OOC:

VENI NPC Post

Ensign Grey watched the monitor, and the scene of carnage there-on.  They had captured the images before withdrawing, showing plenty of dead Imperial Dominion Stormtroopers, a destroyed building, and a crashed Lartie.  The scene of devastation was an ample testament to the chaos that VENI could unleash, but was merely a taste of what unmitigated havoc they would cause in time.

“Excellent,” Said Grey, “Be sure to include this in the transmission.  Are we ready?” She asked, turning to face those elsewhere in the basement.  Just this minor movement caused a spike of pain in her shoulder where she was injured during the fight, and she suppressed an agonised grimace, maintaining her calm and collected demeanour.

The small room they were in, located beneath an abandoned building in the east of Tilsecara, was cramped with all those present.  Grey had brought some of her own people, namely Hades and Blades, and placed the rest on guard elsewhere in the Resistance safe house.  The Ensign wanted to keep an eye on those two, for they had been tense ever since Hades’ near death in a collapsing building.  She prayed that he was wrong about Blades sending him there deliberately, but Grey was suspicious by nature and was watching Blades carefully.

In addition to VENI several of the Resistance were also present, led by Premier Zaqarian, who was currently stood by Grey.  He nodded as he watched the images on the monitor.  “It’s only been an hour, but the Dominion are already rushing to suppress that whole incident.  It will rock the people when we broadcast it and show the public exactly how weak Karstok’s grip on our planet is.”

“Excellent,” Said Grey, as she watched Blades hacking into Tilsec’s Prime communications network.  He claimed to have acquired the military level access codes through regular Intelligence means (murder, extortion, lies), but she wondered just what else was going on with the man.  “However,” The Ensign continued, turning back to Zaqarian, “These images alone won’t be enough to get the people to rise up.  We need you to speak.”

The Premier looked hesitant at the idea.  “If I speak, it would have to be as me, wouldn’t it?  I would have to reveal myself as part of the Resistance.”

Grey nodded.  “You need to come out of the shadows and speak to the people directly.  It’s the only way to galvanise them into action.  We need their help to cover our attack on Karstok.”

For a moment it looked like the other man would refuse.  He had hidden for so long, carefully covering up his insurrection against the Governor-General of the Imperial Dominion, and perhaps he was too used to it.  But no, deep down Zaqarian knew that this was his time to stick his neck out and put himself on the line.  Grey just hoped he could deliver a rousing enough speech.

They activated the holorecorder, and trained it on Zaqarian.  He was dressed in his most official garb, and Grey noted a plethora of civilian honours and awards pinned upon his white and gold cloak.  She recognised a handful, commendations for dedication to duty and public service, and they did much to enhance his image.  Grey hoped it would be enough.  Whatever Zaqarian had been in his youth, the stress of recent years had taken its toll on him, and he would need to recapture the strength of his prime in order to capture the heart of the people.

“Ready,” Said Blades after a few moments of hacking.  “This will over-ride and broadcast on Karstok’s own priority holonet channel, the same one he uses to address the people and spread his propaganda.  Millions will see this, and just the fact that we can hack such an important resource will send a further message about our abilities.”

“Excellent,” Said Grey.  “How long will we have control of the signal?”

“About a minute, maybe a minute and a half,” Said Blades with a shrug.  “The problem then is not merely that they cut us off, but that they will track the signal back here.  We had best evacuate quickly.”

The senior VENI agent nodded, knowing this and having already made preparations.  Once this broadcast finished, her people had strict orders about where to go and what to do.  The end of Governor-General Karstok’s reign would begin tonight!

-----

The image of Vrail’s dead Stormtroopers scrolled across the screens of countless Imperial Dominion citizens.  Not just on Tilsec Prime, but on other worlds of the small domain.  A voiceover commented on the carnage, a voice level and calm, yet filled with profound sadness and grim determination.

“My fellow citizens of the Dominion, this is the scene on the streets of our beloved capital just an hour ago...”

The image shifted to that of the wrecked building as he went on.

“The safety and prosperity promised us by Governor-General Karstok is a lie.  Our home is not safe, his forces are insufficient to protect us.  And on the battlefront of war, Karstok shows even less competence or leadership...”

The image then shifted to recordings, brought by VENI, of the Battle of Abrae and the Battle of the Bloodmoon, both heavy losses for the Dominion.  ID ships were shown being blown asunder under the relentless guns of the Vast Empire, explosion after explosion shown stark and clear.

“My people, this is the grim reality of our time.  The Imperial Dominion is collapsing, or rather, the rule of Governor-General Karstok is collapsing, and he is dragging us down with him!”

The scenes of battle receded, and instead Premier Zaqarian appeared on the screens of millions of his citizens.

“People of Tilsec Prime!  People of the Dominion!  I have not much time, but I ask you now to hear me out!  I was elected your Premier to lead you, to help guide us all to a better future, and now I find that I cannot do that!  Karstok hunts me and my supporters even as I speak, trying to suppress the truth that I have laid plain before you all!  Karstok is finished, and we must rise up now, before it is too late!  We must end his rule before his enemies end all of us!  We have one chance, one moment, and it is already upon us!  So let us rise and up and...”

And with that the transmission cut off.

The image was gone.  The words were silenced.

But it was enough.

OOC:

1076 words.  I’m not posting as often as I’d like, but don’t count me out yet!

After Action Report:  From a secure location, VENI hacks into the priority communications network for the Imperial Dominion.  Premier Zaqarian address his people, urging them to full rebellion against Karstok, before the ID cut him off.  The damage is done, though, and now Tilsec Prime will erupt in chaos!

Lunei scanned her limited view of the battlefield, her expression growing dimmer with each bright flash of light in the distance. Second Fleet was in full retreat, it seemed. Despite their superior numbers and strategic advantage, the unexpected and brutal effects of the pulsating star had probably doomed the Fleet's assault from the start. Lunei thought back to the very brief briefing they'd recieved before Chlovi launched. A good chunk of their forces had been sent to take the asteroid base, and unless the Fleet had taken a lot more casualties than she thought, a lot of people hadn't made it back out. The Dominion ships were closing in, seemingly uninterested in the little chunks of metal hurtling between the lines of their impossibly uniform formation. The Dominion had overcome the pulsar's radiation, somehow, or at least had some other method of communication. There was no way the Vast Empire would be able to reach the asteroid again today, even if they could cancel the retreat and try another assault.

Without the aid of fighter-to-ship communications, the retreat was a disorganized hell. The Fleet's remaining TIE fighters were narrowly avoiding collisions just trying to return their own fighter bays. A handful of the assault force's smaller fighter-carrying ships had been destroyed or had hypered out already, leaving their TIE screens disorganized and scattered. On the upside, Lunei thought grimly, there were probably enough casualties and prisoners of war to squeeze the rest of the survivors into the remaining ships' hangars. They didn't even need the Saints to smash us to shrapnel this time. We just weren't prepared for these conditions.

Lunei began angling in toward the Adjudicator's primary hangar, easing down on the throttle as a TIE Defender flashed past her and slipped toward Strill's usual bay. She could immediately see that some of Chlovi's normal racks were already occupied by strangers' fighters. A pair of the fighters she'd mentally identified as her squadronmates looped back around toward one of the other vacated bays in response. She sighed. Even with comms back and operating, it was going to take at least a day or two to sort everyone back out. With all the disorganized mess they'd need to deal with when they got back to Bloodmoon, there was no guarantee the Fleet would be able to come back in time to save the Gwodd LK Nale occupation force. If only we hadn't rushed right into the trap like this... Sure, they have Admiral Furball, but we can't do skritt to save him if we just charge in blindly without at least getting some proper scouting data ahead of time. What was Trykon thinking?

She docked her Interceptor and climbed out through the top hatch. The inside of the hangar was just as crazy as the outside, with pilots and crewmembers- including some whose unit insignias she didn't recognize- scrambling around, shouting each other's names, and trying to find anyone who looked like they knew what was going on. A handful of deck officers struggled to maintain a sense of order, but it was a losing battle. Lunei remained standing next to her fighter, glancing around to try to make out any other member of Chlovi among the throng. She finally spotted the squadron's Executive Officer and began threading her way through the overcrowded hangar towards Cervidae. We need to figure out a way to deal with that interference, at a squadron level. I know a Corellian's not supposed to care about odds, but our chances of saving the Admiral and everyone else are going to be painfully low unless we even the playing field some.

OOC:

WC: 613
AAR: Chlovi has managed to slip back to the Adjudicator mostly unmolested, but the Starfighter Corps as a whole is making anything but an orderly retreat. It'll be impossible to know for sure who didn't make it until the Fleet arrives back at Bloodmoon.

OOC:

Pantac Squadron is a group created to detail what would happen to anyone if they were left behind by Second Fleet's retreat. If you would like a slot we have plenty still open. Contact Avalar or myself and we can get you situated.

A soft humming filled the cockpit of the older model Interceptor as the executive officer of Panthac followed a Dominion fighter through a tight rolling loop. She had a sense Besh flight was close by her as she squeezed the double triggers then tapped the floor rudders allowing her personal Interceptor to begin a long port turn. A few moments later she felt the shockwave of the exploding Dominion TIE fighter.

The Dominion was massively over-confident in their abilities. Their fleet could communicate that much was certain. However she figured their fighters could not. Coming up against another squadron that had trained in similar circumstances took away their advantage. Panthac had quickly claimed control over the pulse of the battle and the Dominion death toll at their hands had risen quickly as the minutes stretched longer and longer. She knew Panthac was amongst the best Second Fleet had. Now it was proving a certainty few in the Dominion could match them. She did not let this thought go to her head fully though. If the Dominion wanted to they could smash them simply by signalling five or six squadrons to converge on them. If that happened it would be all she wrote for Panthac.

The squadron had slowly allowed itself to become separated from the fleet. Part of it was by their own design to draw out more enemy fighters. Away from the main swarm Panthac could operate on their own. Even without communications the squadron had been together for so long they just knew what to do and how to do it. That is why she did not react when three other fighters assumed formation in a loose diamond around her.

Surveying what the other two flights of Panthac were doing she nodded slightly to herself as the few remaining Dominion fighters met their fate. Astri Sugo was getting on in age. The only other pilot in Panthac’s history to survive to an age older than her had been Coda. She could feel it in her bones it was time to let someone else have the torch. She never wanted the Commander slot but had grudgingly allowed Dominick to make her the second in command. It was a position she had held for years but she knew it was time to leave it all behind. Before Second Fleet had left Abrae she had received a letter from her daughter saying she was now a grandmother.

She had spent most of her life in one cockpit or another. Her record was as colorful as they come. To some it was strange a lieutenant would even still be in a cockpit. For those who knew her history it was strange she was even that high of a rank. She might be mild mannered and calm to most. However there were a few that could set her off. More than one demotion was in her personal record. Luckily she was allowed to continue to fly without being offered a desk job. They knew her true calling was behind the stick and rudder of a fighter. Here she could do the most good.

Turning her fighter to gain more insight into their small battle her eyes narrowed slightly as she scanned the area the fleet should have been. Her plans to reform the squadron around Aurek and Cresh were suddenly gone as she noticed neither Second Fleet or the Dominion ships were anywhere around them. Even with their slow drifting away they should still see the two large fleets smashing each other.

“Someone is going to never hear the end of this one.” Astri said to the empty cockpit. Tapping a finger on her nose she clicked her teeth as she continued a slow loop scanning the area. She knew besh flight would of picked up on the issue by now and would be doing the same.

Reaching beside her she drew up a long tube and slowly sucked a mouthful of water from the hydra-pak located under her jump-seat. They were never given Avengers from what they could tell their tactics were more suited to older model Interceptors. In these they could add a few modifications to their personal fighters. The biggest of hers was a small life-support system that allowed her to fly without a helmet on. It came at a cost though. Most of her torpedo capacity was gone. It did not bother her much though. She disliked torpedos immensely. She had asked if the launchers could be removed and two more laser cannons installed in their place. The Interceptor was designed for such a change. However someone in fleet command had laid down the law and wanted torpedos in every fighter. She had gotten her life-support system only by bribes, threats, and proof it allowed her to fly better.

“Well... things had to get worse somehow. It was going too easy for us. I guess being left behind by both fleets means things just got worse.” She said again to the empty cockpit. She would not admit it to herself just yet but deep down a fear had begun to grow about them using fighters with no hyperdrives.

OOC:

WC-859. Astri Sugo is the Executive Officer of Panthac Flight. She realizes something has gone wrong as the last few Dominion fighters around them meet their fate.

Beyond the transparisteel of the bridge viewports, the stars elongated into lines and then vanished in a flash of light, indicating the Adjudicator’s successful jump to hyperspace, and as the familiar blue-tinged swirl of energy started flickering, Wyl Trykon was suddenly gripped by the memory of a seemingly random episode from his childhood.

He was young – maybe five years old – when his mother’s advanced telbun-training curriculum covered the basics of plate tectonics, and he remembered being absolutely fascinated by the notion.  The environment was carefully controlled and engineered, on Kuat: groundquakes, fault lines, and volcanoes were completely unknown phenomena, and they seemed impossibly – almost magically – powerful, to the young boy.

“Why are volcanic eruptions so bad?” he had asked his mother, always eager to show his mastery of new vocabulary as soon as possible, especially multisyllabic words and jargon terms.

“It’s very difficult to predict when volcanoes will erupt,” his mother explained in her straightforward, matter-of-fact way, that always made Wyl feel so grown-up.  “So sometimes, beings can’t evacuate the area before an eruption, and they may be caught by the pyroclastic density current.”

Wyl had mouthed the unfamiliar phrase a few times, until he’d come to grips with it.  “The py, the pyroclast, the pyroclastic density current is made up of super-heated gases and rock, and can move at high speeds,” he read.  “Oh,” he observed, after thinking about what such a flow of death might do to a settlement near a volcano.  “But if it’s so bad, how can it be so hard to know when it’s coming?”

“Often, volcanoes will lie dormant for a long time,” his mother explained.  “The magma will collect near the surface of the planet in a pool, often inside a cone-shaped mountain like this one,” she continued, indicating a holograph of a volcano on some Mid Rim world, “but from the outside, there won’t be any sign that pool is growing larger.”

Wyl had nodded, and then surprised his mother by saying: “It’s like when people get sad, isn’t it?  Or very, very angry?  Nobody else sees anything before it’s too late, and somebody’s already been hurt.”

Mrs. Trykon, normally unflappable, had been disturbed when he said that, and though she had tried to hide her discomfort, Wyl had been a very observant child.

“Captain Trykon?” someone called.  “Captain Trykon?”  The voice pulled Wyl back from his memory, almost violently, hurling him back into the Second Fleet’s retreat from the Sollamens Asteroids.  Commander Zhar Bacredi, his Executive Officer, was clutching a badly-burned forearm, and trying to report.  “Sir, we were the last capital ship to jump.  We should reach the Bloodmoon System in just a few minutes, and all the others should be there, except for the three we lost.  No figures, yet, on our starfighter losses.”

“They’ll be high,” Trykon said dispassionately.  He thought he detected a rebuke in Bacredi’s eyes, but he ignored it.  “Prepare the ship to offload casualties and take on replacements,” he ordered quickly.  “I want a combat aerospace patrol launched the moment we drop out of hyper, and I want the surviving Captains onboard for a conference ten minutes after we revert to realspace, understood?”

“Aye sir,” the older man said tersely, and limped off to perform his duties.

Trykon frowned.  Bacredi’s anger was almost palpable, and Wyl could tell the sentiments were shared by everyone else on the Adjudicator’s bridge.  They’re mad at me, he realized.  Some of them, anyway.  They think this defeat was my fault.  He considered the facts and weighed that conclusion for a moment, but quickly dismissed it.  The preceding engagement had been a defeat, he was forced to admit, but Trykon was relatively pleased with how Second Fleet had performed, given the circumstances.  And as decisive as the element of surprise had been in creating the Dominion’s victory, they had failed to properly capitalize on that victory... meaning the true outcome of the battle is yet to be determined, Wyl thought, nodding to himself.  And regardless of the outcome, Trykon had acted in the best interests of the Navy and the Vast Empire, he told himself; he’d had little choice but to follow the kidnappers and try to take the Sollamens ahead of schedule.

Deftly, Wyl’s brain put aside his lingering feelings of guilt, and focused on the task at hand.  The Naval Commander in Chief was still in enemy hands, and the Vast Imperials who had landed on Gwodd LK nale were now exposed to a Dominion counter-landing.  To remedy those dual situations, Wyl had to manage his own emotions, carefully maintaining control until vengeance could be exacted, and he had to turn the potentially-useful emotions of his people to his advantage.  In effect, he knew, he had to manage a series of volcanic eruptions, making sure all their fiery rage was directed at the Imperial Dominion, in one deadly cataclysm that would decide the ongoing Battle of the Sollomens Asteroids, once and for all.

Moments later, the ship reverted to realspace, and the pieces of the destroyed shell of the Bloodmoon hung in space, surrounded by relief vessels and support craft, scrambled from Abrae to greet the battered Second Fleet.  With great effort, Trykon kept the roiling pool of magma inside himself from erupting.  Soon, he promised himself.  Promised his anger.  Very, very soon.

OOC:

886 words.  A bit of Trykon psychology, and the fleet's officially at Bloodmoon.

AAR: During the brief hyperspace journey back to the Bloodmoon System, Trykon considers the recent engagement with the Dominion, and gauges the emotional reactions of his crew, the members of his fleet, and himself.  He realizes that despite the defeat, the opportunity for a stunning counterpunch exists, if those emotions can only be carefully managed/exploited.  And he resolves to do just that.

Important information nuggets:
I mention three capital ships were destroyed, but only two were specifically covered in posts so far.  One more at least was lost, before we jumped away, and the possibility exists that one or more blew up in transit or upon arrival at Bloodmoon.  Also, I ordered a squadron to scramble on patrol on arrival, which might be bitterly resented by those pilots.  Do with that what you will. 

OOC:

Quick introductory NPC posting

Kamlott System, three days before the assault on the Sollamen Asteroids
Aboard the ISD-II Adjudicator, Medical Offices

That hotshot pilot went too far.

It wasn’t that the Ithorian didn’t appreciate the Petty Officer’s “requisition” of the medical supplies. The Zabrak had very good intentions; they were low on medical supplies. In fact, Chief Medical Officer Yortaw Habend had been contemplating ways to pull in more resources before the assault began. Petty Officer Fyston did manage to get in some of the necessary supplies. However, gauze and anesthetics were not enough for what was coming. People were being turned away for minor injuries and sickness; this was unacceptable on many levels.

But the path that was used to requisition these supplies… Bedding with a supplies officer… No. She should have been brought straight to him, so he could show her the level of depravity aboard this ship. He, at least, could be diplomatic. He knew some of his fellow officers were very tense and exhausted with the lack of supplies across the fleet.

No matter. What’s done is done.

The problem with the method the Zabrak is that they only received anesthetics and medical gauze. Their supply of bacta was almost completely gone and he did not have the facilities here to have technicians process it. Going into a full-scale battle such as the one the fleet was preparing for was simply stupid. Bacta was essential for a quick and healthy recovery.

He called his receptionist in. The Twi’lek came into his office and stood uncertainly. “Sir?” She asked uncertainly.

“At ease. As you know, our bacta supply is essentially nonexistent. This is unacceptable…”

“Yes, sir.”

“Therefore, I am commissioning you to travel to down to Kamlott’s surface and requisition as much bacta as you can find.” He handed her a cred card and continued. “This should have enough to cover the bacta and any subsequent travel.” It was his entire life’s savings, accumulated over the course of his college and medical practice days. “Contact me again as soon as you have procured the bacta.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Very well. You are dismissed.” He would deal with any subsequent reprimands at a later time. This was more important than any established protocols. He was a medical doctor. Lives were in his hands and not having the supplies to keep them safe, although not directly his fault, would haunt him for the rest of his life if they died as a result. Yes, the hospital ships accompanying the fleet probably had plenty, but they needed the supplies. There was something about the upcoming assault that greatly unsettled him…

***

Kamlott System, twelve hours before the assault on Bloodmoon
Aboard the ISD-II Adjudicator, Medical Offices

Where the blazes is that Twi’lek? His thoughts kept racing back to her and his future patients’ safety. At that moment, his holocommunicator was receiving a call. He answered; it was his receptionist. “Sir, I have 8 canisters of bacta procured; I am currently preparing to return to the Adjudicator.”

“Perfect. I will be waiting for you. Habend out.” This was good news indeed. His patients would have a fighting chance now to survive transport to real medical help, provided they needed it. He gathered a team with a couple of hovergurneys to transport the bacta back to the medbays; they awaited the Twi’lek’s arrival in the docking bay.

As soon as the shuttle arrived, they loaded the bacta up onto the hovergurneys and transported them to the medbays. “You’ve done good work, crewman. I’ll have a bonus applied to your account very soon,” he told the Twi’lek. “Go ahead and get some rest; I fear we’re going all going to need it before this is over…”
“Sir.” The Twi’lek left and Habend was finally able to relax a bit. His patients would be safer…

***

Sollamen Asteroids, first contact with the Imperial Dominion fleet
Aboard the ISD-II Adjudicator, Medical Offices

His worst fears had finally come to a head. The feelings of dread he had been experiencing the last few days had finally reached a peak. Something would happen here, today…

But the battle had already been engaged. He would be a hindrance on the bridge. There was nothing he could do but plan for the worst. He sat down at his desk and began drawing up a plan to save as many lives as possible…

OOC:

WC: 726  A bit short, but a formal introduction of the CMO aboard the Adjudicator.

Grent’s thoughts still dwelt on Joamer, but less so than before. He was now thinking, deeply, about why Joamer, as a man who’s career started in the Army, was SCO, over, say, someone who had been a starfighter pilot, and had much more experience being in the cockpit. Not Grent, though. Oh no, Grent didn’t want the responsibility of being in charge of a squadron just yet. Yes, he felt that he had more experience of being a TIE pilot than the SCO, but … well, he’d done simulator practice in the Academy, just before being transferred to Strill, as an SCO, as part of his ‘extra-curricular studies’, but he’d rather follow orders, than have the blame rest of his shoulders for something that went wrong. That being said, Grent knew that he wouldn’t mind being a Flight Leader, should the space open up. If he survived this ordeal, maybe he would train up on the Avengers, or some such advanced starfighter, and apply for a transfer to Vornskr Squadron. Only the best of the best got into the ‘Golden Squadron’, as he had heard it being called back on the Adjudicator. Speaking of which: where was that blasted ship?

“Star?” he said, without looking around, instead, his eyes were scanning through the ray shielding on the hanger doors, trying to spot the Vast Empire fleet: he could not.
“Yeah?” came the voice next to him.
“Do you know where the Adj has gone?”
Concern suddenly filled the Twi’lek’s voice, as the sense of it all being a trap descended on the pair once again, “No, I … I don’t. In fact, last I saw of the fleet was when they dropped us off here.”
“You don’t think they’ve …” Grent couldn’t finish the thought.
“No. NO. Of course not. We have one of the best Navies in the galaxy since the days of the Empire.”
“What about if they got beaten back, and had to retreat or something?”
Starlight said nothing, pondering over what Grent had said.
“Well?”
“I don’t know, Gur. I guess they’d try to let us know, somehow.”
“Comms are down, there would be no way to let us know.”
“They could send a ship, or something.”
“What? Though heavy enemy fire that has caused them to retreat?! I don’t think so. I think we’ve been left here, in this … this hell hole of a place.”
“You … you really think they would do that?” Starlight’s voice was quiet again now, barely audible.
“Not intentionally, but yes.” Grent let out a sigh. He didn’t like it.
“You think we’re going to die?”
“If I’m going to die, then I’m taking as many of th-..OW!” Grent had tried to bend down, to pick up his deece and emphasize his point, but had forgotten about his broken body. Starlight bent down for him, and gave Grent the rifle, “Thank you. Like I was saying, I’ll take as many of them with me as possible.”
“What? From up here? With that crappy thing?”
“This ‘crappy thing’ just happened to be one of the reasons the Republic Commandos were such badasses. Rifle, sniper, anti-armour …. It’s got the lot. I like the sniper attachment the best.”
“Oh yeah? And why’s that?” Starlight was jibbing him now, trying to hold in laughter.
“Because it has two zoom modes: up close and personal, and “Hello, you’re dead!””
“Sounds impressive.”
“Oh, it is. I’d rather have a purpose made sniper rifle, but they’re …”
“… a bit hard to fit in a Interceptor’s cockpit?” Starlight finished for him.
“Yeah. What about you? What do you like using?”
“Me? I’m more of a standard issue girl. My pistol is my friend in this. Failing that, I’ll stab them with my knife.”
“There’s nothing standard issue about you.”
“Cheesy.”
“You love it really.”

The banter went on. Without knowing it, it was their way of, subconsciously, trying to forget the imminent danger, and sense of impending doom that lurked like a gargantuan shadow in the night over the entirety of the hanger. They were not the only ones. All around the hanger, people were talking in hushed tones. News of the deaths were simply labelled as MIA to make it easier to bear, but everyone knew the true story: those pilots weren’t going home.

OOC:

WC: 720

AAR: Grent wonders about Joamer being given SCO, and thinks about the future. He notices that he can't see the VE fleet anymore, and mentions it to Starlight, who is next to him. They talk, and end up flirting to keep their minds off of what they both feel is another trap.

The notes of Tetan orchestral music drifted lazily through the dining room.  It was a slow, sombre piece, written some four thousand years ago to lament those lost in the Great Sith War.  Pherik ‘Serpent’ Zail had selected the composition owing to his own depressed mood, but he had not stopped to consider the impact that it would have on his guests.  Everyone was already feeling low, and they did not need a slow melody to bring them down further.

Serpent sat at the head of the table, poking at his nerf steak with a fork.  The food was rich and plentiful, a fine spread that befitted the Captain of a Star Destroyer and his senior officers.  Still, Zail found himself to be not particularly hungry, despite the intensity of the preceding hours.  Behind him, through a large window, lay the Bloodmoon system, where the Brilliant and the rest of the Second Fleet had fallen back to after the debacle at Sollamens.  The battle had been brief and frantic, the withdrawal even more so, and he and his crew had been conducting repairs ever since the fleet regrouped.  Serpent had worked up an appetite and should have been famished, but it seemed that the starter and just a few bites of the main course had been enough to sate him.

“This meal is exquisite, Captain Zail,” Said the figure seated to his right, his voice sounding oddly out of place among the ten silent officers.  “My complements to your chef.”

Serpent smiled at the kind words.  “Thank you, Captain Efragis,” He said.  “I shall pass your kind words along.”

Efragis, a kindly-faced human in his fifties, nodded in acknowledgement and went back to eating, and once again there was only the music and no chat.  The other Captain ate slowly, clearly savouring the taste, and did not seem to be as sad-faced as some of the others present.  Zail marvelled at that.  Efragis, CO of the recently destroyed Nebulon-B Fearsome, had been rescued by the Brilliant along with the bulk of the rest of his crew, following their ship’s demise in the recent battle.  That Efragis could put that catastrophe aside so quickly spoke volumes about his abilities as a leader.

Serpent envied him.  The recent death of Zail’s XO, Vagen Eosel, combined with the abduction of Admiral Krazanr, and now the defeat at Sollamens, had all combined to give the Alderaanian a serious case of self-doubt.

And he was clearly not alone.  From the silent visages of his senior officers, it seemed that morale was at an all-time low.  Kol Yandeer, the Weapons Chief, concentrated on his food, carefully avoiding raising his head to look at anyone else.  Coms Chief, Dev Mishima, usually so lively and lippy, seemed at a loss to be able to start a conversation.  The rest of his senior staff were the same, as were those officers from the Fearsome that had joined them.

All save Captain Efragis.  He even cracked a smile when he sampled some of the Kuati wine.  The bottle had been open for some time, but few at the table had tried some.  “Oh very nice.  You certainly know how to treat your crew, Captain.”

Pherik felt his anger flare, though he was not sure what at.  How was this man so calm after having lost a ship!?  What the frak was wrong with him!?  “Please, have some more,” Said Zail through clenched teeth.

“Ah, most gracious,” Said the other, topping up his glass and then looking around to see if anyone else wanted to partake.  None did, and so he sat the bottle back down again.

Serpent found that he just wanted to eat in peace, and wished that Efragis would just shut up.

He did not.

“Tell me, Captain Zail,” Said the older man between mouthfuls of steak, “Have I ever told you about my last ship?  Before I captained the Fearsome I mean?”

“No,” Said Pherik flatly.  His tone of voice indicated that he did not care, but the other officer did not take the hint.

“The Hungry Blade she was called,” Rambled on Efragis nostalgically, “A sleek Carrack Class Cruiser I commanded with the old Empire before I defected to the VE.  Oh she was great, with a great crew too.  My first year or so as her CO was one of the scariest of my life.  I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, Captain, but suddenly being in charge of so many people can be daunting, and despite years of previous officer training and experience, I truly felt that I was not ready for it.”

“What changed,” Serpent heard himself asking.

“Defeat,” Said the other firmly, then took a sip of wine before continuing.  “And I mean a hard defeat.  Rebel Alliance scum ambushed us, came out of hyperspace right on top of us when we were rendezvousing with the convoy we were meant to escort.  Our ship took a pounding and half the transports were obliterated by cursed B-Wing bombers.  It was a fiasco, with countless Imperial lives and billions of credits in valuable military equipment lost.  My career took a hammering for that, I can tell you.”

Now Zail was growing interested.  “How did you deal with it?” He asked.

“I didn’t,” Said Efragis with a shrug.  “My ego cracked, I became depressed and withdrawn, and I started questioning every command decision I had ever made.  Not just that one battle, but suddenly I was doubting my entire career, wondering if I was fit to wear the uniform at all.”

The old veteran then paused, both for effect and for another mouthful of food.  When he resumed, all those present were listening intently.  “I guess I was fortunate.  Some Imperials would execute an officer for such failure, but I had one of the Empire’s more talented superiors.  After giving me the professional reprimand scolding of my life, he pulled me aside and spoke to me in private.  You know, gentleman to gentleman, decent like.  He told me the secret of what to do with fiascos like mine.”

“And?” Pressed Serpent, wanting - needing – to know.

When Efragis answered, he was looking right at Zail.  “He told me to ‘get the frak over yourself!  Everybody screws up sooner or later.  You take it like a man, you get back out there, and for every insult the enemy have handed you, you give ten humiliations in return!  Now quit whining and get back to your ship!’.  You know, or words to that effect.”

There was a long silence in the dining room after that, none of the senior staff quite knowing what to make of the words that had passed between the two Captains.  Only the Tetan music could be heard for a long while, and then, finally, Captain Zail reacted.

He lifted a glass of wine, downed it in one, and slammed it back down on the table.  Looking around at his officers, he declared, “Dinner is over!  We have an Imperial Dominion to crush!”

OOC:

1171 words.  A thoughtful post, this one.  Was going for a different feel from other contributions I have made recently.

After Action Report:  The Second Fleet has regrouped at the Bloodmoon System, and the on the Brilliant Serpent and his senior staff have dinner.  They are joined by officers from the Fearsome (whose escape pods they recovered before withdrawing from Sollamens), and their Captain, Efragis, has some wise words for Zail to stir him from his recent doubt and depression.

Time had begun to draw out like a blade as the current occupants of Death’s Asteroid began settling in to the hourly routines. Sleeping rotations had been assigned to both the army and the pilots including a very harsh food and water rationing that would increase the hours they could stay put through the siege. Even with everything in place time was not in their favor and if Second Fleet had truly been destroyed the Dominion would have a few thousand prisoners at the very least. Joamer would not be captured though he knew too many things regarding the army and navy to risk interrogation. He was highly trained but given enough time and the right pressure points he would crack.

His words had been simple when laying out what was going to happen once their supplies ran out. He would take any pilot or army dog who could fly so that every fighter they had would make one last desperate run at the enemy. Even considering they were outnumbered they would make one last charge for the history books. Maybe, just maybe, they would be remembered in the years to come.

Sitting with his back against a crate and with Lurk curled in his lap asleep Joamer rubbed his right temple slowly. The thoughts running through his head were dark and dangerous. He had let his mind become consumed over the past few hours about the man who had brought this fate to them. The only peace he found now was imagining different ways he would suffer before Joamer slowly slipped his crysknife between his ribs.

He had been a leader in various forms long enough to realize things were not as happy and sane as they appeared to be. He knew members of his squadron were turning against him slowly. They were losing faith in his abilities to see them through this. He did not have all the answers like some leaders appeared to have. He also knew those leaders lied to keep false hope alive in the people counting on them. Joamer could simply never do that. False hope was worse than no hope in his book. His old mentor had taught him that a very long time ago.

So he did what he knew how to do. He walked a path he thought would work and hoped they would follow him.

He could not be everything everyone wanted or demanded of him at this moment in time. His one pressing concern was trying to get as many of them home alive as he could. If that meant he had to lose the faith they placed in him so be it. If it got one more person home into arms of loved ones then it was worth it.

Another pressing thought on his mind was what to do with Makenna. The medics assured him she could still fly. The nerve damage would only slightly affect her abilities to fly her fighter. However using a rifle was the real issue. With Strill tasked with one day becoming a hybrid squadron he needed his XO above everyone to be able to lead on the ground. He knew she had experience doing that but she now needed a weapon she could use with one hand. A weapon that even as it sat in its holster spoke of death to anyone moronic enough to try their hand.

Standing up slowly he laid Lurk back inside her life-support egg but kept the hatch up. She would sleep anywhere but the soft side of him wanted her to sleep on something soft for once. He did not bother to venture over to the Navy crates. They held weapons but nothing exotic or unique enough to suit his needs. Walking through the no man’s land of the hangar that separated the section between Navy and Army he continued to thread his way through the slowly growing maze of crates, bunks, and gear in various stages of being cleaned or torn apart.

It truly was a different world between the Army and the Navy. Ignoring the want to turn around and look at the cleaner more organized Navy side he simply made his way towards the larger mound of crates and storage bins where the army quartermaster had set up his own tiny kingdom.

Joamer saw out of the corner of his eye a young man stand up and begin to walk towards him. He figured with intentions of telling an old pilot to go back to his own kind but luckily for the young man one of his friends pulled him back down and quietly said, “Not him he’s not one of them not really. He’s that army dog that flies now. Just look at the rifle on his back. No pilot would even know what a pulse rifle was or even how to use one.”

Stepping past the last of the army drop zone he stepped up to where a very old man was reclining on a crate. The stripes on his shoulders only showed sergeant but Joamer had the uncanny desire to snap to attention even though it went against his own rules.

After a long moment of silence the old man said sounding bored, “Well, what is it boy? I don’t have all day. Out with it before I beat your request out of you.”

Hiding a smile Joamer said, “I’m looking for a new weapon for my XO. Her hand was impaled and the nerve damage is going to cause issues for her to shoot with a rifle.”

Opening his eyes for the first time the old man stared at Joamer for a long moment before saying, “Aye yes. You are that loon wanting to create a hybrid navy commando squadron. Oil and water boy. Oil and water.” The old man said dismissively. After a moment though he leaned forward and said, “Wait. Frak me I know your face. Thyveck, you were on Thyveck. Bad luck boy. First Thyveck now this place. I think whatever is up there really dislikes you.”

Jumping off the crate with a grace that was not evident by his age. The quartermaster moved around his small kingdom for several minutes before returning with a westar-34 blaster pistol and setting it down in front of Joamer.

“Not carried one of those in a long time.” Joamer said as he looked the pistol over with his eyes. “Dependable, easy to shoot, little to no recoil. However she does not have the I’m not something you should mess with look.”

Nodding in the agreement that old man walked to another crate and began searching. After about a minute the old man asked, “So why the frak did you want to become a flyboy? You’ve got army dog written all over you. Putting you in the cockpit is just downright unnatural.”

Smiling slightly Joamer said “Actually I was a pilot before I was an army dog. Flew an ARC-170 during the Clone Wars still have her too. Sadly I’m not allowed to fly a true fighter I’m stuck flying these... coffins with wings.”

“ELG-3a? No, too pretty. How about the DH-23, no too annoying to deal with on the fly. Yea I’m not even going to make that pun. That would be downright wrong.” He said mostly to himself. Joamer leaned against a crate and looked out at the two very different camps but kept his own thoughts to himself. “Now what are you doing down there.” His voice came echoed up from the very bottom of a crate he was leaning down into. “A Moses Brothers Self...”

“Defense Engine Frontier Model B.” Joamer finished for him. The old man came up out of the crate holding a very ungainly looking pistol with a holster and belt. Tossing the pistol over Joamer caught it without thinking and cocked the hammer back while checking both the coilgun cartridge and the conventional bullets sitting in the chamber.

“Well that’s done then. Looks like your XO has a very rare pistol now. Tell her to take care of her, she saved my life more than once. You also just showed your hand. Only those who fought for the Republic know those pistols so intimately.”

He opened his mouth to respond but suddenly noticed how deathly quiet the hangar had become. Looking behind him he caught the eyes of hundreds of men and women as they all waited for the world to start moving again. Closing his eyes he breathed deeply and said, “Frak me. They’re coming.”

OOC:

WC-1424. Joamer does some mental things then goes out and looks for a new pistol for his XO. After a few words with someone even older than him he finds the pistol and notices the hangar has gone silent. Let the battle begin folks.

It was no secret that Makenna had been a pirate, and it was no secret that a pirate’s life was difficult. However, somehow she had always escaped with barely a scratch. Sure she had some scars from incidents in the past. There was even one on her leg that still looked bad even after so many years. These were just surface scratches though. There was only one other part of her body that had suffered terribly, and when she thought about it, she could almost feel the pain come back alive in her abdomen.

Now Makenna had a new pain to live with. She stared at her hand, still sitting on the bed in the medbay they had set up. Slowly she clenched it, wincing at the pain she could feel and becoming frustrated with the pain she couldn’t. Her hand was a mix of surface wounds and nerve damage. Making a fist took more effort than she was comfortable with, but she tried anyway, determination set on her face. If she couldn’t use her hands in a war where they were basically left to die, then she was as good as dead before the fighting even started. So she would make it work. She couldn’t let this stop her. Besides, she was XO now and that came with responsibilities as well as an image to uphold.

“Well, sitting around and screwing with my hand won’t get me anywhere productive,” she finally muttered to herself and stood, brushing her legs with her hands. Once again she winced at the strange tingling sensation and the pain, but she attempted to keep her face from showing it too much. If the nurse saw her wince much more than she had when they stitched her up, she might get strapped to the bed for the remainder of her time on Gwodd LK Nale.

Whatever “remainder” implied...

Sighing to calm her newly awakened nerves now that the drugs were wearing off, Makenna walked out of the medbay area. She glanced around at the people as they wandered about doing small jobs. When she had awoken, she had asked the nurse if anyone was attacking them, but it seemed that while Makenna had been out she hadn’t missed any parties. Even the mere thought of being under while the fighting happened made her shiver. She’d rather die fully awake and fighting, not in a coma without any realization that she was dead.

As she glanced around, she caught sight of Gurlanin and Starlight up in the railings. The two seemed to be talking pretty intimately. She wondered what about. Battles always brought people closer to each other. After all, living by hanging over hell by a thread would cause any sane person to at least find someone to share every moment with before the thread inevitably broke. In many ways she envied the portrayed relationship between Gurlanin and Starlight. In the moments before her crash she had become keenly aware of the fact that Thatcher was not who he had said he was. This sudden revelation caused her to wrestle with the thoughts in her mind. Why had he not been honest with her? Why had he let her persist in her thoughts that everyone had died? He was not being fair to her, and consequently, instead of feeling relief that he was not dead, she was angry with him.

In that moment, Makenna looked down to find Thatcher had caught sight of her and was now heading over. Her body froze, indecisive as to whether she should pretend she had something urgent to do or stay and act civil. Too late though, her decision had been made for her.

“Well then! The new XO is alive and walkin’!” he said, smiling, “How’s the hand, princess?”

If there’s anything he didn’t do, it was change the nicknames he always called me. “Strange. I can feel part of it, and the other part is just... odd. The nurse told me that I have some nerve damage and that I won’t get some of the feeling back.”

“Ouch. How is that gonna help you fight or fly?” he asked, suddenly concerned.

“It’s not,” she bit out, almost angry at his concern. Thatcher seemed to pick up on this as evidenced by the slight twitch in his facial expression. Now that she knew it was Tamran, his tells were much clearer to her.

“You goin’ to be able to shoot a rifle-”

“Why would you care?” she snapped, “I can shoot a rifle if I say so. I’ll even show you if I have to!” the anger was unprecedented and she knew it, but the emotions were flaring, and she had to either vent now or never.

“Well, then. By all means, show me,” his smile was dark, and she suddenly knew which one of his traps she had fallen into. And, typical Makenna, she would prove she wasn’t lying by indulging him.

“Fine. But I’ll need to borrow yours,” she said. Thatcher happily obliged, unstrapping his and handing it to her. She held it in her hands, trying not to make a face at the pain in her hand. She also found that her right hand had to make up for the lack of strength in her non-dominant hand. The only way she could manage the recoil would be to hold on tighter with her right hand, “Right,” she said as she got a good grip on the rifle, “let’s head outside.”

The two got their helmets on and headed out to the surface. It was strange to see Gwodd LK Nale so silent after they had fought so hard and lost some of their own. Makenna also knew it wouldn’t last much longer. Whether the Second Fleet had abandoned them or been destroyed, the Imperial Dominion would want their precious asteroid back, and they would be left to deal with the repercussions.

They wandered far enough from the base so that if something happened, no one else would get hurt. She looked at Thatcher, wondering what face he was making under that helmet. The good thing about not being to see faces allowed her to wince all she wanted without him knowing how much pain she was really in. Though there was a part of her that knew he didn’t have to see her face to know that she was downplaying her pain and weakness.

“Well what’re you waitin’ for, princess?” he teased her, a light tone in his voice. She looked at him and then turned away from the base, hefting the rifle up. She aimed at nothing in particular and gripped the rifle as hard as she could. Closing her eyes for a moment, she breathed in and out slowly to calm her beating heart. Then, she braced herself as she fingered the trigger.

Suddenly the pain in her hand flared up as the rifle fired. She cursed aloud as she dropped the rifle and backed away, holding her injured hand in her other. Thatcher stood there silently as Makenna cradled her hand like a child. She could only imagine what sort of happiness he was feeling at being right.

“Happy?” she growled.

“At your pain? No. I’m not sadistic.” he said finally, still making no motion to help her.

“Then why don’t you just stand there for a little bit longer?” The throbbing was beginning to fade from her hand and the tingling numbness set back in.

“You caused this, Kenni. Not me,” he seemed to pause and she snapped her head to stare at him.

“I knew it. I fraking knew it,” she hissed, “You just happen to show up in the VE out of the blue with a new name and fake story. Your hair is even dyed and styled differently just like you used to do!”

“Hey now, it is not fair to blame me. I was going to tell you, but I wanted to find the right time.”

“There were so many times that could have been right! So many! No. I don’t believe you. I thought you were dead, Tamran. DEAD. Do you know what that did to me? Do you know that there were points where I thought living was almost pointless? You never contacted me. You never showed your face to me anywhere I went before the VE. Then you just suddenly come here and make a fake name...”

“I thought you were dead to,” Thatcher cut in, his voice suddenly caustic, “I thought no one had survived, and even if I did, I had no where to look and no knowledge of who would have even made it out alive. I was just as surprised to find you here!”

“I don’t believe this,” she growled, unable to take in his words as truth. The hurt she felt by being misled was making her burn with more frustration and sadness. By all accounts, she should have been relieved, but she couldn’t be. The fate of her friends had been etched in the stone tablet of her mind, and amending it to be open to the idea that Tamran survived and possibly others was almost too much. How could she move forward when the past was holding her back?

“Look,” he said, his voice suddenly soft, “I get this is hard to deal with. And you’re right. I did put you through some unnecessary emotional turmoil, and I am sorry for that. It was against my better judgment,” suddenly his head snapped up, looking off into the distance. Makenna shifted forward to look past him at whatever it was he was looking at, “And I hope we can talk more about this later. We’ve got to get inside. Now.”

Makenna was about to ask him what was the matter, but she quickly caught sight of what had become so interesting. Out in the distance, figures seemed to be rising from the ground, and that could only mean one thing. The tunnels that they had found before were not, in fact, deserted.

There was a whole army underneath their feet.

OOC:

Two posts in one night!
WC: 1,682
AAR: Makenna is awake and very aware that her hand is in bad condition. She walks out of the medbay and notices Gurlanin and Starlight, wishing she had that kind of friendship right now. Then Thatcher speaks to her and he challenges her to show that she can shoot a rifle. Makenna takes him up on the offer and shoots the rifle, only to reveal exactly how injured her hand really is. Thatcher then unintentionally reveals that he is Tamran, and Makenna and Thatcher argue until Thatcher realizes that enemy troops are gathering in the distance.

Bloodmoon, during the aftermath in the Sollamens Asteroids
Aboard the ISD-II Adjudicator, Shuttle Bay

The medics had finally unloaded from the shuttle. From across the shuttle bay, the Mon Calamari noticed a voice and decided to listen. “Greetings gentlebeings. If you would all take a moment to hear me out, we can get started.” This conversation seemed important. The Petty Officer decided to pay closer attention. “The situation is dire throughout the fleet currently; however, we have formulated a plan to get our incapacitated out. We have medics currently treating the wounded. However, the current team is not large enough. Therefore, we made a general call for medics and you fine patriots and doctors answered the call; I greatly appreciate your willingness and selflessness in this endeavor. Your shuttle has been specifically assigned for basic triage marking; standard procedure would be to treat the wounded, of course, but at this time, it will be better to mark the wounded and move on; the other shuttles that have been assigned to this ship will take care of the rest of the typical naval medical protocols. The triage kits are standard, but let us go over the basics I case any of you have not done field work in the past. There will be five tag colors, to mark conditions. The black tags will be for the dead; we will have them sent to our hospital ships after the major cases have been taken care of. The next two tag colors, red and orange, are for transport to our designated hospital ship, the EF76 Nebulon-B-model Hospital Ship Conciliator. The red tags will be for critical cases. They will be loaded onto the express medical shuttles. And the orange tags are for less critical cases, where recovery will be long-term, where incapacitation can be expected during our renewed assault on the Sollamens. The last two tags will be for cases who can be expected to have a quick recovery, that is, an injection of bacta and a return to active duty, within a few hours.  These two ratings are marked as yellow and green, again, priority for medbay treatment and necessary medbay treatment, but less urgent. As you exit the bay, you will be given triage kits, and on each kit will be a section designation. This will be the areas in which you will triage. After your team has screened your section, return to the medbays and help our medics with the on-ship treatments. Once again, I thank all of you for your assistance in the matter.”

He began to follow the rest of the medics out into the main portion of the ship and picked up his triage kit. It had a marking saying “Crew and Officer Quarters.” He followed the general flow of medics while he began to orient himself with the ship. There was something inherently immoral with this procedure, from a medical standpoint. Patients should be treated as they were encountered. Nothing left to chance. Snap out of it. You’re not a civilian anymore. Military medicine has a different baseline mechanic. These are soldiers. And there are priorities here. That was the deal breaker. Priorities. Beyond that, there is an inherent level of honor and discipline needed for naval doctors.

Aboard the ISD-II Adjudicator, Crew Quarters

He had finally arrived in the crew quarters. It was mostly barren, as would be expected in a situation such as this. It seemed as if there were some injuries, though. The Mon Calamari decided to take charge. The other medics in this group seemed to have no prior field experience. “You four. Start tagging the patients out in the hallways.” He then pointed to the other two humans in the group. “You two. Take the eastern quarters. Make sure you investigate every room. If the patients can be moved out into the hallway, do so. But do not injure them further. We cannot afford that even under normal circumstances. However, these are not normal circumstances. And I have also heard tale of low medical supplies throughout the fleet. We have to make do with what we have.”

That left one other medic, excluding himself. A Chiss. “Alright. You’re with me, then. We’ll be taking the western quarters. We will all meet back here when we are done. Dismissed.”

“Sir.”

They were systematically checking the rooms for victims of the previous conflict when the Petty Officer noticed odd sounds coming from one of the rooms. Something was wrong here. He pulled his personal blaster rifle off of his back. He finally took the time to figure out the name of the Chiss he had been working with in the crew quarters. Her name was Shawn’kyr.  “Shawn’kyr, I need you to keep checking the rooms. Stick to the procedure we have been following and you should be fine. I need to investigate this room.” He primed the blaster rifle, ready for hostile contacts.

“Sir.”

He quickly opened the door to find a very confusing scene. There were injured crew members. And an officer huddled in the corner of the room.  Well. That’s the source of the noise, he thought as he lowered his blaster rifle. Indeed it was. The officer in the corner was producing very odd sounds. In any case, this officer had deserted his post and had left victims to suffer in the same kriffing room. That was the worst part. This man seemed to be suffering from an overdose of glitterstim. His symptoms were all there; and for cases of glitterstim, overdosing was especially easy due to the level of pleasure, feeling of power, and how quickly it began working. Dereliction of duty, however dishonorable, was nothing compared to leaving colleagues and fellow officers or crew men to suffer or die especially due to other circumstances such as spice.

As he entered, the room became very silent and very still as the human finally noticed the Mon Calamari’s presence. Glitterstim could very easily do that, even when overdosed. It heightened mental capacities and provided some individuals telepathic powers in which some could even sense the thoughts and presence of other individuals. Moments passed and the human began making very weak sounds. It was obvious that he was fading quickly; glitterstim was very toxic and overdoses could lead to death very quickly. This is a waste of time; he should be left to die. But even with these thoughts, the Mon Calamari decided to treat the man; it was a matter of morals. He couldn’t just leave a man to die.

A quick scan of the human’s vitals indicated that he was fading very quickly. The medic gave him a quick injection of bacta to stabilize his patient; he was not familiar with the mechanisms of spice induced-states. But, as it was, physically, he had quite a few problems: hypertension, palpitations, myoclonus, and a major shift in his body chemistry. He had heard tale of this particular readout: serotonin syndrome. This had to be the root of the problems formed by glitterstim overdose. From what he knew of the spice, this syndrome lined up exactly with what he knew of neural stimulants such as this. He pulled out his datapad quickly, just to check how to treat the case:

Activated carbon could be used to nullify the effects in the bloodstream by absorption through the digestive cavities.

Benzodiazepines will treat the myoclonus.

There was no direct way to cure the syndrome, as it is an imbalance in the serotonin levels in the body.


The other symptoms would have to be treated as they were: cardiac issues. He could not directly treat them here, but they were not life threatening at this point. At this point, everything but the cardiac problems should be taken care of the bacta, to some extent, at least. The medbays could help towards full recovery.
He waited a few minutes for the bacta to work. The officer slowly began to recover and seemed to regain his mental and some physical faculties.  At that time, the officer tried to run. “You kriffer,” the Mon Calamari muttered under his breath as he watched the officer try to run. He pulled out his personal blaster and aimed for the human’s hamstring.  One well aimed shot caused the officer to fall once again. The Petty Officer approached the sorry excuse for life, eyes blazing with hatred and fueled by the human’s misdeeds. “You sick and twisted bastard. I should just kill you now,” he snarled. “But a normal death isn’t good enough for you. No. At the very least, you deserve a traitor’s death. On your feet.” He didn’t move. The Mon Calamari hit him on the small of his back with the butt of his rifle. “Now!” He decided to follow his orders this time.

He was an officer from the bridge. That was where he was going, then. The officer slowly limped out of the room and the enraged and furious Mon Calamari followed behind closely. “Shawn’kyr,” he called out. She returned moments later.

“Sir?”

“I’m leaving you in charge. When all of the medics return from the triage, take them through the officers’ quarters, just to make sure we’ve tagged all of the injured. I will join all of you in the medbays; I need to go take care of this kriffer.”

“Sir.”

“Dismissed.” He hit the human with the butt of his rifle and yelled, “Now move!”

Aboard the ISD-II Adjudicator, Command Bridge

“Keep moving, scum.”

He brought the traitorous scum to the current shift’s XO. “Sir?”

“What’s going on here, Petty Officer?”

“This… Man… Is scum. I found him huddled in a corner in his quarters with injured crew members. He overdosed on glitterstim. Despicable and a disgrace to our entire Navy. Your orders, sir?”

“Take him to the medbay for treatment. He looks very… Beaten… Currently.” The XO gave the medic a very piercing look, as if he knew what else had happened concerning the officer.

“Yes, sir.”

“You mentioned that he overdosed on spice?”

“Affirmative, sir.”

“This is most disturbing, then. Take him to the medbays. I want him treated and in rehabilitation… But have our other medics treat him… I feel something has… Happened between you two.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Furthermore, if there was one officer aboard in possession of spice, there may be a vector for attainment aboard the ship. Since you found the evidence, I am ordering you to head an investigation to locate a possible drug ring.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Aboard the ISD-II Adjudicator, Medbays
Half an hour after the incident on the bridge

He had conflicting orders. His immediate superiors and his morals had ordered him to return to the medical bays to help treat the wounded. And, indeed, the overall number of wounded still on the ship was great. But, on the other hand, he had been given orders by the ship’s Executive Officer and his duty to trace the drug ring.

This was a kriffing mess. Either way, he would be breaking direct orders. Perhaps there was a middle ground somewhere? He could patrol the ship for more wounded and late coming incidents from the defeat in the Sollamens and keep an eye out for more cases of overdoses. That would work. I would not be directly breaking any of my orders.

With a sense of personal achievement, the Mon Calamari felt he had been fully initiated back into the Vast Imperial Navy and was ready to see the Imperial Dominion crushed underfoot.

OOC:

WC: 1915
AAR: Tosth arrives on board the Adjudicator and receives his orders to tend to the wounded. He encounters a major breach in duty, honor, and morality that he directly addresses, resulting in the appointment of having a lead for investigation into a possible drug ring aboard the Adjudicator. He then returns to the medbays with a renewed sense of duty and awaits his orders in the upcoming assault.

Pherik ‘Serpent’ Zail stood proud and tall at the front of the bridge of the VSD Brilliant, feeling eager and determined.  Some stern words from Captain Efragis had woken Zail up, helped him shove aside his doubts and put his recent failures from his mind.  Serpent still felt those negative feelings, lurking just beneath the surface and waiting for a chance to come out again.  For now, though, he was his old self, and he was going to hold on to that for as long as he could.

“Emerging from hyperspace in ten!” Called his Chief Helmsman, Ysanne Samasl.

“All hands, battle stations!” Declared Second Officer, Farish Quinn.

A few moments later, the spectacle of hyperspace was replaced in Zail’s view with the Sollamens asteroid field.  The last time they were here the Second Fleet had been beaten, but not this time.  This time the Imperial Dominion would fall!

“How are we?” Asked Serpent, striding across the command walkway and looming over the crew pits below.

“Sensors and communications have cleared, sir,” Said Dev Mishima.  “Whatever period of activity the Sollamens Pulsar was in before, it’s not now.  Radiation levels are normal, our systems are clear.”

“Excellent!” Said Zail with a cruel grin.  “However, keep an eye on the pulsar.  The moment it starts to act up, inform me.  I want us to shift over to Captain Trykon’s new tactics the moment we lose comms again, understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Tactical hologram!” Ordered Serpent, and a Junior Bridge Officer promptly activated it and tied it in to the sensor station.  Zail and his XO walked over to the display, studying it.

“There they are!” Said Quinn.  “The Dominion fleet is still at Gwodd LK Nale, rather than lying in ambush again.”

“True,” Said Serpent darkly, “But look at all those troop carriers.  Our forces on the asteroid are going to get overwhelmed quickly unless we can break that fleet.”

“We will, sir,” Vowed Quinn.

“Captain!” Came Com Chief Mishima’s voice.  “Incoming communication from the Adjudicator.  Captain Trykon says to begin the attack immediately!”

“Tell Trick that we are happy to oblige,” Replied Zail.  “Launch all fighters, power shields, gunnery crews stand by!  Helm, full ahead!”

-----

The Second Fleet ploughed forward towards their foes, blasting aside intervening asteroids in their relentless forward push.  There was little elegant about the Vast Empire Navy’s formation, little tactics beyond the Taskforces Aurek and Besh staying close together, each capital ship able to offer covering fire to at least two others.  Rushing before the mighty warships, scores of TIE squadrons hurtled towards the Dominion fleet, the vanguard of their parent vessels.

The ships of the VE were battered from the recent fighting, their pilots and crews tired after a long day, but right now their determination and passion were at an all time high.  When they reached and fell upon the Imperial Dominion armada, it was amid a surge of adrenaline and pure, no-holding-back courage.

They were magnificent.

The dark of space was lit up with a thousand turbolaser shots, angry red and neon green being thrown back and forth amid the warring factions.  Explosions punctuated the battle here and there.  The punctured hull of a capital ship, the high-speed demise of a TIE Interceptor, it was deadly chaos of the first order.  Lives were lost every moment as the two forces hit each other hard.  Neither side was backing down, as both fleets were determined that this would be their final encounter.

Just ten minutes into the fighting, and the Brilliant was right in the thick of things, going toe-to-toe with two enemy CR-90s called the Venom Maw and the Alestris, plus an accompanying wave of assorted starfighter squadrons.

“Incoming TIE Bombers!” Declared Dev Mishima.

“Send Shock Squadron’s Third Flight to engage,” Said Zail smoothly, feeling oddly calm and self-assured.  “Keep Flights One and Two defending the Awe Bombers on their run against the Alestris.”

“Yes, sir,” Replied Mishima, quickly relaying the orders.

“Port shields are taking a pounding from the concentrated fire of those corvettes,” Said Quinn, pointing to the tactical display.

“Bring us around sixty degrees,” Serpent told him.  “Aim our prow at Gwodd LK Nale and use back-up power to boost our shield strength.  Remember, focus on the Venom Maw while our TIEs destroy the Alestris.”

Quinn nodded and went away to relay the orders, giving Serpent time to survey the battlefield as it was laid out on the hologram projection table before him.  The Dominion fleet and the VE’s Second Fleet had clashed twice now, at the Bloodmoon and at the First Battle of Sollamens, and both had lost vessels.  As they were poised now, the Second Fleet was noticeably the larger of the two, and he could see that they knew that.  The Dominion fleet was staying tight, fighting defensively, and Zail tried to discern what they were waiting for.

Probably waiting for the Pulsar to go active again,  He mused.  If it does they expect that the advantage will be theirs, but we have worked out a few contingency plans.  If they think the Pulsar will save them then the Dominion is in for a surprise.

What was of far more concern to Serpent was the enemy Victory Star Destroyer Ravisher.  So far the mighty warship, one of the few that the Dominion had that could go head-to-head with the Brilliant, was hanging back from the fighting.  That might have been to do with the general conservative pattern of the enemy armada’s tactics, but Zail did not think so.

I fought the Ravisher at the Bloodmoon, mused Serpent, but it got away from me.  Is she seeking a rematch?  If so why not just get on with it?

Zail put the matter aside for now, but decided to keep an eye on the rival VSD.

OOC:

967 words.  Just a little intro into the fighting.

After Action Report:  The Brilliant arrives at Sollamens with the rest of the Second Fleet and gets stuck in to fighting the Dominion force around Gwodd LK Nale.  Serpent notices that their foes are fighting very defensively, and wonders about the odd behaviour of the enemy VSD Ravisher.

OOC:

VENI NPC Post

“Really gets your heart pumping, doesn’t it ma’am?” Asked Agent Strings as they surveyed the turnoil that had engulfed Tilsecara.  The gusto with which people had taken to the streets to overthrow Karstok had surprised even the veteran political manipulator.  Was is simply that the police were now on the side of the revolution?  Or had the VENI team unwittingly tapped into some latent resentment that had been brewing among the populace for a long time?

Ensign Grey had not given it much thought, as ever all she cared about was results.  “It’s time to get going,” She said, turning from the vista of turmoil and descending from the rooftop where they had been standing.  Down into the Resistance safe house, Grey surveyed the rest of her team, plus their allies.

Aside from her Intelligence agents, both Premier Zaqarian and his close friend, Director Yavala, were present.  The latter had brought a group of his personal security forces, and the former was now escorted by representatives of the planetary police.  They would be the tool through which he established his control of the planet once Karstok was dead, and Grey was pleased that the Premier had won them over so quickly.

“Premier, it is time for my people to do their thing,” Grey told Zaqarian.

The other nodded.  “Very good.  The sooner Karstok falls, the sooner this chaotic loss of life can end,” He said, a hint of reproach in his voice.  Whatever else Zaqarian had become under the Governor-General (lackey, excuse-maker, and several other unpleasant labels given him by his political rivals), he did indeed care for the world he was elected to lead.

“He’ll be dead before night fall,” Grey promised.  “Strings, Blade,” She said, turning to address two of her people.  “Stay here with the Premier and his people.  Blade, you know this world better than any of us, assist the insurrection as best you can.  Strings, I want you forming alliances.  Use your negotiating acumen and see how many other big players you can bring onto the Premier’s side.  Business magnates, media moguls, whoever.”

“Yes, ma’am,” The duo said in unison.

Finally, Grey indicated to her last four agents.  “Hades, QuaD, Grim and Grin.  With me!”

-----

The five advanced on foot through the streets of Tilsecara, each of them alert with weapons drawn.  Grey had instructed them all in detail before setting out, telling them to be on guard for the approach of anyone.  She was a veteran Intelligence agent and under no illusion as to how dangerous a world in the grips of rebellion could get.  Either side, Karstok’s or the Resistance’s, would be happy to take shots at a group of dubious allegiance.  There was no ‘friendly’ territory between them and Karstok’s mansion.

They advanced down three streets unmolested, the burned-out cars and smashed windows giving testament to the carnage that had already swept through here.  Grey wondered idly just how much money the Vast Empire would have to pump into this place in order to repair it once it fell.  Then she brushed the thought aside.  That was not her problem.  VENI were concerned with devastation, not construction.

The sounds of fighting reached them before they caught sight of what was happening.  Carefully, with Hades in the lead, they approached the end of the street and turned around the bend onto one of Tilsecara’s central concourses.

There was a riot in progress, a brutal encounter involving the people and the police united against a group of a couple of dozen Stormtroopers.  The white-armoured soldiers were firing liberally into the crowd, heedless of who they hit, but the press of hundreds of revolutionaries just kept coming.  The police, and those few citizens who were armed, were firing back, though with little success.

And looming large over the encounter, tipping the scales firmly in the favour of the Dominion forces, was an All Terrain Scout Transport.  The AT-ST was likewise firing into the crowd, and the rioters seemed close to breaking as it drew ever closer to them.

“Think we should go around?” Hades asked Grey, studying the situation.

The Ensign made a face.  “This street leads straight to the political district, where Karstok’s mansion is located,” She said.  “If he is guarding this approach so well then I see no reason to expect that the others will be any easier.”

“So what do we do, ma’am?” Asked QuaD.

“We go through,” Said Grey.  “Let’s take out that AT-ST.”

-----

Grey sent Hades, Grim and Grin towards the AT-AT on foot, while she and QuaD ran into a nearby five-story building.  Advancing up to the fourth floor, treading over broken glass and smashed doors, they reached a solid vantage point.

Grey reached a window and peered out.  From this height, she was looking slightly down towards the head section of the AT-ST.  Raising a set of electrobinoculars to her eyes, she surveyed the war machine and sought out a specific target.  There!  She locked on and read off the figures.  “Sixty three degrees, twelve minutes, forty four seconds.  Depression, twelve degrees, fifty five minutes, seven seconds.”

QuaD nodded, gradually adjusting the angles of his sniper rifle in line with what Grey, acting as his spotter, was saying.  The hardened soldier was totally focused through his scope, zeroing in on the main barrel of the AT-ST’s forward cannon.  He aimed ever so carefully, waited for the bi-pedal tank to stop and hold still for a moment.

“You are clear,” Said Grey, also tracking the progress of the walker as it stopped to take aim at a group of protesters.  “Fire, fire, fire,” She gently insisted.

QuaD squeezed the trigger, and the shot lanced out towards its goal.

The blast ripped through one of the main power relays on the target cannon, blowing it up and setting off a chain reaction.  The cannon was already powering up to fire and the resultant explosion was quite spectacular, wrecking the front of the walker and sending gouts of fire lapping up across the driver’s viewports.

The AT-ST rocked slightly with the blast, far from destroyed but now denied its primary weapon.  Grey then raised her comlink and said, “Now!”

Across the street, the other three agents fired quickly, an array of shots aimed at the walker’s secondary weapon and obliterating that too (though with a far less explosive result).  Within moments the Dominion war machine was devoid of armament.

“Solid work, team,” Said Grey, “Let the rioters finish it off.  We can press on by now without difficulty.”

OOC:

1088 words.  The VENI team near its goal.

After Action Report:  Ensign Grey has split the VENI team, leaving Strings and Blade to assist the Premier Zaqarian’s Resistance, and then taking the rest to hit Governor-General Karstok.  They pause to take out a Dominion AT-ST and are now clear to progress into the political district.

The first battle of the Sollamens had ended pretty badly for the Starfighter Corps. The frenzied transfers of pilots and equipment back to their proper ships had masked the casualties and kept hopes up for a time, but as Second Fleet prepared for a counterattack, the cruel reality began to seep back in and poison the atmosphere of the various hangars and barracks. Whatever their training counted for, Chlovi had taken its fair share of losses. Vkkat "Three-Eyes" Ahkk and Sebastian "Ferret" Raidro were missing-in-action and by all rights probably dead. John "Kilroy" Varl's Interceptor had been severely damaged and left for dead in the chaos, but another capital ship had tractored his fighter in by accident and saved his life. The remaining pilots were disheartened and, in some cases, traumatized. Talen Robavu, the Duros storyteller, had immediately resigned from the squadron upon accepting Ahkk's death and was currently negotiating for a noncombatant role on the Adjudicator. Cervidae had a minor breakdown and was temporarily pulled from duty, leaving Lunei as the acting-Executive Officer.

Krayt, their recently appointed Trandoshan Squadron Commander and former slave-driver, was still alive and well (although a few of the pilots, most notably Kaitlyn Batnac, wished otherwise). He'd bluntly informed them that they would not be receiving any reserve pilots, as the only ones left had been assigned to the squadrons with the highest casualties. And with that, and a few choice words expressing his opinion on their performance, he threw them back into the simulators to practice unaided targeting and cooperation without direct communications. They improved, bit by bit, but there wasn't going to be enough time to work out all the kinks in Cabby's laser-based flash code system before their next engagement. Still, it was better than flying in completely unprepared.

Lunei popped the hatch on her sim pod and hauled herself out. Vornskr had beat them, as usual, but the elite squadron's blatant disregard for group maneuvers in the pulsar environment had given Chlovi a few more kills than normal. As she stepped back to wait for everyone else to finish she caught sight of a pair of green lekku disappearing through a doorway. Muttering an excuse to the nearest Chlovi member, she slipped out the door and chased after the retreating Twi'lek.

"Maroy?"

The older pilot kept walking, as if she hadn't noticed Lunei, and at that moment the younger woman noticed the man in a psychiatrist's outfit leading the way.

"I thought you weren't allowed to leave your quarters yet?"

Maroy stopped and turned slowly to face Lunei. She glared at the human with an almost feral ferocity, then blinked and relaxed her expression. "Oh, you... Lunei, right? Sorry, can't chat, very busy."

Lunei stood bewildered for a moment as Maroy began walking off again. Why was her best friend treating her like a total stranger? She noticed that the Twi'lek's gait was much more relaxed than she remembered, and her lekku were draped rather limply down her back. "I just visited you yesterday... How could you not remember me?"

The Twi'lek just gave an unnatural smirk in response, then walked through a doorway and out of sight. Everything about how Maroy was acting just screamed 'wrong' to Lunei, like a holorecording played out of sync. The psychiatrist gave a quick apology before sealing the door, leaving Lunei alone in the hallway. She was alone... So very alone.

What the hell...

-----

Chlovi scrambled with Vornskr and the remnants of Krakana as soon as the Adjudicator hit realspace. A quick glance at the targetting computer confirmed that comms and sensors were still up, and Lunei sighed with relief.

[[Ssstay in formation, Chlovi. The pulsssar might go active at any moment. Prioritizzze bombersss and their essscortsss. Quick Fire, Cabby, you're with me.]]

"I second that, Lead. Twitch, Kay, on me. Let's push while we still can. As soon as comms drop, switch to the laser-comm program I set up on your TIEs just like we rehearsed. Just don't forget to switch it back off when you're trying to shoot something. At power levels that low you'd be lucky to boil a cup of water."

A single chuckle broke out, again a welcome reassurance that everyone's communications equipment was still working as intended. Lunei had never really appreciated before this campaign just how useful it could be. If they pushed the advantage now, the second battle of the Sollamens had a pretty good chance of ending that much quicker.

OOC:

WC: 748
AAR: Chlovi lost two pilots in the first Sollamens battle, and three more are unable to fly for various reasons. Lunei is acting-XO. The remaining six pilots have worked out a flash-code system based on modulating their lasers temporarily and have been training nonstop. At one point Lunei meets Maroy briefly and discovers that the Twi'lek isn't quite the same person anymore. Finally, Chlovi has joined round two of the battle.

The explosion of the Imperial Dominion corvette off the port side of the Brilliant brought a smug smile to the lips of Pherik ‘Serpent’ Zail.

“There goes the Alestris,” Said his temporary XO, Farish Quinn, his tone also giving voice to his satisfaction in the kill.  “The Awe Squadron Bombers did well.”

“Indeed.  Mr Mishima!” Called Zail to his Com Chief.  “Contact the Awes and congratulate them on a good kill.  Also, have them return to the hangar to reload their torpedoes.  This could be a long fight and I want to seize this chance to re-arm them.”  Turning to Quinn, the Captain added, “Continue our attack against the Venom Maw.”

The turbolasers of the Brilliant were still raining down on the second of the two CR-90 corvettes they had engaged, and with its sister ship Alestris gone it was only a matter of time before the Venom Maw fell too.  Things were going well.

Too well.

No sooner had Mishima spoken to their TIE Bomber squadron, than he piped up from the crew pit.  “Sir, got a bit of static at the end of that last transmission,” He warned.

“Check the pulsar!” Ordered Serpent immediately.

Mishima checked, and promptly confirmed.  “Yes sir, the Sollamens Pulsar is entering its active stage, just like during the previous battle.  Communications and Sensors are being affected.”

Zail nodded.  The Second Fleet had prepared well for this eventuality.  “Switch over to infra-red flash code and place spotters at the pre-determined vantage points around the ship.  As before people, whatever you see please relay to the bridge so we can lay out and adjust the tactical map by hand.”

The bridge crew rushed to carry out his orders, and while this was similar to what they had done during the First Battle of Sollamens, they were far more prepared for it this time.  People ran to and fro, and as the Pulsar at the centre of the asteroid field rose in intensity, Serpent saw his tactical hologram display flicker and die, no longer having sensors to give it input.  And just like that they were deaf and blind.

However, the Imperial Dominion was not.  They had been waiting for this change in situation since the VE had first attacked, and now their counter strike finally began.  With renewed vigour, the enemy armada came at their foes hard, and Zail was quick to notice one of their prime vessels moving into striking distance.

The Victory Star Destroyer Ravisher, which had been holding back until now, suddenly lurched forward with a burst of speed, moving to intercept Serpent’s Brilliant.  The corvettes had been easy, but now Zail’s people had a rival of identical size and firepower.

“Brace yourselves,” Said Serpent.  “Here they come!”

-----

Commander Ilusan watched the Brilliant draw closer in his forward viewport.  The fight back of the Imperial Dominion was about to begin, and he would start it by taking out the infamous Captain Zail and stealing his prized warship.

The two Star Destroyers grew closer, turbolaser fire barrages being exchanged between them.  The shields of his Ravisher were dropping rapidly under the pounding, but Ilusan was not worried.  It was all part of the plan.

“One klick and closing sir,” Reported back his helmsman.

“Closer,” Said the Commander, feeling the ship shake under the Brilliant’s assault.  “More power to shields!  Divert power from weapons if you have to!  Remember, this ‘attack’ is just for show to distract them!”

“Yes, sir!” Replied his Defence Officer.

“Six hundred meters!” Called his helmsman a few moments later.

“Hold position!” Ordered Ilusan.  “Now, drop our prow forty degrees and continue firing!  Make it look like our position is simply to bring more turbolasers to bear.”

His crew complied, carefully manoeuvring the Star Destroyer into perfect position.  The hangar bay on the bottom of the Ravisher was now totally out of line of sight from the Brilliant.  The ships being carried within the Dominion vessel could now be launched in secret.

Well, sensors could still detect the launches, but with the Pulsar active, sensors were no longer an issue.

“Tell the strike teams to go,” Said Ilusan, and then sat back to enjoy the show.

-----

Down in the hangar, Sval ‘Airlock’ Heysh got the order he had long waited for.  “Fire up the engines, Drenon,” He told his co-pilot, “Let’s go!”

They launched their shuttle, filled with Stormtrooper commandos, and hurtled out into the void of space.  Aside from their Katarn-Class Boarding Shuttle, there was a flotilla of other assault craft in formation with them.  They ranged from regular shuttles, to drill-style boarding craft that dated back to the Clone Wars.  Almost twenty in total, they packed enough soldiers to plough through the simple Naval crewmen of the Brilliant and secure its most vital areas.

Heysh brought his shuttle along the underside of the Ravisher, moving hard and fast and letting the rest of the assault teams struggle to keep up.  Within a few moments he had cleared the cover of the Star Destroyer, and saw the full explosive tumult of the battle playing out above him.  Both the Brilliant and the Ravisher were still exchanging heavy fire, and he had to make sure that he steered clear of it.  However, dangerous as the turbolaser blasts were, they were essential to the plan.  With their gunners and spotters focusing on the fight, no one on the VE vessel would notice the boarding ships’ approach.

Heysh piloted his Katarn through the storm and reached the Brilliant without incident.  Skimming along the hull of the warship, he made unerringly towards the massive engines located at the rear.  Lack of sensors made this plan doable, but it also had its drawbacks, such as now.  Sval had to guess where to land his shuttle, based on a mental map of the Victory-Class Star Destroyer design, compared with what he saw before him.  Taking an educated guess, he landed his ship and magnetised it onto the hull of the VSD.

“Go!” He ordered the Stormtroopers, who immediately extended the boarding tube and, rushing into it, began cutting into the thick outer armour of the Brilliant.  After just one minute of using a plasma torch, they were through.

“Let’s go,” Said Heysh.  “Kill anyone that we come across!”

And so the assault began.

OOC:

1050 words.  My subplots for this story are all coming together!

After Action Report:  The Pulsar has become active, scrambling sensors and communications for the Vast Empire’s Second Fleet.  As the crew of Zail’s VSD Brilliant rush to deal with it, the ship is attacked by the enemy VSD Ravisher.  The Ravisher (captained by Commander Ilusan), comes in close to the Brilliant to hide the launch of attack shuttles.  One of them, led by Sval ‘Airlock’ Heysh, lands near the Brilliant’s engine room and begins to storm the ship.

Taltos grinned as his TIE Interceptor shot off the launch rack and through the pressure shield that separated the Adjudicator's hangar bay from space; he and his fellow recent flight school graduates had been pulled out of bed and loaded onto shuttles only hours ago to replace the massive losses suffered by second fleet's starfighter contingent. Perhaps it didn't bode so well as far as days for a first Interceptor combat launch went, but he'd take it.
The Duros had been raised on the many ancient Durese legends of heroic pilots and their exploits; even years spent eking out an existence at the helm of a light freighter – the Red Rock – and working whatever jobs would keep the crew fed and the ship in space hadn't quenched his dreams of being a starfighter pilot. The Vast Empire had given him that chance. He planned to make the most of it.

----

With the pulsar active, the green pilots could do little but follow whatever flights showed some ability to move and turn as a unit – survivors of the first battle, the ones who'd been here before. He was tucked in behind a flight from Chlovi squadron, taking follow-through shots at enemy bombers as the irregular formation arced through the vast spaces between capital ships.
Looking up through the transparisteel ports on the TIE's topside hatch, he could see the massive, powder-grey bulk of Gwodd LK Nale in the distance, flecks of fire blooming and popping across its cratered face. During pre-flight checks, he'd overheard the other pilots telling each other; That's why we're here. We've got men on that rock. We will get them back off. It was reassuring to see that they still fought, that the Dominion hadn't swallowed them whole while the fleet was away.
T's hearts beat a little faster in his chest as he remembered what else the pilots had said about the asteroid. They had named it Death.

----

As the battle raged, it drifted closer to the asteroid. Taltos had scored a few good hits on enemy fighters, but Chlovi Squadron was skilled; they left very little clean-up work to be done.
The Duros glanced upwards at the asteroid again, and at this distance could make out a dogfight between a handful of interceptors - at times spinning and looping around one another, at others swooping down impossibly close to the broken and empty terrain to strafe fire across it.
It seemed Chlovi Squadron hardly needed a hanger-on, and with no clear orders, the besieged asteroid seemed the best place to make a name for himself.

Glancing around to check for pursuit, Taltos broke right, setting course for the asteroid with all the speed his ship offered.
At first the two sides of the Interceptor dogfight were difficult to tell apart in such an information-poor environment. As the rock expanded to fill his viewport it became clear that Imperial Dominion troops were swarming the asteroid, and launching ground-to-air rockets against the strafing fighters from below, while a full squadron of rival interceptors simultaneously predated them from above.
Two of their number must have spotted his approach, they pulled their noses up and rose to greet him, dagger-like wings framing dark, accusing eyes.

He tried to calm his rapid breathing as the numbers on his range counter scrolled down, rapidly approaching firing distance. He knew once the targeting computer gave him a solution he would have seconds at best to evade reprisal, and that was assuming they didn't box him in.
A crude, wireframe representation of a Dominion TIE interceptor stuttered into the center frame of his targeting display, and the shrill tone of a target lock ran out in his helmet. Almost instinctively his fingers squeezed the firing pads.
Not breathing, T hauled the control yoke as far left as it would traverse and ruddered right, throwing himself into a spin fifty degrees off his previous approach.

Taltos resumed breathing, every gulp of canned air a celebration of his first kill - but there was still the other Interceptor looping around to pursue him. He inverted his craft and dropped once again towards the surface of Gwodd LK Nale.

OOC:

Word Count: 677
We get introduced to Taltos and a glimpse of how he got here. He begins making his way towards Gwodd LK Nale and achieves his first kill.