CHyPs.

[Horus Vizsla]

Chommel Hyperlane Patrols. And old holoscript submitted about an adventure of two police pilots who patrolled the hyperlanes, spending more time picking up hot twi'leks than actually stopping crime. It was pretty cheesy looking back, but some producer had decided it was time for a reboot.

It looked terrible.

Thankfully the real thing wasn't anywhere near the same, or Horus would be bored out of his mind. He'd been briefed on Imperial regulations and given a squad of Imperial Supercommandos, along with the rank of Lieutenant. However, despite that he still answered to [member="Anjin Kent"], Moff Balfour's right hand. He was convinced Balfour did this to spite him. Remind Horus who he'd lost to. Inspire some sort of competition. "One day you'll be like my left hand Lieutenant Vizsla, but the right? You'd have to work very, very hard to outpace DT-1600." Balfour had said to him.

Gorram Moff. His supercommandos weren't quite ready to show up Nemo's Deathtroopers yet. Just hadn't seen action the same way. But he put them next to each other all the same. Then there was that other guy @[member=Fabian] Some navy officer who'd gotten his first ship was responsible for helping them deal with the pirates reported around Maramere. Take down a ship, slice their logs, find their base, take them down and come home with a boatload of stygium. That was the job, at least on flimsi. It was Horus's experience that only 40% of a plan actually survived contact.


Blaar blaar! BLaar Blaar!

The sound of alarm klaxons rang through Horus's ears. Sounded like the bridge had found what it was looking for.

 

[Anjin Kent]

“Sir.” Four One stirred.

“Hold,” Said Anjin.

She did. A note ran through DTC Squadron Zeta-1 at the klaxon sound. Crew sprinted to rehearsed battle stations, and Anjin listened to the subtle timbre of throttling ship-born systems waking to combat. They observed seamen in uniform hurtling past the crew bunk portcullis, were paid no heed and no mind. Helmet telesonic audio pickups logged chatter detected in the forward command and steerage module. Those personnel not at station were nearby in the vessel armoury, plating up, loading ammunition to low-velocity projectile rifles and lower-yield blaster carbines. A few stormtrooper marines did their best casually glancing round the corridor, eyeing the silent Death Troops.

At DT-1600’s signal, a crisp handful of gestures, Zeta Squad rose with him and filed into the passage. Their own armament was pared down: E-11Ds, SE-14r side-arms, shock and sonic grenades, sensor probes, and fastened stun batons. Six-Two relinquished the bite of his DLT-19D, Seven-Nine packing up his stock of Smart Rockets and the arming launcher, Four-Five storing aside her arsenal of seemingly innumerable munitions. Anjin instructed for close-quarters fighting. Their prey wasn’t in bodies, but in an intact pirate raider.

The enemy wasn’t expected to share their caution. Anjin anticipated casualties; his own amongst them, if karma played out. Between the sloop stormtroopers, Zeta Squad, and the recently appointed Mandalorian Supercommandos, he expected mission success. Especially the Supercommandos. Their uncanny, he thought, they’ve been foraging and raiding since before any empires. Their combat doctrines were foreign, undeniably effective, and he knew there would be strain between Death Troop Command and the Supercommando units.

But there must be cohesion, Anjin decided. Flight operations aboard the Fatigable, an Imperial Intersector-II Class sloop, a new line of her own, belonged to Lieutenant Fabian’s command. IA Lieutenant Horus Vizla and himself were responsible for bearing the brunt of physical combat. In spite of thorough preparations, a week spent harrying a hasty assault course at Base, Anjin warned against set expectation. Pirates licensed their own interior modifications, resetting and shuffling deck layouts as suited. Steel discipline, procedure, adaptation, and well-honed killing skills would aid them overcoming unexpected complications.

“Sync vitals,” Anjin ordered. Five small green shields showed on his HUD readout. He toggled on further tactical AR overlays. His breath felt so loud in his ears, and he willed himself into a state of Zen. Tension left him; limbs felt well oiled and limber. His musculature was augmented to be perfectly strong. Emotion retarded besides a compelling urge for action.

“Lieutenant,” DT-1600 commed the bridge. “Will you witness us to the target?”

[member="Fabian"] | Horus Vizla

 

[Marcus Tritum]

To say the Fatigable possessed a bridge would be generous. In truth, it was no
more than a cockpit that seated four. Fabian elected to stand just behind the navigator’s chair, trying and failing not to breathe down the man’s neck as they approached the last known position of the target.

“Reverting to realspace,” said the helm.

Fabian nodded curtly. “Weapons hot.”

“Reversion in 3, 2, 1... Mark.”

The young lieutenant clenched his jaw. The blue tunnel of hyperspace dissipated, leaving them alone in a black field spotted by stars.
Alone. Fabian unclenched. It’d been expected. Still.

“Start scanning for debris and ion trails.”

“Captain,” the communications operator turned to him. “Lieutenant Kent from the armory.”

“Right,” Fabian replied, remembering wearily that there were two other lieutenants on board. Pleasant company, perhaps, had they not been special forces. Mayhap it was merely his own flawed perception, but Fabian detected an air of aloofness about the Death Troopers, to say nothing of those Supercommandos. Entering a room when both groups were present always seemed a gambit. It was a testament to imperial discipline that they did not break into brawls at the mere sight of one another. Still, the sloop was cramped enough without adding two rival groups of special forces. The longer this mission went, the higher tempers would flare. Best to find these pirates quickly.

Stalking back, Fabian ducked through the low apperture of the cockpit door and made his way along the tight corridor to the armory. He peeked in and noted with some small alarm the Death Trooper checking what appeared to be a magazine of rockets.

“Lieutenant, we should be picking up their ion trail momentarily and will expect resistance on reversion. Your troopers are ready?”

[member="Anjin Kent"] | [member="Horus Vizsla"]

 

[Anjin Kent]

“Thoroughly, sir,” DT-1600 assured. About to invite Lieutenant Fabian for squad inspection, a ship wide alarm broke over the installed klaxons. Force impacted across aft section, felt through the decking and up through their vibrating knees. Anjin coolly looked over his E-11D’s magazine feed. A stoic, slightly reedy voice, come over a recessed and grilled speaker beside the armoury door jamb.

“Sir, you had better come up here.”

“Four-One,” Anjin signalled. Zeta Squad held to the spot while he and Lieutenant Fabian jogged to the forward cockpit. He passed the second personnel bunks and snapped a thumb at Lieutenant Horus; curt short-hand to fall in with the vessel commander. He braked his heels in and stopped at the portal leading into the cockpit. A comms-officer briefly glanced their way, paused at the sudden presence of both DTC and the newly installed Supercommando.

“Came across a debris cloud, sir,” Explained an ensign at the co-pilot seat. “Soon as we were grouping up to run our scopes through the mess, an object powered up. Torpedo cluster just ran past us a moment ago.”

A patchy cruiser, pieces its super-structure left exposed to vacuum, lumbered past the view-screen. A cone of hard lights fired past the sloop’s brow, one cannon bolt glancing off a swiftly angled deflector. The officer at the comms-station winced, pulling his ear-pieces free; Anjin listened to a barbarous squeal of Huttese, Basic, and Dosh. The cruiser’s engine cluster seemed to broil through the cold. It’s pattern resembled a truncated cruiser, shortened into a fatter, punchy assault model. Anjin wished Zeta Squadron were aboard their own TIE/IN group, able to pick the enemy’s shimmering defence fields apart at their own pace. He quashed the notion, summoned patience, waited on Lieutenant Fabian’s able command. Ship-to-ship engagements were not his province; not for the mission’s duration.

[member="Fabian"] | [member="Horus Vizsla"]

 

[Horus Vizsla]

Horus's men were going through double and triple-checks of their equipment as [member="Anjin Kent"] passed by, thumb showing it was time for action. Time to follow. As if he didn't know what was going on. Vizsla declined to let his voice escape his helmet as he grunted.

"Recruits, hold ready and await orders." Horus ordered through private helmet comms and went to join the other two lieutenants. This collection of four were the most promising troopers he'd worked with thusfar, but he was loathe to call them Commandos just yet. At least to their face. It was simply not a privilege they had yet earned. It was a privilege they would hopefully earn today.

As Horus followed into the bridge there was the awkward moment as the 'bridge crew' spotted him and DT-1600. Perhaps they had been briefed of the conflicting special operations groups here, but if they were it was still a far different thing to see them in person. Kept a bit of composure though, and gave a status report on the vessel.

"Lieutenant." Horus said, referring to the ships leading officer [member="Fabian"]. "My men are vacuum sealed, and maneuverable enough to infiltrate through that patchwork on their bow if we can get close enough." Horus wouldn't offer a recommendation on how to get there, he wasn't a navy man and this was Fabian's ship, but infiltration? Ship to ship raids? That was what Horus was raised on.

 

[Marcus Tritum]

Fabian's eyes widened, nostrils flaring as a derelict but clearly still armed and operational cruiser emerged from the debris field.

Sithspit.

Vizsla was right. Taking the cruiser in a head on fight would be suicide. Even limping, it still sported enough cannons to blow them to smithereens. They'd have to rely on the skill of these Supercommandos and their Death Trooper counterparts to win the day.

Fabian nodded. "Do it."

He loomed behind the helmsman.

"Bring us in close, full power to the engines and forward deflector shields."

"Shall we engage sir?" asked the gunnery officer, an eager boy named Wills.

"No. Hold your fire, Ensign." Fabian grit his teeth, seizing a handhold above his head as a salvo of turbolaser fire rocketed past, too close for comfort. "There, that exposed bow-section. Helm, bring us just above her hull."

The cruiser struggled to turn, trying to get a fix on the slippery sloop, but the imperial helmsman proved able, taking the sloop in low so that they skimmed the surface of the cruiser.

"Lieutenant Vizsla, we're in position."
[member="Horus Vizsla"] | [member="Anjin Kent"]

 

[Anjin Kent]

Lieutenant Horus had optioned the strategy, so DT-1600 did not contest his right leading the assault through open vacuum. Zeta-1 was spaced along the corridor behind the bunched Supercommandos. Corded mono-threads roped each DT in sequence, providing a physical anchor in thin gravity. They’d buckled repulsor-jet packs to back-plates in addition to the micro-pulsors installed along their shin guards, effecting a few last equipment checks before sortying. The Fatigable roiled through plowing cannon fire; a slight tilt and jostle in the gravity plates tugged at their heels. Anjin ordered blast doors surrounding the air-lock entry portcullis sealed. The Supercommandos filed in, Horus at the fore.

They’ve terror on their side, Anjin thought, the Mandalorian armour mark. For although the Death Troop Command’s reputation was sealed in secret blood and the horror of clean, efficient operations, every peasant-raider and adrift mercenary knew the unflinching Mando’ade visor. First, the Supercommandos would make their assault. Zeta-1 close behind. Finally, what spare crew the Fatigable and Lieutenant Fabian could give. He the tested magnetic adhesion in his boots and glove palms. The vacuum mask was a tight seal acround his face. Anjin read the world through tactical AR fields and waited for the word ‘Go’.

All braced when they felt the sloop sheer to starboard. Through the outer air-lock door, past a small plasteel porthole, the savaged cruiser prow jutted into view. Anjin felt more than heard Lieutenant Horus over the comm: the air-lock cycled and blew the hull-door open. Zeta-1 bolted after the Supercommandos, after a beat, flying through jarring emptiness. Flying through to a sooty, buckled section of open ship structure. At the fore, Anjin angled Zeta Squad toward an exposed corridor blastdoor. Six-Two and Six-Three guided the inertia of a line-fed plasma cutter. He fought the well of urgency in his throat and briefly enjoyed the stark light and shadow.

“Lieutenant Fabian,” DT-1600 commed. “We are away. Will update with progression.”

[member="Fabian"] | [member="Horus Vizsla"]

 

[Horus Vizsla]

[member="Fabian"] gave the order, and Vizsla headed out the door, followed quickly by [member="Anjin Kent"]. "Recruits, to the airlock. Be ready to deploy in two." Horus ordered, to which he heard a chorus of "Yes sir's". From there Horus had them all ready to go, and made a quick check that everyone in the room was vac-sealed. Neither his men nor the Death-cultish Zeta squad.

"JT-1043, open hatch." Horus ordered over the comms, and the hatch was opened. Horus charged forward through the hatch and then came up at an angle. "Formation Cuir." Horus put over the comms, and the rest of the commandos charged out and scattered into the void of space. They maintained formation well enough, though it wasn't crisp enough for Horus's liking. They scattered as a couple of quad laser-turrets had diverted their attention to the squad.

"Remember your training JT-1062." Horus challenged the first commander he heard let out an utterance of fear. "JT-1031, you are to take command of the initial boarding."

"Sir?" There was a question in her voice.

"Execute Drill 37-Aurek, then notify where you're going. I'll be with you shortly." Drill 37-Aurek was a tactical drill to secure a hostile entrance, then further explore the facility. Horus listened to JT-1031 take control of the squad and gain entrance as he headed over to one of the quad-laser turret and began sticking some detonite paste on it.

"Nemo, I'm sending my squad in but I'm gonna stay out here and take care of some of these quad turrets."

 

[Marcus Tritum]

From the bridge, he never saw them leave. Didn't hear the airlock hiss behind them. Didn't watch as they catapulted themselves into the unforgiving zero g of the vacuum. All the same, he felt the inner stress ratchet up a level. He might not especially have cared for the lowbrow ways of the supercommandos at the pazaak table, but they were Imperial soldiers. His job was to make sure they completed the mission and returned home alive. Knowing they were out there at the mercy of the cruiser's quad cannons made the situation visceral, a fist closing around his gut.

"Sir, picking up three signatures emerging from the cruiser," reported the SensOp.

Enemy fighters.

"Classify them as hostile. Divert reactor power to the weapons and engage those fighters with our quads. Fire intermittent salvos with our turbolasers at the enemy guns once we gain distance."

If they could silence the cruiser's cannons, the match might just be even... but it was a long might.

Peering through the viewport, Fabian saw the incoming fighters, silhouetted by their engine plumes. Their structures lacked uniformity. Cobbled together from scrap, much like the cruiser. Uglies, they called them. Repulsive to the aesthete, but deadly none the less.

The crew of the Fatigable had one job now.

Survive.

[member="Anjin Kent"] | [member="Horus Vizsla"]

 

[Horus Vizsla]

"We have enemy contact Lieutenant." JT-1031's voice rang throughout Horus's helmet.

"Remember your training recruit. Observe, orient, decide, act. As quickly as possible." Horus ordered.

"Yes Sir!" She replied, as Horus jetpacked out of the way of the turbolaser turret. Avoiding Quadlaser fire and the attention of the TIE fighters Horus began planting another charge of detonite.

"We're clearing room after room Lieutenant. JT-1043 is slicing into one of the consoles and getting some schematics. Any priority targets suggested?" JT-1031 commed in.

"Hyperdrive first, then shield generators, then sublight engines. If you blow the shield generators first they'll just evacuate." Horus responded as he laid another charge of detonite on another cluster of turbolasers.

Pew pew

Horus was knocked into space as a laser cannon hit just meters behind him from one of the Khiraxz fighters deployed. His right jet had suffered damage. He was out of balance now. Sith's blood. He cursed mentally, then hit his detonator. It wasn't enough to get the cruiser out of the fight by any means, but it gave the ship a softside for [member="Fabian"] to exploit.

"Lieutenant Fabian, I've attracted the attention of one of the fighters. My jetpack is operational, but damaged. Requesting fire support."

 

[Anjin Kent]

With steely nonchalance, Anjin reported Zeta-1’s progress through an auxiliary maintenance passage leading to the engine block, ejecting his knuckle-blade from under an enemy corsair’s sternal plate and firing his braced pistol past the falling shoulder. His own casement was scorched in half-a-dozen spots, pauldron to greave, and the hall swam with weapons discharge. Cover came from scant bulkhead stanchions and piled web-crates scattered on the decking. Anjin clipped another kill off their feet, shot and pinned another through their diaphragm, quickening around to the next bulkhead stanchion and slaughtering the waiting corsair with his drawn vibro-knife.

Helmet filtration dimmed the ozone stench. Since their zero-g breach at the forward blast door, Zeta Squad had killed a dozen raiders and were charging for the engine room. Four-One and Six-Two were charged with sewing distractions in the crew quarters, armed with personal Systems Diagnostic Diverters, with an aim to confuse the bridge crew with falsified sensor returns. A very real bass reverb jarred the passage way. He had also lent Four-One and Six-Two a handful of extra ordnance. He encouraged ‘target levity’. Bewilder the enemy’s expectation with strange feints while he and the remainder of Zeta-1 went for a crippling thrust.

They reached a small side-door that would lead in to the block. First, through a spare parts closet. Beyond, the housing block itself. Anjin ordered breach maneuvers, settling into position against the door jamb with Four-Five, Six-Three, and Seven-Nine. Six-three mag-locked the charge to the lock-bolt and swung back. He readied his E-11D, Seven-Nine just behind his shoulder with a stun canister. Soon, he thought, the nascent Supercommandos will harry the engine rooms from their own angle and flank the entrenched defenders. Beyond the waiting closet would be hardened void-fighters, on ground of their choosing, prepared for this eventuality. Much as he trusted Four-One and Six-Two, the enemy would only swallow so much mischief. The bridge and engine block. The brain and bowels, he thought. With the Mandalorian trainees, Zeta Squad would slit the frigate’s sow-belly open.

Anjin toggled the comm. Single note. Six-Three threw her detonation switch and the closet room door broke and slammed into its jamb housing. Seven-Nine hurled his canister; it clocked a bewildered corsair off their feet, landed on a bounce, and washed the narrow chamber with hard blue light and smashing concussion. Anjin snapped his rifle up, firing from the door, plugging bodies wallowing concussed on the decking. He hand-signed another breach maneuver. Seven-Nine this time with his spare detonation pack.

Almost, Anjin adjusted his rifle hold. Almost now. Six-Two and Four-One would be swinging to come back around to the engine block. Horus’ initiates would be along soon too. We will take the engine block, silence the hyperdrive, and puppet the rest of the vessel. What’s a brain if it cannot control its bowels? He refocussed, attentions again a honed razor. First, they had to take the engine compartment. Seven-Nine picked his way back through bodies and displaced components littered over the floor, and took position behind Six-Three.

Zeta-Lead thumbed the detonation nipple. Ahead, the door cracked apart and sagged back into the jamb. Anjin paced forward, firing and killing through an oil smoke haze.

[member="Fabian"] | [member="Horus Vizsla"]

 

[Marcus Tritum]

"Understood, Lieutenant."

The ship's superstructure shuddered as quad cannons spooled up and commenced firing. Fabian narrowed his eyes as bright jets of red zipped out in twos and fours. A laser caught one of the uglies and shredded through flimsy deflectors like a Nexu's claws through a Banthawool sweater, tearing off one of the wings and sending the ship into a spiral.

The other uglies bore down and let loose with their laser cannons. The fighters pounded the sloop and her shields flickered beneath a series of hits before the fighters went soaring past.

The pilot took them up and over in pursuit. Fabian grimaced and gripped an overhead strut for support.

"Tractor beam," he snapped.

One of the young Weapon Systems Officers swiftly grabbed the controls and punched in a command, activating the tractor beam and catching one of the fighters as it tried to fly past. A breathless second later a direct hit from a quadcannon blew the starship to pieces.

And then there was one.

The entire ship bucked hard, nearly throwing Fabian to the deck. A power conductor overloaded, exploding and blowing loose a ceiling panel in a spray of sparks. Fabian hastily brushed off the scalding bits of burning plastic from his cheek and shoulder. Smoke from the electrical fire started pluming in before the sensor officer grabbed a canister of flame retardant and doused the ceiling in a layer of foam.

"Status?" Fabian coughed, eyes watering.

"We took a hit from one of the cruiser's guns, sir. Shields at 30 percent, but holding."

If they took another hit like that they would all be vaporized.

Fabian felt the heavy thum thum from their turbolasers overhead and beneath his feet as they answered the cruiser's fusilade.

"The last fighter?"

"Destroyed by a ventral cannon, sir."

"Helm, bring us about for a run on the cruiser. WYSO, target that gun emplacement with a pair of proton torpedoes."

"Locked."

"Fire."

The torpedoes sped silently through vacuum. Fabian counted down the second to impact, even though he could see it clearly on the tacscreen, then they connected with the emplacement in a halo of flame.

[member="Horus Vizsla"] | [member="Anjin Kent"]

 

[Horus Vizsla]

Horus whirred out of balance left and right as the fighter pursued. When things got hairy the Mandalorian let loose a wrist rocket to make a sudden slide, getting out of the way of a loose laser cannon bolt. From there mag boots were engaged, and Horus ran over towards the aft of the ship, finally getting near enough towards the engines that the fighter didn't dare take another shot. It looped around and was caught in the Fatigable's tractor beam before quadlaser turret fired and the vessel was destroyed. Horus let out a breath of relief.

"Three-one status report." Horus called.

"Zeta Squad is about to take the sublight engines. We are setting charges on the hyperdrive now." JT-1031 replied, and Horus let out a curse. He had just gotten to these engines. With a quick pivot the ex-Mandalorian made his way back, aiming to give the engines a good thirty meters clearance.

"What about encountered resistance? Any casualties?" Horus replied as mag boots sucked on and off the hull of the cruiser.

"Resistance has been light sir, they've divided attention between us and Zeta Squad. Seven-five has sustained a few hits but is holding." Three-one replied, and Horus let out a small sigh. He thought 1075 needed another week or so, but business was business.

"Zeta Squad's next move after they take the engine will be to take the bridge. Check the schematics and find a path to bridge that shares the least chokeholds with Zeta Squadron's current location then fan out." Horus ordered.

[member="Fabian"] [member="Anjin Kent"]

 

[Anjin Kent]

The heavy sublight engines were arranged in a stacked globule, facing out from a single, tall bulkhead face. A second story of rusted iron-grille maintenance catwalks ran through the bay, haphazardly strung with dismantled components, exposed wiring, torches and other bright lanterns, spare chains swaying with the vessel turn. Zeta-1 came through the custodial and tool compartment off the starboard lean and methodically tore their way through the chamber.

Four-Five, Six-Three, and Seven-Nine kept ‘stacked’ onto Zeta-Lead’s shoulder. DT-1600 lead a careful line through the shadow of composed parts crates and emptied plasteel fuel drums; his HUD read out light-enhanced shadows, predictive AR overlays telling him about the three shooters in cover just ahead by a vital control console. Two he felled through the skull, bone and brain smashed to rancid, burning messes, and poured the remainder of another magazine through the third. Anjin snapped a fresh replacement into the E-11D feed, turned sharply to the right, squeezed a single three-shot burst. Another engineer died: a bolt pierced his rifle mag and the resulting implosion neatly consumed his upper torso. At the console now, as Six-Three kicked a moderate frag grenade across the floor, he ordered Four-Five. DT-1945 untangled a mass of adapter cables and slotted his narrow, hardened datapad into the sublight controls.

A vicious ICE-smasher devoured through the customized, home brewed operating systems governing thrust and power control. The machine roar was already dulling when Zeta-1 moved on. They mounted a skeletal staircase to the catwalk, coolly silencing the last dozen fighters stuck in throughout the bay. Six-Three slew one with a well-timed stun canister, the concussion so close and so strong, it pushed the facial bone back into the skull cavity. Four-Five and Seven-Nine, burning through gunners in half-armoured coveralls. Anjin disarmed, disabled, and dispelled an overseer that charged down the catwalk. His drawn vibro-knife slipped through the ribs, to the heart. A pistol round slew the last, kicked off his feet by a bolt from ten metres.

“Captain Fabian,” Zeta-Lead commed. The bay smouldered; weapons discharge fogged together with an oil and soot mist. Scorch marks cooled, beside fire-shredded corpses posed awkwardly across upset trolleys and tool trunks. A note of broken iron links rattled, splitting the quiet. “Captain, we have the sublight propulsion killed. She will do no more than wallow. Zeta Squad on route to bridge.”

[member="Fabian"] | [member="Horus Vizsla"]

 

[Subject 37]

[member="Anjin Kent"] | [member="Horus Vizsla"] | [member="Fabian"]

Pirates.

There were always pirates of some sort lurking somewhere. Valerie had encountered a few of them on her way to the Empire, the initial voyage having taken her through some of the more treacherous roots of the galaxy. They hadn't been anything she couldn't handle, mostly just a few down on their luck idiots who thought they could make an easy buck off a few merchants traveling through easy sectors of space. They hadn't counted for the escort of course.

It was a fun little game, hunting pirates. "Remember, they won't see us coming."

Her voice was cold, but there was a smile on her face. The thin blue streaking lines of hyperspace in front of her drew a little closer, and another heartbeat passed. She knew exactly where they would be dropping out of hyperspace, knew exactly what they would find there. The Battle plan had been a pretty simple one, drawn up by some commander somewhere and then assigned to the Venom Guard because...well Inferno was busy enough.

She grimaced slightly before a voice belted in her ear.

"Funny. That's what The Lieutenant says about most of her dates."

Valerie grimaced slightly, though the chorus of slight chuckles forced a smile onto her face. Venom wasn't exactly known for it's...professionalism. Half of them had been refused entry to Inferno due to one infraction or another, and the other half? Well they didn't give enough of a kark to change who they were. Valerie bit her lip, reaching up and flicking a switch to power up her weapons.

"Just shut up and get ready." Valerie's voice was harsher than she'd intended, but the response she received wasn't exactly encouraging.

"Funny, that sounds familiar too."

 

[Marcus Tritum]

“Captain,” said the CommsOp, grabbing Fabian’s attention, “A reinforcing element from Venom Squadron is en route.”

Fabian nodded, then reached up and straightened his askew cap.

“Message from the boarding party. Cruiser engines disabled.”

“Well done, Lieutenants.” Fabian felt the tension easing from his shoulders slightly. They’d won. Nearly. The rest would be short work. “Helm, bring us astern of the cruiser.”

Directly behind the out of commission engines and away from the firing arcs of the big guns. The cruiser was now just a very large target.

“Casualty report?”

“None, sir. Only one in the infirmary with a concussion.”

“Good.” Fabian felt a sneer twitching across his lips. Scum. They were lucky that none of his crew had been killed else the exacted retribution would be more severe.

“Hail the enemy vessel. This is Captain Fabian of the Galactic Empire to the captain of this derelict. You have engaged in trade lane piracy against the Galactic Empire, depriving honest merchants of their livelihoods. You have opened fire on a warship of the imperial navy. And you have lost. Surrender now and we may discuss clemency for your crew.”

[member="Horus Vizsla"] [member="Anjin Kent"] [member="Valerie Rein"]

 

[Anjin Kent]

Gutteral Sriluurian, pitched through screens of electronic noise, replied on the opened channel: [No clemency. No parlay. No surrender. You will suffer for this insult. We will scatter your wreckage at the feet of your Emperor. You Imperials overreach yourselves. This is Maramere. And it is you who pirates us. These facts we will remind you, when you are brought to my bridge and made to kneel. I will personally cut open your throat, Captain Fabian.]

-

“One-Six, you catch that?”

“I did.”

“Sir, orders?”

“Bridge assault. Crimson Sky.”

Zeta-1 grunted in unison. Kill them all. Since their successful prosecution of the engine bay, Zeta’s Four-One and Six-Two had rejoined from their excursion through the crew quarters. Now whole, the six Death Troopers were locked stoically behind a long serving bay, fixed against a counter-assault pincer. They were maneuvering through a low-ceilinged mess hall, when the doors across leading to the emergency stairwell opened. Corsairs sporting activated Verpine bracers, in thicker, gaudier casement and exotic firearms that seemed too large for their portly demeanors, appeared and fought to keep their advance stilled.

A heavy splitter-round chipped into the bulkheads overhead. Wet, melting-hot slag pattered onto their black helms and pauldrons. Seven-Nine’s torso plating was buckled from three sustained strikes, Four-Five’s knee was wrapped in a solid combat brace and a numbing, healing poultice of bacta and pain medication. Four-One swore under her breath, knowing they were trapped in the mess, would probably end up shot beside the heat-elements and heavy cauldrons of awful gruel. She shot a face that peeked out from the doorway leading into the hall, then raised her rifle over the serving bay and hosed a blind, if approximated, line of hard light back at the opposite exit.

Anjin lead them out. He ordered red phosphor smoke, rolling the remnants of his own spare canisters out into the hall. A fast cloud of carmine fog roiled over them, the vapors expanding like ink in water. Still kneeling, Anjin grasped Four-One onto his shoulder, gritting direction across the code-scrambled squad link, joining them into a blade of fighters he would drive through the pincer. HUD’s cycled, squaring targets via sonics and bleary photon signals. Zeta-1 sped through the hall for the far exit. Sound-dampening cloaked their boot-falls. Just until Anjin judged them to be just about on top of their barring enemies.

At once, six E-11D’s opened total fire. Corsairs burst apart. Munitions were cooked, bathing the Death Troopers in brief plumes of fire, as they stalked on, advancing and killing. Anjin slew shadows that stumbled and fired blindly in the red fog. He twitched his sights in a curt pan, cutting a Trandoshan’s skull off with punctuated fire through his throat. Then ejected his knuckle-blade, taking a pirate through a gap in their breastplate, slicing and cooking heart-meat and heavy arterial vessels. His next kill was a monstrous Weequay two-heads taller than any trooper in Zeta-1. He’d reared up, loping a heavy rotary-barrel repeater in his claws. Anjin skidded to a knee and foot, smashed the stock of his rifle into the Weequay’s groin plate. The xeno faltered and white pain etched up his craggy features. Six-Three and Six-Two cooked his torso and skull with combined fire.

“Still got numbers on our six, Zeta-Lead!”

“Four-One, hold that door. Seven-Nine, Six-Three, stay with her. Everyone else: up that flight.”

“The Supercommandos, sir?”

“Let them catch up. Zeta-1 is taking that bridge.”

“Sir!”

[member="Fabian"] [member="Valerie Rein"] [member="Horus Vizsla"]

 

[Horus Vizsla]

Mag booted fought the strength of Horus's leg before sucking their way back unto the hull of the Pirate's cruiser once, then again, then again and again as the former Mandalorian ran towards the nearest hull breach. There were notably more than one, as the pirates seemed unable to keep the craft in tip top shape, only repairing critical systems as needed. A terrible practice for true battle, but efficient enough for pirating he supposed. The cowards probably preyed on merchant freighters without escorts, seizing cargo and taking passengers as potential slave trade. They were unfit to be Mandalorians, without honor. They were unfit to be Imperial, without discipline.

Elsewhere the recruits had detonated their charges and destroyed the vessel's hyperdrive. While Zeta Squad took a route through the mess hall towards the bridge, the Jet-Troopers had found their way through the Barracks. This might have been a dangerous move normally, but most everyone was at battle stations now. There was a small force the Jet-troopers met, but the mass of anti-boarders, more used to boarding then being boarded in truth, had been directed the mess. As such Thirty-One was able to lead them through the barracks with minimal damage, sustaining some blaster scoring while Seven-five took a vibroknife to the gut. Forty-three's armor held against a twelve-gauge scatterslug while Eight-Nine patched Seven-Five with some bacta. '

"Status report Three-One?" Horus asked as he entered the ship from a broken maintenance hatch.

"We've sustained damage but are holding. About to enter the bridge. Zeta-squad may already be in there, I can hear blaster fire from the route opposite us." She reported.

"Seize the bridge. They'll break under the second attack in confusion, whether it is you or Zeta that makes the first strike. Enter now." Horus ordered.

"Copy that Lieutenant." Three-One replied, and the attack begun. He doubted it would be easy, pirate captains typically kept their best fighters as 'personal guards' on the bridge, but hopefully they'd surrender to Fabian soon. It was time to get this stygium and go home.

[member="Anjin Kent"]
[member="Fabian"]
[member="Valerie Rein"]

 

[Subject 37]

[member="Horus Vizsla"] | [member="Anjin Kent"] | [member="Fabian"]

The Venom Guard dropped out of hyperspace with a sudden lurch.

Where did they drop out?

Right behind the enemies reinforcements that had just appeared. The attack that the pirates had set had originally been created as a two fold attack. The first would arrive with the wave of pirates engaged by Lieutenant Fabian, the second was a small wave of fighters that would set upon the victims a blink later. It was a pincer move, meant to cut off any and all chance of retreat. Of course what the pirates hadn't counted on was the excellent planning of Lieutenant Fabian.

The moment the Pirates Reinforcements popped out into real-space, so did the Venom Guard.

Laser cannons immediately began to blare, engines flared to life, and a loud laugh echoed from Valerie's lips as she and her men engaged the pirate's lackluster little fleet. An odd sort of glee fell over her as she squeezed the small triggers on her controls, her voice chirping over the comm. ::Lieutenant, We'll keep these clear while you do your work.::

The glee was evident in her voice as they began to cut the enemy to ribbons.

 

[Marcus Tritum]

Warmth left Fabian's eyes at the pirate captain's response, eyes an acidic green. They made their choice. They would pay the price. The Empire would need to make an example of them. Alive, or dead.

"Hostile fighters dropping out of space, Captain. Our reinforcements coming in just behind them," said SensOps.

::Lieutenant, we'll keep these clear while you do your work::

"Understood, Flight Lead," Fabian replied. "What's the status of our boarding teams?"

"Breaching the bridge now, captain."

"Good," Fabian noticed that the sparks from the ceiling panel had burnt a hole through his sleeve. He glowered at the imperfection. "Ensign Wills, hammer their aft until their shields break, then put a salvo through their life support."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

The sloop shuddered, power coils hissing, as the pair of turbolaser turrets discharged bolt after bolt at the cruiser, neon green against the inky black.

[member="Valerie Rein"] | [member="Horus Vizsla"] | [member="Anjin Kent"]