Rocket left the hanger feeling a lot better than he usually did before going out for a mission once he reached the outside he did some quick checks to make sure that all of his systems where at their best because he did not know when would be the next time that he would be able to do an in-depth systems check. Rocket heard the Squadron channel start to beep he pushed the button on the dashboard and heard Hunter’s voice though the comm “This is Nazgul One. Form up with Viper and prepare a screen to meet those incoming fighters. Remember: Break by pairs and keep your wingman alive out there. With any luck they’ll be doing the same.”

After the message finished Rocket watched as Hunter pulled up and stay above the group, well it’s time to get this party started I just hope this doesn’t turn out to bad for Nazgul. Rocket pulled up on the yoke to follow Hunter. A few moments later, Drac responded.

“Roger that, Leader. This is it, Nazzies. No heroics, but do your best. To you new guys: if you’ve ever had dreams about becoming an ‘instant ace’ here’s your shot. Just have a care that you don’t make one of the Reppies an ace. Everyone keep it together and we’ll sail through here with flying colors.”

An almost instantaneous response came from Ibram, “This is Viper Leader. Let’s just say the locals think we’ve done something we haven’t. Tread carefully until we can get that straightened out.”

What the hell its back enough where outnumbered by the NR now the planets against us too what the Frak.

Rocket waited for the first wave to hit them. Once the wave hit them Rocket fought the hardest he did in his life after all was said and done he was still with Hunter cut off from the rest of the squadron and he had to use all of the skill he had just to keep up with Hunter let alone keep the NR fighters off his tail. After a few more barrel rolls and sharp turns Rocket starts to see a gigantic ship reverted to realspace directly in front of him. As that registered to him he heard Hunter over the comm “Frak! Pull up, pull up!” he yelled as Rocket heard that he yanked on the control yoke to avoid crashing into the ship. As Rocket locked on his board he noticed that its IFO tag was that of the Ferrum Umbra. Rocket does a flip and almost gets hit by fights exiting the hanger bay and then notices that all of the enemy fighters were starting to retreat to save themselves from the reinforcements’ that the VE had just received.

Well at least the playing field is somewhat level now I wonder where Hunter went to. Rocket look at his dashboard and finds the fighter labeled Nazgul Lead, and punches his engines to get back on his wing that’s when he hears over the comm. “Ok guys. Report in. I want to know who all is here and who is not.” Hunter said.

As each pilot responded, Hunter and Rocketman linked up and made way straight for the Ferrum Umbra. After they finished, Hunter spoke again.

“Ok Nazgul. Form up on the Tiamut and join up with whatever squadrons come out of it. We need the help badly.”

Because the duo was a long ways away from the Tiamut, it would take at least a couple of minutes, if not more, for them to cover the distance. As they pushed their respective TIEs as hard as they could, they drew closer to the Ferrum Umbra, which had just fired at the Nebulons and been fired upon in response. Immediately, X-Wings and A-Wings swarmed the Ferrum Umbra almost at the same time as squadrons of fighters poured from the Tiamut. The two sides clashed in between the two pairs of ships. Hunter and Rocketman had almost reached the Ferrum Umbra when the succession of hits from both of the enemy ships took its toll, manifesting itself in a series of explosions that took the ship out of the fight for good.

As Rocket recovered from the blast he noticed that full flight of A-Wings appeared out of nowhere and engaged them. Here we go again I wish the odds where better but I am going to take out as many of these guys I can before I bite the bullet. After that thought he noticed that his comm was going off “Rocketman, head into the debris from the Ferrum Umbra. We need to get away from those fighters.” After Hunter said that Rocket sped off towards the debris and noticed that only a few followed them inside the field “Lead I am reading two that followed us in here there might be more but my sensors aren’t good in here as they are in the open. Hold up I am going to adjust them.” Rocket adjusts his sensors so that they will ping off the debris so that he can cover a wider area.

“Alright Lead theirs just the two of them the rest of their flight are dealing with the new fighters, so for now we just have to deal with the two of them I am going to bait one of them I will be back.” Rocket pulls off Hunter’s wing and turns right and finds out that the one on the right had taken the bait after dodging some of the debris Rocket pulls out of the field and flips to get behind the A-wing and get a missile lock and lets go with two missile with two seconds in between them and finds out that they both hit the first one he set to explode on the shields once that hit it the next one went and his the right thruster and sent it out of control.

After he made sure that it was out of the fight he formed back on Hunter’s wing.

OOC:

Alright hope this is good if I need to change anything PM me. 1006

on the steel table in the center of the room. The darkness of the pen matched the mood of its wielder: a Naval Intelligence Officer. The room itself seemed to magnify the darkness of the whole matter.

Rutian stared back at his current IO and Watcher. Yes, Wather, that's what they called them. Men and women assigned to him by Command to make sure that his instabilities did not begin to interfere with his work. They didn't anymore.

Once he had heard voices, sometimes a whisper, and sometimes a scream. He had thought it was a symptom of his training, his breaking. Strange things happened when you broke a man, and stranger things happened when you broke a man over and over again. The mind is a fragile thing; it bends, and folds on itself, and will eventually break. It's startling what results when the mind breaks; Rutian was not broken. The voice was something else. It was an adviser. It saw where he could not. Rutian smiled, feral teeth showing through a face with only glee across it.

The officer blanched for a moment; the pen stopped.

"We have become aware of a breach in security at some of the higher levels. The fleet is in danger if this continues, and Command will not stand for treachery." The pen started tapping again. The officer, a young human female, would have been very attractive to anyone else. She was young, well endowed, and her uniform fit very snugly. They did this to taunt him, and oh how he hated them.

"Send me, and I will end this. This is truth." Rutian replied.

"There is more here. She is nervous, afraid, and confused. She does not understand her orders." Whispered the Voice. Rutian nodded.

"We are sending you, but not to the heart of the matter. Command thinks that there is a traitor in the midst of one of several squadrons in Pheonix wing. They are sending you back to Pheonix, as a Flight Lead in Kaph Squadron." The young officer, Tjaden to be precise, stood and slowly began to walk the room with hands clasped in the small of her back.

Fear, they are afraid. Afraid of you, but afraid of this threat more. Rutian's smiled slowly faded to be replaced by the icy stare he wore regularly.

"Very well. I will find your traitor, and he will die in a manner that is suiting." Rutian said, standing to face the Watcher. She almost flinched before facing him with a little more dignity.

"You will not be assigned a new Watcher for this mission. Certain key officers that are aware of your situation will be there, but they will not know of your time of arrival. Your mission is to be secret save these orders here." The Watcher produced a datapad from the table. "Deliver this only to the Squadron Commander that you are assigned to. Good luck." She said, and the blackness of the room was breached by the twilight of dim light flooding in from the hall. With a show of teeth Rutian stepped from the room into the hallway.

Much fear. Rutian nodded.

---

Transition back into the ranks of a squadron had gone as smoothly as could be expected. Red tape was often cut very quickly when Naval Intelligence dipped its dark hand into the mix. All the same there had been a rough transition period. Hours of boarding one ship and then another. Briefing after briefing which was always the most pointless exercise; he already knew all he needed to know.

On board the Tiamut Rutian's life carried on like usual. He spent the majority of his time reading reports and meditating in his room or practicing in the stormtrooper's gym. During his time in Imperial service Rutian had gained quite a reputation as a fighter, especially amongst the stormtroopers. There had been one incident a long time ago where a certain overly large stormtrooper had found out just how uncomfortable a broken arm could be. Ever since he could not board a ship without some idiot either asking to train with him or searching for a fight. The flight went without incident, but the ending definitely left something to be desired.

Everyone who had ever been on a hyperspace vessel knew the distinct feeling of dropping out of hyperspace. To Rutian it was like coming from reality into a dream; the world around Rutian never seemed real. An impact against the ships shields shook the ship a bit, and sirens began to go off almost as if the two were related. Rutian bolted down the hallways, solid black boots thudding in long strides towards the hangar. The Tiamut was suddenly a hive of activity, all perfectly calculated and precise to interact with each other without causing interference. That never worked quite right.

The hangar was the most complicated part of the ship. Mechanics, pilots, engineers, and a whole assortment of people scurried around to do their jobs. Rutian strode through the swarm with the rest of the pilots in a dead course towards their crafts. Rutian climbed into his cockpit and ran through his preflight.

"Kaph, we're going to be launching here in a minute. There is a Republic gunboat right outside our doors. That's us Kaph." Came the SC's voice through the comm. Rutian sighed for a minute while waiting for launch orders. Finally the hanger doors opened, the clamps were released, and Kaph flashed out of their hangar toward the oncoming barrage of fire.

Vender watched his missile stream in toward the E-wings, and followed it closely enough to realize Slasher may not have had enough time to break off. At the last possible second though Slasher broke off and something beautiful, and yet at the same time tragic, happened.

The missile found its target clearly, by luck as Vender was shooting from the hip in a sense, it caused something far more devastating. Two E-wings had collided which resulted in an explosion, more massive than what it should have been. Something else was suspect that he didn't understand nor had time to consider. That was only the positive side of things, as soon reality slapped Vender in the face immediately and without warning.

“This is Slasher, I've got a problem, my Fighter has lost speed controls, I'm not gonna be able to slow her down.”

No. What? What does that mean? What does he mean?


“I'm gonna do what I can to give you all a few minutes to regroup, good luck.”

NO. Stop. Wheels began to turn in Vender's mind, wheels that could not be stopped. Maybe it was the result of Slasher's situation, or the battle itself, but those wheels in his mind began to spin faster and faster. What does that mean? What does he mean?

Vender watched Slasher's fighter intently while simultaniously going through evasive manuvers to save his own life. While he should have been concentrating on the matters at hand, something pulled his mind away. Something pulled it away completely.

Slasher's Interceptor flew off into the distance, nearing the Rebel Nebulan Frigate quickly. A few A-wings gave chase to stop the pursuit, but their pursuit was quickly met with failure. Slasher's TIE plowed into the Frigate and exploded. A whirlwind hit Vender and all of space time began to collapse on itself.

No. I owed him one. Ruby shots flew past his sight. He saved me. I'm the one that is supposed to die.

Distantly he heard the comm chatter.

“That guy is going to be a legend...”

Oh shit I killed a legend. I killed the one guy that would save us??

He heard Drac say, as if in a dream. “Crewman, that guy already was a legend.”

No I didn't. That wasn't me. I mean.. What? What the hell is happening. Things began to grow dark, as Vender's consciousness melted away revealing nothing more than raw data he would never remember. In his mind a burst of light exploded in on itself becoming something he had never seen, nor would ever remember seeing.

Vender's Interceptor was still in overdrive, all power into the engines. He was going upward of 140 knots. His mind entered a surival like state that only a computer would understand. Strings of data predicting likely scenario's and reacting as quickly as a human body would let them. His fighter dove, jigged, looped, swirled, climbed. As if there was a sane man still piloting it. As if someone with experience had been flying it.

Tell me I didn't kill that man, tell me I did the best I could...Jade. Talk to me. Tell me I'm not wrong. The enemy squadrons had fallen back by this point, regrouping with the frigate. Distantly he heard his name being called.

"Vender? What kind of nonsense is this?" Vender could hear giggling. Like a child's giggling, but in a familiar tone. Memories took him back to a more simple time, a time far less severe than the one he was currently in.

What are they talking about? Suddenly his fighter leveled out as the dogfight calmed. No one was chasing him anymore.

"Delta 4. Come in. Charge your shields, you idiot, while you have the chance!"

Charge? Shields? What are they talking about.. Wheels turned. More giggling children errupted all around him. STOP LAUGHING. THIS IS NOT FUNNY.

It was Hunter's voice. "I think Vender has gone AWOL (((ABSENT - WITH - OUT - LEAVE))). Leave him be, no one can help him now."

Snap I'm going to die. The light was starting to annoy him. Maybe his mind was coming back to the shell of a being that was left, maybe it was the realization that his current state of mind would get him killed.

"Vender here." He breathed heavily. Sweat was pouring through his flightsuit. It was a struggle to speak, and hard to even form simple words. On the other end of the mic, it was obvious he was exhausted from high speed manuvers. He went through turns and dodges most people would have been knocked out cold by. It took a toll on his body, but he refused to give up. "I'm not dead yet."

OOC:

WC: 774
P.S. Vender didn't realize it, but he is the one that said:
“That guy is going to be a legend...”

A destructive force had reduced this beautiful planet, an entire city, to a mere lifeless dust cloud. Nothing of Sarjah's gravity defying architecture would remain after the Geraps Sule's immeasurably hot core had wielded the cities particles and souls into a pretty orange gas. The sky above the planet's hazy atmosphere was aglow with the distant play of death. Cali'reharn's Interceptor range was too far to get a constant signal on the com-chatter that spluttered and choked her flagging concentration.

“Kaph...confirm...Umbra....azgul....report...who is....fender...surre...legen...Dice...ooooo...report...over.”

Too many voices, talking over and above each other but ultimately to no-one. Cali failed to recognize any of the voices, even the ID tags that blinked on her sensors seemed alien to her. Viper had always been in the far flung cease pit of some nameless system ever since she had signed up. Now to be fighting along the elite of the Vast Empire's Naval might, or what was left of it, she felt truly overwhelmed with a lack of purpose. A grim read out of Viper's remains; a whole flight blown out of the sky barely an instant after their engagement, Ibram's flight was essentially himself and Romanflame who until recently she had presumed had met his fate. His Interceptor righted itself under Ibram's flight path as the two fighters desperately cork-screwed around a gas platform, itself an oscillating ball of wreckage and fire, as two persistent A-wings gave venomous chase. She flayed her yoke back and forth over the A-wings path, her own craft at a mid-point of a wide loop. It was no good, she could not get a steady lock on such nimble enemies. Her lip suffered the torture of her fangs as she bit with an irrational fear and preyed that her fellow pilots could out manoeuvre the New Republic aces.

The laser fire lashed at Ibram's exhaust ports, he brought his craft in dangerously close to the imploding gas platform. A salvo of the A-wing's fire caught the escaping gas supply. The fire expanded as the heat spread, increasing the magnitude and force of the laser. Ibram's shields visibly glowed from the concentrating fire to a red curved hue on his Interceptor's aft. To Cali's horror, his left thruster ignited in a naked white flame, the after burn from his maximum thrust tripled in length straight in the line of the pursuing A-wing. It's red hull was instantly engulfed in the breath of fire. The whole fighter went up in a hideous gassy explosion, Ibram's fighter was sent through multiple forward rolls from the impact. His Interceptor spun recklessly away from the platform, Arthur adjusted his course sweeping across his squadron commander's spinning trajectory. The remaing A-wing pulled up hard to avoid side-swiping Arthur's blocking move. Arthur's solar-array glimmered as it took an onslaught of surprised laser fire as the remaining A-wing leaped above his act of selfless regard. Cali bulked her own fighter from it's wide orbit over the killing zone forcing it into a neck breaking dive. She screamed as her flight straps cut into her shoulders. The whole craft rattled under the planet's restrictive atmosphere. Unsettling noises from behind her indicated that her Interceptor was within an inch of falling to pieces.

Cali hoped she could get an opportunist take on the shaken A-wing. Her sensors bleeped in mockery as the Y-wings advanced ever further away from Viper's entanglement with the A-wings. Her neck was numb from the g-force of her craft's dive. She gave up struggling for breathe, her eyes almost rolled back from the respiratory shock. The seductive light of the orangey gas enveloped her cockpit welcoming the point of cross over into the eternal beyond.

In front of her suicidal path, the gas platform finally gave way to existence. The balance and respulsor units gave way and the finely calculated mass of the structure broke in two like tinder sticks. The immense gas canisters, those that had not already exploded from the stray laser fire, buckled like the foundations of crumbling temple. The whole process a testament to the pointlessness and devaluation of this planet's pitiful existence to the whims of power play between these two factions. Carving out space and resources through destruction, both sides aped their former institutions, Empire and Old Republic respectively, with a disturbing precision for detail. Fighting over the raped corpse of the galaxy who should have shunned their tantrums and cries for attention long ago.

“Nine!! Gamma One!! Break!! Break!!” Reichert voice was hoarse. He spewed fire as more A-wings angled for kills from the imploding mass of gas.

His sensors indicated two uglies had formed on tail and gaining with alarming speed. Helpless to assist Cali he began rolling his fighter hoping his wing mate Fallen Angel was still alive and on his position. The enemy fire glared off his view port as he banked out of his roll. The explosion had clouded the atmosphere with dense gas leaving his visuals to a bare minimum. At least the New Republic pilots would be in a likewise position he assured himself.

“Gamma Four, this is Gamma Three. Come in.” He snaked along the expanding gas cloud for cover from the A-wings as he toggled engine power to his much depleted shields. There was no reply. Maybe the explosion had taken out his communications, Santa thought with increasing desperation.

As he adjust his vector to ebb with the creeping gas, a silver flash skimmed narrowly pass his teetering path. He had not imagined spirits to have glistened with such intensity. This, however, was no escaping spirit as his sensor's registered a VEN lock.

“A..ph...ur. Thi..Yamm..ne. Form..n..me.” He whacked his console in frustration as his com unit struggled to compete with the static. Phur? Thi? He had never head of the call-sign before, realization hit him. It was Cali.

“Alpha Four. This is Yamma One. Come about hard on my wing. We've got to cut off those bombers or we might as well surrender our souls to this gassy goddess.” She sounded as hoarse as him.

“What about Alpha One, ma'am?” Arthur came in, concern breathed through gas.

“Negative, we go for the bombers. We'll all die and another ten thousand go down with us. We have to try.” She sounded adamant but what struck Santa most was the audible tiredness in her voice.

“Circaa, circoo now Viper. Form up on whatever you can.” Santa did not catch the alien phrase but as the gas cloud that had been shrouding him from battle cleared into the orange ether he got a visual lock on distant explosions. The bomber's had already reached their first target.

“Frotz! Yamma Four is that you?” Cali exclaimed evidently relieved at Santa's presence.

“Confirmed one.” He check his scanners, his eyes squinting back the aeons of tiredness he felt. The gas had frazzled all of Viper's identification tracers. Every blip on his scanner registered as a neutral. “Scanner's drunk, I can't get visual on Gamma Thre...”

“Gone, Four. We're dancing with skeletons now.” Cali's voice trailed off into an whisper of exhaustion.

"..ali, ge..to the..bom.ers, I'l...urviv..." Cali's eyes darted down to her HUD display and with a rapid flick of the wrist she tried to get a lock on Ibram's fleeting position. He was still alive? She could not believe it but only someone of Ibram's calibre could out manoeuver a crash course

Out in the basking sunlight, Ibram Tyrol's Interceptor span through the clouds, the view port smeared with sweat and blood. He smiled inwardly to himself silently debating whether he had been better off taking a life in religion instead of the Navy. He cracked his bruised knuckles and placed a firm but hagged hand onto his yoke.

"Easy now, calm down girl we'll get you back to your stables." His voice managed to pierce through the blood frothing in his mouth. The TIE-Interceptor banked under his reaffirmation of control, he hoped that his alternative, parallel self that had studied the a more mediated life was sending a prayer out for Cali and the rest of Viper.

OOC:

KIA
Viper 12, Gamma Four aka Fallen Angel (TIE/In)
1 A-wing


Amended for not wanting to give the impression that Ibram was dead :P Carry on to the Y-bombers Vipers. Ibram will be sorting out his exit plan

------------------- Beginning of Battle ------------------

== Tiamut ==
"I want status reports!" The captain yelled from the front of the bridge.

Sparks flew from just about everywhere. It was a wonder anything still worked. But like most cases on capital ships, flying sparks simply meant overloads in the wirings caused by the sudden increase in either power consumption or excess of power as energy weapons poured themselves into the ship. Some of that energy ends up being absorbed by the shielding, while others get absorbed by the electronics within the ship, flowing through the wirings that were designed to carry voltages much less concentrated as the turbolaser bolts. And yet others, plowed through the hull plating, melting the metal instantly as the shot made its way from the very outer most toward the center of the ship until all of the energy was spent and no more damage could be done.

Thanks to the great engineering feats of the designers, such minor issues as power overload were easily protected from for almost all electronic systems aboard ships with a simple yet effective surge protector.

"Shields are down to eighty percent!"

"Launch all fighters. I want to know what the hell that was and where it came from!"

"Attention all Phoenix Wing fighters, you're cleared for immediate departure. Aegis and Blizzard Squadrons, you are free to launch at will from the port hanger; Kaph and Polaris, you are cleared for starboard hanger. Good hunting boys." The practiced, monotonous speech from the flight controls officer could be heard from one of the consoles.

"Where's that report I asked for?! I want to know what's going on!" Captain Izon yelled at the bridge crew once again.

"Sir, I'm not sure..."

"Then make sure, dammit!" Captain Izon snapped at the junior officer.

"...According to my scopes, we're looking at about eight squadrons of enemy fighters. They were the ones that just fired on us, sir. On top of that, there's a DP-20 Gunship, and two Nebulon-B Frigates."

"What are the positions of those frigates?"

"They are fairly far from each other. It would appear they did not jump into the system at the same time, sir. One is about two clicks out to our ten o'clock. And the other is roughly four clicks out to our two o'clock."

Before the captain could make a decision, the communications officer cut in, "Sir, We've just received a message from the Ferum Umbra. The Commander is heading for an engagement with the Gunboat. And he "suggested" that we stop sitting here like frightened boys and wake up, sir."

I hate that guy. If we manage to get out of this alive, He's not gonna see the end of it. I swear. That was what went through Izon’s mind, but he knew better than to voice his thoughts out loud, especially in front of the crew. As the captain, he's the last person allowed to lose his temper, at any given time, now that they're in the middle of a battle, make it even less appropriate for him to do anything other than keep his composure, and see that the ship, and his crew, live to see another day. Instead, he said, “Bring us about to face the Neb-B alongside the DP-20. We can’t just leave the Ferum Umbra to take on both of those ships at once. It will get ripped shreds. Lieutenant, charge all weapons. Prepare the ship for frontal engagement and broadside. Increase the power output of the forward ships. We’re going in for a head-on assault.”

A good number of “Yes, sir” could be heard from almost every officer on the bridge as they all got to work on their respective duties.

“Someone keep their eyes on that other Neb. If it does anything, anything at all, I want to know about it. Now, let’s see what this baby can do.”

== Neb-B ==
“Sir, we are registering two more ships have just jumped into the system, a small cruiser, and a medium sized ship of unknown origin. It is launching fighters.”

“What do you mean ‘unknown origin’?!”

“Sir, I have never seen anything like it. I’m checking all Republic databases for any records of a ship that fits the descriptions, but so far, nothing.”

“What the hell is this.” The captain of the Nebulon-B Frigate said to himself more than anyone else, then turned to the Communications Officer and said. “Get me the Commander; I want to know what the hell he’s gotten me into.”

“The Enemy Corvette has broken off from the larger ship and is now heading for the Gunboat, sir. The unknown ship is powering weapons and headed straight for us, sir!”

“Shields up to maximum. Brace for impact. And charge up those goddamned turbolaser guns. Fire at will as soon as that ship is within range.”

“Copy, shields at maximum; weapons are charging.”

“Sir, I have found some brief mentions of an unknown Star Destroyer type medium sized cruiser on some private databases. According to those records, a ship has been spotted numerous times in various areas in nearby sectors to have been preying on random small convoys and pirate groups. According to all of those records, the ship has a spherical dome in the bow section, and “humps” in the mid and aft section of the dorsal surface. The ship also boasts excellent defenses against both starfighter and larger ships of equal size to itself.  There is also a mention in certain reports of a shield system on the ship that seems to never be able to be overloaded. On top of everything, its speed is one of fastest in the known universe; it is capable of matching even the fastest of the capital ships, even some fighters.” The junior officer looked up to see the reaction of his commanding officer, only to see that he hadn’t been paying attention to him at all; rather, he had been conversing with the Commander of the operation.

“…yes, sir. They will have nowhere to run.” The captain saluted, and then turned away from the hologram, back to his crew. “We have our orders. The Commander will take his Neb-B and flank them from behind, while we take it head on, blocking it from going anywhere. Maintain current course, fire up the engines. Prepare to pass it on the starboard side, make sure all guns are ready for broadside.”

-------------------------Now-----------------------------

== Tiamut ==
“We can’t take this much longer, sir! The shields just won’t hold with both of them hitting us like that.”

“What is the status of the second Neb?”

The bridge of the Tiamut was not a pretty sight. Sparks still flew from every direction, but now, they were continuous. Multiple overloads over the last half an hour or so have literally melted the wirings. Because of that, wires have merged themselves with others, shorting many systems throughout the ship. At the same time, toxic fumes filled the air, ranging from acidic to metallic to burning flesh that had somehow made their ways through the ventilations systems that were no doubt no longer effectively scrubbing the air within the ship. On top of it all, the entire infrastructure shook violently as each bolt of laser made contact with the ship at one point or another.

“It’s still not showing any further movement or course change or weapons fire. But the shield still reads at sixty percent. What are your orders, sir?”

“Concentrate all weapons fire on the original Neb and enemy starfighters. I want full thrust; get us as far away from the disabled Neb as possible. This may be our one and only chance to even out the odds a bit. So far, we’ve been getting out butt kicked by those Nebs ganging up on us. Prepare the port side guns for broadside. As soon as we are past the Neb, maneuver us into position behind it from the other one, and remain in that formation with them. That way we will only have to deal with them one at a time.”

“Aye, sir. Thrust at maximum.”

“Weapons are engaging the Neb to our eleven o’clock and surrounding enemy fi…”

The weapons control officer was cut short as sounds of yelling came through the comm. “Cease Fire! I repeat, Cease Fire! This is Polaris Seven; my wingman and I have been shot by fire coming from the Tiamut! Cease pzzzzt…”

“What the hell was that?” The captain turned sharply to the weapons officer.

“I’m looking into it now sir.” The junior officer replied hurriedly as if his life was on the line, well, even more so than before. “It seems that the targeting system somehow mixed up its targets while tracking an enemy TIE, and ended up shooting at a friendly sir.”

“Dammit. Cease all fire on Ties. I don’t care if they’re enemy or not. The fighters can take care of them.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Give me a Sit-Rep gentlemen.”

“We will be back into the range of the Neb in sixty seconds and counting.”

“Main shields are down to twenty percent, auxiliary shields are holding at fifty percent, but it won’t be able to take much; it wasn’t designed for sustained usage.”

“We’ve lost one of the maneuver thrusters, but all other thrusters are functioning at nominal performances.”

“Hold weapons fire on the port side until I give the order.” Captain Izon said as he looked out the forward viewport. Unlike most ships, the bridge of the Hellfire class ship is not placed in a position on the ship where it is possible to view more than half of the entire battlefield. Instead, it is situated in the center of the two pincers, protected by them from most attacks. For the same reason, the views are mostly blocked from the viewports except directly down the center. However, to compensate for his “handicap”, the viewports to the sides have been specially designed to display, when needed, a holographic representation of what the viewer would actually see if there were no structure in the way. If needed, the hologram projectors would even project views of the aft sections of the ship, giving the bridge a good view of things behind them. “What do you have on that Neb?”

“Not much, sir.”

“We’ve been here over half an hour and that’s all you’ve found out?! ‘Not much’?! And someone find out

“Its shields are down to forty eight percent and dropping. However its engines are down to sixty percent efficiency.”

“Thank you, lieutenant. ETA?”

“twenty seconds.”

“Course change fifteen degrees to starboard, then loop around it.”

“Roger.”

“Sir, we have a problem!”

“What is it now?”

“We have a whole squadron of E-wings lining up in front of us for…” Before he could finish, the enemy fighters were upon them like hornets attacking a hostile nest. The brief seconds seemed to slow down, time stopped for everyone on the ship as countless spears of super heated energy plowed into the shields of the Tiamut, then the hull as the shields were easily overwhelmed.

“Status Report!” Captain Izon barked as he tried to pick himself back up from the floor. The ship was shaken so badly everyone lost their footings and hit the decks.

“We’ve lost the majority of our weapons control! Turbolasers and cannons are all offline. Shields are gone too. And it’s not charging. The reactor cores are leaking. The run also seem to have damaged many parts of the major power conduits.”

“Any…” The ship shook again as, this time, the Nebulon Frigate opened fire on the crippling ship with its first salvo. The captain continued on as soon as he regained his balance, “Any chance of getting them fixed?”

“Negative, the damages are too extensive. Nothing short of dry dock will be able to repair these damages. And we’ve just lost life support.”

“Give the general order for evacuation. Abandon ship. We’re sitting ducks here. All we’ve got left is a big mouth and no teeth to bite with.” Turning around, Izon flipped the comm system to ship-wide, “This is the captain speaking. General order thirteen is in effect. All personnel are to head to your designated escape pods and proceed with evacuation. Out.”

Once everyone else had left, the junior officer spoke up. “Sir, if I may be bold. We may be an empty mouth, but there’s still a lot we can do while there’s still time.”

“Like what? And what the hell are you still doing here?!”

“Give me a second. We’ve lost our cannons, but the tractor beams still work. If all else fails, we’ve still got propulsion.” The lieutenant stopped and looked up at Izon. The two men stared back at each other as if telepathically exchanging possible ideas and plans, as well as their eventual death.

“Blizzard Squadron, This is Captain Izon of the Tiamut. Come in.”

“This is Mallard. How are things holding out?” The squadron commander of Blizzard replied with a sarcastic undertone, asking about the obvious.

“Peachy. Listen up. I’ve got a little job for you and your squadron. Interested?”

“I’m all ears.”

OOC:

WC:2185
Alright I had originally planned to do some killing... but the foreplay took longer than I thought. So I will finish up the killings in my next post, which should be out before monday. Stay tuned.
KIA:
Polaris 7 - friendly fire
Polaris 8 - friendly fire
2 B-wings
4 E-wings
6 A-wings

I realize only the Polaris deaths are actually in my post. But considering that i mentioned in my post the battle has been going on for "thirty minutes", the idea of not killing anything in that time is impossible. So I added a plausible amount of kills to account for the "silence".

OOC:

Polaris Squadron: Squadron Commander Garent Talmount aka BLAH909

Garent Talmount should have listened to his father. Through luck, brevity of recruits and sheer bribery the young man had risen to the unlikely role of Squadron Commander. Still at the outset his father, Talash Talmount, had been adamant that Garent should have followed in his father’s well-polished footsteps of planetary government.  The acting Prefect of Tel’Drias, Talash had all but disowned Garent since the Polaris Squadron Commander had signed up with the Navy. Now, Garent’s mind considered what sort of life would have awaited him had he not made his rebellious decision against his father’s wishes. The beads of sweat strained his reflection upon the mater. His thoughts whispered to him a repeating phrase: if only my father could see me now, if only my father could see…

The Tiamut, despite only being a medium-class Star Destroyer, loomed like a behemoth next to Talmount’s tiny Interceptor. The large ship, however, crackled with fire and energy a sure sign to any pilot that the Tiamut’s shield where desperately being drained. A large blast on the aft side near to Talmount’s vector caused the pilot to dive his fighter through a hastily pulled corkscrew. He shuddered at the thought of those poor souls trapped inside the ship that was fast becoming a floating iron tomb.  Internal fires could rupture the vessel at any moment. The Tiamut needed the starfighters to buy it some more time. 

Talmount’s HUD was an indecipherable mess of colour as blips overlapped at blinking speed. He pushed his Interceptor into a tight turn as the rogue, enemy cluster of TIE Interceptors screamed past him with alarming speed. For a bunch of New Republic pilots, they sure knew how to a pilot what they referred to as squints. He shot a three-hundred and sixty glance around his cockpit trying to get a visual lock on his wingman. His eyes where meet with the horrifying sight of a blazing Interceptor careening straight towards his position. Leading crewman Ameka Razor’s fighter propelled through the war-torn space, another victim to the New Republic’s dirty tricks to pin this whole mess on the Vast Empire. Talmount eye’s bulged as he slammed into a vertical climb that hit him in the gut like a drunken brawler.  Tears from the force of the manoeuvre, he told himself, rained down the irrigated cracks of his weathered face. He was lying. Ameka may have signed up to the Navy on misguided pretences but there where no more so than Talmounts. She had been a vital member of Polaris and now she was dead. Her skin would be cool as her blood ran to final halt. If her Interceptor’s hull had been breached she would then be surrounded by solemn space vacuum.  Not heroic, not inevitable it was another typical pilot death. Training amounted to nothing when the odds where this stacked against you. Talmount had wanted her. He had not said anything but her large blue eyes had given herself and his feelings away. No warming conversation and silent movements in the dark. She belonged to space’s cold embrace.

The unpiloted Interceptor smashed against the faltering shields of the Tiamut whereupon it was engulfed by the energy kickback. Talmount had easily avoided Razor’s final flight but now found himself pointing down the gauntlet of a swarm of enemy Interceptors and braying X-wings. He ignored the X-wings, his belly burned for the satisfying explosions of the Interceptors. His shields where diverted to his rear thrust as he mercilessly pushed his fighter to breaking speed. He had not issued any orders to his squadron for what to him seemed like decades ago, he seriously doubted if any of Polaris where left alive at this point. As he gained his trajectory towards the New Republic fighters his com-unit blared alive with malice.

“Cease Fire! I repeat, Cease Fire! This is Polaris Seven; my wingman and I have been shot by fire coming from the Tiamut! Cease pzzzzt…”

The unmistakable monotonous voice of Caslad was uncharacteristically alive with emotion as he was cut short, his voice dissolving into a hiss of static. Talmount flinched at the sound of desperation in Caslad’s voice.

The Tiamut had unleashed a gashing salvo of fire but evidently its target system was no longer functioning. Time would soon be over for the Star Destroyer’s lifeline.  Talmount’s control panel confirmed Polaris Seven and Eight as friendly kills, he cursed aloud as his targeting system bleeped a steady affirmative on the enemy he unleashed a vastly underpowered stream of laser fire. The rogue Interceptors merely danced away from his aim, twisting to and fro they easily evaded his flailing efforts.

Concentration was giving away into desperation and soon Talmount could feel it within himself that would equally give way to a numb acceptance of his death. He hoped in the beyond he could meet Razor and their embrace eternal would heal him, seal her open wounds and together they could both lay basked in the never fading light. 

He throttled his speed back down and the enemy Interceptors literally became non-descript squints in the maw of space. With a heavy arm he keyed in a through commands on his console. The lights within his cockpit shut off, his engines became a low reassuring hum beneath his boots.

“Polaris One, this Polaris Four what’s are plan? One please respond, we need to do something, quick! “

“Frak sake Talmount what are you doing?! What are you…pull up Six, watch your six, Six! Frak, frak, frak!”

“I can’t shake ‘em, I can’t…”

“Sithspit! Regroup, Polaris on my wing.”

“Four, I’m confirming E-wings on my radar, they don’t want us to leave.”

“Confirmed Ten, assume a line posit…what the….”

“Four?! It’s those rogue squints, dive!”

“We’ve lost one of the maneuver thrusters, but all other thrusters are functioning at nominal performances.”

“Hold weapons fire on the port side until I give the order.”

“Is that coming from the Tiamut? Anyone? I’m solo, this is Polaris Ten, I’m alone…”

The sound from the com chatter was snapped shut like the closing of an old handcrafted music box. A distant smile was spread on Talmount’s face beneath the ungainly fittings of his flight helmet. With a few tugs, he removed the helmet and placed it on his lap, the eye sockets of the helmet looked up at his calm expression. That’s better he thought to himself. No more distractions. The missile locks mounted, a queue of death threats awaited him from an amassing gaggle of New Republic pilots. He swung his boots up onto the now lifeless console and leant back into his chair.

“Ameka, I’ll be there soon…”

A direct hit.

OOC:

KIA:
Polaris One, Garent Talmount aka Blah909
Polaris Two, Ameka Razor
Polaris Four
Polaris Six
Polaris Ten

Reconfirmed KIA:
Polaris Seven
Polaris Eight

Blinding bolts of light flashed through space. The area around the Tiamut was swarming with activity as squadron after squadron sped out of their hangers. Rutian looked about and tried to get a sense of things, but it was difficult to tell exactly what was going on. Missiles and laser bolts were launched in mass from capital ships and battling frigates. Imperial and New Republic fighters darted back in forth with no clear line of battle. This was chaos.

“Kaph, this is One. Our sister ship the Umbra has engaged with a DP-20 Corellian Gunship. The Umbra was not designed for this type of combat, and the gunship has her severely outgunned. Aegis is already on the assist, but we've been called in as backup. The DP-20 is armed to the teeth and they were built for fighter combat. We cannot expect any help from the Umbra. Flight leads, we'll break the DP-20 into thirds. Concentrate heavily on your section, avoid enemy fire, and assist Aegis where possible. Let's move Kaph.” Rutian's Comm buzzed out. Rutian punched in to his own flight.

“Flight Two, this is Five. We're to concentrate on the aft part of the ship. The gunship is more agile than most ships with its firepower, but most of the ship is made up of its engines. That's our job. Seven, you're with me.” Rutian clicked out his own Comm and wheeled his way towards the gunship. Seven fell in to his left while Six and Eight fell in with each other to his right. They were well trained, not quite top of the line, but well trained. The whole squadron pushed forward at max speed.

The Umbra was barely more than a floating pile of debris when Kaph arrived. She was slowly floating away from the rest of the battle with her systems totally shut off. The DP-20 was in a much better shape. Aegis was darting around the gunboat like a swarm of knats. The shields had been weakened far more than Aegis could have done on its own. The Umbra had obviously done her best.

“Kaph One, this is Aegis One. Glad to see you guys. This is one tough son-of-a-bitch.”

“Aegis One, how are your numbers? You seem to be down a few.”

“Roger Kaph, we've lost three. This gunship has got it out for us. The Umbra took down her shields a lot but we've been having to work them down slowly ever since she took down the Umbra. “

“Roger Aegis, we will form up equally to assist. Kaph out.” Rutian's comm was only silent for a second before the squadron channel clicked open.

“Flight Two and Three, loop under the Gunboat and smack her on the belly. Concentrate on attacking her engines afterwards. She is fragile there and movement is her main asset. Flight One, we're going to be a little distraction with Aegis. Try to pull fire towards the ship's bridge. She'll not want to take any serious hits there." Kaph's squadron leader clicked out and Kaph squadron broke into its three flights with practiced ease.

However, the approach towards the DP was far from easy. The gunboat's turbolasers were already charged and firing, but now they had more targets. Kaph's approach looked like the squadron was trying to dodge rain drops of lightning. Kaph Eleven winked out of existence as Flight Three made its first pass under the ship's belly. The Interceptors let loose a torrent of fire, and the shields buckled under the strain. For a split second they wavered and flaming holes of hull were blown away by the superheated blasts.

As Flight Two began to climb in its loop the port turbolasers let loose a salvo. Rutian's shields screamed and wavered when one blast made a glancing blow. Like practiced dancers the flight spun out of the top of its turn to make a pass at the aft portion of the ship. Flight Two's lasers ripped into the shields of the gunboat yet again, but this time eight missiles let loose from the flight. A total of sixteen missiles impacted the aft engines, and instantly the ship began to turn into chaos. The laser blasts from the two flights had weakened the shields long enough for most of the missiles to get through. The barrage, though small, tore right into the hull of the ship's engines. Explosions were erupting all throughout the aft portion of the ship. The turbolasers never stopped firing though. Rutian watched as one of his flight, Kaph Seven, had his cockpit blown away. The Gunboat was crippled, and couldn't escape, but she could still fight just as well.

OOC:

About 5 short of 800, short but there's more to come. Tonight even.

“Blizzard, form up on me.” Mallard said with a rather confident voice. These kinds of unwavering concentration can only been seen from two kinds of people. One, someone who enjoys doing what they do; two, someone who has done it so many times, so experienced, they no longer flinch from the horrors of a battlefield, nor expect it to be any different from the last one, or the one before, and the one before that. People die. Good and bad. Stranger and acquainted. Male and female. Mallard has seen them all. And fortunately, or unfortunately, he has yet to muster up the strength to step away from it all. He feels the lives lost hanging down his heart; but he can also feel the rush of adrenaline of battle, the fuel of hate for his enemies, and the heat of explosions as he, unavoidably launches himself, and his squadron, time after time, into battle. “Finish mopping up any pursuits, and let’s go kick some butts.”

“That’s what you said at the beginning of the battle.” Blizzard Six cut in.

“And we did, now let’s do it again.”

“Roger, Alpha Lead.” Ghost said with little to no emotion. As one of the few Falleens in the VE, Ghost stood out like a sore thumb. And his typical monotone voice, the shiny scales that changed colors from time to time, and his towering six foot eight inch height didn’t help one bit. In fact, they made things worse. Falleens are a proud race; proud of their physiques, abilities, and their natural instincts, to name a few. Male Falleens are naturally, commonly, born with greater attributes than humans. Occasionally, there might be one that was conceived to be “weak”. In some extreme cults, those kinds of children would be cast out from their communities, or even killed, in order to preserve a better lineage.

Falleens are born warriors. Throughout their entire childhood, many, if not most, dedicate a great amount of time to better their combat abilities as well as other aspects of modern warfare. Ghost was taught how to engage multiple enemies in hand-to-hand and melee combat before he was even fifteen; and how to pilot ships and starfighters before he was twenty. After joining the Imperial Navy, he was given the opportunity to even better his flying abilities, which allowed him to quickly rise through the ranks to become an officer.

Of course, having the ability to convey the message exactly as he wished greatly helped the process. Falleens have the ability to change their scale colors to match their mood, feelings, or excitement. Older ones have the ability to change the color freely, thus effectively hiding their “true colors”. Having achieved that before joining, Ghost used it to its full potential. He was able to “display” his emotions as fitting the many situations.

However, simply having the ability to change their scale color was not enough to convey messages different from the truth. One also required the ability to control their voices. This was what Ghost really excelled at. After meditating for hours on end, everyday, he had gained the ability to consciously calm his senses, cover his feelings, and express in a tone that betrayed nothing. Although, that doesn’t necessarily meant he was incapable of animated expression.

“Listen up, boys. Captain Izon has come up with a little scenario for us. They have lost their main weapons control, and they will have to rely on the fighters to help them do some damage. The Tiamut is going to help us make our job a bit simpler too. Our job is simple. Aim and shoot. Got that?”

“Easier said than done.”

“Let’s see just how much simpler the Tiamut can do.”

“I want everyone to break into pairs when I give the go. Until then, fly in loose formations around the area. I don’t want us attracting any unnecessary attentions.”

“Copy that Lead.”

“This is Captain Izon. Our sensors show the E-wings are coming around for another run on us. Blizzard, do you copy?”

“We have them on scopes as well. Buckle up Blizzards. Slave sensors to the Tiamut’s targeting computers.”

“Acquiring tractor beam locks.” The comm hung silent for a few seconds. No one spoke a word. Everyone gripped their control yokes tighter in anticipation. It was as if the battle was about to start all over again. “We got ‘em!”

“Break! Go for the stragglers.” Pairs of Interceptors broke from the never ending sea of fighters, headed straight for the capital ship. Straight ahead of them, the squadron of E-wings lined up right in front of them, five of which marked for execution.

Just like the attack they did to the Tiamut, the Interceptors swooped in, firing relentlessly upon the five E-wings trapped by the tractor beam. Unable to move freely, unable to escape their impending doom, one by one the E-wings were abandoned by their pilots and then destroyed.

“Thanks Blizzard. That just saved us from a world of pain.”

“Glad we could help Tiamut. And thanks for the easy kills. That should teach them a lesson.” Unknown to Mallard, the perfectly executed plan taught the NR a great lesson, more than he would’ve ever imagined.

“Acquiring targets. Stand by, Blizzard. The E-wings are coming back for a third run. This time they brought some heavy players. We’ve got incoming B-wings.”

“Just give us the word, and we’ll lay waste to those buggers.”

“We’ve got locks on them. Anytime now.”

“On our way.” Mallard replied. But before kicking in the thrusters, he keyed the squadron comm channel, “Ghost. I want you and your wingman to hang back and watch for any flank moves on us. This is our second run, the NR are bound to have picked up something from the last run. They might have prepared an ambush for us. Take out anything that makes a move for us.”

“I understand.” Ghost had lost the other members of his wing earlier in the battle. One of which was his original wingman. It was largely his fault. Largely it was the NR’s fault. But he knew better than to blame those guys. He had overestimated the abilities of the new recruit. As they cut through the battle field, the lieutenant lost sight of his wingman, and the poor guy ended up in a ball of flame as the fighter collided with an enemy A-wing trying to copy a maneuver executed by the exceedingly more experienced pilot. After he lost a second flight member to one of the Nebs, Ghost was paired up with his new wingman Petty Officer Lorrant.

Once again, the interceptors unleashed hell upon the targeted fighters. Unlike their comrades, the fighters seemed to hang in suspense as the rest of the enemies broke off from the attack run to regroup. The two unfortunate E-wings and three B-wings looked as if they had been lifted lightly off the ground, preventing them from running away. And again, a rain of green bolts poured from the interceptors into the small group, first their shields, then the hulls, ripping apart the wings of the B-wings until all five fighters exploded into nothing but debris.

“Awesome job Blizzard. Stand by for round three.”

“Copy Tiamut. We’re returning into the fight for cover.”

“Hold on a second there. My sensors are showing the squadron of B-wings forming up. But they don’t seem to be gunning for us. Our sensors are also showing a power spike from the disabled Neb. That thing is operational again.” The squadron of B-wings advanced upon the interceptors, wings already open in attack formation. The flights still in perfect formation, instead of spread out for dogfight.

“This is Blizzard Nine to all Blizzards, break off. The squadron of B-wings is coming straight at you. Break formation immediately.”

“What the… My controls are not responding! I repeat, this is Blizzard Three, I have been completely locked out of my flight controls. I don’t know what’s going … pzzzzt.” The comm was cut off as the fighter exploded from the impact of a proton torpedo. At the same time, many more different voices cried out through the comm, each reporting their own inability to comprehend the situation.

“We’re taking fire! This is Blizzard Eight. We’re sitting ducks out here! Someone help … pzzzzt.” One by one, the blips on the screen were erased from existence. The entire squadron, wiped from the face of the Universe. Ten fighters, ten pilots, gone, while everyone else, especially Ghost and Lorrant, were forced to sit and watch as their squadron was decimated in the brief time that seemed to stretch out into infinity. The two pilots sat frozen in their seats, not from the tractor beams that claimed the lives of their fellow members, but shock, and fear, as the sudden loss crept into their body, their heart, their mind.

-----------------------Tiamut--------------------------

“This is Tiamut. Come in Blizzard Leader. Blizzard One, do you copy?” Captain Izon cried into the comm. The death of Blizzard squadron was on his hands. It was him that came up with the idea. It was him that enlisted their help. It was him that gave the go for them to engage the enemy, once, twice. It was him that failed to see what could happen, what did happen. And now, they’re dead. He can’t see them, but he knew there were hundreds of pieces of metal and transparisteel shards and burnt bits of flesh that used to belong to the group of Tie Interceptors and their pilots known as Blizzard Squadron.

“Captain! What the hell just happened?!” Commander Atrasin barked through the comm, obviously upset at the loss of an entire squadron.

“Nothing. I don’t know.” The captain replied with an automated voice. The Lieutenant Commander had replied with another question, but Izon didn’t hear it, his hearing and vision had both faded. His eyes had become unfocused. He was no longer standing on the bridge. In his mind, he was sitting inside a fighter, looking down at a group of interceptors, floating in space, with a backdrop of gray and black, his ship, the Tiamut, against the blackness of space. His viewport shifted downward; now he was level with the other fighters. He could see a group of B-wings approaching in the distance, in formation. Again, the viewport shifted. He was facing directly at one of the Ties. He could see into it, through the two layers of transparisteel that looked as they were only inches apart. A pilot, wearing the imperial fighter pilot uniform, bearing the imperial insignia on both sides of his helmet, and displaying the silver Blizzard insignia on his left chest, waving his arms around, frantically trying to find a way to escape the rain of laser bolts that had started with a drizzle, now pouring into the space around him, depleting his shields, melting through the hull, shattering the transparisteel panels of the viewport.

The ship exploded. But when the flames cleared, the ship was still there. Except now, there were no panels between them. The pilot was no longer struggling with the inevitable. He sat perfectly still in his seat, facing directly forward, staring into the eyes of the captain. The entire front sections of the ship had been blown away, as if engulfed by the flames, leaving the pilot behind, in his seat. The pilot was no longer wearing his helmet. His face burned beyond recognition. Flesh smoldered into space. Two black holes replaced what used to be eyes. Izon wanted to scream; he wanted to turn away from the horrors displaying in front of him; he wanted to take revenge on the enemy; he wanted to save the pilot that was before him; he wanted to move; but he couldn’t, not even to just look away.

The pilot’s jaws moved. But no sound came to Izon’s ears. He listened harder. The pilot’s jaws moved again. This time, Izon heard, ever so lightly, the word “captain”. He blinked. The face of the pilot vanished. It was replaced with the face of his junior officer, who yelled the word at him, repeatedly. The imaginary world disappeared. Izon found himself staring at the officer, blankly. He closed his jaw which felt like it had been hanging forever, and blinked a few more times to clear his vision. Except, the reality was not much better.

The bridge of the ship looked to be completely destroyed. Nothing seemed to be functioning anymore; a few sparks danced on a nearby console that had been thrown onto the floor. Red lights flashed everywhere; the ship was on its deathbed.

“Sir, we have to get out of here. There is no time.” The junior officer pleaded.

“No. All the escape pods should be gone already when I ordered the evacuation. Give me a status report of the ship, then you may leave.”

The junior officer looked at his captain, dumbstruck, then realized what must be going through the captain’s mind, and straightened his own posture. “We’ve lost all our maneuver engines. Main propulsion engines are down to 40%. We’ve lost the observation tower, entirely. They must’ve thought that was where the bridge was. The squadron of B-wings went straight for it. We were already without shields, and that run tore the tower apart.”

“That’s quite alright. Do we still have the tractor beams?”

“We only have two left, sir.”

“That will do. Thank you, Lieutenant. You are relieved of duty. I’ll take it from here.”

“With all due respect sir, no. I’m staying.”

“Very well. I want full power to the engines. Bring us about. Lock onto the Neb with the tractor beams. I want one on the bridge and one on the engines. We’re gonna die, but I’m gonna take as many of those bastards with me as possible. And send a message to all friendly forces to evacuate the immediate area.”

Captain Izon looked through the front viewport, the enemy ship drawing ever closer. Consciously this time, he imagined the looks of men on the ship in front of him. The thoughts they might be having. The actions they might be attempting to carry out. The orders the CO might be trying to give. He smiled at the thought. As the Commanding Officer of one of the best ships in the Universe, this end was better than most captains even dream of.

Closing his eyes, Izon relaxed in his seat, welcoming everything that is about to happen, to him, to the battle, to the men that had died in his service.

OOC:

WC: 2427
KIA:
All of Remaining Blizzard Squadron except Nine and Twelve, Ghost and Lorrant.
Aegis 13-16 (from collision explosion)
Tiamut
1 Nebulon-B
3 B-wings
7 E-wings
4 A-wings (from collision explosion)
2 Enemy Ints (from collision explosion)

I didn't mention those that were killed from the explosion, nor did I describe it from an outside position. Hopefully some of you guys can take the opportunity to write about those in more detail.

Additional friendly kills that should've happened by now:
Kaph: 2, 4, 5, 12, 13, 16
Aegis: Beta Flight - M.I.A ( unknown situation, but not on any scopes anymore.)

Slasher jinked his fighter to the left, narrowly avoiding the fire from the pursuing E-Wing,

"They seem kinda pissed that I took one of their fighters..."

"[Yeah, well I'm gonna be pissed if you lose that fighter, now get over here and cover me.]"

With the loss of the Tiamut the fight had turned from an organized fight to an all out brawl between what was left of the VE fighters, and the remaining NR fighters. Tempers were barely kept in check as they flew through space, with so many of the VE pilots either dead or M.I.A. those that remained were few, but they were some of the best, and while the battle early on had been very pitched between the two sides, the remaining NR forces in system were having a hard time defeating the remaining fighters.

"Slash, pull up!"

He responds instantly, and as his fighter pulls out of the way another E-Wing flashes underneath his fighter pursued by a TIE/in which has another enemy fighter behind it,

"Watch it, you got one on your tail too."

Slasher wanted to go help him, but couldn't as he was drawn into a fight with two more republic fighters, he tried to evade the fire from the enemy fighter, but there was so much debris in-system now that it was becoming very difficult, he dodges around one larger piece of debris, and watches as one of the fighters pursuing him is not so lucky, clipping the edge of the piece of debris the fighter begins to spin and is forced to pull out from pursuit of him because it can't keep up with his manuevers anymore. The other fighter sticks close to him, and he quickly turns his fighter on its wing, narrowly avoiding another TIE/in which has clipped another piece of debris and is spinning out of control, the fight is so thick that he cannot tell whether the fighter was from the VE or from the NR dummy squadron.

He sees Vender's fighter flash by, an E-Wing hot on his tail, "Vender, break right, Now!"

Immediately the fighter moves, and Slasher unleashes a barrage of fire from the E-Wing's cannons, driving off the NR E-Wing, and giving Vender another chance to live. As he pulls around looking for another target, Slasher sees four of the fighters from Aegis squadron disappear in an explosion as a missile from one of the enemy E-Wings explodes, tearing apart what is left of their shields, and leaving them at the mercy of the debris which now litter the battlefield.

"Polaris G-1 to anyone, taking fire, we need some help, my whole flight is---- BZZZT" The comm goes to static, and then goes silent, and Slasher sees three small explosions off in the distance as the rest of Polaris Squadron's Gamma flight is destroyed, but they don't go quietly, their last desperate bursts of laser fire taking out two of the enemy interceptors.

As Slasher pulls his fighter around he sees a group of debris and as he flies past he recognizes several of the panels have the insignia of Aegis Squadron, Beta Flight, "All VE forces, this is Slasher, confirming that Aegis Squadron Beta Flight is K.I.A. repeat, move their status from M.I.A. to K.I.A."

Off in the distance Slasher sees the Nebulon-B Frigate he had recently escaped from moving toward the battle, slowly but surely the big guns of the frigate were coming closer to annihilate what remained of the Vast Empire's forces in the system.

OOC:

NR Forces Destroyed:
2 TIE/in

VE Forces Destroyed:
4 fighters from Aegis Squadron
Aegis Squadron Beta Flight confirmed K.I.A.
3 remaining fighters from Polaris' Gamma Flight

Driver watched as Ibram’s TIE was racked by the missiles blasts.  The solar panels shredded and evaporated in the fireball as the cockpit pinballed in the eddies of superheated gasses.  The engines went next.  The fireball turned the finely tuned machines into so much slag.  The cockpit ball started its death spiral.  Driver matched the rate of descent and patched through a secure channel.

“It didn’t have to end this way.”

Ibram Tyrol’s voice crackled over the static of his badly damaged comm, “I think we both know it did.”  His voice was strained and staccato.

He must be injured

“It was always going to be one of us Driver, your style of leadership and stubborn certainty was bound to get one of us killed…I just hoped it would’ve been you.” He grimly stated.

You would you sanctimonious bastard

He continued, “Now you’ve managed to not only shoot down your senior Squadron Commander for attempting to save his men, but killed an entire wing of fighters.  Congratulations, you have your immortality.”

G knew any attempt at reason was lost on Tyrol, as he would never listen to reason before this battle, and wouldn’t live to not listen afterwards.

“Unfortunately for you Lieutenant, you will not be around to write the report on this incident, but never fear, I will.”

Driver pulled his Avenger back a safe distance and let loose with a volley of tracer fire.  The fighter was already doomed, but this would ensure its rapid descent into Gerap Sule’s crushing atmosphere.  Nosing his fighter back spaceward, he commed the Viper XO to form up on him and prepare to reenter the fray, to her credit she obeyed.

Driver and the remnants of Viper soared into clean space.  Viper was down to three functional units.  He keyed his SitRep panel.  Blizzard was gone, save two lone pilots.  Polaris had two left, and Aegis was still fielding eight.  Nazgul fared better than all the rest, as he expected it to.  They had lost a flight’s worth of TIE’s and somehow picked up an E-wing.

That’s gonna be worth something if we make it out of here

The Tiamut was gone, as was the Umbra.  The Rebs still fielded a Neb-B and several dozen fighters, most of them E’s.  With the level of damage they’d all take he knew they wouldn’t last long. Twenty-four beat up TIE’s against a CapShip and one of the best starfighters in the galaxy.  He keyed the wing chanel on his comm and issued what he believed to be his final orders.

“Cali'Rehearn take Viper and join up with Nazgul, you’re now the XO. Hunter do your best with the remaining Reb fighters.  Aegis, Polaris, Kaph, Blizzard…form up on me.  Chief…Rutian, you’re XO of our merry band.  We’re going to hit the E’s from the opposite side as Naz/Viper.  Stay clear of the Neb-B as best you can. Do the best you can to neutralize those fighters.  If any of us survive this we can worry about the Neb then.  It has been a pleasure to command all of you and I hope to see you in whatever Hells we end up in. “

He cut the line and punched up the acceleration on his fighter.  The ship leapt at the foe with a vigor that it had first shown…Twelve…really? Only twelve minutes ago?  Twelve minutes to decimate an entire wing.  Phoenix left the jump off point 96 TIE’s strong.  She now limped towards her end with only 29.

His SitRep showed the green and blue dots of the combined Naz/Viper strike the enemy first.  They were the best of the best.  Their only losses had been noobs and the stray careless vet.  They cut through the Reb fighters like a hot vibro through blue milk butter.  Driver’s group fared far worse.  The remnants of the other four squadrons were mentally and physically gone.  Aegis took the worst of it as they had the most remaining pilots.  Alpha 2 and 3 were vaporized on contact with the E’s. Delta’s 2 and 4 were slagged soon after that.  In a matter of seconds he’d lost a third of his effective remaining force.

The comm chatter was painful.  Pilots confused, pilots screaming and cursing…pilots dying.  Driver violently jerked his Avenger to and fro trying desperately to shake the E-wing on his six.  He’d tried ever maneuver he knew, apparently the Reb pilots knew them too.  He could hear the scree of the target lock on him as he said his final prayer to the Gods and prepared to meet his end.
The tracer bolts cut through the shields like a cool breeze on hot Atoran summer’s day.  The hull buckled and gave.  the atmosphere that had kept its pilot alive for the duration of the Battle of Lehon boiled out into the vacuum, and the pilot died as his atoms were blasted into an infinite number of directions. 
Lieutenant Commander Geordi Atrasin II, Wing Commander of the First Vast Imperial Starfighter Wing “Phoenix”, 3rd Baronet Ratselhof, son of Huur Atrasin, Grandson of Geordi I, and Brother of Bedav was very much alive.  A fact that struck him with no small amount of surprise.

The flash of a speeding T-wing fighter shot through the dissipating gasses of the former E-wing and past his canopy.  A voice boomed across the Wing channel as the holo on his SitRep board sprang to life.

“Ahoy Imperial Fighters, this is Lord Bedav Atrasin, Commander of the Atoran Home Fleet here to render assistance, do you copy?”

G turned his TIE to see the lines of the House Atrasin, flagship of the Home Fleet as she heaved to.  The Baronet Geordi I and the Baronet Huur sailed past her and waded into the fray.

“I got your message brother, you’re lucky I didn’t have plans tonight.” Chimed Bedav smarmily.

“That I am brother that I am.”

The holo of his younger brother flickered, “Shall I help you rid this Imperial system of Rebel scum?”

Vengeful thoughts flashed through Geordi’s mind, but passed quickly like a summer rainstorm, “No.”

A somewhat more feminine voice crossed the comm, “Good choice Commander.”

“Yulia?”

“Yes dear, do you think I’d let Bedav come and rescue you by himself?, please” she said incredulously.

He caught sight of his Raven class ship as it hovered close to the ‘House’.  She shouldn’t have come here, not now.  He also knew it would be pointless to bring that up.  Turning again to the matter at hand.

“Have ‘Dad’ and ‘Granddad’ cover my pilots and get them aboard the ‘Family’ and get them the hells out of here. Have the T-wings fight a covering action and then bug out once the ships are clear.”

Bedav replied, “Aye, aye Commander.”

The two attacking Bayonet-class ships heeled about and formed a gauntlet as they steadily approached the remaining Neb-B, all guns blazing.

“All VE forces, retreat…I repeat, retreat.  Immediately board the AHFS House Atrasin for evacuation.”

Little by little the remaining VE TIE’s broke and ran for the safety of the ‘Family’ as the T-wings began engaging the remaining New Republic forces.  The ‘Family’ had her hangar bays wide open waiting for the bloodied Imperials to dock.  Some made it, some didn’t several had to eject as they approached, their ships too badly damaged to be safely taken aboard.  A roving shuttle collected the floating fighter jocks as they drifted by. 
Meanwhile the ‘Dad’ and ‘Granddad’ had engaged the Neb-B.  While they were well armed and in pristine shape, the Nebulon still out gunned them.  The damage it had taken served to level the field a bit as the three ships slugged it out. Driver watched as the ships traded blows, his ship circling above the ‘Family’, Yulia flying in tandem with him.

The last of the remaining VE TIE’s reported safely aboard the ‘Family’ as Driver nosed his Avenger toward the craft.  He was determined to make sure what was left of his men made it home alive.  The T-wings were holding their own against the remaining NR forces.  They had managed to occupy all of them up until this very moment.  An E-wing broke out of the roiling knot of fighters and made a bee line for the ‘Family’, and the lone TIE on the battlefield.  Driver never saw the missiles as they locked on to his fighter; he was too preoccupied with the evacuation.

The damage he knew done to his Avenger was minimal, what he didn’t know was that it was critically placed.  His missile warning system was gone, and in moments he would be as well.  His proximity sensors went off just as his Avenger was in its final approach to the ‘Family’s hangar bay.  Instinctively he gunned the ship as the first missile detonated.  Molten shards of shrapnel sliced through his cockpit.  Atmosphere vented rapidly, but thankfully, not explosively.  The flying metal tore his left side.  His arm, his side and his hip were torn away.  The TIE keeled over and slammed into the deck of the hangar bay.  It bowled over several parked TIE’s and came to a crashing halt as it mashed into the back wall of the bay.  The second missile caught the Raven with a direct hit to the engines.  The ship instantaneously nova’d across the hull of the cruiser.  The shields stopped the worst of the blast.
 
“NOOO, YULIA…GEORDI!!”screamed Bedav as he saw the ships disintegrate.

He stabbed the comm, “Hagar do we have them!? DO WE HAVE THEM!!!”

“We have the Baronet, he’s badly wounded.  Lady Yulia is not here.  The Raven did not survive the hit.”

“NO, NO, NO, not her, not her….” Wailed the younger Atrasin, grief welling up inside of him like an erupting volcano.

“…  …ord atRASIN, LORD ATRASIN, WE MUST LEAVE NOW! Two more Neb-B’s have just jumped into the system.”

Bedav’s senses came back to him, he saw the ‘Dad’ and ‘Granddad’ peeling away from their prey and making the jump away from Lehon.  He saw the two new foes bearing down on him and snapped to attention.

“Get us out of here now, take us home.” He said absently as he made for the sickbay.

The House Atrasin heeled about and blinked out of existence.

The Battle of Lehon was over.

Epilogue:  One month later

  Driver blinked the sweat from his eyes.  The pain shot across his back and down the left side of his body.  The therapy droid encouraged him to do it again.  Driver’s left hand sprang out and crushed the metallic skull of the droid as if he’d merely been made of rice paper.  The vocorder of the machine sputtered and died.  He looked at the crushed automaton within his cold metallic fingers, and grinned a dangerous grin.  He’d been offered a lifelike version of the lost limb complete with flesh and fingerprints, but he passed.  He wanted the reminder there. He wanted to remember what he lost, both physically and emotionally.

He limped from the room to his quarters.  The new leg was problematic.  It hadn’t taken well, and his gait was far from smooth.  He entered and sealed the door.  The Taskmaster, his new flagship was a recent build.  She was a standard CR-90, standard till Bedav had got a hold of it.  She now sported several new upgrades neither known of, nor approved by the Naval High Council.

Not that the NHC would have approved of them anyhow.  The fact that he still remained Wing Commander was a testament to the true ‘Imperial’ nature of the VE.  According to ‘official’ records, Lehon never happened.  Phoenix was never destroyed.  The Tiamut and the Umbra were never lost.  He never shot down Ibram Tyrol.  Blizzard, Kaph, Polaris, Aegis, Viper and Nazgul were never decimated, and Yulia never died.  The fact that the NR now held a tenuous grasp on the system was downplayed as well.  ‘Officially’, the system was rebelling and non-aligned.  Well, Driver was not one to let the good and the honorable be swept aside like so much dust. He’d decided on something else.

He stepped into the ‘fresher and temporarily washed away the stink of his failures.  He dressed in a crisp new uniform and made his way to the bridge.  Once there he sat in the replica command chair he’d had installed on the Umbra and opened a channel.

“Pilots, today we take up our duties as the 1st Vast Imperial Starfighter Wing.  We do so in full remembrance of our brothers and sisters who once held this designation: Phoenix.  To honor them we become the instrument of their retribution. We become a weapon turned at the enemy beyond and within, we become: JAVELIN – The Tip of the Spear!”

A shout reverberated up through the decks of the Taskmaster, but the bridge remained stony silent.

“Today, we reform the elite of our service, and vow to take the fight to the enemy anew. Squadrons sound off.”

Hunter-Morrell was the first to speak. He’d been the first tabbed to helm a new squadron while Driver was recovering, “Tu’kata Squadron reporting for duty.”

Next came the stoic Twi’lek woman formerly of Viper, Cali’rehearn, “Rheagent’s Reign Squadron Reporting, Sir”

One by one they called the roll, Varactyl, Nightshrike, Razor, and Blackguard Squadrons completed the new Wing.

“We are here, we are ready, and we are one for the Vast Empire. Go forth and do its will, and may the God’s have mercy, for we will not.”

OOC:

And thus we consign Phoenix, Nazgul, Viper, and Kaph to the History books.  May they always be remembered with honor.  Long Live Javelin, Tu'kata, Rheagent's Reign, and Nightshrike.
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