Liberty or Death

[Constantine Miltiadis]

Constantine’s senior officers sat around the circular table with him. They all had the distinct features of his homeworld—tan olive skin, dark eyes, dark hair. His own nearly black eyes looked at each face in turn. No one spoke.

The Captain stood up and walked around his men. He stopped at the highest ranking and put his hands on his shoulders. “Gentlemen,” he began in his willful voice, “today will be another of our raids aimed at dislodging the Empire’s hold on these dark waters. I have called on you for similar engagements far too many times in the past month.

“We are noticed. Each assault is bringing about more struggle. The pilots the Imperials are sending at us are better with each battle. I cannot say that this time will not be our last. What I can tell you is that I would rather die free and fighting for liberty than in the shadow of the Darkness.

“Light is what we fight for, gentlemen. We fight to illuminate the Darkness and rid us of Shadow. There is only one way to dislodge the evils of the Empire. That mode is democracy. Sometimes, my officers, the tree of liberty must be renewed with the blood of patriots.

“Still, I want only those of you that wish this path to continue. That is why I again bring this to vote. All in favor of attacking speak now.”

Every voice in the dimly lit room resounded in unison.

“To your stations then!” Constantine grinned and nodded. “We have a jump to make.”

[Travis North]

Station H-93. Imperial customs station and security center for the system. The station was a platform design, one of the most common designs seen along the trade lanes. Three platforms spread out from the center, markers flashed on each one. Two were for civilian use and the third was for military use. A hanger rested on each platform to provide shelter for vessels exchanging cargo or needing repair. The hanger on the platform designated for military use held within it two squadrons of TIE model fighters along with Imperial transports for boarding operations.

There was the occasional freighter which had been flagged for illegal operations and customs would launch into action from their station. Transport shuttles would disable the freighter and board while the fighters would fly cover, assisting in weakening shields, and eliminating any hostile opposition. It was a standard operation that customs agents had performed and drilled countless times. Engagements which could be considered real battles were never on the minds of the customs agents in Imperial service. They were simulated as per military training directives, but never thought to actually happen at a customs station. Times were changing though and tales of attacks on police outposts were rising. The thought of an attack often popped into the minds of the less experienced officers but was quickly dismissed after a week of actual duty.

----

It was a slow day for the people who operated H-93. Two convoy of cargo haulers had entered the system and left after five hours of inspection. A call had came in earlier suggesting that amidst one of the haulers was a container filled with spice rather than ore. It put everyone in a bad mood, the transport workers and the customs agents. As it turned out the haulers were clean of spice which sent the inspectors into rage upon returning to their stations. Not a person wanted to do nothing all day, but neither did they want to do long and dull work.

It wasn't all bad as the pilots on the roster got to get flight time. Many slammed their caf down when the station's CO, Captain Alex Tao, ordered all pilots to their ships. Hopes of maybe catching some real criminals or acing a few raiders bloomed in the minds of many, except for Wing Commander Balis Quin and his second, Flight Captain Felix Kornam. They'd had there dreams crushed when they were assigned to customs station duty after having there squadron dismantled to 'spread' experienced pilots across the Empire to provide an example for the rookies to follow who had just made it out of the academy.

Both men went straight to the simulators after the inspection tour was over to run what they had known to be real flights. Capital ships and shielded fighters, all guns blazing. Little did they know they would once again experience such action.

----

System Patrol Craft Watchman's Lantern's, patroling the outer part of the system, sensors began to sound alerts. Hyperspace activity. Unscheduled arrivals, or a sensor glitch. The crewmen aboard wished it to be the computer malfunction for they were on no combat vessel.

[Ira Yahff]

The Rebel Sector Forces had taken it upon itself to thrust Jehkran into this horrid duty. Infiltration was a department he wasn't fond with, but the dwindled men in regiment since the failed attempts at the Battle of Endor. Once more at the Alliance's rear, Jehkran was stuck with ground duties. One day he hoped to jump in one of the X-Wing and learn a thing or two. It wasn't the passion of flying that attracted him, just the foreign nature of it all. Echani Martial Arts had derailed any inexperience in combat, leaving most competitors futile. Meanwhile flying was a talent he had never possessed. He wanted it.

Yet the time and place for such things had passed, and all he had now were a few garments and tools to care for. Underneath the guise of an Imperial station tech, the young Echani treaded through the halls with a patterned fluency. Although it was hard for him to mock others without the assistance of raw blows and kicks, he had practiced. Teachings of his Master had assisted him...atleast somewhat.

After a fiddle with a few ships heading out, he was back in the main corridor. Only a day had passed since his entrance as the facade of Ishrin Mortis, but it seemed like longer. Space did not offer much beside an always bright sun. It was hard to decipher it between day and night. There was only darkness, and a glisten of a faraway star. Of course, beautiful at the beginning, but time had made it dull.

The only dazzle he could capture in the days work was the fly of ships on ritual guards. Being on the other side of enemy lines gave the Rebellion an edge, but it only made him edgy. There was very little to amaze him, his mind was enveloped in hazards. Every movement could leave him at a fault. Nothing was too certain, and precision had to be done with effortlessness. Just was a bit unfair, but that was life.

The Rebellion needed him, and he was there. That was just how it worked.

"Hey there," Jehkran nodded at another Imperial Tech heading down the corridor on another shift. The man didn't seem to happy. Most techs were far away from their family for lengthy amount of times, and from the lines at his eyes it seemed he was definately married. All the troubles of the world, and they had to deal with the ensuing battle.

It was almost too much to swallow, and so Jehkran didn't. He ignored it, and treaded on. There was no room to go off staring, and analyzing everything. He had a job to do.

[Constantine Miltiadis]

The Reborn Thunder exploded from hyperspace with weapons hot. Its scanners rapidly swept the area and powerful computers began generating targeting solutions. The Nebulon B frigate had been modified recently and had added firepower and space for more marines. Its shields had also been beefed up at the yards. All of these factors had lead to Constantine’s assignment to assault and harassment duties.

Captain Miltiadis stood on the bridge with his long, black hair free of any tieback. He watched as blips began to appear on his holographic tactical display. The ship’s systems estimated ship types and possible munitions.

Six Y-wings came out of hyperspace followed by twelve X-wings.

“Fire.”

The frigate vibrated violently as the first volley of turbolaser fire arced towards the nearby system patrol craft.

“Have the fighters make their runs, bring us around the ship. Fire at will.”

The Y-wings with their escorts accelerated for their attack on the Imperial ship.

[Travis North]

A transmission full of panicked cries and fear screeched across the comm lines garbled with static. It played into the command center, spreading the horror and raising the tension level to an extreme. The station began to buzz with action as status was shifted to condition red.

Captain Alex Tao looked out the huge view port, as the message ran on, toward the area of space where the patrol craft was located. An exchange of green and red bolts between what was assumed the attackers and the patrol ship could be seen. The message cracked and ended, an explosion could be seen and was instantly quelled by the vacuum of space. There was no doubt that the Watchman's Lantern was finally snuffed out.

Tao pushed down the station comm switch on his command gauntlet. "All crews to battle stations! Launch all fighters and power up all guns. This is not a drill. Unknown hostiles have entered the system. All crew to your stations. I repeat this is not a drill." He switched off the comlink and looked to his staff. "Send target data to the starfighters. Bombers are priority followed by escort fighters. Load transports with warheads and launch them against the Neb. Send a transmission out to all Imperial ships we are under attack and request assistance."

[Constantine Miltiadis]

“Sir, fighters are launching.” Constantine nodded and watched dots appear on the 3D projection.

“X-wings are to engage any and all incoming fighters. Instruct the pilots that all other vessels are deemed targets of opportunity. Launch our A-wings and assign them to escort the Y-wings. Y-wing pilots are to engage all traffic within the area systematically and disable or destroy as many vessels as possible.

“Helm, stay just out of range of the space station’s guns for now. I want to try and clean up space before we rush them.”

The frigate plowed through space and began firing off targeted strikes. The X-wings formed into trios and began their engagement. The A-wings trailed the Y-wings with just enough distance that they would easily be able to intercept opposing fighters that strayed too close.

Captain Miltiadis let out a controlled breath and wrested his left hand on the hilt of his sword. His eyes were dark orbs that scanned the screens with the train gaze of a commander.

All that looked upon him felt secure in their forthcoming victory.

[Ira Yahff]

Panic and alarm clamor over the station. People danced about in a hectic trail to the hangar bays, prepared to work. Rarely had the fleet of technicians been put on protocol practices, and this occasion was too overwhelming. Amidst the absurdity Jehkran motioned like a mirror to his surrounding. He expected the moment, but there was no need to be calm.

He had to blend in.

"Come on, move it, move it." The words roared over the stampede to the doors as the pilots entered from a different entrance. Tools went into a jerk as the engineer's hands began to work.

Amidst all the labor crouched an Echani. The traditional attire of a gray jumpsuit pressed on his sweaty frame. Only seconds before had he swiped out for his shift, and now the attack had commence. It wasn't exactly how he predicted it, or hope, but it would work. At least his body was still in the working mode.

However, this work was different. Tamper wasn't exactly the best way to keep a ship blasting off at the highest speed. A touch here, and there left the control panel at a haywire and a sense of way point on the navigation system was in a different direction. Devaron Space was a wild place, and getting lost in it would be easy with a discretion misplaced.

Plus, Jehkran had managed to divert the ship's shield generator and weapons earlier with controlled hacking programs. At a flick of a switch, the systems would be terminated. However that was only one ship, and the real mission involved the station itself.

Once more he was on the move, like the rest. Instead, he headed for the door. There were people to shut up...

[Travis North]

A smile played over Quin's face beneath the terror inspiring mask of his helmet. When the alert was sounded both him and Felix had dashed from the sims to the hanger. They suited up and jumped into their cockpits along with the rest of their squadron. Combat, no greater thrill in life than wagering lives. The thought pulsed through all the pilots' minds. The Interceptors released from their claws hovered down, turned, then left the hanger at top speed.

"This is Alpha One. All units form up into designated flight groups. Y-Wings are the primary objective. Target the assemblies which connect the nacelles, watch the ion cannons. Keep an eye on your six, if you pick one up alert your flight. Engage and eliminate. Lets do this."

"Alert. All units Neb is launching A-Wings that are moving on a vector to escort the bombers. Screens show X-Wings are moving to intercept fighters." Flight Coordinators, always with the bad news.

The TIEs spread into space racing toward the bombers. Victory or death. The motto of the Imperial TIE Pilot. Quin set his target to the lead bomber and switched to quad blast, his flight group did the same. He kept an eye on the scopes, no one was in life ending range quite yet.

[Constantine Miltiadis]

“Roger, we hear you, Command, we’re moving to engaging incoming TIE’s.” The X-wings darted and brought themselves on a vector to collide with the swarm of enemy fighters from the side.

“This is Thanas squadron, we’re interposing ourselves between the incoming enemy flight and the Y-wings.” The A-wings maneuvered to do exactly what the lead had said.

“Roger that.”

The Reborn Thunder spit destructive rays into space that collided with nearby shipping. The vessels were rocked under the powerful cannons of the modified Neb-B vessel.

“Prepare marines for boarding operations. Have them get to their shuttles.”

“Aye, Sir!”

[Ira Yahff]

The inter-workings of any space station with held numerous employees. It was the industries that the Empire carved, formatted and managed that maintained their growing economy. Everyday a new job popped up in the realm of Imperial work. Despite the harsh realities that the Empire ensued and illustrated, there was a certain flare to standing in the line of government. Traditional local jobs never offered the same payment and extras that the Empire sanctioned unions did. The benefits were simply great.

Jehkran never would merit such highly appraised benefits in his line of work. An operative claimed only the clamor of battle, field of contacts and tirade of war. He was no soldier, but the Galactic Civil War gave his occupation purpose. Otherwise, there would be no sense in an operative in peaceful times. Even a SpecForce would fall into an useless category amidst tranquility.

Yet, there was no lull about the space station. Footsteps tamper the frequent silence of the corridors. Steel grounds reacted the stomps and trots as sea of flesh sent tides through toward departments for their emergency labor. Sirens instilled engraves in Jehkran's earlobes, beating repeatedly at his eardrums. There was no way of ignoring the chaos, he simply had to prevail.

Leaping into a nearby room, his eyes scour the surroundings. Technicians in suits danced gracefully over the control panels, maintain the ships frequencies and sending out calls throughout to other departments. They would be keeping a lot of the place intact during the defense. If any area needed to be subdued first, the technicians would be high upon the priority list.

"Time to get to work," Jehkran mused as he step forth. Not a soul was about, and he herald a symbol at his waist. Hopefully he would not command his invisible company for assistance, but there was nothing secure about interaction with the armed technicians.

Unlikely that they would hand over their office nicely.

[Travis North]

"Sir. Distress call coming in from Station H-93. A Rebel force has entered the system and the station is requesting assistance." The comm officer reported to the Captain of the Victory Star Destroy Clenched Fist.

The Captain looked over to his navigations officer. "How long will it take for us to get there?"

The rather new Ensign replied, "Ten minutes."

"And the carriers?"

"Fifteen."

The Captain turned his attention back to the comm officer. "Send word to the carriers. Prep to enter hyperspace for Station H-93. Tell them to have pilots ready for flight the moment they exit."

"Aye sir..." The officer punched in the codes on his console and looked at his display, "They reply affirmative and are maneuvering for the jump now."

"Helm prep for jump to the H-93." The Captain ordered and then spoke to the comm officer again, "Lieutenant, inform Command we are jumping to assist H-93. Operations, alert the crew to battle stations and get the pilots to their fighters."

"Sir, jump is set. The carriers also report ready." The navigations officer reported after confirming with the helm officer.

The Captain secure in thought gave the order to jump. Within seconds the ships darted forward at incredible speed and entered hyperspace. Hopefully when they arrived the tide of battle would change.