Petty Officer 2nd Class Pherik Zail sat at the Comm Station of the Halcyon Warrior, listening in on the chatter from the battle around the Imperial Remnant’s Lancer – Class Frigate Mikasa.  In the midst of the Battle of Belgaroth, the Mikasa’s capabilities at dealing with starfighters had been deemed a menace.  The Vast Empire’s Guardian - Class Light Cruiser Watcheye, and a squadron of TIE fighters called the Goldfangs, had been sent to deal with the hostile frigate, and so far it was going well.

“Reports in from Goldfang squadron,” Said Zail to Lance Ongol, the Halcyon Warrior’s First Officer.  The man had been hovering on the command walkway behind the Alderaanian Junior Bridge Officer, impatient to hear how this and other engagements were progressing.  “So far the TIEs have had no casualties.”

“Excellent,” Said Ongol.  “How is the Watcheye doing?”

“Commander Sverich reports that his ship is laying into the Mikasa with everything they have got, though the frigate’s shields are holding,” Replied Zail, liaising with his counterpart on the cruiser.  “So far the Mikasa is playing into our hands, firing at the TIEs and not at the Watcheye.  The Goldfangs are flying circles around them and they just can’t hit our fighters.”

Ongol nodded sagely.  “It’s going according to plan.  Perfectly according to plan...” He mused, trailing off.

There was something in his superior’s voice that Zail quickly picked up on.  “You think it is going too well, sir?” He asked, just to let Ongol know he was paying attention.

“Yes,” Said the First Officer.  “I do.”

“You want me to speak to Commander Sverich?” Offered the Alderaanian.

“No,” Said Ongol eventually.  “Perhaps I am just being overly cautious.  Besides, if something is wrong, I’m sure Sverich will be able to handle it without me interfering.  Continue to monitor the situation, Mr Zail, and inform me of any developments.”  And with that, the XO headed off down the walkway to the front of the bridge.

Zail focused on his work, listening intently to any changes in the comm traffic.

-----

On board the Mikasa, Commander Tressan Foix watched the TIEs swarming his frigate, while the gunnery crews at ten quad-laser turrets fired at the fast moving targets in vain.  His large mechanical eyes tracked the progress of the battle, the cybernetics glowing red and intimidating any crewmen who looked upon him.  The TIEs had been swooping past in pairs, strafing the Mikasa, but were so far unable to penetrate the capital ship’s shields.

A lieutenant at Foix’s side dared to speak up.  “Sir, that Guardian cruiser is weakening our shields.  Should we not do something about it?” He asked, gesturing to the other vessel engaged in the Vast Empire’s attack on them.  The cruiser had powerful weapons and they were pounding on the Mikasa relentlessly, but so far the Imperial Remnant frigate had not fired back.

“Just a little longer, lieutenant,” Said the Commander, barely reacting as his vessel rocked under another well-placed hit.  “Then we shall spring our little trap.”  Turning to the officer in charge of the gunnery crews, he asked, “How are the TIEs doing?”

“Just as you said, sir,” Replied the ensign.  “As we continue to miss the TIEs, they grow ever more arrogant.  Every time they pass us they draw closer and closer.  Our crews continue to miss them as per your orders.”

Foix smiled.  He was once a fighter pilot himself and knew the sort of men piloting those ships.  Bold and aggressive, they would keep pushing, right until he pushed back.

The Mikasa shook under more impacts from the enemy fire, and Foix could see his bridge crew growing nervous.  Eventually, the Commander announced, “Gunnery crews prepare to do real damage.  Target the squadron Flight leaders, TIEs 1, 5 and 9!  Let’s take out their more experienced pilots.”

“Aye, sir!” Said the ensign gunnery chief.

And the trap was sprung.

-----

As he watched from the bridge of Guardian - Class Light Cruiser Watcheye, Lieutenant Commander Sverich of the Vast Empire grew worried.  The moment the Mikasa ceased fire, a suspicious frown crossed his face.  He witnessed the frigate re-align its quad lasers, and suddenly he knew they were in trouble.

Using coordination and accuracy unseen until now, green blasts erupted from their foe, catching passing TIEs in a deadly crossfire.  One of the Goldfang Squadron TIEs exploded, quickly followed by a second.

“Goldfangs 5 and 9 down!” Called the sensor chief, suddenly alarmed.  “Goldfang 1 is ordering evasive manoeuvres...” He began, then was cut off as another ship blew.

“Was that Goldfang 1?” Asked Sverich, suddenly alarmed.  He knew at once that the enemy was targeting the squadron leaders, and feared for the Goldfangs if they lost all three.

“Negative, that was Goldfang 2,” Said the sensor chief, not needing to add that 2’s wingman, Goldfang Leader, was clearly the target.

“Nothing has changed,” Said Commander Sverich through clenched teeth.  He would mourn the fallen later, for now he had a job to do.  “The TIEs are doing their part, drawing the Mikasa’s fire.  All guns continue firing on the enemy!” He ordered.

The attack went on.

-----

At the comm post of the Halcyon Warrior, Zail listened to the screams and suddenly panicked chatter of the Goldfangs.  “Lieutenant Ongol, sir!” He called, and the First Officer was towering over him in an instant.  “Goldfangs have just lost 3 TIEs!  Goldfang Leader is pulling them back to a safer distance, but she is continuing the assault on the Mikasa.”

Ongol cursed.  A quarter of the squadron gone in the blink of an eye was not a good sign.  “There is nothing we can do about it,” He told the Junior Bridge Officer.  “Continue to monitor.”

“Aye, sir,” Replied the Alderaanian, feeling helpless and truly hating it.

-----

A forth TIE exploded, though no smile crossed the face of Tressan Foix.  He was too much of a veteran to thrill in anything less than full victory, and a few TIEs meant little in the grand theatre of the Battle of Belgaroth.  Still, it was a sign that his gunnery crews were worthy of the faith he put in them.

“Engines make ready,” Ordered the Commander, putting the next stage of the plan in motion.  “Give us full speed as fast as possible.  Pilot, set course for that Guardian Cruiser.  Take us as close as you can and sweep past.  Gunnery crews, as soon we make our run switch targets to that Cruiser.  Hit it hard and fast!”

Moments later, the 250 meter long frigate burst into motion.  Swinging around with a speed and grace that told of the Imperial Remnant’s high level of crew training, the Mikasa came about and headed for its Vast Empire rival.  The Battle of Belgaroth raged in the background, dozens of other ships all tied up in their own conflicts, hails of laser fire framing the frigate as it moved.

-----

The Light Cruiser Watcheye, at only 42 meters long, was dwarfed by the approaching warship.  Quad-lasers swung in the direction of the smaller vessel and opened fire, lances of green splashing against the shields of the Vast Empire ship.  On board, the crew felt the thunderous impacts and Commander Sverich rushed to respond.

“Hard to port!” He barked to the young officer at the pilot station.  “Put some distance between us and the Mikasa!”

Instantly the crew responded to Sverich, swinging their smaller capital ship clear of the approaching Lancer.  As it angled away, the two turret laser cannons of the Watcheye turned around to continue their steady barrage of fire, but the other two cannons of the cruiser had a fixed position and lost their field of fire.

Sverich cursed at having lost half of their firepower, but knew that such was the intention of the Mikasa’s approach.  “Continue the turn!” He called.  “We are smaller and more manoeuvrable than they are.  Come about 270 degrees and bring all four weapons to bear once again!”

The Watcheye arced through space, trying to get a better bearing on its foe, but the Mikasa’s turrets were not letting up.  Able to keep up their steady fire, they hit the Vast Empire ship constantly, sapping the shields far faster than Sverich had expected.  The Commander cast a glance over at one of his officers at the engineering station.

The veteran there said, “Shields are holding, but...” And whatever he was about to say was lost, as the sound of a large explosion echoed through the hull of the cruiser.  A lucky shot had penetrated the shields, ripping into the Watcheye’s armour plating.

Alarms blared and Sverich called for damage reports, bracing himself for the worst.

-----

Commander Foix watched as flaming atmosphere erupted from the pierced superstructure of the enemy warship.

“I have you now,” He said softly, and prepared his final move...

OOC:

1476 words. This is part two of the “Mikasa Trilogy”.  The final part is to follow.

After Action Report:  The Vast Empire are attacking the Imperial Remnant’s Lancer – Class Frigate Mikasa, using the TIE Fighter Squadron Goldfang and the Guardian - Class Light Cruiser Watcheye.  The Mikasa drew the TIEs in, then struck them hard and launched a surprise attack on the Watcheye.  The Watcheye is now in trouble.

Rutian watched the Captain as the nearly invisible stress lines began to trace across his face. That was when he saw it; that grey color in his eye. He knew at that instant that the XO was done for. He had seen it in the mirror to many times. That was the look of overwhelming stress; the kind of stress that breaks a man deep inside. So many times.

Rutian shook his head to clear his thoughts and turned to his task at hand. What was his task at hand? He was filling in for Prakiri at Navigation; she was on leave down in sickbay. He should be navigating, but he had no standing orders for course or heading. He looked to the Captain again; even for a human he looked weak and grey. The man tried to mutter out an order only to be overcome by that look of stress again, and then he fell.

The whole bridge paused for just a second, like the quiet before a storm. The silence was broken by the slam of boots on military durasteel flooring. The medic was at the Captain, barely missing catching his fall. The diagnosis was read loud enough for the entire bridge to hear: stroke. Not surprising for a man his age and in the position he was in. It was hard for a man to defect, hand over his ship, and then stare in the face of his destruction. Humans were so weak at heart.

Rutian waited like the rest of the bridge. Some continued to call out reports; they fell on deaf ears with an unconscious Captain unable to hear them. Others continued to man their stations as their responsibilities kept the ship functioning. The rest waited. Eyes scanned left and right, some maintained a dead lock view on their screen. Where was the third officer? Rutian did an internal roster check and found him in engineering, 1600 meters away. The silence continued.

Do it, or you're dead. You know they won't, they are weak.

Rutian stood, snapped his uniform back into place, and headed to where the Captain had been standing before the medic and an orderly had dragged his lump of an unconscious body down to sickbay. The bridge stared at him for a moment; just a moment for that was all they gave them.

“As of now I am taking command.” He barked, the whole bridge turning to him, some with blank stares.

“Chief,” He snapped, pointing to a CPO near the navigation station, “Man that station, bring us about to intercept that first wing of fighters from the Prognosticator. I want a sweeping cut so that our forward batteries bring us into range one flight after another. Full speed.” By this point he had the attention of the full bridge. A few of the other bridge crew had offered up doubtful looks but his ice cold stare had ended them with all speed.

“Somebody get me a channel to Captain Drac.”

“Aye sir.” responded the Comms officer.

Comms officer to Drac

“Sir, this is Warnock, the second officer is down and a Rutian has taken command. Any orders?”

“A Rutian or Rutian?” Drac responded

“Sorry sir, his name is Aslond Von, MCPO Aslond Von.”

“Patch him through, and follow his orders until I get there.”

“Yes sir.”

Back on the Bridge

“Sir, Remnant and New Republic forces continue to engage while the Prognosticator has sent fighters beyond us to engage the station. It appears that so far docked ships and the station defenses have held them off.” Reported Weapons.

“I'm not concerned with that. Get a line to Perry and tell her I want one wing sent to help the station with those bombers. I won't have the station blow up right on my ass while we fight off both the Remnant and the New Republic. Launcher fighters. I don't want those fighters trying to ding up the hull. AND WHERE THE HELL IS THAT LINE TO CAPTAIN DRAC?!” Right as Rutian began to shout the line cracked in.

“Drac to Warrior, report.”

“This is Warrior” Rutian responded.

“Rutian?”

“This is Master Chief Petty Officer Rutian, acting Captain, yes sir. Your docking is clear for another two minutes sir. Past that you're going to have about thirty Remnant fighters headed your way with their bomber compliments.”

“Roger that Rutian, see you on board. Drac out.” The comm clicked out.

“Sir,” The Weapons officer spoke up again, “The fighters have reached first battery of turbolasers and I've got no survivors.”

“Confirmed. They're going to pull back now, and we're going to have effectively cut them off from the rest of the attack force. I want our remaining fighters to launch now. They will serve as a nice little distraction for the time being. Send a gunboat or two to mix in with the fighters so as to even the odds, but keep those gunboats back, they're expensive.” Rutian commanded, and sighed as he leaned back to watch his orders play out.

You've done well...so well. They listen.

Rutian shook his head to quiet the voice and hoped nobody notice the odd movement. It was a common enough movement for humanoids but Twi'leks were usually more careful with their braintails. Rutian always kept his tied back in a combat holder. They were annoying and nearly useless.

“Sir the Captain has docked.”

“Very well. Bridge, prepare to receive the Captain!” Rutian barked, perhaps as his final order.

OOC:

934 words, Not bad for not really doing anything. I'm back!

The shuttle landed in front of Cayden and he sighed.  I thought I was done with all this... everything here... hell, I have a child on the way!  I have things to take care of back home!  I... he thought before two SFs approached him.

"Warrant Officer Tavers?" one of the SFs asked.

Cayden didn't hear for a second, then snapped to and said "Sorry... I haven't gone by 'Warrant Officer' in such a while that it almost sounds foreign..."

"It's alright, sir.  We're here to take you to the Cerulean right away," the other SF replied, keeping his face as cold as possible.

"Where exactly is the Cerulean located?" he asked, shouldering his duffle bag.

"She's currently stationed in the Belgaroth System, along with the rest of the 2nd Fleet," the first SF said, grabbing Cayden's trunk.

"I see... and how long is it going to take to get there?"

"Shouldn't be more than a few hours travel.  You'll have plenty of time to rest up before you get onboard, sir."

"Good... I haven't slept well in a long time... not since I was last knocked unconscious, anyway..." he said, following the two SFs into the shuttle.  He set his duffle bag down next to him as he sat down.

"I suggest strapping yourself in, sir.  The pilot of this rust bucket, as good as a pilot as she is, hasn't quite been herself since her squadron commander left.  Something about him constantly being in the medical bay or something, I forget..." the SF said, walking up into the cockpit.

Cayden was taken aback by the SF's last sentence.  Constantly being in the medical bay?  There was only one Squadron Commander who frequented the medical bay... which means... he thought, grabbing a headset.  "Pilot, this is Warrant Officer 1st Class Cayden Tavers.  Please identify yourself," he said, his heartrate raising at the possibility of one of his former flight members flying the shuttle.

[[Petty Officer 1st Class Sarah Goldwater, at your service sir,]] He heard the pilot say over the comm.

"Sarah?  What the hell are you doing out of Regents?" he asked, amazed.

[[Sir, I was only assigned there to make sure you don't die.  After the squadron's last mission, I went on Leave to try and unwind, but when I heard that you were returning to command the Cerulean, I had to make sure I was on that crew roster.  Because, sir... no one else is going to know what the hell to do when you constantly show up in the medbay.]]

"Alright... Just keep us flying.  I don't want to end up like bugs splattered on the windshield," he said, leaning back.  He switched off the comm and tried to fall asleep.  He tossed and turned in his seat, then finally removed the restraints and laid down across several seats and fell asleep.

Cayden slept for several hours, tossing and turning on the seats, sweat pouring down his face onto the plastoid seats.

Sarah walked back into the troop bay and saw Cayden fidgeting.  She sat down next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.  She saw a pistol on his right thigh, and she took it out of it's holster and placed it on a seat across the way.

Cayden woke up and looked at Sarah.  "Sarah!  Ummm... hi!" he said nervously.

"Cayden... is everything alright?" she asked concernedly.

"Yeah... everything's fine... certainly didn't just have a nightmare about killing everyone I've ever cared about... nope, not at all..." he said, sighing.

"Cayden, I know when you're hiding something.  You've spent enough time in the medbay for me to catch on to when you're intentionally hiding something," the medic said.

He sighed again and said "Some things I did prior to returning to active duty I don't quite approve of... but, under the circumstances, they had to be done.  I had no other choice... then... she showed up..."

"Who showed up, Cayden?" Sarah asked.

"Captain Arianna Blaire.  She was a Celestial until she transferred her consciousness into an ancient computer on Onderon... and then she was transferred into my head by my father, in an attempt to control my mind," Cayden said quietly.

"You didn't resist the transfer, Commander.  You know you could have, too," a female voice said inside his mind.

Arianna, not now... he thought, trying to smile for Sarah.

"Commander, I told you to call me 'Aerial'," she said.

Aerial... just wait until Sarah leaves, please? Cayden thought, sitting up.

"Aye aye, Commander..." Aerial said.

"Cayden?  You alright?" Sarah asked.

Cayden snapped to and looked at Sarah.  He flashed her a quick smile and said "Yeah... I'm fine... at least, I will be once I get my boots on the bridge of the Cerulean."

"Alright... we'll be in-system in a few minutes.  You want to get to the cockpit when we arrive, so you can get your first look at the Cerulean?" she asked, standing up.

"Yeah... just let me know when we're 60 seconds out," he said, nodding.

"Sure thing... Commander," she said, saluting.  She walked back into the cockpit and closed the door behind her.

Cayden slowly stood up and said "Alright Aerial... what'd you want to talk about that's so important?"

A black, yellow, and white squirrel jumped off his shoulder and glided down onto the seat across from him.  She walked over to his pistol and said "You might want to put this back in it's holster, Cayden," she said.

Cayden walked over, picked up his pistol, and placed it back into the holster on his hip.  "Sarah must have taken it out... smart move on her part.  I might have accidentally shot her, should that nightmare have continued..."

"Want to talk about it?" Aerial asked, sitting down on the plastoid seat.

The Onderonian sat down next to the squirrel and said "It's the same one I've been having ever since the war ended..."

"The one where you kill everyone you-" she started.

"Yeah... that's the one..." he said, cutting her off.  "I think they're getting worse... more chaotic, more... distorted.  This time, I strung up Moore and my father in the Throne Room, skinned them, and dumped their internal organs on the floor beneath them.  After that, Angie, Cameron, and Cayla came in.  They tried to talk sense into me, but... I just shot them.  I shot all three of them, one bullet each.  I'm afraid to see what the next one has in store... I haven't been afraid of hardly anything my whole life, you know this.  You know that if I'm scared, it's something to be really concerned about."

"I know... I'll do what I can to keep them at bay, Cayden.  I can't promise you that it will help much, but... hopefully, it will be enough for you to come to terms with your actions," she said, hopping up onto his shoulder.

[[Commander, we're 60 seconds out from Belgaroth.]] Sarah's voice said over the intercom.

Cayden stood up and said "Alright Aerial... let's face it together."  He walked to the door, opened it, and stepped into the cockpit.  He approached the pilot's seat and leaned over the back.

Sarah looked up and smiled.  "We're almost there, Cayden.  Pulling us out of hyperspace... now!" she said, pulling a lever on the forward console.

The ship slowed down, the stars rematerializing to dots in the black sky.

Cayden looked out the viewport and frowned.  "Sarah... please tell me that this is a training exercise and not a battle taking place."

"Ummm... confirming now, sir," she said, pressing several keys in front of her.  "Errr... no sir.  This is a battle.  Reports are coming in from all three sides."

"You mean, two sides."

"No sir... three sides.  The New Republic and the Imperial Remnant are both present here.  According to a preliminary report from FleetCom, both hostile fleets arrived at the exact same time.  Whether this was mere coincidence or not is currently unknown or classified," she said worriedly.

"Alright... where's the Cerulean?" he asked, scanning the battle.

"Ummm... she's currently engaging a squadron of TIE Interceptors near the Remnant Fleet," Sarah replied, going over more battle reports.

Cayden looked around and asked "This boat have any guns on it?"

"Yeah... why?"

"We need to get to the Cerulean immediately, Sarah.  Sergeant Hawthorne, I want you on the rear gun.  Corporal Dunning, you'll be on the forward port gun.  I'm taking the forward starboard gun.  Sarah, keep us flying until the Cerulean is clear of fighters.  Once she's clear, dock and get us onboard.  We'll only have one shot at this, so let's make it count," he said.  Corporal, help me get the luggage to the airlock.  Once we dock, we're not wasting any time getting on-board."

"Yes sir!" Corporal Dunning said, saluting.

"Cayden!" Sarah called back.

"Yeah?" he asked, turning to her.

"Be careful.  We still need you in one piece once we get there," she said concernedly.

"Aye aye, Sarah.  Just keep us afloat, and let the rest of us do the hard work," he said, grinning.

It didn't take long for Cayden and Corporal Dunning to move everything into the airlock.  He watched Dunning get into his gun position, and he smiled.

Cayden ran to his gun, climbed into the seat, and fired up the targetting computer.  He put on a headset and said "Forward Starboard Laser Cannon, online.  All positions report in!"

[[Forward Port Laser Cannon, online.  Corporal Dunning reporting.]]

[[Aft Chain Gun, online.  Sergeant Hawthorne reporting.]]

[[Shuttle pilot, Petty Officer 1st Class Goldwater reporting.]]

"Alright everyone!  Keep your eyes peeled for any hostile action!  Don't hesitate to-" he started.

[[Sir, incoming flight of A-Wings off the aft section!]] Hawthorne's voice said over the comm.

"Hawthorne, do what you got to do.  Sarah, see if you can't get them to jump onto a flight of Interceptors."

[[Sir, the closest flight of Interceptors is Regents' Alpha Flight.]]

Vanity's flight...  "Alright.  Just fly us past them as fast as you can.  Maybe, if we're lucky, they'll jump on the A-Wings like bees to honey!"

[[Aye aye, sir!  Executing high-G flyby over Regents' Alpha Flight.  ETA: 30 seconds and closing.]]

Cayden scanned the area when he saw the flight of Interceptors come into view.  He watched them grow larger, and larger, until they zipped past his viewport.  "Sarah, Hawthorne, report!"

[[Alpha Flight s behind us.  Awaiting jump confirmation.]] Sarah's voice said.

[[Sir, Alpha Flight did not engage the A-Wings.  Repeat, Alpha Flight did not enga- wait a minute!  A-Wings are breaking off to engage Alpha Flight!]]

"Sarah, send a transmission to Regents' SC, and let her know that they're about to have company real soon!" he said, frowning.  Not the way I wanted to say hi, but... it works.

[[Aye aye, sir!  Transmitting now!]]

Cayden looked around, waiting for someone to attack the shuttle, when a blinding explosion went off to his right.  "Sarah, please tell me that wasn't one of our's!"

[[Negative, sir!  Remnant Lancer Frigate Mikasa.  She was destroyed by our command ship, the Halcyon Warrior.]]

Cayden smiled, then saw his proximity alert go off.  "Alright everyone, this is it!  Sarah, gun it hard into their midst!  Corporal, take down as many as you can.  Sergeant, get ready to pick off whatever we don't take out!"

Confirmations lit up on his HUD, and he grinned as he gripped his cannon controls.  He watched the distance calculator count down, then pressed the button when the "target lock" indicator lit up.  A stream of laser blasts flew from his cannon and hit the lead fighter, engulfing it in a ball of fire and debris.  And so it begins...

OOC:

WC: 1944

Not bad for a return post, I think... also, I gave you lot in Regents' Alpha Flight something to play with.  For like... 5 seconds.

I'll get onboard the Cerulean in my next post, and then... Lancer Frigate Virtue dies.

Drac closed the transmission with the Warrior, frowning. What could have happened to Captain Ongol? This is not the time to worry, though. Better to get back aboard and then find out.

Scanning his sensor readouts as he sped toward the Warrior, Drac noted the three squadrons that must be headed for the station. They weren’t past the Warrior yet, but the two squadrons of Interceptors escorting a single squadron of Bombers looked likely to get through with less than 50% casualties. Drac smiled and shifted course. ’Let’s reduce that survival rate just a bit. I can afford enough time for one pass, I think, and one on thirty plus isn’t that bad of odds, is it? Might even earn myself another reprimand for recklessness from the Boss while I’m at it.

Drac watched through his sensors as he approached the oncoming starfighters. As he expected, his own starfighters turned to intercept the three squadrons. The next two minutes lasted an eternity and just a short second as the two forces whirled in and about each other, constantly getting closer.

Shutting down his aft shields, Drac diverted some of the power to the front shields. The rest he designated toward engines and lasers, half and half. That done he switched his lasers over to dual-fire mode and then jiggled the control column a bit, testing the Defender’s reflexes. All the while his mental clock wound down…then it hit zero.

Diverting instantly from its straight course, Drac’s Defender corkscrewed hard to port and up. Its nose came up and the Mon Calamari fired twice then continued the maneuver almost uninterrupted. Three of the four bolts sheared straight through an Interceptor’s starboard solar panel and slagged fully half of the cockpit. The crippled craft slipped into a ballistic course as its pilot died within.

Finishing his double corkscrew, Drac dodged some weak return fire and pulled up into an immelman, shooting out on a course 90 degrees separated from the one he’d come in on. He lined up on a Bomber and fired again. The unlucky craft had been turning to avoid a Vast Empire Interceptor and came about just in time to run directly into the two bolts of verdant light. One entered each of the hull bubbles, the amped up shot melting through the treated transparisteel and penetrating deep. The Bomber’s munitions in the off-side hull detonated, turning the entire craft into a brilliant flower of fire and light.

Then Drac was through. He banked gently and evened out his shield power, turning the weapons and engines down to their normal levels. He trusted that the combined forces of the VE Interceptor squadron pursuing the attack group and the station’s defenders would make relatively short work of the incursion. Orienting back on the Halcyon Warrior, he aimed for the hangar nearest the command deck and activated his comms, “Halcyon Warrior, this is Commander Mihawk. I’m on approach to dock in the topmost auxiliary hangar. ETA…twenty seconds.”

“Roger that, Captain. The door is open for you.” Jash Warnock’s voice came back, tinged with relief.

“Thank you, Mr. Warnock.”

The shield dropped and the hangar doors opened. Drac gently nudged the Defender through, then set her down on the deck. This particular hangar didn’t have the equipment to dock the advanced fighter normally, but that was okay. He’d leave it here anyway. Once his craft passed all the way into the cavernous room, the defenses slammed shut again behind him and he deactivated the shields and settled slowly to the floor.

Popping the hatch, Drac was met immediately by a stepladder pushed into place by two Technicians. He clambered down it, thanked them, and then simply sprinted for the turbolifts. ’Decorum is for ceremonies and inspections. When it comes to open battle…kriff that.’

Drac entered the turbolift and waited impatiently as it rose. Finally the thing hummed to a stop and he trotted out onto the command deck. A voice shouted out, “Captain on deck!” No one stood up and saluted, knowing he might shoot them himself for doing that during a battle, but a general cheer went up. Ongol’s illness and the unexpectedness of the attack had sapped their confidence and morale. Their Captain’s safe return and, even more so, his casual slaughter of enemy fighters on his way in, did a lot to restore what was lost.

Rutian turned and saluted as Drac approached. The Mon Cal, still in his flight suit, returned the salute and then dropped into his command chair. He began flicking through readouts and reports, both for the ship and tactically, but spoke as he did so, “Status, Mr. Von?”

“Decent, sir. We’re thirty seconds out of engagement range with the Prognosticator. The smaller craft of our taskforce have already engaged those of the enemy group. Fighter screens are holding steady on both sides and casualties are mounting there. There’s been some issues with comm channel hacking, but countermeasures have been deployed.”

“Very well. And what of Captain Ongol?”

The rutian Twi’lek shrugged, “The Chief Medical Officer reports that he suffered a minor stroke, apparently brought about by the sudden stress of the situation. He should recover in time, but is not fit for combat duty and will not be for a while to come.”

“Understood.” Drac fell silent for a moment, considering tactical displays as the Twi’lek assumed the traditional XO’s position standing just behind and to his right. Then he spoke again, addressing the bridge at large, “Order the Excise and the Dead Gun to form up on us. The Prognosticator looks to be bringing that VSD-I, the Ill Tidings along with it. Form our three ships into a wedge and drive directly between those two vessels. I want all starboard and port weapons batteries firing as soon as they come into range and bearing. Starfighter screens are to mirror the maneuver and drive a wedge in there before us. Order Chrome Fox and our other ships to engage the smaller ships of the enemy taskforce and to prevent intervention by anything VSD-I class or larger.” Drac continued the train of thought, if only to himself, ’By doing this we get maximum damage dealt out. If we can manage it before they turn we’ll also have minimal incoming fire. Once they turn, though, we’ll have to be careful of our shields. There won’t be any rolling to bring fresh shields to bear…a calculated risk. It’s something we have to do. We’re too evenly matched.’.

“And get me a status report on Taskforce Besh. I need that information ten minutes ago.”

OOC:

Words: 1096

Now the big boys come out to play. Keep a sharp eye out, guys. Something about this battle is about to change.

[[Commander, watch your port side!  Several Interceptors are making a run for it!]]

"Thanks, Sarge!" Cayden said, turning his cannon left.  He locked on to the pair of Interceptors and loosed a volley of laser blasts.  The blasts hit the lead Interceptor, tearing through the hull, and into the second Interceptor.

[[Nice double kill, sir!]] Corporal Dunning's voice said over the comm.

[[Dunning!  Shoot them darn dirty blues out of the sector!]] Sarge's voice said over the radio.

"Sarge... the blue ones are- you know what?  I'm going to fix that.  Sarah, access the IFF indicator programming, and change allies to enemies, and enemies to allies!" he said, smiling as another Interceptor crossed his canopy.

[[Sir, won't that cause issues with the other guys?]]

"Not exactly... Sarge has been shooting at our guys.  I want him to shoot at the other guys.  So... change blue to red, and red to blue."

[[So, sir... does that mean we're switching sides?]]

"Hell no!  Just invert the damn IFF!" Cayden yelled, shoving his cannon to the left.  He let loose 5 blasts, each one spashing against the Interceptor's shields.  "Frak!"  You know you need to calm down... you don't want your- his thought was interrupted by beeping coming from his left wrist.

[[Cayden... what's that beeping?]] Sarah's voice asked over the comm.

"It's my blood pressure monitor.  The medical officer back home told me I had to wear it.  He said something about my blood pressure being too high..."

[[What's it at now?]]

"Ummm..." he said, looking at it.  "One fifty-three over ninety-four."

[[Cayden... come to the cockpit and take the controls, now.]]

"But-" he started.

[[No buts!  Cockpit, now!]]

The comm fell silent, and Cayden sighed.  He unsecured himself from the seat, scrambled out of it, and started walking to the cockpit.  He managed to get several steps before several laser blasts sent him flying into the far wall.  Cayden's head hit a low-hanging portion of the ceiling, knocking him out on the deck.

Subconscious Mind - Vault 17 War Room

Cayden woke up and found himself looking up at a familiar ceiling.  "Dear lord... if I've been on Kala this whole time... please kill me right now..." he said, slowly standing up.

"Commander Tavers," a familiar voice said.

Cayden looked around and saw Aerial standing several feet from him.  In a blinding light, she transformed from flying-squirrel into the humaniod-form she held 100,000 years ago.  "Arianna..." he said, cracking a slight smile.

"Your subconscious mind created this place as a sort of safe haven for your innermost secrets.  Here, nothing can penetrate your mind," she said.

"Captain, am I dead?" he asked.

She smiled and said "No, Commander.  Far from it.  But... since I finally have some time alone with you, for about 3 minutes, there's something I need to know."

"About?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"You," Aerial replied.  "First, I need to know what exactly happened on Onderon, before I became aware of my new surroundings."

"And you became aware... when?" he asked, confused.

She laughed.  "You know when, Commander."

He sighed.  "Right..."  Cayden walked over to the large holo-display and turned it on.  "The images you are about to see are classified Top Secret by Bimmiel Military Intelligence.  Any attempt to transmit them, show them, or even hint at their existence to any enemy of the Bimmiel Military Republic is considered treason, marking you an enemy of the state.  The punishment for treason is death by firing squad.  Do you understand what I just explained to you?"

She nodded and said "I understand completely."

"Good.  Now..." he said, putting a neural interface on his head.  "The images will play as a holovid from my point of view.  Should I regain consciousness, these memories I am showing you now will be open to you.  Explore them as you see fit.  And... please don't access memories from before I joined the Vast Empire.  Some things are best left in the past..."  Cayden was about to say something else when everything went white.

Belgaroth - Transport Shuttle

Cayden woke up and say Sarah and Corporal Dunning standing over him.  "Wha-?" he started, trying to get up.

Sarah held him down and said "Cayden, just relax!  You hit your head on the ceiling during the engagement!  I think you might have a concussion."

"You have got to be joking... wait, who's flying this thing?" he asked.

"Sergeant Hawthorne is, sir," Dunning replied.  "Don't worry, sir.  He's an exceptional pilot!"

"Good... good..." he said, his vision getting blurry.

"Hey now, come on!  Stay with me here, Cayden!" Sarah said, placing a hand on his cheek.  "Here, drink this."

Sarah pressed a vial to his lips, and cool liquid slipped into his mouth.  He swallowed the minty liquid, and sighed.

Sarah started taking his uniform shirt off, and shook her head.  "You might have some minor internal bleeding too, it seems..."

"I might have what?!?" he asked frantically.

[[Is he awake yet, Corporal?]] Hawthorne's voice said over the ship comm.

Dunning walked to a comm unit on the wall, pressed the 'talk' button, and said "Yes sir, he's awake!  He has a mild concussion, some mild internal bleeding, and a broken left arm..."

"Wait, my arm is broken?!?  Again?!?" he said, trying to look at it.

Sarah pushed him back down, but this time it took all her weight to put him back down.  "Cayden!  You need to relax!" she said, fumbling with a syringe.  "Corporal!  Get your ass over here and give him this muscle relaxer!!"

Dunning ran over, dropped to his knees, and took the syringe from Sarah.  He cleared the air out of it, and poked the needle into the vein in Cayden's right elbow joint.

Cayden felt a cool air wash over him, and every muscle in his body started to relax.  "Sarah... get us to the Cerulean ASAP." he said, before his jaw went slack.

She nodded and ran to the cockpit.  "Sergeant, open a channel with the Cerulean," she said, sitting down in the co-pilot's seat.

"Yes ma'am," he said, pressing a few keys on the console.  "Channel open."

"Warden-class Light Cruiser Cerulean, this is Senior Chief Petty Officer Sarah Goldwater on Vast Imperial Transport Shuttle Renegade with a priority one medical emergency onboard!" she said hurridly.

Static came back over the comm, adding to the dark mood of the shuttle.

Oh hell no... you cannot be down already! she thought, pressing the button again.  "Cerulean, this is Senior Chief Petty Officer Sarah Goldwater!  I have a priority one medical emergency onboard!  Please respond!"

Static came over again, then was broken before Sarah pressed the button again.  [[Senior Chief Petty Officer Goldwater?  This is Chief Petty Officer Vao of the Cerulean.  What's the status of your patient?]]

"Warrant Officer Tavers is down with a concussion, internal bleeding, and a broken arm!  We need to get onboard ASAP and get him to the infirmary!" she said loudly.

[[Ma'am, are you suggesting an in-combat medical dock-and-drop?]]

"Chief, I am ordering you to clear us a path to you!" Sarah replied.

Static came back for a second, then a new voice came over.  [[This is Senior Chief Petty Officer Carl Hrogan, acting-captain of the Cerulean.  What seems to the the nature of your emergency?]]

"Carl, this is Medical Officer Sarah Goldwater.  I have a priority one medical emergency onboard!  Patient is Warrant Officer Cayden Tavers!"

Silence came over the comm.  [[Don't worry, Goldwater.  We'll clear you guys a path.  Just stay on your present course.  We'll be seeing you shortly.  Cerulean out.]]

Sarah sighed and slumped back into her seat.  "Sergeant, I don't care what it takes, keep us on this heading!" she said, getting up.

"Yes ma'am," he said, a serious look on his face.

Sarah walked back into the troop bay and kneeled down at Cayden's side.  "Report, Corporal Dunning."

"Ma'am, his vitals have stabilized for now.  The internal bleeding seems to be isolated to the inferior portion of his liver.  I managed to pry off a few pieces of the seats to fashion a splint for his arm," he said calmly.

"Good work, Corporal.  Now it's just up to Sergeant Hawthorne and the Cerulean.  He might just make it yet," she said, brushing some hair off Cayden's face.

OOC:

WC: 1383

Drac, I know you said getting hurt isn't part of my job.  But... I can't help getting flung around the troop bay on the shuttle.  But, the injuries aren't too serious.  I'll be out of combat for about 20 minutes.  I have a fully-certified Naval Surgeon, a combat medic, and a medical droid on the Cerulean to get me back into action in no time.  I'll just be taking some drugs for the concussion, have a cast for the broken arm (I refuse bacta for minor injuries like that), and minor surgery to repair the tear in one of the arteries down near the inferior region of my liver.

And I am aware that you don't like me getting injured in every story, but... it's more or less the only way I can develop the other members of the crew of my ship early on in the story.

Speaking of... my next post will entirely be from the PoV of the Cerulean, and her making her way to the shuttle.  SCPO Carl Hrogan is a fine XO... he'll get the job done.

Stewart-Power blasted through a cloud of debris of the remains of what had been a star-fighter moments before. The only thing that would have disturbed him about flying through the debris of someone else's remains, is that it wasn't the debris of an enemy fighter, it was one of the Vast Empire's. The Mon Calamari pilot realized sardonically that his well-timed death prevented what could have been a rather nasty collision. The thought only ran through his mind once before the more pressing matter of staying alive came to mind.

Thel glanced out his view-port, hunting the chaotic seen of lasers flitting past his vision, chasing other fighters, occasionally contacting. He found his prey, the fighter that had just blasted the unlucky TIE moments before. The Mon Cal decided to give chase as a way of thanking that pilot.

The other pilot was good, jinking his TIE all over the place, waiting to line up the perfect kill shot. Perfect, he was just the type of prey Thel was looking for. He accelerated his fighter, nimbly rolling out of the way of another fighter screaming down his vision. It was one of the things the XO loved about his interceptor, his life was in his own hands, and he could concentrate on using his skill to bring the fight to the enemy. As a general rule, Thel didn't particularly care what happened to himself, whether he survived or died. He could only hope to die fighting some-one worthy of his skill. In the mean-time, he could instead concentrate on killing his enemy.

Using instincts honed after through fitting many battles, he maneuvered his way through the battlefield, in what seemed to himself, to be a graceful manor. The various destruction and struggles for survival dancing past his view-port in a completely silent symphony of death. The whole time he kept an eye of his prey. If a life raised hunting in the swamps of Trandosha had taught him anything, it was to never lose eye-contact with your prey. Even as his prey weaved in-between the various individual skirmishes raging in the space in front of him, with one-on-ones,  two-on-ones and other combinations, deftly flicking from one fight to another, giving one combatant the edge over the other, tipping the duel in favour of the Imperial Remnent. "He seems to be a fairly senior pilot. Well, I'm no rookie either. It's time to put a stop to that." It was this thought that ran through his mind as he bore down on his prey.

Only one dog-fight was between Thel and his prey now. The Remnant TIE was the Vast Imperial Interceptor that just narrow avoided the Remnant TIE's lasers. The Remnant TIE was too focused on the Interceptor however, and lined him-self up in Thel's cross-hairs. Thel took the shot, his lasers were quad-linked, and three of his blasts impacted right into the TIE cock-pit, melting through the titanium alloy of the hull, and causing the entire TIE to erupt in flames, licking out into the vacuum before being extinguished and any sign of the TIE being vaporized out of history. Thel wasn't sure whether that got the attention of his prey, but the fourth bolt that missed the first TIE and whizzed past his prey's view-port certainly did.

Thel's prey decelerated, and turned towards Thel's Intercepter. Thel, in-turn, did the same thing. Both of them somehow trusting each-other to not fire too early. They lined up with each-other, gazing into each-others view-ports. They stayed like this for several seconds, oblivious to the surrounding battle, knowing that this was where one of them was going to lay down his life, make the ultimate sacrifice, but most of all, die honourably. And they were content with this knowledge. It seemed to them that a serene tranquility descended upon them. Then in a unanimous and sudden moment, battle was joined.

They were both lined-up, and they both accelerated towards each-other. They had just enough space between them to accelerate to full speed. Finger hovering over their trigger's they waited until the last possible moment before firing and beginning to roll out of the way. Eight brilliant emerald bolts were shot, two engines screaming, and one magnificent explosion of debris. Thel's Interceptor screamed away from the scene, leaving behind the remains of his prey.

Moments afterwords, another TIE came screaming towards the victorious Mon Calamari pilot, followed closely by their wing-man. Whether this was as vengeance, or they just happened to be flying by, Thel didn't have time to ponder it. Caught off guard, he barely had time to dodge the first TIE assault when the second one was upon him. Only now did the SXO realize that some-time during the duel he had turned shut down his shields. With mere moments before the the second TIE assault would reach him, he determinedly set about powering-up his shields. He threw his yoke around, hoping the random erratic movements, would be enough to delay the second salvo long to get his shields back up. They barely bought him enough time power some of his shields, and by a hairs-breadth they didn't by him enough space to avoid the last shot. The shot glanced off his shields as the second TIE turned away.

By now, the first TIE had executed a tight turn, and was lined up again with Thel. Individually, those pilots were no better then Thel, but together the two pilots were extremely effective. They were toying with the Mon Cal Pilot, something that very rarely happened to him. It made him almost envious how well they worked together, as well as raising the question of where Thel's own wing-mate was. after about the fourth or fifth barely avoided salvo, he wasn't counting, that question was answered when the second fighter suddenly explode, preceded by a green wall of bolts slamming into the fighter.

Thel was about to send a curt thanks to his wing-mate, when the first TIE reminded Thel of his presence with four thin bright green signs flashing by his view-port. He muttered under his breath about saving the gratitude until the fights over, and started his own two-on-one dog-fight with the TIE. Thel and his Zabrak wing-mate weren't nearly so rehearsed, and the TIE still had plenty of chances to give chase to Thel.

"Sir, enemy's loosening its grip on us", Alpha-3's voice came is over the comms. As another voice came in the TIE he was dog-fighting disengaged.

"I concur. Not sure what to make of it though" the Mon Cal XO verified.

He watched as the bombers approached, puzzled but cautious, waiting on his CO's call. Thel was in the middle of an, admittedly, mostly unnecessary dodge roll when they fired, and one of the  concussive missiles locked onto him. Luckily, he was already facing away from the bombers.

Just himself and a missile. "It's been a while," he thought to himself. "Let's dance." With the Mon Calamari therefor equivalent of a slight cock of his head and a sardonic grin, he pushed the throttle to full speed.

OOC:

Word Count: 1201. As for as my first post in a rather long time, I'm pretty proud of it...

Chaos. But ordered chaos. Drac sat in his command chair, examining screen after screen of information on the holoscreens that had been specially tuned for his Mon Calamari eyes. Meanwhile, shouted alerts and orders washed back and forth across the bridge as his trusted crew dealt with their respective problems at hand. He knew most all of them well, with many having come with him all the way from the Cerulean. That seemed like such a long time ago now, though an examination of the linear timeline would show quite a different picture.

“Weapons: Carrack-class Light Cruisers Gondjura and Hrakness are flanking around the port aft quarter,” came a shout, and Drac glanced up in surprise. The speaker was Serpent, the new Junior Bridge Officer who was manning a Communications post- not Sensors.

Still, an acknowledgment of the alert came back from Weapons. Drac pulled up a hull holocam showing that quadrant and noted that Serpent had been correct- the speedy little capital ships were swinging wide as they tried to flank out behind his ship. Once they got back there the two actually carried enough firepower to force him to make some hard shielding decisions during the duel with the Prognosticator. Before he could shout an order to Weapons, he overheard Chief Petty Officer Maroo Feldunarra give the order to hit the enemy ships.

Every turbolaser in the port aft section of the ship reoriented itself and fired. The volley of coherent, destructive light lanced out in what seemed almost a solid wave. When it struck, Hrakness was lucky enough to be about 2/3 shielded by the bulk of her sister ship. Gondjura wasn’t so lucky. It was struck full on by most of the dozen high-caliber turbolaser blasts. The small capital ship’s shields failed almost instantly and then the entire side of the craft facing the Warrior crisped black and started bubbling and breaking apart. Fires sprung up where atmosphere began to leak from the hull and three separate hull sections were deeply cratered on multiple decks as a few shots got all the way through.

Gondjura started spouting escape pods like a nest of roaches suddenly revealed in bright light. Meanwhile, behind her, Hrakness’s shields also failed. She turned and ran, dodging quite agilely for a ship of her size, but still took a strafing run from the fliers of Stormfront Squadron before returning to the safety of the main Imperial Remnant battlegroup. She escaped, but sported a heavy crease across her dorsal surface where a shot had come in over her sister ship and melted away the armor and top deck in a line ten meters wide across her hull.

Drac smiled to himself grimly. That was exactly, more or less, how that situation should have played out. A threat had presented itself and his crew had reacted quickly and effectively, negating the need for guidance from him. He appreciated that sort of initiative and discipline.

Then Chief Petty Officer Ulyssa Vicaro, a Cerean female who was Chief Defense Officer, turned to look up at Drac, “Captain! Forward port shields are down to ten percent!”

A moment later another salvo from the Prognosticator impacted and Drac saw debris spew from the bow of the Warrior. Vicaro’s rather unnecessary report that shields had failed coincided with the distant boom and rumble of the explosions. Weapons reported a moment later that they’d lost two of the forward guns. Damage Control confirmed that the hull breach had been isolated and locked down, with no chain explosions detected.

Considering the situation for the briefest moment, Drac gave thanks for the Carracks’ defeat and ordered, “Shift power from the aft shields to re-establish and reinforce the forward shields. Both aft quadrants down to forty percent, all discretionary shield power forward.”

“Aye, Captain.” Then, a moment later, “Shield re-established Captain. Holding steady at…fifty five percent.”

“Very good.”

“Sir.” It was Rutian, “We should make a ninety degree turn to present our flank guns. With our current orientations they far outgun us. We’re getting pounded without any chance to hit back!”

“Don’t worry- it’s only a temporary advantage for them. We’re about to have an even better one.” Drac pulled up the tactical screen once again and noted that the Ill Tidings had guessed his plan and was attempting to close the distance between it and the Prognosticator. From his perspective it appeared to be below and to the left of the larger Remnant ship. Rutian turned to him again and asked if they should change course to compensate. Drac shook his head, “No. Fortune will favor the bold in this duel. If they wish to get us to blink first, they had better staple their eyes open.”

Then, raising his voice, the Mon Calamari shouted to Navigation, “Nav, rotate the Warrior so we present our flanks to the targets. Have Excise and Dead Gun rotate also.” The acknowledgment came and Drac shifted the icons representing the ships on his tactical display. The three glowing green dots that made up his trio of capital ships formed a diagonal slash separating the two red dots representing the enemy Star Destroyers- it almost looked like the five side of a gambling die, except that the green slash was more compact.

Then they were in. The Warrior’s crew started firing in volleys without needing to be told, with the Dead Gun and Excise joining in a moment later. Volleys slashed through space in overlapping waves as the massive ships brought to bear turbolaser and ion cannon alike. Shields flared as crackling arcs of electricity danced across them. Dogfighting moved to the periphery of the new core of the battle, none of the pilots from either side wanting to chance getting caught up in all the destruction.

Unfortunately for the two Remnant ships, they had very poor positioning at the moment. The Ill Tidings’s unsuccessful move to turn the Vast Imperial ships away meant that the two Remnant Star Destroyers were still oriented perpendicular to Drac’s ships. Had their ploy worked they’d have had even more time to pound the Vast Empire craft before Drac’s group could reorient. Because it hadn’t, they had very few guns in play while the two Vast Empire Star Destroyers and their Dreadnought cousin had almost every gun firing.

It didn’t take long for something to happen. As the two Remnant ships desperately tried to maneuver, shields along the spine of the Ill Tidings failed. A group of five turbolaser blasts shot into the gap and ripped a gaping wound in the warship, just forward of the control tower. They were followed almost instantly by a cluster of ion cannon bolts, which danced over the ship gleefully sowing fire and destruction. Ill Tidings’s running lights dimmed and flickered out and her guns fell silent as the systems crashed. She tilted, spinning slightly as her crew worked desperately to restore power. She wasn’t dead, not by a long shot, but she was definitely hurt.

The other side of the Taskforce Aurek ships had been diligently firing as well, pouring incandescent energy into the shields protecting the Prognosticator’s engines. But the ISD-II had a good Captain, a man who could react quickly to trouble. He ordered a redistribution of shields. It opened up the ship to some fire from the smaller ships of Drac’s fleet, but save the engines- and the ship. It was a terrible drain on shield energy, but that was the price he paid to survive. Prognosticator suddenly began to turn and accelerate, aiming to come in behind Drac’s trio of ships- a move that would neatly reverse the current positions and advantages. Then it would be the Vast Imperials’ turn to suffer.

-----

Cold and silence. These were its home, its territory and natural habitat. Belgaroth A-23J7 was in its element, as it always had been. It spun and drifted, bounced off its fellows, and danced slowly through the endless black. In short, it did much the same things as any other mid-sized asteroid did, whether here in the Belgaroth system or around some other distant star. And Belgaroth A-23J7 kept drifting slowly on its way.

Then something changed. Ships had come by the rock before, hollow things that didn’t rotate and held flame on their back sides. But now many ships had come and the fire wasn’t just on their backs any more. Fire came and went, from ship to ship, and they buzzed and flitted around like the Mynocks that roosted on the rock every so often. But Belgaroth A-23J7 kept drifting slowly on its way.

The ships traded their fire while their offspring, the little ships, traded fire with each other in miniature impersonations of their parents. But sometimes the fire burned, and when it did the ships went away. It happened to the little ships the most. Fire would touch them and then suddenly get really big. And when it went away, the little ship was gone. And Belgaroth A-23J7 kept drifting slowly on its way.

Sometimes it happened to the big ships too, though mostly to the medium ones. They only went away when they’d received a lot of fire, though. The other ships gave them fire and gave them fire and gave them fire and then suddenly, as if it had all built up inside, the next fire that the ship received got really big. Really, really big. And then the fire went away and the ship was changed. It didn’t have any fire any more. Sometimes it would split into two or more smaller ship parts. Other times it just stopped and began to drift, making itself like a hollow version of Belgaroth A-23J7. And Belgaroth A-23J7 kept drifting slowly on its way amongst these new fellows.

Every so often the fire touched Belgaroth A-23J7. It glowed for a moment, and little parts of the asteroid drifted away to make their own paths. Then the fire went out. Always it was from the little ships that the fire came to Belgaroth A-23J7, and in this it was fortunate. Not far away drifted its brother, Belgaroth A-49R1. But its brother had been given the big fire, the fire from the big ships. The fire came and glowed on Belgaroth A-49R1 for a moment, and then it went out. But when it was gone, so was Belgaroth A-49R1. And Belgaroth A-23J7 kept drifting slowly on its way, with one less brother.

Men and machines fought and lived and died all around it, struggling mightily for their lives and their nations and their peoples. Bravery and cowardice. Mercy and cruelty. Hatred and love. And Belgaroth A-23J7 kept drifting slowly on its way. It did not care. It was an asteroid.

OOC:

Word Count: 1784

Thought I’d try a rather unique spin on the concept of an NPC post. What do you guys think? Remember! Writing was the first (and, really, is the only) truly open world game. Anything, any perspective, is possible.

Belgaroth - LCR Cerulean - Cargo Hold

"Hey Smith." Private Griffen said, looking at his partner.

"Yeah?" PFC Smith asked, looking at his partner.

"Ever wonder why we're here?" Griffen asked.

"Not really.  We're under orders to be here.  Plus, Sarge is going to be here soon, and it will be like we never left home," Dick replied smugly.

"You know what Smith?"

"What Griffen?"

"Screw you," Dexter replied, heading over to the lift as the doors opened.

"Ladies!  My guns aren't going to man themselves!" a female NCO said.

"Yes ma'am!  Come on, Griffen!  Let's go shoot some Remnant fighters out of the sky!" Smith said, heading into the lift.

Griffen followed him and replied "You know, Smith... we're in space."

"Shut up, Griffen."

The lift closed and went to Deck C.  Griffen and Smith exited the lift, and started running to the gun positions, while the NCO, a Senior Chief Petty Officer, rode the lift to Deck A.  She stepped out and saw her co-captain, SCPO Carl Hrogan, standing at the communications station.

"Orders from Command, Carl?" she asked, smirking.

"Orders from our Medical Officer," Carl replied, walking over to the helm.  "Caroline, there's a shuttle over here.  We need to pick it up ASAP, understood?"

Caroline Johansen looked up and smiled.  "Consider them picked up, sir!"  She returned to the controls, and began making the necessary adjustments to the ship's course.

The female Senior Chief walked over to the Communications Officer, Karl Vao and asked "Who was on the comm?"

"Senior Chief Petty Officer Sarah Goldwater was, ma'am, with a priority one medical emergency onboard," Karl said, his eyes not leaving his monitor.

"Sounds like our Captain already started having fun, Chief," she replied, sighing.

"Yes ma'am, it would appear that way."

She walked over to Carl, who was now watching the sensors screen with Petty Officer Derek Lonn.  "Carl, you know that unless that Lancer moves, getting them will be near impossible."

"Elanor, I know.  We'll get them.  Trust me," he said, smiling.

"Alright.  I'll be on Deck C if you need me," she replied.

"Just have those two SFs handy when the shuttle docks.  I want the extraction to be as quick as possible," Carl said.

Elanor groaned and said "Those two bumbling idiots?  I hardly trust them on the guns.  But, I have to put them somewhere."

"Put them on deflector control.  That's what I always do when I find someone completely useless," Hrogan replied, grinning.

Elanor left the deck, and Carl sighed.  Finally, some freaking piece and quiet.  Now to get the Commander here.  "Caroline, you have a squadron of Interceptors and one Lancer frigate standing inbetween us and Commander Tavers.  Our gun crews are standing by on my signal.  You ready?" he said, talking over to the Captain's chair.

Johansen smiled and she tightened her grip on the yoke.  "Always ready, sir.  Give the order."

Carl smiled and pressed a button on the chair's arm.  "Attention all decks, this is acting-Captain Carl Hrogan.  We are about to engage a squdron of Interceptors and a Lancer frigate.  After which, we're going to dock with a troop transport.  Defending that transport is our top priority.  All gun crews standby on my order.  All missile controllers, standby on my order."  He stopped and waited for Derek to give him the thumbs-up.  "All positions, you have your orders!  Give 'em hell!"

Belgaroth - LCR Cerulean - Weapons Control

"Alright, you heard the man!  Gun batteries, lock on to the nearest fighter and open fire!  Missile batteries, lock on to the engines of that Lancer and take them out!" Elanor barked, leaning on the back of Dick's chair.

"Uh, ma'am?  Can you not lean on my chair when I'm shooting down enemy fighters?  Thanks," Dick said politely.

"Smith, keep up the good work!  Griffen!  You're doing absolutely dreadful!  You need to be more like Smith!" the Senior Chief said.

"A know-it-all kiss-ass?  No, I'd rather be a lazy slacker," Griffen said sarcastically.

"Griffen, get on that gun turret and shoot some damn fighters down!" Smith said.

Griffen sighed and said "Fine... but next time?  I'm waiting for the Commander."  He fired up his turret and locked on to an Interceptor.  "Alright... now to line up the sights..."

"Sights?  There aren't any sights on this you frakkin' di'kut!" Smith said, looking at Griffen.

"Smith, I didn't know you spoke Mando'a," Griffen said.

"Yeah, well... someone around here has to," Smith replied confidently.

"Both of you, can it!" Elanor said, holding her right hand to her temple.  "I swear, the next one who says anything out-of-line is going be taking the hell-and-toe-express right out the airlock!"

She waited for one of them to open their mouths, then sighed.  "Finally... some freaking quiet for once..."

"So Griffen, are we still on for Sabacc later tonight?"

"I don't know Smith, I'll have to check my schedule, to make sure I'm not busy being dead," Griffen replied.

"You know...you don't have to be such a dick," Smith said.  "You could have just said no."

"I could have... but the way I told you was way more cooler and insulting," Griffen said.

"True that, true that..."

"Carl, this is Weapons Control!  4 missiles on target with Lancer's main engine!  ETA: 10 seconds!" Elanor said, watching the tactical display on the screen above her.

Belgaroth - LCR Cerulean - Bridge

"Sir, sensors show two more squadrons on approach from port aft!" Derek said aloud.

"Copy, Derek!  Caroline, get us under that frigate ASAP!" Carl said, standing up.

"Aye aye, sir!  You may want to hold onto something!" she replied, increasing speed and she threw the ship into a slight decline.

Belgaroth - LCR Cerulean - Exterior

Several missiles flew from the two missile tubes on the Cerulean as the Lancer-class Frigate in front of them, the Virtue, started turning away from them.  The frigate's main engine exploded in a red-yellow explosion, sending hull fragments flying towards the Cerulean.

The small Warden dove under the fragments as a squadron of Interceptors started crawling up it's aft section.  The hull fragments from the Virtue tore through the squadron, taking out several fighters.  A second squadron, close behind, barely had enough time to evade the explosions and debris that claimed the lives of their comrades.

The Cerulean began accelerating towards the Virtue, diving under it so as to avoid it's laser cannon fire.  2 more missiles left their tubes and raced up to connect with the Lancer's inferior auxillary engine.

Belgaroth - LCR Cerulean - Bridge

"Sir, direct hits on both the main and inferior auxillary engines on the Lancer-class Frigate Virtue!" Derek said, smiling.

"Sir, I'm picking up radio transmissions off the general comm.  They're orders from the Virtue, sir!" Vao said.

Carl walked over and leaned over Vao's station.  "What do they say?"

"Sir, they're going to engage Commander Tavers' shuttle," he replied.

"Thank you, Chief," the executive officer said.  "Bridge to Engineering.  Bridge to Engineering.  Kass, you there?"

[[Roger that, sir.  What do you need?]]

"Kass, I need you to give me everything you can from the engines, and then some!  We don't have a whole lot of time!"

[[I'll give you what I can, sir.  Engineering out.]]

"Caroline, it's up to you now!  Get us there in one piece!" Carl said, sitting back down.

"Aye, sir."

Belgaroth - Transport Shuttle Renegade

[[Goldwater, you might want to get up here!]]

Sarah got up from Cayden's side and ran to the cockpit.  "What's wrong, Sarge?" she asked, sitting next to him.

"That Lancer is turning towards us, that's what the problem is!" he said, checking his radar.  "Hang on, incoming message from the Cerulean."

"Patch it onto my monitor," Sarah said, powering up the console next to her.

"Done," Sarge said, pressing a key on his console.

"They want us to dive under the Lancer frigate and meet them underneath it," she said incredulously.

"That's suicide!  They might shoot us down!" he said, quickly looking at the message.

"Well, it's a lot safer than going over the Lancer, that's for sure," Sarah replied.

"Yeah, I guess you're right..." Sarge said quietly.

"Just get us down there, and they'll handle the rest," she said, smiling.

Belgaroth - Transport Shuttle Renegade - Exterior

The Renegade raced towards the Virtue, several fighters off her aft section.

The Virtue turned her guns to bear on the shuttle and began opening up.

Laser cannon fire filled the night sky around the Renegade, lighting up the surrounding area like a wildfire.  The shuttle began a spinning dive towards the ventral-side of the Lancer frigate, it's fighter "escort" taking the heat from the cannon fire let loose by the frigate.

The Renegade cleared the Virtue's firing arc and slowed down as it approached the Cerulean

Belgaroth - Transport Shuttle Renegade

"Warden-class Light Cruiser Cerulean, this is Sergeant David Hawthorn on Vast Imperial Transport Shuttle Renegade.  I have the package secured and ready for transfer," Sarge said over the comm.

[[Roger that Renegade.  Please stand-by.]]

A few moments went by and Carl's voice came over the comm.

[[Sergeant, this is Senior Chief Petty Officer Carl Hrogan.  I want you to dock onto our port-side airlock.  Several of our personnel will be standing by to assist.]]

"Roger that, sir.  Keep those fighters off until transfer is complete," he said, bringing the shuttle up next to the Cerulean.  He turned the shuttle, so the aft portion faced the ship, and an umbilical extended from the Warden and attached itself to the shuttle.

Belgaroth - LCR Cerulean - Port-side Airlock

"Smith, Griffen... with me!" Elanor said, walking out of the Weapons Control room.

"Come on Griffen!  The TIEs will be there when you get back," Smith said, grabbing onto Griffen's arm.

"Noooo... I want take them down now!!!" Griffen cried, holding onto his chair.

"No Griffen!  We have to go get Sarge and Dunning!"

"Nooooooo!" he cried again.

Smith pulled Griffen from the computer and dragged him to the airlock.  "Now stand here and wait for Sarge and the others to come through!"

The airlock opened, revealing the umbilical stretching out into the interior of the adjoining shuttle.

Sarah peaked her head through and said "I'm going to need a stretcher over here!"

Elanor looked at Smith and asked "You didn't grab a stretcher?"

"No.  Why would I need to grab a stretcher for my Sergeant, who is obviously not injured?" he replied sarcastcially.

"Just go get one, Private," she said tiredly.

Smith sighed and said "Yes ma'am."  He ran off to the medbay, grabbed a stretcher off the wall, and ran back to the airlock just in time to see Sarge walk onto the ship.

"Griffen!  You're uniform looks like a mess!  Those boots aren't even polished!  You're a disgrace to the Corps, Griffen!" Sarge said.

"Sarge, we're not even in the Corps!  We're in the Navy, for crying out loud!" Griffen replied.

"So?  You're still a disgrace to this unit, you good for nothing dirt bag.  Now, help Smith with the stretcher!" Sarge said, grinning.

Griffen sighed and said "Yes sir..."  He walked over and grabbed the other side of the stretcher.

The three soldiers walked onto the shuttle and stopped several feet away from Sarah, Dunning, and Cayden.

Sarah looked over and smiled.  "Thank goodness!  Dunning, get underneath his head.  You two grab his feet!  Sarge, get on his left side!"

Everyone moved to their appropriate positions and waited for Sarah's signal.

"One... two... three... lift!"

Simultaneously, everyone listed Cayden off the deck and moved him to the stretcher.  And, simultaneously, they gently set him down.  Dunning, Sarge, Griffen, and Smith grabbed each handle on the stretcher, lifted it up, and carried their CO out of the shuttle.

Sarah grabbed a medical kit off the ground with her left hand as she stood up.  She carried it with her as she approached the airlock.  She stopped, saluted, and said "Ma'am, Medical Officer Sarah Goldwater requesting permission to board!"

Elanor returned the salute and said "Permission granted!  Welcome onboard the Cerulean."

OOC:

WC: 2007

I think I promised someone a 2000+ WC post... and I gave them that.  :P

Also... next post will flip between the medical procedure to get me back on my feet and the engagement with the Virtue, so... lots and lots... of fun.  :P

Concussive missiles were without a doubt some of the nastiest bits of hardware a starfighter pilot had to worry about whilst in space. They were quick. They were maneuverable. Worse still they were fairly powerful as well, able to take out most fighters in one hit... two provided strong shields or reinforced hulls were present. Alas the TIE Interceptor had a fairly light armor - so required to ensure the craft's superior speed and maneuverability. Even shielded, as was the case with the Vast Empire variant, the starfighter still couldn't boast enough power to nullify the blast of any point blank explosion.

What this meant was that the targeted Interceptors had to rely on other means in order to escape the smaller projectiles. One possibility was to simply outrun the cursed thing, as it was a known fact that the small missiles could only travel so much distance before running out of fuel. Another possibility was to outmaneuver the explosive ordinance. This was probably one of the hardest things to do as it required both a great craft to attempt the maneuver in and also large amounts of luck seeing how no amount of skill could actually guarantee the success of such an attempt.

A third option was intercepting and shooting down the tiny target. This move however was just as hard, if not harder, than any of the previous alternatives. It was especially difficult for a starfighter to turn around, face the pursuing missile and take it out with expertly placed laser shots. It was a feat that truly only elite pilots could attempt and chances were the few that would succeed wouldn't really be able to reproduce it any other time...

There was of course also the possibility of "manipulating" the missile into taking another target instead or otherwise just forcing it to collide with something else. Surprisingly enough this wasn't really all that difficult, but it did however require either more targets in the immediate proximity or otherwise an appropriate terrain to make it happen. Not counting the occasional asteroids or even asteroid belts only the former was truly valid in the open space.

Knowing all this, which then would be the optimal course of action? It was the question that the Onderonian asked himself as he kept on analyzing as many possible scenarios as possible. It was said a good pilot was an individual that demonstrated above average flying skills but that a great pilot was an individual that not only had those but also possessed quite a high level of situational awareness as well. Seth Qorbin was without a doubt part of the latter category, being able to both quickly consider his current situation but just as quickly also consider possible solutions as well. That was possibly one of the human specimen's greatest assets - an asset that Seth himself might not fully be aware of, or at the very least that he would not fully appreciate.

"Wing Leader this is Nightshrike Actual confirming that at least part of the Remnant bombers are equipped with anti-fighter ordinance. Advising extra care when dealing with them, over!"

Now Perry will know what to expect. Same trick won't work as easily next time, Qorbin thought as he kept glancing at his scanner, checking out the ever decreasing distance between his own blip and the even smaller one that seemed intent on following him anywhere and everywhere. The reason the pilot kept staring at the two blips was so that the missile's speed be roughly determined in this manner. Had Qorbin been better at math or had he simply been born as a member of a different, more intelligent species than the fellow would've been able to calculate exactly how fast that projectile was moving at, using his own craft's speed comparison.

That not being the case however the human specimen merely came up with a far more simplistic conclusion - that for each half a second or so the approaching blip advanced roughly 1.25 tiny scanner squares. This allowed the Warrant Officer to determine roughly how much time he still had left till the explosion that was meant to follow and really ruin his day.

Ten... Seven and a half... Five... Two and a half... Now! the Onderonian finished counting and pulled the yoke back forcing his Interceptor to climb as a result. Five... Two fifty... Now! the human once more reacted by inverting and pulling the yoke sideways until he had a visual with the concussive missile that had him running away up till then. Moment of truth, he thought as he did nothing more but wait. Two seconds passed and no explosion came. Five seconds passed and still no big boom, no flashes of light, no temporary surge of heat causing flesh and organs to burn and boil for a few moments before turning to dust. None of those things came so the Onderonian finally exhaled, for the first time in those long five seconds also managing to once more feel the ticking of his own heartbeat.

The Warrant Officer turned to check his scanner when he noticed that for some reason he couldn't clearly see it. It was fuzzy and... no wait, that was just his eye being wet. For a moment the pilot wondered whether he had started unconsciously crying or something similar but then realized the wetness wasn't caused by tears but by plain old sweat slowly dripping from his forehead. Damn that was too damn close for comfort...

---------------

"Roger that Nightshrike", Perry acknowledged and the next second switched channels to inform the rest of his wing of this new development. The man also reported this back to the Warrior as well. The brass wouldn't be able to do a damn thing about it at this time of course, but they would however be able to rethink any plans they might've had involving starfighters and bombers.

The Stormfront Avengers continued wreaking havoc in the enemy's lines, being one of the few squadrons that managed to for the most part hold their own. Thus far they reported a single casualty, and the pilot in question even managed to eject prior to his craft's destruction. Should he be lucky and survive long enough then search and rescue shuttles would eventually get to him and bring him back safely. Should he not be so lucky then chances were search and rescue shuttles would still find his remains - at least part of them at any rate.

---------------

"Anyone else survive that?" DeepSix asked in his usual playful tone. Now that the missile targeting him overshot and lost its target the Onderonian was no longer in any immediate danger thus it was hardly surprising that the man reverted to his usual personality. Not like it would've helped matters had he continued to brood about what just happened...

"Alpha Four is pleased to report still being alive... sir", Flensor's voice tried replying in a similar manner. The kid still had to work on his comebacks but he was definitely on the right track, something that made the Onderonian smile. "Gamma Two is also proud to report..." As reports kept coming Seth could tell that most of the squadron managed to survive. Alpha Four was lucky enough not to get targeted in the first place. Gamma Two and Three managed to shoot down Gamma One's missile. Gamma Four was somewhat annoyed that he didn't have to do anything. Beta One also reported getting away safely. Beta Two reported getting hit and returning to the Warrior.

"This is Alpha Three. I've managed to eject in time but my fighter's history. Will await resc..." The transmission suddenly cut off and it would take everyone a few seconds to realize why that happened. As it turned out the enemy fighters that had pulled back earlier were now once again coming in to play, taking advantage of any chaos the sneak attack from earlier might've caused. One such fighter bumped straight into Alpha Three's tiny frame, instantly killing the fellow and sending his corpse flying through the endless space. Whether the Remnant pilot responsible for this act did it on purpose or by accident would be one of the many mysteries that would most likely remain unanswered.

---------------

"Thundercap, we'll draw the enemy's fire whilst you get ready for an attack run", Perry ordered the bomber squadron that was still staying back and close to the Warrior. The wing commander had noticed the Carrack cruisers maneuvering around the Vast Empire Star Destroyer just as he had also noticed the latter opening fire on the former. Although one cruiser was taken out in the process, the other still appeared to be operational. It was this ship that the man decided to go up against. To be precise he planned to get their gunners attention and buy enough time for the Thundercap to come in and deliver a few more hits. Now that the cruiser's shields were gone and even its hull integrity seemed weakened it was as good a chance as any to try to take it out.

The Stormfront Avengers buzzed around the larger ship, every so often shooting in its direction, though knowing they would only deal minimal damage at best. They continued for about half a minute whilst their sister squadron got in positions and began a bombing run. Almost half the bombers managed to hit the Hrakness ventral side before enemy fire from other Remnant ships forced the smaller crafts to disperse and retreat once more. They may not have been able to finish the job but it was still satisfying watching the capital ship limp away, new scars present on its hull.

---------------

These bastards are worse than gizka - kill one and two more pop out from nowhere. Yet again the blond Warrant Officer felt somewhat frustrated as despite having managed to destroy another enemy fighter, he still found himself followed by a couple others. Quite annoying, as the Remnant pilots kept him in check for the most part, forcing him to evade and not really allowing enough time for him to get proper firing solutions on other enemy fighters. Although some of the shots he did manage to squeeze out between turns, dives and rolls managed to hit a few of the opponents, Qorbin couldn't help but feel that he would've been able to cause a lot more damage had green laser bolts not constantly flashed past his cockpit.

The rest of his squadron wasn't faring any better either as shield points constantly dropped for them as well. "Wing Leader this is Nightshrike's CO - our position's about to be overrun here. Any help you could provide would be most appreciated." Some help would've been great indeed, if only to provide a few extra moments in which the squadron members could breathe a little easier... then again Seth knew such help wasn't likely to come any time soon. Everyone was busy fending off enemies on their own fronts after all.

What the devil? the Onderonian wanted to ask after seeing his shield display suddenly flash red once more, the 40% previously shown now turning into a mere 28%. At first the pilot thought the pursuing pair managed to get a couple lucky shots so he dived and attempted to once more lose them or the very least keep them at bay. Again however he watched his shields take another hit, though this time around Qorbin was also able to tell where the shots came from.

Sons of bitches, the pilot swore as he realized another pair of Interceptors decided to also try and kill him. Nightshrike's commander knew that things really, really looked like they might come to a quick and not so happy ending for him. Evading half a flight was hard but not impossible, provided they would all be kept in roughly the same position. Evading attacks from two different locations, all the while both starfighters and pilots were fairly decent as well - not was less hard and more impossible unfortunately.

"Anyone free to lend me a hand here?" Qorbin asked, not really expecting much however. Heck, this may have very well been the first time the man ever asked his squadron for help. That just went to show exactly how much the Onderonian really thought he was going to join his ancestors in the netherworld... or just become a bunch of tiny atoms forever swept away in that huge galaxy.

There was no immediate answer, or if there was the squadron commander was too busy staying alive to hear it. 15%... 7%... A few seconds after that the whole Interceptor rocked slightly and DeepSix knew without even bothering to check his display that he just lost his shields. He also knew that in a few more seconds another lucky shot would certainly finish the job. He considered ejecting but realized his chances out there would be only slightly better as far as the matter of him staying alive went. He thus decided to stay put and just fight, or rather evade till his very last breath.

The pilot still awaited his impending doom when a couple of nearby explosions caught his eye. Someone else first, huh? he tried joking even in what he assumed were his final moments. "Two more bogiesss - hissstory!" the Trandoshan's voice came through the comm and hearing that the Onderonian even considered kissing the ugly reptile next time they'd be aboard the ISD. He considered but quickly dismissed the thought just as quickly however, deciding to instead reward the creature with something more material and practical.

---------------

"Anyone free to lend me a hand here?" the boss's voice rang through the comm. Although busy himself Rowan checked his scanner and after determining his commander's position plotted a course in his direction. His reptilian wingmate followed close behind as well. As they approached, the two pilots could see five Interceptors dashing and turning through space as if dancing with one another. They witnessed four of them firing upon the fifth, and although the latter did its damnedest to avoid getting hit occasional bolts still made contact nevertheless.

Both Gamma Three and Four locked on two of the targets and fired some of their missiles away. It was the Trandoshan's final one and boy was the lizard happy when it hit, blowing the Remnant Interceptor out of the sky. "Two more bogiesss - hissstory!" he reported after noticing his wingman's projectile also fired true and to the target.

"Much obliged for that", their commander replied as he continued dodging his two remaining pursuers. Whilst Rowan locked on to one of the other targets, Iwo rushed in to finish the remaining one in a good ol' fashioned dogfight.

The next sequence of events all occurred within a couple of very brief seconds. A couple of seconds that felt like an eternity for all those involved however... First came a nearby explosion - Rowan's final missile taking out the third Remnant Interceptor. Next Iwo began opening fire on the final fighter. Before losing its shields and blowing up however the latter succeeded in landing one last hit on its original target - the Nightshrike's CO. The blast ripped straight through the left solar panel, shearing the connecting pylon and forcing Nightshrike's CO into an uncontrollable spin.

---------------

So reliable, Seth thought as the third Remnant fighter disappeared from his scanners. Just as he thought things were actually turning for the better his Interceptor suddenly shuddered. The Onderonian only had time to frown as he watched stars and other fighters go round and round and round some more. It took him a few moments to realize that 1. he was spinning out of control and 2. he was still alive. Either that or he would reach the afterlife with a nasty hurling sensation. Probably not the case though, he thought as he reduced power to engines and pulled on the yoke.

Eventually Qorbin managed to stabilize his craft. As it finally stopped spinning he also realized that there was something odd with that which he was seeing through the viewport. Lost a wing, huh? For the first time ever since joining the military, and even before that, the Onderonian found himself in such a position. He received some training regarding these sort of scenarios but he never really expected something like this could happen to him. Bloody weird, that's what it is...

"Alright listen up people. I'm no longer able to keep on fighting like this so Stewart... you have command. My two Gamma saviors I'd appreciate it if you provided me with a bit of cover whilst I figure out how to fly this tincan back to the Warrior."

The two acknowledged and began circling the one-winged Interceptor whilst the latter awkwardly began moving once more. Slower at first but steadily picking up speed. "Alright this should be enough. Thanks a lot guys!" Seth addressed his two escorts that after acknowledging broke off and returned to deal with the Remnant bastards that still pestered the rest of the squadron.

As Gamma Three and Four flew away Seth kept on struggling with his craft. He couldn't fly straight anymore as his fighter kept pulling towards the right so every so often the pilot was forced to do a barrel roll in order to somewhat correct his heading.

"Control, this is Nightshrike One returning to base. Can't really control my fighter though so I'm unable to land unaided. Awaiting instructions, over!" A few seconds passed before the operator acknowledged his approach and provided him with coordinates. So long as he'd manage to get his fighter there the ISD would be able to tractor him in safely, without needlessly endangering the lives and equipment found on the hangar deck. "Roger that Control, approaching designated coordinates."

He was almost there too when his fighter started trembling a little harder than before, something that forced the Warrant Officer to break off in order to stabilize his craft. "Control, I've missed my chance and I'm uncertain I can manage another run. Currently heading towards the aft of the ship as well. Awaiting further instructions, over!" Once more a few more seconds passed before the operator got back to him providing yet another set of coordinates. "Roger that Control, heading there now."

Nightshrike's CO continued to struggle with his increasingly difficult to control fighter but this time around he managed to get in the position requested of him. No sooner had he reached those coordinates that he suddenly felt his Interceptor finally calm down and stabilize. Then he felt the small ship being pulled towards the infinitely larger one. He turned to look and noticed one of the ISD's auxiliary hangar doors open. Shortly after that he found himself blinded by the artificial lighting inside the smaller hangar deck. Guess I've made it back after all...

His interceptor melded perfectly into the squadron as he fell in as ordered. It took a moment for him to reorient himself and snap out of the maze of thoughts that threatened to overtake him. The Zabrak shifted more power to the shields, taking it off of weapons and engines equally. His encounters had lowered the aft shielding down to 46%, as well as lowering the starboard quadrant down to a measly 28%. He felt ashamed that he couldn't keep his shields in proper shape and that he was unable to keep track of multiple engagements at the same time.

It's a skill for greater pilots than I, though I will gain it through time and training.

"Flight lead, I just noticed you have a bit of a bogey problem. Let me get that for you."

Fyston swerved into position behind his wing-man's aggressor. He carefully adjusted his lead indicator in an attempt to force the fighter to break off. Placing shots just in front of the fighter and purposely missing, Fyston failed in his plan, though didn't really care. He readjusted the lead indicator to place the expected impact on the cockpit. As his flight leader broke right, Fyston sandwiched the enemy fighter and opened fire as they began to straighten out. The first two hit and caused a crackle in the shield surrounding the fighter. The third overshot the target and nearly skimmed his wing-man's fighter. The fourth found its mark and slammed into the cockpit, causing a very bright explosion and a hail of debris to surround Fy's fighter as he shot through it.

I finally did something right. I'd rather save the command aspects of our fighters than save my own skin. I can be replaced, they can't replace an experienced commander.

Fy heard more chatter over the comlink and felt ecstatic that they'd managed to push the fighters back. Beads of sweat stung his eyes and he could feel the blood pulsing through his fingers as he gradually released his white-knuckled grip on his steering yoke. He noticed that his breathing had increased dramatically since the beginning of his flying and fought his lungs to bring it down into a reasonable area. The Zabrak shivered in his seat as a wave of cold flashed over him. He knew it was the breathing room that they'd manage to gain from the relentless fighter presence.

"Wait, are those bombers?!"

As soon as the phrase left his vocal cords, his assumptions were confirmed by another member in his squadron. He noticed the new guy, Alpha-2, moving towards the bombers that had foolishly shed their fighter protection. He knew that even bombers could take out a lone fighter or two and accelerated after the newest member of Alpha flight. He opened up a private channel to the man despite never learning his name.

"You're thirsty for the glory that taking out a squadron of bombers would bring, aren't you?"

"Heh, how'd you know?"

"Trust me, I know. Just make sure that next time you don't try to get all the glory yourself. A lot of bombers on a single fighter isn't the best for you."

Fyston's earlier reassignment of power from the engines caused him to fall behind the faster craft, but he needed the shields recharged before the fighters returned. As the rest of them moved past him, Fyston flashed back to the basic strategy that they'd taught him in the academy and to his prior experiences. None of what their enemies had just done made any sense on any tactical level. Why would they allow their bombers to be slaughtered like nerfs? He'd heard the order to pull back and had done so immediately, as he knew the experience of the other pilots was far more than his own.

He noticed something coming forth from the bombers and realized that the bombers weren't shooting their normal payload, but some form of fast projectile. Fyston, who was farther out from the other fighters that had went ahead of him, sent all power to the engines and shot into a dive as the missile lock tone began to blare in his ear. The Zabrak heard Alpha-2's dying screams and saw the explosion out of the corner of his eye.

And he's gone. Just like that. I could have invited him to play a game with us. I could have made him feel at home. Kriff, I never asked him about himself. I mean, I put Aelin's stash of toys under his pillow and blanket on his first day. Of course, they shouldn't have been in a place I can find easily. I shunned him, and it wasn't until yesterday that I actually accepted him into the squadron. If I'd have mentored him and gotten to know him, could this have been avoided?

He realized that his subconscious had taken over, going through every memorized maneuver that they had drilled into him from his first day in a fighter. He broke off into an immelman, breaking back towards the Halcyon Warrior and, hopefully, a better chance at outrunning the concussion missile. The missile was a persistent annoyance, though he kept an eye on the distance between him and it.

After a number of close calls, maneuvers, and risky attempts at escape, Fyston was still being harassed by the launched missile. He was angled again at the Halcyon Warrior, though felt his time was ticking down. The distance counter began dropping again and Fy began saying silent goodbyes. He closed his eyes and began counting the time until the missile destroyed him and his craft indiscriminately.  He opened his eyes and realized the missile was nearly upon him. Fyston noticed a chunk of something flying his way. He'd seen an asteroid explode earlier, so perhaps this was part of the remnants.

Then it exploded. The chunk of asteroid had collided with the missile just before it got in the kill zone needed to destroy the fighter. The wave of heat and pressure passed over Fyston, who was extremely confused. He closed his eyes and looked back at the last time he had checked his shields, which were at 78% a minute ago. He opened his eyes in surprise when his systems crackled and small amounts of electricity jumped around him, the appeal of other systems causing some of the electricity to avoid him. He felt a strange sensation in his fingers as he checked the maneuverability of his craft.

Hmm, this is new. I think this is because of my reaction to getting out alive. Eh, it'll wear off eventually.

He examined his situation with his eyes, straining them to see into the distance. He realized that he was on the opposite side of the Halcyon Warrior and that the rest of his squadron was fighting on the other side. Had he really ran that long? It seemed like only a few minutes, but Fyston felt mortified that he was so far away from his squadron. He glanced around at his cockpit and remembered that his systems were probably down.

The engines and controls still work, but I think everything else is down.

His helmet comm line crackled to life and Fyston was silently glad that not everything had failed him. Despite the helmet communications being apart from the fighter, the electric outbursts from the panels had momentarily disabled them.

"Nightshrike 6, return to the battle or face charges!"

"Sorry, control, most of my systems are down. Requesting emergency docking and maintenance so that I may get back in the fight."

"Understood, 6. Dock in the nearest hangar."

"Understood, control. Nightshrike 6 out."

The Zabrak angled himself towards the nearest hangar, which was near the bulk of the ship. The distinctive whine of his engines were all that were keeping him company, and Fyston felt strangely alone and isolated, like a horrible child that was in a time-out. He watched as the distant battle raged without him and chuckled to himself when he imagined the colorful displays from a fireworks display. He quickly pushed the thought from his mind, however, when he saw the bright flashes of light that meant someone just had died a violent death.

It was another few minutes due to Fy's babying of his engines, but he wanted nothing more to be stuck in space like a lazy bantha. He casually approached the warship and began the fine tuning of his course. It was then that he realized that something was wrong, as it dawned on him that he had lost fine motor control. He wasn't going to let it be known that he had an issue, as it was only temporary and he knew that he wouldn't be allowed to fight. Just as he began to enter the cockpit, he saw a volley hit the bow of the ship, causing debris to shoot off of the front of the ship.

As soon as his fighter touched down and the ladder slid in place, Fyston popped the seal on his cockpit and clambered out. The mechanics and technicians were already beginning their work and most were disregarding the tall Zabrak. He ran down the ladder and, keeping his flight suit on and hooking his helmet onto his belt, ran into the hallway. He noticed support personnel heading towards the bow of the ship and quickly fell in line beside some of them. He heard one last thing before the herd of feet blocked out the sound.

"We'll give you a call on your helm comm when we're done!"

An unfamiliar voice was heard from beside him, and the Zabrak looked down to see a human female.

"Why are you going towards the disaster, flyboy?"

"I've got medical experience so I can help instead of waiting around for my fighter."

"A flyboy that knows more than what's inside his fighter? That's funny. Must be my lucky day!"

"You put me in a bad light. I'm hurt, I truly am."

"You'll get over it and forget all about this after your fighter is fixed."

"Oh yeah? Wanna bet?"

"Why not? I win, you won't remember it either way. And if you win?"

"Hmm, perhaps a quick dinner and a conversation to show you that I'm not always obsessed with blowing stuff up."

"I hope you're up to it, but fine. ALRIGHT! EVERYONE BEGIN TRIAGING THE WOUNDED!"

The fun ended there, and Fyston felt a pack of triage tags being slapped into his hand. He tore open the pack and ran with the rest of the group to the nearest free individual. They all fanned out, each going to their own patient. Fyston kneeled near a severely burned Twi'lek and looked the man over. Severe burns were easily visible on his face, arms, and legs, and Fyston could see where parts of his uniform had fused to his body. He leaned close for sounds of breathing, only to hear raspy breaths from the man. He felt sad for the Twi'lek and muttered a few comforting words as he slapped a black tag on a nearby chair. Before he knew it, a large, muscular human came over to him.

"Hey, why're you putting a black tag on him?"

"Severe burns, raspy, laborious breath sounds, low pulse. Hell, I think his eye lids are partially fused!"

"And that gives you the right to count him as dead?"

"I'm sorry, but short of diverting major medical attention to his immediate treatment, which is unfair to other patients, this man will probably die."

"Go back to your fighter, flyboy. Stay in your element, get out of mine.

"You're a medic, just as I am. I'm sorry for your friend."

Fyston ignored the man and turned back around to gather his pack of triage labels from where they laid beside the Twi'lek. As he stood up, he felt something hit his ear, which he immediately felt go red. He saw the majority of the medical personnel continue to work on their patients without knowledge of the incident, but Fyston was beginning to tire of the medic's attitude and attempt to hit him.

"Look, I'm sorry for your friend and I know you've got a lot to deal with-"

"You know nothing of me! Most of my friends were down this way, and if Dran was the only one to make it out, they're dead!"

"Just calm down, getting injured won't solve anything."

"Screw you."

Fyston reared back with his head and neck, refusing to give ground to the man. He reacted on pure instinct by punching the human squarely in the nose. He tried his hardest to pull his punch at the last moment, but still saw the man go down. He kneeled at the man's chest and slapped a green tag on his chest. As he stood, he heard one of the working personnel say a word of thanks.

"Thanks. He's a talker, not a fighter. He's annoying, but hopefully he'll change."

Fyston nodded and turned back around. He found no other injured in the room, and proceeded to the next one. There was no light, save for the small fire in the corner of the room where a blown electrical conduit had sparked some paper. He withdrew his glowrod and activated it, sending a bright light across the room. He put on his helmet and opened a link to the rest of his squadron.

"Hey guys, can I get an update? My fighter was disabled and I'm out until the engineers get back to me letting me know that I'm good to go."

OOC:

2,260 is the word count, and I believe that this is my longest post yet. I know it's quality over quantity, but I feel proud that I got a post over 2k.

~~~Reaper Bridge~~~

The Reaper moved into place in front of the Fearless and began to move towards the NR forces.  Arthur was scanning the fleet trying to find the closest CR-90, when he had the location locked he sent it over to his helmsman Harald Hissack.

“The CR-90 The Vista is our first target, bring us into range and bring that ship down.”  Arthur ordered.

“Yes sir, target location locked in and in range in T-minus ten minutes, sir.”  Harald responded.

“Petty Officer 2nd Class Ferth, and Senior Crewman Jonathan when we are in range fire right at the spine of that ship.”  Arthur ordered the two gunners.

“Right away sir.”  They both replied.

~~~Reaper Engines Control~~~

Jason made his way to the engines trying to get them back to full power.  He ran from power-coupling to power-coupling checking the status of each trying to figure out where the power loss was coming from.  The power-coupling were all working at 100% efficiency.  Where is this power loss coming from. Jason thought as he walked over to the droid control bay and activated two MSE-6 "Mouse" Droids to check the internals of the engines.

The droids speed passed him as soon as they arrived from the Droid-bay they each entered the port one went left the other right.  When each made their way to the up-link station they began to send the information to the main screen in the engine bay.  Jason began to read over the information looking for what was wrong.

The system showed a few Mynocks attached to the engines it some how got in the ship and attached it self to the main engine port.  Jason walked over to the coms and opened a link to Arthur.

“This is Warrant Officer 2nd Class Jason Womack I have signs of Mynocks nesting inside at the engines and I am requesting permission to send a Marine squad to deal with the problem.” Jason said.

“Granted Warrant Officer, tell them good hunting.  Sending you the code for the Armory now, as well as preparing the Damage Control as well.” Arthur said.

“Yes sir,” Jason said as he opened the com to the Armory.

“This is Warrant Officer 2nd Class Jason Womack Chief Engineer.  I have signs of Mynocks nesting inside at the engines and I am requesting a squad to dispatch them.  I am sending the authorization code now.”

“Code received and authorization was granted the squad is mobilizing now, their ETA is five minutes.” Sergeant Ishart the Marine detachment CO replied.

~~~Five minutes later Engine hold~~~

The Marines arrived in the engines just before the Damage control team arrived.  The marines scanned the area for the Mynocks.  They were located at the top of the engines on the port-side of the ship.  The squad made their way to the lift that would bring them into view of them.

When they reached the top the squad moved toward the back of the ship keeping an eye on the peak looking for the Mynocks.  They walked halfway when one of the marines spotted them.  They set up two sniper rifles and prepared them to fire. Each sniper lined up their shot on the neck just underneath the head and both steadied themselves and fired when they had a clean shot, and were certain the engine was shut down.

Both shots hit their targets dropping them instantly.  The other Mynocks took off after the shots were fired but were stuck inside and were desperately looking for a way out.  Each of the Marines aimed at the Mynocks and fired a short burst at each killing most of them and dealing minor damage to the interior of the ship.

After the Marines cleared the room the allowed the Damage Control Teams access to the rest of the hold.  They quickly made their way to the hole in the engines and placed the durasteel plate over it till the battle was over, and they could repair it properly.

~~~Reaper Engines Control~~~

Jason was waiting for the go ahead from the Damage Control Team to turn the engine back on to fully fix the problem.  He received the message to turn them back on and with a few pulls of the levers, and buttons pressed the engine was up and roaring again.  He preformed a diagnostic on it and found that it was now backfiring.  He shut it down once again and began to adjust the settings on the panel and tested it again.  It began to flutter then it began to subside and run completely and at peak performance.

~~~A few minutes later Reaper Bridge~~~

“Sir we are in range of the CR-90 and have began to open fire.  It appears they do not see us as a threat as they refuse to return fire Sir.”  Ariyn reported.

“I can see that, well looks like we are going to destroy The Vista with no damage taken to our vessel.  Fire two missiles at that point and lets see how they respond to us then.”  Arthur ordered.

The missiles left the tubes and flew true and directly at the location the Turbolasers just hit.  The shields took the hit dropping them down quite a bit.  The Vista Turbolasers came online and began to fire at the Reaper.  Its first barrage slamming into the starboard shields dropping them to 85%.

“Get me Asy the stations Beta Flight Leader.”  Arthur ordered.

“Line is open sir.”  Jaeron said.

“Now this is your chance, fire your missiles at the spine of that CR-90, and then get out of there and report back to your squad.”  Arthur ordered.

“Right away making our run from the Aft section of that vessel so watch your fire.”  Asy said.

The order was sent over to the gunners and they nodded in agreement.  The four TIE Interceptors made their run firing two of their missiles each, which did minor to that CR-90s’ shields.  After the pass the flight made their way to the rest of their squad which was assisting the Rhegent's.

OOC:

1009 Words

After  dealing with a Mynock infestation, The Reaper attacked the New Republic CR-90 The Vista doing minor damage to its shields.  It will be destroyed after my next post or two haven't decided yet.

I going to thank Slasher for the idea of Mynocks, from his post in Second Vast Imperial Naval Fleet Topic.

Echelon sat delivering messages in place of Eagle. He was almost in a trance. Completely focuses on the task. Nothing disrupted him except the occasional report from an officer. It was almost fun. Except he remembered that he could be killed. However very unlikely, he could die. The brave pilots flying their Interceptors around had a higher chance of crashing, or being shot, but still, Echelon wondered. In the Battle of Coveway he, Slasher, and Cevdis were the only crewmates to survive the attack on the bridge.  That moment still emotionally scarred him. Though he didn’t remember it because he was unconscious, but the thought of it disturbed him. According to Cevdis it was pretty bad. For a few seconds there was no air in the bridge. Just hot vapor. It killed almost everyone. Luckily, Echelon, Slasher, and him were in the back of the bridge, but still: He could of died. He wondered if that might happen this time, except actually killing him. He pushed the thought out of his head and continued to work.

Acorn was now standing at the direct front of the bridge staring into the New Republic fleet ahead. The ships in the front of their formation had changed positions. The Blastboats were now in a wide formation that would allow lots of ships to pass through. She wondered whatever He was up to. She knew it was Him. It had to be. Vesten Un. Oh she spit at that name. He was the Captain that lead the raid that killed her parents, but it was deeper than that. She knew him as a friend to her family. Her family had descended from a long line of Navy officers. He had fought in the rebellion with her parents. He was such a good friend that they invited him over to diner and Acorn bonded with him. But when the Vast Empire was formed her parents sided with them while he sided with the New Republic. The friend ship was broken and he was going out of his way to destroy his ex-friends. He soon succeeded. She didn’t want to seek revenge. That wasn’t her style of doing things. She just wanted him to die the way her parents did. In a fiery ship.

A sensors officer yelled to confirm Acorn’s concern, “The Blastboats have changed their formation and slowed their advance.”

Out the viewport a squadron of TIEs zoomed into the New Republic fleet for another attack run. The Blastboats intercepted them and began to fire in a maelstrom of blasts and energy.

Echelon received a transmission from Mars squad leader who Echelon had talked to earlier.

“Mars Squad to the Fearless. We can’t get through the Blastboats and the CR90s. Originally they weren’t too bothered by us, but now they’re going out of their way to destroy us! They’re not even pursuing us back to the Besh formation. They’re just…just…defending something,” he yelled with sound of gunfire in the background.

“Alright Mars Leader. I’ll try and get you support,” Echelon replied, “Just stay with me and hold out.” He turned and looked toward the front of the bridge where Acorn was standing. She had her arms behind her back and her curly brown hair stuck out from under her cap.

Echelon called, “First Officer Acorn. Our fighters can’t get through the forward ships in the front of the New Repub formation. They can’t stop the X-Wings going to and from the bigger capital sh—” Then it hit him. The Blastboats and CR90s were protecting the larger capital ships! But why? There was one reason: So the X-Wings have a safe place to go, but was there another reason? Maybe they were hiding something. Maybe it was human error. Maybe they were just going on the defense. Maybe it was just the first reason. Echelon didn’t know, but he needed to take out those Blastboats and CR90s.

He continued by saying, “I just figured out, that the Skiprays are protecting the capital ships so the fighters have a safe home to get back to!”

Why are our fighters trying to get into their formation anyway? They should be defending the station! And our ships!

Echelon hustled to send the messages out to the squadrons. He quickly pressed several buttons and opened up a line between the Mars, Regents, and Baen Sidhe squadrons

“Squads! This is Echelon from the Fearless! Go on the?” he aruptedly stopped. He couldn’t just give big orders like that.

He swiveled his chair around to face Acorn and said, “Acorn. I need permission to give an order! We need our squadrons to focus on protecting the Task Force and the station! They’re sort of on a free-for-all now!”

Acorn seemed to be slightly confused by this but she trusted Echelon and nodded her head. Echelon swiveled around to realize that the squadrons were talking to him.

“Echelon. Are you there?”

“I’m here. A slight change of plans. What is your current objective?” he asked.

Mars leader responded by saying, “Just to focus on the starfighters, but the X’s keep going through the wall of Skiprays which we can’t get though!”

“Alright. We need you to just protect the Task Force ships and the station. Regents go over to the station! They’re getting hit hard over there by the X’s. Mars and Sidhe, stay here with the Task Force and fire at any attacking fighters. Do what the Skiprays are doing: Defend! Clear?”

The squads responded with a “10-4” and the transmission ended.

Alright go that out of the way. Now we need to get the Blastboats and CR-90’s who are defending their fleet!

Echelon got up out of his chair and ran over to the sensor officers his boots clanking on the metal floor as he went. When he reached them, he looked at their consoles and it immediately became clear. There were 8 Skiprays and 3 CR90s that were at the front of the formation guarding. Nothing the Fearless couldn’t handle.

He stood up at the front of the bridge and was about to begin giving orders when Acorn tapped his shoulder.

“Why do you suddenly think you’re in charge?” she asked in a semi-pissed off tone.

“I-I’m just getting a plan together,” he stuttered. Acorn was a few inches taller than him but it added to the affect of slight intimidation.

“You don’t think I’m getting a plan together? I’m commanding the Fearless now! Not you!” she yelled.

“I just figured out what they’re doing now…I even started my counter plan,” he said in a quiet tone.

Acorn looked at him for a moment with an angry look and said, “Alright. I trust you, but tell me your plan so I can approve it.”

Echelon thought for a moment. He didn’t really have a plan. He just had an objective in mind. He was going to wing it, but that clearly wasn’t going to cut it for Acorn.

“Well…I’m going to…direct fire on the CR90s and once they’re down we can focus on the Blastboats. They’re going to be hard since they’re so fast, and our fighters can’t get them, so we’ll need the whole Task Force.”

It was a pitiful, pitiful plan, but in theory it could work. It was simple.

“Alright we’ll do it,” Acorn said in a grumpy tone showing a scowling look to Echelon.

[i]If this doesn’t work, I’m going to get it. Because it puts the whole Task Force in jeopardy.[i]

OOC:

Word Count: 1,248. Summary: Regents, you’ll be defending the station now for a little change of pace, and basically I set up the Fearless to start attacking the CR90s. I might need the smaller ships in Task Force Besh to help take out the very fast Skiprays. Hope my plan will work!

OOC:

This is my second NPC post for the Imperial Remnant versus the New Republic side of the battle.

The Imperial Remnant Strike Class Cruiser Ark of Wrath roared into battle, ploughing ahead of the other ships in the Empire’s fleet as it drove into the Republic lines.  Like a primitive barbarian of legend, seized with battle frenzy, the warship pressed on, firing at all in-coming vessels, as if it meant to defeat the rival force on its own.

The ship rocked, under fire from all sides save the back, and in the engine room, frantic techs ran to and fro, trying to hold their ship’s systems together.  Under the command of the Chief Engineering Officer, young Petty Officer 2nd Class Theris checked a computer console.

“Sir!” Called Theris from his station.  “The power demands of the current situation are untenable!  Shields are being taxed, all weapons are firing continuously!  We can’t keep this up!”

“What do you suggest, Theris?” Asked the Chief, knowing that the Petty Officer was one of the most gifted techs he had ever met.

“We have to start pulling power from life support,” Said Theris firmly, already making it happen.

“We won’t last long with LS turned down that low,” Said the Chief Engineer.

“Longer than we will if we don’t strengthen those shields!” Countered the Petty Officer.

“Understood.  Nice work, Theris.”

“Thank you, sir,” Said the young prodigy.  He always did nice work.

-----

On the bridge, Captain Brustel stood with his Executive Officer, Commander Swuuth, and surveyed the battle.  The ship rocked from another solid hit, eliciting a call from a junior bridge officer about the continued decline of the Ark of Wrath’s shields.  The Captain seemed unconcerned, revelling instead in seeing the Republic ships wither under his gunners’ fire.

“Magnificent, is it not?” He boomed, his fat face red just from the effort of pacing the bridge.

“Sir, we cannot take much more of this,” Said Swuuth, as the XO heard yet another update on the warship’s defences.

“And neither can our enemies, I think!” Replied Brustel.  “Have faith, Commander.  The Republic will crumble all the faster when our fellows copy our example and press forward.  We shall be the vanguard of this victory!”

Swuuth suppressed his nerves, and his intense dislike of his superior, and ordered the shields redistributed to compensate.

“Sir!” Came the alarmed cry of a young Ensign.  “Major fluctuations in the shields grid!  We have been channelling power too much of late!”

“Re-route the power through other systems!” Snapped Swuuth.

“Trying!” Came the stressed reply of the bridge officer, but the sudden panic on his face told the Commander all he needed to know.  “Too late!  We have major ruptures in the power distribution grid!  Port shields are collapsing!”

Suddenly even Captain Brustel was concerned.  “Send techs to repair the damaged systems now!  Commander, realign the ship to present our starboard side to the Republic lines and strengthen shields on that side to compensate!”

Swuuth had to bite his tongue, choking off a reply about that not helping because someone had ordered them too far forward and that their port would be exposed regardless of their position.  Instead he said, “Yes, sir!” And began bellowing orders to the pilot station.  He also relayed orders down to Engineering.

He hoped the tech teams were fast with their work.

-----

“Kriffing idiots!” Roared the Engineering Chief.  “Some snot-nosed bridge officer child has done the most amateur re-route I’ve ever seen!  The grid is fried!”

“Did a junction blow?” Asked Theris, coming to his superior’s side and looking at the display.

“Yeah, right here,” Said the Chief, pointing to a map of the Ark of Wrath’s systems.  “A major power interchange has blown.  We need it replaced immediately!”

“I’ll go,” Said Theris.  He knew he was the best, and did not trust anyone else to get the job done fast enough.

His superior shared the Petty Officer’s faith.  “Excellent.  Get to it Theris.”

-----

Theris ran through the corridors of the ship as fast as he could.  While not as grand as a Star Destroyer, a Strike Class Cruiser was still 450 meters long, and every second he wasted getting to the junction was a another chance for the Republic to do some serious damage to the exposed port side.

As he hustled past other crewman who ran about their own tasks, Theris mentally visualised the bare bones of the ship around him.  For a tech of his skill, he did not perceive the cosmetic parts of the vessel, the floor panels or the bulkheads.  He was able to look deeper, and see the cables and circuitry flowing beneath it all.  He had served on the Ark of Wrath for three years and had memorised every inch of her.

Theris knew he was coming up on the damaged junction, it was just the next corridor...

-----

In space just beyond the embattled Imperial warship, a duo of TIE Fighters from its Dreadwing Squadron engaged an equal number of X-Wings from the New Republic fleet.  The four starfighters twisted in and out of each other’s lines of fire, dodging and weaving in a bid to gain an advantage.

One of the X-Wing pilots was experienced and began to see in a pattern in one of the TIEs.  The Republic officer continued the dance, making certain of his foe’s intentions, lulling his Imperial adversary into a false sense of security.  Finally he did something unexpected, diving when his foe was expecting a climb.  By the time the TIE Fighter had compensated it was too late.  The Republic fighter was on his tail and opening fire.

The red lasers shot through the dark of space, several missing the TIE but one blast managing to catch the Imperial’s wing.  The hexagonal plate tore off, sending the Dreadwing fighter spiralling out of control.

The last thing the pilot saw was the Ark of Wrath’s port side rushing up on him.

-----

The whole cruiser rocked as the TIE smashed into the unshielded side of the vessel, the blast of the exploding snubfighter ripping open three whole decks and exposing them to the vacuum of space.

Petty Officer Theris stumbled and fell along with most other unseated crewmen of the Ark of Wrath.  He knew at once that this impact, unlike the previous ones, was far stronger and far more dangerous than a mere turbolaser hit.  Picking himself up, he ran around the turn in the passageway ahead and cursed under his breath.

What Theris saw in front of him was an emergency bulkhead, lowered automatically in response to some major damage to the area beyond.  It was blocking his way, and the system he needed to fix and replace was in that very section.

Pulling out his comlink, the tech called Engineering.

“Theris here!” He announced.  “Chief, I’m just about at the power junction I need to repair, but the corridor has been locked down.  Can I get in, or has it been exposed to vacuum?” He asked, not wanting to think of the extra time it would waste for him to go and get suited up for the lack of atmosphere.

“Bulkheads have lowered throughout that area,” Came the Chief’s reply.  “However, we can override the one in your corridor and permit you access to the section beyond.  Sensors show atmosphere there, but the temperature is elevated.  Be prepared.”

“Open it!” Said Theris, confident that he could handle it.

A split-second later the bulkhead opened, and a wave of heat rushed out and forced the Petty Officer to leap back in surprise.  Clearly the Chief’s warning of ‘elevated temperature’ was something of an understatement.  Theris saw the whole corridor aflame, great tongues of fire lashing and curling around the bodies of a handful of unfortunate crewmen, and in seconds his face and uniform were heavy with sweat.

Squinting under the light of the flames, he peered down the burning corridor and caught sight of his goal.  The wall panel which covered the major power grid junction was still intact.  Theris knew that if he could just reach it he could have it fixed in no time.

Summoning his courage, he glanced around and saw a fire-extinguisher on a nearby wall.  Taking it and plunging forward, the tech sprayed the foam before him, trying to clear a path through the flames.  Theris moved quickly, fighting back his fear with every step, determined to reach the power junction.

He was making good progress, when suddenly the extinguisher sputtered and failed.  Theris stared at the object as if it had betrayed him, and then suddenly the flames of the corridor reasserted themselves.  A nearby wall mounted console got caught in the expanding fire and exploded suddenly.

Theris leapt back at the last second, but he found himself showered with glass from the exploding screen.  The tech brought his arms up to block it, and he winced in pain as shards tore through his arms.  It was minor damage really, but it was enough to give him pause.

The flames drew closer, and he had no way to fight them.  He cast his eyes again to his goal, so close and yet so far.  He could rush it, thought the Imperial.  He would get badly burned, and suffer a lot of smoke inhalation, but maybe, just maybe, Petty Officer Theris could sacrifice his life for the good of the ship!

He readied himself, stared into the flames, and... and... his legs would not move.  Try as he might, he could not do it!  He felt his courage wither.  For all his skill, all his genius, Theris was not ready to die.  “I... I’m sorry,” He said, though to whom he did not know.  Slowly, barely believing his actions, he stepped away, the fear taking control of his actions.

Running back the way he came, tears in his eyes, he lifted the comlink once again.  “Theris to the Chief,” He said, struggling to make his voice sound calm, “I am sorry to report that I have failed.  The conduit...” He began, struggling over the lie.  “The conduit was too badly damaged to be repaired.”

He closed his eyes as he heard his superior’s string of curses, then shut off the comlink.  How he would live this down, he had no idea.  He had stared into his own heart, and when it had truly mattered, he had failed.

-----

On the bridge of the Ark of Wrath, Commander Swuuth reported in to his CO.  “Sir, the Engineering department’s efforts for a quick fix to restore port shields have failed.  That side of the ship is defenceless while they undertake a major workaround!”

Captain Brustel scowled, angry with his subordinates’ lack of ability.  What would they do now?

OOC:

Word count 1777.  I decided to do a story about a young prodigy, an up and coming star, who does not save the day.  Instead he runs away, and his ship suffers as a result.

After Action Report: The Imperial Remnant Strike Cruiser Ark of Wrath is taking a pounding in its fight with the New Republic.  Engineering have failed to effect emergency repairs, and its port shields are now gone and it is vulnerable to attacks on that side. 

OOC:

After two NPC posts about the Imperial Remnant Strike Class Cruiser Ark of Wrath, I am finally bringing my character into the Ark’s storyline.

Junior Bridge Officer Pherik ‘Serpent’ Zail sat at the Comm Station, eagerly assisting the Communication Chief, Jash Warnock. The two men were working hard to coordinate not just the fighters of their ship, the Star Destroyer Halcyon Warrior, but also Taskforce Aurek, of which the ISD was the flagship.

Zail was exchanging updates with some TIEs, and no sooner had he shut off the current conversation than he noticed a familiar face at his side.  It was one of the many youngsters who ran about the bridge passing datapad messages from one department to another, a role Zail was thankful was not his.  Taking the latest message and dismissing the crewman, he glanced through it quickly.

It was from the Navigation Officer, Beckany Prakiri.  She had been monitoring one of the Imperial Remnant’s Strike Class Cruisers, one that was formerly battling on the New Republic front.  The ship was now being pulled back for some reason and Prakiri was curious.  The vessel, called the Ark of Wrath, had drifted close to the Vast Empire’s forces and she wanted someone to scout it out.

Fortunately, the Goldfang TIEs were close by.  “Halcyon Warrior to Goldfang One.  Come in Goldfang Leader,” Said Zail, hailing them quickly.

“One here,” Came the calm and controlled female voice in reply.

“We need your squadron to change course and investigate the Imperial Cruiser at these coordinates,” Said Zail, sending the data to the pilot’s nav computer.  “Sweep past, get us a visual, and report back what you see.”

“Understood, Halcyon Warrior, Goldfang Leader out,” She replied and cut the transmission.

The Goldfangs had suffered several losses during the recent battle with the frigate Mikasa, but Zail was confident in their abilities.

-----

On the bridge of the Ark of Wrath, fat and angry Captain Brustel was doing what he did best: Ranting and raving at his crew.

“Tell them to work faster!” He bellowed at his first officer, the stoically composed Commander Swuuth.

“The damage to the port side is extensive, Captain,” Countered Swuuth with all the patience he could muster.  Inwardly he was deeply tired of his superior’s attitude, but in the heat of battle there was no time for personality clashes.  “The energy grid is in chaos.  Engineering is all over it, but they need time to effect repairs and restore the shields on that side.  In the meantime we must follow Admiral Frinleigh’s orders and hold back from the fight with the Republic.”

Brustel bit back a retort, paused by the mention of the Admiral.  Instead he stood and glowered out the viewport at the fighting in the distance.

Suddenly a bridge officer ran over with a report.  Handing it to Swuuth, the Commander relayed it to the Captain.  “Sir, helm reports that we have drifted too close to the Vast Empire forces.  Request permission to readjust course.”

At the news, Brustel’s heavy-set face broke into a smile.  “No, let us drift,” He ordered.  “Keep our port side facing our forces, but if we drift into firing range of those renegades, I will not object.”

“But our orders...” Began the Commander but was cut off sharply.

“Are to hold back from the Republic,” Stated Brustel.  “Which we are doing.”

Swuuth fought back a retort.  “Very well, sir,” He found himself saying to the Captain.

And so they continued to drift.

-----

The lines of laser fire criss-crossed space like an insanely intricate web, arcing from warship to warship in the three-way battle.  Starfighters added to the chaos, literally hundreds of them playing out their high-speed (and high-risk) dances of combat.

Amid the sea of turmoil, eight TIE fighters plunged through, seeking out one cruiser amid many.  The pilots of Goldfang Squadron dodged clear of unnecessary fights in their bid to reach the Ark of Wrath, sitting just out of range of the Vast Empire vessels they flew past.

“I have a visual on the Strike Class Cruiser,” Said Goldfang Leader’s strong and focused voice.  “Split up as planned.  Group one distract hostiles, group two with me!”

The squadron, reduced to two thirds strength as a result of combat losses, had reorganised itself into flights of four fighters each.  The first flight dived in towards the Ark of Wrath, and the others headed towards a nearby group of TIEs that were already changing course to intercept.

-----

“Sir!” Reported Commander Swuuth at the Captain’s side, “Incoming Vast Empire fighters.  I have ordered Fearwing Squadron to destroy them.”

Brustel snorted at the news.  “Fine, destroy them.  I was hoping to attract larger prey to our guns, but for now swatting a few flies shall have to suffice.”

-----

The TIE fighters clashed in the shadow of the Strike Class Cruiser.  The Fearwings had the Goldfang flight at a two-to-one disadvantage.  Still, the Vast Empire pilots were undaunted, they had their orders and they would carry them out.

One broke into a sharp dive, swiftly pursued by a duo of Imperials who fired furiously on his tail.  The VE pilot rolled and swerved, dodging with impressive skill, and gradually led his foes in a slow but steady arc back the way he had come.  There his wingman was waiting, flying in at high speed to intercept.  With perfect timing the second Goldfang opened fire on the pursuers.  One pulled up and away, but the other was caught by surprise and exploded under a trio of well-placed hits.

The other Goldfang members also engaged in similar heroics, but they knew it was only a matter of time until they were overwhelmed.  However, they had to distract the rival TIEs and buy time for their Leader.

Goldfang One and her three escorts passed the engagement zone and shot towards the Ark of Wrath.  As soon as they were within range, the vessel opened fire upon them, but its cumbersome weapons were not designed to hit snubfighters.  Making a mockery of the Imperial Remnant gunners, the Goldfangs drew closer to the mighty warship to investigate it.

-----

“What do you see?” Asked Serpent, sitting at the Halcyon Warrior Comm Station and eagerly awaiting a reply.

“Nothing yet,” Came the TIE Leader’s calm reply.  “The Ark of Wrath seems fine from this angle.”

“Well it’s been pulled back from the front lines for some reason,” Mused the Petty Officer.

“Agreed,” Came Goldfang One through his headset.  “We shall swing around to the other side...”

Suddenly there was a burst of static on the line, drowning out whatever else the TIE squadron leader was saying.  Zail listened intently, recognising the activity of battle when he heard it.  He hoped that they were okay, not for the first time feeling like a helpless bystander, and then was relieved to hear Goldfang Leader speak once again.

“We have a visual!” She came back over the comm line.  “We have taken some heavy fire, but we got a clear look at the Ark of Wrath’s port side.  There is a massive hole in it, spanning three decks!  Seems like the result of a collision.  And better yet, sensors show complete shield collapse in that area!”

Zail smiled at the news.  So the Imperial cruiser was vulnerable?  Interesting.  “Okay Goldfang One, pull your squadron out of there.  I shall report this to the higher ups and they can decide our next move.”

“Understood, Halcyon Warrior.  Goldfang Leader out!”

Serpent wasted no time in typing the news into a report and dispatching it to the Navigation Officer, Beckany Prakiri, who had originally requested the information.  Though officially Zail had concluded this duty and was to attend other matters, he could not help but track the events around the bridge that followed the report.

Prakiri read the datapad, interest sparkling in her eyes.  She quickly called over the Star Destroyer’s first officer, the Twi’lek Aslond Von, and they conversed in detail.  Soon after, Zail noticed the XO speaking with Captain Mihawk, and with a quick couple of words the Mon Cal gave whatever was being discussed his blessing.

All too soon another datapad was handed to Petty Officer Zail, and its contents brought a satisfied grin to his lips.

A plan was to be put in motion to destroy the Ark of Wrath.

OOC:

Word count 1366.  My third post with the Ark of Wrath, continuing the twin plots of it being heavily damaged and the incompetence of its CO (and the tension this is causing with the XO).

After Action Report: The Imperial Remnant Strike Cruiser Ark of Wrath has been heavily damaged by its fighting on the New Republic front.  It has now pulled back while it effects repairs, but has moved too close to the Vast Empire forces.  After a reconnaissance mission by Goldfang Squadron to confirm the damage, the VE are now planning a surprise hit on the vulnerable cruiser.

“Admiral? Commodore Rhike is on the Comms. Should I give her the go-ahead?”

Admiral Frinleigh didn’t reply for several moments, instead staring out at the battlefield. Growling to himself, the pugnacious officer examined the situation he’d found himself in. On the flank he was overseeing personally, his forces and those of the New Republic were stalemated here in the center of the battle. On his other flank the Vast Imperial taskforce was pressing in. Prognosticator and her escorts were in a bad way. A good number of the smaller craft were shattered hulks, and the Impstar Deuce was bracketed in withering fire. As he watched, the ventral shields buckled and fire washed over the ship’s belly. Cursing, he shook his head sharply, then spoke, “Yes. I want her group to come in on the other side of that Vast Imperial taskforce, posthaste. Pincer them between our battlegroups. Once the Prognosticator’s been saved and they’re dead we can turn on the others and end this quickly.”

A lightyear out from the system, Commodore Rhike received the orders. Nodding, she gave the order, “Set course for the coordinates provided. All hands to battle stations. Prepare for jump in thirty seconds.”

-----

A small group of Vast Imperial starfighters looped out and away from the main area of engagement between VE and IR forces, consisting of two TIE Avengers and a TIE Bomber. The bomber sported a few small blackened areas on its hull, mementos of its wingman’s fiery demise a few minutes before. “I’m gonna do it, Street. Are you going to help or not?”

Street, or Starstriker Seven, shook his head in the negative. But the TIE Avenger pilot, flying out of the Dead Gun, replied in a tone weighted with resignation, “I’m telling you, Deuce, it’s a fool’s errand.”

Deuce, a TIE Bomber jockey, somehow managed to communicate a cocky smile through the voice transmission, “Thanks for the backup, buddy. I’ll buy you a drink when we get back.”

“Street, you can’t seriously be considering this. It’s idiotic.” The transmission came from Ice Lady (or just Ice, for short), who was on his wing in Starstriker Eight.

His tone changing to one of ironic helplessness, almost a vocal shrug, Street replied, “Yeah, I know. But the idiot’s going to do it either way and I’d rather keep him around, you know?”

“Fine. But you’ll be hearing about this, Street. I can’t believe I’m going along with this foolishness.” Street winced to himself, knowing the woman who was his wingmate, friend, and sometimes something more meant every word of it and would do her best to make him rue the decision.

“Yeah, I know…Okay, Deuce, how do you want to play it?”

“Standard triangle formation, Street. I’ll lead, you two flank.”

“Roger that.”

The three starfighters rearranged their formation and looped around to arrow in at the Ill Tidings. Putting on all the speed the Bomber could manage, the group shot through a thin spot in the constant and rather wicked furball going on between the two sides’ space superiority fighters. One pair of Interceptors did attempt to swing into their aft arcs, but  incoming fire from another Vast Imperial fighter  sheared off the front quarter of one Interceptor’s cockpit. Its wingman rolled out hurriedly as the uncontrollable ship and its dead pilot tumbled into a wild, looping spin.

Then they were through and approaching the Ill Tidings. Point defense turrets oriented on them within a few moments and began firing. Both Deuce and Ice took glancing hits, but neither reported and damage as the trio pulled up out of their relative dive toward the outer plating of the massive ship.

From there it was the classic rebel trench-run tactics. The group had come in at the blackened, shieldless area near the ship’s spine, and so slipped under the remaining shields. They wove their way up the hull, dodging turrets and point defense fire. As they closed to range all three had taken a few more hits. Deuce was reporting failure in weapons system, but only in regard to his lasers, while Street’s starboard solar panel was holed and Ice sported a heavy, blackened crease on the outside of her cockpit.

Fifteen seconds from Deuce’s proposed launch point, Street heard Ice Lady suddenly curse. His eyes swung hurriedly to his sensors as they beeped an alarm indicating an incoming threat. It was an enemy Avenger, one of few present, closing in fast from behind. Then the threat reading split and one dialed up quickly as it accelerated toward the trio. A missile. Street swallowed in fear- it was too close. He had no time to react.

The Ice Lady’s IFF tag dropped back suddenly as she reversed thrust and rolled. She completed the maneuver just as the missile’s threat index reached the same point. The light of the explosion reflected off the deck and off Deuce’s Bomber in front of him, but Street hardly noticed. The threat indicator was gone from the sensor screen…and so was Starstriker Eight’s IFF tag.

Deuce fired moments later and pulled out hard as his missiles streaked at the vulnerable star destroyer. Street followed on sheer reflex, but the motion was automatic. Inside he was numb. Cold. Vaguely he heard Deuce speaking, his tone consoling and openly contrite, but Street didn’t care. It didn’t matter. She was gone. His wingman. His friend. The one woman he’d thought he might…well. It had always seemed strange to him, that she’d singled him out. After all, her callsign came not only from her daring in combat but from her cold, almost cruel refusal of every advance made toward her by the men she served with. But not him. No, something had been there. Something good, something that could grow. And now it was gone and he was alone. Suddenly none of it mattered. Not the war, not this battle. Not the friend still flying beside him or the enemies whose fire streaked by outside. She was gone, and none of it mattered.

-----

“Commander! Damage report on the Ill Tidings!”

Swiveling in his command chair, Drac turned to the crewman who’d spoken, “Yes?”

“One of our TIE Bombers managed to make a run on her. When her dorsal shield went down our pilot managed to get in close. Two of the Avengers escorted him in. We lost one of the Avengers, but the Bomber successfully targeted the Tidings’  shield generators. She’s experienced complete shield failure, across the board.”

Another voice chimed in, “Sir! Ill Tidings is rolling.”

They’re trying to protect their bridge, Drac thought to himself, But if we can decapitate her, this battle is ours.. Aloud, Drac spoke quickly, “Concentrate fire on her control tower. Which way is she rolling?...Ah. Order Dead Gun to fire a spread of proton torpedoes into the bridge and control tower as she rolls to present those directly.”

“Aye, Commander.”

The rain of coherent light streaming from the Halcyon Warrior shifted, focusing on the now undefended bridge and command tower of the smaller Victory-class Star Destroyer. The ship was already rolling, and most of the shots landed on the port side of the control tower. The ship, barely recovered from the ion cannon blasts, visibly shuddered as craters grew and blossomed fire. Then it rolled past and the fire trailed over onto the ship’s port gun decks, which started firing in return.

Then a row of slashes appeared in space, the pinkish contrails of proton torpedoes streaming out from the Dead Gun. A dozen missiles arced out and impacted on the front face of the Ill Tidings’ control tower in a grid, three across and four down. The uppermost row spread directly across the bridge itself, tearing the transparisteel panels to shards and sent roiling fire deep into the bridge. The stricken Victory-class continued its roll, but without anyone at the controls. As it came around, Dead Gun sent images to Drac’s holoscreen on the bridge showing the entire front face of the control tower awash in fire, debris and jagged edges glowing with heat.

A moment later escape pods began to blast out of the Tidings’ hull in ones and twos. It was clear that only a portion of the crew was evacuating the ship, but fire from the cripple was sporadic at best. Drac nodded. Ill Tidings was clearly out of the fight, though her final disposition remained to be seen. The auxiliary bridge was still intact, after all. The Remnant might well recover her, but never in time to make a difference today.

The Mon Calamari officer smiled slightly, listening to the cheers ringing out on the bridge. After a moment he called everyone to order and refocused their efforts on the now vulnerable and cut off Prognosticator. The ImpStar Deuce still had its escorts arrayed around it and was beginning to come about on the Warrior’s stern. The threat it posed was still very real.

Suddenly reversion alarms blared. Drac’s right eye spun instantly (and dizzingly, for anyone watching) to look straight at the Sensors officers, “What’s that?”

“Captain, we mark more ships inbound…Emperor’s Black Bones. Sir, I’m reading a whole additional Imperial Remnant taskforce arriving! I mark an Imperial II Star Destroyer, the Raconteur, escorted by two Dreadnaughts, an Imperial II class Frigate, a Strike Cruiser, a Lancer Cruiser, and three CR-90 Corvettes. They’re deploying starfighters.

Drac’s startled gaze swung instantly to his tactical view. The enemy had planned well. This new battlegroup was in the worst possible location- pinning his force between the two Remnants taskforces. The Mon Calamari swallowed but allowed no other signs of fear to express themselves even as his blood ran cold. This wasn’t good. They’d been outnumbered before, but this…this just wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be done. Even as he watched one of the CR-90s they’d captured here not so long ago buckled under the enemy fire and detonated.

After what seemed like an eternity of weighing possibilities in his mind, but was only a few seconds in real time, the Commander gave his orders, “Turn us about, and order the Dead Gun and Excise to turn also. All guns, fire at will on the Prognosticator. I want her dead. Now. Once we’ve killed her, pull all 2nd Fleet ships out. All of us, not just Aurek. Then rendezvous and form a defense line a kilometer out from the station. We must hold them there. Transmit Code Seventy Eight to the station.” In the privacy of his own mind, he continued the thought, ’Yes. We must hold them…at least long enough to allow evacuation ships to load and depart. This is untenable. Sithspit, I hate it, but there’s not much choice here. We must run, or we will die. Belgaroth is lost.'

OOC:

Word Count: 1,791

After Action Report: In this post the Ill Tidings was crippled by the combined efforts of the Warrior’s firing, a well-placed TIE Bomber munition, and a spread of proton torpedoes from the Dead Gun. Prognosticator is hurt but not yet dead. We lost an NPC CR-90. Lastly, Imperial Remnant reinforcements have arrived in-system and are pincering Taskforce Aurek between them and the original IR taskforce. Drac has ordered a fighting retreat, with Aurek’s first objective being to kill the Prognosticator.

Remember, these ships have been added to the Imperial Remnant forces:

ISD II Raconteur
Dreadnaught
Dreadnaught
Imperial II-class Frigate
Strike-class Cruiser
Lancer-class Cruiser
CR-90
CR-90
CR-90

Continue your parts of the battle and include your character’s reaction to the arrival of this new enemy taskforce and their initial reaction to the orders to retreat. The next block of posts should be a fighting retreat- think desperate rearguard action. With the reinforcements’ arrival our priority is no longer winning…now we’re fighting to survive. No, this is not the end game. Do not leave the system.