felt like pulling his hood over his face so that you could no longer see it. He would never be the same. His first accident had already taken it's tole, but this second one had all but destroyed him. After all, who wants to go around with a mechanical face?

"Sir you'll be happy to know that the mask we gave you will create the illusion that your face is normal. You won't be able to see anything wrong."

"Great!"

"There is one thing, the mask must be taken off 3 times daily or problems or it will permanently meld into your skin making it extremely difficult to make any future repairs to your face."

"Great..."

Zane felt destroyed. He already had to live with his face mechanized in some places but it half mechanized completely? At least they gave him something to cover it up. One thing he learned, be much more careful when flying in a fighter. He would have to work very hard on becoming more serious and taking less risks from now on. No more messing around for fun. Well it was time to go.

"One last thing sir."

"What?"

"You will have to take medication for the rest of your life to keep your body going and functionally properly."

"Nice."

Now he was going to be forced to be a pill popper. Zane gathered his belongings and checked out.

-:::: Training with Assassins ::::-

Months after his regeneration Zane somehow bumped into a few assassins in a pub. One thing had led to another and he ended up traveling out of the empire and then started training with them. It took months until it was complete, but once finished he knew no hand-to-hand combat would ever go un-won. He now knew how to handle almost any weapon better than a lot of people. He could even better keep himself hidden and harder to find when not wanting to be found. He was taught literally how to sneak up on victims, and if needed kill them.

He had become much more skilled din everything. He had better self control and all but perfected his reflexes. One thing he learned from all his experiences was that mistakes could not be afforded. You had to plan everything and when you messed up as everyone did, you learned and made sure that it never happened again. One rule he would always live by was that when you mess up, take the blame and learn from it. Then get over it and move on, make sure it never happens again.

Everything about him improved. Once he graduated he decided to go back to the empire and resume his place with the navy. After all even though he could have been a very good assassin, life in the navy was one he would not end up killing every day and be alone all the time. He had friends their. It was the life he knew. So once again he packed up his things and left back to the empire.

-:::: Back to the Navy ::::-

It took a long time to get back. He had a lot of time to think about everything that had happened to him the past several months. He literally had become a new person. Not only had he changed the way he thought and behaved, but how he looked too. He was going to have to make some changes in how he did things when he returned to the navy. He couldn't be reckless anymore.

The only way he would ever consider doing something reckless again was if it was to save a comrades life. Otherwise it was not an option. With all his new abilities he would make a good addition to his squadron again. This time he would not leave. He had a home back at the navy and that was where he planned to serve. Since coming to the empire and escaping his vile childhood life had treated him well.

He had been lucky to escape his past just a little. Many did not get that chance. Zane planned to not waist it. Serving in the navy took guts and bravery. Not to mention skill and determination. Zane had the necessary skills he needed to preform his duty. It was his responsibility to help everyone he could. Maybe even give them the chance he was given.

"Glad to see you back Zane."

"Glad to be back commander. Congratulations on making Commander Ibram."

"Thank you Zane."

"Welcome back Zane!"

"Thanks Anden."

Memories passed through his head as he lay down on his comfortable bed in his luxury condo. He had taken a rest. His flight. had left him tired and exhausted, but he was to tired to sleep. Since he couldn't sleep his thoughts slowly started taking a hold and soon he was lost in thought. His squad was currently in a battle with other squads. Pretty much a competition for fun. Zane would gear up soon, but it was almost over.

"Would you like anything sir?" asked his personal droid.

"No, actually get my flight gear ready please."

"Yes sir."

Once ready Zane geared up for his first flight back with his squad. He didn't get back till late but they all fought hard. After he got back Zane realized what he had missed out on. Flying somehow was in his blood. He was good at it. He was meant to do it. Fate had drawn him into the empire, and then into the navy. Zane took a shower and then did a few exercises that kept him fit and strong. After that he sat down and almost instantly fell asleep.

OOC:

Could someone fill me in on whats happening in this story, I'm a little lost.

::::: Back with Viper, The Mission... :::::

Zane was finally back with his old squadron. He sat alone in his quarters busy with his own personal work and thinking about the new mission that lay ahead.. He didn't have much in there, just the normal things he had always had minus a few things. It was dark, and that was how Zane liked it. He didn't need much light.
He preferred silence these days. Carefully cleaning the tiny needle with a disinfectant, he then filled it up with a smooth silver liquid. Slowly he pulled up his soft black sleeves then found a good vain. He would have to do this carefully or it would really hurt. Without thinking anymore he slowly injected the silver liquid into the vain.

Relief flooded through him. His shaking stopped, his sweating was no longer out of control, and his constant aching subsided. Relief at last. That stupid crash had left him all but crippled. Although the outside looked perfect, his insides were all messed up. He had to take meds several times a day just to keep his body stable.
It wasn't how he chose to live, but either way he was stuck with it. At least he could have the mask off in peace. Zane opened up his own personal make, the holo-top. A small sphere the size of a walnut would project an adjustable sized holograhpic screen and keyboard. Plus anything you might need for your hands like mouse pad, etc. It was also touch enabled.

Good piece of equipment. Zane began to connect himself to local satellites, and once done locked is signal in to begin monitoring the planets surroundings. Still nothing. He had been told that the NR Fleet would be arriving very soon. Zane hadn't found anything so he decided to go and change his clothes. Stripping off his clothes he jumped in the shower. Something about a nice hot shower always seemed to calm humans. After a good hot shower he dried off and fetched some clothes. He grabbed his thinsuit first then his normal black long-sleeved garb. It felt better to be out of his old clothes. Back to his monitoring. Still finding nothing Zane pulled out his data-pad. He had modified it to do everything he would need it to do, and more. No updates at all, things were looking a little bleak. Zane was anxious for he knew that once up in his fighter he would feel much better.

"Sir can I get you anything?"

"No thanks x-7 but I'm fine."

"Yes sir."

"I think I'll go down to the cantina for a while."

Without any further words Zane grabbed a couple things and headed off to the local cantina. Zane didn't drink and normally he liked to be alone, but for some reason being a a cantina was oddly pleasant. He found a good spot and ordered something to eat. Zane was never that hungry so he ordered something filling but not to big. After eating he just sat and listened. He had excellent senses and being with assassins had really boosted it to an even greater level. He listened as a group playing cards found out on of them was cheating. A fight was brewing, and the guy accused argued that he wasn't cheating at all. Zane heard a rustle of fabric and a soft light object hit the floor. Suddenly yelling erupted across the room.

"You damn cheater yur' gunna pay for this!"

"Like you don' cheat too!"

"Thas' it yur askin' for it!"

Zane heard the crunching of jaw bones and the sound of a good old fight. Laughing to himself Zane watched as the man accused was punched in the ribs and in return thrust his attacker into the air knocking over a couple of men who weren't even fighting. They were now. The fight soon began to take over the whole room. The Bartenders tried to stop it but they ended up with black eyes and missing teeth. Zane decided to stay out of it.

"Hey you! What do you think your doing all alone!"

Zane ignored him. He liked a good fight, but he wasn't about to go and start one either. He had to keep his head clean for the mission and fighting would only get him into some trouble.

*crash*

A glass bottle crashed over his head causing a foul smelling alcohol to fall onto the hood of his cloak, which was then followed by 2 men grabbing his sleeves. That's it, Zane had enough. With a flick of his wrist Zane popped the first mans wrist out of its socket, only to receive a blow to the ribs by the second man. Zane reacted quickly and tossed the first man over his shoulder into the mob of drunk men behind him. That only gave the second man time to pop him in the jaw. Zane felt hot blood flood his mouth. The mechanics beneath his mask gave sparks as the drunk man hit it. Zane touched his mouth feeling the hot scarlet blood run down his chin. Too late, then drunk again popped him another one in the face this time making the mask flicker and fall to the ground. Zane picked it off and stuffed it in his pocket in time to defend himself. He grabbed the mans fist in mid strike and twisted the mans arm pulling it behind his back.

"Think it's funny do ya?"

"No sir!"

"Too bad."

Zane dislocated the mans arm hearing a loud pop. Screaming and angry the man swung around and through another punch. Back in control Zane grabbed the mans arm and with his other hand stuck the man in the temple just hard enough to knock him out cold. This was getting ridiculous! Zane didn't have any time to think at all. Another group of men decided he looked like a fun person to pick on. Zane smirked let the fun began. He wasn't going to play nice any more. Dodging an attempt to strike his gut Zane elbowed the first one in the chest, at the same time landing a kick to another ones gut. Both staggered back only to rush at him. Zane moved barely in time for them to crash into each other but only to be grabbed by the neck. Struggling Zane swung himself up and over his holders head locking his legs around the guys head. Then when he got his hands on the ground he released his hold and sent to guy flying.

"Thats it, I've had enough."

Zane worked his way out getting three more blows which one made him bleed and the other two knocked the breath out of him. At last he got out and quickly went to his quarters. He needed to clean up and repair his face. It took a little while but after cleaning up he got the mechanics in his face good as new. He then finished fixing his mask and then stuck it on.

*beep*

"Hey Zane, you been in a fight?"

"Yah it's nothing, just a small fight at the local cantina is all."

"Good to see your okay. Any way, we just got a report of the fleet getting close. Just thought I'd let you know."

"Thanks Anden."

"No problem, hey I've got to get back to business. Good to see your back."

"Good to be back Anden."

The transmission ended and Zane resumed monitoring. The satellites weren't powerful enough to see anything far away so for now he didn't see
anything. After a while Zane began to doze.

*Red Alert*

Zane jumped as his alarm blared. It had picked up the fleet, and by the sounds of all the commotion outside, it looked like it might be time to gear up. With a small flurry of movements he sent a signal to his fighter which would then start it up and all Zane would have to do is jump in, flick a few switches to fly off. Zane threw on his space suit and grabbed his pack. Then grabbing his blaster just in case he threw on his cloak and headed out. Why were there people running around? Not to mention all the screaming hurt his ears. Zane made his way to the port where his fighter was being held.

"Hey watch it!" Zane yelled as a burly guy tripped him.

*BOOM*

Fire erupted everywhere. Pieces of rock and dust bombarded Zane as he was blown back several yards.

*BOOM..BOOM....BOOM*

Zane shielded himself as the ground around him shook. Dust coated his eyes and he had cuts on his face from jagged pieces of rock. He didn't even know what hit him when a huge piece concrete slab struck him in the chest. Zane fell back and landed hard on his back smacking his head against the ground. Struggling to breath Zane tried to push the slab off him. It wasn't that big but Zane was too weak to do anything at the moment. Dust filled his lungs and before he knew it Zane was out cold.

::::: Finally Awake :::::

Zane blinked, seeing lots of dust around him. It took a long second to remember what had happened. Then it hit him. Screaming, BOOM, Dust, then smack and he was out. Zane coughed, his throat dry and coated with dust. He pushed the slab of concrete off him then took a drink of water. Looking around all he saw was destruction. Everything was either in pieces or about to be. There were bodies lying on the ground dead from being to close tot the blast. Zane noticed all the cuts and a huge gash across his chest. Besides a huge headache nothing was seriously wrong. Zane looked for any other survivors but there were none. It seemed since Zane was just walking out from behind a building by the blasts he hadn't really gotten any serious injury. Anyone in the open street was dead. Zane doubled checked for anyone still alive but still found none. There weren't that many bodies but he figured he might as well help those who needed it.Finding none he made his way to the port which wasn't that far away. Zane saw surprised when his fighter was all ready and the port only a little touched. Zane got out his comlink.

"Commander there has been a bit of a blow out here."

"What do you mean Zane?"

"Someone just tried to bomb the area which I'm in. Don't know if it was on purpose to get some of the vipers
killed or what."

"You hurt?"

"No, nothing I can't handle. Thanks though."

"Good anyone else hurt?"

"Not that I could find, just a bunch of dead bodies who were to close to the blasts."

"Not good....Be careful notify me if anything else happens. I'll notify authorities."

"Thanks Commander, I'm out."

Zane cleared some rubble off his fighter and jumped in. He set up his gear then flipped the switches to start the engines and get her ready for take off. Well it was time to kick some NR but. Viper was up for the challenge, and Zane was glad to be back in a cockpit again. He was ready, just like old times. Zane smiled and began liftoff....

Cyrus StoneHeart peered out the view port of the transport shuttle as the time of his landing grew nigh. An observation of the beautiful scenery lain before him struck the pilot speechless; rays of sunlight could be seen glimmering atop the water distantly. The young man seemed to be stuck in a trance as the pilot of the transport attempted to get his attention.

Suddenly, the daydreaming was over. Cyrus glanced over at the individual who had been transporting him for nearly twelve hours, noticing how disgusting his presence was. The man looked, and smelled, as if he hadn't given attention to his hygiene in weeks.

"For the second time, we are now ten minutes from our destination," said the man, spouting saliva in his spoken direction with every word. Cyrus shuttered at the thought of having to go face to face in a conversation with him. After listening to him repeat the information once more, Cyrus finally gave some input.

"I heard you!" said Cyrus, adding a hint of mockery to his tone.

"Didn't seem like it," said the pilot, nudging the throttle lower and lower in each passing second. Having now attained the desired speed and altitude, the man engaged auto pilot and swiveled around in his chair, staring Cyrus straight in the eyes with a glare of irritation.

They remained entwined in each others line of sight for some time. Finally, Cyrus let out a grin and chuckled at the man.

"You'll get your pay this time, but I suggest you keep your eyes facing forward for the rest of the flight. Unless, of course, you want things to get physical?"

The now angered pilot whipped back around in his chair and went back to his controls. Cyrus then began to chuckle as he lit a cigarette from behind his ear.

Should have just waited around for the Academy transport...

*****

Upon arrival, Cyrus made his way to the spaceport's main terminal. The upkeep of the building seemed to be lacking, but it contained a vast number of services to offer. Specialty shops and local vendors lined the entire facility from front to back, cantinas and the like. Cyrus glanced around the area for some time looking for a place to spend his recently earned credits, but nothing seemed very appealing. Whilst making his way towards the exit, he immediately reckognized a figure in standard Vast Empire Naval uniform.

Finally, someone who might be able to point me in the right direction...This place is packed!

The person of uniform noticed Cyrus immediately and approached him in a very casual manner.

"Senior Crewman Cyrus StoneHeart?" he asked, his face containing a smile that spoke pure friendliness.

Cyrus nodded, "That would be me."

"Good to hear! I'm Chief Petty Officer Anden Beliam," he said, extending a hand. "Welcome to Viper Squadron, as well as Flight Three. I will be your flight leader for the time being.

Cyrus smiled a bit and took the man's hand with a firm grasp and shook it. "Very nice to meet you Sir."

"Good to have you. Come, follow me if you will." Anden then began making his way towards the main exit, coaxing Cyrus with a hand gesture as he took the lead.

The new-found Viper pilot quickly caught up and followed him for a short distance. They quickly exited the spaceport and jumped into a speeder for transport. Within seconds they were on their way towards a large residential building to the east.

A beeping sound indicated that Anden had a transmission coming through on his communications unit. He continued to maneuver along the path before them as he answered.

"Anden here."

Cyrus watched and listened as the Chief Petty Officer's body language and vocal tone did a complete one-eighty.

"Understood. We should be arriving momentarily."

Anden ended the call with a look of disgust, shaking his head back and forth whilst mumbling to himself. He then took the throttle controls and pushed them to the max, causing the land based craft to drastically accelerate. Cyrus slid back into his seat as gravity began to take effect.

Just as they were approaching the residential building, an explosion rocked the surrounding area. Cyrus looked towards the area of explosion and noticed debris emitting from a nearby structure. Upon looking overhead, Cyrus couldn't make out any spacecraft in the sky. After taking another glance towards Anden and rechecking the airspace, the view was entirely the opposite. Thousands of space craft seemed to be entering the atmosphere simultaneously; more of them could now be seen strafing the surface not far off from the Vipers' current position. Another explosion violently rocked the ground underneath them as things began to get worse. The speeder immediately slid to a halt as Anden put on the brakes.

"We need to move quickly if we're to survive this!" shouted Anden, throwing open the speeder's rear hatch, only to reveal a large stash of weapons and emergency equipment. He then snatched up a blaster rifle and some ammo packs from the weapons catch, nodding to Cyrus after he'd gotten his things. Seconds thereafter, Anden hurled himself straight out the back end of the speeder. As if by instinct, Cyrus slid a bag containing his belongings over his shoulder, grabbed a rifle, and proceeded to follow Anden to cover behind the speeder.

More explosions rocked the area as Anden made a distress call.

"This is Viper 9, enemy fighters and bombers have started making attack runs throughout our area! Viper 10 and I are currently under cover at the rear of a large residential building. Requesting immediate orders!"

*****

Ensign Venussia Shiva paced the bridge as distress calls began to scream from the Haiku all over the flotilla communications frequency. Klaxons began to pierce the silence throughout every corner of the Star Galleon-class frigate Albion as the engagement began.

"Lieutenant Kelen, status report!"

"Multiple marks have just hit the tactical readout, all identified with codes pertaining to the New Republic. I'm reading one Dreadnaught-class Heavy Cruiser, followed up by multiple EF76 Nebulon-B escort frigates. Fighter compliments and bombers are present up to four or more squadrons, most of them heading towards the surface."

The woman at command of the bridge viciously glared down at Kelen, watching intently as the young man became a nervous wreck right before her eyes.

When will he learn to stand up to me? Is it because I'm a woman? Hell! I can only imagine the horrible things his mother must have indulged upon him...

"And!?"

"Uh, er... Also, ma'am, a vast number of Gallofree medium transports are entering the atmosphere..." Kelen stuttered, cowering a bit as he attempted to keep eye contact with Shiva.

The Lieutenant was cut off his next reporting by a broadcast over the fleet-wide communications frequency.

“Attention, this is Captain Hunter. All ships, converge on the Illuminate, repeat, all ships converge on the illuminate. Do not engage hostiles just yet. They're shield are on full and you won't get through. Converge on the Illuminate and await further orders.”

The lieutenant took another look at his now infuriated captain, quickly scuffling back through the readouts as they kept coming through on his terminal.

"Well ladies and gentlemen, you heard the Captain. Converge on the Illuminate. I want all turbo-laser batteries and concussion missile launchers powered up ASAP! Our main objective here is to make sure all star craft within the flotilla are at full operation and efficiency, but if we have to fight, we're going to be ready for it."

Ensign Shiva immediately dropped her hands upon the command terminal that she had been facing.

Dammit! I just knew the Captains orders for sending the rest of the flotilla onwards was a naive decision!

"Lieutenant Kelen, open the channel with the Rising Sun immediately."

Venussia Shiva kept a vicious look about herself as the Lieutenant attempted to open up the communications line with the Rising Sun. The Strike-Class cruiser was low on supplies and crew, and it was her duty as Ensign to make sure things went smoothly in their attempt to get the strike cruiser back to full efficiency.

"Kelen, inform Captain Ismirala that we will be making drops to them momentarily. We're going planet-side to pick up the remainder of their crew and supplies."

Kelen immediately sent the transmission to the Rising Sun and went back to his duties.

"Helmsman, bring us to full speed. The enemy hasn't set up the proper blockade quite yet, and we're going to take full advantage of that. Kelen, plot our flight path just outside of the enemy blockade...we're going to try and sneak past."

Shiva rested upon her command terminal, wondering if things would actually work out in her favor. She hadn't seen much action recently, but it was within her to know exactly what to do in every situation that could be thrown at her. Instinct, if you will. Slipping past the enemy blockade was something she had done many times, but this time it just didn't feel right.

Moments later, Kelen brought the Ensigns attention to a serious problem at hand.

"Fighter's approaching from vector 0.45 Ensign, what will you have us do?"

"Keep moving, let them follow us to the surface. Kolstor has a fighter defense, and hopefully they will come to our aid. If they begin to engage, take evasive maneuvers. Most of all, just keep us moving."

I still don't believe this is happening! The rest of the flotilla better be here soon, or else we're going to be in some serious trouble...


*****

Cyrus peeked around the corner, noticing five New Republic soldiers between the Viper pilots and the hanger. They were approaching their position very quickly, and an ambush seemed like the only means of solution.

"Psst, Anden. Ambush!" Cyrus whispered, while poking Anden and pointing towards the enemy soldiers. Anden agreed with a nod and signaled to Zane. The battle-torn Zycrusis also gave a nod, signaling he was also ready.

Just as the soldiers were arriving at their position, Anden leaped out from behind his cover, rolling across the ground and opening up blaster fire on the enemy. Zane and Cyrus simultaneously began pelting blaster fire into the enemy soldiers who were already under fire, taking the entire squad down at once. The three Viper pilots looked towards each other as they went on a dead sprint for their fighters.

Cyrus hadn't been in a situation like this for some time, but it oddly felt comforting to him. Now climbing into his fighter, he noticed more New Republic soldiers entering the hanger; this time there were multiple squads. Blaster fire rang throughout the hanger as the Viper pilots attempted to enter their Tie Interceptors.

Within seconds, Cyrus had the hatch open.  He quickly dropped into the cockpit and sealed up the fighter. There wasn't enough time for checking the entire fighter over to make sure all systems were go, so he just went with it.

After grabbing the com-link on board, Cyrus qued the mic.

"Viper 10 is good to go."

Swerving left and right trying to shake the X-Wing on his tail, Jacub  struggles with the controls as a he is hit fully in the rear of the Interceptor.

"Dammit, where is my wingman, Tiger 4 you there."

No reply comes through his com-link. Looking for a way to get out of this sticky situation, Jacub comes up with a plan. Head closer into the atmosphere then pull up hard at the last minute to shake him.

Jacub nose dives towards the planet gaining alot of speed as he goes down towards the planet. More and more of the shots from the X-Wing behind him start to hit Jacubs ship.

"looks like this plan is not going to work." Jacub pushes his Escape button and flies out of the ship. Jacub see the ship smash into the surface below closely followed by the out of control X-Wing.

Looks like the plan did work Jacub thinks to himself.

As the escape pod hits the ground, Jacub grabs his stuff out of the pod and dives for cover as blaster fire comes his direction.

Great land straight in the middle of a fire fight between the NR and VE

Grabbing his Blaster, Jacub starts to lay down some covering fire for himself as he runs between cover towards what looks like an airbase.
Seeing that VE are in there. As he gets closer Jacub shouts out his name and rank so he doesnt get shot.

"Leading Crew Member Jacub of the 1st Tigers, Rising Suns Fleet"

Some one shouts for him to get over to where they are so Jacub sprints and dives as an explosive goes off where he was just standing.Crawling over to where the other VE are Jacub is pleased to see a friendly face

OOC:

OK guys thats my first post in character on this site, the first of many i can only hope. Dont be to harsh hehe

Hiding behind the nearest wall, Jacub thinks to himself Where ever was my wingman he must have been shot down Hearing the loud noise of a Y-Wing slowly heading towards the airbase Jacub leans round the corner to check. He is greeted by many blasters shots. Quickly pulling his head back in to advoid being shot Jacub looks for some help. An officer runs over to him,

"Get over here pilot"

Jacub stands up and rushes over to where the officer pointed. Jacub notices a damaged and smoking Interceptor flying towards the ground, with his Squadron insignias. As the Interceptor flys above him, Jacub notices that its Tiger 4.

Nice to see your alive then JamalJacub thinks to himself. Steadying his blaster Jacub fires his blaster at the NR, hitting one square in the shoulder, making him fall to the ground. Yay one for the VE. The Y-wing that jacub had noticed was getting closer to the Airbase.

"Heads up Y-wing inbound" Jacub shouts to the others around him.  As the Y-wing gets closer it is shot out of the sky, and smashes into the ground, just as Tiger-4 flys past.

"Do we have a spare interceptor around here that i can get into, need to get back up there where i belong"

The officer looks at him with disgust, "You would abandon us, i am a pilot but i do not abandon the PDF, we are here to fight this group of NR off untill that happens we are not going no where so, turn your blaster around and start shooting you filthy Gungan"

Surprised and a tad shocked by the officers comment Jacub carry's on firing at the advancing NR.

Determined not to look a fool in front of the PDF, Jacub leans round the corner of the wall he is behind and starts to blast a continuous arc of fire, hoping that he will hit something in the way.

The cry of a New Republic could be heard as stray blaster fire hits a target, the New Republic soldier gets up and charges for the Imperials in the Airbase. Everyone fires at him but none can hit him, he flys over a small wall and jumps on Jacub, pushing him to the ground and grabbing him by the throat. Helpless to do anythng Jacub tries his best to get the soldier off of him.

Jacubs eyes start to water, his breath starts to get slower. Jacub is dying from lack of oxygen, his eyes start to close as his life starts to leave him.

SMACK, the soldier is hit square in the face by the officer that, "Medic, help this Gungan." The officer grabs hold of the soldier and starts to smack him to the ground. Kicking the soldier in the face the officer grabs his pistol and shoots him full in the face. "Now then Gungan i hope your fit for flying that intercepter over there, as your useless down here, get in there and get up to the sky."

Jacub gets his breath and then heads over to where the interceptor, he climbs into the cockpit, starts it up and with a swift movement flys out into the air.

With his old wingman back with him jacub, pulled upwards towards the space above, flying at full throttle until he reached orbit above the
planet, seeing the large amount of X-wings and A-wings jacubs mind went beserk with adrenaline. There was only one solution to this

Tiger 4, we shall give them A-Wings a run for there money hey, i will pull to the left get one to chase me and you come
up behind and blow him away"

All that Jacub got was a grunt from the Comlink, pulling off to the left whle Tiger 4 pulled to the right, 2 A-wings flew up behind
him and opened fire. Dodging left to right Jacub tried his best to not get shot. His shields starting screaming at him that they where
getting low. 20% was all that was left as he heard the explosion of an A-Wing behind him. jacub veered off to the left so the explosion
did not intefer even more with his shields. As jacub veered off he saw the other A-wing fly past closely followed by Tiger 4,
Jacub rolled his interceptor round pulled up sharply and fount himself Right in behind the A-wing, shooting the A-wings engines to
bits Jacub cheered to himself for his first victory.

Pulling round, Jacub heads over to help the Viper Squadron thats in space...........

His grin slipped into contempt, and then a mask of horror. The ground shook violently, like the steps of some great behemoth as it passed by. Great chunks of the earth were ejected into the sky, casuing a steady rain of dirt over the hangar. The sky, once bright with the quickly rising sun, was darkened by smoke and dirt. On the ground, it was almost nighttime. Ferran ran through this, all of this, hands over his head and screaming.

The hangar was in disarray, techs battling to keep precious equipment away from the bombs, and the fire, and the dirt as well as prep the ships for combat. It was an uphill battle. Smoke and soot clogged the confines of the hangar, blocking lights, stuffing vents, choking lungs. Ferran coughed, spitting black phlegm onto the sooty floor, before covering his mouth with his arm. He squinted, barely able to see, not comprehending the amount of people rushing around him. Too much, too much! Too much noise, too many people!

A crewman came stumbling in front of him. Blood traced fine lines down his cheeks from the ruined mass of ocular tissue and bone that had once been his upper head. He shambled two steps before toppling over in a heap, bleeding on the floor. Ferran wasted no time in bending over and evacuating his stomach.

It was a few moments before he could stand again, wiping bits of soot-darkened bile from his mouth before rushing unsteadily for the doors to the east wing billets. As soon as he stepped through the doors, however, he knew he’d made the wrong choice. The PDF surrounded him, rushing this way, rushing that. Almost all of them were scared shitless, it seemed, pale faced and wild-eyed. They all brandished guns, though, which meant that, if an enemy soldier weren’t nearby, they were about to be. That was bad news.  Ferran was a pilot, first and foremost. Soldiering didn’t even make his top ten-list. He should’ve gotten to the ships, immediately, and taken off. He looked back the way he came, but all he could see were dust and flailing bodies. He cursed his foolishness. His ship might not even exist any more, much less be in any condition to fight a battle. And even if it did, there were just too many enemy fighters in the sky for him to have a chance of taking off without being blown apart. He stood there, torn for a second, before finally charging deeper into the barracks. He would take his chances with the ground forces.

He needed a weapon, first and foremost. First rule of fighting: gun trumps fists. Glancing around, trying to see over the masses of horribly disorganized PDF forces, he took off in what he believed to be the direction of his room. He had a small blaster under his bed. It was small, but it would work.

It wasn’t long before he realized he was heading the entirely wrong way. He backtracked for a bit, shoving himself between men, before a bomb hit the building right over his head. He and about forty PDF soldiers were thrown to the floor as large chunks of ferrocrete caved in from the ceiling.  He heard a few shrieks which cut off abruptly. His stomach sank as he remembered the image of the crewman. When he looked up, half of the hallway was covered in debris. A few limbs poked out at out angles, their owners obviously dead. One PDF trooper groaned, his lower body smashed by a particularly large piece, and tried to crawl out from under the broken mass of rubble. Ferran averted his eyes.

That’s when he saw the E-11 on the floor. Probably belonged to one of the PDF in the hall. He didn’t dwell on that thought too long, but instead, rushed over and scooped it up in a hurry. He took a knee to the temple, and a few elbows for his trouble, as the PDF resumed panic mode, but he had a weapon now.

Great, he thought. Now what.

He pushed through the crowd, avoiding elbows and, in rarer cases, swung weapons as the PDF did their job to the utmost degree of incompetence. Clubbing for their own soldiers, Ferran mused grimly. Nice.

His shirt went taught as a hand grabbed him from behind the neck and dragged through a doorway. Ferran gasped for breath and gave a few half-hearted swings with his weapon before he was thrown to the ground.

“What the h---Sic? Tomas?”

Sicario nodded grimly, but Tomas had already turned back toward the chaos in the hallway outside, looking for more pilots to snare.

“We found each other, somehow, through that cluster-frag out there, and then came in here when it really started to go to hell.”

Ferran looked around. They were in what appeared to be a medical ward. There were certainly a lot of medical supplies, and sinks, and a few beds. And the place, instead of smelling like smoke, gave off a strong aroma of contraseptic wash. Ferran almost wanted to go back into the smoke. Almost.

“Who are they?” Ferran asked indicating toward two young looking pilots loitering in the back of the room “And where’s Stix? And the rest of the squadron?”

“That would be Leading Crewman Hakk, and Leading Crewman Juner. We picked ‘em up on the way here.”

“But no one else from the rest of our squadron?” Ferran asked. At this, Tomas glanced back and caught Sic’s eye. Sicario hesitated a moment, and then nodded toward the bed in the back of the room, where a single, unmoving body lay.

“We...found Stix,” Sicario began slowly. Ferran walked over and sucked in his breath audibly. Stix wasn’t...well, Stix anymore. Half his face had been crushed, it seemed, and sank a good quarter of an inch below the rest. It had been hastily bandaged, but the gauze was already deep crimson, and pools of dark liquid were pooling on the bed around his head. All over his torso there were splotches of red, and gashes, and his left arm looked pretty well done for. Ferran couldn’t even tell if he was breathing or not.

“A portion of a wall had collapsed on him, and quite a few PDF had knocked into him as well. He was breathing, barely, when we found him but now...I don’t know. If he’s alive, he won’t be for long.”

Ferran stumbled backwards numbly, fighting down the rising bile in his throat, and slid down to sit against the wall.

“Well this kriffing sucks,” he said after a moment, staring off into the distance.

“Yes. Yes it does,” Sic sighed, just about the time that the klaxons in the billet building went off. Ferran hardly thought it possible for the place to get any louder, and yet, to his ears’ dismay, it did.

“And I think it just got a whole lot worse,” Sic said, barely audible above the screeching. Out in the hallways, a ways away, Ferran could just start to make out the sound of gunfire.

OOC:

Short and sweet. I might edit it a bit later. I'm really tired now.

:::The Rising Sun:::

“We have our orders. Alert the gunners for full attention...It's time to greet the enemy.” Ismirala said, her arm folded behind her as she watched the projected display screen with all the rest of the ships converging on the New Republic command ships, and, more important to her, as transports became present on the grid just lifting off with men and women on her crew, soon to be speeding towards them, and with no escort to be said for. And that worried her.


“Captain? Are we to fully engage?” asked Thrace, as always to her right behind her.


“Not yet. Not until we have more hands on deck.” She replied not looking away from the projection.


Blasts could now seen ragging between the ships on both sides. Their frontal attack was large enough that the New Republic ships would have no way pass unless they all but destroyed the Vast Empires forces. And she knew they would not let that happen- full crew or not. That's when she saw it, a new cluster of blips on the display.


“Five xwing class fighter entering fifteen clicks away at three point four two.” the crew man controlling the display console confirmed. It had been a suicide short jump, bringing them so close to the planet in a new sector.


”Right between us and the transports...” Ismirala thought.


Doing some quick calculations the crewman shook his head in answer to her question if they would be able to close the distance enough to not help them although she really didn't need to ask. Immediately she called for all available fighters to request protection from the unexpected fighters. The reports showed that most of the fighters were busy engaging the NR fighters attacking the planet. If some of them were not able to help out....they would never see the crew make it to the Rising Sun. It was the reason her crew had been moved to these transports in a different area that was being attacked so hard.


“All engines at full, turn us about to point four five zero.” She said, and her order was followed immediately.


She watched as the transport drew nearer and nearer to Corvette and their inevitable doom if no help arrived. Silently to herself she also sent out her own message in thought, a prayer, that help would come to escort the transports to safety...


:::Flight Two of Viper:::


It hadn't been long before they had made it into the hangar after taking out the squad of NR troops. It had almost been too easy- after they had come at them from both sides. Upon reaching the Fighters Anden ran straight for his own Tie, shouting for the others to do the same. They had just lifted off and flown out to meet the NR fighters when one of Zane's coolant panels was suddenly blasted off by an X-wing that was making pass, strafing the ground. That had been five minutes ago.


“Alright Anden....Now!” At once Anden punch his Tie to full throttle rolling on his axis and aiming his ship up. The trailing xwing was led right up into Stone's line of fire and blasted from the sky.


“Great shot, Stone!....Christ! There goes another defender! Come on let's get a move on it.” Anden said, the spin and turmoil of the fight had been none stop making the last five minutes seem like a day. He didn't even know if any of the other Vipers had made it to the fighters yet, but he kept the squadron channel completely open to make sure he would know the moment they did.


He was glad to have Stoneheart on his wing. The new pilot was proving to be decisive, quick to obey a command to the letter. And now knowing that Ibram and the others were soon to be joining them, they just might be able to pull out of this one. Although....it was going to be one crazy ride getting there.


“Ibram! It's about time you got here. Me and my flight have been up here for the past five minutes trying to keep these fighters at bay, there's just too many of them!” his words would have come out as harsh if not for the strong sense of relief in his voice.


But whatever relief that he had was about to be short lived as an inbound directive was received from the Rising Sun. The command was for any available fighter to escort transports from planet side to the Rising Sun. Then Anden remembered that most of the crew from the ship had been on ground just as Viper had been. He looked at his display screen and saw that the transports were far enough that the fighters they were engaging that they would not be noticed. They had to help.


“We going aren't we?” Stone asked as he heard Anden's moment of silence in his brief moment of contemplation.


“Yes.” he said firmly as he communicated to Ibram their new course, then told Stone to dump everything he from shields and most of his directed power from lasers to his engines, “We have some distance to make up..”


It was going to be insane for the first few moments as they left the swarm of fighters, and Anden was glad to be in Tie-i's yet again. His focus set completely now on getting the crew to the Rising Sun.

The Sweeping Fields

The sky sure is blue...

For one blissful moment, Joran Kavlar had forgotten who he was. It was a nice feeling.

He couldn’t remember a time where he had felt so content, so happy just to lie their under the sun. Not that he could remember much of anything right now, but he knew that one simple fact. He looked to his left, and was mildly perturbed to find himself staring into the eyes of a dead man.

I wish he could have done that somewhere else.

Looking back up at the sky, he was even more perturbed to see smoke obscuring his view.

By the Emperor! Can’t a guy just look at the sky in peace!?

But it wasn’t until he sat up and looked around that he realised what was really bugging him.

The world was on fire.

“Sir! Are you alright sir!?”

Kavlar looked around and found another man kneeling besides him, whom he suddenly remembered was his adjunctant.

“I’m fine,” He said. “How are you?”

His aide looked at him quizzically.

“...I’m ok sir, I think we better get you into cover.”

As Kavlar allowed his aide to drag him over to a destroyed Saber Tank, which he suddenly realised was his Saber Tank, he took a moment to have another peek at his surroundings.

Either side of him, he could see Saber Tanks engaged in a desperate dual against a swarm of light tanks and other assorted armoured vehicles that the ‘New Republic’ could wield. To make matters worse, they were being backed up by a few infantry squads who were wielding Anti-Armour weapons. He vaguely remembered needing to tell someone about that.

“I’ve relayed your message to Major Sturm sir,” his aide was saying. “He’s sending up some relief squads to help us out. He can’t send much though.”

“I’m sure we’ll manage,” Kavlar said absently. He was watching with a sense of morbid fascination as a Saber tank with its turret damaged rammed headlong into a T2-B repulsor tank, destroying the both of them, and a second enemy tank along with it.

Amazing, he thought. He made a note to give the commander of the tank a medal.

“Sir, we have to get you back to safety. Our tanks are holding the line, but we can’t risk you or they’ll lose heart.”

Kavlar chucked, “Nonsense...it’s not like I’m their mother!”

His aide shook his head and picked Kavlar up once more, resting the addled Officer on his shoulders.

“Let’s get you out of here sir.”

Since the aide was too preoccupied with getting his commanding officer to safety, he didn’t see the tank dual that erupted behind them near the ruins of Kavlar’s command tank. Nor did he see the republic speeder bike get caught in the crossfire by a stray shot, and so was unaware of the burning wreckage that hurtling towards them.

It was only at the last second, where the aide somehow sensed danger, did he turn around and see, not only a big hunk of flying metal, but also his death. As his last act, he shoved Kavlar out of the way moments before the wreckage ploughed through him, leaving nothing but a smouldering crater.

For the second time that day, Kavlar found himself looking at the sky. Whilst his aide – what was his name again? – had saved his life, Kavlar hadn’t escaped the incident without injury.

Kavlar was vaguely aware of people around him. Men and women in white armour, faces blank like skulls.

“Frak, it’s the Lieutenant! Fisk, Chu, haul him back to the line and double time it back here.”

“Sir!”

As the two troopers dragged him back to the defensive lines, Kavlar couldn’t help but notice how odd it was to see stars at this time of day...

--------

Ibram had to swerve suddenly to avoid a Y-wing that had just had both its engines shot out.

“Viper 1 to squadron. How’s it hanging guys?”

“And gals”

“Thank you 2.”

“We’re hanging in tight over here Ibram.” Anden’s voice was calmer then it had been before, which must be a good sign.

“Sounds good Anden, keep up the good work. Once you’re finished, do a fly by over the Battalion holding the main gate, give them some cover.”

“Roger that.”

“Tomas!? How’s thing on the ground?”

“Better, we’ve repelled the first wave of attackers, and we’ve just been reinforced by a couple of PDF platoons. We’re trying to find something to get in the air with.”

Ibram did a quick check on his tactical display. The number of enemy fighters had diminished, and it looked like the ground invasion has been stalled, if not halted. From one brief moment, he thought that they could win this after all.

He was interrupted from his thought by a garbled message on an open frequency.

“thi-*static*-tain Hunter. Ground Troops Bewar-*static*-bard the planet! I repeat*static*”

Before Ibram could even start trying to decipher the message, his fighter was sent tumbling as streaks of red light descended from the sky, slamming into the ground below.

As he righted his Interceptor, he looked on in horror as beam after beam of Turbo laser power flattened the ground the below.
The enemy fleet was bombarding the planet.

He felt hopeless as he saw buildings, men, trees, vehicles, even the ground itself, evaporate under the rain of fire.  Mercifully, it didn’t seem to go on for very long.

“Viper 1 to squadron, is everyone ok?”

“I’m fine,” Mira said, “but my shields are down. Nearly got hit by one of those beams.”

“We’re ok,” he heard Anden say. “We weren’t anywhere near the blast.”

He couldn’t see Hakk anywhere on his tactical display.

“Hakk? You there? Viper 3 report!” He tried for several seconds to try and raise his flight member, but only silence answered him. He then realised that there was one other person who also hadn’t answered him...

“Tom!? Can you hear me? Tom!”

He swung his fighter around, and felt a sinking feeling in his gut as he saw what was left of the airbase. The enemy ships had pounded it flat.

Damn damn damn!

“Ibram...,” Mira’s voice was trembling as she whispered to him on a private channel. “I can’t reach tom. Is he ok?”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine Mira. In the mean time, we have a job to do.”

Spotting another pair of Y-wings trying to do  a bombing run on the city, he gunned up his Interceptor, ready to unleash his fury on anyone he came across...

OOC:

Refer to the squadron topic for some brief instrcutions

Stix wasn’t dead. Not yet, anyways. Somehow he had managed to survive the first strafing runs the base and suffered, and had managed to get into the air before the bombardments. Now he was flying a giant loop, trying to locate his squadron mates and avoid the enemy bombers. Finally he saw Mira’s blip appear on his radar, and without a second thought he pushed the throttle to full open and raced towards his fellow Viper pilot. Mira was Ibram’s wing-woman. If she was there, Ibram was close by, and if Ibram was close by then the rest of the squadron would be around somewhere. Stix was optimistic about rejoining the rest of the Vipers; then he checked his radar again.

Unfortunately for Stix, a New Republic Y-Wing flight had apparently decided to try and intercept his lone TIE Interceptor. A single Y-Wing was no problem for the nimble TIE craft. Two Y-Wings would present a challenge, but Stix was confident he would come out on top. Three Y-Wings didn’t bode well, and Stix was extremely uneasy about the odds on that particular fight.

It wasn’t as if he had a choice, though. In seconds the Y-Wings would be on him. Stix could probably outrun them, of course, but their angle of intercept was such that if he turned and tried to make a run for it he would be heading straight into the path of the New Republic capital ships’ turbolaser fire, and that definitely wasn’t an option.

So Stix did the only thing he could: he adjusted his course slightly and attacked.

As he neared the Y-Wings he didn’t even bother to lock on with his targeting computer. In order to get a successful shot off he would have to fly in a straight line, and that wasn’t acceptable. Instead he threw his ship into a spin and then climbed. As the Y-Wings passed below him, surprised at the maneuver, Stix executed the next part of his plan. He pushed his TIE into a steep dive and rolled once more, performing a very steep and very fast Immelman maneuver. It got him what he wanted: the six o’clock position on his targets.

It also nearly tore his ship apart. Stix had misjudged the gravity and air density, and the results were nearly disastrous. Immediately after he leveled out warning lights began to go off, sirens blared, and for one terrifying instant Stix thought he was dead.

And then as if by some miracle the alarms began to stop, the lights blinked off, and everything was alright again. Stix lined up the first Y-Wing, who was still in relatively good firing position, and began to dial in his targeting computer. He quickly got a lock on the large and clumsy bomber, and with a feral grin he squeezed the triggers on his control yoke.

Nothing happened.

With a disbelieving look around the cockpit Stix tried to figure out what was wrong. For some reason his guns wouldn’t fire and that was very, very bad. He quickly pulled up and away from the Y-Wings, doing it fast but smooth, afraid to put any more stress on his fighter. About that time he heard Ibram ping him over the communications link.

“Stix, good to see ya. What’s your status?” the squadron commander asked.

With a sinking gut, Stix told his commander the bad news. “My guns don’t work,” he said, crestfallen.

There was a moment of silence over the channel in which Stix could mentally see every one of his squadron mates laughing. With a grimace he continued on. “What should I do?”

Ibram’s voice wasn’t humorous, it was serious. “Tag along, and try to stay out of the fight. Maybe they’ll correct themselves or something.”

Stix clicked his radio twice in an affirmative response, and then went back to scanning his panels for any sign of what was causing the guns to malfunction. Hopefully he could find the cause and fix it before he missed out on all the fun!