[Sagas; IC] PotC - Chapter I [IC]

[MadMaeve]

Chapter I - Defenders of Taris

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...

---

http://img4.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20130608025402/starwars/images/5/5a/QuarziteSpaceStation-Bounty.png

Dawn breaks (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f-DpRWzJVIo) along the horizon of the coal-colored sphere known as Taris. The corona of its pale mother star gives the atmosphere a twinkling glow. For a moment, she is a diamond, like she used to be. A sparkling city planet. A testament to sentient engineering, she is. Now, she is unrecognizable, chiseled and worn from a long history of being beat-up, blown to ash, and put back together again. Her glory days are long past. You could call her the old crone of the Mid Rim. After living such a long, horrible life, she still holds on, eager to brag how fate's dealt her such a poor hand.

It seems like fate's dealt the worst one yet.

Word came in two weeks ago about Geonosis. Jedi. Separatists. Droids. A Clone army. To people this far away, it was all nonsense. Buzzwords. Folks across the planet treated it like the Stark War - some horrible little thing sectors away that wasn't going to last. Even images of the infamous Count Dooku and his collaborators, plastered across the Holonet like wanted posters, - even multi-page lists of seceding planets- did little to shake faith in a quick, uninvolved war.

Unsurprisingly, the folks who believed that were the first to leave when news of an encroaching Sep fleet reached planetside.


Our story starts (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ewMF2evjjYM) on the skyhook The Flying Dug. An old junker of a station. Been in orbit for decades. The janky thing has been taken over and repurposed by the Fourth Republic Fleet as their new base of operations. Whether flown here, dropped off or moved, you have arrived, in the hangar specified by your liason with high command.

You all know what's at stake - a payout for duty for one's Galactic Republic. Or something like that. You have been promised a hefty sum, as high as 200,000 credits per person, for impressment into the Republic Navy against the incoming Separatist fleet. You are expected to stay here for a month at the minimum for your money, though you can back out at any time. Should conditions turn out to be 'unfavorable.'

After taking three, four sectors in a manner of weeks, you could call just cause.

Fighters, freighters and corvettes have been corralled to the south hangar, formerly a loading dock for diplomatic frigates and Dreadnaught-class cruisers. The space feels cavernous. More than three dozen ships occupy the open area, sharing it with piles of Republic ordinance and repulsorsleds loaded with scrap. Torrents, Dianogas, Havocs and YT's of all colors. All of them lay open, waiting for their owners to install weapons onto them, or give them a fresh coat of paint. Their owners, a smattering of aliens from the region (Togorians, Togruta, Selkath, Phindarans, and even a few Wookies and Dosh), are tending to their pressing needs.

Your ship has been assigned a spot in a cordoned-off section towards the north, facing a ray-shielded hangar door. It, and six other similarly tricked out scream-machines. The area has been marked off between staging zones, machine shops, designated fighter space and supply dumps, running in rough concentric circles from the center. Whether you just arrived or have been spending the twilight hours fixing up your hot rod, orders go out through the attending astromechs.

All pilots, assemble in the center. It's time to be briefed.

---

What state are you in? How are you adjusting to sudden impressment? Has it been a hassle? What's on your mind?

[Thundercracker]

Adrian Speers

He'd been saving his money for some time, hoping to buy something sleek, fast, that handled like a dream. It was a few months ago he'd discovered the inside line on a big tug of a ship, not what he was looking for at all. It handled like a barge, and its cross section was huge, making it an easy target for smaller, more nible ships. It was a death-trap, actually, its only redeeming quality was the advanced energy ball generator sitting in the ventral quadrant of the ship. The thing packed a punch, more than many capital ship weapons, and Adrian had to make a few quick mental calculations. No record existed of the ship's production, it wasn't even supposed to exist, but he could claim it by doing a favor and spending almost all his savings. If war broke out, it could be very valuable. Well, war broke out, and nobody wanted to buy it. So Adrian did what any self-respecting pilot would do. He added maneuvering thrusters to give himself a chance in a dogfight, picked up a couple of crewmates, and set out to fly as an independent contractor. A funny thing happened on the way to the life of a smuggler, however; he was signed up to defend the Republic against the Separatists. Nothing came close to the credits they could pay, and he figured with the amount of damage that monstrous gun could do, he might be able to take out a blockade runner or something similar. The he could justify a sizable bonus, assuming he survived...

The call went up for pilots to assemble, and his heart skipped a beat. This was it, do or die. He meandered over to the assembly area and glanced around at the competition, so to speak. It was habit, formed from his racing days. Actually... that pilot looked kind of familiar...

[RandomLunatic]

Carandil was supine under a silver-painted Jedi starfighter, elbows deep in a maintenance hatch. He was humming along to the tune in his headphones as he tried snaking a power conduit through the crowded guts of the snubfighter. His commlink chirping was enough distraction forh im to lose his concentration, andh is grip, and the cable lashed out like a whip. The visor he was wearing shielded his eyes, but it was the only protection he had, the stinging impact eliciting a string of curses. Pushing himself out from under the fighter and standing up, he asked, "What is it, Ramp?" R4-MP repeated the summons. Carandil sighed and crawled back underneath, prompting the droid to repeat the message a third time. "Yeah, I heard you. But unless the Seppies are parked right out there, we're not going to get to 'em until you can interface with the hyperdrive ring, are we?" He took the astromech's silence as an admission of defeat and went back to the coupling.

A few minutes later, Carandil reappeared, now with a distinct welt on on cheek. Pushing the mechanical interface visor up onto his hairless forhead, he grabbed a rag to wipe off the worst of the grease and went to see what was so important.

[Jallorn]

Jora was excited. A briefing meant a mission, and a mission meant action, and action meant a chance to show off his awesome upgrades to the ship he'd gotten to fly for the Republic, not to mention his own skills. Something told Jora he'd never go back to racing after this. Oh sure, he'd flown in a squadron a while back, but that was in an old Z-95 that he wasn't allowed to tinker with, if he'd even had the money for parts back then, and he was so much better a pilot and mechanic now. Besides, they never saw much action worse than a few pirates who tended to surrender after one of them blew up. Now, he had a souped up, nearly top of the line V-19 to tinker with and fly, and droids don't surrender out of fear. Jora wasn't even sure droids felt fear. Plus, the pay was so much better.

Jora had to keep himself from dashing over to the briefing as fast as he could. He didn't want to look too excited, it would make him seem like a kid. As he nonchalantly jogged over, Jora took a moment to examine the other pilots. They hadn't actually met yet, and Jora'd paid more attention to their ships than them. Especially when he was in here at night. He probably shouldn't let anyone find out he had physically examined the other ships. Nothing invasive, it's not like he broke into the cockpit, or anything, just poked around a few outside mechanical pieces, took a few readings. He had a few ideas for upgrades, but he'd wait to suggest them until after the first mission, or maybe after the first paycheck, they were pretty expensive upgrades.

The other pilots were a mixed bunch. Half of them were human, even if you included Jora... sort of. His eyes first went to the more distinct members. An armless Trandoshan, looked pretty vicious, but then they all did. A Duro, good pilots those lot, and judging from the nonstandard controls on his ship, he was a good mechanic as well. Where he got a Jedi Starfighter, though, Jora had no clue. Heck, if any Jedi were to catch him or the other- Sonuvacrap, that Twi-Lek was a Jedi. Jora had just finished processing through this thought, and moving on to admiring how well Jedi kept in shape, when he had another flash of recognition, Hey, aren't you two pod racers? How did you end up here? he asked the two humans. Well, human and near-human, if he was remembering correctly. Jora completely failed to realize that thanks to this sidetrack he still hadn't really examined the third human.

[chrispybacon]

Adoran sat tensely by his recently acquired Delta-7, as he awaited further instructions. Looking out onto the planet below, Adoran chuckled to himself as he thought about the irony of how he ran away from home to escape a life full of rules and responsibilities, only to end up back above Taris as a pilot of the Republic which will obviously entail suffocating amounts of rules and responsibilities. As much as his body itched to get back in the cockpit and simply fly as far away as he possibly could until this whole war thing blows over, Adoran knew he had to stay, for the sake of his family and his home, he owed them that much. His thoughts drifted to his family, wondering what they were doing this moment, and if they were okay. His thoughts were interrupted though as the order to assemble was made, and Adoran got up and began his walk to the center, looking back at his Delta-7. "Man.. How will I even explain this? Nobody's asked me about it so far though, I should be fine as long as I don't come across any....."
Adoran spots the Twi'lek with a lightsaber and sighs. "...jedi."He shakes his head and accepts that this just isn't his day.

Adoran tries to put some distance between him the the jedi girl, finding himself between a Duros and an Arkanian. Adoran gives a friendly nod to them both and looks around to see the motley crew of pilots gathered around him, curious of what kind of pilots he'll be flying with, when he locks eyes with another human who begins to speak to him and the Arkanian next to him. "Oh? So there are other racers here, huh?" Adoran says with an eager smile, eyeing the human and Arkanian before him. "Have we raced together before? You two do look a tad familiar now that I think about it, but I don't really remember you guys very well.. maybe because you were both so far behind me in the race, ahahaha!"
Adoran laughs and extends his arm for a handshake to the two fellow racers. "I'm Ad..el. Ahem. Adel, nice to meet you both. I'm just here to.. do my part. For the right price, of course. A racer's gotta eat, after all. How about you?"

Adoran remembered to keep his identity a secret for now as he didn't want word to get out that he was there. There may be some talk if anyone finds out that the missing son of the Senator of Taris was joining the war, and Adoran was afraid that if word of this somehow reached his father, he would surely use his many connections to have the Republic hand Adoran back to him. Adoran wasn't ready to go back, not yet at least, especially not now.

[Jallorn]

Jora is momentarily disoriented by the fellow racer-turned-pilot's accent, he could have sworn the man wasn't local. He counters Adoran's joke with a dubious look. Jora, Jora offers, ignoring the offered handshake, but bestowing a genuine grin upon the man instead. I used to run the circuits, still got a fair following- ooh, I should get a holo-recorder, keep them up to date on my achievements in the war, they'd love that. Anyway, I sold my pod, starships are so much cool- eh more impressive. There's so many more interesting upgrades to be made. Jora winced internally, that wasn't supposed to come up yet. Yes, he's good at building things, but you can't go around bragging, you won't get any fans that way.

[Thundercracker]

Adrian Speers

"Airspeeder racer, actually," Adrian said, "I won the juniors circuit on Coruscant a few years ago."

The one named Jora mentioned upgrades.

"Yeah, I wanted to make a few more upgrades to my tub of a ship, but ran short of time and credits," he said, "how'd you guys score the Delta-7's? I'd love to get my hands on one of those..."

[Prehysterical]

To many, Krassok could bring to mind the impression of an old saurian beast from an isolated world. Tall even for a Trandoshan, only the tallest of Wookies or the present Togorians could rival him in size. Further adding to the impression of savagery was the lack of a right arm, compounded by purple scarring running up the shoulder and terminating in the right portion of his skull. The milky white of his right eye clashed with the intense yellow of his left. Only his calm demeanor and precise movements hinted at the truth of the older hunter.

He leaned against the side of his ship, still savoring the sensation that he had felt when he had went past the atmosphere and angled toward the skyhook. Not because he particularly liked flying. The vacuum outside of the cockpit still terrified him, even after all these years. No. This gathering of arms represented his one real chance of getting back into the hunt. Krassok was no fool. With only one arm, his days of bounties and trophy hunting were long gone. His skill with mechanics and flying, however, had only grown with the years. It had taken some convincing to have Tazlo close up shop and let Krassok go. The Trandoshan had insisted that the Toydarian lay low while he was gone; there was no point to leaving himself open to some swoop-ganger with a grudge or any of the Hutts' hitmen. Once Krassok had secured the credits, he was sure that Tazlo would forgive him.

The old lizard was not used to so many military-grade craft being together in the same space. It had taken some effort to fall in line and coordinate with others. He was so used to hunting alone. From what small com-chatter he had heard, he was to be assigned with some other pilots with fighter-grade craft. From his own position in the hangar, Krassok had examined the other ships to get a general idea. D-7 Aethersprites... That means lots of jedi... A few of the new V-19s... And that... That one is interesting. Krassok eyes the unfamiliar Scurrg H-6 curiously. I will have to see what that model is. He also had to have a word with that white-skinned Arkanian about sniffing around his ship like a scavenger. Kallatatha was old, but she deserved respect.

But enough sitting around. He was anxious to be on the hunt. Standing fully upright, Krassok begins making his way toward the center.

[Mando Knight]

Lyn was a bit surprised to see other Aethersprites in the hangar, the Council hadn't told her that they were assigning any other Jedi to Commander Tyral's fleet, and she hadn't heard of Kuat releasing a private sector model of the Delta-7. Reaching into the Force, she could tell that none of the other pilots in the hangar were Force-sensitive after all. Well, if they're here, the fighters are still being used for the Republic, at least, so Lyn didn't feel the need to investigate further... for now, anyway.

Walking closer to the gathered pilots making up the makeshift squadron, Lyn remains quiet, remembering her master's teaching on being mindful of one's surroundings. If this rag-tag band of adrenaline junkies were to be her teammates for the defense of Taris, she needed to understand them.

[RandomLunatic]

Carandil scoffed at the petite Human next to him. "Pods are for younglings. Real men know swoops is where it's at. Nothing like riding full out, repuslorjet throbbing between your legs and the wind ripping through your hair." He glanced up at his conspicuously bald dome. "Er, so they tell me."

Then he turned to Adrian. "When I was talking to my recruiter, I told him if I was going to be in harm's way I didn't want nothing to do with any ship that didn't go fast. He said they've got some spare Deltas now that the Jedi all went and got themselves greased at Geonosis, and I go 'Sold!'"

Then he noticed Lyn approaching. "Well, maybe not all of them. Greetings, master Jedi. Carandil Salosar at your service," he said, taking Lyn's hand in his and gently kissing the back.

[Jallorn]

Jora scoffed, You clearly know nothing about pod racing then oh old one, he gave the nickname an exaggeratedly respectful tone, patently sarcastic, Pods are generally over 200 KPH faster. At those speeds, a the extra mass around you in a pod isn't safer, it's more dangerous. Jora gestures at his own scar as he says this last bit. 'Sides, there's a bigger community of customizers and mechanic-racers in the pod circuit.

[Thundercracker]

Adrian Speers

"Sorry for your losses at Geonosis," Adrian said to the Jedi, partially to cover up another pilot's lack of tact, "bet you're ready for some payback now though, right?"

Though his tone was daring, the expression didn't reach his eyes, which studied the twi'lek appraisingly for her response.

[chrispybacon]

"Girls, girls, you're both pretty." Adoran says, teasing the Duros and Arkanian beside him. "You'll have plenty of time to prove who's the better racer-pilot once the action starts. It's going to be me, though." Adoran says with a cocky smile, as he points to himself with his thumb.

"As for my ship over there, well I, uh.. ehm.."
Seeing the jedi come closer as the Duros greets her, Adoran hesitates on finishing his sentence, still unsure of how to explain his theft of a Jedi star ship without being possibly thrown in the brig. He was hoping he would be able to display skills in battle before explaining himself, to show that he'd be much more useful to the Republic in a star ship than in a jail cell.

Seeing the jedi preoccupied with the Duros and human pilots who greeted her, Adoran casually walks off to put some distance between himself and the young looking jedi.

[Thundercracker]

Adrian Speers

"Look, I'd rather _not_ say how I got my ship if it's all the same to the rest of you," Adrian chipped in, "we're going to be out there saving each others' lives pretty soon, so as long as you can handle it, that's good enough for me."

The young racer looked at the Jedi starfighters somewhat longingly.

"Plus I don't think it's going to be much like racing, the other speeders never shot at me," he added.

[Prehysterical]

Krassok sees the pilots of the other craft... what was that word... mingling together in the center. He had never been very good at the social aspect of interacting with other species. By the Scorekeeper, even his own species was hard to deal with. These people were going to be flying on the hunt with him, so it would be good to get a feel for their behaviors. He stops a short distance away and contents himself with listening, uncaring of how awkward or rude he looks.

[chrispybacon]

Seeing the imposingly tall Trandoshan standing awkwardly some distance away, Adoran thought to himself that he found the perfect opportunity to get away from the Jedi without making his intention look too obvious.
"Well, hey there... tiny." Adoran says to the one-eyed reptile, greeting him in the same teasing and friendly manner he greeted the others from before.

"What're you doing just standing there staring? You shy?" Adoran says with a friendly smile, examining the reptile's interesting features. Adoran was impressed by the intimidating Trandoshan, it was easy to see that he would be a formidable enemy and a valuable ally, and Adoran was glad to know that such a tough looking lizard would be fighting with him and not against him.

[Mando Knight]

"I'm no Master, Mr. Salosar, just an apprentice. My name is Lyn Vida. As for Geonosis..."

Anger at the droids for killing her Master. Fear of the idea of an army that could slay even Jedi Masters... Lyn sighed and banished such thoughts from her mind. "Revenge is not the Jedi way."

[MadMaeve]

A hard yell cuts through the ambient chatter in the hangar.

"OI. Shut your mouth-holes! Eye-Oh on deck, everybody at attention!"

Heads turn. Apparently, it was the Togorian who said that. Big, felinid guy, a good head over the tallest Trandoshan. Brown, tawny fur, long scar tracing down his neck and under the collar. Gnarly front teeth. Nasty demeanor. You might've heard the name 'Rizzo' being bandied about around him earlier that morning. Other than a flight jacket and a bandolier strapped to his hip, he's damn near naked.

The other pilots slowly simmer down. But it ain't the big guy that's makin' mouths shut tight.

"You! Chin up! What about you, straighten that spine, you're talkin' to an officer of the Republic fleet here..."

It's the lady coming around his side.

Corellian girl. A short one, but the way she walks in, she's like a Vornskr walking in on a herd'a Nerfs. Long, wavy black hair. Mocha-colored skin. Sharp eyes. Shallow cheeks. Dour frown. Hips to die for. Stark white tattoos all down her arms. A tube top and engineer's pants seems like the only thing that could make it all work so well. She is fire. She fears nobody. And she doesn't care if these rocket jockeys oggle her or her assets. The crowd is quiet when she moves to the center of the assembly.

"Olla, vellokaz." Her accent is thick. Sorrocan. Sounds as rough as she looks. "My name is Carmen Vohl. If you haven't been told by now, I am your Eye-Oh - radio girl and chief intel officer. Do we have any complaints that need me before we brief?"

[Jallorn]

Nope, Jora pitched out easily, eager to get to the briefing. This was a woman he could obey. Actually, he generally preferred taking orders from women. That was a thought he could examine later. Maybe, or maybe not. In any case, she seemed the sort that didn't so much demand, or even really expect, respect. No, she just exuded the sort of confidence that said, "I will destroy you if you get in my way." That was an attitude Jora would follow into battle. Plus, commanding officers were always so much more fun when they didn't mind you ogling. Only a little late, Jora recalled to come to a sort of half attention. It was really more just standing respectfully straight, none of that military saluting or snapping heels.

[Thundercracker]

Adrian Speers

"Hunh, well, hope you don't mind if I take some of that revenge on your behalf," Speers replied with a half-smirk. He piped down when the corellian girl blew in like a force of nature.

this is starting to look like a good idea after all..." he thought.

"No questions ma'am, just want to know what the assignment is," he said

[Philistine]

Abel Lethry

A squat, stocky Human male in a Republic Gray armored flight suit arrives on the hangar deck some minutes after the summons, just as the IO begins haranguing the other pilots. "LETHRY" is printed on the name strip on his left breast, and the squadron patch on his right shoulder - clearly a new addition - displays "METEORS" below a stylized representation of a burning, disintegrating V-19 Torrent; his left shoulder and right breast bear a small representation of the Republic the flag and a Starfighter Corps crest, respectively. "THUMPER" is stenciled on the helmet tucked under his left arm, and the heavy pistol and utility belt at his waist complete the image as he jogs toward the small group of pilots gathered near the center of the hangar, stern features twisted into a scowl.

The weeks since Geonosis had been insanely chaotic and disruptive for the personnel of the Republic Starfighter Corps. They'd been a relatively small force to begin with, just strong enough to keep piracy under control in and around the major hyperlanes, and the losses in the initial wave of Separatist attacks had been devastating. Entire wings were simply gone, while other squadrons were "merely" shattered into combat ineffectiveness. Lethry's previous squadron was one of those: their H-6 Starbombers had first been stripped of their escorts and then swarmed under by a seemingly unending tide of droid fighters, and only the desperate expedient of a blind hyperspace jump to break contact had brought any of them home again that day. Now the Republic was pressing the remnants of some of those ruined units back into service as members of scratch teams including trainees, mercenaries, and Force only knew who else. Not even as commanders of these improvised units! Not that Lethry had any particular ambition to command in any case, and certainly not to command a motley crew like this one. Seven pilots, and seven different versions of "flight gear!" Just to make matters worse, his old H-6 had been declared a Constructive Total Loss - and command, in their desperation for experienced pilots, had stuck him in the only ship they had available. A dinky little V-19 Torrent. While he'd managed to arrange for some modifications to the thing, it was still awfully fragile and sadly lacking in firepower compared to what he was used to.

Crossing the hangar, he spots an apparently pristine H-6 among the ships parked near his Bad Penny; for a moment irritation and frustration threaten to overwhelm him. How did one of these nerf-herders manage to get his hands on a brand-new Starbomber, when the entire Republic Starfighter Corps couldn't find a replacement for mine! Only for a moment, though. It wouldn't be the same without his old crew, and neither Coglenn nor Locke were going to be cleared for flight duty again for a good long while. If ever. It had been a very near-run thing.

Lethry slows to a brisk walk as he approaches the group, stopping and coming to attention once he's joined the others. "Apologies, Officer Vohl," he rasps. "I don't have any questions for now. Ready for the briefing."

[Prehysterical]

Krassok is about to ask the mammal if he greets everything bigger than him in the same manner when Vohl and Rizzo storm into the center. Their presence could only mean that the hunt was close at hand. He moves closer to the gathering pilots, ignoring Adoran's question, and waits patiently for the briefing. While he stands straight up, Krassok does not stand to military attention. The thought doesn't even cross his mind to click his heels or salute.

[RandomLunatic]

The IO's arrival spared Jora a detailed rebuttal about the respective merits of pods and swoops as Carandil assumed a very loose approximation of attention. He stared appreciatively at the Socorran, it only gradually seeping into his consciousness that she asked a question. "Uh, no, nothing comes to mind."

[chrispybacon]

"Hey buddy, I--" Adoran begins as the Trandoshan walks past him without saying a word, only to shut up in awe once he saw the dangerously alluring Corellian he will apparently have the pleasure of calling his IO. Adoran had no questions that he could think of at the time, so he just stayed waiting for the mission to start.

[Mando Knight]

Lyn stood at attention, though she was unsure if a salute was called for... the official ranking system of the Republic military made even Padawans fairly high-ranking officers. "Nothing yet."

[MadMaeve]

"Glad to see you could join us, Lethry." She speaks with an uninterested cantor. Her thoughts were on bigger things. A hand traced and tapped over the comlink in her ear.

"... alright, looks like we're only missing two scruga. That's great. Makes me feel like the Republic's got some honorable scumbags running around." She pops her knuckles. "Welcome to Meteor Squadron, ladies."

"Look alive - we got a Trando vet and a Jedi with us today. If you give them the same respect and attention you're giving my ass, we'll be golden."

[Prehysterical]

Krassok tilts his head in clear curiosity at the woman's statement. He looks askance at the Jedi before turning back and asking, "This one is confused. What has your posterior done to deserve such honor? And why do you refer to us all as females? I have heard many humans claim that ships are always female. Is it the same reasoning with pilots?" His Basic, despite his proficiency, is still colored by the hissing and harsh consonants of Dosh.

[MadMaeve]

Vohl snorts mirthfully. "It's importance is grossly inflated among humans. As for the 'ladies' comment, it's, how you say... a way to 'motivate' the men. If you aren't a man, you're a lady, and to most of these flyboys, that's the worst thing you can be. Next to a coward."

[MadMaeve]

An R4 unit trots into the center as Vohl addresses the crowd of pilots. By the time she's done, it's already banked its chassis back and started projecting a holo-image upward. A globe-shaped model of the Galaxy. The lights in the hangar dim to compensate.

"As you all know," Vohl says, her tone dipping into something more mechanical and deliberate, "two weeks ago, the Confederacy of Independent Systems declared war on the Republic." The globe colorizes into red and blue sections - Republic and Sep. Either side has glimmering, opposing color stars laid into them. Important worlds, caught between battle lines.

"North of us, roughly a few hundred light years, a section of the Intergalactic Banking Clan's private territory, the Commonwealth, declared independence in support of the Separatist cause." The view focuses down to a section of the northern Rim. A navy blue slice of space takes up most of what used to be the Banking Clan's holdings in the north. It stretches from Borrosk to Agamar, Shaum Hii to Vinsoth, Tangrene and Ibanji all the way to Sernpidal, in a blob-like shape. Off center sits Muunilinst - or what most debtors and crooks called it, old Moneylend.

http://i.imgur.com/fnLin8B.png

"In the week following the Battle and Occupation of Geonosis, sector security mobilized. Turns out the IGBC was saving up a fleet for a rainy day. Two hundred vessels. Separatist taskforces Aurek, Besh, Cresh and Dom, based out of the Commonwealth, have been attacking points along the border with the Republic, capturing systems in rapid succession here and here." Lines and cross-hatching develop to represent attacking forces and occupied territory. A pincer towards Ord Mantell and a wide arrow along the Braxant Run. Taris lies right at the end. "They want to threaten the core worlds, so they can force several member systems out of the Republic while she's still gathering strength. Best way to do that is to capture one of the trade points on the Hydian Way"

"Our mission is to stop taskforce Besh at Taris, or at least buy time for the Republic to collect assault ships to prepare a counterattack."

[Jallorn]

We're expecting droid fighters, right? How many ships? Do we know? Jora is all business, engineer brain activated and focused on finding a solution to the problem presented to it.

[MadMaeve]

We're expecting droid fighters, right? How many ships? Do we know? Jora is all business, engineer brain activated and focused on finding a solution to the problem presented to it.

"Right. Vultures and Hyenas, in IGBC colors. No word on other fighter types. The fleet we're expecting, the same one that threw us back from Cathar, numbers around thirty ships. Of those - nine star frigates and a mainline carrier. However, that information is a week old. We could see anything between twenty and forty."

[Thundercracker]

Adrian Speers

"Not like it makes much of a difference," Adrian said, "we're still going up. What are the priority targets?"

[RandomLunatic]

Carandil turned to regard Krassok. "You're a pilot?" he asked increduously. He had seen the scarred Dosh before-he was hard to miss-but had always assumed him to be a tech or some other support role where his injuries wouldn't be so limiting.

Then his eyes were back center. "So where do we come in?"

[Philistine]

Abel Lethry

Lethry grunts and nods, letting the others ask their questions. For himself, he figures to wait until the briefing is through - so far, Vohl has outlined the situation but hasn't described their plan to deal with it - and see what questions he still has once the IO has said her piece.

[MadMaeve]

Then his eyes were back center. "So where do we come in?"

"R4, holo 22t4."

The little scamp chirps. The image shifts to a stylized map of Tarisian space. Models of the Dug, Republic corvettes and Separatists frigates phase into view. The Republic force consists of several tiny Consular ships, three Dreadnaughts and a couple of Corellians. Opposite to them were tight wedges of Confederate ships - Munificents leading the pack, followed by Diamond Class escort and a massive carrier in the back.


http://i.imgur.com/3Y9cmTg.png
Battle Map - First Taris

"Judging from prior data at Mantell and Cathar, their commander has a habit of using forward attacks with heavy starfighter support. One center wedge, two flanking wedges with support, one carrier in the center. Commander Juunko is planning to present a line at the galactic north vector of Tarisian space, coming about here. All other ways into the system are blocked, so we'll be able to push them into a corridor."

Her hand gestures to two small models between the fleet formations. "Bravo and Echo flight will be engaging the enemy fleet once it comes out of hyperspace to deny them the chance to raise their shields timely. When the frigates open fire, you're move in to engage whatever fighters attempt to breach the line."

"Hyperspace signatures in Bandomeer indicate that they'll be here any time after Galactic noon."






http://i.imgur.com/dI4dZ4P.jpg
Lucrehulk-Class Battleship

http://i.imgur.com/7n48tBl.png
Munificent-Class Star Frigate

http://i.imgur.com/txqwWps.png
Diamond-Class Frigate

http://i.imgur.com/gnoUFNx.png
Vulture Droid Starfighter

http://i.imgur.com/8yegnEc.png
Hyena Droid Starbomber

[Jallorn]

Intercept and Dogfight, right. What about the bomber? What's the leeway on opportunity targets? Is there any priority order to defending the larger ships? What's the makeup of the other three squadrons? Are they as eclectic as our own?

[MadMaeve]

Intercept and Dogfight, right. What about the bomber? What's the leeway on opportunity targets? Is there any priority order to defending the larger ships? What's the makeup of the other three squadrons? Are they as eclectic as our own?

Vohl draws a line to the Diamond frigates in the back of the left and right flanks. "You'll escort the Scurrg to one of these two positions, depending on how well the other squadrons do against the Vultures. Essentially, mopping up damaged frigates as they attempt to retreat. By that point, they will've smashed their faces so badly against our defenses, they won't have much in the way of resisting. Prior to that, you will be asked to stay back and provide a defensive screen for our dreadnaughts-" She points in succession. Economy, Ferocity and Fecundity. "-Until you're clear to proceed."

"Bravo is our last 'whole' squadron. Last season's recruits into the sector defense fleet. Most of them are using surplus V-19's. Echo and Shield are just about the same makeup as you guys. Two Boonta Eve champs, several dozen small-time racers. I'll be in contact with their Eye-Ohs, and will be able to patch you through to their squad leaders."

[RandomLunatic]

Carandil grimaced at the thought of Echo and Bravo flights getting to pounce on the Seps at their most vulnerable while he had to stay back and babysit the big boys. "The TF carrier carries what, fifteen hundred fighters? We expecting it to bring a full load or has it lost some?"

[MadMaeve]

Carandil grimaced at the thought of Echo and Bravo flights getting to pounce on the Seps at their most vulnerable while he had to stay back and babysit the big boys. "The TF carrier carries what, fifteen hundred fighters? We expecting it to bring a full load or has it lost some?"

Vohl reaches for the concave dish on the R4's head unit. She pulls out from inside a... well, a deathstick. She wasn't too broached to be seen smoking it either. "The Dasa'am Maak was the local depot for the Muunilinst trade spine. Impressed into the campaign. It hasn't had a chance to resupply since the attacks started, so, we estimate about half of its complement is missing or otherwise unable to fly. Between the frigates and the carrier, you're looking at seven hundred fighters, three hundred bombers."

[Philistine]

Abel Lethry

A thousand droid starfighters... Individually the droid fighters weren't good for much. But then, they didn't attack individually. Lethry can't help glancing around the hangar, taking in the handful of ships available to the defense; he barely represses a shudder at the contrast between this view and the remembered image of Vulture droids swarming in the skies over Agamar. And Vohl had mentioned another type, too. The bomber, maybe. "You said Hyenas - a new model? What do we know about their capabilities?"

[MadMaeve]

A thousand droid starfighters... Individually the droid fighters weren't good for much. But then, they didn't attack individually. Lethry can't help glancing around the hangar, taking in the handful of ships available to the defense; he barely represses a shudder at the contrast between this view and the remembered image of Vulture droids swarming in the skies over Agamar. And Vohl had mentioned another type, too. The bomber, maybe. "You said Hyenas - a new model? What do we know about their capabilities?"

The IO reaches down and turns the R4 unit's facial dial, despite its squeaky protests. The holo-image twists and changes into a near-scale model of the insectoid starbomber. It fills a good chunk of the space above Vohl. "Recent design from Haor Chall Engineering. Neimoidia wasn't expected to field this until next year. Ten proton torpedos, sixteen concussion missiles. Flies like a wounded bantha, but it's got enough ordinance to break a Consular ship in half. We learned at G'wenee that they cackle before they start their bombing runs."

"They're high priority targets. Take them out if you seem them moving on one of our ships."

[Jallorn]

What? Why? Why would they cackle? Who designed that? Jora is personally offended by what he sees as downright stupid military engineering. Um... Never mind, he adds, realizing this is not the time. He does, however, move on to some quick math. 1000 droids, almost 35 fighter pilots. High target saturation then, about 30 targets per pilot. We could all earn our ace wings on this mission.

[MadMaeve]

What? Why? Why would they cackle? Who designed that? Jora is personally offended by what he sees as downright stupid military engineering. Um... Never mind, he adds, realizing this is not the time. He does, however, move on to some quick math. 1000 droids, almost 35 fighter pilots. High target saturation then, about 30 targets per pilot. We could all earn our ace wings on this mission.

Rizzo chimes in. "Psychological tactics. They designed these things to attack freighters in packs. If it doesn't disorient the crew, it scares them halfway to Wild Space."

[Prehysterical]

Krassok hisses in displeasure and bares his fangs. "Then I will do my best to teach a droid to fear. Kallatatha will be more than happy to show them her claws. Sounds like good hunting."

[RandomLunatic]

We could all earn our ace wings on this mission.
"I sure hope so!"

[chrispybacon]

"A thousand fighters? That's crazy..!" Adoran mumbled to himself in disbelief. Sure, he's been chased by starfighters before, but never with the numbers they'll be expecting to go against, and he's never had to shoot back. Thoughts of running away once again crossed his mind, and it was starting to sound more and more like a good idea.

Adoran clenched his fist, fighting back his instinct to run. As much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn't run from everything, especially not this. He was afraid of failing to protect his family and his home, but he knew that if he ran then he would have failed them anyway. Hesitantly, Adoran spoke up. "If... if they beat us, and they took control of Taris.. what would they do to the planet and its inhabitants? What will happen to them?"

[Philistine]

Abel Lethry

Lethry smiles at the kid. Well... his mouth twists upward. It's like a smile. "Win or lose, either way we'll never know. So don't worry about it. Focus on the mission, because that's how we stop it from happening." It looks like the older pilot is trying to offer some kind of comfort; but if so, he's clearly not actually good at it.

[MadMaeve]

Adoran clenched his fist, fighting back his instinct to run. As much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn't run from everything, especially not this. He was afraid of failing to protect his family and his home, but he knew that if he ran then he would have failed them anyway. Hesitantly, Adoran spoke up. "If... if they beat us, and they took control of Taris.. what would they do to the planet and its inhabitants? What will happen to them?"

Vohl takes a long toke, unsure of an answer. "... we don't know. We haven't heard anything from the planets we lost. Those we could evacuate, we did. I can't tell you what the IGBC'd want to do with prisoners of war."

[chrispybacon]

Adoran remains silent and nods, a subtle tenseness on his face. Adoran hears someone speak and looks up, seeing the man with the name "LETHRY" printed on his chest. Is he.. smiling?
"I.. Uh, yeah. You're right, thanks haha." he lets out an uneasy laugh and smiles. He takes a deep breath, and turns to Vohl again. "So uh, is there anything else we should know about the mission? "
Adoran focuses all his thoughts on the mission, and what he can do to prepare. He strengthens his resolve, knowing that thinking about defeat will only make it more likely to happen.

[MadMaeve]

"Technical details are with your mechanics. Need any last minute adjustments, you see Rizzo. He's got you covered."

"Yeah!" the Togorian barks.

"Yeah." With a twist of her hand, the holo-model cuts out and the lights come back. "Now let's move it. We're expected to take flight at 1200 hours. I want these ships ready yesterday, now let's go go go-"

The crowd breaks. Seems like you're not the only ones eager to shoot a few war-mongering droids out of the sky...

---

From this point on, you're free to engage with other pilots until the mission is called, or ask for anything in particular from your NPCs. Go nuts.

[Jallorn]

Hang on, what's our flight protocol? Chain of command? Who's Flight Leader? Jora's been in just enough fights to know that on the battlefield, failing to coordinate properly is death. Sure, flying isn't quite as structured or regimented as boots on the ground, but you still need someone to call the shots as they see it, and having wingmates is vital.

[MadMaeve]

Hang on, what's our flight protocol? Chain of command? Who's Flight Leader? Jora's been in just enough fights to know that on the battlefield, failing to coordinate properly is death. Sure, flying isn't quite as structured or regimented as boots on the ground, but you still need someone to call the shots as they see it, and having wingmates is vital.

Vohl pauses, just as she was about to resume communications with fleet command through the commlink in her ear. "Your squadron leader is the Trandoshan, Krassok. The six of you-" she points behind Jora to Lethry, Speers, Vida, Salosar and Alshain, as if she knew them intimately. "Wings of three underneath him. Until we can sort out a proper chain, you and Vida are the heads of your wings. You decide who to take with you."

"If you have any complaints, take it up with the commander after we come home."

[Jallorn]

Jora salutes and turns to the other pilots in the squadron, Aethersprites in one wing, V-19s on bomber duty? That giant wouldn't happen to be faster than it looks, would it?

[Thundercracker]

Adrian Speers

The young pilot cleared his throat.

"She's fast, not as fast as the interceptors though," Adrian said, "but she packs one hell of a punch. If I have a wingman who could help me keep my tail clear, we might be able to help bring down a mid-sized capital ship."

[Prehysterical]

Krassok is visibly shocked by Vohl's announcement. He holds up his hand in warding of the massive responsibility he has just been handed. "I am not deserving of such honor. I am hunter, not huntmaster. Perhaps better pilot like Lethry better choice for squadron leader."

[Jallorn]

I got a few tricks along those lines m'self, Jora grins. 'Course, that's not our job today. I'd like to have you on my wing, though I think it's Krassok's call, ultimately. Jora is just about to ask the Trandoshan's opinion, when he objects to the position.

[RandomLunatic]

"I dunno. Three-ship flights sound awkward as blazes. And I doubt that flying hutt," jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the H-6 bomber, "Can keep up with any of the other fighters we got. What if we make the Scurrg the lone fighter and pair the rest off?"

[MadMaeve]

Vohl shrugs, blowing a ring off her death-stick. "That's orders from commander. If you want to hand off the title of squad leader to somebody else, that's your responsibility. I just keep you girls updated."

[Thundercracker]

Adrian Speers

Adrian furrowed his brow.

"First of all, only I get to insult 'Bertha'," he said, "second, she'll keep up with the V-19's no problem, like I said before, it's the interceptors it might be tough to keep up with, but that's the whole point of an interceptor, right? Tell you what, if you get ahead of me-"

Adrian bit off whatever he was going to say next, and appeared to calm down somewhat.

"Look, I'm pretty sure I can coax a little bit extra out of the sub-light drive. Ultimately, it's up to Krassok or whoever he appoints as flight leader," Adrian said, "I'm happy to fly with anyone here."

[Jallorn]

Well, I for one would love to have that gunner turret watching our backs. Jora scratches his nose, blushing faintly, Though I just realized, I forgot about Krassok's ship. Maybe we fly a wing of four? S'not good to fly without a wingmate.

[Philistine]

Abel Lethry

Lethry clears his throat. "My old squadron flew H-6s," he interjects. "As far as straight-line speed goes, sure, the H-6 will keep up with the V-19s just fine. And the old Cutlass-9 over there, too," he says, jerking a thumb toward the squadron's ships in their parking area. "Maneuvering's a different story, though - the H-6 might match the Cutlass, but only if the Cutlass driver is having a real bad day. And the V-19s, forget it. If you get sucked into a furball in an H-6, well, you better have a good sentient in the tailgunner's seat," he goes on with a grim smile, which fades into a scowl as his eyes briefly go unfocused, staring into the distance at nothing at all.

Suddenly he shakes his head, blinking rapidly as his eyes focus once again on the here and now. "Now those little Delta-7s, on the other hand - they'll leave all the rest of us standing. Flying as a three-ship ain't exactly orthodox, but it might be the best thing there. As for the rest... hmm." He frowns again, thinking. "The rest are all in the same ballpark for speed, but the V-19s are a lot more agile than the others. I'd suggest putting the Cutlass-9 on the H-6's wing, then pair up the V-19s and have us fly close cover on the two of them. The Delta-7s need a little looser rein to be really effective, they just need to stay close enough to get back to the rest in a hurry if we start to get swarmed. Or if they do."

[Mando Knight]

Lyn, silent during the briefing to study on the information at hand, now speaks up. "I agree, though we should remember that we are not alone in this defense. Our objective is to defend the line, so we stay close to it: venturing out to meet the fighters too close to the enemy line will only get us picked apart by the enemy point defenses, while the reverse is true if we stick close to our lines."

[Philistine]

Abel Lethry

"A fair point, Master Jedi," Lethry acknowledges, nodding. "And it raises another. Officer Vohl? This plan is gonna be real hard on the Bravos and Echos, even if everything goes perfect. If our cap ships could suppress the Sep fleet's shields with long range turbolaser fire, we could keep all four snubfighter squadrons on goaltender duty protecting the big boys." He shrugs, grimacing. "It's been some years since I went through training, but I remember this much: When the odds are four to two, the two are better off in the 4v2 than splitting into two separate 2v1s."

[MadMaeve]

"That's a fair point, Lethry. Keep in mind, though - our firepower is limited to our biggest ships. We only have three ships- the Dreadnaughts - with quad guns capable of holding their shields down. We'll have to rely on airpower in some form, which is why Echo and Bravo are on point."

But, she still nods, and relays the info through her communicator. "I'll contact Juunko to see if we can't shift the plan a little bit."

[chrispybacon]

Adoran stood among the others with his arm crossed, listening quietly but attentively. Even if he wanted to, he felt he had nothing useful to contribute. Looking back, Dall always was the one who did all the planning and thinking, while Adoran did most of the fancy flying. "I wonder how prison is treating that scumbag.." Adoran thinks to himself as he recalls the recent events that led him to where he is now.

[Prehysterical]

Krassok stands idly, bewildered by the lack of interest in a leadership position. Most I know would jump at the chance... Is this a bad sign? He needs to center himself before the battle, if he is to be in any condition to lead this pack.

Moving back to his ship, Krassok opens the storage locker and pulls out the ryyk blade from its customary safe position. Moving to the outside of the ship, Krassok kneels with the tip of the blade and bows his head in prayer. He could only hope that the Scorekeeper was willing to listen to an old Trando like him.

[Philistine]

Abel Lethry

Lethry nods at the IO's words - he hadn't really expected that they'd still be able to tweak the plan this late, though he'd had to try. "Could deploy all four squadrons forward - the heavies wouldn't have anyone to play goalkeeper, but there wouldn't be as many leakers, either," he offers.

Lethry's eyes suddenly narrow as a thought strikes him, and he turns to the Togorian serving as their quartermaster. "Hey, Rizzo, what's the heavy ordnance situation on the station?" he asks, looking back over his shoulder to the flight line and back to the alien. "My Bad Penny is set up for external carriage - she'll take a pair of capital-scale concussion missiles, if we can scrounge 'em up. That'd add a little heft to the first couple of volleys on the Sep heavies."

[MadMaeve]

The big cat creature with a wrench leers over Lethry's head, and across the hangar. "I'd say we've got enough spare. We're a bit heavy on missile stock as is."

His attention turns to a pair of red-shirted grunts hoisting couplers and missile casings. YOU. Get this kid some concussion material before your backs give out, come'on!"

[Thundercracker]

Adrian Speers

Adrian wasn't sure if that was a sign they were dismissed, so he glanced around at the others, not wanting to be the first one to break from the group and head towards his ship.

[Philistine]

Abel Lethry

Lethy grins hungrily. "Thanks. I should be able to put those to good use."

Taking his leave of the group with a nod, he turns and strides toward the parked fighters. He reaches into his utility belt as he goes, drawing out a heavy-duty hydrospanner from the enclosed tool kit. Clambering up an access ladder to the top of the wing, he quickly pops a panel and begins working a crank. A set of pylons for external ordnance carriage deploy from their stowed position against the underside of the wing and fold down, latching in place after a few seconds' work; closing up the access panel, he crosses to the other wing and repeats the process. The deployed pylons under each wing look almost like a set of fangs, giving the fighter a more aggressive profile.

[MadMaeve]

Rizzo barks (which is weird for a felinid species, but only if you think about it too hard), Vohl relays the situation, and ordinance gets doled out. The morning passes with growing shadows and growing concerns, as the weight of what's about to happen hits most of your squadmates. The romantic start writing letters. The savvy transfer credits out of the system.

The bold paint pin-up girls and krayt dragons on the noses of their ships.

---

1150 hours, the Tarisian Atmosphere


High noon. The white-and-red couple at the center of the system shines brightly against the ice flakes floating in sub-orbit. Gunmetal and industrial red and white colors mix together bluntly. The whole fleet, as many as a hundred fighters and several capital ships, barely breaks up the glow of the planet's glassy, urban surface. Against the infinite sea of space and the expansive coal ball that is Taris, you're nearly atom-sized.

One thing to be thankful for - the order to evacuate has gone through. The activity that was characteristic of city-planets like Taris is absent, to such a point that whole sections of the main city, Centrex, currently underneath you, are blacked out. Neighborhoods have been evacuated wholesale. Outlying areas are effectively abandoned. Factory districts have shut down. Ships and landspeeders that would be passing through the lower atmosphere are nowhere to be seen. Other cities across the continent-sized Lake Heod - Talking Town, Briar, Valley's End and Faen'tha - are similarly empty. Only little patches, forts and bomb shelters sprinkled into the urban sprawl, are lit up.

War has come. And civilians have the good sense not to be here when it hits.


The radio is filled with chatter between officers about spacing and firing arcs, hoots and hollers from war-hungry privateers and scoundrels taking the Republic's money for this one battle. Thankfully, Lethry was given more than just notice for his comment. All four squadrons have been posted up at varying points on the firing line. The station is behind you and the battle line in front. The only way into the system is that corridor ahead - invisible at this point in space, but on the map a bottleneck.

Vohl's voice comes in crisply as the final preparations are made. "This is Vohl on the Dug. Cap ships green. All Meteor wings report in."

[Thundercracker]

Adrian Speers

At the dismissal, Adrian jogged over to his ship where his two crewmates were waiting for him. He quickly filled them in on the mission and instructed to keep the shields up as much as he could during the fight.

Then they were running through the pre-flight sequence and launching with the other fighters. The controls felt a little stiff in his hands, but he chalked it up to adrenaline. He pressed a button to activate his communications array.

"Meteor six, standing by," he responded to Vohl.

[Philistine]

Abel Lethry

Pin-up girl proudly displayed on the nose of his V-19, and a pair of heavy missiles hanging under the wings, Lethry eases the Bad Penny out of the hangar bay on repulsor drive. Once clear of the station he swings his S-foils into position and engages the main sublight drive, then forms up on the wing of the other Torrent. For all his experience, he's brand-new to the V-19 - to fighters in general, for that matter - and at times it still feels like the smaller, lighter ship is trying to run away from him.

"Meteor Nine, standing by."

[Mando Knight]

Lyn meditated in her Delta-7 until the call came for the fighters to launch. The anxiety about the coming battle surrounded the entire star system, making it a little difficult to focus on the coming task, like wading through a swamp as opposed to walking on dry ground. It was easier once the fighters took off, as the other pilots became more focused themselves. Calming her own excitement, she keyed the comm. "Meteor 3, standing by. May the Force be with us."

[Jallorn]

Jora always loved the power up sequence, the cockpit readouts coming to life, giving him status indicators for all the important bits, engine going through the preheat, cannons powered. The more smoothly it came on, the prouder he felt as a mechanic, and the more exhilarated he felt as a pilot. He was just tuning his inertial compensator back up, he liked to feel some extra gs while coming out of dock, and wishing he'd had a little more time to get a few practice flights in, when Vohl called for check ins. Meteor 2, standing by. Even as the other V-19, M-9, checked in, Jora checked his position on the radar, right there on his wing, in position.

[Prehysterical]

It takes some time for Krassok to be sure that the ship is ready for combat, but he eventually eases it out into open space. A pair of footpedals allow him to control the ship's speed and movement while his sole arm reaches around and makes adjustments. Nervousness and excitement war in his gut for attention. "Kallatatha is ready."

[RandomLunatic]

All that time smuggling had made Carandil forget the sheer thrill of flying, without the encumbrance of cargo or complaining passengers. Just him, the vastness of space, and 300 KTUs of dry thrust.

"Meteor 4, ready to party."

[chrispybacon]

Adoran spent the rest of his time in the cockpit of his Delta-7, examining the controls to get a better grasp of his new ship. It was certainly different from the Morning Star he previously piloted, it handled better and was a lot faster, a fact that delighted Adoran since 'fast' is his specialty. As he fiddled with the controls, the call to launch was announced and Adoran complied without any hesitation. He sped out of the hangar bay and out into open space, excitement winning over his anxiety as he grasped the controls and felt the comfortingly familiar feeling of flying through space. All doubts and fears clear from his mind, all that was left was his determination to protect his home world.

"Meteor seven, standing by."

[MadMaeve]

"Right, the Force..." Vohl says dismissively.

A new voice enters the general allied comms. Feminine in tone, but much more reserved. "This is commander Juunko. All hands, prepare yourselves. Hyperspace signatures closing."

For a brief, but painfully long-feeling moment, there's a nervous quiet across all channels...

[MadMaeve]

...

You don't hear it at first. Perhaps you don't even feel it. The whoosh of ships exiting out of hyperspace, of engines roaring, shield suddenly brimming. It's a sound. Dissociated. Sourceless.

But it isn't out there.

The cleaved remains of a Dreadnaught tumble out of the sky to your right.

A twisted column of metal, transparisteel and glass spins jankily to your left, smashing unprepared fighters like a giant swatting flies.

That was the station. Part of it, anyway.

The grey eggshells of Munificents are suddenly everywhere. The pregnant quiet lurches forward, until seconds later the comms are filled with disorganized screams.

"WE'RE IN TWO! TARIS COMMAND, WE BEEN-*bzzt*"

"Damage report! I need a damage report!"

Red laser bolts fill the sky.

"Admiral, they jumped right on top of us!"

"The station's been hit!"

Fire blooms from the Dug. Half of its solar collector array is in spinning pieces. The smouldering wreck of a Munificent has just about fused with the station in an ugly mass of warped metal.


They're here (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rk6XeVC4lGg). Roll for initiative.

[RandomLunatic]

"Holy sith, this close? Are they crazy?" Carandil asked, even as he flipped the Razor's Edge into a wingover and descended on the largest target, switching over to torpedoes. "Ramp, get me a lock before the shields go up," he ordered as he closed in. The droid whistled a confirmation and the reticle burned red while the lock tone buzzed in Carandil's ear. "Torpedo away!" he called as he depressed the trigger.

[Philistine]

Abel Lethry
Surprise Round

Must've misjumped, Lethry guesses. No way they did that on purpose. The sight of the Sep fleet's disastrous emergence from hyperspace is appalling, almost nauseating; but this is what Lethry has spent nearly his entire adult life training for, and a hostile Banking Clan frigate has just dropped hyper right under his nose. With its shields still down from the jump.

"Meteor Two, this is Nine," he calls urgently. "I have an unshielded Muni at 10 o'clock low. I suggest we make him feel welcome." He sideslips out away from Two, opening up the formation as the pair of V-19s roll into the attack. His weapons board is all green, and he toggles the selector to one of the big underwing missiles for this first attack. "I have you now," he mutters to himself, a heartbeat before he squeezes the trigger. Then over the comm, "Missile away!" The capital-scale weapon drops from his wing to streak ahead of his fighter, flying straight and true until it reaches the Munificent-class ship. "Good hit!" he calls out, a note of satisfaction in his usually harsh voice.

[Jallorn]

They're insane, shares a stunned Jora, although it comes through a very audible grin. Roger that Nine, let's give 'em a headache. Jora banks slightly and fires the engine, waiting until just after the missile is away to unleash a storm of laser fire after it. He whoops with success as the lasers gouge home after the missile, scoring the already weakened hull with some decidedly solid hits. Thanks Nine, but I think your shot was better, he jokes.

[Prehysterical]

The clash of metal and immediate burst of frantic activity following the Separatists' exit from hyperspace is the most shocking thing Krassok has ever seen. Horror and awe war for attention as the ships and station clash together like a herd of frantic grazing animals. Such is his stunned state that he is seconds behind the rest of his hunters. Comms chatter batters at his earholes as he frantically turns to join the rest of the pack engaging the large frigate before them.

It's just like any other large beast: aim for the belly. A click of a claw sends a proton torpedo flying... only for it to overshoot the massive ship.

[Mando Knight]

Noticing the Munificent that Abel had begun to call out, Lyn swerved her fighter around, focusing on the target through the Force as she accelerated toward it and fired a proton torpedo, which struck the offending ship with a satisfying explosion.

[chrispybacon]

It took Adoran a good moment to realize what was happening. He's seen some crazy things, but never anything like the chaos and destruction around him now. "Damn, and I thought I was crazy.." Adoran muttered to himself, as he followed the rest of his team in the attack on the Munificent closest to them.

Adoran started his attack run, bringing his interceptor in closer for a better shot. He pulled the trigger, and the laser cannon shots hit their mark, although he was a little disappointed that he couldn't do as much damage as the others.

[MadMaeve]

The barrage of missiles and torpedoes hit their mark. In the brief window of stunned cluelessness that nearly the entire fleet was experiencing, Meteor squadron had nearly gotten its first kill. The Munificent groans, right eggshell splitting in half. Fire reigns along the starboard bow.

"Can... can anyone hear me?!"

Vohl's voice. The station. As the ships around you slowly gain their bearings, the battlelines become clear. The Republic line had been cleaved in two, and the Separatist battle groups were pinching the wounded station in.

"This is... Meteor command. Those Sep bastards knocked out the orbital stabilizers. The station's not going to last much longer."

"Hyenas at mark 226!"

"Dammit. Meteor squadron! We're going to have to evacuate the station. Hold off the fighters until we can get the Gallofrees clear to take off. If they get in and knock out the supports around the solar fans, the whole station'll collapse in on itself and we won't be able to get out."

---

On one side of the station, the radio is interrupted by a hail of chatter. Droid chatter.

"Dess'eno dere!" "Hai haij'her." "Anasa tob'eno!"

Crawling... things escape from the insides of the burning Munificent's wings. They launch as explosions rock the keel and threaten to tear the ship apart. They, and the growing cloud of navy blue dots in Meteor squadron's view, are the enemy fighters. And they're coming in fast.

On the other side of the station, a terrible sound accompanies the roaring Banking Clan engine banks. Laughter. Cackling laughter. A Hyena squadron was already on the move, launching from a Diamond frigate. Two more squadrons were prepping to launch behind them.

Worse still? Several more contacts develop on the system-wide sensor array. The Lucrehulk and her escorts.

[RandomLunatic]

Carandil maneuvered around the damaged ship's aft and launched another torpedo into its engines, then peeled away to meet the incoming Hyenas. But he watched the underwhelming explosion of his torpedo in a secondary monitor, and chaged his mind. Flipping the Razor's Edge over, he went in to seal the deal with a strafing run along the frigate's shattered starboard flank.

[Mando Knight]

"Confirmed, Command. I don't suppose you'll mind if we finish disabling one of the frigates on our way out?"

Without waiting for a reply, Lyn slips the Aethersprite around the frigate's side, pouring laser fire into some of the superstructure exposed by one of the previous missile strikes.

[Thundercracker]

Adrian Speers

"Oh, no problem I'll just hold them off for a little while," Adrian thought as he alone faced down four diamond frigates and a muni. He flinched as laser fire splashed off his shields.

The pilot unleashed a pair of focused energy bomblets from his ship's specialized emitter before the muni could raise its shields and spun Bertha around, actually it was more of a wallow, turning back to let his gunners take care of the Hyena droid attacking the station.

"Wex, Toga, give anyone who tries to lock onto our six a nice surprise," Adrian said, punching a few buttons and twisting dials on the console before retaking the yoke, "I'm rerouting all power to the shield generators, it should be enough."
"And if it isn't enough, we'll probably never know..." Adrian thought.

[Philistine]

Abel Lethry
First Round of Combat

Even as the Munificent-class frigate ahead is being pulverized by the combined firepower of most of the squadron, the first flights of droid fighters streak in to engage the defending Meteors. Three of them swarm around the leading V-19 as Jora turns into their attack, but the heavy missile still under his wing weighs on his mind - and on the performance of his fighter. "Hang on, Two! I'll be right there!" he calls over the comm.

Lethry pulls back hard on the stick, arcing into a tight half loop to reverse his heading. He steadies his fighter on its new course for only a couple of seconds before lobbing his remaining heavy concussion missile downrange at the farther Munificent. "Missile away," he calls again, and once again the big missile appears to be running true, guiding on the desired target. There's no time to sit back and watch this one fly, though. Pulling hard again, Lethry comes back toward Jora and the trio of Vulture droids. He moves to a position where he can protect his element lead's flank while he looks for an opening to jump into the furball himself. Come on, come on...

[Jallorn]

Jora swings towards the droids, grinning like a loon, That's right, come to papa, he says to himself, then, Not a problem nine, I got this. Swinging into the dogfight, jockeying for position, he unleashes a blast of lasers.

[RandomLunatic]

Carandil whooped as the heavy laser fire finally pounded the Munificent into submission. "Burn, baby, burn!" He steered away from the drifting hulk, eyes scanning for targets. A 3-ship flight of Hyenas suggested itself quite nicely. Punching up the throttle, he fell on them from behind, blasting one of the trailing droids to pieces before blasting by and looping around for another pass. "Boom! First blood! Step it up, ladies!"

[MadMaeve]

"This is the Arrowhead! All ships, break formation! Reform around the station and try to provide cover for those transports!"

The capital ships start to turn, slowly recovering from the stun. The seven that weren't smouldering in ruin or falling into the atmosphere. Among them were the dreadnaughts Fecundity, Ferocity and Economy, steaming ahead to lay fire on the enemy frigates. Their weapon blisters glow hot.

Meanwhile, the Vulture droids pounce on their targets. A spray of red-tinted fire fills the space around Jora and Adoran, debris from the exploding munificent adding a searing orange gunmetal as background colors for this interstellar canvas. Six of the droids lock themselves onto their signatures and turn, while a third flight group flies straight for Krassok's bird.

[chrispybacon]

As Adoran watched the munificent burn and break apart with satisfaction, he notices the group of three vulture droids heading straight for him. He couldn't help but chuckle lightly hearing Carandil's hot blooded chatter, and followed in his example with a confident grin on his face and adrenaline rushing through his veins as he sped forward to meet the vultures head on.

Adoran was greeted by a hail of laser fire that failed to hit, which Adoran reciprocated with his own volley of laser cannon fire. His lasers make contact, completely shooting apart the lead vulture and scratching another.

[Philistine]

Abel Lethry
Second Round of Combat

The telemetry tells Lethry that his second missile reached its target for another solid hit, but he doesn't have time to do much more than note the fact. With the big concussion missiles gone the V-19 has become a fighter once again; and if the ship felt like it was trying to run away from the controls before, that's nothing compared to the way it responds now.

Lethry maneuvers carefully near his flight lead's dogfight with a trio of Vultures. The droids seem to be unable to get a shot at the wildly gyrating Torrent, and Jora even manages to turn the tables to pick off one of the three with a heavy blast from his wing-mounted cannons. Lethry picks his moment carefully, then with a call of, "Guns! Guns!" rips into the remaining pair with his own blasters as they pass to the outside of a rolling turn. "Scratch one!"

A strident beeping from his sensors draws Lethry's attention to his scope. More incoming. Great. And there's something else, too - something even more alarming. "Is anyone covering Meteor Six?" he calls urgently over the squadron frequency. "We're gonna need that firepower to deal with all these heavies."

[Jallorn]

Jockeying for position, Jora takes advantage of the distraction provided by Lethry's assault, following it up with another furious salvo.

[MadMaeve]

Second round cont.

Fires erupt from the space station's hull. Laser fire from the approaching Diamond frigate was melting through the armor plating, tearing up the structural emplacements keeping the wings and solar panels intact. For the moment, the station remains largely intact, even with the keel of a Munificent lodged in its side.

It might not stay intact for long. The Munificent on its port side begins to approach, the pocketed turbolaser in its egg-shell turning to mark a target.

As the dogfight rages on one side of the station, the other side starts to get more crowded. Two more wings of Hyena's poke their heads out of the approaching Diamonds. Whether Adrian was ready or not, more of them were about to launch, and swarm the station's defenses.

"Meteor squadron, they're getting closer. You're... you're going to have to do something to slow them down or else we're all going to go up in smoke!"

"This is Bravo leader! Half of my flight's gone! We can't-" *bzzt* A decorated N-1 with Bravo's colors spins past Jora with a burning engine.

"... well, that's Bravo flight gone."

[Mando Knight]

Lyn notices her wingmate dueling a group of Vultures next to her, but her concern for not hitting him distracts her from the shot, so it goes wild. Shaking her head, she breaks off and heads off to help intercept the bombers "south" of the station.