Liberation - Battle of Bothawui

[Torrsk Oruo'rel]

"Gentlemen," the Torrsk Oruo'rel said in a deep, rumbling growl as his attention shifted from officer to officer among the array before him. He regarded each individual in turn, burning the details of their miniaturised holographic representations into his memory, filed away just in case he ever encountered them again and felt the need to use reminiscance to win them over toward whatever angle he might be working at the time. "Colonel," he added, reaching the last figure and masking his gender oversight with a reference to her somewhat unusual rank.

"Word has reached us that Admiral Reshmar has arrived in the Mandel system; our informants within the local Imperial hierarchy inform us that the Empire is preparing to respond with the full force of its fleet within the Sector." His eyes rose, focussing on the only other organics that were present at this briefing: Line Captain Vansen Tyree - commander of his Interdictor Squadron and this command vessel, the Horizon - and Colonel Regulus Starborn. He flashed them a view of his gleaming canines: the unsettling smile of a Bothan. "It would appear that our plan is unfolding perfectly."

One of the miniaturised holo-figures shifted, the long tendrils around his mouth shifting as he spoke. "Though the ocean may be calm for the moment, it would be foolish to stray out to sea and pay no heed to the changing of the weather." The Quarren Captain - Quan Marivva of the Thunderchild, Torrsk's memory recalled - spoke in the same strange metaphors as the Mon Calamari that annoyed him so during his official business as representative of his race. There had been no escape for them on Daca, with their vacant eyes and repugnant odor that assaulted his superior olfactory senses. Thankfully, the Human woman who he had overlooked during his initial address provided a simplified translation.

"We should be prepared for the Imperials to throw everything they have left at us," she agreed. Leela Vorega, of the Valiant and of Alderaan, was the kind of Human that Oruo'rel liked to see: blunt and confrontational, she had the kind of spirited attitude that could ignite his passions when he yearned for such, but could also be rebutted with ease and elloquence he did not - if only the representative of her people on the Alliance Council was so easily deflected. For the moment Torrsk's desires were in check, but Vorega's observations seemed relevant enough to be allowed to continue. "Do we have any specifics on what forces remain in the system?"

Captain Tyree chose to field that question. "I'm not sure electrobinocular observations from the surface can be considered specific," he replied with a throaty growl, the one eye that was not shielded behind the patch across his face showing a hint of mirth and mild disrespect as it settled on the Bothan. Oruo'rel felt his hackles rise out of reflex; his people prided themselves on their prowess in the field of espionage, but some of the more ignorant species in the galaxy were far less greatful to have such an asset at their disposal than they should be. Still, from what he knew of the Captain, this was clearly an attempt to bait him into a reaction that might discredit him in the eyes of those around. He stored up his retaliation for later, and said nothing.

The holodisplay had changed, the figures replaced by the three-dimensional computer interpretation of the intelligence that the Bothan SpyNet had transmitted. "Given what we know to be present at Bothawui previously, we can infer that the Imperials have left one of their Star Destroyers, a mid-sized Cruiser, and a single anti-starfighter Frigate." A hint of a wry smile appeared on the aged officer's face. "But they're expecting the full backing of the Bothan ships in the system."

Zoman Taskosa - the Captain of the Frigate Intrepid - unleashed a sound that only a twin-mouthed Ithorian like himself could ever hope to produce. "They would be right to assume that their forces would be enough to discourage us. How quickly can we expect the Bothan vessels to be secured and brought under our control?"

Torrsk drew in a deep breath that swelled him to his full height as he contemplated the answer to that question, dredging up all the information that had been provided to him during the security brief in case he wanted to litter his response with superfluous details that would imply a more intimate understanding and knowledge of the individuals involved, just in case anyone doubted the credentials for his oversight of this operation. "The Corvettes are crewed almost exclusively by Bothan officers with nothing but a minimal Imperial presence aboard. Once those dozen or so individuals are subdued, the craft should be able to assist immediately." Hands clasped behind his back, he drummed the digits of one against the palm of the other. "Because of the crew requirements, the Dreadnaughts are also heavily crewed by loyal Bothans; however, the Imperials do maintain a sizeable presence aboard for -" He searched his mind for the appropriate terminology. "- security reasons. Liberating those vessels may take time."

He mused over the numbers for a few moments longer. "The Golan Defense Platforms however, and the Venator that acts as the flagship for our forces here present somewhat more of a problem." He fixed the Captain across from him with a look; these very concerns had been discussed with Admiral Reshmar only days before, when Alliance Intelligence had unearthed the plans for Miranda Tarkin's coronation and provided the distraction that the success of this operation required. "They will not be liberated without our intervention."

Tyree inserted himself seemlessly into the statement. "Captain Marivva," he said, directing his attention to the holographic Quarren as the display shifted back to the participating officers once again. "You'll be required to insert toops onto the platform designated Golan-1. Also, contact the Bothans aboard the Dreadnaught cruisers, and render assistance to their efforts if at all possible."

The Quarren's tendrils shifted in what was presumably an approximate nod. "As ordered, Captain."

"Colonel." He directed his attention to his former subordinate and now replacement aboard the Valiant. "Your troops will need to infiltrate Golan-2." He hesitated for a moment, wondering if an appologetic look would translate through hologram. "I'm afraid we've had to assign Captain Glayde to other duties; you'll have to rely on one of your other officers to lead that operation."

Vorega replied with a curt nod. "Captain Vega can handle it, sir."

The Bothan smiled; an uncharacteristic burst of reckless enthusiasm swelled within Oruo'rel's gut. "And we," he cut in, "Will deal with the liberation of the Champion."

Tyree seemed neither impressed nor phased by the politician's remark. "We're expecting a lot of fighter activity," he said, simply returning to the brief at hand. "Orbital forces can deploy ten squadrons; we expect more to arrive from the surface before too long. Hopefully the Imperials will make the mistake of deploying some Bothan Squadrons to support their own forces, but even so we'll need to deploy all fighters as soon as we arrive in-system. The Horizon will handle Fighter Control for the duration unless otherwise instructed."

Oruo'rel allowed his hands to fall to his sides, and selected one of the miniatures to be the subject of his focus. "The need for secrecy and surprise in this operation is great. Any information reaching the Imperials might abort their response to Admiral Reshmar's feint, and cause them to withdraw back to Bothawui. We cannot afford for that to happen. The contents of this briefing are classified; your crew must not be informed until we have entered Hyperspace and are under communications blackout."

"Past attempts to liberate the Bothan Sector have not met with success: this operation cannot be allowed to fail." His attention turned to Captain Tyree. "I believe we have much to prepare."

The Human nodded. "You have your orders, Captains," he stated simply. "Jump instructions will be issued within the hour."

The communications console went dark, and Oruo'rel was left alone with the two officers present. "The operation has begun," he announced, with another unsettling smile.

Neither officer replied, no doubt hoping to evade the attention of the unwelcome political presence for as long as possible. "If you'll excuse me," Tyree said eventually; "I should prepare the ship for departure." A moment's consideration passed. "I believe you have operatives to brief for special assignments, Colonel," he appended, extending his escape excuse to encompass Starborn as well.

The two Humans departed, but the Bothan paid it no heed. To them this was a military operation; the political scope extended little past the acquisition of additional territory and troops. But Oruo'rel saw the bigger picture: he saw the potential that a liberated Bothan Sector provided. More territory, and more stable and free nations was a boon to the Alliance yes; it added validity to the cause as restoration of the Republic, and legitimacy as an interstellar government. But more importantly, a free Bothawui presented a boon to Oruo'rel's own political position. He had seen how Sullust's freedom had added extra weight to the opinions of Niev Minetii in Council meetings. He had also seen how the Sullustan had neglected to use that advantage to its full potential. He smiled. That was a mistake that he definately wouldn't make; no self-respecting Bothan could ever let such an opportunity go to waste.

[Vansen Tyree]

Tyree stood smartly, hands clasped out of sight, and observed his crew as they swarmed across their consoles like angry aprocritan insects, the drone of their muddled conversations filling the air with an electric hum. His most trusted officers and crewmen were present - skilled and dependable each one, right down to the soldiers placed on guard at the door. They had been briefed - in private - an hour or so before, so they'd know what to expect. The pilots had been training in simulators for days, but would only find out the location of their battlefield when they punched out of the hangar. Everyone else was aware that they were heading into battle, but nothing more than that had been released. They were prepared; they were ready. Tyree had every confidence in that.

Oruo'rel, the annoyance visited upon him by the Alliance Council, had thankfully found somewhere else to occupy his time. Despite the recomendations of Captain Tyree, Major Reynolds, Colonel Starborn, Admiral Reshmar, and pretty much every other ranking Alliance officer for several Sectors in each direction, the Bothan had decided that he would be participating in the attempts to liberate the Champion directly. Somewhere in the back of Vansen's mind was a part of him that sympathised with the Bothan's desire to act. Oruo'rel had apparently served as a soldier during the Clone Wars, only entering politics after the Galactic Empire had been established and had come to the unusual arrangement that had led to Bothawui's current situation. Were this a mission to liberate Rendili, Tyree would no doubt be wrestling one of the rocket jockeys out of their bird so he could go and get himself killed. If he tried it of course, someone would easily be able to knock him on his ass and bash some sense into him; he was too old for that sort of thing. Oruo'rel was too, but unfortunately there was no one on the ship with the balls or the desire to commit professional suicide anywhere on the ship; himself included.

Also elsewhere was Colonel Starborn, but Tyree had very little idea what he was up to. He had been informed by command that the Horizon's squadron of V-Wing Airspeeders was to provide an escort through atmosphere for a pair of LAAT/i Gunships. En route, one of the Gunships would deploy SpecForce Pathfinders, to help neutralise some of the air support over at the headquarters for the Imperial Garrison. They would then continue, make a landing in the Bothan capital city of Drev'starn, and with support from a small force of UCS troops infiltrate the Imperial Embassy where the Moff for the Sector was located, and detain him. That was the vague outline that had been provided for him when he'd pushed for information; the senior officers involved in the planning stages had been content to simply tell him that his V-Wings were required, and leave it at that. Tyree didn't like the lack of information flow, but then it had been much the same with the Jedi and their perpetual addiction to mysteries and withheld information.

The Captain smiled at the fleeting memory of the Clone Wars; he'd heard that the Bothans were still using a Venator; Tyree had commanded a ship of that class himself, before being reassigned to one of the - at the time - brand new Victory-class Star Destroyers. His smile faltered, ever so slightly. Those had been different times, and this was a very different sort of battle. The lives on his target ships weren't automated droids; they were living beings with flesh and souls. The casualties that would inevitably be incurred wouldn't be Clones - little more than an expendable pastic-wrapped sack of organs with nothing but a number, the odd nickname, and standard issue - they would be the men and women that had pledged their alligance to the restoration of the Republic that they - we - had so carelessly placed in the hands of a tyrant all those years ago.

Vansen's mood shifted from reminiscant to somber before he finally clamped down and dismissed them completely. A voice called from one of the Navigation stations; perfect timing. "We're nearing our destination, sir. Preparing to revert to realspace."

Reaching for the handset that allowed him private communications on the bridge, Vansen brought the microphone to his lips and pressed the button that would activate the shipwide intercom. "All hands: this is the Captain," he said, his words echoing through the speekers concealed about the room. "All hands to battlestations."

* * *

Major Uzzan Tzin'kor narrowed his eyes as the Rebel fleet burst into existance on his sensor screen. He was perhaps the only person not surprised by the sudden arrival of unidentified craft: though the impending efforts of the Alliance to Restore the Republic had been kept secret from most as a security measure, but the ship commanders had been informed so that they would be prepared for their role in the liberation. Rumours had already begun to ripple through the ranks of the Alliance attack at Mandel; one could hardly miss he fact that most of the Imperial ships were missing from the sector, and that the Bothan forces usually held in reserve had been mobilized. The beaurocrats had announced that the fleet had simply been deployed on a training exercise; the lack of prior warning was a test of Bothan readiness. It was a half-hearted effort; an attempt to trample any potential descent that the apparent Rebel "invasion" might kindle.

Uzzan fought down a grim smile. The nature of the Bothan's relationship with the Empire was somewhat unorthadox: officially the Bothans were neutral to a degree, allied with the Galactic Empire without being a full member. Granted, the Imperials considered the region part of their territory, and assigned a Moff to represent their political interests, but for the most part the Bothans were left to govern and defend themselves. At least, they had been, until Endor. The involvement of the Bothan SpyNet in the efforts of the Rebellion to destroy the second Death Star had led to a number of "security precautions" being imposed. Imperial personnel were now assigned to all vessels; while the small Corvette that Uzzan commanded was still operated mostly by his own crew, the Empire had seen fit to appoint a young Lieutenant as his Executive Officer, and to place a small unit of Stormtrooper Marines aboard, alledgedly to help with antipiracy responsibilities. The Major saw them all for what they were - shepards for the herd of non-humans that the Empire wasn't entirely sure it could trust anymore.

For once, the paranoia of the New Order was justified. Snapping the service blaster from his thigh in a single fluid motion, he squeezed off a perfectly-aimed shot that hit the Lieutenant center-mass, dropping him to the ground before anyone else in the room had an opportunity to react. A stunned silence settled over the bridge, the eyes of the crew all locked firmly on him. The fur at the back of his neck rippling, Uzzan drew to his full height. "The Rebel Alliance has arrived to liberate our homeworld," he explained in a deep purr. "Seal the bridge, and prepare for battle; I for one don't intend to allow them to keep all the glory for themselves."

* * *

"Sensors detect a wave of four CR90 Corvettes on approach, Captain," the Officer of the Deck announced, drawing Vansen's attention to the situation table and its holographic projection of the space around them. Tyree watched as the Corvettes - arrayed in a standard system patrol formation - altered their headings to intersect with the Horizon's course. He stared at the display, willing the yellow hue of the approaching vessels to alter. He barely breathed as he waited; thankfully, his expectations were satisfied before his body was starved of oxygen, the craft turning a soft shade of green. "IFF transponder codes are changing," the Lieutenant announced, relief thick in his voice. "All four vessels register as Alliance vessels."

Tyree felt himself smiling; he shot a quick impulse to the relevant part of his brain, doing away with the frivilous expression before anyone noticed. "Signal the lead ship," he instructed, compensating for the slip in his fascade with a little extra gruffness. "Offer them a welcome to the Rebellion, and see if they feel like violating any Imperial laws today."

"Any laws in particular?" the Lieutenant asked, a wry grin forming on his face.

The Captain's uncovered eye twinkled. "How about we start with 'Destruction of Military Property', and work our way up from there?"

[Leela Vorega]

"Message from the Horizon, Colonel," a voice from one of the communications consoles called. "Dreadnaught-class cruisers are to be marked as primary boarding targets; our objective is the vessel flagged as Dreadnaught-4 - Bothan designation is Fading Sun."

Leela nodded, her attention split between the holographic depiction of the surrounding starfield and the map she was subconsciously keeping active in her head. It seemed strange, trying to keep tabs on such slow, lumbering targets as the starships, but with the defense of her new command her main concern - and with fighter control duties being assigned to the Horizon's F/C, she could hardly waste any cognative capacity on the movements of each individual plane among the one-hundred and sixty-eight craft that the Alliance vessels had been able to deploy thus far. Within the tangle of small craft she could barely even pick out the ships that corresponded with her own squadron; the odds worked out as a one-in-four chance that each 'A'-marked craft was one of hers.

"Tactical," she called, addressing the officer overseeing the holodisplay she was watching - the same information that was being fed to the targetting computers of the gunners that lined the Valiant's hull. The man was usually responsible for overseeing the deployment of the ship's fighter compliment - with the Communications Officer seated beside him - but for now their responsibilities were somewhat diminished. "Relay those instructions to Lieutenant Vega's team, and have them launch when ready."

The Tactical Officer's tone wasn't panicked, but there was a certain amount of urgency that crept in despite his best efforts. "My sensors indicate inbound Imperial ships, ma'am; they are deploying fighters."

Narrowing her eyes, the Colonel focussed her attention on the vessels inbound, hot on the heels of the aging Bothan Dreadnaughts that had been halted in their tracks under the efforts of the internal fight for control. It appeared to be a fairly standard skirmish line - a pair of cruisers flanked by a pair of frigates - and from them swarmed the sixteen fighters they had managed to muster. It seemed like a futile effort: so few Imperials pitted against ten times their number in superior craft. Even so, Leela itched to be out there, leading the charge rather than cheering silently from the sidelines. "Inform our shuttle to fly safe." She risked a glance at her officer. He seemed to register the silent emphasis that revealed in which squadron the Colonel's confidence lay. "Our fighters will take care of them," she said with determination.

* * *

"Horizon Flight to Interceptor Wing," a voice crackled over the radio, words distorted by the standard Alliance protocols. "Tally four fights of 'Eyeballs', inbound. That's one per squadron: good hunting."

Though the words were twisted, there was something about the tone that briefly made Tiet Voe miss the Comms Officer aboard the Valiant. It seemed odd, but there was something about the occasional aquatic metaphors and the graceful slur of the Mon Calamari's words that was somehow reassuring. The Bothan that had assumed oversight of the fighters from the Horizon was cold and clinical. Still, at least he'd had the good sense not to waste time referring to them as 'TIE Fighters', and had settled on the standard Alliance slang. Perhaps there was hope for him after all.

The voice of Ran Holdem - Valkyrie's "leader" now that Vorega had been reassigned - broke over the comm. Tiet didn't need to hear the callsign to recognise the source of the message; his sensitive Sullustan ears could pick out the nuances of the pilot's voice no matter how thickly the Rebellion laid on the distortion. "Valkyries: we have targets designated Aurek-5 through Aurek-8. Two Flight; Three Flight: break by pairs, and target by number."

Tiet responded with his compliance into the microphone. As one of four Squadrons of A-Wings grouped together as Interceptor Wing for this engagement, the fighters of Valkyrie Squadron were the leading edge of the fighter wave, expected to take care of anything hurled the Rebellion's way, so that hopefully no one else would have to worry about it. This first sixteen targets would be far from the last; hopefully there'd be enough targets for the rest of the pilots to share, but for now he was just glad to have been given the opportunity to launch one of the first shots.

Haulling down on the stick, Tiet threw the craft down into a spiral that he knew that only an A-Wing like the one on the hands of his wingman would be able to match. Dropping below the remainder of the fighter screen, he allowed his sensors to sweep for the illusive Aurek-5. A red indicator appeared on his scope, the computer systems - updated by remote from the Horizon - assigning an appropriate label. The Sullustan ran the calculations through his mind, tallying the expected targets against the number of weapons systems the Alliance was able to bring to bear. Deciding that their numbers would permit him to be a little frivolous with his ordnance, he switched his systems over to Concussion Missiles, waited for tone, and fired.

A lance of red shot out from a launcher carved into the ergonomics of his ship. Sweeping through space, its course painted a curve across the blackness. The target tried to steer away, altering course to evade the homing projectile. Its efforts failed; soon a cloud of debris and burning fuel drifted where a TIE Fighter had previously been.

"Scratch one," Tiet said calmly into his headset, and manoeuvered himself back into formation with the rest of the Squadron.

* * *

There was relief in the Tactical Officer's voice this time. "Initial wave has been neutralised," he announced to the bridge. "No Alliance casualties."

Leela felt herself release a breath she hadn't realised she was holding. She trusted her pilots - and the twelve dozen or so flying with them - but still, it was good to hear. Her calm was short-lived, however; the shapes of the Imperial skirmish line drew perilously close. "Message from Horizon," the Communications Officer called, Tyree providing instructions just as she expected them. "New target is Lancer-2. We're to draw her away from the Cruiser she's escorting, if possible; do whatever we can to keep those guns away from our fighters."

The Colonel narrowed her eyes; the Empire's Lancer Frigates were designed specifically as a countermeasure against starfighter actions. Their Quad Lasers would certainly cause some damage to a large vessel like the Valiant if they shot at them long enough, but it wouldn't be nearly as significant as if an unsuspecting fighter was caught in the line of fire. "Move us in, high and starboard of the target vessel." Leela instructed, shifting the position of her command chair towards the center of the Mon Calamari bridge. "Bring us in alongside; try and use the Lancer to shield us from that Carrack's guns."

She shifted her attention to the Tactical Officer, not waiting for the ship's pilot to respond. "Everything you can bring to bear, Lieutenant," she ordered, hoping that the few Laser Cannons, Ion Cannons and Turbolasers that her Light Cruiser posessed would be enough to make short work of the Lancer. If not - and if they couldn't keep themselves out of range of the more formidable guns of that Carrack Cruiser, they were in for some serious problems.

"All guns," the Tactical Officer echoed, voice laced with a determination and confidence that Leela only hoped she'd been able to convey in her instructions. "Yes, ma'am."

[Vansen Tyree]

Bolts of crimson and icy blue lanced out from the gun emplacements along the flanks of the Horizon as she rolled, her course bringing her high and port of the Imperial Strike Cruiser, Heavy Turbolasers and Ion Cannons peppering the shields of the vessel less than a quarter of her size. Impatient gunners whose weapons hadn't yet come to bear snapped off a few blasts towards the nearby Carrack, while beneath the Heavy Cruiser's Sullustan-designed form swept the Thunderchild, the array of weapons in her jaws unleashing fury against the Imperial ships. Out on the flanks the Valiant and the Intrepid exchanged fire with their respective Lancer targets, while the quintet of Blockade Runners - led by the Odyssey - charged the gauntlet that had formed between the two Imperial Cruisers, pummeling the distracted enemy ships with fire before the gunners had the chance to realign their weapons to target them. Starfighters swarmed around, B-Wings loosing volleys of Proton Torpedoes to hammer down the sharships' already stressed shields.

From the bridge, Captain Tyree watched the battle unfold with a carefully crafted scowl. His vessels outnumbered, outgunned and outclassed the enemy. If the Dreadnaught Heavy Cruisers of the Bothans been fighting alongside the Imperials as they expected, it would be a very different story, but for now they hung silent in space while inside a struggle for control raged. Vansen watched as one of the Lancers succomed to the combined onslaught of the Intrepid and the Horizon's port guns, hull breaches along her flank pushing the craft into a lazy roll along her center axis. In the background he heard the instructions of the fire control officer directing the gun batteries to concentrate their fire along the separation planes of the Strike Cruiser - a tactic that would exploit the weakness of the ship's modular design and break her apart in situe - her shields already stripped away.

The Alliance had known that this stage would be easy: the Imperials had left such a small force at Bothawui that even Tyree's minimal forces were able to overcome them. From this vector of approach the Golan Defense Platforms were of little concern, at least for now: if the Bothans on the inside could disable the Torpedo launchers as per Torrsk Oruo'rel's assurances, then the boarding troops and onboard insurgents might be enough to defeat of the Imperial garrison and gain control of the station without any of the Alliance vessels falling under those guns. And if they couldn't, the fighter screen would hopefully be enough to take out the worst of those guns before starships came close.

No: there were only two concerns remaining to the space liberators of Bothawui. Tyree's attention turned to the Officer of the Deck. "Status on the Challenger and Warspite, Lieutenant."

Manipulating the holodisplay to show a more expanded view of the battle, Bothawui herself and her defensive stations came into view. Lingering above the planet's surface, an Imperial Star Destroyer - flagship of the Bothan Sector's young Moff - hovered above the planet like a dagger ready to strike. "For now," the Lieutenant revealed, glancing over the activity logs for the craft, "She is holding position in geostationary orbit over the Bothan capital." The Lieutenant's eyes flicked upwards to meet with Tyree's. "No doubt the Moff wants to ensure that he has a safe escape route should it come to that."

Tyree snorted out a laugh. "Damn politicians," he muttered. "The only thing y'can rely on them for is having a contingency in place so they can run and hide." He sighed, shaking his head slowly. For a moment his mind turned to Oruo'rel, and he wondered if the Bothan - preparing himself to lead the invasion of the Challenger personally - conformed to that particular prejudice. An arrogant and manipulative furry bastard he might be, but perhaps he was one of the rare breed of politicians who actually posessed a spine. That reminded him of his initial question. "And the Challenger?"

The perspective of the holodisplay shifted, displaying the sleeker and - to Tyree's veteran Republican eyes at least - more beautifully-crafted Venator Star Destroyer as she moved slowly out of her position of safety beneath the planet's south pole. Vansen didn't need a computer display to see where she was heading, although couldn't help a smile at the fact that she was hardly achiving full speed during her aproach. Whether it was sabotage, intervention, or an ellaborate ruse by the Bothans aboard to fool their Imperial supervisors into thinking of them as loyal until the last available second, it certainly looked like the Bothans were holding up their end of the bargain in this whole liberation thing.

"What is the status on the Bothan fleet?"

A Communications Officer glanced up from their station, fielding that particular question. "One of the Dreadnaughts - the Constellation - is transmitting an Alliance IFF," he reported. "They're requesting instructions on how they might assist us."

Tyree's eyes glanced back to his Deck Officer. "And the others?"

The Lieutenant shook his head. "All three are guns-silent, but we've no signal from the rebels onboard."

Vansen narrowed his eyes, appraising the battlefield before them. As he watched another ship went dark on his scope: the second Lancer taken care of by the Valiant and what looked to be a well-timed assault by a unit of B-Wings. The Strike Cruiser sheered along one of the separation planes and was, to all intents and purposes, dead in space. The Officer of the Deck had already instructed that the Horizon's gunners focus their fire on the Carrack Cruiser: from the looks of it the Captain of the Intrepid had issued the same instruction as well. Things had gone well - gone to plan, even. Vansen couldn't help but feel uncomfortable at that prospect, but now was hardly the time to succome to his nerves.

The orders came. "Inform Colonel Starborn that he may deploy his shuttles; same instruction to our V-Wing Squadron and the Thunderchild's. Assign Valkyrie Squadron and two X-Wing Squadrons to escort them to atmosphere, then have them break off to engage the fighters from the Warspite; they're bound to have deployed fighters by then." He frowned, appraising his available tactical assets. "Assign two of the Bothan Corvettes and a squadron of A-Wings, X-Wings and B-Wings to the Thunderchild - and the same to the Valiant - and assign both tho engage their respective Golan Platforms." He paused while the Officer of the Deck relayed those instructions, the crew at various stations responding their compliance. "All remaining vessels are to form up on us. Have Counsellor Oruo'rel deploy his boarding shuttles as well; assign the remainder of our fighter screen to escort them and then engage the Imperial fighters from the Champion."

"This is it then, sir?" The Lieutenant seemed a little nervous. No doubt this was the largest conflict he'd ever served in; going up against a vessel as large as a Venator or an Imperial Star Destroyer was enough to make you nervous at the best of times, and now they were potentially taking on one of each.

Tyree nodded, fixing the Lieutenant with a look that he hoped would inject some confidance into the boy. "I want to know as soon as we're in range of her guns: I don't want to find out by having the deck shaken out from underneath me."

The Lieutenant straightened, snapping to a near-attention. "Aye, sir."