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Topic:  2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
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  2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 8, 2011 9:33:13 PM    View the profile of Drac 
Welcome, my friends, to the conclusion of the Belgaroth story arc. It’ll be one to remember.

The large space station complex floated serenely above the multicolored backdrop of the planet below. It hung like a cast ornament in space, glittering- a silent monument to the struggle of sapient life against the cosmos. The dark cold of space, innumerable pinpoints of stars scattered throughout, however, revealed movement, revealed life. Groups of starfighters whisked this way and that, neatly in formation. Bulk freighters heavily loaded with precious durasteel components, slow but sure, drifted toward it as one of their brothers, now empty, pulled slowly away.

Other ships floated nearby, silent ghosts decorated with the flickering illumination of running lights and transparisteel panels shining with the light of the rooms within. The sizes and shapes were legion, for this was a fleet of many kinds of vessels.  Not currently being turned to their one purpose, warfare, they floated quietly, awaiting the call. A few, much harder to notice, sat docked at points about the spacestation. On the hulls of those ships the wavering light of welding torches could be witnessed as repairs, upgrades, and maintenance were accomplished.

The space station, too, was lit. Various portals shone with the light of activities taking place within, manufacturing areas glowing with the heat and light of their work. Within the room seen through one such portal, far from the factories, stood a single being. That person, a male Mon Calamari in Imperial officer’s garb, stood before the portal and looked out, surveying the system before him- its several planets, the occasional asteroid, and even a comet passing through. His eyes drifted from ship to ship, from fighter to fighter, while his mind imagined the many beings, droids, machines, and weapons that made up each and every one. He saw the Belgaroth System. He saw the Vast Imperial Second Fleet. He saw them, knew them, and knew the many conflicting emotions they drew from him.

Turning away from the window, Commander Dracule “Drac” Mihawk approached his desk. Stepping around the corner, he pulled out the chair and seated himself, then set his elbows upon the desktop, steepled his fingers and glanced at the holographic representation before him- the scene outside, miniaturized. Chastising himself mentally for ruminating when he should be working, Mihawk nevertheless continued to consider the things for which he’d become responsible-both those seen and those unseen. ’Am I proud of where I’ve arrived? Certainly. But am I as proud of all of my actions in getting here? No…indeed, I am not. Too many innocents died at Montitia, joining the untold number of others that my actions have harmed since I first trod the path of war. And, yet, how many have benefited? I couldn’t say. As surely as I can see the harm I’ve done, I will never see the harm I’ve prevented. It is the way of things…But enough of this selfish retrospect. Those that serve with me, those I’m tasked to lead, they certainly are worthy of being proud of- worth celebrating and defending. As are those we all serve to protect.’ Drac nodded to himself, ever so slightly, ’We must continue; for the sake of order, peace, and prosperity in the galaxy and at home, we must continue.’

Shaking himself, the dark skinned amphibian dispelled his solemn ruminations and, sitting up straighter, keyed up a query on the console before him. He read the report, nodding to himself as he scanned updates about various ships’ upgrades and final repairs. Everything was back in place now, fully recovered from the battle for Montitia, while those ships returning from the Battle of Coveway were still undergoing some repairs. Their fight had been, quite demonstrably, the tougher of the two. While some minor repairs and cosmetic finishing were still to come, every ship of his command could answer the call to battle if needed.

Before he could move on to the next report, one regarding logistics, a memo popped up on his holoprojector screen. It was from the current Watch Officer, one of his aides, Warrant Officer Yrnnkrsk, informing him that all Ship Captains requested had arrived at the station and were making their way to his conference room. Supplies could wait, as could this occasional bout with moral dilemma. Duty was at hand. Drac keyed a quick acknowledgment, then stood and collected a folder from his desk. It was a walk of but a few paces for him to make his way over to the door leading to the conference room from his private office. He keyed in his passcode, stepped through as the door hissed open, and felt the air stir as it whirred shut behind him.

Seating himself at the head of the table, Drac transmitted some documents from his datapad to the console there and began to perform final tweaks on the routine briefing he was about to give. He remained busy, but tracked the first arrivals as they came in the door, noting them for their promptness. They didn’t salute as they came in, but sat or spoke together quietly, awaiting his acknowledgment of their presence.

About half the attendees had arrived when Drac wrapped up his preparations. Before he could finalize everything, though, the shrieking howl of an assault alarm tore through the room. To a person, the officers within the room flinched in surprise. Then they looked to him. Drac quickly typed in an emergency code and brought up the Watch Officer’s tactical holoprojector. It acted as a comms line too, so he spoke, “What’s going on, Warrant Officer? This’d better be kriffing important.”

Fear and amazement fuzzed the Gran’s voice, “Commander, there’re two fleets in the system.”

Growling, Drac bit out his retort, “I assumed as much, Yrnnkrsk! Ours and theirs. Who are they?!”

“Um, sorry sir. Let me correct myself: there are three fleets in the system. Ours, and the two that just jumped in on attack headings.”

Drac ruthlessly crushed down his alarm before it could show on his face, though he felt his barbells twitch, “Ah. I see. Poor tactics, them coming in at the same time. What’s their commander thinking? But disregard that: What’s their strength relative to ours?”

“Sir, each fleet is somewhat larger than our own. But, sir…there’s something else. Something ‘s wrong.”

’Of all the blackhearted sithspawn…’ Drac narrowed his eyes as he replied, “Aside from the odds? Kriff it, Yrnnkrsk, we don’t have all day! Tell me what it is!”

The Gran’s voice was openly trembling now, in reaction to both his angry commander and the sudden assault, “Okay! Sorry! I mean, yes Commander! If I’m reading the IFF tags correctly, one of these fleets is New Republic, probably their sector garrison…and the other is Imperial Remnant.”

Alarm shot through the room like the Death Star’s laser, “They’re coming after us together? They allied against us?”

“Um, I don’t think so. They’re not moving together and…yes, I think they’re beginning to fire at each other. Starfighters are beginning to engage each other. Advanced elements of their fighter force are also engaging our fleet- about eight to ten squadrons, total. They’re fighting each other as much as us, right in the middle of our ships.”

Drac spared the shortest possible moment for consideration, looked at the silent officers around him, then spoke gravely, “Warrant Officer, send out a Mayday signal to the nearest Vast Imperial forces. I don’t know if we’re going to survive this, but we’re kriffing well going to try…and if we don’t we’ll pare these fools down enough for Commodore Atrasin or whomever to clean up the pieces postehaste.” Shaking his head, he cut the transmission, ’Of all the insanities the galaxy could inflict upon us…and while all of our senior Captains are on the station and not their ships! This is too convenient. This meeting must have been leaked. Once again, we have been betrayed.’ His eyes narrowed further, growing as cold as anyone had ever seen them, ’Heads will roll for this. I swear it….But now to react, and quickly. We’ve been badly caught off guard.’ Out loud, he addressed those around him, “Gentlebeings, there’s no time for politeness or neat order: get on your ships and get on them now. I will relay orders to you shortly. Anyone whose ship is docked on the station had better be out of this room by the time I finish speaking. For the rest: Those who’re qualified to fly starfighters are to come with me; I have a squadron’s worth of mixed craft available as extras. I’ll expect you on your bridges by the time I’ve landed my fighter- got it? Those who aren’t pilots should load up on Lambda shuttles and make straight for your ships as well. Requisition a flight each of starfighters for escort. Go!”

The group split in two, with some Captains running for the main hangars or the repair bays as seven or eight others followed close behind Drac as he sprinted for his private hangar and the ready room attached. As he stepped through the door his datapad, forgotten but still clenched tightly in his left hand, chimed an urgent message tone. He activated it and began to read without missing a step. Mihawk was gratified to see it was a report from Captain Ongol, detailing the forces arrayed against them:







Drac ran the numbers in his head, grateful that he’d reviewed them just minutes ago. The majority of 2nd Fleet was in-system as they staged for their next assault, and the ships available included all of Taskforces Aurek and Besh, as well as another six Light Cruisers and a full wing of starfighters stationed on the shipyard itself, for a total of 22 squadrons available. So…things were pretty even on the starfighter level. Unfortunately, his forces were outweighed rather heavily in the area of capital ships, their enemies have both more numerous and larger craft at their disposal. The defensive guns on the shipyards would help make up a little of that gap, but he knew all too well that his fleet was the weakest of the three.

Then he skidded around the last corner and darted toward the hatch before him. It hissed open, revealing a small ready room. He sprinted in and angled toward his locker as the others rushed in hot on his heels. Drac started shucking his officer’s dress uniform even before he reached the locker, determined to get on the bridge of his ship with an absolute minimum of delay.

Word Count: 1827

Let the battle begin!

SCAPs: If you’re getting in a fighter, feel free to pop a starfighter or two on your way out to your ship. BUT no more than two. I’m offering this opportunity as a bit of fun, but we’re not fighter jockeys any longer and our absence from the bridges of our ships would cause more damage to our forces than we could ever do to the enemy in the cockpits of fighter craft.

Everyone should be reacting to the alarm and trying to figure out what’s going on and what they should be doing about it. Make sure you read what others have done before you and try to come up with something novel, rather than repeating their actions. If someone was already in the Mess Hall when the alarm went off, maybe you were in the gym. That sort of thing. Use a post or two to react and get prepared to fight. After that the pilots should be in their cockpits and the ship crewmembers should be at their stations. And be creative! Why run through a hall when you can run through a hall while having to avoid the huge puddle of caf some idiot cook spilled when the alarm scared him?

Best of luck to everyone. I look forward to seeing how this turns out. As always, I’m available for questions and to give ideas.
FC/CDR Drac/ISD II Halcyon Warrior/TF: Aurek/2Flt/FC/VEN/VE
Captain of the ISD II Halcyon Warrior
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 8, 2011 11:07:18 PM    View the profile of Serpent 
“Okay, let me see if I have this right,” Said Senior Crewman Pherik Zail, leaning over the table to the crewman sat opposite.  Fixing the Twi’lek with a serious stare and focusing hard on the shape of his mouth and the movements of his tongue, he said, “Caldreer iu’sar ji fa umalos effeen?”

The green skinned Crewman stared back at him.  Managing a very human-like sigh (the result of years spent serving among the predominantly human forces of the Vast Empire), Zail’s roommate said, “You just asked if I would eat you.”

Zail thumped the tiny desk they sat at, the only one in their four-man quarters on the Halcyon Warrior.  “Oh come on!  I thought I had it right that time!”

The Twi’lek, known as Kandon, shook his head.  “Check your datapad again.  There is a different verb entirely for ‘eat’ and ‘dine with’.  Pherik, if you insist on asking out Crewman Ban I suggest you try it in Basic.”

“No!” Said Zail with determination.  “I am going to figure out this language of yours, and then I....”  And then he stopped in mid sentence, for the sudden insistent wail of an alarm echoed through the room.  The noise screeched through the corridor, triggering in each crew quarters one at a time, like a wave putting a swift end to all previous lines of thought and conversation.

“What the frotz is that?” Exclaimed Zail, irked by the interruption.

“Oh sure, you get the swear words fine!” Said Kandon, rising quickly from his chair.  “It’s an alarm, you fresh-from-the-academy nerf-herder!”

Zail also leapt up, knocking over his chair as he raced to tuck in his shirt and look presentable.  “But there’s no drill scheduled for today!  So...” And suddenly, realisation dawned, and with it a strange feeling overcame the Senior Crewman.  Something perfectly between calm and excited, something that made his skin tingle and his eyes flash.  “It’s real!” He whispered, knowing that this is what he had trained for, what he had signed on for!  It was happening now!

Without further word to Kandon, Zail shoved past the Twi’lek and out of the door, to join the other crewmen charging through the corridors to their posts.  Some looked nervous, others resolute, and Zail instantly wondered how his face looked at the moment.  Consciously fixing it to calm, he made for the nearest turbolift, barrelling inside just as it closed and shoving his way into the already crowded elevator.

The floors shot by, and the lift stopped all-too-frequently to let out and take in others.  Every wasted second just standing there got on Zail’s nerves, and he forced his face to remain calm and focused, though inwardly he was anxious to get to the bridge.  Arriving late for his first real battle was no way to impress his superiors.

Finally the doors shot open and revealed the massive bridge of the Imp Star Deuce, and no sooner had Zail emerged than he stopped dead in his tracks.  Through the viewports he could see the shipyards of Belgaroth, but beyond them he could see ships, plenty of them.  The battle was already underway, and he froze as he beheld the majestic yet deadly conflict.  There was no sound in space, so lasers arced out and fighters exploded in complete and unsettling silence.  For a moment he thought how wonderful it all looked, like a living work of art, until he recalled that there were people on those ships, living breathing men and women like himself.  This may be a spectacle, but it was a morbid one.  The sight was more than he was ready for, and suddenly fear rose in his stomach and put shame to his earlier excitement.  This was war, and people’s lives were on the line.  He had no reason to take joy in this.

Suddenly another thought entered his mind.  While he could see a lot of New Republic warships, he saw plenty more Imperial ones, and for a moment thought that they had a clear numbers advantage over their foes.  However, he had been staring out the window admiring the fleet just that morning, and did not recall some of these.  He was sure that the Vast Empire did not have that many ships at Belgaroth.  Had reinforcements gotten here already?  Impossible!  And wait, did he just see some Imperial ships firing on each other?  What?

Snapping back to the task at hand, he rushed into the bridge proper, and saw Captain Ongol calmly standing barking orders to everyone within reach.  Compared to a normal day on the bridge, the whole place now pulsed with a frantic energy.  Everyone had a hustle in their step, and though still a well-trained unit, the bridge crew definitely had an air of nerves about them.

“Crewman Zail!” Said Ongol.  “Com station, now!” He barked, “And take this!” So saying, he handed the younger man a datapad.  Upon it was a list of enemy forces, and Zail instantly ran his eyes down it.  Two fleets?  One of them Imperial Remnant, and firing at the Republic as well as us?  What the frotz was going on?

“Don’t just read it!” Snapped Ongol.  “I’ve already sent the report to Commander Mihawk, now relay it to the fleet!  Not every ship has sensors as good as ours, so make sure they all know what we are up against.  And I also want a copy of those figures to every TIE pilot on the Warrior now!”

“Yes, sir!” Said Zail, already in motion.  Darting to his post by sacrificing grace for speed, he knew that now was not a time to stand on ceremony.  Now was the time to act.

Down the ladder to the crew pit and falling into the chair at his station, he connected the datapad and initiated fleet-wide communications, while also activating the Warrior’s internal com systems.  He tried to focus on his job, and not think about what was actually happening out there, but it still nagged at the back of Zail’s mind.

Two fleets, each stronger than us!  How would we survive such a carnage?  Surely it was a mistake, surely it was trick or something.

However, a glance at the pale face of the officer at the sensor station confirmed Zail’s worst fears.  It was that bad, and even the veteran bridge officers knew it.

He gulped and relayed the vital stats to their fellow ships and TIE pilots, and mentally began praying for a miracle...

Word Count: 1079. My character's first contribution to a battle, hope its okay!  Any comments and criticisms are welcome, just PM me.  Its the only way I'll grow as a writer!

After Action Report: A battle has interrupted Pherik ‘Serpent’ Zail’s very important class in speaking Twi’lek.  He is now at the Halcyon Warrior’s comm station and is sending vital statistics to the rest of the fleet.
JBO/SCRW Pherik “Serpent” Zail / ISD II Halcyon Warrior/TF: Aurek/2Flt/FC/VEN/VE [SoA]
[This message has been edited by Serpent (edited August 8, 2011 11:08:55 PM)]
[This message has been edited by Serpent (edited September 20, 2011 9:16:18 AM)]
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 9, 2011 4:00:32 AM    View the profile of Trykon 
Artur Phylas stood at the center of the Defiance’s bridge, staring absently through the vessel’s main viewport with his hands clasped behind his back.  The bridge of the Corellian-built corvette was quiet behind him, and beyond the transparisteel, a thoroughly unremarkable scene played out on the deck of the massive cargo bay in which Defiance sat docked.  A dozen load lifters plodded ponderously back and forth across the cavernous room, their flat arms cradling inconceivably heavy equipment, while countless technicians – so much smaller and weaker, and yet so much more clever and proud – scurried to and fro like self-important insects beneath and between the huge droids.  Everything seems so normal, Phylas thought to himself.  Here, in this little corner of the Belgaroth Shipyards, in this little corner of the Vast Empire, in this little corner of the Galaxy, I could almost convince myself that nothing at all is wrong

“If only I didn’t know better,” Phylas muttered under his breath.  The truth, of course, was that much and more was wrong in the Galaxy, in the VE… and even, Phylas suspected, here at Belgaroth.  And no amount of self-convincing would change that truth.  The Corellian officer sighed. 

If I ever get my hands on the incompetents running Navy Intelligence…  The familiar thought came unbidden, bringing the familiar anger with it, and Phylas ground his teeth as he remembered the last private conversation he’d had with Wyl Trykon – his oldest and best friend, and his commanding officer.

“They were ready for us,” Phylas had complained over matching glasses of Corellian brandy in Trick’s berth, not twelve hours after they arrived at Belgaroth after the near-disastrous assault on the pirates of Coveway.  “The criminals and the rebels both!”

Trick had worn his characteristic frown, Phylas remembered, but his friend’s eyes had looked even more troubled than usual.  “I don’t think so,” Trykon murmured, before taking a sip of the liquor.

“Trick, we lost a squadron’s worth of pilots and even more TIEs, and the Fearless… we went in expecting to chastise a few ill-equipped pirates and we nearly lost the Task Force flagship!”

Trykon had set his glass down on the table and stared at Phylas then, his expression unreadable.  “But we didn’t lose the Fearless, Art, and neither did we lose the battle.”  Phylas recalled clearly his friend’s tone: half cold calculation, half something closer to… contrition?  Why didn’t you notice that strange tone then, Art?

Instead, he’d blindly raged on: “My point is that Intel fracked up, Wyl!  Someone on our side is feeding information to the bad guys, and we’re getting kriffed!”

Trykon had looked away then, Phylas remembered.  “If the New Republic knew Task Force Besh was coming, they would have had more assets in-system,” Trick had said.

“Fine, then maybe there wasn’t a security breach on our end,” Phylas continued, “but still, the Greys should have warned us about the New Republic’s connection to the raiders!  If they even knew about it, that is.  We all face death and destruction every day to do our jobs – I don’t think it’s too much to ask the Naval Intelligence folks to do their own damn jobs, too.”  The fire of the Corellian liquor had felt good as it burned its way down his throat: liquid righteousness with the aftertaste of home.

“They are doing their jobs,” Trick snapped, turning around suddenly.  “And they’re doing them day in and day out without any recognition for their service and despite the constant condemnation of ignorant people like you.”

Heat had rushed to Phylas’s face.  What in hell has gotten into Trick, he thought.  The thoughtful Kuati was usually very even-tempered, and revealed little of his personal politics or beliefs.  “Ignorant?!  How is it ignorant to draw a line between ‘Intelligence told us it’d be an easy mission’ and ‘we all almost died?!’”

“Yes, we almost died, Art.  That’s our job, as you so fittingly put it.  Don’t you remember?  Our job’s not to reason why…”

“…Our job’s just to do or die,” Phylas had finished the refrain grudgingly.  “I still say they messed up,” he said quietly, swirling his drink.

“Intel’s job isn’t to preserve individual units or personnel,” Trykon said, turning away again.  “They fight just as hard as we do, but their concern is the survival of the Vast Empire as a whole.  I’m not going to question orders, and I’m not going to start blaming my brothers-in-arms for doing their duty.”

In short, you’re not going to face the truth that we’re losing the Intelligence war.  Phylas had risen unsteadily from his seat.  Even drunk, he’d recognized that the strange conversation had reached an impasse.  “VENI fracked up, and good beings died.”

“Yes.  Yes they did,” Trykon had said, his shoulders slumping.  “But try to remember who killed them, Art: pirates and rebels.  Not the Greys.”

“Oh yes sir,” he’d said sarcastically, tossing off a mock salute.  “Permission to finish my drink in my own berth, sir?”

“Take the bottle and go,” Trick had said.  He had not turned around.

Phylas had left his friend’s room, and Trykon had not yet invited him back.  They had gone about their professional lives, talking on the bridge, and exchanging pleasantries in the Defiance’s corridors, but their friendship was effectively on hiatus.  All because the damned idealistic fool doesn’t want to badmouth the damned Greys, Phylas thought bitterly, and because I got too damned drunk to hold my damned tongue.

“Oh well,” Phylas said quietly, turning away from the viewport, and setting aside the memory of the disagreement.  No matter what Trick says, we have a serious problem, Phylas thought as he glanced at the members of his shift’s bridge crew.  The New Republic is working with Bacta thieves, and our own intelligence sources seem to be getting most of their information from post-battle analysis, instead of before the battles.  It wasn’t a comforting thought, with most of the Fleet’s Ship Captains gathered together at Belgaroth to plan the next offensive.

“Did you say something, sir?” asked Evir Norith, the on-duty Communications officer.

“No, it’s nothing, Mr. Norith,” Phylas said with forced geniality, “I was just…” he trailed off as a light began to blink on the Comm board.  “We’ve got a call,” he said, nodding past the officer’s shoulder at the light.

Norith opened the line, and a voice flooded the bridge: “Repeat, this is Belgaroth Command to all Vast Imperial Navy ships: two hostile fleets have just jumped into the system, and are moving to attack.  You are instructed to engage.  This is not a drill.  I repeat: this is Belgaroth Command to all Vast Imperial––” Norith cut the audio, and went to work, coordinating intra-ship comms and liaising with the various other communications staff of the station and scattered Fleet.

The rest of the bridge crew reacted just as calmly, Phylas was pleased to observe.  Within minutes, the ship was ready for action, and Norith had confirmation that Captain Trykon was on his way.  The Executive Officer thanked his team for a job well done, and began the tactical analysis Trick would be sure to request the second he stepped aboard.

It wasn’t good.  The feed from the Halcyon Warrior showed hostile forces outnumbering friendlies by almost three to one.  The only encouraging news – if also incredibly odd news – was that the hostiles were not all working together: reports indicated the attackers were actually two distinct fleets, one from the New Republic and one from the Thrawnist faction.  Even as they reached the defensive perimeter around the shipyards, the invaders began to engage each other as well.

Within a minute of the initial strength estimate, Trick stepped onto the bridge.  But so did four other people that Phylas did not recognize, all wearing featureless grey uniforms devoid of any insignia.  Naval Intelligence, Phylas realized, though he derived no deep understanding from the insight.  “I have the initial tactical plot, Captain,” Phylas said formally, doing his best to ignore the four shadows at Trick’s side.

Trykon nodded, and held up a finger as if to say, hold on.  “Mr. Norith, you’re relieved,” the captain said, and then he indicated one of the four spooks, and raised his voice so the whole command team could hear him.  “This is Mr. Grey: he’ll be on comms duty here on the bridge.  Mr. Norith, you’ll stand by to assist him at need.”  Bewildered, Evir Norith could simply nod, while the nondescript Intel man slid into his usual seat.  Trykon turned to the remaining three members of his entourage: “You have your orders.”  They saluted, and jogged out.  What in hell is going on? Phylas wondered.  “I’ll have that tactical plot now, Mr. Phylas,” Trick said.  “Let’s go over it with Zark, shall we?  Mr. Drackon, take us out, if you please.”

A thousand thousand questions came to Artur Phylas’s mind, but there was no time for any of them.  The tactical display made that clear, with the huge Mon Calamari and Kuati death machines closing on their position.  Cursing silently to himself, the XO of the corvette Defiance left his questions unspoken, and when he did finally speak, it was to lend his own voice in support of his captain: “you heard the man, team.  Let’s go win another battle.”

And with that, the ship cleared the hangar’s forcefield, and was in the fight.

1,563 words.  Let's go get 'em, Second Fleet! 
After Action Report: The XO of the Defiance, Artur Phylas, blames VENI for the VE losses at the Battle of Coveway, and the corvette's captain Wyl Trykon argues that the Intelligence service is probably doing a lot behind the scenes.  Then, when Belgaroth is invaded, a group of mysterious "Greys" - the slang term for Intel agents - accompanies captain Trykon onboard.
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SCAP/WO2 Wyl Trykon/CR90 Defiance/TF:B/2Flt/FC/VEN/VE
XNT/WO2 Wyl "Trick" Trykon/PLF Cappadocious/VENA/VEN/VE


[This message has been edited by Trick (edited September 20, 2011 2:15:10 PM)]
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 9, 2011 3:11:43 PM    View the profile of Slasher 
==12 hours earlier==
Lieutenant Rorran 'Slasher' Gorma sits at his desk in the Chief of Naval Training's office on board the Assault Frigate McElroy, looking through the recent communiques from various ships on maneuvers around the sector he sees that there has been a serious fall in incidents of skirmishes between the forces of the Vast Empire and those representing the interests of the New Republic and various Imperial Remnants which border the areas under the control of the Vast Empire Navy.

It is very odd that they have drawn down their forces in the area, it seems almost as if they wanted us to try and push harder against their forces in the area.

Turning away from the reports on ship movements and the roster of training rotations on the warship the Falleen officer walks over to the viewport which shows the strange lines of hyperspace as the ship makes a jump out of the system toward the shipyards at Belgaroth.

Hopefully the repairs to the Fearless have been completed, it looks like we are going to need to be ready for combat soon. If their mid-size and larger ships have stopped patrolling and being a part of various engagements that means that they are up to something. Best be ready for combat soon.

Hitting the comm button on his desk as he walks by Slasher quickly summons the ship's executive officer to his office, at the same time requesting that the crewman on communications watch put him through to Belgaroth shipyards.

A few minutes later Slasher looks up as Commander Bolt Veras enters his office throwing him a quick salute the officer walks over, "You asked for me Sir?"

"Yes Commander, I've been looking at the current movements both of our ships and the confirmed sightings of enemy vessels over the past couple of weeks since the battle of Coveway, and things don't seem to add up, while our vessel movements all make sense, the number of skirmishes with enemy vessels in and around the border systems has been much lower than it should."

"What does this mean sir?"

"I believe it means that they are planning an attack, but I do not know where, or when, the absence of so many of their ships of the line from the front, especially during a time of relative peace for their sectors, would seem to indicate they intend to make moves. As we do not know where or when they will attack, I want the entire training fleet to be on alert and prepared to come to the assistance of any system which the enemy attacks."

"What assets are we being assigned sir?"

"As the Duty, Honor, and Loyalty are all absent at present on training cruises, and only the Courage, Fealty, and Perseverance are with the McElroy and the Hammer, I want you to form up under a single command, you will be in command of this sub-taskforce, and will hold command during battle until I arrive with the Fearless and the rest of my task force, at which point you will come under my command."

"Aye sir, I will begin running battle drills at once and will ensure we are ready for combat."

"Very good, dismissed."

The Commander salutes and leaves the office, heading back for the command deck, minutes later the light on his desk readout indicating that there is an incoming message for him begins to blink, and hitting it he sees the face of Echelon materialize on the small holopad built into the desk, the Bridge Officer nods in greeting,

"Captain? I was informed by the McElroy's Comm officer that you needed to speak to us urgently."

Yes I did, Echelon, and hopefully you are ready for the job that I am about to saddle you with.

"Yes Echelon, I know that you are still in space dock and awaiting my return, but something is going on, I do not know what, but I have a feeling we may be summoned soon to combat, I want the ship ready when that call comes, take her to Alert 2, and stand by for further orders once I have spoken to Commander Mihawk."

"Aye Captain, she'll be ready for you once you arrive."

"Thank you Echelon, McElroy out."


Slasher enters the conference room and takes a seat, he barely has time to nod to the other officers at the table before the attack alert begins to sound,

What the devil!?!? he turns toward the head of the table where the Mon Cal Commander is sitting and raises an eyebrow, "Commander?" He watches as Drac manipulates the controls before him, "What's going on, Warrant Officer? This'd better be kriffing important."

"Commander, there're two fleets in the system."

Shaking his head Slasher's friend responds, "I assumed as much, Yrnnkrsk! Ours and theirs. Who are they?!"

"Um, sorry sir. Let me correct myself: there are three fleets in the system. Ours, and the two that just jumped in on attack headings."

Slasher tuned out the next exchange as he considers the implications of the engagement would be when there were two enemy fleets to contend with when he heard the report that the two fleets were not actually working together but were in reality enemies of each other as well as the Vast Empire Naval assets in system. His attention is brought back to the present as Drac begins to issue his orders,

"Gentlebeings, there's no time for politeness or neat order: get on your ships and get on them now. I will relay orders to you shortly. Anyone whose station is docked on the station had better be out of this room by the time I finish speaking. For the rest:"

Slasher doesn't hear the rest of the instructions as he is already out of the conference room and rushing toward the dock where the Fearless has been getting her repairs done. He sees the corridor ahead crowded with people rushing to their battle stations and realizing that if he doesn't do something quickly the corridor will become impassable as it becomes flooded with additional personnel he opens his mouth, fills his lungs, and bellows.

"MAKE A HOLE, OFFICER COMING THROUGH." although many of the crew may have been completely surprised by the enemy attack, they were still very highly trained members of the Imperial Navy and they immediately clear the corridor, he runs through jumping to avoid getting tripped by a MSE-6 which was going about its duties, oblivious to the wailing sirens and rushing people who were surrounding it. For a moment Slasher envied the pure duty and obliviousness of the droid, and then his concentration returns to the task at hand and he rushes onward, making his way through throngs of people toward the access points for the docks.

==8 minutes later==

The bridge of the Fearless is chaos as crewmen run back and forth, everyone yelling as they try to figure out what they should be doing and where they should be, Senior Chief Petty Officer Cevdis is sitting in the command chair in the center of the new bridge, doing his best to keep control of the chaos of the bridge, but the relief on his face is evident as Slasher steps out of the lift and onto the new bridge, making his way over to the command position.

"Captain on the Bridge."

Everyone comes to attention as he reaches the chair, and he quickly sits, "As you were," he looks over the bridge, and begins to issue orders, "release moorings. Helm, take us out. Report on combat readiness."

Word Count: 1267
Alright Besh, lets get into this.
CNT/1LT Rorran "Slasher" Gorma/PLT Cappadocious/VENA/VEN/VE
TFC:B|SCAP/1LT Rorran "Slasher" Gorma/ICF II Fearless/TF:B/2nd FLT/VEN/VE
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 10, 2011 12:24:54 AM    View the profile of Bacredi 
Commander William Hammondfins, the new XO of the Dreadnaught Heavy Cruiser Monarch, sat next to his captain, Captain Bacredi, and the second mate, Lieutenant Commander Michaelson. The conference room was littered with first and second rate captains and the throw ups from the captains service, along with a few decorated officers who now served in the upper echelons of the second fleet. Bacredi tilted his head at Slasher, a sign of greeting from the anti-social man.

“What the hell is that?” Bacredi said, his neck shooting straight up into the air as alarms descended from the ceilings.

“Ring the Monarch, bring them into the closest possible location. We’re going to have to head back there soon.” Hammondfins said; Bacredi was beginning to dislike his headstrong attitude already.

“I’ll step out, meet y’all at in the hangar.” Said Michaeson, bowing out of the room; the room was now at full attention, and Drac moved to speak.

“Gentlebeings, there’s no time for politeness or neat order: get on your ships and get on them now. I will relay orders to you shortly. Anyone whose ship is docked on the station had better be out of this room by the time I finish speaking. For the rest: Those who’re qualified to fly starfighters are to come with me; I have a squadron’s worth of mixed craft available as extras. I’ll expect you on your bridges by the time I’ve landed my fighter- got it? Those who aren’t pilots—” Bacredi and Hammondfins were already out of the room by the time Drac had said “Go!” and were on their way to the turbolift lobby. Bacredi unbuttoned the top button of his dress uniform, and Hammondfins had unbuttoned his entire jacket.

“Do we have a fighter squadron meeting us?” asked Bacredi as the turbolift closed to the faces of many captains.

“Two Interceptor squadrons are meeting us, I think.”

“Good,” Bacredi said as the doors opened into the hangar bay, with a beautiful row of Lambda-Class Shuttles awaiting all of the captains.

“Captain, welcome. We must hurry, looks like it is about to become a massive storm of shit out there in the next couple minutes,” said Michaelson, who had already been preparing the shuttle for takeoff.

“Get me to the Monarch.”

The Monarch
Command Deck

“Battle stations, shields to 100%, evacuate the lower levels and move them to general quarters.” Hammondfin ordered the bridge around as if he was in the charge, and Bacredi was annoyed—wasn’t the time for him to interject, though. “Okay, give me a readout on—”

“Hammondfin, learn your place.” Bacredi ordered, shutting the poodle up. “Who the hell are these people? Give me a number and the size of their fleet.”

“We’re getting a report from the admiralty now, sir…uh, appears to be New Republic: 240 starfighters. The Remnant is here as well…with around 340 starfighters.”

“Refresh that message, it has to be wrong.” Michaelson ordered; he was still smiling at the way Bacredi had told Hammondfin to shut the hell up.

“Refreshed, it’s correct.”

“Put our turret defences on high alert! Hammondfin, get down to the starfighter chambers, get the pilots ready. We need them in the best shape for battle that they could possibly be in.”

The Monarch
Engine Bay

The head of the engine, Zhar Mundango, was a man that hailed from a long line of civil servants—assistants, brothel masters, magistrates, pilots, captains: all of that—and now he was serving aboard the Monarch, but as a engine coordinator. He considered it the greatest effort at trying to impress his family, and it did not really work—they were still disappointed in him.

“Sir, the rotator on engine number two is looking a little slow.” Reported a crewman from the bullpen of the engine room—Zhar was up in the control center, a 2,000 square foot sound proofed room.

“Hey,” Zhar turned around at the second in command, “HEY!” he immediately woke up. “Inform the bridge that we’re going to have to turn off one of our engines.”

“Got it,” said the XO.

“I’m heading down there now to go check it out.” Zhar got into the turbolift and headed down, meeting the crewman at the turbolift lobby. “So what is it?”

“The rotator on two is just not moving correctly, for a full rotation it’s taking 2.46 seconds, that’s .09 off!”

“Are there are other anomalies?”

“Nothing besides that.”

“Okay, stop it!” he ordered over the roar of the massive engines. The engine stopped immediately.
Captain-"ish" of the Monarch
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 10, 2011 4:28:08 PM    View the profile of Fyston 
"Come on, ante up!"

"Easy for you to say, Fy. I've gotta think about things when I ante up."

"You better be thinking about throwing in a number worth winning. It's just sabacc. Hell, we're on our 7th hand and you've had horrible hands."

"Funny, Zabrak."

"You mad, headtails?"

Fyston was satisfied when the Twi'lek threw in a large number of chips. At the table were Arek Kienaan and Flensor, a recent ally due to the brawl that had happened merely weeks earlier. He had no lasting wounds and the bacta had healed his horns, which were down to the sensitive spot that caused him immense pain. Arek wasn't having such a grand time at the table, but Fy and Flensor had broken even throughout the hands. During one hand, Flensor would lose a small amount of credits, which he would make up the next hand.

The cards were dealt and play began. Fy looked past his cards, seeing them in a blur that kept him from focusing on them and risking letting his face slip. He had a total of twenty one, made up of a single master and an ace, as well as a negative card, Endurance. Without the Endurance, Fy would have bombed out and lost the hand. While not a pure sabacc, Fyston had a strong hand. He wouldn't earn the sabacc pot, which sat at a pretty ten thousand credits. A number of cautious stormtroopers, still weary from the recent brawl, had joined and left as they ran out of credits. Pilots also joined and made small talk then, too, left when out of money. Their money had either gone into the pile of chips that the three main players held or into the sabacc pot.

"Your turn, Fy."


Fy tossed a number of chips into the pot, adding 500 credits to the hand's target. He motioned for two cards and casually picked them up from the table. His first was another ace, making his score rise to thirty four. He swore inside his mind as he picked up the second card. It was a demise, subtracting thirteen points from his score. He had a pure sabacc.

"I'm coming up."

Just as he finished saying the last word, the blares of an alarm spewed through the speakers, causing everyone in the room to look in the same direction.

"I'm sorry, due to VEN regulations, players currently at the table will receive their credits back and the pot shall go into the VEN treasury."

"FOR A BUNCH OF KRIFFING DRILLS?! I GET JIPPED BY A DROID OVER SOME DRILLS? I'm going to our captain after these drills are over. Hell, it's not like we have much to do. Hutt spawn."

"Have a nice day, sirs."

"Screw you, droid."

Fyston's anger was palpable, nearly radiating in waves off of him. His sheer anger and force of will caused crewmen to almost leap out of his way as he walked stiffly down the hallway. Without seeing his rank insignia, Fyston was sure he had made a number of unfamiliar beings that were a rank or two above him flatten themselves against the wall. His eyes were creased and shot lasers at everyone that had yet to move to the side. He was a lowly pilot, a replaceable cog in a machine. He made little, which was why he did all he could to conserve and earn extra credits. The anger and impatience at being jipped due to a few flight drills for the entertainment of the higher ranking officers was allowing Fyston to create an argument in his head regarding getting his credits.

"Petty Officer Sutsgy, I've heard reports of gambling from sources around the ship. Is this true?"

Fyston looked around for the voice, which sounded extremely sincere. He'd heard the voice only in his time in the brig. Sure enough, he looked down to see another 'Shrike, though one he'd gladly do without. He had her pinned as being a rat, inserted into the Nightshrikes to do damage to their procedure and bonding. He leaned up against a viewport, the anger still showing in his face. He loathed the human with a passion. Instead of understanding the plight of a Zabrak who was attacked and then defended by members of his squadron, she berated and lectured them all on protocol while writing a report to the captain. He'd grown up in a place where loyalty was something that was ingrained into you without hesitation. Though he had seen and understood fully the need for deception and betrayal, he hated the woman with a passion for turning on them for nothing more than a chance at brownnosing her way through the ranks.

"There's nothing going on in the damn lounge. I'd like to know these sources, though."

He waited for a response and turned around to face the viewport. The blood drained from his face instantly. His tan skin turned a pale tone, one you'd expect from an albino of any species. He felt his heart stop, felt the neurons in his brain making the rapid connections. His anger had left him, replaced by despair. It wasn't the questioning, it was the New Republic and Imperial fleets in system. He turned back to her, cutting off what could have been another question.

"Kark. Kriff. Holy hell. Excuse it if I don't give a bantha's backside about your petty osik, we're under attack."

The moment he was done he was in a full sprint. He ran at full speed down the long corridor. His long legs propelled him through the hallway at a breakneck pace. It wasn't long before he looked over his shoulder and saw his interrogator lost in the crowds. He juked around crewman and spun around those too slow to get out of the way. An oblivious, vain woman was putting makeup onto her face, not minding her surroundings. Fy rushed by at his top speed but managed to reach out and catch the edge of the makeup container. Powder shot up into her face and into her black hair as the rest went onto her uniform. Fy slid to a stop just before a turbolift, which was filled with other pilots.

The turbolift couldn't have been slower, though the weight and stress of more beings packed into a single turbolift than was regulation may have been the cause. As soon as the doors slid open, Fyston was again running at full speed. The rest of the pilots were running to his left and right, their different clothing fluttering and twisting with their bodies. It was only another minute before he rounded a corner sharply, slamming into a rushing engineer. They were both momentarily stunned and Fy took a deep breath, trying to refill his lungs. He shuffled around the engineer, leaving him leaned up against the wall on Fy’s right. He collected himself briefly before running down the hallway, catching up to his fellow pilots. As the tallest, he quickly wove around them and was again in the lead.

It was a speedy turbolift down into the locker rooms reserved for the onboard fighter pilots. He rushed over to his locker and quickly thumbed in his code. Swinging open, the locker was met with the large hand of the Zabrak. He withdrew a flight suit and his helmet before nearly ripping off his shirt. His black bodysuit covered his body as he kicked off his pants. He stuck his left leg into the flight suit, then his right. He pulled the flight suit up and stuck his arms through the sleeves, feeling the fabric brush against his hand and coming to rest on his wrist. He zipped up the flight suit and swung up his helmet. His horns bumped slightly into the helmet before sliding into the slots provided. Rather than allowing the horns to go through the helmet and have the helmet seal around them, the plastoid material of his helmet extended to cover his horns. He kept them trimmed to avoid the helmet seal from being disrupted. He took a deep breath of the cool oxygen that flowed through his helmet’s life support systems. He looked a menacing sight in his helmet and suit, and the covered horns added a devilish effect.

He stuffed his clothing into his locker and gathered his toolbelt. It carried basic items and had his pistol in a holster at his right side. He swung it around his waist and tightened it before running out of the room. The blaring sirens were heard above everything, a constant reminder that the threat is indeed real. The loudest noises other than the sirens were the pounding and thumping as pilots and crew ran around the hangar. Luckily, Fy’s fighter was close to the room from which he had just came. He climbed the ladder two rungs at a time before jumping down into the familiar cockpit. He closed and sealed the cockpit just prior to powering up the fighter. A small green light told him that everything was clear and that he was good to go.

“Alright ‘Shrikes, let’s show ‘em what we can do. Drinks are on me tonight.”

It was likely that they’d take losses. Very likely. Fyston, although comfortable with death and dying, didn’t want to lower the morale by saying that many of them wouldn’t be having drinks at all. By saying that they’d have drinks to look forward to, it kept them from having to worry about whether or not their friends would still be alive after the first engagement. His statement implied that everything would go fine and that they’d make it through without losses, though Fyston knew that people would be dying.

Kill more of them than they do of us. Cause as much havoc as we can, cause as much destruction as we can, and they’ll learn to keep their distance.

He activated the repulsorlifts on his craft and they lifted him from the floor. It was mere seconds before the shields from the hangar were behind him and he was screaming into space. The fighters were closing, and fast. He swung his fighter in a twisting motion towards the space station seconds before he turned it back towards the Halcyon Warrior He rolled twice, hoping to keep the enemy fighters from landing a hit on him. He knew the rest of Nightshrike were with him, but despite his training, he felt nervous taking on a number of enemy squadrons alone.

WC = 1,751. This seems to be getting off to a good start, let's get a few more pilots in here!
FM/PO2 Fy/B-2/S:82 Nightshrike/W:245 Scimitar/ISD Halcyon Warrior/TF:A 2Flt/SFC/VEN/VE (=*A*=) [=SUR=]
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 10, 2011 9:45:21 PM    View the profile of TosthAaaiser 
Three lone starfighters emerged from hyperspace. At first glance, the ships were an odd group. Two of the ships were TIE fighters and the third ship was a Kaminoan KE-8 Enforcer. Why a Kaminoan fighter would be with Imperial fighters was unknown to all but the three pilots who were flying the ships. They had only just escaped a near-fatal situation at Chalcedon.

The system they had just entered, Belgaroth, seemed desolate, with the only thing in plain sight being shipyards. After a few minutes of what seemed to be either discussion or re-orientation, each of the ships engaged ion drives. They were heading toward the shipyards. Imperial capital ships were dispersed throughout the shipyards, but all seemed barren.


Senior Crewman Tosth “Fishhead” Aaaiser, the current pilot of one of the two TIE Fighters opened up his comm to the other two ships, piloted by a Kaminoan called Atama So and a Vast Empire Naval Intelligence officer named Dan Wolk.

“Alright, guys. You two know where we’re headed. The shipyards and the Defiance. I’m sending the coordinates of the Defiance right now.” He cut off the transmission and proceeded to log the coordinates to both fighters. “You should have received them. I’m locking in my final flight path. See you two aboard the Defiance.”

“Acknowledged, Mr. Aaaiser,” The Kaminoan’s voice cut through sharp and clear. “Thank you again for saving my life back there. I look forward to working with you.”

“As I have said before, I believe you will make an invaluable addition to the medical staff aboard the Defiance. I was honor-bound to save you.”

The comms were silent for a few minutes as the ships drew ever closer to the shipyards.
Halfway through the journey to the shipyards, a lone RZ-1 A-Wing emerged out of hyperspace, close to the three starfighters.
“What the kriff?” said Tosth, opening up his comm channel. “Guys, are you two seeing that A-Wing?”

“Affirmative, sir. It looks like a New Republic scout. Why it’s here is unknown to me. We should-“

An explosion suddenly lit up the system.

Jerking around his cockpit, he became ready for a dogfight. “Wolk, Atama, are you two okay?”

The Kaminoan’s voice cut through on the comm. “I am fine, sir. I believe Mr. Wolk’s ship has just been destroyed. I must remind you that I am defenseless.”

“I know, Atama.” Orienting himself towards the A-Wing, he was determined to avenge the Intelligence officer. “Continue towards the shipyard. I’ll take care of this kriffing bastard. You’ll be clear to land.”

“Alright, Mr. Aaaiser. Good luck.” The comm went silent.

His focus was now on protecting Atama and destroying this New Republic pilot. “All right, you sleemo. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

He sent a barrage of laser fire at the A-Wing. As he expected, it easily missed. But it did what he wanted. The pilot’s focus was on him exclusively now. The A-Wing pilot easily turned around and began flying toward him.

Tosth grinned. This was it. He kicked his ion drive into full gear and fired a few more bolts at the A-Wing. It grazed the shields. Let’s play a quick game of chicken. Centering his flight path directly on the enemy, he started firing again. Then he realized his mistake. No shields on this starfighter. He quickly dived out of the line of fire.

He took a moment to brake and reorient himself. Oh no you don’t, he thought to himself. The pilot was going after Atama. This is way too easy. He lined up behind the A-Wing.

That was when things changed.
The display inside of the Kaminoan’s Enforcer suddenly shifted. Atama So looked down at the display and found what looked to be two different fleets that had just arrived in the Belgaroth system. Not knowing who these fleets were, he commed his colleague. “Mr. Aaaiser, I don’t know if you have seen this yet, but there are two unknown fleets that have arrived in system. And they are quite large.”

There was a moment of silence on the comm in which Atama felt more scared than he already was. His ship did not have any weapons installed. If these fleets happened to be more enemies, he would be in even more danger.

“I don’t know whose fleets they are. Hold on. Let me blast this bastard.”
An explosion lit up the space behind Atama. He was safe. For the moment.

Tosth opened up a new comm channel. “Let’s see what this is about,” he muttered to himself.

“Senior Crewman Tosth Aaaiser, Junior Bridge Officer of the Defiance to the Defiance. Requesting contact with Warrant Officer Trykon or Executive Officer Artur Phylas.”

“Senior Crewman Aaaiser, this is Captain Grey of Naval Intelligence. What is your current situation?”

“Captain, I’m here with a Kaminoan who needs to board. He’s defenseless. Dan Wolk of Naval Intelligence has been killed in action by a New Republic A-Wing. What the kriff are these fleets that just showed up?”

“Crewman, those are fleets belonging to the New Republic and the Imperial Remnant. Do you wish to see the estimated numbers?”

“Yes, sir. That would be much appreciated. Is Warrant Officer Trykon available?”

“One moment. I’m sending you the numbers. I’ll see what I can do about Warrant Officer Trykon.”

The Mon Calamari closed the comm channel. Seconds later, the fleet estimations came in. The situation did not look good. “Atama, do you want to look at these numbers? I think you should take a look.”

As these words were uttered, the amphibian’s eyes bulged. He had to get aboard the Defiance. He knew he wouldn’t have much time to get both of them aboard.

“Of course, Mr. Aaaiser. I would absolutely love to see how much more my chances of being killed have just increased.”

Tosth had a moment of pure surprise. A Kaminoan with a sense of sarcasm? He never thought he would live to know this fact. “Sarcasm, Atama? I’m surprised.”

Sounding amused, Atama ignored the amphibian’s statement. “Might as well try contacting the Defiance again. It’s getting mighty dangerous out here, Mr. Aaaiser.”

“Agreed.” He shut the connection down and opened one with the Defiance once again. “Senior Crewman Tosth Aaaiser to the Defiance. Requesting contact with Warrant Officer Trykon.”

“Crewman Aaaiser, this is Captain Grey. Give me a few more moments and I can have Warrant Officer Trykon up here.”

“Affirmative, sir.”

Sure enough, a few moments later, “This is Warrant Officer Trykon, captain of the Defiance. Who am I talking to?”

“Crewman Aaaiser, Junior Bridge Officer of the Defiance.”

“Ah, Mr. Aaaiser. What’s your situation?”

“I am accompanied by  Kaminoan Doctor Atama So. Atama has to get to aboard. His ship has absolutely no armaments. Intelligence Officer Dan Wolk has been killed.”

“We can get that arranged. I presume the recruitment went well?”

“Well, actually, sir, there was an assassin on Chalcedon. His only target was Atama. Dan and I did not seem to matter at all to the assassin.”

“I’m glad to hear you got out safely.”

“Yes, sir. I have a quick question for you.”

“What is it?”

“How long until you leave the shipyard and enter combat?”

“Three minutes at the most. I suggest you hurry.”

Tosth glanced at their distance to the shipyard. They were about a minute away from the shipyard.

“We’ll be there.”

“Alright. I’m not sure of having the Kaminoan on board, though.”

“Sir. I pledge my career as a Naval Officer that he is trustworthy. Chalcedon has proven that. I can give you evidence of this. Besides, you have a Naval Intelligence Officer aboard, don’t you?”

“Actually, there are four. But I concede your point. He will be alright aboard. Besides, I’m sure Mr. Gibbs will enjoy his presence.”

“Acknowledged, sir. We’ll have our approach vectors plotted in a moment. Have the corvette ready. I’m getting worried.”

“It will be taken care of, Crewman. Good work on Chalcedon.”

The Mon Calamari felt a sense of elation from the praise. He shut off the comm channel and opened another, connecting both the Kaminoan.

“This is it, Atama. Let’s get our final approach vectors for the shipyard plotted. Atama, you’ll be meeting Doc Gibbs, I presume. Our medical officer aboard will be honored to meet you.”
They arrived at the shipyard. Ejecting as quickly as possible, they ran toward the Defiance.

That’s an odd sight. A Kaminoan running. Keeping the thought to himself, he ran up the already lifting gangway.

He was getting quite a few looks. A new officer accompanied by an unknown being. He didn’t care right now. There was too much at stake. He had to get to the bridge.

“Come on, Atama. Not much further now.”
They stepped onto the bridge and heard Artur Phylas say, “you heard the man, team.  Let’s go win another battle.”

“Sir,” Tosth said, addressing his Commanding Officer, “allow me to introduce Kaminoan Doctor Atama So. Am I to report to Doctor Gibbs?”

Word Count: 1501

I'm honored to serve with you guys. Let's get this rolling!
JBO/SCrW Tosth “Fishhead” Aaaiser/CR90 Defiance/TF:B/2Flt/FC/VEN/VE [SoA]
[This message has been edited by TosthAaaiser (edited August 10, 2011 9:47:09 PM)]
[This message has been edited by TosthAaaiser (edited August 10, 2011 10:31:06 PM)]
[This message has been edited by TosthAaaiser (edited August 12, 2011 11:16:35 PM)]
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 11, 2011 11:49:35 PM    View the profile of Avalar 
Vanity Orlaya Morukuv was not happy. But when was she ever? If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. Those that had been around her for long enough knew that it wasn’t a good idea to anger her further and that a smile meant something really good must have happened. But, in reality, Vanity was much better than when she had first entered the Vast Empire. Though her streaks of rage were often, she wasn’t as anti social as she had been in the beginning. Part of this was because she was required not to be anymore.

Who knew being SC would mean that I’d have to deal with all these new kids? She thought. Though she was more than likely younger than even her squadron mates, she was still the one in charge. Unfortunately, Regents had yet to be led, and the new group was very different. The thing was it wasn’t that they were annoying. They weren’t mischievous. They weren’t stupid.

They were anti social and deathly quiet.

I never thought I’d actually miss having Maroy or Cayden around, even if it wasn’t a good thing. Norse, Furthing, Primarch, and Keedra all keep to themselves. I just need some way to get everyone talking to each other. Being left to my own thoughts is disturbing.

Vanity leaned forward on the tabletop, pressing her forehead against it. “It’s not a relief. It’s torture. Torture by silence.”

“You know you can always talk to me, Vanity.”

“I know. I know. But it’s just not the same you know? I mean, there’s no group dynamic that I have seen. Unless you’ve seen something else?”

“Gamma is a bit more talkative than Alpha and Beta, but even so, without Sarah it’s a bit different too. But relax, they’re new. Usually the cocky ones are the ones making big entrances. It’s really not a big deal that they’re quiet.”

“Yes it is.” She said, her forehead still pressed against the table.

“No. You’re the one making it a big deal. It’s not affecting anything. It should be a relief that they’re not getting into trouble and defying orders.” His face suddenly changed, “But then again, you seem to be attracted to those that do.”

“Coren, don’t talk about my love life.” She snapped her head up and met his once soft eyes. “I can choose who I want as long as I’m not breaking any rules and as long as I leave it off the battle field.”

“But come on! Of all the people around you, you decide to go with that show off!”

Sam is perfectly respectable.”

Dunny is trouble.” Coren half-punched the table they were sitting at. He stared straight ahead of himself, refusing to meet Vanity’s eyes. How could she choose Dunny over him? He was nice to Vanity. He was there when she needed him! She went to him with her problems, and he happily listened and tried to help her. In the end though, that wasn’t enough for her.

“Well, you know what? Maybe I like to have someone who goes out and makes things interesting! And yes he’s different, but I like that. This damn universe isn’t normal! Why should I try to settle for someone who isn’t willing to take risks and put themselves up there?”

“And you think I don’t? You think anyone here doesn’t take risks and put themselves in the thick of it all?”

“That’s not what I’m saying—”

“No. I know what you’re saying.” He stood and turned away from her. “Do what you want. After all, you’re SC.”

“Coren! Dammit!” But the blaring of an alarm drowned out her voice. Vanity got up from the table and walked over to a wall. She pulled back and punched it as hard as she could. It’s just one thing after another! I try to find some semblance of peace and happiness, and then something or someone else has to go and ruin it! First one guy and now… Coren. But she couldn’t think about it now. The alarms were sounding, and Vanity had enough of a mind to think for a minute.

Repairs are still being made, and I doubt that they would really make us do a drill now. But I’ve been wrong before. Regardless, she was SC and she needed to be an example. Vanity charged into action, running through the halls as if the ship was about to explode and she needed out. As she ran, she tried to look out any viewport she could find, but she found it difficult to even get a clear sight of what was going on when people were hurrying this way and that. What she did catch was that they weren’t alone in this system anymore.

In the chaos of everyone running to their stations, Vanity was pushed and shoved. They paid little attention to anyone as they mindlessly scrambled about. And with Vanity’s height and size, it was much easier for the roaring river to push the pebble than for the pebble to try to push itself against the current. Finally she snapped and began yelling over the already loud commotion. People began to part, noticing the raging woman. Some of them gave her comical looks of almost confused fear.

Unnoticeable to noticeable in a matter of seconds. She smiled underneath her shouting. There was one word that no one had really tagged her with, but she bore the adjective all the same. She was prideful, even of things that didn’t seem to make sense.

After bashing into several people, almost getting into a fight with a higher ranking officer, and practically diving into a turbolift, Vanity managed to make it to the locker room in order to switch into her flight suit. She switched into it with some difficulty. The others were pouring in as she finished.

“Come on! Let’s move Regents! Get going!” A couple of them flinched at her voice which earned a smirk of satisfaction from her as she ran out and made her way through the halls to the hangar.

Vanity found her fighter with little trouble. Coren was already in his, and Ellie was not far behind Vanity. Good. At least the XO and Gamma’s flight leader were both timely. She proceeded into preflight procedures, all the while watching as the members of Regents poured into the hangar, one by one.

It suddenly occurred to her that this was her first mission leading Regents. Sure they had met her, and some of them had flown with her before, but she had never served as XO. She had never had a real chance to lead anyone into anything. When push came to shove, even Vanity didn’t know what she was truly capable of.

Shakily she cleared them for flight. What the hell was I thinking? I’ve always been a follower, not a leader. But she thought of Dunny and his own way of looking at things. There was no reason for her to be nervous. Everyone needed a place to start, and she could fly. She had proved that much.

And she wasn’t alone. She was never alone.

“Regents, let’s go meet our new neighbors.”

WC: 1,199
Let's get this thing underway. I'm ready to send a few to a fiery hell.
SC/MCPO Avalar/A-1/S:153 Regents/W:52 Javelin/ICF-II Fearless/TF:B/2Flt/SFC/VEN/VE [MC1] [MC2] [CBV] [SoV]
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 12, 2011 1:39:57 AM    View the profile of Romanflame 
~~~Twelve Hours earlier~~~

The Reaper was out on patrol, when they received a message from Commander Drac.  Ensign Arthur you are to report to the space station in the Belgaroth System for a SCAPs meeting in about twelve hours.

“You heard the Commander take us to the Belgaroth System.”

“Roger that sir.”  Harald Hissack said as he punched the hyperspace coordinates in.

“Ariyn you have the bridge.” Arthur said as he began to leave, “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

“Roger that sir, I’ll keep her safe.”  Ariyn responded.

~~~Four hours earlier~~~

When they arrived in system he had the Reaper patrol the outer edge of the station defenses’.  He and the 9 marine detachments he had assigned to go on leave made their way to the hanger bay and the troop shuttle.  The pilot finished the preflight check and began to unseal the Hanger bay doors.  It was a short flight to the shipyard past the few other ships of 2nd fleet.

They landed in one of the hangers and they quickly disembarked the vessel.  Arthur walked over the med-bay to check on his Chief Engineer.  He walked over to the chief medical officer to find out the condition of Jason Womack.

“How much longer is my Chief Engineer out for?” Arthur asked the medical officer.

“He will be ready for duty in about four hours.” The chief medical officer replied.

“Thanks I’ll be back then.” Arthur said.

He walked over to the gym for his hour long training bout.  After he finished he showered and grabbed a bite to eat before the meeting.  He was one of the first people in the hall and he sat in the back away from the rest of the captains’ as was his normal routine when summoned to these meetings.  He saw the rest of the captains’ talk about what they though the meeting was about.  He heard the shrieking howl of an assault alarm blaring, and waited for the order to run to his ship which was the farthest from the station, but the closest to the enemy.

~~~Current Time - The Station~~~

“Gentle beings, there’s no time for politeness or neat order: get on your ships and get on them now. I will relay orders to you shortly. Anyone whose ship is docked on the station had better be out of this room by the time I finish speaking. For the rest: Those who’re qualified to fly star-fighters are to come with me; I have a squadron’s worth of mixed craft available as extras. I’ll expect you on your bridges by the time I’ve landed my fighter- got it? Those who aren’t pilots should load up on Lambda shuttles and make straight for your ships as well. Requisition a flight each of star-fighters for escort. Go!” Drac told them.

They started to run down the hall to the hanger bay.  When they ran past the med-bay Jason came running out and joined them.  When they arrived at the hanger with the Reapers shuttle Arthur made the request for an escort.  Arthur walked on and seen the trooper team he arrived on station with, and they were already seated and waiting for Arthur to arrive.

“Let's get to our ship and take this fight to them.  It looks like our ship will be the first to be engaged in the upcoming battle.  Pilot lets go.” Arthur ordered.

~~~A few Minutes Earlier – The Reaper~~~

Ariyn Holts was walking the bridge of the Reaper keeping a vigilant eye on the space before her.  They just passed one of the defense satellites, when the New Republic and the Imperial Remnant fleets entered the system.  As soon as Ariyn saw them arrive she began to bring the Reaper to battle readiness.

“All crew members to battle stations! I repeat all crew members to battle stations!” Ariyn announced over the comm system.

The Reaper quickly became battle ready, and the defense stations came online as well.  The Reaper moved between two of the defense stations and tried to keep anything from getting past them hoping the rest of the second fleet would soon join in the battle.

~~~Aboard the troop transport~~~

They made their way out of the shipyard hanger and met up with their escorts.  The escorts opened a com link to the shuttle and the pilot paged Arthur to the cockpit.

“What do you guys need?” Arthur asked when he arrived to the door of the cockpit.

“Message from the lead escort sir.” The pilot answered.

“Patch them threw.” Arthur said.

“Where are we bringing you sir?” Atter the lead TIE pilot asked.

“We are heading to the Reaper, and it appears to be at the far edge of our defense systems.  You are to engage anything that gets in our path, and once we get to the Reaper I want you to fall back to your squad.  Let’s move out.”  Arthur said.

“Roger that sir, follow us and will get you there.” Atter responded.

~~~Aboard the Reaper~~~

“We are currently the only ship fighting this battle; I want a static update on the rest of the fleet.” Ariyn ordered.

“We are seeing power going to all the ships but we’ll be out here alone for a little while.”

“Ariyn we have a message coming in from Arthur patching it through to your consul.” Jaeron told her.

“What is the static of the ship, and also how many are we looking at so far?”  Arthur asked.

“Ship is holding a blockade between two defense turrets, and we’re currently at 75% battle ready and we will be up to 100% before the first craft arrives.  As to the amount so far all I can say is that I hope we get some help out here soon, or this will be the first craft we lose.”  Ariyn reported.

“Roger that I’ll be aboard as soon as I can and you should have help soon enough.”  Arthur said before he cut the connection. 

“Um I have serial squads moving to our location from all three fleets the closest are ours.”  Elither said, “I also have three smaller crafts moving towards the station.  It appears to be two Interceptors, and a Kaminoan KE-8 Enforcer.”

“Hold location till Arthur is aboard and only fire on the three crafts if they fire on us first.  I’m not sure who side they are on yet, but watch them.  If they try to pass hail first and if no response fire once above the cockpit of the lead Interceptor.”  Ariyn told the crew.

“Roger that.”  The bridge crew responded.

WC: 1076
Let kill us some NR and Imps.
SCAP/ESGN Arthur 'Romanflame' Dragon/CR-90 Reaper/TF:Besh/2nd FLT/VEN/VE
[MC2][MC:1] [CBV][SoL][CO][IG]](CAR)
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 12, 2011 5:48:44 PM    View the profile of Echelon 
Soon after the Battle of Coveway, Finbar “Echelon” Bandoran was promoted to Petty Officer 2nd Class, promoted to Bridge Officer, and was awarded a medal. He also, being one of the two Bridge Officers to survive the battle, was put third in command of the Star Destroyer, the ICF II Fearless. Only the more experienced Bridge Officer Cevdis and the Ship’s captain Slasher out commanded him.

On the Fearless they divide the watch up into 4 hour segments. Every segment, a knew person takes over control of the Bridge allowing the other two to sleep, work on other tasks, etc. An exception of this is when an important task arises or a battle starts. The highest person in command available takes over then.

At the moment, Petty Officer Second Class Finbar Bandoran (more commonly known as “Echelon”) was in command at the Bridge. The Ship’s Captain Slasher is aboard the assault frigate McElroy, and Bridge Officer Cevdis probably flirting with female officers somewhere else on the ship.

Echelon sat in The (notice the capital letter) Command Chair on the Bridge. Chairs weren’t usually installed on Star Destroyer bridges, but it seemed that Slasher was exceptionally fond of these chairs. Currently there was little commanding to do. There were only a couple of officers on duty. The ship was docked so there wasn’t a need for the Helms crew. The ship currently wasn’t in combat, so there was no need for the Weapons and Defense Staff’s. The only staff that seemed to be mildly in use was the Communications Staff. Minor messages were sent to and from the ships in the system. Nothing important. Just the basic “The new Task Force protocol is…” and “A New Republic fighter was spotted at ‘this place’, ‘this’ many hours ago…”. Every now and then he would have to give orders, but still nothing important. It was very boring.

The view out the large viewport had been the same for hours with the exception of a few patrol ships that managed to stray into his vision. Echelon had stared at it for sometime now, and it was burnt into his brain. When he joined the Navy, he never expected it to be this dull. He expected to go to mysterious worlds and fight the New Republic. But no. Actually, he never expected any of the stuff that happened to him to happen.

At the moment he was pondering his call sign “Echelon”. It was strange, yes, but so was a lot of the other call signs. It was a little joke he had with his parents. His father’s call sign was “Echo” and his mother’s call sign was “Lone”. Thus Echo-lone. It morphed into the real word “echelon” as time passed, and it always stuck with Finbar. Now he basically used it as his real name.

”What’s your name?” someone will ask.

“My name is Echelon,” he’ll reply without thinking.

Suddenly the External Communication’s Mate stood up and said, “Officer Echelon, an urgent message for you from the McElroy.”

Echelon took his eyes off the viewport and said, “Send the Holo to The Chair.”

“Yes sir,” said the Comm Mate and a blue hologram appeared on the armrest/control panel of the chair. It showed the Chief Communicator of the McElroy sitting at his workstation.

The officer said, “Captain Slasher needs to speak to you urgently. I’m sending you to him now.” The officer disappeared and in brief moment Slasher appeared sitting at his desk.

“Captain? I was informed by the McElroy Comm Officer that you needed to speak to me urgently?” Echelon said briskly as he saluted.

"Yes Echelon, I know that you are still in space dock and awaiting my return, but something is going on, I do not know what, but I have a feeling we may be summoned soon to combat, I want the ship ready when that call comes, take her to Alert 2, and stand by for further orders once I have spoken to Commander Mihawk,” he replied.

"Aye Captain, she'll be ready for you once you arrive."

"Thank you Echelon, McElroy out."

The transmission ended and Echelon felt good because he got to do something besides starring into the void of space for the rest of his shift. He got out of his chair and said, “Communication! Relay to the rest of the ship that we are to be at Alert 2 and ready for combat!”

The Comm Officer once again said, “Yes sir!” and he began to work.

“Also put a transmission through to Cevdis. Just send it to his datapad, and he should answer if he’s not to busy with his ladies,” Echelon added.

In a few minutes Cevdis materialized on the Holopad built into the chair. They exchanged salutes and Cevdis asked, “What is it Petty Officer Echelon?”

Echelon replied, “I just ended a transmission with Slasher. He fears we may be brought to combat. As you may have heard over the intercom, we’re at Alert 2. If we however go into combat when Slasher is not here, you must command the ship since you are of higher ranking then I am, so I request that you be ready to arrive on the bridge.”

Cevdis nodded, smiled, and ended the transmission aruptedly. That had always been Cevdis’s style of doing things. Echelon didn’t always like it, but that was Cevdis for you. Echelon then looked at the bridge. It was now busy with officers running back and forth performing tasks. Just how Echelon liked it.

Echelon had finished his shift, Cevdis finished his shift, and now it was Echelon’s shift again. Nothing fishy (no offense Mon Cals) was going on at all that Echelon noticed. Just then Echelon jumped out of his chair at the news that there were two fleets in the system coming at attack trajectories. He almost jumped again when he realized that there were two fleets. He immediately ordered the ship into Combat mode, and called Cevdis up. Even though Echelon would love to command during a battle, he had to follow the chain of command rule.

Echelon received the report of the ships from his former ship the Halcyon Warrior and ordered it to be sent to the Fearless’s squadron: Regeants. The pressure came down on him as one of the Sensors Officers reported that the fleets were almost in range to attack. He was having mixed feelings about it. He wanted to command the ship, but he was nervous about it.

Where is Cevdis? Wait! Where is Slasher?! I hope he got the news!

Just then Cevdis stormed into the bridge and took command. Echelon began supervising some of the bridge staffs as Cevdis barked orders. Echelon then turned to him and said, “You realize we need to wait for Slasher.” Suddenly on cue Slasher barged onto the bridge and took command. Echelon saluted and returned to his job.

Echelon then realized that this was his third major battle. He had heard somewhere that you’re more likely to get killed on your third battle. It was probably a fake rumor to scare new recruits, and he hoped it was. For the stakes were high at this batlle. It was: High Stakes at Belgaroth.

Word Count: 1,203. Even though I’m on vacation, I managed to type this. Lets do this Second Fleet!
BO/PO2 Finbar "Echelon" Bandoran/ICF II Fearless/TF:B/2Flt/FC/VEN/VE [SoA] [NAR] [CAR] [=ENG=]
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 15, 2011 1:15:06 AM    View the profile of Drac 
Shucking his dress uniform, the dark skinned alien pulled his flightsuit on in record time. Grabbing his helmet, one specially designed for Mon Cals, he sprinted out the second door in the ready room and out toward the walkways that led to the TIE fighter craft in the hangar. Zipping up his flightsuit and checking the seal, he smiled and shoved his helmet down over his head as he approached the craft nearest the entrance. After all, he’d been a fighter jockey for a long time and, now that he had a good bit of seniority and all possible certifications, the craft awaiting him would be a joy to fly.

Drac slid in through the hatch and reached back to pull it closed behind him. The mixed bag of fighter craft in this hangar were kept in a constant state of readiness, needing only to be started up and run through an abbreviated pre-flight before being ready to launch. The Commander ignited the engines, tested a handful of critical systems, and fired up the repulsorlift coils. Flicking another switch, he disengaged the ship from its docking claw and felt it sink a meter or so until the repulsors balanced out with a reassuring thrum and it was clear of the claw.

Transmitting for the first time, Drac addressed the shipyards’ flight controllers, “Flight Control, initiate executive override Cresh-Mern-Three-Two. Confirmation code Cresh-Mern-Four-Seven-Aurek.”

The reply was instantaneous and twofold. First, the hangar doors began to part. A fraction of a second later, Flight Control replied, “Cresh-Mer-Three-Two confirmed. Good flying.”

In the seconds before the doors opened, Drac switched over to the private channel only these craft shared, addressing the other SCAPs. They’d all managed to get into their craft by now and most were finishing their pre-flights, some having already dropped free of their docking claws, “Remember: Get to your ship. Kill what you have to, but get to your bridge. And for Kadann’s sake, don’t get killed!”

The doors weren’t finished opening, but there was room enough now for a starfighter to exit. So, suiting his actions to his words, Drac throttled up and couldn’t subdue a delighted grin as the mighty TIE Defender surged forward like the very wrath of the Empire itself. Behind him the mixed group of TIE Interceptors, TIE Avengers, and even another TIE Defender or two shot out singly at first, then in larger groups as the doors continued to open.

Whirling his starfighter around to face the center of battle, Drac used sight and sensors to analyze the battle for a moment while he was still beyond his enemies’ reach. Nodding to himself as he chose targets near the outer fringes of the enemy formations, he switched over to the highly encrypted 2nd Fleet Command & Control frequency, “This is Commander Mihawk to all 2nd Fleet personnel: All elements of Taskforce Aurek are to engage the Imperial Remnant forces. All elements of Taskforce Besh are to engage the New Republic forces. Do NOT interpose yourself between the two enemy fleets. Capital ships of Taskforce Aurek are to focus fire on the ISD II Prognosticator. Capital ships of Taskforce Besh are to focus fire on the outer pair of MC40 cruisers. Fighters are to engage enemy fighter craft, while maintaining defensive screens on our own ships. Shipyard based fighter groups are to split into two groups, one to assist Aurek and one to screen the shipyards. Bomber squadrons focus on disabling the smaller enemy capital ships and keeping them from harrying our main battle ships.”

Confirmations rolled off on the channel and Drac nodded grimly as he accelerated. ’I hope I’ve made the right decision…Slasher’s going to have to hold out against pretty bad odds until I can kill the Prognosticator. If we can break the back of the Remnant formation we’ll be able to spare more craft to assist Besh, at least until the Remnant re-form their line.

Then he shot through the defensive screen already forming in front of the shipyard. The first squadrons of enemy craft were approaching, still in formation. They’d try to plunge straight through his lines like a sword thrust, injecting themselves into the heart of the shipyards and threatening the still-vulnerable ships that had yet to lift. That just wasn’t acceptable. Glancing at his sensors, Drac was pleased to see three of the SCAPs formed up directly on him. He switched back to their private frequency, “Alright, SCAPs. We’re Noble Flight for the moment. Form up and lets dull the edge of the incoming thrust. Push right on through, and kill what you can. Looks like a squadron of Interceptors and one of TIE Bombers.”

Switching his weapons control over to Proton Torpedos, Drac waited for the range to scale down to just two kilometers, then spitted the lead Interceptor with the crosshairs. He got a lock tone almost instantly and triggered the missile before switching over to lasers. He set those to fire in offset pairs, then shifted 75% of shield power to the forward arc. Seconds later he began firing as the proton torpedo flew true and ruined the enemy squadron commander’s whole day.


[Location: Bridge of the ISD II Maxima Culpa, just after re-entry.]

Admiral Frinleigh broke into a short run, moving forward to see out the main viewports of his flagship, “What in the Emperor’s Black Bones? Republic cruisers? What the kriff is the New Republic doing here?”

His communications officer turned at his seat, “Um, sir? What orders should I send?”

Scowling ferociously, the Admiral slammed a fist into his palm, “Kriff it all. Order the Prognosticator and her group to engage the shipyard’s defenders. Try and get some fighters into the shipyards so they’ll have something closer to home to worry about than us, and get them in position to possibly sabotage the station. Order our group to engage the New Republic forces in-system. Take any target of opportunity, but if we don’t end up owning this system at the end of the day I’d rather see it in anyone else’s hands before I’d see it in the hands of those alien lovers.”


[Location: Bridge of MC80 Cruiser Reef City, just after re-entry.]

“Admiral! There’re two enemy fleets in system!”

“Let me see.” Admiral T’kala, a stalwart Sullustan female, scanned through the data rolling across her screens. “Interesting. It appears we weren’t the only ones who seek to get back lost territory. It appears the nearer fleet is from the Imperial Remnant, while the station’s defenders are Vast Imperials, as expected. Obviously, the Remnant battle group is the more immediate threat. Inform Taskforce One that they should engage immediately. Attempt to penetrate their starfighter defenses while our larger ships focus on the ImpStar Deuces. Then inform the Coral City that her group is to engage the Vast Imperial forces directly. Have our Skiprays focus on their larger craft. Massed fire from them may be able to disable even the main battle ships. Inform all elements that the shipyards are not to be damaged unless absolutely necessary. We want those intact.”

“Yes, Admiral…one moment…Orders relayed, Admiral.”

“Excellent. Now, to business. Handled correctly, we stand a good chance of victory upon this battlefield.” T’kala settled into her chair, a slight frown of concentration creasing her face as she considered her options.

Word Count: 1218

There you have it, people. Read through this post for your Taskforce’s objectives. Note the two enemy commanders, their orders, and how their personalities may affect the tactics and behavior of their troops. You’re now free to engage the enemy. Unit commanders are to chose appropriate targets for their units in line with the orders from their superiors, then seek to destroy those specific targets. In short, follow the general guidelines provided by Slasher and I here and in the 2nd Fleet discussion thread, but choose your specific target yourself. Don’t worry about the defensive screens, unless you’d like to post as an NPC flying in that area.

A quick note: Here are the names of the larger capital ships on either side:

MC80 Starcruiser Reef City, NR Flagship
MC80 Starcruiser Coral City, NR Capital Ship
ISD II Maxima Culpa, IR Flagship
ISD II Prognosticator, IR Capital Ship

All other enemy ships have no official names yet. Feel free to name them as you will.
FC/VCAP Drac/ISD II Halcyon Warrior/TF: Aurek/2Flt/FC/VEN/VE
Captain of the ISD II Halcyon Warrior
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 15, 2011 3:27:56 AM    View the profile of Serpent 
Petty Officer 2nd Class Pherik Zail sat at the communications post of the Halcyon Warrior, sharing the role with the Chief Communications Officer, Jash Warnock.  Between the two of them, they were relaying First Officer Ongol’s commands to the fleet.  Focused on his job, Zail spoke to other capital ships while his hands typed furiously at the computer before him, sending yet further orders.  Slowly but surely, the warships of Taskforce Aurek moved into action, converging upon the Imperial Remnant fleet that had dared to invade Vast Empire space.  Their goal was the ISD II Prognosticator, but there were plenty of other ships in the way.

As the two awesome forces collided, Zail braced himself for the storm of noise.  With his communications headset on, his ears were suddenly filled with the din of battle.  Tied in to several frequencies at once, he heard the conflict unfold at both the capital ship and starfighter level.  To Zail, barely a few weeks out of the academy and in his first battle, the terrified voices were horrible to experience.

“...taking heavy fire, shields weakening....”

“...he’s on my tail, can’t shake him...”

“...overload in our weapons systems, unable to provide cover fire...”

Zail spoke when he was ordered to, relaying requests to and from the XO, but the rest of the time he listened.  He wondered how many of the voices would ever speak again...


Senior Chief Petty Officer Beckany Prakiri, Navigation Officer of the Halcyon Warrior, frowned at the images of the battle unfolding before her.  The day was young, the battle new, but already there was perspiration on her brow.  The weight of numbers against them was heavy, and as she stared at the displays of the sensor station, she could already tell things were going to get worse before they got better.

Prakiri’s vision honed in on a group of four TIE Bombers, their transponders flagged for the Imperial Remnant, and tracked their progress through the engagement zone. After a few moments, the veteran Navigation Officer had their course predicted and plotted.  Turning to the ridiculously young crewman at her side (really, he looked like a teenager!  What was he doing on the bridge of a Star Destroyer?), she barked an order.

“Tell Communications to contact Deathriders 5!”  She ordered, referring to one of the Warrior’s TIE Interceptor Squadrons.  “Tell his Flight to come around to these co-ordinates and eliminate the TIE Bombers making a run on the Excise!”  Typing the details into a datapad, Prakiri sent the young crewman scurrying off to the com station.


Zail received the datapad and acted on it immediately, slamming it down and connecting it to the station before him.  Transmitting the details at the same time as he spoke, the Junior Bridge Officer said, “Deathriders 5, this is Halcyon Warrior, come in please!”

The voice on the other came back controlled but distracted.  “This is 5!” Was all the male pilot could manage.

“You are receiving coordinates now!  Get there and eliminate enemy bombers making a run on the Dreadnaught Excise,” Said Zail firmly and clearly.

“Copy that, Halcyon!” Came the crisp reply, the transmission terminating.  His task done, Zail returned to other tasks, the activity of the Deathriders swiftly forgotten.


A minute later, a panicked cry in his headset brought Zail’s thoughts right back to the activities of the TIE Interceptors.

“This is Deathriders 5!” Came the cry in Zail’s ears, drawing his attention over the other com traffic blaring out of the headset.  “Under heavy fire!  The Bombers have an escort of TIE Avengers!  Request back-up!”

Zail frowned, wondering just where those ships had come from.  He began typing out a message for the sensor officer, hoping she knew of some other fighters in the area who could assist.  To his relief, Prakiri was already on it, and had sent the same boy-faced Crewman to him with a fresh set of orders.

“Deathriders 5, Halcyon Warrior!”  He said.  “Deathriders 11 and 12 are on their way!”

“Thanks, Halcyon!” Came the reply, though in the midst of a dogfight, the man sounded only marginally relieved.  He was still battling for his life while Zail was sitting cosily in one of the most powerful and safest warships in the battle, and for a split second the Junior Bridge Officer felt guilty about that.

Putting the thought from his mind, he activated his com to Deathrider 11, and was about to order her and her wingman to rush to assist their squadron mates, but suddenly they too were reporting being under attack!

“They came out of nowhere!” Said the cultured but strained voice of the Coruscanti woman.  “They are on our tails!  Rear shields taking hits, attempting to shake them!”

Zail listened carefully, mentally willing her and her wingmate all the luck in the galaxy.  Come on, shake them!  Get out of there!

“Rear shields are gone!” Came the female voice, her voice suddenly lifeless, as if resigned to her fate.  “Ejection system not responding.  Will try further evasive man...” And then the line was dead.

The Junior Bridge Officer from Alderaan stared at his console, numb.  He had just heard a woman getting killed.  And as the pain welled up inside him, so did the realisation of the strangeness of the situation.  First the Deathriders were intercepted by the enemy, and now the reinforcements too?  Turning to his superior at this station, the Chief Communications Officer, Jash Warnock, Zail said, “This is suspicious.  They are reacting too quickly.”

Warnock nodded.  “Most likely someone is listening in to the Deathriders’ com traffic,” He said.

Zail was afraid of that, but hearing the more experienced man confirm it added to his shock.  Suddenly, the Alderaanian wondered if perhaps he was responsible, if he himself had done something wrong.  What if, in his novice bridge experience, Zail had neglected some key security procedure, and now good men and women were getting ambushed and killed as a result of his incompetence?  It was too much to think about, but he had not the luxury of beating himself up with it now.  “What do we do?” He asked Warnock eventually.

“Contact Deathriders 1,” Said the Communications Chief, referring to the Squadron leader.  “Tell him they have been compromised, and he’ll order his pilots to switch over to a pre-planned alternative scramble code.”

Zail did as he was told, and spoke quickly to Deathriders 1.  The officer in charge of the TIE Interceptors accepted the news simply, knowing that such things were common in battle and dealing with it swiftly.  He gave orders to his squadron, and Zail listened to a sudden buzz on the com line as they changed scramble codes.  With a flick of a switch, Zail had the Halcyon Warrior’s com system compensate, and he could hear them again perfectly.

“It’s done,” Said Warnock simply.  “Now get back to your other tasks.”

“I should have noticed earlier,” Said Zail, still feeling bad.  “When the Avengers attacked Deathriders 5’s Flight and...”

“I said, it is done,” Repeated the Communications Chief sharply.  “Back to your duties, Mr Zail.”

The Alderaanian nodded, and tried to lose himself in the job at hand.  Sometime later, he heard that the TIE Bombers had been driven off, their attack on the Dreadnaught Excise abandoned.

It did not cheer him up.

1218 words. I have been doing research on bridge activities in a battle, but I am not entirely sure if events would actually play out like that.  Any comments or criticisms just let me know!

After Action Report: The Imperial Remnant made a Bomber run on the Vast Empire Dreadnaught Excise, but TIE Interceptors from Deathriders Squadron saw them off. 
JBO/PO2 Pherik “Serpent” Zail / ISD II Halcyon Warrior/TF: Aurek/2Flt/FC/VEN/VE [SoA]
[This message has been edited by Serpent (edited September 20, 2011 9:18:56 AM)]
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 16, 2011 2:06:53 AM    View the profile of Trykon 
“All right, that’s it – we’re ready to go, sir,” Artur Phylas said finally, once the last of the corvette’s personnel were aboard and all battlestations reported ready.  He looked up expectantly at his friend and captain, Wyl Trykon.  “Sir?”

To Artur’s surprise, Trick shook his head impatiently and gestured for him to wait, then turned to the Intelligence agent who’d followed him onto the bridge and who now sat at the Communications Station: the brown-haired lieutenant Trick just called “Mr. Grey.”  “Ready?” Trykon asked.

“Hold one,” the spook replied in a distracted tone.  It took a lifetime of discipline for Artur to hold his silence.  The battle’s started, Trick!, he wanted to yell.  Since when do you wait to join in?  “Ready,” the lieutenant confirmed, after what felt like an eternity.

“Take us out, Mr. Phylas,” Trick commanded, and the bridge crew leapt into action, while Artur tried to quiet his private misgivings.  Drackon was ready with repulsorlifts, and once they were correctly oriented, he punched the main drive and the Defiance was clear of the shipyards.  Kath Notra reported multiple sensor contacts almost immediately, and he and Zark chose the little Vast Imperial warship’s first target: a group of three Skipray blastboats which had separated from the main New Republic formation, and was accelerating hard toward the shipyards.

Notra called out the targets, and Artur stepped up behind the Twi’lek to look at his display.  “Three blastboats breaking off from the rebel fleet to hit the shipyards.”

“Intercept course,” Trykon ordered without hesitation, and the ship seemed to slant slightly as Drackon changed their heading to comply.

Phylas was inhaling, about to order Zark to go weapons-free, when the mystery lieutenant spoke first: “Black Group has Second Key,” the man intoned.

“What the hell?” Artur muttered, and then he remembered the incoming targets.  “Zark, fire on the blastboats!”

Defiance’s turbolaser batteries opened up, and the New Republic light capital ships broke and spun to avoid the bolts.  Their evasions were not completely successful – all three of the small craft were hit before they reached their maximum effective range.  But then again, all three did survive long enough to open fire…

Blue lightning arced out from the little blastboats and slammed into the corvette’s deflector shields.  The ion blasts did their work all too well; Defiance shook with the impact, and the lights dimmed momentarily before the engineering crew could reinforce the shields and redistribute power.

“Hold your fire!” a voice rang out above the din.  What is Trick thinking? Artur wondered, before he realized with mounting unease that Trykon wasn’t the one who gave the order.

“Who do you think you are, Lieutenant?” Artur demanded of the spook, his voice dripping with malice.  “Zark, shoot ‘em!”

“Belay that order, Mr. Zark,” Trykon said then, and Artur turned to face him.  Trick’s features were twisted into a scowl of disapproval.

“But sir, they’re coming back!”

Trykon's jaw muscles worked as he ground his teeth.  “Mr. Grey?” he asked.

“Not yet,” the lieutenant said, shaking his head.

“Take evasive action, and dump power from weapons into the shields," Trykon said.

“We’re running?!” Artur asked, unable to keep the incredulity from his voice.

“Set course back to the shipyards,” Trykon confirmed.

Artur searched his friend’s eyes for a moment.  It’s still Trick, he thought, only he’s hiding something.  Trying desperately to ignore the doubts roiling in his stomach, Artur Phylas bit his lip, and turned to coordinate his ship’s withdrawal from the front line.  As the second volley hit the Defiance’s aft shields, he reminded himself that he trusted Wyl Trykon with his life.  When the third hit, and Trykon again consulted with the spook before again deciding not to return fire, Artur Phylas wondered whether or not that trust – and indeed, his crew – would survive the coming battle.

637 words.
AAR: Defiance engages a group of NR Skipray Blastboats, but when the VENI agent on the bridge indicates that "Black Group" is in the process of obtaining numbered "Keys," captain Trykon turns the ship around and retreats under fire, confusing and frustrating his XO, Artur Phylas.
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SCAP/WO1 Wyl Trykon/CR90 Defiance/TF:B/2Flt/FC/VEN/VE
XNT/WO1 Wyl "Trick" Trykon/PLF Cappadocious/VENA/VEN/VE


[This message has been edited by Trick (edited September 20, 2011 2:18:37 PM)]
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 16, 2011 1:46:40 PM    View the profile of Norsedragoon 
Einarr's amphibian face split in a grin as he finished opening the large crate recently delivered from his last Home. Standing before him with servo's locked was a custom made AV-1s scout armor, a beserker rifle fitted into the right arm slot and a STa-52 rifle in the left, all the connections wired into a armored box on the back for the augmented targeting computer. A small tool belt containing his glowrod, Hydrospanner, power calibrator, and a device he had picked up in his travels, a sonic screwdriver. He strapped on the belt over the uniform he wears when not piloting and pulled the calibrator out to check levels as the shipboard alarm sounded. His right eye twitched in disappointment, the transparent nictating membrane half shuttering in frustration as  he turned to run for the hangar of the Fearless.

He raced through the corridors, bowing his head in respectful obedience to the aliens as he passed them, before moving swiftly into the Regents locker room. He replaced his shipboard uniform for the flight suit fitted to his ,odd to the mammals they were designed for, Mon Calamari frame. Einarr sped from the locker room and made for his newly repaired interceptor, the whole time hoping to himself the human techs had seen the wisdom of replacing the lens's and capacitors in his fighters lasers with the new specifications he had requested in the event he had to attempt a long range engagement as he had previously. Einarr bobbed his head in respect to the Chief engineer who was departing his fighters station, he reminded himself quietly to never annoy the mechanics for not all the pilots lost were due to enemy fire. He slid through the top hatch and dogged it closed behind him before plugging in his life-support and waste removal tubing's into the appropriate spots in the uniformity of his fighter before beginning the power up sequence and opening a line to Control.

"Regents A-3 Norsedragoon to control, ready for launch. Requesting situation update and orders."

"Hold tight A-3, sending the data now. the remainder of your flight should be launching shortly." The voice of the current controller was monotonal, with just and edge of irritation likely due to the barrage of requests coming in. At least Einarr hoped that was the case and not another case of mess with the squidy he had run into so many times at his masters side. He kept his bubbling tone polite as he replied and scanned the data-stream as it hit his ships computer.

"My thanks control, Target Objective confirmed. Standing by for launch orders." Silence met him on the line for a space of heartbeats before a shudder heralded the opening of the hangar doors and a green light on his console signaled time to go. He worked the throttle forward as the clamps holding his ship released and streaking through the open energy field keeping atmo in the hangar he slid his shields up to power. Life was good for the moments that followed, the feel of irresistible force as the Twin Ion Engines roared to life and propelled him forward, the flow control vest squeezed his torso which forced the blood not to pool in the central cavity, and finally the thrill of the open space around him as he brought the tiny craft to bear on the enemy fleet. He bumped up the magnification scanning the enemy fighters and ships for signs of his homeworld, the race that had born him... and betrayed him. Unable to resist the urge Einarr opened a channel despite protocol and issued a challenge to the oncoming force he stated his name and the place of his birth by which his master had known him.

"I am Einarr Ghylthir of Darktide Creche, Loyal to the Vast Empire for which my Master gave his life. Those who Hail from Dac, come forth and meet the one betrayed by the people of the shore and the deep. For a Devilsquid is among you and I will drag you to the depths."

The echos of his own forces comnet rattled back wondering what was going on, and more than one voice struck out at him to order him to silence. He ignored them, his eyes locked onto a group of Rebel B-wings, as well as a few X-wings bearing the mark of his homeworld.
"A-3 to Lead. My enemy is before me. Breaking off."

He broke formation with his flight and sent power to the engines and forward shields as he moved to meet them. Survival instincts screamed 'No!' in his head, even as the anger inside and the
conviction to not break his own challenge urged him forward on the fools errand. His sensors tracked a group of Interceptors moving to follow but he was unsure if they were in support or in pursuit of his maddening endeavor.

"Give up this fight son of Dac. Do not allow these creatures to rule you" the bubbling voice of an older mon cal rang in his com.

"Perhaps, Elder it is you who is being ruled. Do you not provide the 'New Senate' with ships and weapons with which they can come forth to subjugate those who do not wish to live under their rule?" Einarr replied, scorn and sarcasm rippling through the bubbling tone.

"You know not of what you speak youngling. Turn back if you will not join us. We have no desire to kill more of our own." The elder replied, the evenness of his self assured and emotionally controlled tone only angering the Mon cal in the Interceptor.

"I know more than you think oh Elder one." Einarr replied the sarcasm seemed to drip from the title. "I will not give in to the people who betrayed me, nor will I grant them mercy as you and yours did not grant me so long ago." The engagement range had just hit the maximum for his lasers and linking them for a quad burst as he moved power from the rear shields he sent a triple burst of the crimson bolts towards the enemy formation, the first 2 blasts sliding past the enemy ships but the third scorching the shields of the lead b-wing to punctuate his reply. He prepared for evasive maneuvers as a crackling reply came over the com.

"So be it young one. Sad to see our proud race lose another member this day" The bubbling tone seemed disappointed, and weary, whether at failing to corrupt an enemy fighter or in true sadness, Einarr did not know. The battle had been joined as a fury of auto-blaster rounds slid past his fighter and a few laser blasts impacted his shields. His Interceptor shuddered with the impacts but the shields held strong as he kicked the right pedal and pulled back and right on the control yoke sending the fighter into an ascending barrel roll even as he release a spray of laser shots and blindly sent a torpedo downrange set to seek. The first almost aimed blast struck the already depleted b-wings shields and penetrated the armor causing it to shatter shortly after the pilot ejected, the next 2 sliding far off course without even enough accuracy to keep their proverbial heads down. The torpedo by luck and happenstance managed to broadside a x-wing which sought to evade the fragmenting remains of the now drifting b-wings remains.

1242 words, mostly CD. all shots as usual figured by
FM/PO2/Einarr "Norsedragoon" Ghylthir/A-3/S:153 Regents/W58: Javelin/IMF II Fearless/TF:B/2Flt/FC/VEN/VE
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 20, 2011 1:04:13 AM    View the profile of Serpent 
The chaos of battle was all around.  Imperial craft large and small traded fire, a confused spectacle of destruction that only a genius could hope to take in and understand.  The vast capital ships of both sides drifted among the carnage, made to look like they were standing still by the tiny fighter craft that darted between them.  The black of space, its dark punctuated by laser fire, seemed anything but peaceful.

In the heart of the trouble, Trou Belin of Deathriders Squadron swung his TIE Interceptor from side to side, dodging shots of green energy.  He was irked by the fact that his pursuer was in a starfighter identical to his own.  Normally, Interceptor pilots enjoyed a speed and manoeuvrability advantages in a dogfight, but not today.

Going up against the Imperial Remnant was strange for all the pilots of Deathriders Squadron.  Both sides knew each other’s fighters and tactics, but for Belin that was fine.  It just meant that the will to win was all that separated them, and in that realm, the Vast Empire could not possibly lose!

Having already lost his wingman, Belin was finding it hard to shake his pursuer.  He twisted and rolled his fighter, shooting past one of the Victory Star Destroyers of the Imperial Remnant fleet and dancing between its turbolaser fire.  He lost sight of his attacker for just a moment, and used that time to pull his Interceptor sharply onto a new course.  He had hoped to shake the persistent pilot, but no such luck.  Belin checked over his shoulder and saw the other Interceptor right back on his tail in moments.

The Deathrider kept going, angling back towards his own forces, hoping to shake the guy among friendly fire.  However, too late he realised that his foe was a step ahead.  Belin had lost his wingman, but had made the rookie mistake of not noticing his attacker’s lack of a wingman.  Suddenly the other Imperial Remnant Interceptor swept in from his aft, firing with deadly accuracy.  Belin had not been evading his pursuer, he had merely been herded by him into a trap!

Yes, thought Belin, the will to win was very important.  However, sometimes numbers had a say in a battle too.


At the communications post of the Vast Empire’s Halcyon Warrior, Petty Officer 2nd Class Pherik Zail heard the words of Belin over the starfighter channel.  Zail recognised him immediately as one of the Deathriders squadron, one of the Warrior’s TIE contingent, and a group recently devastated in an ambush due to a communications leak.  Zail still felt bad about the incident, thinking he could have prevented it, though his superior, Chief Communications Officer Jash Warnock, told him otherwise.  So it was that when Belin’s words came through hopeful instead of with a death cry, Zail instantly took note.

“This is Deathriders 12!” Came the male voice, tense but calm.  “I am being attacked two-on-one!  Taking hits!  Am attempting to eject!  Ejecting now...” And then the transmission cut off.  Clearly the TIE Interceptor had been destroyed, but had the occupant escaped in time?

Pherik Zail wasted no time in aggressively checking the communications traffic for a distress transponder.  If the pilot had ejected, he would be floating in space and the transponder would be transmitting his location for a Search and Rescue team.

Nothing.  Zail frowned, and checked again.  No, there were no active distress signals on any of the Halcyon Warrior’s fighter channels.

The Alderaanian sighed, suddenly feeling the weight of his role, and the battle in general, descend on him.  Another life extinguished, he thought.  Wearily, trying to force back the tide of emotion as he had been trained, he got back to his other tasks.


Belin floated in space, a lone speck amid the titanic clash of mighty fleets dedicated to mutual destruction.  He had barely managed to eject in time before his ship blew, but the blast had done its damage.  The Deathriders pilot checked his life support equipment, and saw it was clearly compromised.  Worse, his emergency transponder had also been hit, and a check of it made his heart sink.  Holding the small and damaged box in his hands, the pilot opened it and studied with mess of wiring inside.

Several key systems were blackened and burnt out, causing the transponder to lose its positioning systems, as well as the security codes for the Halcyon Warrior’s emergency com line.  Still, as Belin investigated, he saw that the small communication device was still functioning on a basic level.  It could still send signals, but simply had nothing to send.

The pilot wondered just what he could do.  If he had a datapad to hand he could easily wire it to the transmitter, but he had nothing like that.  He frowned, pondering his next move.  With nothing but time on his hands, he began to think.  With no data, wondered Belin eventually, what exactly would the transponder transmit if he activated it?

His TIE pilot helmet still had its internal microphone and headset, though of course now lacked the fighter they needed in close proximity to make use of.  Carefully, Belin located the wiring for the helmet communications, pulling it free, and wondered if he could connect it to the transponder.  Twisting off its casing to expose the insides, he recalled his school electronics classes and began to attach the headset to the (he hoped relevant) wires inside the device.

The transponder’s limited communication equipment could not interpret and broadcast his voice, so the microphone element of Belin’s helmet gear was useless.  However, the earpieces could help him hear what the emergency device was broadcasting when he turned it on.

He heard a long, single tone, and smiled.  Carefully, he unplugged one of the transponder’s internal wires and heard the tone cease.  Tapping the wire back to its connector momentarily caused the tone to resume, until he removed it again.  Belin could now tap out a simple on/off pulse and broadcast it.  However, with the transponder’s security codes lost, it would have to be a general signal aimed at the Halcyon Warrior.  Whatever he was going to do, it would not show up as a military priority.  He just preyed that whoever was at the communications post on the bridge would hear his beeps amid the din of battle.

Slowly, carefully, Belin began to tap out his distress signal.


Zail continued to listen to the noise of battle, occasionally relaying orders from nearby vessels to First Officer Ongol.  Slowly, he grew aware of a background beep amid the com traffic.  It was more annoying than anything, but once his conscious mind had noticed it he was unable to ignore it.

“What is that beeping?” He asked the Com Chief at his side.

Jash Warnock shrugged.  “Just a broken transponder, Mr Zail.  It’s not even on a military channel.  Ignore it and focus on your duties.”

Zail nodded, and kept up his work of relaying orders, but still he could not put the noise completely out of his mind.  Eventually he found himself counting the beeps.  They seemed to be in clusters, with long pauses between them.  2 beeps, then a pause, then 5 and a pause.  12,9,14, then a long pause, then 8,5,12,16, and another long pause.  And then the sequence started again.

Curious, Zail was suddenly reminded of the primitive flash codes he had studied at the academy.  Making sure that Chief Warnock did not notice, he carefully typed out the Aurebesh alphabet on his datapad, and numbered all thirty four letters.  Quickly, he began to transcribe the noise...


Belin?  What did that mean?  Suddenly hitting on another idea, he brought up a list of Halcyon pilots, fully accepting that, aside from a few members of Nightshrike Squadron he had helped in a mess hall fight, he did not know all the TIE pilots on board.

There!  Trou Belin, one of Deathriders Squadron, and one listed as shot down and currently MIA!  Moving quickly, he called over a young Crewman.  “Here, take this to the sensor officer!”  Declared Zail, shoving a datapad into the young man’s hands.  When the Crewman did not immediately move, Zail snapped, “NOW!”

The younger man hurried off, and Zail saw him swiftly arrive at the correct part of the bridge.  The orders on the pad were simple, to track the source of the beeping signal and correctly ascertain Belin’s position.  As soon as the Crewman had returned to Zail confirming that that was done, he promptly activated the ship’s internal com and spoke directly to the hangar bay.


At first Belin thought he was imagining it, but as time went on he grew more sure.  The damage to his life support system was even more serious than he had at first thought, and he was slowly running out of oxygen.  The recycling system was failing, and he was starting to suffocate.

Soon the TIE pilot was experiencing laboured breathing, and was finding it hard to think.  Still, though, he kept tapping out his signal, struggling to keep the count of what he was doing, but slowly Belin realised that he was making mistakes.  Too many and it would not matter who was listening, his gibberish would be unintelligible.

As his eyes struggled to focus on the battle still raging all around, he was dimly aware of one vessel drawing closer.  At first he could not fathom it.  Too large for a starfighter, it was still nothing close to a capital ship.  A transport?  With Vast Empire markings?  Could it be...?


Back on the Halcyon Warrior, Zail heard the report from the Search and Rescue ship.

Halcyon Warrior, this is S&R 3.  We got him!” Said the officer in charge of the rescue.  “Confirmed, Belin is injured but alive.  And he wants to buy a drink for the guy at the Com Station who saved him!”

Pherik Zail allowed himself a smile as he replied.  “Tell him I look forward to it.  Halcyon out,” And so saying, he turned to the Com Officer sat at his side, who had heard the whole thing.

Chief Warnock just looked back, and nodded once in acknowledgement before returning to work.

Zail accepted the silent praise and got back to his duties as well.  However, he now took to his work with renewed vigour and determination.  He now knew that even amid all this death and destruction, there was still hope, there was still a chance for a small Junior Bridge Officer like him to do some good.

He vowed that he would not forget that.

1770 words. This completes my little “Wreck Deathriders Squadron” duology. My next post will feature the demise of an enemy ship, I swear it!  And yes, I am terrible at making up names.  Trou Belin is just a lazy anagram of ‘in trouble’.

After Action Report: One of Deathriders Squadron ejected as he was shot down, and left adrift in space.  He managed to send a message to the Halcyon Warrior which my character noticed, and enabled Serpent to have the pilot rescued.
JBO/PO2 Pherik “Serpent” Zail / ISD II Halcyon Warrior/TF: Aurek/2Flt/FC/VEN/VE [SoA]
[This message has been edited by Serpent (edited September 20, 2011 9:22:55 AM)]
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 20, 2011 1:48:48 AM    View the profile of Bacredi 
Engine Bay
The Monarch

“Put the ship to a full stop, kill the engines!” Zhar Mundango yelled through the hectic mess that was the engine bay: a rotator had come to a complete stop without a full order and then one of the massive screws that held it into place flew right off. “Fitzpatrick, get up to the bridge, tell them of our situation. Call for all emergency crews to get down here ASAP.”

Command Deck
The Monarch

“To all Vast Empire Naval Vessels, this is the Captain of the Dreadnaught Monarch, we are a dead where we stand. I repeat, we are dead where we stand.” Bacredi put the com back into its holster in the ceiling and turned to his communications officer, “get me the captain of the Excise.”

“Yes, sir…one second…there we go, connected.”

“Commander, how goes it?” Bacredi asked his acquaintance, Commander Patrick Finnegan. They were part of the same graduating class from the academy and he had served in an advisory role for Bacredi when he was the Naval Training Officer.

“Better than you I take it, what can I help you with this evening—or day? My clock’s all effed.” Finnegan spoke with his sharp Bastionian accent, which sounded like a mixture of Coruscanti and Corellian voices. They always mispronounced their –erns, pronouncing them instead as –ins.

“I need you to cover us while we get these repairs underway, our engine head is sending up a guy right now to tell us how the situation looks—why he couldn’t of just done it over the com I don’t know. We’re going to deploy our squadrons around the ship, if you could devote at least half a squadron that’d be great.” Bacredi took a seat in his captain’s chair and rubbed his eyes, exhausted for some reason.

“Yeah, we’ll go ahead and do circles around ya, effen Thrawnins and Republics might give us a hard time however. Do you guys still have power, or did you lose all of that along with your forward momentum?”

“We still have power, however we are devoting a hell of a lot of it to the engine bay. If we are attacked we will only be about 40% operational; the engines apparently power one of our major generators.”

“Got it, we’ll begin our patrol around ya then. Out.”

“Out.” Bacredi repeated, he put the com into its holster, again.

“Sir, an engine by technician is here for you,” Hammondfins said, his ego still bruised.

“Warrant Officer Fitzpatrick, sir, I’m from the engine bay.”

“Pleasure, okay, what’s the estimate?”

“Well we lost one of the major screws on a rotator, and it caused the rotator to slow down as the computer sensed that if it went to fast it would literally fly off. However, the major flaw in that is that it doesn’t tell us, so we’re left wondering why the rotations aren’t in complete symmetry—which they have to be in. So we’re retuning them now, replacing the screw, and I believe we also found a minor leak in the third engine.” The Warrant Officer was out of breath by the time he fully completed his sentence.

“What’s the timeframe?”

“2 hours minimum, 10 max.”

Communications Center
The Monarch

“They gave us a timeframe of 2 to 10 hours,” Bacredi said to the hologram of Commander Finnegan. It had only been an hour and a half so far.

“One second, Zhar,” Finnegan said, and another man appeared in the hologram, whispering something into his ear. “We have trouble. The Victory II-Class All of the Emperor’s Men is heading straight for us.”

“Shit, we’re still sitting ducks, our radar is currently out, I’ll get someone to get it back online.” Bacredi and Finnegan both cut the connection as they ran back to their respective bridges, and Bacredi pressed the General Stations alarm. “Yeoman, signal the fleet: Mayday, mayday, this is the Monarch, we are without engine power. Need reinforcements.”

The yeoman quickly typed up the signal and sent it to the entire fleet that was in system, and all of them printed it out within seconds.

“Do we have any maneuverability?” Bacredi asked, desperate; the Victory II was closing in on firing range, while they would be able to fire sooner.

“Zhar, we’re going to head straight for us. Get your squadrons to back us up, over,” Finnegan said as the Excise took a sharp U-turn and headed straight for the star destroyer. All of the Emperor’s Men was facing the engines of the Monarch.

“Copy, Finny,” Bacredi clicked the com off, “my question still stands. Anyone?”

“None at all, sir.” Replied Fitzpatrick, who was awkwardly hovering.

Horax Leader
Horax Squadron

The TIE Interceptor broke through space with ease, followed by eleven others. Airsquids Squadron was en route as well, along with the two squadrons from the Excise: Jiggly and Cantor Squadrons, TIE Fighters and Scimitar Assault Craft respectively.

Excise, we’re moving over you now. What’s your desired form of attack?” asked the leader.

“Horax 1-1, this is he Excise. Try using proper communication procedure next time, will you? Jiggly Squadron is going to hook up behind you, we’d like you to move in Attack Formation West Center,” said the starfighter management operator on the Excise.

“Oh piss off,” Horax Leader muttered.

“That was on open air.”

“Umm, copy that. Attack Formation W-C.”

The starfighters went for the bell of the best, dodging the blasts that were coming dangerously close to them. They did a full turn around the ship and over the top of it, now coming down to the center of the massive star destroyer.

“NOW!” the Interceptors all broke off into pairs of threes, going for separate targets. Horax Leader and 2 and 3 all went for one turret, while all of the other pairs went for another.

Cantor Leader
Cantor Squadron

Cantor Leader and his missile operator, Cantor 13, glided the Scimitar right above the Star Destroyer.

“Enemy targets incoming; Horax Squadron can you cover us?” asked the leader.

“Copy that, we’re moving to intercept the enemy squadrons now. Keep your current course.”

As the Scimitar went through space it saw as two Interceptors tackled a TIE Fighter and wrestled it to death, not standing a chance.

“Okay, Cantor Squadron, begin payload droppage!” Cantor 13 immediately targeted the circled areas on the navigation array, and immediately after 11 others did as well. “Another loop, now. Give me a sit rep on the target!”

“Target is dead on impact, sir, they’re out of business.” The assigned target—an observation deck that served as the home base for two missile stations—was down.
Captain-"ish" of the Monarch
[This message has been edited by Bacredi (edited August 20, 2011 1:50:02 AM)]
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 21, 2011 10:04:53 PM    View the profile of Slasher 
Slasher looked around the bridge of the Fearless as the mighty warship prepared to leave the drydock which had held her while she was repaired from the damage she had sustained during the Coveway engagement. "Mr. Cevdis, signal all ships of the Task Force to form up on us and begin to move on a course toward the outer edge of the New Republic Fleet. Once you have completed that please accompany me to the War Room, Chief Warrant Officer Helin, you have the bridge." As Slasher turns and heads toward the War Room, the location just aft of the bridge on the Flagship where he commands the whole of Task Force Besh, he looks longingly over his shoulder at the command chair, where Acorn now sat, confidently giving orders to the bridge crew. It had been a little difficult deciding on who to make his new executive officer when Nuee'lan had died at Coveway, partly because he didn't want to let anyone else fight his ship, but he had been lucky enough to see a transfer request had been put in my Akate Helin, his former Helmsman from the LCR Onyx, she had been promoted to be the XO of a Corvette in one of the quieter sectors, which had not sat well with her, and so she had put in for a transfer to a Corvette that was closer to the front. She had been surprised to find that instead she had come aboard the Fearless, been promoted, and was now XO, but when she saw who was the commanding officer, she was not in the least bit surprised.

You know, pretty soon and she is gonna be ready for a command of her own, he muses, listening as she carries out the orders he had issued to the task force, taking them into battle.

His thoughts quickly came back to the battle at hand and he began to look over the holographic representation of the battlefield before him.

The Defiance and the Reaper are moving well, but the Burnish and the Amaranth are a little slow out of the starting block

Hearing Master Chief Petty Officer Cevdis entering the War Room and moving to the communications console behind him he quickly begins to issue orders.

"Have the Defiance and Reaper move in closer to the New Republic fleet, I want them in the front of the formation to open a hole for us as we come through,"

"Aye Commander."

"Also, inform the captains of the Burnish and the Amaranth that if they don't hurry up and get over here we'll help them with their obviously malfunctioning engines courtesy of one of our Tractor Beams."

"Aye sir," Cevdis relays this message, and then reports, "The captains say that they will be fine without the help, they were just a little slow getting into position, but they are keeping up well enough now."

"Very good, have you sent the message to the McElroy?"

"Yes Commander, they have acknowledged receipt of the message and are on their way here."

509 Words, Alright Beshies, all the ships have your orders, let's see some action.
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 21, 2011 10:18:47 PM    View the profile of Bacredi 
Command Deck
The Excise

“They’re playing chicken sir. We’re on a straight path for impact, shall I perform our maneuvers?” said the lead pilot of the Excise, Jim “Perrywinkle” Perry, said to the captain of the ship, Finnegan.

“What’s our gap?” asked Finnegan, holding down a button on his captain’s chair to communicate with the cockpit of the Dreadnaught.

“We have twelve seconds. Sir, shall we keep our course? The Imperials are damn good at this game.” Said Perry, obviously shaken by the massive hulk coming towards them.

“Yes, evasive maneuvers. I’m not dying for some source of pride, go under them; weapons: unload on their belly, get firing support from the squadrons,” Finnegan turned to the row of technicians, “I mean everything, unload every damn turret we have there. Max them out.”

“Jiggly Squadron, Horax Squadron, soften them up for us,” the starfighter command operator said, speaking to the squadrons that could move the quickest into the gap.

Jiggly 1
Jiggly Squadron

“All fighters, move with your flights, scramble at those turrets,” said Jiggly Leader, pushing his joystick as forward as possible. The three of his counterparts/subordinates followed him as they did a wave of blasts at the most forward turret, they bobbed down and pushed back up to another turret.

“Horax and Jiggly Squadrons, we’re picking up three enemy squadrons coming our way. Ditch the Victory, head straight into them,” the Excise reported. Thirty six blips quickly showed up on the radars of Horax and Jiggly starfighters, the radar identified them as 12 TIE Interceptors, 12 TIE Fighters, and 12 TIE Bombers. “Cantor Squadron, cut short your bombing function, use your forward cannons, we cannot let these bombers reach the Monarch.”

Jiggly 1 pushed forward, past the blasts coming from All of the Emperor’s Men and straight into a group of TIE Interceptors. He turned left, right, and did a 180 degree turn, blasting an Interceptor to pieces. “Jiggly 1, you have one on your tail!” yelled Jiggly 2, who had been disconnected from the flight. 3 and 4 were still somewhere behind him.

“Get it off of me, shit,” Jiggly 1 performed two evasive maneuvers, still not shaking the quicker and more agile Interceptor. Jiggly 2 pulled in behind the Imperial Interceptor, and the group was now entirely disconnected from the larger dogfight.

“Sir, I can’t fire while you’re still in ma sights!” Jiggly 2 began to panic, his breathing became ever more apparent over the com.

“Calm the hell down, on this next turn take the shot.” Jiggly 1, never one to be nervous, swerved to the right, and at that same exact moment Jiggly 2 fired two blasts, nailing the Interceptor in the center twice. “That was the most beautiful shot I have ever seen.”

He was lying.

Command Deck
The Monarch

“Captain, we can’t slow them down. You have to get your engines fixed quick…they’re almost within firing range.” Finnegan reported to Bacredi, who rubbed his eyes in frustration.

“Fitzpatrick, how much longer?” Bacredi was hunched over in his chair, now staring at the technician.

“They’re trying to get them active now, sir, but it’s a very intricate process.” Bacredi threw his dossier and got up, heading over to Fitzparick.

“You’re going to go down there right now, tell them they need to work a lot harder if they want to see another sunrise, because in two minutes we’ll be blasted to hell.” Bacredi fumed, his anger starting to wear off and the adrenaline totally spent.

Engine Bay
The Monarch

“Testing.” Mundango said as he started Engine 1.

“Test complete, the results look good. That’s a green light for the first.

“Now for the troublemaker, start it up.”

Two tense seconds passed, and the engine flared to life. The three screens in front of the men read good signs for the second engine, they had finished it in two and a half hours. Almost a record time.

Command Deck
The Monarch

“We’re in firing range, sir,” reported a technician rather dismally.

“THEY’RE FIXED!” yelled Zhar Mundango as the ship’s lights turned back to their normal color.

“Copy, turn this beast around. Activate all forward and portside batteries, shields to maximum.”

The Monarch began to turn portside, and the portside batteries began to shell the Victory. The Victory returned fire with more power, and the Excise began to shell once again as well.

“All squadrons pull out of your current dogfights, move to hit the All the Emperor’s Men, and hit it hard,” said Bacredi, giving his first starfighter order of the battle.
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 22, 2011 1:46:00 PM    View the profile of DeepSix 
The sound of a stifled cough broke through the heavy silence, causing all the organics seated around a large table to look up nervously. Despite the smoke that lingered in the air, each of the five specimens still somehow managed to achieve eye contact with one another. They knew better than to think this would be enough to give them an edge but they did it all the same, being driven by only instinct and experience.

"So I hear some of your boys caused a bit of a ruckus in the mess hall the other day", one of the seated individuals stated matter-of-factly. Upon hearing this Seth Qorbin looked up, knowing he was the one that reply was addressed to. "Oh?" the Warrant Officer replied, feigning ignorance in the same matter-of-factly tone. He too of course heard the rumors and more importantly received an official memo regarding the incident. The man however had absolutely no intention whatsoever to let that affect him in any way - not now nor later either. He planned on dealing with the individuals involved eventually but for the time being the Onderonian was more than happy to just relax and enjoy his well deserved downtime.

"You're seriously not concerned about this?" the human female seated in front and a bit to his right interrupted. Seth turned to look at her and just stared in her eyes for a few seconds before calmly answering with a casual "Not really, no." He questioned her interest in the matter and wondered if by chance she knew something he didn't or on the contrary wanted to know something that maybe he knew in regards to it. He was still slightly curious about it when the woman parted her lips to speak yet again - "You're terrible, you know that?" Although she said that her face was actually smiling and the tone she used also happened to be playful as well.

"So they keep telling me..." The Master Chief smiled back and placed the five cards he'd been holding on the table, all of them face down. The man to his right and the woman from before followed his example within the next minute. It was now time to reveal those cards and see just which of the five individuals would win, and most importantly what exactly would they stand to win as well...

"Here goes", the current round's dealer announced as he slowly began flipping over his own cards. The man was Myrc Tua'th, a Petty Officer serving as a technician aboard the Warrior. He also happened to be the host of the day's games, graciously allowing the other players to make use of his quarters that would afterward no doubt require quite a bit of cleaning up and re-ventilating.

"Eight of Coins, Nine of Sabres, the Mistress of Coins, an Idiot and... the Balance card. That's 19."

The five exchanged looks once more making sure their faces did not betray any emotions. Then the players enjoyed their cigs and booze for about another minute before the next individual reached for his discarded cards. This time it was a Warrant Officer, a Trandoshan named Haq'kua Brosj. He was also the only alien at the table that could usually be seen serving as a security guard stationed near the hangars. The humanoid reptile squeezed the cards together and flipped them over all at the same time revealing a Six of Staves, Eleven of Flasks, a Master of Staves, a Balance card and an Evil card as well. Quickly adding the values together revealed that the fearsome looking creature had alas only managed to get a sum of 5. Everyone knew that he had already lost that game no matter what the remaining three fellows would reveal.

"Guess that's my turn then, huh?" the blond human began as his fingers were already gripping the first card, turning it over and revealing its value - a lowly Three of Coins. Slowly Seth reached for the second and then the third cards, turning them over as well revealing another Eight of Staves and an Evil One. More than halfway through and things weren't looking too good for the Onderonian. Even so the fellow still kept a straight face, knowing that win or lose at least he'll be able to maintain an air of superiority and indifference afterward. Thus in a relaxed manner the squadron commander revealed his second to last card, a Queen. The other players were just finishing calculating the current sum - a puny minus six. They knew they were safe so long as that final card would be anything save a high face card.

"Quit stalling already, will you?" the man seated next to Seth spoke, a hint of anxiousness identifiable in his voice. The Onderonian smiled as he ever so slowly reached for that final card, picked it up, raised it in the air for a bit and then casually let go of, allowing it to drop face up above the other discarded cards. The sound of that card falling down felt like going on forever as the whole room was now silent. Except for Seth Qorbin who was now sporting a wide grin on his face, everyone else just kept on staring at the revealed Star, a card equaling a dazzling minus seventeen all by itself.

"Unless I'm mistaken gents... and lady, that's a minus twenty three, isn't it?" the Warrant Officer finally asked wishing to both end the silence and rub it in for everyone else as well. His victory wasn't yet assured of course as there were still two more hands to be played for the round to end but the chances of him emerging victorious were quite high indeed. He knew it and everyone else knew it as well. Myrc smiled defeated, the Trandoshan glared menacingly, the anxious fellow from before looked dumbfounded and the woman alone managed to maintain a professional sabacc face.

"Ensign, I believe it's your turn now" Seth encouraged the anxious fellow from before. The man's name was Follnor Xemo and he happened to be the only officer at the table, not that rank had any bearing on the game of course. As a matter of fact it was a fairly rare occurrence for officers to play sabacc or generally spend time with enlisted personnel. Most were either too stuck up to begin with or otherwise preferred spending their time with other officers. Especially when it came down to such clandestine activities...

Follnor scoffed as he heard Nightshrike's CO bait him and thus turning the tables on him. The man knew the Onderonian was no doubt enjoying the situation and he really wished to get back at him somehow but alas knew there wasn't really anything he could do at that time. Trying to save as much dignity as he still could the Ensign quickly turned his cards upward, one at a time. From left to right they were: Eight of Flasks, Four of Flasks, Five of Staves, Seven of Coins and finally a Queen. The Trandoshan was the first to react to the sum of twenty two, loudly bringing down his fist on the table, causing some credit chips to fall down on the floor. Everyone turned to face him but the giant lizard just turned his head as he uttered some native mumbo-jumbo. From the tone of his voice however it wasn't that hard to guess what he was saying though.

"I for one agree with him", Myrc tried to joke in order to deal with the tense atmosphere. First a pure sabacc hand and now another one just short of trumping it. It wasn't that uncommon but it definitely wasn't too frequent either. A good thing too as such occurrences could really ruin people's nerves...

"This turned out to be a great round - a fitting end to a good game too."

The voice belonged to Erinn Novar, a Senior Chief serving as the executive officer of a different squadron. It wasn't the first time Seth and her played at the same table, though the Warrant Officer happened to be the one doing most of the winning in the past. The Onderonian liked the woman's style both as she played sabacc and as she flew in missions as well. The latter Seth could determine during some joint missions Nightshrike ended up performing with its sister squadron.

"Before i reveal my hand... care for a little wager Qorbin?" she asked seemingly out of the blue. Rather intrigued Seth brought his hands beneath his chin, making a long "oh?" sound in the process. "If you win I'll end up owing you a favor which you can collect whenever it suits you..."

The Onderonian's eyes narrowed as he began thinking about the strange offer. "And if you happen to beat my hand then I'll end up owing you in exchange?" Erinn smiled as she nodded yes. Seth continued looking the woman in the eyes for almost two full minutes before finally agreeing to those terms. The chances of her having a better hand were very slim so from this point of view the former smuggler wasn't too concerned. The fact that she nevertheless proposed such a deal made him wonder about those odds though. In the end he agreed thinking that either he would indeed win and would then be able to collect on a free favor at some point in time... or he would lose and end up finding out just what exactly the Senior Chief had in mind. Hardly as great an outcome as the former but equally intriguing nevertheless.

"Excellent. Then here goes", the woman started as she turned over her first card revealing a One of Sabres. "As you know the only way to beat a minus twenty three" she continued as she revealed her second card - the Idiot. "Is by either managing a plus twenty three" she continued speaking as she turned over her third card, a Two of Flasks. "Or by achieving an Idiot's Array" she said as she turned over a Commander of Coins. "So the question now is - do I have that? Is this next card going to be a Three of Flasks?"

The Onderonian knew she was just messing with him and even though his exterior didn't show it, inside he was definitely becoming more and more agitated. She's good, he thought as he just stood there waiting for that final card to be revealed. Win or lose he had to give Erinn credit for a job well done creating a suspenseful finale.

"And the answer is..." Erinn began as she slowly reached for the final card. "Not!" she finished abruptly as she turned it over revealing just an ordinary Eight of Coins.

"Well guess that settles it then. The hand pot... The sabacc pot... And that favor you'll owe me as well... All of it mine, huh?" As Seth reached over the table to collect all the credit chips Erinn faked a cough that caused the Warrant Officer to pause briefly and look in her direction, making sure she wasn't trying to discretely - or not so discretely - signal him.

"You didn't count them, did you Qorbin?" Erinn grinned as she asked that in an arrogant and superior tone. It took the squadron commander a couple of seconds to realize she was talking about her own cards. Indeed he didn't bother adding up the values as the woman made it seem that she was playing for an Idiot's Array, a formation that never came after all. Taking another look at the Senior Chief's cards caused Seth's shoulders to drop even as he was still leaning across the table.

"You're kidding me" he stated - more to himself than to anyone else. Although Erinn didn't manage an Idiot's Array she did somehow manage a pure sabacc hand. A hand summing up to a positive value of twenty three. She was the winner of the game. She knew it all along and that's why she decided to play with him earlier. Still, the Warrant Officer couldn't help but admire how well she hid this and how well she revealed it as well. As the other players realized what just happened and began congratulating the new winner and otherwise just muttering things like "unbelievable", "incredible", "beautiful" and so... well Seth just continued staring in the woman's eyes.

"Nicely done", the man finally said as he dropped back into his seat, no longer having a valid claim to the winnings. "You mentioned a favor earlier... What is it?"

"You're taking it better than expected Qorbin, I'm impressed. As for the favor, I was thinking about..." Just as she was about to reveal it alarms started howling across the ship cutting her off.

"Seems I'll have to hear about it later after all", Seth said as he stood up and made for the door, the others following close behind. Saved by the hand of fate... and these monstrous alarms.

SC/WO2 DeepSix/A-1/S:82 Nightshrike/W:245 Nameless/ISD Halcyon Warrior/TF:A/2Flt/SFC/VEN/VE [=*TG*=]

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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 22, 2011 1:46:18 PM    View the profile of DeepSix 
A sea of people greeted the Onderonian's vision as soon as he opened the door and stepped outside in the corridors that were now overflowing with all sorts of individuals. Tall people, short people, fat people, skinny people, humanoids and aliens too - some in full uniform, others in training gear and a couple of exceptions in nothing except shorts and slippers even. Military issued no less - blessed be the Vast Empire...

"What'cha thinking Qorbin? Drill or the real thing?" the female Senior Chief from before asked, her voice barely managing to reach Seth's ears. The man turned to look at her and merely shrugged - as much as he was able to shrug seeing how the Warrior's personnel were now all around him, pushing, elbowing and stepping on his boots as well. Good thing he didn't bother shining them earlier - one less thing to feel bad about.

"Who knows? What I do know is that Drac ain't aboard so if this is a drill then Ongol's the one calling the shots. Igh... Not sure if that makes me feel better... Aah... Or worse." The Warrant Officer almost managed to bit his tongue there as some crewman tripped and started falling on the blond's back. By the time Seth turned his head around to see what was wrong the crewman in question was being pushed aside towards the closest wall. He'd soon end up part of the mainstream though - it was just impossible to stay your ground against all those men, women and asexual aliens that just kept on rolling and rolling all over the places.

"Qorbin... Just what is it that you think you're touching there?" Erinn asked in a slightly menacing tone, her head half turned to get a glimpse of the Onderonian standing right behind her. They managed to get on a turbolift that was packed to the brim with other crew members and it just so happened that the Senior Chief ended up standing right in front of Seth who in order to make more room kept his hands lowered...

"I'm amazed you can feel that. I hardly feel anything at all..." It so happened to be the truth. The small turbolift was just so damn crowded that the squadron commander started losing feeling in his limbs. "Well you really won't be able to feel anything ever again unless you stop." Her tone definitely sounded threatening but even so Seth couldn't tell for certain whether she really meant it or whether she was just messing with him yet again. Deciding not to test that out this time around the Onderonian struggled to pull back his hands. "Scary as ever I see..." Although Seth couldn't see it the human female smiled triumphantly as she waited for the turbolift doors to open, once again preparing herself for the chaos awaiting on the other side.

"Huh, I think I just received a message on my datapad", Seth mentioned more to himself than to anyone else in particular. "In regards to this you mean?" Erinn inquired after hearing him out. "Not sure, can't really reach it right now..."

Less than two minutes later both Seth, Erinn and a bunch of other pilots reached their locker rooms. There were already some flyboys in gear and running toward the hangars whilst more pilots kept popping out from the other side, all of them running to their lockers and struggling to get changed as soon as possible. "Listen up people! I have good news, bad news and worse news!" Seth shouted loud enough to get everyone's attention. Almost no one stopped what they were doing but they did turn towards the squadron commander and kept silent to hear these news.

"Good news is this isn't a drill so we didn't just acted like a wild pack of bantha for no good reason." Some of the pilots looked pleased hearing this, others however seemed annoyed by his carefree manner of speaking. "Bad news is the NR is waiting to play with us outside and if these numbers are accurate they're not planning on playing fair."

"What's the worse news, sir?" Aria Zane, another member of Nightshrike asked as she finished zipping up her flightsuit. "Well it seems the Remnant's waiting as well and they're having even more firepower than the NR. If they're really working together things really don't look good for us... But heck, we'd likely be pissed if this didn't turn out to be a challenge, right?" He wasn't nearly as optimistic as he sounded and he knew all too well that even those that chose to smile and laugh were likely just as uncertain as he was. Those that looked like crap were likely still in shock on the other hand...

"Aria, know where the other Shrikes are?" the Onderonian asked as he got his arm into one of the flightsuit's sleeves. "Saw Ido and Fyston leave already. One of the new guys was around just earlier too. Not sure on everyone else though."

Seth nodded and dismissed the flight leader whilst he continued getting ready. Now that he knew things were real he no longer had any intention on doing things halfassed. Especially given the really, really crappy odds the 2nd Fleet found itself faced against. "Jeez Qorbin, still ain't ready yet?" Erinn asked as she ran towards the hangars, no doubt wishing to be reunited with her own squadron.

Just who the hell does she think wasted time reading his datapad in order to inform the ignorant masses? Ungrateful minx!

It only took Seth another half a minute maybe to finish getting ready. After checking the seals he too rushed towards his Interceptor.

Needless to say the hangars were buzzing with activity as droids and techies scurried around like mindless ants all the while the pilots rushed to the big black fighters they would be entrusting their lives to. Seth wasn't any different of course as he made his way straight for his Interceptor, getting inside it and going through most preflight checks as fast as he could.

"Control, Nightshrike A1 is taking off, over!"

As soon as the Onderonian saw a techie's thumb up and heard a controller's acknowledgment he pushed the yoke forward, forcing his engines to take him out of the somewhat safe ship and out into the now so very inhospitable Belgaroth system. His scanner was already showing a bunch of blips missing VE transponder codes but when Seth turned his ship around and actually saw the two foreign fleets... well all he could really think of was just a simple Oh crap.

Opening the squadron channel DeepSix began in a hesitant voice "Okay so... First off all those that are already out form on my wing and take defensive positions for now. Await further orders as everyone else joins us. If anyone's religious this would probably be the best time to start praying to whichever deities you believe in."

"Also Savage... should you by chance die - not that I'm wishing for such a thing to happen of course! But should it nevertheless happen all the same... can I, your beloved leader, have those bottles of liquor you keep stashed beneath your bunk?" The Onderonian happened to notice them completely by accident when last he had business in the humanoid reptile's room. He went there to deliver some memo and since no one was around curiosity pushed him to snoop a little and check out what the big lizard cared for in its spare time. He found quite a large selection of weaponry, certain pieces quite probably illegal in most of the civilized galaxy. The Warrant Officer also found some anatomy manuals, some technical books and when he decided to check underneath the alien's bunk wondering if by chance he'll find some weirder magazines of a more explicit nature... Seth instead found some unbelievably great and quite expensive booze. So as previously mentioned - a total accident completely.

"Yesss", came the Trandoshan's reply oddly enough lacking any sort of emotion. No bewilderment, no shame, no stuttering, no annoyance, no mindless rage - thank goodness for that one, no nothing really... Wonder if he truly understands what I just told him, Seth Qorbin asked himself and left it at that, not really seeing the wisdom in explaining to a Trandoshan how its privacy got trampled on. Yes, that really sounded like a terrible idea indeed.

"Awesome big fellow. And for all you other people - if by chance the universe screws us and I get killed as a consequence you can't keep anything you find in my quarters. Unless it's drinkable and smokable as it would be a pity to wait for those to turn bad..."

"Generous as ever, sir", was the first reply made by Myles Dane. For some reason the fellow always knew just how to make the perfect comeback to something that otherwise sounded unreasonable from a purely military point of view.

"Thank you Slick, always nice to know I'm appreciated... That being said people seems we have incoming bogeys from our Remnant friends. Wait for them to get closer and take out the bombers with missiles. Try to save up your ammo as we're sourly outnumbered."

A bunch of affirmative replies followed and a minute or so later most of the squadron was scattered, with each member trying to take out some of the incoming bombers all the while also trying to avoid their fighter escorts. The fact both forces used similar ships and worse underwent similar training made engagements all the more dangerous.

At some point during that initial skirmish Drac's orders were heard through the comm. The good news was that Nightshrike was already doing just that. The bad news was that the squadron really couldn't afford to do anything else as enemy forces kept coming and coming. The other squadrons did their best to hold them off but a mere glance over the scanners was clear enough even to a novice - the Vast Empire fighters were slowly but steadily being pushed back.

And it started out like such a great day...

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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 23, 2011 8:51:10 PM    View the profile of TosthAaaiser 
Petty Officer 1st Class Tosth “Fishhead” Aaaiser was waiting on the bridge of the CR90 Corvette Defiance with one other non-human. It was an odd sight to see members of these two species, Mon Calamari and Kaminoan, among an Imperial Naval vessel, for reasons known to most. Of course, the Imperial Remnant was more relaxed about non-humans than Palpatine’s Empire was, though not to the extent of blind trust. The Mon Calamari was a Vast Empire Naval officer. The Kaminoan, though, was an unknown element. Everyone but Tosth had reason to distrust this member of an untrustworthy race.

Tosth and this Kaminoan, who was called Atama So, had narrowly escaped with their lives on two occasions. One was an assassination attempt and the other had just happened. Two enemy fleets arrived soon after they had arrived at the Belgaroth Shipyards. They were safe for the moment.

“Petty Officer Aaaiser,” said his Executive Officer, Artur Phylas. “So you survived. And you’ve come back. I was sure you would default.” The look he gave Tosth was of utter disgust. It was obvious that Phylas despised the amphibian.

Phylas then looked at Tosth’s companion, the Kaminoan. “So you’ve brought more…  Whatever you want to call yourselves. You are to report to Petty Offficer Gibbs. Now. And take that Kaminoan with you.”

Without another word, Phylas turned around to return to conversing about the impending battle with the Naval Intelligence Officers aboard the Defiance and its Commanding Officer, Warrant Officer Wyl Trykon.
The amphibian still could not believe how much his XO hated him. It seemed amplified now. Looks like I’ll just have to get used to this kriffing treatment. He pushed his angry thoughts out of his head and decided to begin talking to Atama.

“We’d better get going, Atama.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll follow your lead.”

“Alright.” He left the bridge, with Atama close behind. “So. Sorry about that guy, Atama. I don’t know what his problem is with me or even you, now.”

“If I may be so bold, sir. We are both of species that never supported the Empire in any way whatsoever. That may be where his problem may lie.”

“That must be it, Atama. Your insight is always amazing. Glad you’re here with me now.”
“Ah… Mr. Aaaiser. You’re back. And you have a…”

“A friend and a new medical officer,” the Mon Calamari finished. “Atama So.”

“Ah. Welcome, Mr. So,” said Petty Officer 1st Class Docker Gibbs. “Petty Officer Aaaiser, I need to go over battle protocol. Mr. So, you may as well listen in. You’re one of us now. But before I begin, I believe introductions are in order. Tosth, you know everyone here. Mr. So, I am the ship’s head medic. My specialty is psychology. Tosth here works with insectoids and surgery of all species.”

Atama began by saying, “Thank you, Mr. Gibbs.” He looked around and continued. “My entire family are doctors. Well, they were doctors. Until they died or were murdered. But I am quite knowledgeable in every aspect of the medical field. I will need some time to adjust to new equipment and the new environment.”

“Understandable, Mr. So. So… To business. Protocol for these situations. From what I’ve heard, we’re way in over our heads, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” both Tosth and Atama said together.

“Alright. We are always on call for any situation that hints at danger… Explosions. Hull breach. Anything. With that said, I’m going to continue training you, Tosth. It’s lacking right now. “

“Understood, sir.”

At that moment, one of the Naval Intelligence officers from the bridge walked into the sickbay.

604 words.
JBO/PO1 Tosth “Fishhead” Aaaiser/CR90 'Defiance'/TF:B/2Flt/FC/VEN/VE [SoA][NAR][VC:B](=SUR=)
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 23, 2011 9:17:41 PM    View the profile of Ellesmere 
Soon after her return home from Regents’ last mission, Michele decided that it was time to hit the gym once again. She had once been a frequent visitor to the facilities but however life had gotten somewhat hectic and she had stopped going for a time – and it had showed. Contrary to popular belief, life as a Naval pilot was more than just flying around and shooting at things; there were occasions  where some ground ops were required from the navy and that’s where she felt she had been lacking as of late. If she had to self-evaluate, Michele would deem herself in need of improvement when it came to strength, but mostly endurance work.  So there she was in sneakers, track pants and a short-sleeve shirt, working away the tension that had built up in her muscles and at the same time hoping that the hours she was putting in would soon pay off.

As she finished off her last set of military press, she heard movement behind her and found herself acutely aware of a presence nearby. It felt like someone was staring at her back. A somewhat deep voice soon followed the sensation and caused her to quickly turn around to face the interlocutor.

“Hoping to pass your next physical with flying colors or what?”

As she carefully looked the man over, she was surprised and a little impressed by what she saw. He was young and in his eyes she could see intense curiosity which put her on her guard even more than she had been. She had spotted him earlier as she was finishing up her warm-up, he had been standing beside the squat rack and had been watching her intently all the while it seemed.
As she looked him over once more – a lot more slowly this time, she couldn’t help but wonder how many women must be running after this man. He wasn’t the most handsome guy in the world but not too bad looking either.

He was of average height, she guessed about six feet in height, had sharp, steel-colored eyes, dirty blonde hair and sharp, well-defined facial features. He was well-built for his frame, you could plainly tell that he had a strong upper body. She thought his shirt a little too small however due to the fact that his shirt seemed to  be cutting into his arms, she wondered if it cut his circulation somewhat or if that was just her impression of things. Either way the muscle he was carrying  around would be useful in tight situations if heavy lifting and the like were involved, she assumed.

“And who might you be?”  She asked the man warily.

“My apologies, where are my manners, eh? The name’s Wesen Charlie Bryant, most folks call me Wes so feel free to do the same. I’ve recently graduated from the Academy and have been assigned to Regents Squadron.”

“Well then Wes, it’s a pleasure to meet you. What makes you think I’m hoping to pass my next physical? And why are you so interested in finding out, anyway?”

“I’m a Flight Surgeon”

Great… She thought to herself as she was standing there, debating whether to run to the locker room and leave him behind or to finish off the conversation like a sociable being. Weighing her options, she decided to see this conversation through.

"Well, I’ll have you know that I passed my last physical just fine, thanks. I’ll also be kind enough to inform you that I am the Executive Officer of Regents and if you start things off by having your name put down in my black book, things will not be looking too good for you. Am I clear?”

“A woman who knows how to keep a guy in check, I like that. Want to go for drinks sometime?”

At the request she couldn’t help but display a small smile. Something told her that she could easily drink this guy under the table anytime.  Before she could manage a reply, alarms started blaring.

Here we go… “I’m afraid that’ll have to wait mate, get dressed and get to the hangar bay on the double. Now move it!”

With that said she followed her own orders and went to the locker room. Getting quickly dressed, she  went to her quarters next, slipped on her flight suit, grabbed the duffel she kept at the ready with everything she’d need in preparation for situations such as these.

As she got into her fighter, Michele noticed that Vanity seemed a little tense; she didn’t blame her as she suspected everyone was feeling the exact same way. As she conducted her pre-flight checks, she noticed Wesen, the new guy also Regents only Flight Surgeon struggle into his fighter and she assumed, going through his own checks. We’ll need to keep an eye on him.  As soon as she completed her pre-flight checks, she freed herself from the docking claw and got right down to business.

“New Republic forces, eh? This should be quite interesting…” she muttered to herself as she positioned herself so that she could clearly see what she was facing and it did not look too pretty.

Taking the opportunity while she still had it, she decreased power to her rear shields and gave her weapons some more juice, adjusting her S-foils she took a moment to prepare herself mentally for the battle ahead. This task complete, she readied her weapons and let her finger hover over the trigger, waiting for the best moment to fire off a shot.

"Beta Flight, let's get this show on the road!"

WC:930 I know it isn't much in terms of engaging the enemy and whatnot but I thought it a good starting point
XO/PO2 Ellesmere/B-1/S:153 Regents/W:58 Javelin/ICF II Fearless /TF:B/2FL/SFC/VEN/VE [MC2][MC1]

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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 23, 2011 9:56:45 PM    View the profile of Serpent 
Commander Tressan Foix, captain of the Lancer – Class Frigate Mikasa, stared impassively at the map of the battle unfolding before him.  His white hair and lined face made him look far older than his age of thirty five, but it gave his visage the gravitas appropriate for the CO of a warship of the Empire.

“Come around twenty degrees and hold position,” He ordered calmly, his large and obviously cybernetic eyes swivelling in their sockets and glowing a baleful red.  Foix had been blinded in battle years before, and even with the mechanical optics installed he was no longer fit to pilot a TIE fighter anymore.  However, he had made good use of his knowledge of starfighter tactics aboard the Mikasa, such as in battles like this when he was assigned to anti-fighter duty.

An ensign nearby confirmed completion of the order, and Foix pondered his next move.  The battle at Belgaroth was not going as planned, for the presence of the New Republic deeply complicated the simple (but, he did not delude himself, not necessarily easy) battle with the so-called Vast Empire.

Foix scowled at that thought.  He despised the Vast Empire, as he despised any other warlord faction that dared to pull the true Empire apart.  The Republic, composed of rebels and terrorists though it was, at least had loyal people in its ranks (misplaced though that loyalty was).  Breakaway groups like the Vast Empire only existed because former Imperials had broken their oaths and betrayed the Emperor’s memory.  Foix would see them slaughtered for their treachery.

“Incoming fighters, captain!” Said a lieutenant nearby.

Foix nodded.  “Ready quad-laser batteries!” He commanded firmly.  Admiral Frinleigh had given the Mikasa strict orders to prevent enemy TIEs penetrating deep into the Imperial fleet, and the Commander vowed to achieve that goal.


Petty Officer 2nd Class Pherik Zail was starting to feel the stress, as the battle rolled on with no end in sight.  He focused on his job at the Comm Station of the Imperial II Star Destroyer Halcyon Warrior, a vessel that was in the heart of Taskforce Aurek’s battle with the Imperial Remnant Fleet.  As such, his ears rang with communications traffic, the good and the bad.  Mostly it was bad, such as the trouble Captain Bacredi was having with his ship, the Dreadnaught Monarch, but there was lighter talk too, such as the banter of Nightshrike Squadron (talking about a stash of liquor for some reason).

To listen to a battle was an odd experience, almost like listening to a holodrama but not actually being able to see it.  Zail followed events as best he was able, but could not get an overall idea of how the battle was unfolding.  Such was the job of people higher in the command chain, a position he desperately aspired to be in one day.  But not today.

As he sat in the crew pit and continued his coordinating efforts, Zail glanced up at the command walkway and saw the man currently in charge of the Halcyon Warrior, Fist Officer Lance Ongol.  The Executive Officer watched the battle unfold, witnessing the conflict in all its brutal glory, for the viewport of the Star Destroyer offered Ongol a spectacular vantage point.  Eventually the XO turned and walked the length of the walkway over to the sensor station.  Conversing with the officer there for a few moments, Ongol strode quickly to the comm station, looming over the crew in the pit below.

“Chief Warnock, Mr Zail,” Said Ongol firmly, addressing both Zail and his Comm Officer superior.  “As you know, we are trying to punch through the enemy line and hit the Remnant’s Imp Star Deuce Prognosticator.  However, the enemy are using a Lancer – Class Frigate called the Mikasa to screen our starfighters and prevent them making a run on the ISD.  The rest of Taskforce Aurek are occupied, so call on some of the ships from the Belgaroth shipyards to deal with the Mikasa.  Tell them we are assuming control of their TIE Fighter Squadron Goldfang and the Guardian - Class Light Cruiser Watcheye.”

Zail and Warnock understood, and instantly got to work.

No sooner had Warncok spoken to Belgaroth Shipyard Control, than Zail had gotten through to speak to the Watcheye.  Close by, Ongol barked out some orders for the Light Cruiser, and the Junior Bridge Officer began dutifully repeating them.


Lieutenant Commander Sverich, captain of the Watcheye, took the communication himself.

“Understood, Halcyon Warrior,” He said firmly, his crisp Anaxi accent seemingly born for military use.  “We shall proceed to engage the Mikasa immediately.”

“The Goldfang TIE Squadron will meet you in two minutes, sir,” Elaborated Zail at the other end.  “Coordinate your efforts, and eliminate the target.  Halcyon Warrior out.”

Sverich turned to survey the viewport of his ship.  The battle raged before his eyes, and he was glad to finally have clear orders as to what he had to engage.  However, the lieutenant at his side, a female Zabrak who served as his first officer, looked less delighted.

“How do we do this, captain?” She asked.  “The Mikasa is over five times our size, and we are being assisted by regular TIEs, not even Interceptors.  They expect too much.”

Sverich winced.  “True,” He admitted.  “But a Lancer is armed only with quad-lasers, not really designed to deal with larger craft such as ourselves.”

“They still outgun us,” Continued the lieutenant, well aware of a Guardian’s mere four laser cannons to their foe’s ten.

Commander Sverich nodded, accepting her grave worries but determined to get the job done regardless.  “Get me the leader of the Goldfangs, I need to speak with them before we reach the target.”


At his comm post on the Halcyon Warrior, Zail listened in as the plan to hit the Mikasa was discussed between Commander Sverich and the Squadron Leader of the TIEs sent to assist him.  Up until now, the Alderaanian’s knowledge of strategy and tactics had been confined to historical readings and academy war games.  Now the Junior Bridge Officer was getting an education in real fleet warfare.  Were the situation not so deadly he would have considered it fascinating.


The attack began mere moments later.  The Watcheye and the Goldfangs hurtled through the deadly chaos of the three-way battle that dominated space around the Belgaroth shipyards.  The Imperial Remnant fleet was engaged on one flank with the New Republic fleet, and with the Vast Empire fleet on the other, and had deployed a Lancer – Class Frigate to each side.  The Mikasa guarded its flank like a wolf guarding its cubs, lying in wait for the attackers.

The Goldfangs went in first.  The TIEs swooped in on the Mikasa, dodging and rolling in the face of its hail of quad laser fire.  The full strength squadron, twelve fighters in all, struck as three Flights of four, focusing their fire on key areas of the frigate.

From the bridge of the Watcheye, Lieutenant Commander Sverich watched.  At his side, his Zabrak first officer observed, “The shielding on that ship is heavy, the TIEs will never get through.”

“They aren’t meant to,” He told her.  “Comm Officer, send the signal to the Goldfangs.  Gunnery crews, prepare to fire!”

At the given signal, the TIEs broke their formations, swarming the Mikasa in pairs rather than flights.  After a few moments of their uncoordinated offensive, the TIEs broke their pairs and reformed with other wingmates, and continued the attack.

The crew of the Mikasa responded exactly as expected, firing in vain at the constantly shifting TIE formations, trying to discern some pattern or tactics to an attack that had none.  And while they were busy, the Watcheye swung into position and targeted the other ship.

“Fire!” Ordered Sverich.

The four laser cannons of the Watcheye were far better equipped to damage a capital ship than the weapons of the TIEs, and the Mikasa rocked under the barrage.  Still, the Lancer was a much more powerful vessel, and it would take a lot of hammering before its shields fell.

“Now,” Mused Sverich.  “Will they keep firing at the TIEs and give us the time we need to bring them down, or will they turn their guns on us?”


On the bridge of the Mikasa, Commander Foix watched the offensive unfold.  The attack was simple enough, but he had to congratulate the enemy on their timing.  Those TIEs were breaking and reforming extremely smoothly, and he reviewed upwards his opinion of the Vast Empire Navy.

When the Guardian - Class Cruiser arrived and began firing, he realised at once what they were up to.

“Sir, gunnery crews requesting target priority,” Said an Ensign.

Foix smiled.  He knew exactly how to deal with this...

1462 words. This is part one of a trilogy of posts where I deal with the Mikasa. The rest will follow when I get a chance.  As ever any comments welcome.  And as for the name, I got it from the real-life Mikasa, now a museum ship which I visited on a trip to Yokosuka last week.

After Action Report: The Imperial Remnant is using a Lancer – Class Frigate called the Mikasa to ward off starfighter attacks.  Serpent is now liaising with the TIE Fighter Squadron Goldfang and the Guardian - Class Light Cruiser Watcheye and directing them against the Mikasa.
JBO/PO2 Pherik “Serpent” Zail / ISD II Halcyon Warrior/TF: Aurek/2Flt/FC/VEN/VE [SoA]
[This message has been edited by Serpent (edited September 20, 2011 9:28:05 AM)]
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 24, 2011 2:53:48 PM    View the profile of Bernie 
The bridge officers nodded and scrambled as Rorran “ Slasher” Gorma stepped off the turbolift onto the bridge. Reports flew as various officers began taking the fierce battlecruiser into the teeth of the New Republic Fleet.

Through the transparisteel viewports, the exhaust plumes of the corvettes Defiance and Reaper were still visible as they charged toward the aquamarine hulks of the New Republic fleet.

The more apt members of the bridge crew noticed that Slasher wasn’t the only one off the lift. Leading crewman Bernard “ Bernie” Simpson had followed him onto the command bridge.

Bernard leaped into the crew pit of the Fearless, just as the navigator, Chief petty officer Avonf Scaview engaged in a furious argument with Slasher on the role of the graduate.

“ He’s right out of the academy! He hasn’t even gotten used to the controls of an Imperial II frigate!  It’s not as if we’re going to ram them, or jump to lightspeed now? I can take care of it! The kid’s gonna screw the whole battle up, and accidentally crash into , I dunno, the  shipyard. There he is, right now, staring at the lights, not doing anything! “ moaned Scaview. The sheer torrent of complaints led to a dispassionate rebuttal.

    The captain didn’t even turn around, and said, more to the whole bridge then the navigator,

“ Alright, the NR ships are largely broadsiding the big remnant destroyers, but both fleets are coming toward Belgaroth. We’re going to have to play a defensive game here. Try to get them to kill each other, we’re too badly outnumbered. Helmsman, move us in slow towards the Mon Cals. “. As a mere footnoot, he added, “ Play nice. “

    Avonf Scaview grunted, and said, “ Alright, Bernof, is it? “ You know how to handle a cruiser, right? The Academy isn’t that bad. Take us in, listen to Rorran, and try not to ram the Halcyon Warrior. That’s all there is to it, get a move on.  “

    Bernard surveyed the controls, and sighed. Thank the celestials for Imperial standardization. This is pretty much a console that I’ve used so many times I know it better than my datapad.

                The controls were regular, and as in uncounted hundreds of simulations, Bernard began accelerating. Unlike the simulations, even the sophisticated gravitic generators on a large capital ship couldn’t muffle the acceleration.
The CR90s up ahead were dueling with their New Republic counterparts, but at least the hologram of the NR capital ships were still angled toward the Remnant battleships.
    Bernard adjusted the power distribution to focus more toward the engines. The pitch and yaw of the behemoth were still standard, thrust gaining by the second. From the engineering pit, he heard,” Oy! We need more shielding, we’re starting to get hit by some ion cannons! “

Scaview poked his head up and replied, “On it, the newbie’s probably screwing something up, we should be aiding the corvettes by now, but no, this guy can’t handle a standard KDY engine output.” in a thinly veiled insult. Bernard drew breath and attempted to isolate the problem, and found it at first glance. Much of the reactor output was going to the maneuvering jets.

We’re accelerating straightline, no need for these
, as with a touch of the screen, the jets shut off, shutting up the officer at the defensive console. Bernard really needed to get on better terms with the crew. By now, the Burnish and the Amaranth had already passed them on the way towards T’kala’s flotilla.

The battle began for earnest as the Fearless and Coral City began turbolaser duels in earnest.

Cevdis and Echelon had already begun yelling at various people for minor shortcomings, Bernie hoped not to be among them. He hadn’t screwed up driving the massive frigate yet, but he’d better look at the big picture. With one hand, he pulled up a large holographic representation of the battle.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bernard looked at a part of the tactical display, with a small anomaly. “ Hmmm…. That’s odd “ mumbled Bernie to himself.  He clicked the zoom in button, and the garbled area solidified into masses of dueling starfighters!

Regents was beginning to approach a group of X- wings, but something still felt wrong. He was an idiot to keep the display on a level so far out. A gut feeling nagged him as he panned the screen with one hand, controlling vectors of the ship with another.

The bridge crew had solidified into practiced, purposed battle routine. To keep the noise down, only Slasher, Scaview, and that bearded man at tactical were talking, the rest of the crew merely sending whispered voice messages.

“ Hey, what are you doing. Map analyzation isn’t your job. Just keep on course, and make alterations on the captain’s commands. “ came Avonf’s voice. The man was slowly navigating to present the heaviest shields to the hostile formation.

In the crew pit, Bernard and Avonf both carried out the plan.  They weren’t working as a synchronized duet just yet, but at least the Fearless hadn’t crashed into anything. Yet. Working the crew pit was fairly boring. He hadn’t envisioned a battle to be like this. He couldn’t even look out the window, or shoot a laser into a fighter’s flank. Heck, he couldn’t even angle the ship without a command.

The psychological implications hadn’t sunk in yet. This was still a game, albeit one with good AI. Bernie made it to be like  the Alderran convoy example.  Hmm. Another final exam.

There! A formation of Skipray Blastboats, four of them. Heading toward the shipyards! Bernard lifted his head, and went’, “ Skipper. I think you want to see this. Hey, enemy bombers going at the complex.

Slasher was at the end of the bridge, co-ordinating various warhead launches. He didn’t hear the shouts. Bernie sighed and began sending a voice message to the whole room, to get his attention.

He recorded, “ Cap, there’s a bunch of blastboats en route to the shipyard. We just passed them, probably New Republic, definitely hostile. “ He was cut off by the navigator, who was eavesdropping. He immediately jumped out of the pit, and bellowed,

“  Sir, a squadron of enemy bombers has just passed us, I’m turning us around to shoot them, can someone ready a concussion missile or four? “

He smirked at Simpson as he settled his overweight body into his seat.
Kriffing glory hound. That should have been my call.  As the leviathan that was the Fearless  turned around toward the bombers, Bernard’s first real battle was truly sinking into his organized mind. Not much was going as envisioned. His coworker was stealing credit, he was getting shot up by a far larger enemy ship, and he forgot to zoom in.

1162 words. This is my first real battle post, correct me if anything is wrong, bad, or weird. In fact, I'd welcome if someone shoved a photon torpedo loaded with constructive criticism at it. Thanks. Someone kill something already.
My enemies are flammable.
[This message has been edited by Bernie (edited August 24, 2011 2:57:12 PM)]
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 24, 2011 3:06:26 PM    View the profile of Romanflame 
~~~Aboard the troop transport the Esaro~~~

Arthur was half of the way to his ship when the first wave of fighters made it to him.  He was paged to the cockpit of the Esaro.

“Sir, our escort is requesting permission to brake off and engage.”  The pilot Master Chief Petty Officer Aitak said.

“How far are we from the Reaper?” Arthur asked.

“We are about half way there sir.” Aitak responded.

“Patch me through to the leader.” Arthur ordered.

“Roger that sir, its live now.”  The co-pilot Chief Petty Officer Onnec said.

“You have permission to engage them, just keep an eye on us.” Arthur told her.

“Yes sir we’ll do that,” Senior Chief Petty Officer Asy said, and switched over to her flight.  “All fighters engage, but stay close to the transport.”

“Right sir breaking off to remove this threat.” the flight responded.

~~~Belgaroth station Beta Flight~~~

As soon as they received the go ahead to engage the X-wings they broke off and hunted down the ones around the transport.  Asy was still holding her position just behind the transport when an X-Wing moved in from its port side and began to fire at the Esaro, she quickly broke off to begin the dog fight.

The X-wing pilot quickly preformed a Break Turn when it was sure it had the attention of the Interceptor.  Asy was quickly on its aft and  was waiting for the lock and had it for a brief second before the X-Wing made a Barrel Roll to its starboard side, and forced it to slow quickly to get behind the Interceptor.  Once it was giving chase it opened fire on the flight lead.  The first barrage had only a few bolts that made contact with the shields.

The X-Wings second barrage slammed against the shields and dropped them down to 58%.  Asy quickly made a Barrel Roll and slammed it into a Break Turn which the X-Wing pilot was not expecting and overshot the Interceptor, allowing her to get behind it and fire a missile, with a barrage escort.  The missile made contact with the shields and about half of the bolts hit the shields dropping them but not removing them.  The second barrage from the Interceptor was cut short by the X-Wing pilot making a Split-S maneuver.

The maneuver was successful until a missile came flying out of the interceptor and collided with the engines and completely disabling them.  Now that the fighter was out of the fight the Flight lead formed back up on the Esaro, and was joined by the rest of the flight who either had a successful kill or watched another flight or even squad take the one they were after.

~~~Aboard the Reaper~~~

After Ariyn was informed on who side the two Interceptors, and the Kaminoan KE-8 Enforcer were they allowed them to pass and waited for contact.  The first wave of X-Wings made it to them.  Ariyn gave the order to fire and watched as a few of the crafts failed their maneuvers and were destroyed, while the others flew passed to fight the fleet on the other side of her.

Ariyn gave the order to prepare to form up on the Fearless when it was close enough.  I don’t want anyone to think I’m running for the safety of the fleet, and besides if I give the order we will leave Arthur exposed.  If I don’t give the order I will be disobeying a direct order. What am I suppose to do?  Lets see if I send the Reaper to pick up Arthur and then head to the Fearless that might be ok, here goes nothing.

“We are going to make our way to Arthur and then we will form up on the Fearless as was ordered.”  Ariyn told the crew.

“Yes right away XO.”  Harald Hissack said.

~~~Aboard the troop transport the Esaro~~~

“Sir the Reaper is turning to us and says they will pick us up on route to the Fearless.”  Aitak told him.

“Right I’ll tell the marines to brace for an on the move land.”  Arthur said as he walked towards the back.

Arthur told the marines and they all strapped into their seats a few moments later the Reaper was in range and the tricky landing maneuver began.  The transport began to slow and rotate to land inside the hanger.  They were waiting for the docking clamp to latch on when they received word that it was not responding and they had to seal the door for them to hover above it and drop Jason Womack off to fix it.

~~~Aboard the Reaper (Hanger) ~~~

Jason Womack quickly got off the transport and ran to the control panel to repair the clamp.  He removed the cover and began to carefully move the wires aside and found the problem was a wire shortage that would have started a fire if he did not find it.  He quickly spliced a replacement wire to it and the clamp was soon moving to lock the shuttle into place.

When the shuttle was successfully attached Jason Womack ran back to the shuttle and it was brought up to its landing level everyone disembarked the craft and ran to their respective posts.  Jason went to the engineering room, the marines went to the armory, and Arthur had the farthest to run to get to the bridge.

~~~ Reaper (Bridge) ~~~

Arthur made his way to the bridge with little trouble he found his command post was still empty with Ariyn giving orders from her post.  I though I told her to use the captains post to give orders?  Oh well I got a battle to join.

“What is the status of the ship?”  Arthur asked.

“Shields are at max, so are the weapons.  Right now the engines are operate ring at 87% normal capacity with Jason back on-board we should be back up to full in a short while.  We are currently moving to form up with the Fearless as was ordered sir.” Ariyn told him.

“Ok I want us to be on the Fearless port-side right out in the lead patch me through to the fighters that gave us an escort out here.”  Arthur ordered.

“The com is live sir.” Jaeron said.

“You are going to follow us to the Fearless engage any bombers on the way if you need some assistants with removing some X-Wings tell my gunners they will help.”  Arthur order Asy.

“Yes sir forming up on you now.”  She said.

1087 words
SCAP/ESGN Arthur 'Romanflame' Dragon/CR-90 Reaper/TF:Besh/2nd FLT/VEN/VE
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 24, 2011 9:17:26 PM    View the profile of Echelon 
Akate “Acorn” Helin sat in The Chair in the middle of the Fearless’s bridge. She was of small stature with auburn hair and brown eyes that matched her callsign. Her skin was light and smooth, and she had a walk about her that resembled an elf. However she was strong minded and she could get jobs done, with ease. Currently she was directing the Fearless to the New Republic fleet in the distance. The whole Task Force was surrounding the Fearless and, the atmosphere was like the deep breath before the plunge. The plunge into a mash of turbo laser cannons.

The Fearless and the rest of the Besh Taskforce were now in firing distance from the New Republic fleet which still had its eyes on the Remnant forces. Echelon, a young Bridge Officer looked up at Acorn and said, “Batteries are armed and ready with their sights on the outer MC40 cruisers. Awaiting order to fire.” Acorn looked into the distance, and then back at Echelon.

“Give them a volley,” she replied in a calm monotone voice.

Suddenly a series of high energy blasts rammed into the hulls of the cruisers. The ships immediately returned fire, but the Fearless was too far for them to get a good hit. Though that was soon to change. She wondered if she would survive this battle. The Vast Empire was heavily outnumbered. The odds were against her and the thousands of crewmates in the Second Fleet.

“Sensors!” she called, “How much longer till we reach the New Republic fleet?”

The sensors officer looked at his console, pressed several buttons and said, “Two minutes and closing.”

She quickly stood up and ordered, “Defense, bring the shields up. Direct the power to the front of the ship. Helms, keep our course steady and straight. We want to intimidate them with our advance. Weapons, keep on firing at those MC40 cruisers. I want them destroyed. Communications, send a message to the rest of the Task Force: ‘Keep steady and straight.’ Then I want you to try and decrypt the New Republic comm. It will be hard but I want to know what they’re doing before they do it! Any questions?”

No one said anything.

“Let’s get to work!” she yelled and a series of “Yes ma’am” s

She leaned back in her chair and gave a sigh. She wasn’t nervous; she had too much experience to be nervous. She was just being Acorn. Waiting for the New Republic fleet to draw closer was like waiting for Christmas to arrive. In other words: She was anxious for it to happen.

Word Count: 429. Shortest post I've ever written. Well, I need to get to bed. Will write more on Echelon tomorrow.
BO/PO2 Finbar "Echelon" Bandoran/ICF II Fearless/TF:B/2Flt/FC/VEN/VE [SoA] [NAR] [CAR] [=ENG=]

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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 25, 2011 2:12:18 AM    View the profile of Trykon 
A full standard minute elapsed before the trio of New Republic blastboats gave up their pursuit of the Defiance; the corvette had been entirely defensive during the chase, but her retreat course eventually brought her into the protective embrace of her allies’ overlapping fields of fire, and the rebel craft were forced to veer away and seek more isolated targets in the face of the massed firepower of the Vast Empire’s Second Fleet.

But even as the Sensors Officer reported the enemies were moving off, the Defiance’s Executive Officer - Artur Phylas - grimaced.  “You have something to say, Artful?” Captain Trykon asked.  Although his friend’s tone was playful, his expression was stern, and his green eyes flashed with disappointment.

“What are you doing, Trick,” Artur whispered.  “We could have taken on three blastboats without turning tail.”

Trykon was nodding.  “Yes, we could have, Art, but that wasn’t what I ordered,” he said.

“The damn Intel guy seems to be giving the orders!” Artur replied.

Trykon glowered, and pointedly glanced at the other personnel all around them.  “I don’t have time to explain, Mr. Phylas.  Do your job.”  And then he turned and walked away, to speak with “Lieutenant Grey” at the Communications station.

What in hell? Artur asked himself, not for the first time.  Vaguely, he was aware that he was panting with unexpressed rage, his hands balled into fists, in the center of the bridge.  He forced his hands to open, and strode over to Zark at Weapons.

“Ordersss?” the Trandoshan hissed as his human XO approached.

“Just let me see the tactical plot,” Artur rumbled, and the reptile brought up a three-dimensional image of the Belgaroth system, up-to-date with the positions and dispositions of the entire Second Fleet, as well as their enemies’ forces.

“Reaper isss exsssposssed at the leading edge of the engagement,” Zark observed.  “Wolf-pack tacticsss work better when there isss more than one wolf.”

“Mind your panel.  Trick knows that better than anyone.”  At least, he should, Artur thought.

“Third Key!” yelled the strange Lieutenant, and Trick clasped the man’s shoulder.

“Mr. Phylas, location of the blastboats?” Trykon asked suddenly.

“The—what?” Artur stammered.

“The Skiprays we engaged,” Trykon said, his face a study in impatience.

Kath Notra at Sensors provided the information: “A couple of flights of Interceptors – ours – are strafing a Carrack-class the Remnant brought along, and the Skiprays are inbound to that fight: starboard 104 degrees from our present course, three minutes out at max. speed.”

“Thank you, Mr. Notra.  Mr. Drackon, intercept course, best possible speed.  Mr. Norith, tell our fighters not to attack the New Republic ships, but to keep focusing on the Carrack-class.”  The acknowledgements were prompt, if a little uncertain.

“They can’t just ignore the blastboats, Trick,” Artur whined.  “If they fixate on their big target the little guys’ll blow ‘em away from behind!”

“I told you to do you job, Mr. Phylas,” Trykon said severely.  He turned back again to the spook at Communications.  “I’m going to destroy the Carrack-class.”

Lieutenant Grey nodded.  “Very well, then.”

Artur Phylas had had enough.  “Trick, we can’t go head-to-head with a Carrack-class cruiser, even with fighters in support,” he said, and then his voice got even more shrill: “especially not with a group of hostile blastboats on hand who're out for our blood!”

“Mr. Phylas, that’s enough,” Trick barked, but Artur could no longer hear his friend.  Trykon had to be ill, or confused, or… no, he can’t be a traitor, Phylas thought.  But I won’t let him get us all killed, either way.

“That is enough,” Artur said gravely.  “Drackon, turn the ship back and link us up with the Reaper, as per Gorma’s orders.  Captain Trykon, you’re relieved.”

There was stunned silence for a heartbeat, and then the Intelligence agent jumped to his feet and began advancing menacingly toward him.  Artur took an unconscious step backwards.  The Captain’s sudden laughter stopped everyone in their tracks.

“Artful, you brave idiot,” Trykon chuckled.  “I can’t believe you!” he said, his laughter growing louder.

It occurred to Artur that he’d never once heard Wyl Trykon laugh before that moment.  He wanted to feel happy at the sound, but in their current situation it only reinforced his belief that something was seriously wrong with his friend.  “Report to Medical, sir,” he said, but Trick couldn’t stop laughing.  The captain raised his hand, as if to ask for a moment to collect himself, and then—

The VENI man moved faster than Artur Phylas had ever seen a human attack, and suddenly Artur was face-down on the deck with the taste of blood in his mouth.  An incredible weight was pressing down on his midsection, and he couldn’t feel his left arm.

“That’s enough!” Trykon’s voice cried out, any trace of mirth gone.  “Stand down, Grey!”  The weight eased up slightly, but not by much.  “We’re almost there.  Let him up so he can see.”

Strong hands lifted Artur Phylas bodily off the ground, and then the Intelligence man roughly spun him around to watch the three-dimensional display.  Artur noticed that none of his fellow officers even spared him a glance.  Like serving under Vader, he mused whimsically, as the Defiance entered the weapons range of the enemy ships.  I wonder if we'll die as spectacularly as he did.  The Defiance is no Executor, though.

But then something incredible happened, and Artur Phylas forgot all about his doubts and the growing pain in his left arm.  As he and the other bridge personnel looked on, the New Republic Skiprays joined in on the Vast Imperials’ attack on the Remnant ship, as if the NR and the VE were the greatest of allies.  The gunners on the Remnant cruiser slashed out in all directions, desperate to escape the stings of the circling fighters and blastboats, but once the Defiance added her turbolasers to the mix, it wasn’t long before the Carrack-class lost its port-side shielding.  The hole successfully punched, Defiance withdrew, and the smaller craft swarmed around the crippled Remnant ship, loosing projectiles against its unshielded side.  The Carrack exploded, and the Vast Imperial fighters scattered, after waggling their wings in victory.  But perhaps most incredible of all, the blastboats did not then turn on the VE forces; instead, the three New Republic ships took up flanking positions to either side and in front of the Defiance, flying in formation with the corvette.

“What did you do?” Artur asked into the quiet, his voice filled with awe.

Trykon flicked his head at the Comm station, and the VENI brute released Phylas from his grip and returned to his seat.  “I started to win this battle,” Trick murmured, “and I proved to you that we aren’t losing the Intelligence war, after all.”

1,127 words.
AAR: When word comes to the bridge that "Black Group" has found the "Third Key," captain Trykon gives more strange orders.  This time, he tells his crew to find the same blastboats that chased Defiance back to the VE fleet, and to go to them without attacking.  He then tells VE units in the area to ignore NR forces.  The nonsensical orders are finally too much for Artur Phylas, who attempts to relieve Trykon of command, thinking his old friend must be ill.  The VENI agent defends Trykon, who then makes Phylas watch as the NR blastboats begin cooperating with local VE forces (including Defiance) as if they are all a part of the same battle group.  Somehow, Defiance and the mysterious "Black Group" have commandeered the New Republic blastboats.
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SCAP/WO1 Wyl Trykon/CR90 Defiance/TF:B/2Flt/FC/VEN/VE
XNT/WO1 Wyl "Trick" Trykon/PLF Cappadocious/VENA/VEN/VE


[This message has been edited by Trick (edited August 26, 2011 7:30:22 PM)]
[This message has been edited by Trick (edited September 20, 2011 2:28:24 PM)]
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 25, 2011 10:17:41 PM    View the profile of Fyston 
Alright guys, a loss of internet caused me to lose my post. I've tried to remember as much as I can, so here it is.

New Republic X-Wing Fighter, Beta 3, Honor Squadron

Xran Granthe rushed across the slick floor, his orange bodysuit fitting snugly around his form as he nodded at a number of the other pilots. They were almost out of hyperspace, and the level of activity in the hangar bay and ship as a whole was higher than it had been in weeks. They'd had time to prepare and had spent it well, though dozens of pilots were hopping into their craft and scores of technicians and droids scrambled about, performing their duties and shouting various things at friends and coworkers. He found his fighter and nodded at his squadmates before climbing up the ladder and promptly jumping in. He sealed the cockpit and waited for the green light to shine out of the corner of his eye.

"Let's get these guys before they know what's going on."

"Heh, we'll have the shipyards in a few hours, at most. It's a great day to be a pilot!"

"For us, at least."

"True, I think we're coming out of hyperspace."

As soon as he said it, the pilots received the green light to launch. Their orders were simple: wipe out the Vast Imperials and guard the Y-Wings that would be following them. Xran activated his repulsorlifts and gave power to his rear engines, propelling him out of the hangar directly behind his wingman. They turned around as a squadron, each pointing their craft towards the Vast Imperial shipyard.

"What the hell is that?!"


"We've got a fleet on this side of the system! I don't kriffing believe this! I just noticed it!"

"We fell for it. They pulled us into their expert trap."

"Wait, the signatures are different. IFFs don't match and they also seem to be launching attack craft at the Vast Imperials."

"Remnant forces? How?!"

"Doesn't matter, we've got orders to attack them."


In one fluid motion, Xran flipped his craft around to face the Remnant forces. His squadron, along with their complement of Y-Wings, began to dodge the green turbolaser fire from the triangular shapes in their viewports. Their target was the Vulpe Astuta, an Imperial I class star destroyer. The Y-Wings were to attack the shield generators and they were to cover their approach. Xran rolled to the side just as a searing bolt of anti-fighter fire shot past him. Other fighters weren't so lucky, as one of the Y-Wings exploded in a ball of fire and debris.

"Alright, enemy fighters nearby. Let's get 'em, Honor squadron!"

Xran flipped his craft into a dive, preying like a hawk on a Remnant Interceptor. Red energy spewed from his linked cannons, missing completely. Xran adjusted the lead indicator and switched his cannons to fire in pairs. He swooped in behind the interceptor and pulled the trigger, sending more deadly blasts of red energy at his foe. Of eight blasts fired in rapid succession, three hit the rear of the enemy craft. His scanners showed the shielding on the interceptor brought down to 56%, which caused the short human to groan. He depressed the trigger once again, sending more energy packed bolts of scarlet light at the TIE, which bucked wildly and shot out of Xran's crosshairs. Unfortunately, a number of lucky shots by one of the other members of Honor squadron impacted the belly of the TIE, causing it to explode.

"Thanks, Vuxen!"

"No problem. Wait, you've got incoming!"

Xran had heard the alarm moments before Vuxen had brought it up, and had taken evasive maneuvers. The tone that signaled a lock onto his craft blazed into his ears with the incessant ring of a common mosquito. His scanners counted down the distance between the deadly missiles and his own craft and Xran spun his craft upwards before rolling his X-Wing over its cockpit. The ring got louder and more annoying as the rapidly approaching missiles only gained on him. The digits were just over two hundred when Xran gave up and just over one hundred when he sent his final transmission.

"Goodbye, all."



The impact of the missiles and the rapid fire choked off any final words, only his dying screams.

Vast Imperial TIE Interceptor, Beta-2, Nightshrike squadron.

"Okay so... First off all those that are already out form on my wing and take defensive positions for now. Await further orders as everyone else joins us. If anyone's religious this would probably be the best time to start praying to whichever deities you believe in."

"Of course, boss. Working my way to you now."

The Zabrak glanced down at his scanners and began searching the battlefield and chaos for his squadron commander. His scanners were the only thing he could rely on, as his eyes would fail him. Not because he was blind or his eyes were faulty, but because of the sheer number of familiar craft in his viewport. A number of scattered green dots were swarmed with the large number of red enemies. He zoomed in and found his superior officer only half of a kilometer away. However, in his way were a number of fighters exactly like his own. Their training, their craft, and their orders were the same. They were trained Imperial pilots, flying TIE Interceptors of the same caliber, and commanded to kill their enemies. The Zabrak increased his thrust, propelling him quickly towards his objective. He could see every TIE in his way, and the sheer number of them startled him. They were each a threat, both to him and his allies. He could hear the dying screams from destroyed pilots, and often only heard a gasp or nothing at all to suggest their fate. Fyston steeled himself, determined to stay alive and get through the next few minutes.

Here’s a real test of my abilities. I’ll be able to see if I’m as good as I need to be to fight beings with the same training and equipment that I have. We’ll see whose mind is better prepared for the horrors of battle. We’ll see who remembers the harsh upbringing on Iridonia and who remembers moving from planet to planet, desperately trying to survive. We’ll see whose will to survive is tougher, their will to endure stronger, and their will to kill any enemy most suited for this engagement. May the best warrior win, and the worst be forever forgotten in the rubble of space.

Fyston was in the heat of the battle and did his best to mimic the various maneuvers by the Remnant fighters. He hoped he would be able to use the confusion and sheer number of interceptors for cover, and had counted himself lucky right before his viewport dimmed as the shields absorbed the blasts of a laser cannon. It was indeed an enemy fighter who had seen past his disguise. Fyston broke off and rushed to the edge of the battle, where he had noticed a number of friendly fighters from the shipyard’s squadrons. He twisted and dodged, using other enemy craft as shields from the fire. A number had noticed, though were too entangled with their own engagements to be able to break off. Those with extra time and space broke off and began pursuing the Vast Imperial pilot. The Zabrak smirked and spun his craft into a sharp dive. It was a split second later that he leveled out and activated his inertial dampeners, sending an unaware fighter right into his crosshairs. Three fighters, plus the one in his crosshairs were still tailing Fyston, who held a smile on his face common to those who knew what they were doing.

“Shipyard fighters, this is Fy. Requesting assistance once I arrive near your location.”

We’ve got you in our sights, Fy. We can come to you, you look in a right tight spot.

“No. You’re just in range of the shipyard’s anti-fighter batteries. I’ll be there in just a moment.”

We await your arrival, Shrike 6.

Fyston adjusted his lead indicator and depressed the trigger. The green bolts stitched the space in front of the enemy TIE, which promptly flipped around and broke off. Fyston was again the only one being chased by the enemy fighters. He spun towards the shipyard, hoping to draw them into the nest of allies waiting to assist him. The fighters broke off, and Fyston requested the assistance of the very fighters he wished to use in an ambush.

“Shrike 6, mind if I get a bit of help?”

We’ll help you out, 6. On our way.

“Thanks, guys.”

The Zabrak flipped his craft around just as four identical TIEs rushed past him. They teamed up on each of Fyston’s attackers. Fyston looked at his readouts and was surprised when his shields were at only 27%. He felt the sweat dripping off of his brow and stinging his eyes. The pilot had never realized that the fight had taken such a physical toll, as his body ached. It ached from sitting in the seat, performing complex maneuvers, and the task of controlling his fighter. He was caught off guard with his body’s response to the fight, but pushed it from his mind. He had to force himself to snap back to reality and realized that the enemy fighters who had attacked him were putting up a hell of a fight. Fyston saw an enemy TIE attacking one of his allies and didn’t hesitate to trigger his ship’s weapons. The craft exploded, and Fyston heard a flurry of words.



“I’m kriffing sorry, it’s not my fault.”

The fighter that he’d destroyed was one that had cut in front of him for a better shot. He had receded into his mind and ignored the outside world to the point of not absorbing the declaration of intent from the fighter. He felt horrible, worse than he ever had. He’d spent time with the same flight on board the shipyard, exploring the various hallways while speaking of their common ground. As pilots, the natural stresses of the job weren’t unknown to the others, and each had spent time discussing their experience. The man that Fyston had shot down, a Twi’lek named Bravun Xeron, was one of the more experienced of the pilots aboard the station. Fyston had learned from Bravun’s tales, including a number of tactics that the Twi’lek had used to great effect during his active duty in another squadron. The man had no family, though was still young enough for a new family to be not unheard of.

What have I done? I killed a friend. I killed someone trying to help me. I’ve committed a crime. I’ve slain a friend of these men, slain someone they probably looked up to. This won’t be good. I can’t lose focus now, of all times. I’ve got to focus. There will be repercussions, but I’ve got to push them from my mind for now.



We’re nearing your escort request. Nightshrike One is right ahead. Try not to kill him, will you?

“I said sorry, what the frak do you want me to do?”

Nothing. You can’t bring Bravun back. If I make it out of here, I’ll personally come and kill you.

Fyston closed the channel and broke off from the flight. He quickly assimilated into the flight commanded by Seth Qorbin, who had ordered the form up. He didn’t feel the need to comm in, and turned down the comlink inside of his helmet, quite satisfied to wallow in his own guilt. He’d caused the death of an ally. He had a final thought to keep him from feeling as if he’d betrayed both himself and the Vast Empire, though didn’t turn the comlink back up to full volume.

No. Man the kriff up. You’ve got a job to do.

WC = 1,966 words.
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 25, 2011 10:17:53 PM    View the profile of Bernie 
Quote:Note from Vice Captain Drac: The struck-through content in this post has been struck from the mission due to contradicting orders and established plot and should be disregarded. Only the clearly visible parts are to be considered canon. The post still counts toward Bernie's career total.

Junior bridge officer Bernard “ Bernie “ Simpson was annoyed. Very annoyed.  As he sat in the navigation crew pit of the Fearless,  his colleague, navigator Avonf Scaview  had accidentally spat on the yaw control. A Remnant Tie bomber was bearing down on the bridge with a load of photon bombs while he couldn’t even maneuver to give point defense a better shot without getting spit all over his fingers.

He didn’t imagine space combat was like this. I thought only grunts  in the army got nasty fluids on their fingers during combat. Nevertheless, he pressed the button, swerving the massive Imperial II frigate, only to no avail. The bomber was chased  away by a fast-moving blur. 

Someone on the other side of the bridge shouted,
“ What the Kriff was that! “ Bernard drew breath, and pulled up the tactical display, expecting it to be an interceptor of Regents, or maybe Nightshrike. Upon focusing on the still in progress chase, he turned his head upon realizing it was an A-wing. Idiot. It’s good for us, but why would he , or maybe she, do that? Wouldn’t an alliance terrorist fighter want to let him release his payload first?   

The woman in the swiveling command chair,  Akate “Acorn” Helin directed another volley of fire. The Republic MC40 light cruiser Cilgal was bearing the brunt of this storm of green turbolaser bolts. Dac built shields were good though, and despite its smaller size, that cruiser was taking a lot of punishment.

Bernard, yet again, raised his head in perplexment, asking the nearest officer, “ Hey, why do we have a command chair? I don’t think any big Imperial cruisers have chairs? “

The ensign responded, “ Slasher. Personal choice I guess. “
Bernard replied, “ I’m not seeing the wisdom. It blocks space, and creates a mentality of staying in one spot, rather of constant observation, balancing out any ergonomic benefits. “, to no one in particular.

Looking through the bridge windows for too long wasn’t healthy though, as the bright flash of an exploding Carrack-class cruiser’s reactor giving way momentarily blinded the assembled crew.  Avonf Scaview leaned over to Bernard, and tapped his shoulder.  He whispered, “ Hey, Bernard, what the Kriff is this. Take a look at this. Weird, right? “

Bernard took a look at the dispay, which showed a group of interceptors from the shipyards flying in formation with a wing of New Republic Skiprays! They, along with Wyl Trykon’s corvette Defiance  had just taken out the Carrack class.

What was this? Turncoats? Allies of convenience? Or merely a particularly well thought out ploy.

He shouted at gunnery, “ Sir, you men should see this. Look over there, at….. the group of fighters by the corvettes!  The men at gunnery did so, and paused fire. Akate “Acorn” Helin immediately rose out of the chair, and  started shouting.

She yelled, her anger washing in waves over the hapless men at gunnery, “ Hey! You imbeciles! What the Kriff are you halting for. This is Treason! This is Mutiny! Kill that Calamari light cruiser… Now! What are you waiting for! Its shields are finally down, purge the system of that hulk, this instant! “

Bernard had made a key mistake. He had left the thrust at 12% of maximum capacity while watching Acorn’s monologue, and the resulting drama.

Slowly realization dawned onto her beetroot red face, “ Ah. I see. You’re targeting that Nebulon-B over there. Go on. Crack the spar, all batteries fire. “

The gunners didn’t fire on the Nebulon. One intrepid man dared say, “ Um, Acorn, look at those ships by the Defiance. She understood at once, and nodded at Chief Petty officer Scaview. By now, the combined formation was tackling a Victory II, bathing it in green bolts of energy.
The Cigal had paused firing as well.

It suddenly angled to the left, as if it was a crashing terrestrial airspeeder.

    T’kala had ordered them to cease fire. No one knew why. Veteran Tai’ni Commander Blnek was in a fury, as he had that Imperial frigate in his sights, and was going to hurl a torpedo cluster into its ventral reactor bulge, for sure scoring him a promotion.
    In his wrath , Blnek had attempted to override fleet command, and accidentally struck the navigator, causing the MC40 to turn.

Echelon, a damage control officer with nothing to do ( The Fearless’ shields were still at 89% and rising integrity )  began a highly verbal argument with Helin over the right side to ally with.

He argued, “ The New Republic slaughtered my parents, shouldn’t the Remnant be the side to ally with? I mean, they’re imperial too, and aren’t they more trustworthy?” in the start of a convincing debate.

Bernard, had stopped fuming about the spit in time to yet again, conspire with Scaview.

Avonf muttered, “ This impromptu alliance with the, well, alliance is going to kill us. While we team up to fire on the Remnant, they’re going to sneak something, and right after the Maxima Culpa turns to dust, or even before, we’re going to take a lot of torpedoes to the engines. Even so, mutiny is worse.” he said with a sickening grin.

Bernard grimaced at the situation. He grabbed the yaw and pitch control, and deftly wielded the gargantuan cruiser.
The Fearless was now directly over the Cigal, a perfect s
pot for the New Republic cruiser’s dorsal turbolasers to target the vulnerable belly of the frigate. Nevertheless, the republic gunners ignored the fat target of the Fearless’s reactor to pummel the shields of a distant strike cruiser.

Bernard had returned to his duties, finding himself in the worst possible area for betrayal . He slapped his head in a vain, illogical manner. What was I thinking? If I suddenly go back to the Vast Imperial fleet, those damn rebels will think I’m betraying them. If I stay the course, we’ll be slaughtered by the rebels when they turn.

Acorn opened  up a channel to Naval Intelligence officer lieutenant Grey on the Defiance, and they began to converse on the state of the battle in private, the command chair spinning in the wake.
            On board the Halcyon Warrior , primary sensor officer Bracuf Nolent was racing toward the bridge. His rank wasn’t high enough, so as again, he was forced to take the public turbolift all the way from the hangar decks to the command bridge.

            On the way, he counted at least 40 people entering and exiting. He furiously pounded on his military datapad, but alas, the thing has taken damage at Coveway when it fell into a vat of soup.

Only one other crewman came all the way to the bridge, Warrant Officer Yrnnkrsk. He had the exact same data, on the Fearless. His arrival severely antagonized Nolent, as he was only one level below the command bridge when Ymnkrsk entered the capsule

    Upon reaching the main command bridge, they pulled up the tactical display of an area separate from the main taskforce. This quadrant, much to the chagrin of the command crew, elicited a shout from Captain Dracule Mihawk, who at first incredulously stared  at the awkward positioning.

    He then, without a word, stepped into the comm booth to speak with VENI operatives.

1331 words. I hope you know what you're doing Trykon.
My enemies are flammable.
[This message has been edited by Drac (edited August 30, 2011 4:18:48 PM)]
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  RE: 2nd Fleet: High Stakes at Belgaroth
August 26, 2011 8:37:46 AM    View the profile of Echelon 
Quote:Note from Vice Captain Drac: The content of this post has been struck from the mission. A miscommunication resulted in content that contradicts previous orders and the plotline of the mission. Fearless and Taskforce Besh are to continue engaging the New Republic forces as ordered by Commander Slasher. This post still counts towards Echelon's career post count, just not toward the mission storyline.

Finbar “Echelon” Bandoran was furious. He was completely enraged! The Vast Empire was in formation with the New Republic! How could this be?

He got up out of his console chair and yelled over to Acorn, “Why are you letting the Fearless join in formation with the New Republic?!?! This is treason!” Acorn was currently talking with a VENI operative via holocom, and she didn’t look too happy about being interrupted.

What the hell was he doing?! He’d get in big trouble for this. Only if he knew how much I hated the New Republic as well…

She looked at him and quickly said, “PO2 Echelon, stand down. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He kept standing straight up, looking directly into Acorn’s hazelnut brown eyes.

How can the Vast Empire do this?! The New Republic took things away from me that can never be replaced…

Echelon tightened his fist and yelled, “ I don’t know what I’m talking about? You’re the one who just ordered the Fearless to fly in formation with the New Republic! How can you do this?! The New Republic is our enemy! If there’s anyone we should help it’s the Remnant Forces. They’re Imperials too.”

Echelon began walking toward Acorn with anger in every footstep. He looked like he could of smacked Acorn square in the face, but he wouldn’t.

Acorn looked at Echelon with more distaste and said, “Echelon, stand down now!”

Echelon thought for a moment and said in a low quiet voice, “I don’t know what has gone through Slasher’s mind having you as our XO.” He paused for a moment and then ordered, “Bernie, turn this ship into attack position against New Republic ships! All batteries fire!”

Around the bridge some crewmates looked like they would actually do it. Echelon had been on the Fearless before Acorn, but a look on Acorn’s face immediately persuaded them otherwise.

Acorn now got up out of her chair and said, “Echelon! One more move like that, and you’ll be court-martialed! I hate the New Republic just as much as you do! If it were up to me, we would be blasting them into little bits!”

Echelon decided he had had enough, and he finally sat down and he stared into the viewport at the front of the bridge. Into the black void of space. Into the New Republic ships ahead. Later, someone would recall a small tear roll down Echelon’s cheek, but he soon would deny it.

“The New Republic…killed…my parents when I was a kid,” he said in a small, solemn voice, as all of the crewmembers looked at him. Some felt sorrow for him. Some thought he was a nuisance. Acorn stared at him for a moment. She knew exactly where he was coming from. She felt sorrow for him.

“Echelon,” she said in the same tone she had, “the New Republic…killed my parents too…they also killed my brothers…” Echelon turned around and looked at her. They embraced each other from afar.

Echelon said, “I’m sorry for what I said…I was just angry…”

Acorn smiled and said, “I accept your apology, but we have to get to work! Echelon control the Bridge for a moment. I’m not done my conversation.” Acorn sat back down and continued with the VENI operative.

Echelon looked out the viewport again. The Remnant forces were close now. Echelon got up and strode over to the weapons staff. He talked with them quietly about targets and the whatnot.

In one quick verbal command that would end the battle he yelled, “Fire!”

The Fearless began shoving hundreds of energy blasts at the Remnant forces causing explosions and debris to fly everywhere. It was like the final hurrah of the battle. TIE Interceptors fired at other TIE Interceptors, and Echelon cringed every time he thought he saw one of the Vast Empire’s explode in a multicolor fire. He regretted his foolish move he made. The Vast Empire commanders knew what was right. Or did they? Echelon hoped they did.

Word Count: 670. Sorry for the shortness. Mostly character development, but I needed to get another post in.
BO/PO2 Finbar "Echelon" Bandoran/ICF II Fearless/TF:B/2Flt/FC/VEN/VE [SoA] [NAR] [CAR] [=ENG=]

Zippy's Partner in Crime

Psycho's Second Cousin
[This message has been edited by Echelon (edited August 26, 2011 8:39:09 AM)]
[This message has been edited by Drac (edited August 30, 2011 4:12:13 PM)]
[This message has been edited by Drac (edited August 30, 2011 4:13:08 PM)]
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