Four individuals stood around a holotable in a dimly lit room. None of them had been expecting the black-clad protocol droid to approach them in the corridors of the Sable Claw and all of them were curious as to the reason.
The Claw was en route to Arx, a standard hyperspace journey of about a week, and all of its passengers were expecting to disembark within the day.
‘Connection establish,’ the droid said in its just-this-side-of-cheerful monotone voice, as its wrist-mounted probe interfaced with the terminal. ‘Uplink in progress. Uplink establsihed. Holocall now in progress.’
No one recognized the figure that materialized over the table – its cowl was pulled up and no face was visible; it was tall, slender, and humanoid but no other details could be made out. They all recogrnized the symbol that was emblazoned on its dark bronze cuirass, however.
The Inquisitorius.
‘Greetings,’ it said in a distorted voice. ‘Right now you’re wondering what this is about. I’ll cut right to the chase: a traitor has escaped Arx carrying vital secrets of the Grandmaster, and based on evidence we believe she is heading for Collective controlled territory.’
The figure shrunk and two new images appeared: one of a Defender-class light cruiser, the other of a togrutan woman in researcher robes.
‘This ship is the Aldhani Solar; it departed the Arx system 48 hours ago. The woman is Dr. Osos Yow, your target.’
Both vanished and the cowled figure took full size again. All four members heard a chime as the information was transferred to their datapads.
‘Unfortunately, it seems the Sable Claw’s captain and crew are proving a bit… uncooperative about carrying out their assigned orders to assault the Solar and reclaim this traitor. You’ll have to find ways to… persuade them.’
‘How did he find himself in these situations?’ Hector Von Ricmore mused to himself.
Normally, he would prefer traveling in his own Corvette, The Leviathan. Said ship was currently unavailable. It was undergoing an extended stay at the Vizsla dockyards, being refitted with Diamond Boron Missile Launchers as a replacement to its stock loadout.
His current situation was a strange one. What should have been a routine space voyage to planet Arx had now been interrupted by the Inquisition, and now he and the others had been re-tasked with a mission.
The group had a target and the means to pursue and interact with it. But more information was required.
“This Dr. Yow. Our target. Do we know anything of the crew that is with her? And What would you like down with her? Is she to be captured alive? Terminated and recovered?” The serpentine figure inquired with his soon to be employer.
“Alive, if possible. Deceased if not,” the figure said. “Living is preferable so that my droid can… question her as to any accomplices she may have had.”
The black clad protocol droid shifted in place, needles at its fingertips poking out.
“As for the crew, the Solar is complimented with several hundred crewmembers, but untrained in combat. Still it would be best to avoid them where possible. The greater issue will be getting past the vessels significant anti-ship weaponry.”
“Not the first time I’ve had to do that,” Nikora Rhan said. “It’s challenging, but it can be done.”
It was more confidence than she felt in that moment. Rhan’s very presence on the Sable Claw had been one of necessity, with Nat having taken the Hyperion on some fool’s errand to play pirate for a while. Rhan was almost beginning to wish she had joined her, and thankful at least that her weapons and armour had gotten past the vessel’s unfortunately diligent customs inspectors. Already having donned her arterial red warplate and holding Stormherald loosely in one hand, Rhan was mentally readying herself for battle.
She stepped forward, the grinding clanking of plating exaggerating the motion. “Provided we can get close enough, I should be able to disrupt at least some of their guns. That would give us an opening to board them, or at least hide in a blind spot long enough to find our way inside.
Still, I’m more concerned about having a ship to fall back to if we are that heavily outnumbered. If they’re in the hundreds, that gives them enough of a mob to potentially overrun the ship while we’re hunting down the good doctor.”
“An alive target is harder to secure and costs more, but it should be within our capability,” Hector replied. “Given our current secure connection, I do have one request. My capital ship is currently undergoing rennovations. But the same can not be said for my fighter strike force. Can you please pass a message to the frequency I am sending you? It will inform my three Z-95 Headhunters as to our destination so they can assist in disabling the ship.”
“Message received,” the hooded figure responded to Hector, a note of pleasure just audible in his voice. “And you’ll be well compensated. In the meantime, however, you need to convince the captain of the Sable Claw to cease his dereliction of duty and begin the chase; she won’t be in range much longer. Good hunting.”
With that, the channel went dead, and the pitch black protocol droid begins guiding you towards the Claw’s bridge.
Reece opened his tool compartment, whipped out his electric probe and began beeping and booping, “Oh that won’t be a problem. Just someone point out this so called Captain. I’ll straighten him out real quick.”
Colonel Treel pressed his lips together disapprovingly. He was here for the money, not to extort a crew when we’re obviously scared sithless.
“The droid has the ship’s details, perhaps show those to the captain that if they need convincing,” Rhan suggested, her black lidless eyes turning from the droid to Reece as they trudged after the messenger. “Or simply tell them it was a vessel built by the New Republic.”
She suppressed a smile as her words conjured up an old memory. It had been in the Fang’s early days, on the fortress walls. Essik had displayed a moment uncharacteristic vitriol, bitterly expressing frustration at NRDF’s state in its final years. The likes of the Defender in particular had been compared to a toothless, limbless rancor. Terrifying until you realised it could do little to protect its own bulk. Even so, one detail in particular she recalled was mention of its fighter capacity; a redeeming factor in an otherwise failed design,
“Still, if we can board the ship successfully, we need to prioritise disabling its hangar followed by its fire control systems. If we can manage that, the Sable Claw might survive the engagement.”
<@1178915035049902120> <@476595775187451913>
The choice of targets was apt, no ship would last long if overwhelmed by fighters. Their prey was armed with powerful turbo lasers. But such weapons would have difficulty hitting smaller targets like fighters. If the group could disable the hangar, they would have the opportunity to slowly and carefully destroy the turbo lasers.
“I think you have the right priorities for us to strike, and I might be able to provide the means.” Hector declared. “My fighters will be joining us to assist. They are 3 Z-95 headhunters that are modified to have basic shields for additional protection. We could pilot the ships, or have my crew pilot them. Between the laser and ion cannons or the missile launchers, I’m sure we can find a way to disable the hangar door of our target to reduce the ships it can launch. Our vessel could limit the interference of enemy fighters using its point defense laser cannons. I could then attempt to create an alternate entrance for the team. My armor is vacuumed sealed and has a rebreather jet pack for mobility. If I can get close enough to the ship without being shot down, I can attach with my mag boots and cut an entrance way into the vessel. I am of course open to alternative suggestions.”
Reece turned his dome towards Treel for a second, “Karracca is still picking us up from Arx in the Hawk right?”
“That is the plan.” The little old Ugnaught replied.
“If a speedy yt1300 with multi-lock missiles could help, I’m sure our big Wookie friend could be persuaded to rendevous and assist aswell.”
As you all speak, the protocol droid leads you through the corridors of the Sable Claw. Fellow passengers and occasional crew members glance at you as you pass, but no one stops you or seems to note your presence as a threat.
In moments, however, you arrive at the doors to the Claw‘s bridge, a pair of troopers in Iron Legion armor guarding the entrance. Both are armed with a single light blaster pistol but are otherwise unarmed, and neither seems like they’re expecting a fight at any time.
As you approach the entrance, one holds out his hand: “Sorry, this is a restricted area. Passengers aren’t allowed to enter the bridge. The mess is down the other corridor, if that’s where you were looking for.”
“Unfortunately not,” Rhan said, taking the lead as they approached the bridge.
Relaxed as she was, most security guards tended to take any commands far more seriously when they were coming from someone in orante armour plating. She came to a halt before them, base of her lightsaber pike hitting the deck with a weighty thud.
“We need to speak with the Captain immediately. Escort us if you must, but this cannot be delayed. This is Inquisitorial business.”
“Passengers??? We’re buddies of your bosses. Should I torch em Miho?” Reece donked and bootled at he flipped open a tool compartment hatch and prepared to deploy his flamethrower.
Treel, as he often did in response the droids antics, pressed his lips together and put a hand up to silence the little chatterbox, “Forgive our intrusion soldier. I am, Lt. Col. Treel, of the Ascendant Legions Commando Detachment. This is Hector Von Ricmore of Clan Vizsla, and a leader of their Deathwatch. I advise you let us past. I have spoken.”
The soldiers exchange a brief glance; you can’t quite make out their faces beneath their helmets, but they turn to salute you. One reaches to his helmet and activates a comms unit.
“Captain. Several VIP’s have just arrived and are requesting to speak with you, claim it’s on Inquisitorius buniness… yes sir… no sir, one of them claims to a Lt. Col. Treel, another appears to be a sith, Nautolan Female, and the third… yes sir. Yes sir. Understood sir.”
The trooper looks to his comrade and nods, and both step aside to admit you entry. The doors slide open with a hiss.
“Mmmmhmmm, thats right, thats what I thought. Wise decision gents.” Reece tweeted and tooted as he closed his tool compartment hatch and started to roll through the now open doorway.
‘A bold introduction, but who was he to argue with results,’ Hector Von Ricmore mused to himself as he followed the group into the doorway.
Hopefully the Captain would be less obstinate than the guards of the vessel.
No. Things were never that easy.
Hector Von Ricmore had a bad feeling about this.
Rhan wordlessly followed behind the others, the noise only filled by the sounds of metal upon metal as she moved.
Her head turned ever so slightly as they passed the troopers. Underarmed and outfitted more for security than a genuine war. They just had to hope there was a proper armoury on the ship, otherwise any strike group would return to a floating graveyard rather than a vessel to escape on.
The Council wasn’t an organisation who accrpted “no” from those in their domain, no matter how reluctant their service might be. Either the crew faced a borderline suicide mission or the Inquisition would hound their steps for the rest of their days.
The layout of the Sable Claw‘s bridge is standard Imperial layout, re-fournished with all the touchings of Arx. A single narrow walkway split the pentagonal space down the middle where command officers walked; in the broad depressions to either side, three score of pilots and engineers hover over monitors and called back and forth to one another.
As you all enter the open doors, the clamour dims, but never quites dies, as many eyes turn to look at you before being forcibly drawn back to systems that can’t wait for curiosity to be sated.
At the very head of the space, standing before the three-meter high junction of the Claw’s foreward facing windows, stands a male Togruta on the wrong side of middle age; muscle and vigor are still present, but notably withered by the passage of time. He turns to regard you with steely indifference.
“You’ve wasted your time, I’m sorry to say,” he says as you approach. “I know why you’re here. I’ll tell you what I told that damned Inquisitor. Under no circumstances am I leading this ship into a suicide mission to recover a single traitor. The Inquisitorius will just have to find another means of cleaning up their own mess, we won’t die for their failure.”
Obstinance. Fear for one’s life. Factionalism.
These things were a frustrating and common occurrence within the Dark Jedi Brotherhood. But an understandable one. The Captain of the Sable Claw had been asked to perform a duty outside of the norm, and a task that would put the lives of his crew at risk. The Togruta should not be faulted for that.
“Greetings Captain. I understand that you have some misgivings about the mission. Please, allow me to set your mind at ease.”
Hector slithered forward, positioning himself directly in front of the Captain, resting a respectful several meters away.
“I should first introduce myself. I am Hector Von Ricmore, honored son of Clan Vizsla. I can provide you with my broach containing proof of my identity and my status as an experienced agent of the Brotherhood. This is not my first, nor is it my second time engaging in a hostile boarding action. I possess years of combat experience, proven not only through my ranks and titles, but my current right to bear the ancestral Mandalorian armor of my Clan. We are a cadre of elite Mandalorians and bounty hunters. And I am among our best.”
The Captain would not be easy to convince. Hector had opened the conversation with an attempt to establish his ethos. It was time to see if the being before him would recognize his credibility.
“And I assure you, Captain, I very much plan on walking away from this alive, thank you very much,” Rhan said, deciding to chip in once Hector’s announcement had ended. The Mandalorian was undeniably talented as a wordsmith, earning a spike of envy from Rhan. She had long accepted that her own talents lay largely in bending metal and electronics to her will, but there were times when she would have traded that for the ability to reshape minds with little more than words and sheer will. “I don’t plan on meeting my end on some fools’ errand, and wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think we had a chance of pulling this off. And quite frankly I’d rather we had you making any suggestions to help us survive this than anyone else given your obvious experience with this vessel.”
Rhan briefly considered a display of power. Nothing much, just shorting out a few droids or raising every datapad on the bridge into the air and assembling it into a shape. It didn’t take much for her to think better of it. Even if this didn’t simply enrage the entire bridge crew and turn them against the trio, trying to gain loyalty through fear or sheer strength was brittle at best. There was a reason why so many Sith Lords often met their end on the battlefield with a shot in the back.
“I’m not on a suicide mission either.” Reece beeped.
Treek slowly walked up to the Captain with his hands clasped behind his back under his teal and pink cape. “Follow.” He said lightly as he walked past the Captain and towards the large windows as the front of the bridge.
After a a bit of double take at the Ugnaught who was lesson than half the Togrutas height, the Captain did follow.
As the two stood for a few seconds next to eachother looking out over the fore of the vessel and the countless stars beyond Treel spoke in not much more then a whisper.
“I have been in your shoes on more then one occasion. But I was never afforded assurances that my mission was not in fact a suicide mission, but I remain alive. I know what you have been told about the particulars kf this mission have you worried for the safety of your crew.” Treel paused and took a breath. The Ugnaught race were obstinent but masterful communicators, blunt to a fault, but full of effusive though stiff body language. Every breath, word and motion had a precise meaning and intent. Treel changes from handed clasped behind him, to infront of his waist.
“But I can give you that assurance. Their are additional vessels on the way to support us… and if you dont carry out your orders one of the people behind me will kill you within the next few minutes. Your crew awaits your orders, Captain.” The little Colonel turned slightly and gave a curt bow to the man before walking back down the central walkway that cut through the bridge. No one on his bridge crew aside from the droids with acute hearing heard what Treel had said.
It was a bluff by the old Commando, but a calculated one.
At the mention of Hector’s name and reputation, a susurrus of whispers slides through the command deck, as officers and cadets look up from their terminals. Captain Torrol looks at Hector appraisingly, giving a slight nod.
“Yes… Von Ricmore. I remember your name from the Zsoldos theatre reports. Bloody work, that.”
He seems to regard you with a measure more respect then he did a moment ago, but his posture has not lightened, and a hard set remains in his eyes.
“At least the damned Inquisitorius sent someone with actual experience instead of another of their spooks. Still, even seasoned commanders can’t pull conjure miracles out of thin air.”
He then turns to Treel. “Tell me about these ships you say are incoming. Specifications and ETA. And maybe I’ll decide this isn’t suicide. But bear in mind, I will not put the Claw or her crew in any danger.” He then lowers his voice to a whisper: “No matter what threats you or anyone else deign to make.”
“Before we get to that, I have two suggestions you may wish to hear,” Rhan spoke up before Treel could continue. If they were about to exchange battle tactics they needed all of their cards on the table. It did help that Torrol was proving to be surprisingly agreeable, and much more sensible than the petty tyrants she had encountered all too often among the Iron Throne’s military
“The first is simple, a tactic used by a smuggler I worked with. If you can find enough spare debris and parts to shove into a few of the airlocks, overcharge the engines until they release excess energy, and spin in the right way, it could emulate damage. Enough to either fake damage early into the battle or claim we are suffering and seeking help.” Rhan wished at that moment she had a diagram to prove her point, but knew beggars could not be choosers in that moment. “The debris and energy should disrupt their sensors for a clear scan and will make the fighters think twice about getting too close. I can help set this up if need be.”
Waiting just long enough for the idea to sink in, Rhan then continued with her second point. “I would also request that I be either in an airlock or on the surface of the ship during the attack. Simply put, I can do more damage there than waiting for us to board.” Rhan raised one hand, and with a casual gesture, raised the lightsaber pike she had been holding so it was hovering in the air like a spear next to her. “I’ve torn dropships out of the sky with rubble from buildings, I believe I can do something similar when it comes to starfighters. Failing that? I might even be able to have their fighters turn upon one another. Taking control of droids is an easy matter, as is disrupting electronic systems.
If we can get close enough, I should even be able to disrupt some of the guns on the enemy cruiser.”
‘Rhan’s tactics could serve them quite well,’ Hector mused to himself.
The last time he had witnessed weaponized debris had been when the Children of Mortis had assaulted Zsoldos. The cretins had weaponized asteroids as landing craft, deploying crystalline monsters in an assault from the heavens.
It had been infuriatingly effective.
Hector Von Ricmore had little experience in employing such tactics. But the inquisition would not have requested them if they were not capable. He would trust that Rhan knew what she was doing.
“To answer your question Captain Torrol, we have several vessels arriving in a staggered 2-3 waves. I will personally be providing three modified Z-95 headhunters with added shields to provide a screen. They will protect us and buy time for additional ships to arrive. My second vessel is a modified Cumulus class Corsair. Much like the late rebel alliance, I have modified it to employ Diamond Boron Missiles. These weapons are immune to conventional and starfighter lasers, requiring a capital ship to take them down. And each carries a massive payload capable of wiping out several fighters or damaging a capital ship.”
The serpent swept out his arms in a grand gesture.
“The rebels made use of these weapons to compete with star destroyers. I have no doubt that it would prove effective here. Furthermore, I hail from Clan Vizsla. We can’t claim to have the immense battleships that some of our contemporaries wield. But raiding and harrying a powerful foe? We’ve learned to be quite good at that. Naval combat is merely a different hunting ground for those who learn to traverse the void.”
“A modfied up-armed YT-1300, a flight of snubfighters, and a corvette(The class type Treel considered the Cumulus belonged to). We have a plan to neutralize their fighters. And I do not make threats Captain. If you are not willing to place your ship in ANY risk at all, you do not belong at the conn of vessel in the Iron Navy. Might I suggest resigning and operating a bulk freighter instead. I have spoken.”
Treel turned and left the bridge. He was done with the coward, as far as he was concerned he was direlect in his duty, guilty of cowardice, and liable to be shot or cut down on the spot. But he wasn’t the senior member present, so he decided to go and get a snack from the mess hall and let what would be, be.
Reece had been chatting with a well maintained R5 fellow astromech when Treel departed, “Oh, whoops, I think I might have missed my cue. Usually I’m the intense, contrarion, bad cop though.”
Captain Torrol watched Treel go with a thoroughly unimpressed look. He was likewise unenthused with Rhan’s tale of smuggler’s tricks.
When Hector spoke, however, he seemed intrigued.
“Yes,” he said with a nod. “I’ve seen reports of the Viszlan’s raids on Collective forces. Under any other circumstances I would think even the back-up your providing is too little but… perhaps you make a good case. Still, it’s a significant risk. I won’t put my crew into such danger unwillingly. Convince them as you’ve convinced me, and we’ll follow you into battle.”
Reece rolled up beside Hector after finishing his chat with the other astromech.
“So, lemme get this straight? Cowardice, disobeying a direct order, conduct unbecoming. And now that we’ve convinced you it’s in your best interests to not choose an immediate execution, you want us to do some song and dance to entice your crew to do their duty too?…Can you believe this guy Hector? I guess this one has some corrupted logic circuits. Pfft, humanoids, am I right?” The R3 beeped as he skilled him dome to look at the serpentine Vizslan beside him.
<@476595775187451913>
Hector’s helmet turned toward his companion. While not entirely wrong, such infighting was best left until after the mission if possible. A velvet glove was needed here. Well, at least it should be tried before the Iron Fist.
“The Captain was quite obstinate yes. Yet I can’t entirely blame a transport pilot for wanting to avoid leaping into battle. I believe we should look at it this way. There have been some unnecessary yet understandable difficulties so far. However, there is plenty of time before the battle and when we make our after action reports. Surely such an experienced man as Captain Torrol would be able to help rally his troops and aid the plan before then. And such information would be included in our after action reports.”
“Indeed” Reece booped before swivelling his dome back to face the Captain.
“Well, thats me done then. One of you big wigs wanna make another rousing speech for these forkers. I’m going to recharge.” Reece spun on his wheels knowing most of the bridge crew probably didn’t speak droidese.
“You’re peeps better do what they’re told or they’ll being getting all expenses paid trips to a prison, or worse.” He beeped to the R5 droid he had been chatting with earlier.
“Whatever pal.” The R5 replied.
Reece abruptly halted, spun around again and rolled over to the edge of the bridge pit where the R5 was working. He didn’t say anything at first, he just tilted his chassis over and stared at the other droid for a few seconds. “I’m not your pal, you’re a slave, and I’m free. Don’t get it twisted.” He said, before straightening up and moving back towards the exit.
“Pffft! Plagueians.” A Petty Officer who did speak droid, muttered under his breath.
“Heard that, Petty Officer Bellazar.” Reece booped before the lift doors closed. The threat implied by including the man’s name was readily apparent, and he swallowed hard, realizing he might have just made a huge mistake.
“You have all heard our arguments. Our evidence. Soon will shall embark together on a mission for the Brotherhood. It entails risk, but so does all combat missions. You would not have been chosen to crew a Brotherhood vessel if you lacked in competence. Today you have been requested for a challenging mission. I expect each of you to rise to the ocassion. Not because of me. Or because of loyalty, obligation, or professionalism. Do it because you owe it to yourself to put your best effort forward. Follow orders, act decisively and be prepared to adapt. Do this, and we will make it through the mission not only intact, but with both profit and honors. The branches of the Brotherhood can ask much. But they will reward you in kind.”
“Trust in your comrades. Trust in our mission. Trust in the strength that we have proven time and time again. We will complete this mission.”
The crew officers looked around at one another, some nervously, some openly fearfully. Then, slowly, one began to clap. Then another, and another, and soon the entire bridge was erupting in applause. If you look to Captain Torrol, you see a nod of approval. You have his support, and that of his crew.
<@476595775187451913> <@1178915035049902120> <@326457564994994176>
Treel heard the announcement over the intercom, “Attention, prepare to make way, all hands prepare for combat drills. Bridge out.”
He plopped one last Corulagian Root Nut in his mouth and retrieved his commlink. He sent a message to the boys back on the Century Hawk that the plan was a go, and got up to go rejoin the party.
“Helm, relative location of the Aldani Solar?” Captain Torrol called.
The helmsman, a Mon Calamari, called back: “Approximately forty-five minutes at maximum speed.”
Torrol turns to you all. “What’s the ETA of those ships of yours, gentleman?”
“I believe Colonel Treel mentioned his vessel was less then an hour away.” Someone mentioned.
“Based on the last reports I received, my Z-95 headhunters will arrive shortly after we do. I’d estimate within 5 minutes. My Cumulus Corsair was delayed due to the refit but it has a more powerful hyperdrive than the headhunters. It should arrive 10 minutes after the fighters do,” Hector relayed.
Silent since the others had taken over convincing the crew, Rhan watched and waited. There was little she could genuinely do at this point. Any suggestion made had been dismissed without a word during their conversation, and that made making use of her skills highly difficult. Leaving any decisisons to the others, who had gotten a far more receptive response from the crew, Rhan stood to one side and waited. Rather than dealing with the fighters directly, the most she could do now was join the boarding action and make sure their efforts to extract their target went without incident.
An hour of tension and planning past; anticipation hung thick in the air as whispered plans and strategies were made. At last, the Sable Claw broke from hyperspace, and the behemoth hull of the Aldani Solar loomed in the viewscreens.
Immediately, a torrent of iridescent plasma fired from a seven angry mouths, assaulting the Claw with pin-point precision. The ship shook violently, causing everyone to stumble.
“Enemy opening fire on us!” one of the ensigns cried. “Shields holding at 60% after the first volley! We can’t take much more of that!”
“The Solar‘s hangars are opening! They’re about to launch squadrons!” Another yelled across the floor. “Detecting three – no, four E-Wing class escort squadrons prepping for launch!”
“They’re firing something else… missiles? No… escape pods maybe? Scanners are unsure!” a third one yelled. “Should we fire on them or focus on shutting down the hangars?”
Silent and utterly focused, Rhan stood motionless on the bridge. Her helmed head stared directly out of the viewport into the quickly closing leviathan of the Solar head of them, counting the guns, watching the incoming turbolaser fire, and feeling the pulse of machinery. The thing was immense, whatever its failings, and far outgunned the smaller vessel. That meant they would need to deal with its strengths one at a time.
With a sound not unlike a metal snake uncoiling, Rhan raised one gauntlet toward the enemy ship and concentrated. Ignoring the panicked yells of the crew and shakes from incoming fire, she focused on the nearest hangar. Ignoring the feelings of adrenaline charged minds readying for combat, or launch crews running through mental checks so ingrained into their minds they could have been written in stone, she focused on simpler creations. Things with minds of clear-cut commands and electronic code, unhindered by wider consciousness or secondary thoughts. Direct, efficient, and easy to manipulate even from this range.
Rhan closed her hand into fist, and on the Solar klaxons ran out. One hangar was bathed in red light of alarms, and over its entrance into the void extended row upon row of hardened durasteel. With a hiss of hydraulics, metal teeth slammed into place as locks closed, shutting off the hangar.
“One hangar is unable to launch its fighters,” Rhan said, raising her voice. “Please focus fire on another before they can launch.”
Treel raised his commlink to his mouth, “Master Karracca, focus all your efforts on the starboard hangar bay. Preventing their remaining squadro…”
The excited wookies roars blaring through the comms speaker cut him off mid sentence, “Missiles away. Looks like our new sensor jamming suite is working great partner. I don’t think they even seen us coming.”
The space between and around the two vessels erupted into madness. Laser fire and missiles filled the screens.
On the starboard side of the Solar, a squadron of X-Wing starfighters were in the process of launching, when their hangar suddely fell into anarchy; four of them crashed into the descending durasteel walls before they could process what was happening. The rest never made flight.
On the opposite end of the ship, however, Master Karracca and the Century Hawk were preparing to fire their missiles, when a torrent of blaster fire from one of the warship’s turrets forced them to roll and dodge away; their missiles went wild, and failed to find their target. The wookie pilot was now engaged in a dog-fight with the emergent x-wing squadron.
The Claw‘s own blaster cannons fired. The ones commanded by Hector found their mark, knocking one of the Solar’s cannons out.
As Treel took command of the other, however, he was knocked from his seat as the entire deck shook violently.
“Something just made contact!” the captain called, rushing over to a computer terminal. “Three of those pods just collided with our hull!”
On the Century Hawk Karracca growled through his headset, “Reform for another pass! Gunners stay focused on that hangar!”.
The Ugnaught gunners manning the quad laser cannons made sure to oblige, and filled the large opening in the side of the target vessel with accurate and sustained fire, clipping one of enemies fighters as it tried to make a rapid launch.
The small squadron of Cutlass 9 patrol fighters that had made the assault with the Century Hawk were all piloted by wookie mercenaries who had been contracted as security forces for a nearby planet. The squadrons commanders uncle had owed Karracca a favour from nearly a century prior, and eagerly accepted the offer of ‘some action’. They wheeled around and reformed on the wing on the modified yt1300 and prepared for a second strike.
“Hurrahgga, focus your fire on the turrets, I’ll hit the hangar bay.” Karracca said his fellow wookie over the comm.
Hector Von Ricmore gazed out the transparisteel viewport of the bridge. Detonations and explosions blossomed amidst the void of space as his ships found their mark. A deep sense of pride welled up within him. The pilots and crew he had recruited, trained, and bleed alongside where once again showing their competence. They really would make it through this; if they continued to fight together.
Seeing that the situation was well in hand, the Serpent was confident their allies outside would be fine for now. At least, until the more pressing threat was dealt with.
“Considering that we aren’t dead or being rocked about like a child in a Tatooine sandstorm, I think it is fair to say that the pods aren’t laden with explosives. If they aren’t meant to disable our systems or blow us up, that can only mean one thing. There’s troops on board. We should prepare to repel boarders immediately.”
Hector unclipped his lightsaber from his belt and grasped it with his upper right hand. His left hand curled around the handle of his sidearm and withdrew it from his vest. He took a moment to double check the ammunition and slid the safety off the weapon. Then he slithered out the doors of the bridge, towards the sites the pods had impacted.
“I will join you shortly,” Rhan answered to Ricmore, her helmet still turned toward the space battle beyond them. “But allow me to give those fighters one parting gift before we deal with our guests.”
Feeling that the hangar doors were locked closed and unable to move, Rhan turned her attention toward the X-Wings that had successfully departed from the second hangar. The familiar ballet of turn-fighting was playing out between them and the allied squadrons, with each racing in the familiar network of circles and loops as they fought for dominance. The dawn-bright hue of the X-Wings’ familiar ion engines made them easy to pick out at range, as did the astromechs that were serving as their copilots.
Rhan’s power reached out across the void, selected several of them, and began to take over the code which formed their minds…
After a second, and third pass, the Century Hawks amd its little band of wookie fighters were successfully able to knock the enemies fighter bay out of nebula, but not before it had been able to disgorge the majority of its fighters.
Now the Cutlass-9s and the Yt1300 were engaged in mass dogfight with over a dozen X-wings. Finished the Ugnaught gunners on the Hawk had been able to R&D a few hits, disabling the engines of one a destroying another that helped to somewhat even the numbers out.
The heavily modified freighter rocked as a few laser cannon bolts into its ventral shielding, Karracca sent a message to the leas vessel “Sable Claw, you have breaching pods inbound, I won’t be able to intercept them before they reach you.”
Karracca whipped the ship down into a barrel roll and fired off two more missiles, one of which hit an X-wing.
But 3 more swiftly swing onto the rear quarters of the *Century Hawk". He heard one of the wookie Pilots roar, “Scratch another bogey” over the comm.
Karracca thought to himself, that was 5 X-Wings down now, only another few dozen to go. When he saw that they had picked up a 4th tail he decided to take them out of the fight one way or another. He kicked up the throttle and zoomed past the rear of the Solar, intent on taking the X-wings on a bit of a wild tauntaun chase. Those models of X- wings were fast, but there weren’t many ships aside from and A-Wing that could keep pace with her.