Mon Casima (the Voyage Home)

[Reshmar]

In the quiet dark of space, it is almost easy to forget the events of the last 30 Hours. If not for the pain Reshmar felt from his wounds and the smell of burning conduits and charred flesh which still filled the air, it might seem like any other day on the Mon Casima. The desk before him looked to be the only piece of equipment on the ship which had not been damaged in some way during the battle at Endor. Most of the massive Calamari vessel was damaged beyond the point of repair. Many of her systems were now working on back-ups and minimum power; and those which weren’t did little
good for the vessel if she had to engage in battle again.

Since the Fleet order to depart from Endor had come, the Mon Casima had made twelve small jumps to evade any Imperial patrols from following. Most of the Fleet had moved on to various rendezvous points leaving the crippled Mon Casima to fend for herself. Her battered shell scarred and burnt from volley after volley of turbolaser strikes. With her hull discolored from fire and warped from the heat which ravaged through the massive vessel, Reshmar knew it was a miracle the Casima escaped at all; let alone remained in minimum operational status.

The rumble of the vessels hyperdrive engines was replaced by a massive screech and loud boom as the star lines Reshmar had been looking out into suddenly became small countless points of light. Twice before the hyperdrives had failed, leaving the battered vessel stranded in subspace for hours. Repairs were slow on the ship due to the fact that most of the decks and corridors of the massive ship were inaccessible and open to vacuum.
Reshmar stood and waited for his balance to return. His head ached and the constant dizziness was annoying, but worse was the dry air which had filled the corridors since the moisture evaporators had failed. Reshmar knew it was a minor inconvenience, but the feeling was one Reshmar wished not to endure. As the door to his quarters opened, his personal communicator beeped a distinctive chirp, informing him he was needed on the command deck.

His walk did him good. He had overcome the dizzy feeling which had plagued him for the last 30 hours, and the forward desks had retained more moisture than the aft command section. He felt the hyperdrive motivator’s once again try to engage to no avail, and then felt a massive shock in the deck below his feet moments before the concussion reached him. Reshmar was knocked to the deck by the concussion, a feeling he had felt far too many times in the last three days. He stood once again and continued walking at an amplified pace. As the doors opened to the secondary command deck, Reshmar knew at once the explosion he had heard was not good. The look on the Captains face was one of grim surrender.

“Admiral on the Bridge”

Reshmar walked past the operations officer who had chimed in as he entered. Few acknowledged him by saluting or standing to attention. The work and activity which was going on was far too important and attention consuming for Reshmar to expect any type of pomp at his presence. Captain Aselar turned from the display panel and spoke as Reshmar neared.

“Admiral it is good to see you. Are you feeling better?”

Reshmar surveyed the ruin that was the command deck. After the main command deck was evacuated and destroyed by secondary damage from the battle three hours into the first jump, this had been the makeshift command center for the ship.

Engineers and command officers worked vigilantly to repair systems and get the ship to the maximum battle readiness. This was no small task considering she had lost over half of her weapons in the battle, and the backup shield generators-the life of a Calamari vessel and the main reason for the survival of the Casima-were now useless. Reshmar knew the Casima was done. She would never again be a front line battleship. Age and too much damage had seen to that. Nevertheless Reshmar was determined not to lose her, and to get her to the fleet dry-docks at Calamari.

His gaze was broken as he noticed he had yet to answer Aselar. “I am feeling much better captain, thank you. What is our status and what was that last explosion?”
Aselar picked up a small data pad which sat beside him and handed it to Reshmar. Before even taking it, Reshmar knew what had happened. His asking was a mire formality, he did not need a data pad to tell him the hyperdrive motivators had buckled under the stress of damage and insufficient power. Yet here he looked over the data scrolling over the pad telling him what he had already known: the hyperdrive was gone now, and only the backup drives remained.

The slow backup hyperdrives were a safety precaution on every ship. But with the lack of power and damage, the engineering crew had doubts about the operational status of these drives. Reshmar read on as the report stated the backups would not be operational for at least three days.

Reshmar handed the pad back to Aselar, then turned to look toward the forward view port.

“Captain, let’s settle in for a short stay. Launch the fighters, and go to red alert. All craft are to maintain strict radio silence. We do not need an Imperial patrol finding us while we can not run. I do not want a fight in our present condition.”

Reshmar paused, and then turned to look at the command deck and the chaos which was now becoming a constant sight aboard the Mon Casima.
Aselar nodded slightly, and spoke as he began depressing buttons on his command panel. “Aye, sir,” His response was short and exacting, as he began conveying his orders down the chain to the various commanders aboard the vessel.

Reshmar turned once again to look out at the points of light before him. Stars lay before him in the distance. Many systems containing inhabited worlds lay between him and Calamari, far too many with imperial ties and sympathies. It was a race, a race against the imperials that he knew would come. He had to make it to Calamari before he was spotted; before he and the remainder of the Casima’s crew were once again put up for slaughter to the Imperial war machine.

The thought shook Reshmar to his core. Battle after battle he had watched his fleet and their crews fight. Many had died in his command, but never had he faced the amount of death he had at Endor.

Never had he witnessed such massive destruction. He grieved for the men he had lost. So many young men and women, many he knew, many he did not. All of the commanding officers who had formed the Alliance and fought in battle after battle were now gone, lost in the massive space battle, on the Death Star as it was gouged by the hulk of the Executor, or on Endor itself trying to disable the massive shield generator. As he looked out into the stars, he could not help but think of the Imperial lives lost. By far they had suffered a more massive loss: the Executor and her crew, countless personnel aboard the Death Star, and the loss of their Emperor and Vader even caused him to feel sympathetic.

The Alliance was built around cells. If one was lost, another could fill the roll. The Empire had many leaders, but they had based their command structure around the Emperor. He was their one leader. Reshmar was sure his loss was more of a liberation, rather than damnation to much of the Imperial command; yet the loss of their leader had to have a massive effect on morale and command effectiveness. For all the Alliance had lost, she was still a coherent fighting force. Though segmented and spread, the alliance would rebound and once again be an effective log before the Empire could consolidate their forces and move on. Reshmar was sure the Imperials would attempt to take advantage of the Alliance retreat, but over all the Empire was shattered, and scattered throughout the galaxy.
As work continued to make the massive Calamari warship move again, his mind wandered into thoughts of home, and of the future. This was just another obstacle he and his crew would face, and as each obstacle before it, they would muster to the chore at hand and find a way to overcome any and all odds stacked against them.

[Reshmar]

Wilim Eslar sat quietly as his XO briefed him on the latest reports from Endor. 38 Hours had past and he had yet to receive word from fleet command. First reports painted a grim picture of casualties and losses. The news of losing the liberty was disheartening. Admiral Reshmar had taken the 3 Calamari Cruisers of Battle fleet Liberty to Endor. Liberty was reported Destroyed, Hope had been assigned to recovery and was making for Rendezvous point charley with survivors and wounded. No word had been received as to the conditions or ware bouts of the Mon Casima. One entry was listed of Casima receiving a full volley from Executor. Other then the single entry Mon Casima, Its Crew, and Admiral Reshmar were MIA.

Captain Eslar was noticeably worried, but his mission had not changed. He and his crew had been tasked with escorting a relief transport to the border world of Horstaa 3, a small backwater world with little importance to anyone.

The Imperials had seen it fit to subjugate Horstaa 3 and its population despite it’s seemingly unimportance to any faction, and reports of a movement to oust the Imperials had made its way to Alliance command. This prompted Mon Mothma and General Dodonna to send a small group of Spec Ops Troops to the Besieged planet to assist in there gallant fight.

Now sitting in real space awaiting the transport, Eslar had time to rest and relax. Something he wished he did not. He longed for battle. The adrenaline of combat and the constant concentration on what was happening around him would have swayed his thinking and the thoughts of his commanding officer and the men of Battle fleet Liberty would not be tearing at his soul. Far too many of his friends and subordinates had lost there life fighting the Empire. Many needlessly died fighting evil and the regime it had spawned. Now that evil was gone but the prodigy of Palpatine may turn out to be worse now than before his Death.

Alerts sounded and before his eyes the small Transport dropped out of hyperspace and began moving into position behind the Carigon. As the smaller transport positioned itself, Eslar turned to his XO. Joreh Refith "Prepare to make the jump in system. Inform the Fighters and the Freighter to link there Nav Computers to ours. We don’t want to lose anyone on the way now do we?”

The sarcasm in Captain Eslars voice did not go unnoticed. Commander Refith had served under Eslar ever since he joined the Rebels. He smiled and relayed the order to the other craft in the formation then looked over all status panels before reporting. “Sir, all craft report they are linked and await orders to engage.”

Captain Eslar turned to look out the window at the small ball of yellow light which was Horstaa’s Primary Star. The last leg would only take twenty minutes and he was ready for whatever was ahead. He was plagued by thoughts of the Casima despite his attempts to clear his mind. Thousands of men and women were already dead. He hoped the Casima was not added to the list of confirmed casuties. “Jump In three… two…. One….”

The Frigate and its escorts jumped into hyperspace for the short micro jump in system. The twenty minutes went by quickly and Lieutenant Joteh began the count down to reversion. With a small jolt the Nebulon B Frigate escaped Hyperspace and sat motionless in space. Immediately alarm claxons sounded and the deck lighting went red. “Captain, we seem to be out gunned here.”

Wilim looked at the tactical display in amazement. Why would this backwater world deem a defensive fleet? Captain Eslar turned to His XO with a strange smile.

“Looks like we will earn our pay today Joreh. All ahead three quarters and keep us out of that Carracks broadside. Red squadron is to engage the Fighters coming up from the surface. Blue squadron is to form up on the Freighter and escort it to the surface. We will draw those two Cruisers fire long enough for them to get planet side and then we are out of here. Navigation, plot me a quick escape vector I want a back door read in three minutes.”

The officers of the deck began franticly carrying out Captain Eslars orders. Out the view port Eslar watched as the twelve X-wings of red squadron streaked past to engage the tie fighters no exiting the atmosphere of Horstaa Three. He off to the starboard blue squadron streaked by forming up on the much slower moving Transport.

Seconds later the bridge was shaken as heavy turbolaser blasts impacted the forward shields. “Return fire lieutenant.”
The gunnery officer did so without haste. Red beams of energy struck out at the forward most of the two Carrack Cruisers. “Captain, Direct hit with minimal damage.” Captain Eslar turned to look out the view port at the growing shapes of the two cruisers moving in on him. “Just keep it up lieutenant, we have the advantage as long as we are to there Fore batteries.” Off to starboard blue squadron raced toward the surface of the planet with the Freighter. So far the cruisers had shown no interest in them and they were now half way to the surface. This changed as they passed a position parallel to the cruisers. Streaks of green struck out at the spec ops transport and the escorting fighters. On the bridge, Captain Eslar had noticed this and acted accordingly. “Move us in closer commander we have to get between them and that transport.”

The vibrations in the deck plating rose as the massive engines were pushed to 100 percent. The frigate sped headlong into the fire of the 2 cruiser. “Faster commander, we need to get in-between them and the transport.” Commander Refith looked from his command panel. “Captain that’s it, we are at one hundred and ten percent thrust. Power has been diverted from weapons to the engines. This is all we have captain.”

Eslar turned to look out the view port once again. Twelve thousand meters was all he liked, but the distance would turn out to be too much of an obstacle. The forward view port clouded and darkened as the blinding flash of the transport erupted before them. There mission was over now, It was time he escaped before his ship to was turned to rubble over the world of Horstaa Three.