Imperial Entanglements

[Sanis Prent]

With a flash, Layla cut into realspace, diving headlong towards what should've been home sweet home and a job well done. It was anything but.

"This is Rogue Thirteen, come in Valiant Actual. This is Rogue Thirteen. This is Rogue Thirteen to all local comm bands, channel priority."

Sublights wide open, I banked the ship around the flanks of the flotilla, as if by the urgency of my flying I could somehow shake the fleet awake.

"The Empire has our coordinates. Attack is imminent. Repeat, attack is imminent."

I could only hope that whatever Navy jock was on the ball tonight was able to get the right people on task, because every second counted. If the Wheel didn't sound evacuation, and set a retreat rally-point, we were all in very real danger.

I didn't look to Loki, who was sitting to my right. We both knew exactly what was on the line.

"Ready on those quads?"

[Lowrook]

"This is Rogue Thirteen, come in Valiant Actual. This is Rogue Thirteen. This is Rogue Thirteen to all local comm bands, channel priority."

Captain Brandt has on the bridge when the call came in. Since the time that Lowrook had left the Berserker and gone to the Whaladon, Brandt had moved the Berserker with the formation of the fleet. Now, his guts froze as he thought of the Empire showing up.

"Copy that Thirteen. Berserker responding."

Brandt hit his comlink that opened a frequency to Lowrook.

"Master Lowrook, the Layla is back and sounding the alert that the Imps have our coordinates. Moving to set up delaying action."

Brandt didn't know if Lowrook would respond, but right now Brandt was in command of the ship now.

"Navigation, turn us into the direction of the exit vector of the Layla. Launch all fighters and form them up in front of us."

"Sir, you know that we only have 2 X-Wings and 1 Y-Wing, right?"

"We don't have much choice. We might get off a barrage that will either damage or delay them."

The navigator nodded and relayed the information. The Berserker's shields went up and it moved to align itself on the exit vector of the Layla.

[Carré Inirial]

"This is the Valiant, we copy Thirteen. Emergency protocols activated."

The Layla had barely registered on the Valiant's sensors before the clarion call had gone across all channels. Ice poured through the veins of the bridge officers as someone finally had the presence of mind to slap a hand on the emergency klaxons.

Interior and exterior lights alike flipped on in conjunction with the emergency alarms splitting the air in every nook and cranny of the ship. Every available fighter pilot was alerted as techs and hanger crews flew into action to be ready to launch as soon as was possible.

Colonel Vorega raced onto the bridge and shouted for the comms officer to broadcast the klaxons to every ship in the fleet, and was rewarded with the sight of it already having been done. In the viewport, she could see the fleet rippling to life.

---

It was supposed to be an easy detail. Flying around the fleet's formation as a guard for a couple of hours, then head back for dinner with Kelly. It would mark the first time in weeks they'd had any time to themselves-

Fingers slid across the controls reflexively as the Layla slid out of hyperspace. Carré was seconds away from harassing Sanis when his voice split the air on the comms channel. My gods...the Empire. Though she cold see the ships coming to life and the chatter becoming frenzied over the comms channels, she opened a direct line back to the Rogue hanger on the Valiant.

"TINK! CHRYS!" Carré shouted with no little sense of urgency, even as she muttered commands to Fiver to drop the diagnostics he was running and prepare the battle sequences.

"We're on it Phoenix - klaxons are going and we're scrambling everyone we can into fighters." Chrys' voice came clearly through, the strain already evident in her tone. Fighers were one thing to worry about - the woman had her children aboard the Valiant as well.

Carré angled her X-wing towards the point where Thirteen had come out of hyperspace, noting with some measure of relief that the Berserker had been quick to respond and its few fighters were in the process of launching as well.

[Lowrook]

"Master Lowrook, the Layla is back and sounding the alert that the Imps have our coordinates. Moving to set up delaying action."

Lowrook heard the message. He also felt the tension on the Whaladon increase tenfold. The threatening cloud of the darkside was closing in on the Wheel. For the sake of the Padawans and Younglings they had to get out of here.

"Copy that Brandt. May the Force be with You."

Lowrook wanting nothing more than to be on the bridge of his ship, leading the way into battle. But he knew that if he tried to make it to the Berserker, he would end up stuck in that bucket of a shuttle out in space between the two fleets. That's a good way to wind up dead.

Instead, Lowrook calmly took a seat on the cargo hold floor. He crossed his legs and assumed a meditative posture.

Slowly he immersed himself in the Force. He began to reach out in the Force, lightly touching on the beings around him, feeling their emotions... their connections with the Force. Moving outward, he began to probe the defenses of the Wheel. Out farther, he moved his awareness to where the enemy was approaching. The cloud of the dark side was condensing... concentrating... and it was nearby.

Lowrook then focused his attention on the Berserker. Captain Brandt was easy to read. His determination was a solid rock for the rest of the crew. Up ahead, the three fighters were moving out in an inverted triangle... the two X-Wings escorting the single Y-Wing.

Connecting with their minds, he entered into a battle meditation. While the crew moved independently of his actions, Lowrook would use the Force to enhance their performance.

[Jamo Jakatta]

The crew of the Valiant were diligent in their duties. Day and night was spent preparing for eventualities such as these, running through training scenarios that emulated common and not so common Imperial assault tactics. At the moment the Layla burst into realspace, Jamo Jakatta and Iyar Thiled were themselves engaged in a little endurance training.

“You got a right-arm like a wet noodle!”

“Son of a Hutt, you hit the same spot again!”

The Zeltron swung again, thumping his wing-man in the bicep. Bored of playing cards and dice, forbidden from drinking and without so much as a saucy little cadet to keep them entertained, they had resorted to the cherished boyhood pastime - and certified test of manhood - that was punching each other over and over in the arm. Jamo was grinning.

“Dude, bruises are purple, your skin is purple. No one will be able to tell the difference-”

“Battlestations.” The loud-speaker interupted, wiping the grin off Joker's face. “All pilots to their fighters, repeat – all pilots to their fighters. Imperial assault imminent. This is not a drill.”

Jamo set off at a sprint, swerving past Iyar as the two of them bolted towards their birds. “Last one in the air is Vorega's bitch.”

[Iyar Thiled]

The dull ache in his arm quickly left as adrenaline kicked in, though at the moment Iyar couldn't have said it was because of the alarms blaring through the ship or his little race with Joker.

Imperial assault imminent. It was almost too much to hope for. Not that it would have really been considered a good thing by most people, but Iyar knew that practically every pilot headed to their fighter at that moment was experiencing a mixture of unease at the Wheel being compromised and the overwhelming thrill of the fight that was hopefully to come.

The steps of the ladder to Rogue 10's cockpit were taken two at a time as the Zeltron practically leaped into position. His helmet was tugged on, systems activated and within a few short moments that were all too well rehearsed he had taken to flight, leaving the Valiant behind.

He honestly had no idea if Joker beat him or not, but one thing was for sure, if Rogue 10 was in the air, Rogue 9 being at the ready was a guarantee.

A look around proved others had responded to the call just as quickly, already forming up in flight patterns. Flipper switched on his comm, opening it up to Joker, Phoenix, the Layla and any other of the Rogues that had managed to get their act together.

"So you just pulling our chains or is this for real?" He left the and how the hell did they find us? unspoken.

Flipper's eyes continually moved from the friendly ships to the empty space around them... The wait for Imperial presence to drop out of hyperspace and upon them all was hellishly nerve wracking.

[Tera Uolmi]

In her dress colours, with her left arm in a sling, Tera Uolmi stalked across the flight deck of the Valiant like a woman possessed. She was grounded and her frustration at being denied the chance to fly against the Empire in defense of the Wheel was being channelled into hurling orders at every living being that was buzzing around the hangar, trying to make the jarring jump from no threat to high alert.

“Get that fuel line out of there – you suit up and slower and we'll be space-dust before you're in the air – you heard the Colonel, this is not a drill!”

[Oisin Ocasta]

Oisin hauled back on his controls, staying tight on Carré's wing. His eyes narrowed in a scowl at his sensor display, wishing yet again that Colonel Vorega would let him fly CAP in his Recon-X; this whole limited sensor range thing was becoming incredibly dull.

He watched as the formation from the Berserker launched, their pace marred by the Y-Wing that took point. Fortunately, he and Rogue Eleven were unhindered, and were advancing fast on the distant shape that his eyes were rapidly resolving into the familiar form of the Layla. Thus far, no Imperial ships had shown up on their scopes, but that was scant relief: Captain Prent was hardly the kind to cry wolf.

"Legs," he called into his comm, paying reference to one of the more obscure and quirky past times that had been popular back on Alderaan way back when. "Holding tight on your tail. Any idea what the frak is going on?"

[Jason Na'moda]

It had been a while searching, wheedling his way through Rebel logs and surreptitiously searching for a place which, for all intents and purposes, wasn't supposed to exist. The Jedi wanted to hide, and that was a fair assessment of the situation, given the circumstances. But their hiding made it even more difficult for one of their own to find them. Jason had done a lot of legwork, and here he was now, beaten to it.

Deep in space, where he had been told to look by the people he had subtly asked and now as he approached, he could see the comm waves spiking. There was something going on, and it wasn't good. Ships were dissipating, flight patterns like spooked birds taking wing. This didn't look good, especially since Jason wasn't in the need to know pile. Quickly, he jammed the sub-light engines into full ahead, having dropped out of hyperspace a while back and coasted in. He was displaying a Rebel Alliance callsign and figured that the Jedi might not fire on him. Especially if they had some Clone Wars veterans with them, rare though that might be (Ka somehow managed to survive).

Glancing to his R6 unit, a recent one, the last had been blown out by a close scrape with a buttress wall (one which had sanded its head clean off), Jason got a scan for the command ship, or the one which seemed to be mustering some sort of delaying action. Opening a communication channel, he spoke quickly, using a meditative technique Ka had taught him in tandem with it, opening his mind to any jedi who might be sifting through the debris, or seeking to find if he was friend or foe. Naturally, he could close it like a trap if they started doing something he disapproved of. He rocketed towards the ragged lines and hailed the command ship. "Valiant Actual, this is Rebel Alliance Pilot Jason Na'moda in the Nexu, I'd hate to bug your pre-sortie chatter, but it looks like you might need a hand. If I join you do you mind filling me in? First time here and I'm hoping I've got the right place. He watched a formation of random ships pilot out from the shadow of the larger capital ship. Knowing that the pressure on the pilots would be large he was tempted to cut the chatter and simply form up as an extra. But they might not be happy with that and without being privy to their battle net, he could cause more than a few accidents.

So he resisted the urge and instead slowed to a halt in view of the Valiant's bridge, rotating his craft around with practised hands, eyes following Rogue Squadron as they began grouping. He wanted to be aware of any approach of whatever they were running from. Imperials, or the Dark Side, one or the other, he could almost smell it, with everyone on the ships thinking the same thing. While he had a moment, he did as every well trained Alliance soldier would do, he checked his equipment. Running diagnostics and priming his lasers at the same time as checking the scavenged and modified Mandalorian armour he wore. As far as personal protection came, you couldn't really do better. Sure it bulked you out, but once you had installed more gadgets in each armour plate than you knew what to do with, mounted cortosis weave in the metal of the greaves and gauntlets, along with various other surprises, it was pretty damn good. And his was pressurised. It wouldn't hold out for long against the vacuum, but it would help. In Jason's formidable experience, any ace up the sleeve was better than one in the hole. He watched the Rogues closely and listened for orders. Soon as he had them, then he'd get to where he needed to be.

[Lucy Gray]

Kylie ran into the hangar just after Tera. Neither of them had a fighter to fly so Kylie felt as useless as a nerf hide steak in a vegan convention. She looked around for something… anything to do. Tera was barking out orders to the techs. That’s when Kylie saw it. A Lambda Class shuttle was parked, with its wings folded up over in the corner. While it was slow and lumbering for a battle, it was armed with lasers and heavy duty shields. Right now, they didn’t know of it was just going to be a patrol ship that appeared or an entire task force of Star Destroyers. Every ship counted.

Kylie grabbed Tera by the good shoulder and pulled her towards the shuttle. She shouted at the techs as they made their way toward it.

“Prep this shuttle for launch on my authority.” Hopefully they wouldn’t stop to ask her exactly what authority she had. Then Kylie turned to Tera.

“We don’t have ships and this isn’t the best option, but it is armed. I can fly this bucket, but I need a gunner. We’ll hang back and try to help out where we can or just pick up pilots who go EV. You in?”

Kylie’s demeanor was serious. While she talked, she didn’t stop walking. By the time she asked Tera if she was in, they were already in the cockpit. Outside, techs were removing hoses and clearing her for launch. Kylie took the controls at the pilot station and began to go through an abbreviated start up sequence.

[Abarai Loki]

The panel on the wall lit up with the flick of a switch and there was a brief whine as power was transferred to both quad-cannons. Loki pulled the lever Sanis had earlier pointed out and a distant grinding sound indicated the turrets had surfaced. He took a moment to familiarise himself with the controls for both cannons; there were dials, temperature guages, power readings, and a pair of control sticks. He gave a nod.

"I am ready. Let us hope the fleet is, too."

He wrapped his hands around each stick, working fingers into the groves for a firm grip, and closed his eyes. Inverted axis. One-hundred and eighty degrees dorsal. Three-hundred and sixty lateral. Five-second bursts. All other thoughts were swept away as he sought a clarity of mind, first he looked inwards and then outwards, to the oncoming storm.

[Sanis Prent]

The color drained from my face a bit as what followed me home finally punched into realspace.

"Shit."

Dominating the space ahead was a shape nobody in the galaxy could mistake: an Imperial Star Destroyer.

"Rogue Thirteen to Valiant Actual, enemy contact. I'd give coordinates, but just look out any window."

My left hand nervously drummed along the pilot console as I kept the throttle wide open, eventually slinging us about 180 degrees, heading toward the massive capital ship.

"Cirr, double front deflectors. Put everything and the galley sink into my sublights."

At this, MARCUS sprang to life.

"Sanis, I highly recommend changing your course of action. We have no hope of survival against a star destroyer in a frontal assault."

I yanked the droid module off my console.

"Don't you have something nice to say you fatalistic tin can?"

I chucked the MARCUS module over my shoulder, hearing it clatter on the floor behind me. He was right though, I felt a burning hole in my stomach as we thundered ahead towards a problem I didn't know my way out of.

[Lowrook]

The space in front of the Berserker went from the blackness of space to the stark whiteness of Imperial Death. An Imperial Class Star Destroyer had found them. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how one looked at it, the Berserker was right on plane with the bridge tower. Thinking quickly, Captain Brandt acted. He knew that there was a few seconds between arrival in real space and activating shields.

“FIRE!!!”

The Berserker and accompanying fighters quickly fired on the command bridge. Streaks of Turbolaser Fire and a dozen torpedoes shot out, instantly covering the distance between them and the bridge.

“Come on… come on…” muttered Brandt. This first attack was crucial. If the barrage was quick enough, it would damage their bridge and possibly their sensors. While they would recover, it would take time to get the auxiliary bridge up and running and transfer commands. Time that the Jedi could use to get away. If the CO was quicker, then the shields would be up and their first barrage would just slam into the shields. While it would deplete some of the energy in them, it would become a slugging match and that was something the Imperials would win. It would be the equivalent of a Rancor in a pen with 5 Gamoreans.

“Madclaw Flight, this is Berserker, set course for their communcations array. If we can’t destroy them, then maybe we can make them mute so backup doesn’t arrive.”

“Copy that Berserker. We’re on it.”

The grimness in pilot’s voice was mirrored on Brandt’s face. Three fighters against an ISD and there fighters which were sure to launch was a suicide mission. But if they could destroy their communications, then the Wheel could jump out without the ISD reporting their position to waiting Imperial forces.

The missiles got closer.

[Rolth Wygraant]

The transition out of hyperspace to realspace was always a bit of a foray into the unknown, and doubly so in a potential combat approach. You needed a second or two out of the maelstrom to gain your bearings.

This particular jump, it was a luxury that Captain Wygraant and the Star Destroyer Decimator did not have.

"Danger close! Evasives!"

"Shields! Shields!"

The deflector technician in the bridge pit was blessed with a quick hand to even cut off half the Berserker's salvo, but not before the turbolaser fire from the smaller picket craft stitched across the lower section of the command tower's superstructure. Sparks were a nearly unheard-of malady on a Star Destroyer's bridge, much less the unseemly sight of an Imperial Captain actually stumbling from the effects of enemy fire on his ship. Yet both indignities were suffered, as Wygraant nearly dropped to a knee on the bridge catwalk, and a few terminals below him sputtered.

With a disdainful frown, Captain Wygraant righted himself, tugging down crisply at the hem of his officer's coat to give it a proper adjustment.

"Helm, for future reference 'put us on top of their position' is more a figure of speech. Damage status?"

A crewer beneath him looked up, his information condensed into a tight stream of dialogue as he addressed his captain.

"Minor hull breach at deck 38. Missile damage to HoloNet arrays."

Rolth's brow furrowed.

"Nevermind reinforcements then. ComScan, give me a reading of this motley assortment of Rebel ships. Flight Commander, prepare all squadrons for deployment."

He looked forward to the observation windows, the figure of the Berserker still looming large directly ahead, now dumping its weapons furiously against Decimator's active shields.

"Battery control, swat that nuissance off of our vector."

Decimator's double and quad heavy turbolaser batteries lined up on Berserker unleashing a close-ranged fusilade against the much smaller picket craft, as the Imperial warship began to adjust its trajectory against the Rebel fleet to better address the terms of the engagement.

[Jaden Luka]

The colour drained from Jaden's face.

When the situation had kicked off, Jaden had been lingering like a loose end on the bridge, and had quickly plunged into aiding the crew in coordinating with the various scattered assortments of fighters scrambling from all corners of their rag-tag fugitive fleet, and in preparing the civilian ships to make their escape.

As a security measure - to reduce the risk of them being leaked in the meantime - the emergency jump vectors were pre-calculated, but not transmitted to the fleet until it was absolutely necessary. Alas, the Star Destroyer, whether by intentional design or accidental fluke, had apperated far too close to their intended exit vector; recalculating coordinates for an entire fleet formation was an absolutely mammoth task.

He risked a glance at the tactical display, and watched indicators inform him that the Berserker, one of the few other armed ships in the fleet, had opened fire. While granted, trying to hit the Star Destroyer before she raised shields was a shrewd move - and one that the Valiant would no doubt have made herself, had she been in range - it had the adverse affect of making the Berserker the sole initial focus of the Imperial's initial retaliation.

Worse still, the destroyer - Decimator, the aurebesh label on the tactical display informed him - was scrambling fighters. An Impstar carried six squadrons; and while he had every confidence in the Rogues, the Valkyries, and the Layla, those odds weren't looking even remotely friendly.

At least, he mused, They didn't bring escorts. I guess that's something.

"All fighters, this is Valiant," he spoke, slipping a comlink headset over his ear, and exchanging a brief glance with Leela to confirm she didn't mind him stepping up. "This isn't about glory or victory today; this is about keeping that destroyer and those ships away from this convoy, long enough for us to jump the hell out of here. Nothing fancy; no heroics."

A grim smile crossed his features. "Squints and eyeballs are inbound. Force be with you all."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

"Cirr, double front deflectors. Put everything and the galley sink into my sublights."

Cirr, mouth agape at the comm box, could only manage to do what was asked, allocating power to prepare for...what? Getting pulverized?

"He's jinsane!"

Worry twisted Cirr's features as he worked in cramped quarters, with Akrabbim, the crazy illusionist wizard, standing beside him.

With barely enough time to slip out of his jacket and blood-soaked shirt, Cirr slapped a rudimentary bandage around his chest before they pulled out of hyperspace. He wore that, and a sleeveless shirt draped over that which was already starting to moisten with perspiration as Cirr hunched over a console to crunch the power requirements.

"No prroblem. Just attackjing a Starr Destrroyerr. Bjiggest thjing we've everr seen. No prressurre..."

His ears hung low at the thought.

Layla thundered ahead, ducking low where Berserker pressed high, and ran the gauntlet along the massive ventral hull of Decimator as anti-starfighter batteries here and there opened fire. To Sanis's credit, he was able to shake and bake past a lot of the point defense, at last rocketing toward an emerging vanguard squadron of TIE Interceptors that were probably more intent on clearing their moorings than immediately expecting to dodge a furious quad laser hit and run.

[Akrabbim]

Akrabbim looks around in surprise as Sanis' comments come blaring across the comm. He stands still listening, unsure of what to do. He hasn't been on a ship of any sort in years, and even then he was never what you'd call an impressive pilot. But when the term "Star Destroyer" comes up, he perks up immediately.

Images of the last Star Destroyer he ever saw comes to mind. He remembers the giant wedge blocking out the sky, plunging the city in which he and his Master were hiding into a false night. That was the last time he had ever seen his Master. While Akrabbim hid, his teacher and protector had attempted to hold off the Imps. He fought well, but no man, no matter how skilled, can destroy an entire army. He fell, never to rise again.

Since that day, Akrabbim had dreaded seeing one of those floating monstrosities. But instead of the fear he felt last time, he begins to feel a sense of elation, of possibility. He is no longer the apprentice. He is a battle-hardened Master in his own right. And though it may be a terribly non-Jedi way of thinking, he can't get the idea of payback out of his head.

He grabs Cirrsseeto by the front of his shirt, staring the felinoid in the face. "Star Destroyer! You did say Star Destroyer, right?" He stares into Cirr's eyes, his own blazing in near fever. Too impatient to wait for an answer, he darts off to the cockpit.

Once he arrives, his eyes lock onto the giant ship. As a plan starts forming in his mind, his mouth breaks into a wide, nearly mad grin. He turns toward Sanis, a glint in his eye, arm pointing out the front window directly at the Imperial ship.

"I've got a plan. I'm gonna steal me a ship."

[Lowrook]

As Brandt saw the salvo strike the Decimator, he knew that it was too little. The majority of the shots got through, but it wasn’t enough. Now, the Decimator, which seemed to fill up the entire forward viewport, opened fire on the Berserker.

“Scatter the fighters. Try to come around behind the Decimator and attack their engines.”

Brandt knew that while the Star Destroyers had impressive firepower, most of it was concentrated in the forward away. Hardly anything was aimed toward the aft of the ship. The problem with that was that the Berserker was also separating itself more from the fleet.

Unfortunately for the Berserker, they were in that forward array. Turbolaser fire slammed into the small gunship, almost bringing it to a complete halt. The bridge was shook by the blast. Brandt held onto the railing to keep himself from flying against the back wall.

Fortunately, the Security Officer had the necessary brain cells to immediately transfer all power to the forward shields from everywhere else in the ship. The shield glowed as they bled away the turbolaser power, but it didn’t hold. More and more turbolaser fire was getting through holes in the shields. A ragged hole was torn in the flank of the Berserker as it managed to move past the Decimator.

Brandt wiped his hand across his forehead. Blood was dripping down. He ripped off a sleeve of his shirt and wrapped it around his head.

“Shalla order the fighters to concentrate on the sensor array. Shalla!?”

Shalla didn’t respond. She was slumped over her console, dead. A portion of her console had exploded in her face, sending shards blowing through her face like the rounds of a slugthrower.

Inside Brandt felt both a rage and a gaping hole of loss. Though it wasn’t advertised, Shalla and Brandt had been a item since they had started crewing for Lowrook.

“Maneuver…” Brandt’s voice broke. He coughed through the lump tightening in his throat. “Maneuver us around to face our best side towards the Decimator. Concentrate all power to shields and weapons.”

“Sir, shouldn’t we be getting out of here?”

The look that Brandt gave said it all. They were going to leave unless the Jedi were already away.

The Berserker, now hovering in the aft of the Decimator, opened fire on the engines.

On the sensors, Madclaw 3, the Y-Wing bomber disappeared. An explosion registered on the sensors. The bomber had been damaged by an ion blast. It had slammed into the starboard side of the command tower near one of the shield generators.

[Jamo Jakatta]

Hot on the trail of the Layla was Rogue Squadron's Three Flight, with Jamo Jakatta on point. His X-Wing twitched left and right as the cannons of the Imperial attack squadrons spat volleys of red laser-fire across the blackness of space. The transition from inaction to action was sudden, but like all members of Rogue Squadron, Joker was up to the challenge. Adrenaline was pumping through his system, sharpening reflexes that had been honed by years at the controls of a star-fighter.

“Stay tight, Three Flight. The moment they drive a wedge between us-” Not pun intended, he thought, with a sharp glance at the Star Destroyer. “Is the moment we're space-dust.”

[Tera Uolmi]

Tera fell into the gunners chair and with her good arm, tugged open the buttons at his collar. In a move that would have horrified the med-droids who had fitted her brace, she slipped her left arm out of its sling and flexed her stiff fingers, taking hold of the gun turret controls.

“Get us in the air, Spoon.”