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Thread: Skirmish over Sullust

  1. #1
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    Imp Skirmish over Sullust

    "Drank your breakfast again, Davis?" The crewman jostled past the pilot as she leaned against a bulkhead, and only laughed as she flipped him a rude gesture. By the time she felt like moving again the crewman was long gone and she was surrounded by mouse droids and technicians running to and fro.

    The ISD II Termagant was at Eriadu undergoing repairs. Crew were being swapped in and out, giving some a much needed rest and bringing in snot-nosed cadets to ruin everyone's day. Rumor was that there would be some new Shadows brought into the squadron too, but Bette hadn't recieved any transfer papers to solidify that into fact. As one of the highest ranked pilots of Shadow Squadron, she would hope that any pilot changes would be run by her first.

    Suddenly a klaxon sounded, ripping through Bette's head like a ragged vibroblade. "All senior officers to report to stations."

    She sighed, pushed off from the bulkhead, and stalked her five foot four inch frame to the pilots briefing room. As a Flight Commander she certainly qualified as a senior officer, but she hated brushing elbows with the other squadron commanders. They were so... elitist.

    That thought brought a grin, as the Shadows were the best of the best, and the other pilots knew it. If she was snubbed by the other squadrons, it was simply because that was what the Shadows dished out to them. And they deserved it too, those whiny mynock bastards.

    She wasn't the last to arrive to the briefing room, but she wasn't the first either. Bette slipped inside and took a seat near the back and kicked her feet up on the chair in front of her.

    The commanding pilots of Bloodwing Squadron were sitting near her. "I heard Captain Tellison in the passage just outside the bridge said that we're being put on alert. Something about Rebel forces massing near Sullust."

    Bette Davis' ears pricked up at that, and she sat up a little straighter, her feet hitting the deck. Some action at last!

    yo ho yo ho a pilot's life for me

  2. #2
    Saul Karzai
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    Saul Karzai was shaving in the refresher, when the claxon went off. He let out a short curse then hurriedly finished shaving. It didn't look too bad, but he did notice a strip of hair running vertically along his left cheek and on down his angular. Karzai gave a shrug to the pilot standing next to him and left. His first squadron command briefing and he was running late.

    'Sithspit' had been 'frocked'; his superiors deciding his tenure with the Empire (as short as it was) deserved a promotion. He got to wear the insignia of a Flight Commander and wear it with pride. On the flip side he couldn't issue orders to anyone who was an actual Flight Commander and he didn't get their pay either. But it meant an 'actual' promotion was closer than it seemed.

    The Imperial pilot hurried down the corridors of the Termagant and into the flight briefing room. He saw 'Shooter' at the place she told him they were supposed to sit: the back of the room. She was also in one of her 'normal' positions, her legs crossed over a chair. His mind flashed back to that one time she and former Shadow Squad Member Val Torre had been found in the back of the briefing room...but they weren't there for a briefing.

    He slipped next to his squadmate and gave her a rueful smile, "How is it, I wake up earlier than you and still get beat to the briefing room?"

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    "Just my luck," she grumped, but shushed quickly enough as Grisham entered the room and sat near the front. He wasn't giving the briefing, which was something. It meant that the official memos hadn't even had a chance to circulate yet.

    The pilots gathered in the room rustled and whispered as they shifted in their seats, and Bette leaned over to Karzai. "I heard something about Rebels at Sullust. Not far from here - too close for comfort if you ask me."

  4. #4
    Saul Karzai
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    "You're telling me," Karzai replied in a hushed tone, "Last time they were out there was before Endor. You think they're going to try to finish off Death Star II?"

    He really did hate bringing up the Battle of Endor. He hadn't been there, but had heard plenty of stories about it. The Empire had taken a shot to the nose, especially Shadow Squadron, but it was recovering pretty well. But then so was the Rebellion.

    "They aren't that stupid are they?"

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    "Hardly anything worth going back for when it comes to that burnt out hulk, if you ask me. And you did." Bette leaned closer, "I heard that the higher ups finally decided what to do with all that twisted metal - they're going to scrap it and tear it down to raw materials again. Feed the war machine, y'know.

    "Not a moment too soon - we left it out there for over a year - but the yahoos that wanted to turn it into a war memorial have lost. So I heard." Bette shushed up and sat up straight as a uniform covered in brass entered the room. Everyone got to their feet and saluted, all sitting down at once when the officer gave them the 'at ease' signal.

    This would be interesting.

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    "As you've no doubt heard we're being put on alert. Intel has picked up through various networks that the Rebellion is preparing to 'liberate' a star system in the region."

    The officer pressed a button on the datapad he held in his hand and the holoprojector in the room activated while the lights dimmed. A star map of the region expanded in the centre of the room then zoomed in on Sullust. A bit of chatter arose when the planet came up with it's surrounding satellites.

    "It should come as no surprise that Sullust is the suspected target. The Sullustans have shown unrest ever since the Empire took control and put them in their place as workers. Anti-Imperial sentiment has rocketed to new heights since the battle of Endor and a small resistance has come to power disrupting Imperial control of the world."

    The planet dissolved and a complete view of the system appeared displaying routes, ships, and stations in the system, each colour coded to represent their alignment. Blue for the stations and shuttles of the workers, green for the Imperial vessels and emplacements, and red for the Alliance. No red ships were yet to be displayed but a marker was placed on the map as the suspected enemy entry vector.

    "It is suspected that a Rebel strike force will drop in system to engage our units on defense and send boarding parties to the shipyards in order to gain control of the facilities and the ships docked. Should they gain control of these assets the planet will be effectively in their control."

    The hologram phased out and the light returned to the room. The officer placed the datapad he was holding in a pocket on his belt and looked over the pilots to see if they were still attentive.

    "Fleet support is limited in this area as there are various engagements in other sectors of the Galaxy. The Termagant and the Victory-class Harper along with their escorts are the only force currently available to aid in the planet's defense. Our ships will jump in at 1700 hours, this is the suspected time of attack by the Rebels. 1700 is the time crew changes occur aboard the stations."

    Satisfied that the pilots had, had their fill of the unimportant stuff, the officer now spoke in a more enthusiastic tone.

    "Now for the part you've been waiting for, your roles. All fighter will launch immediately after reversion and screen the capitals until they are within striking range of opposing ships. At that point you are to break and engage enemy flights and assault shuttles attempting to board stations. Simple orders for now but expect them to change during the battle. I will add at this time that you will be receiving new pilots."

    At that the officer turned and headed out the door. It wasn't his job to deal with flight leaders in person, just give the orders, that job was reserved for his aid who now was trembling with fear as he handed out datapads to disgruntled flight leaders. The datapads held detailed orders and the new pilots transfers.
    Last edited by Travis North; Jul 20th, 2007 at 05:39:41 AM.

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    Grisham was one of the first to grab Shadow Squadron's orders. He looked back to where his flight commanders were lounging and gave Bette a hard stare. She waved.

    "We better go see what newbies we're being handed." Bette's feet hit the ground and she got to her feet. "Then he'll probably have us break the news to everyone that shore leave has been canceled."

    "Everyone already knows that, they've all been recalled to the ship since the alert went out thirty minutes ago." Saul pointed out the obvious, and she sighed.

    "Well..." Bette stomped forward, pushing her way past other squadron leaders. "You know what I mean."

    "Glad you could rouse yourself, Shooter," Grisham noted, passing off the datapad to the Lieutenant Commander. "I'm putting you in charge of pilot transfers - make sure the noobs get bunked up and ready to go. Karzai, go over the attack plan and get the orders to all three wing groups."

    "And you, sir?" Bette asked politely, but she was chafing under the idea that Grisham handed out orders and never seemed to do anything himself. She wasn't here to babysit new pilots, dammit. If he wanted someone to take care of the managerial duties of the squadron then he could find someone else! She was a pilot.

    "I'll be in the mess, finishing my breakfast. I'll meet you both in the barracks in an hour."

    Saul and Bette saluted as he left, then gave each other looks as they worked their way to the exit in the back of the room.

  8. #8
    Saul Karzai
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    "Such a charming CO don't you think?" Karzai shook his head as the two Imperial pilots exited the briefing room. They were headed towards the flight deck where they'd meet the newbies coming in, as well as a couple of the vets who were finishing flight checks on their fighters. That'd take the squadron at least an hour to finish, then to the barracks for briefing.

    Davis gave a snorting laugh, "I think he's a part of the squad just to live vicariously through us."

    "Yeah, I don't disagree," even if he wasn't a 'true' Flight Commander, Karzai knew the rep of Grisham. And it wasn't a good one. It was whispered Grisham's callsign should be 'Fat Cat' instead of 'Death Stick'.

    Sithspit spent a couple seconds scanning the attack plan, then gave a sly smile, "You know, Shooter. I'm willing to put up a few creds on who bags the most Rebs. Say thirty creds? Oh and dr9inks for an entire day too.

    "Since we all know your 'three meals' are more liquid than solid."

  9. #9
    Aliya Vahlshalynn
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    A pair of hands gripped Bette's shoulders tightly as the beaming face of Chipper poked her over the left. "Hey, everyone knows you need to drink eight ounces of fluid everyday. Right, Shooter?"

    Aliya had just went over the flight plans quickly when she overheard her friends talking and needed to chime in her two credits.

  10. #10
    Nagal Aursoni
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    Bored as could be Nagal sat on the scaffolding which surrounded his fighter high in the bay of the Termagant, his feet dangled over the edge above the crews who were hard at work. The alert setting them to their tasks of loading ordinance and performing checks on the various craft in the bay. No such checks were needed for Nagal's craft, it was a straight from the factory Interceptor which had been checked over before his early morning flight from the Carrier Lulsa to the Termagant.

    Fresh from the Academy and into the Shadows. I should be excited and all eager to please, why am I so bored? I should be down there helping out, look at those guys not a single slack- Hold it.
    "Hey buddy, get to work! These things don't fuel themselves! A Hutt could do better!"

    Not so bored now, the sound of boots clanking across the scaffolding caught Nagal's attention just at the right time as he was about to hock a good one at a fuel attendant far below who had just flipped him off. Annoyed, he got to his feet and picked up his helmet placing it under his arm and stood at attention doing his best to mask his mood. Bout time someone showed up. He stamped his foot down just as a wrench whizzed up and hit the belly of his Interceptor, it made a loud ding and disrupted Nagal just slightly.

  11. #11
    Saul Karzai
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    "You want in on this bet, Chipper?" Karzai smiled, as the trio continued their walk towards the hangar bay, "Always room for more on this wager. Especially since we're probably the only ones who know how to pilot drunk, tired, and hung-over.

    "Or atleast Shooter is," he gave Davis a playful elbow.

  12. #12
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    Bette snapped, "I never fly missions drunk, you frackin' idiots. And you need eight, eight ounce glasses of fluids a day." She lengthened her stride, but the other two were taller than she was and kept pace easily. "And," the Lieutenant Commander added as they came upon one of their new pilots, "I'll take that bet. They don't call me Shooter for no frelling reason."

    She stalked over to Ensign... Aursoni, checking the datapad in her hand. "Fresh out of the Academy, huh?" Bette returned his salute. "At ease, Ensign. I see you've discovered your fighter. Congratulations. Don't make the techs angry, because they'll take it out on the ships, and your fighter is the difference between living and dying out there." She jerked her head towards the mouth of the hangar, a forcefield separating them from the vacuum of space.

    "I am Lieutenant Commander Davis, this is Lieutenant Commander Karzai, and Lieutenant Vahlshalynn. You're being assigned to Shadow Eleven, and you get to pick whatever callsign you like." She smiled, grimly. "Follow me to the barracks. We'll get your bunk assigned before the Termagant leaves port."

  13. #13
    Nagal Aursoni
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    Nagal offered a handshake to his new squadmates before giving Davis a reply as he picked up his pack which had been sitting beside the Interceptor's starboard wing.

    "I'm fully aware of the dangers of being a suicide jockey, in the bay and in the void." Nagal said as he slung the pack over his shoulder and fell in line behind the trio to the barracks. "And I know that I'm no good to the Empire dead. That's why I aim to stay alive."

  14. #14
    Aliya Vahlshalynn
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    "Ooooo ..." Chipper slapped Aursoni on the shoulder that wasn't covered by the pack. "... Sounds like the new guy has some spunk. Course, you have to be halfway decent to send you out with us."

    When the group entered the barracks, the rest of Shadow Squad present greeted their comrades with a mixture of hellos and frell yous. It all depended if you owed them money or not.

    Chipper did not. She high fived her wingman before hopping onto the top bunk. "This is yours new guy." She rolled onto her stomach with feet crossed, swinging them back and forth in the air almost in time with her dog tags.

  15. #15
    Demek Jast
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    Alliance Liberation Force

    Ten bright shining vessels held in formation against an unnamed star. A red crest painted on each of their hulls, the symbol of the Alliance. This was the fleet set to engage and liberate Sullust, a world imprisoned by the Empire. The slavery of the planets people would soon come to an end, and the world would be a free body once again.

    Among the vessels which composed the fleet the largest and most powerful was an MC80b, the flagship. Scrawled along it's plating beside the Rebellion's Crest read the word Candensce. In it's wake trailed two other Mon Cal cruisers, MC40s, and an array of other warships common among the Alliance Forces.

    "Battlegroup Nova reports affirmative, waiting on your jump order Sir." The voice of a Mon Cal officer, a lieutenant, reported.

    The tall fishlike being walked up behind the Duros commander in his seat and stood at ease awaiting the reply of his superior. The Duros grumbled, he felt out of place in the command center, the lone alien. He'd have prefered a more diverse crew but the battleship's systems wouldn't permit it. They were designed for the Mon Calamari, they would be used by them. The only reason he was stationed aboard was because of his experience in past conflicts of the Galaxy. This provided him an emense knowledge of fleet battle tactics and the rank of Fleet Admiral within the Alliance.

    "Verywell they may have it." The Duros, Demek Jast, flicked a control on his command chair, openning a fleet wide channel. "All ships of the fleet, prepare to jump on my mark." A short pause for everyone to ready themselves, "Mark."
    Last edited by Demek Jast; Aug 24th, 2007 at 02:23:06 PM.

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    ISD II Termagant, 1645 hours

    Fiddling with her octagonal dogtags, Bette's eyes were half closed as she listened to the nervous pre-flight chatter of the other pilots around her. In just a few minutes they'd be loaded into their TIEs, but the banter wouldn't stop unless strict comm silence was instated. Since they were planning on jumping right into the hornet's nest, there was no need.

    "All pilots report to stations, repeat, all pilots report to stations. This is not a drill."

    Their captain, Tal Kellison, was fond of drills, but this was the real thing. The only sound for the next few minutes was boots hitting the deck as the TIE pilots double timed it to their distinct hangars. Bette was one of the first to get strapped inside the TIE Interceptor she'd affectionately dubbed Maneater, and quickly ran through the preflight checks one more time. All of the fighters would have been gone over with a fine tooth comb in the last few hours, but no one knew her ship like she did. Bette ran a gloved hand over the instrument panel, and settled her helmet in place.

    Comm chatter filled her ears as Shadow Squadron got settled in. She smiled, but kept quiet until a paticularly loud boast from Maniac caught her attention. "I highly doubt you can take on the entire Rebel fleet by yourself, Marr. Tell you what, you can follow me while I do it and we'll share the glory." Bette grinned, and said, "We're dropping in on Sullust in the next ten, people. Get your game faces on."

  17. #17
    Nagal Aursoni
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    The meeting with the rest of the Shadows was quite the experience for Nagal. To him they were all very unique individuals, a nice change from the Academy drones he had bunked with.

    All systems showed green during Nagal's final check. He tightened his restraints and began to get his breathing in-check. Now knowing his ship was good to go, he'd have to be as well. Come on, get yourself together. This isn't much different from the sims. You could pull the trigger then, you can do it now. The thought giving him a little bit of focus. Nagal had never taken a life before. Although he signed up to the corps with full knowledge that it was a 'kill or be killed' position.

    "....Get your game faces on."

    "I can do this." Nagal said to himself, he then hit his comm and joined the chatter, "Eleven here, ready to rock and roll. Rumors had better be true that you guys are the Empire's hotshots. I'd hate to be disappointed."

  18. #18
    Zachariah Jak'el
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    He rolled out of his bunk with the rest of them, stomping down the halls as they all headed for the hangar bay, all eager to put their lives on the line for the glorious Empire, or that was the way he saw things. He knew that some of his fellow pilots were in this for the thrill, or because they wanted to get unlucky one time and die. He wanted to serve the Empire his family had played such intricate roles within. Why was he a suicidal TIE-Fighter pilot then instead of a fleet commander like his ancestors? Because he is an elite suicidal TIE-Fighter pilot. Shadow Squadron ain't exactly an infantry position. His father had taught him to serve where he could, at what he did best. And flying starfighters was what he did best.

    So here is he, climbing up the ladder and down into his personal TIE-Fighter, fitting himself into the worn seat. No sooner had he finished strapping himself in then a tech was handing him his black helmet through the opening in the ceiling. Once snugly in place and sealed, the hatch was closed and his ship was powered up. Systems were checked, twice, and met his standards of perfection.

    "Shadow Eight standing by."

  19. #19
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    One of the smallest vessels in the ten strong Alliance assault force was a little Corellian type corvette in the back of the formation. The ship's paint was still gleaming in the starlight, the ship having just recently been comissioned into the Alliance navy. The words painted onto her hull labeled her as the Warrick, named for an Ewok that had been instrumental in helping the Alliance forces to victory over the forest moon of Endor.

    The Warrick was not like other corellian corvettes though. Normally these vessels bristled with turbolaser emplacements and escape pods. However, this vessel held no turbolaser cannons, the weapons having been salvaged to repair larger capital class warships. Instead, her twin turbolasers had been replaced with communications and sensor equipment, along with a tractor beam projector. The other single turbolasers dotting her centerline had been replaced with anti-starfighter quad laser cannons.

    Her mission was simple, and yet complex at the same time. She would handle communication and coordination duties for the rest of the vessels in the fleet, and would also analyze enemy forces and assign threat values to them, upon which the information would be transmitted to the captial ships and starfighter squadrons. Basically the vessel would act in a manner that a Jedi would in using force meditation to coordinate a fleet.

    The captain of the corvette, one Anne Phoenix, was well suited to the task, her crisp and clean uniform one of the signs that she too, was a recent addition to the Alliance navy. Captain Phoenix had first served, then commanded passenger cruise liners of all sizes and shapes, and was well suited to dealing with multipule issues that occured at once.

    "Readiness?" asked the captain, her voice coming cool and clear.

    "All stations and systems report in the clear, captain," replied the navigator, who also served as the second in command of the corvette. He was a little envious of her position, for he had been in the Alliance navy for years now and had served over Endor. Still, while Loyalty and time comitted were important, they were not the only attribiutes that serves for promotions.

    "Very well. Send a signal to the Candensce that we are ready to jump on their command," ordered the captain before settling down into her small and uncomfortable chair.

    It turned out that they didn't have long to wait. Barely a few minutes had passed before the message came in that the warships were to make the jump into hyperspace. The first to go were the big Mon Cal cruisers at the front of the fleet. The gunships and escort frigates disappeared a few moments later. Anne nodded to the navigator, who depressed a lever on his console. The stars stretched out into lines, and the Warrick accompanied her sister vessels to war.

  20. #20
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    "Captain, we have reports of a rebel fleet appearing on scanners of orbiting vessels. You are to take your squadron and help with crushing them."

    Trix saluted. "Very well, sir."

    The squadron commander nodded. "Be on your way, Captain Idalix, I'll be launching shortly. And good hunting. We don't want the Destroyer squadrons getting all the credits, do we?"

    "No sir!" Trix saluted again, and swiftly marched to the hangar bay while the klaxons sounded over head.

    Squadron 235, report to hangar 4-E. Repeat. Report to hangar 4-E for scrambling and potential combat.


    Trix made it into the hangar only a few moments after the other members of his squadron, a ground based group of Interceptors with a small contingent of standard TIEs. The squadron, well drilled from the Academy and their Commander's own random drilling pattern after being stationed on Sullust. They saluted while they stood in formation. As opposed to most other drill times, they still had their helmets under the crooks of their arms.

    "Rebels," Trix stated simply. "We in Flight 2 are to reenforce the starfighters already in orbit, and pave the way for the rest of the squadron's entrance. Suit up, and let us trail a path of destruction that will let the rebels know exactly what they're up against."

    "TX-671," he said, and the Pilot stepped out of formation. "You are my wingman."

    TX-671, otherwise known as Jan Sota, saluted, and followed Trix to the fighters. This squadron was among those that were made up mostly of cloned pilots, thus there was mostly silence as they made ready for take-off. Most of the newer pilots had come with Trix from the Academy, such as his wingman Jan, and Geor Auman, both friends from Corellia, and having graduated the Academy when he had; he suspected that something had transpired to allow all three of them to be in the same Squadron, much less the same Flight team.

    "Alright. Jan, keep my wing, you know what to do. Geor, you've got your orders already as well. Keep in formation, and don't do anything stupid."

    "You mean 'don't do anything you would do, don't ya Captain?" came Jan's voice through the radio. Trix smirked in his pilot helmet, despite the fact no one could see the expression.

    "Exactly. This is serious; we don't have any idea of the make-up of Rebel forces. Keep cautious until we can tell what they're made of and what we're up against."

    Taking off was as simple as it always had been. Trix idly tuned out the repeat orders that the base commander was giving by radio. Soon enough, Flight 2 of Squadron 235 was in the air, and making its way in formation to Sullust orbit.
    Last edited by Vince; Feb 24th, 2009 at 03:27:05 PM. Reason: Retcon!

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