EPISODE – Entry # 01010
Location: – Above Thyferra
Assigned Craft: My X-wing or My Other One
Astromech Partner: BRED (BB-30)
Current Mood: Determined
Background Noise: I can’t hear anything over the spherical Diva.
The
Grace of Theed was disappearing beneath weapons fire.
Long-range plasma crossed the system in brilliant lines. Commonwealth batteries found new angles around the Republic formation, tracking the ancient warship rather than the space it had previously occupied. Kainate artillery followed, tightly concentrated salvos descending upon shields already strained by an engagement that refused to end. Somewhere within the Republic formation, the
Grace continued pulling back. Not retreating.
Surviving.
Michael watched two escort cruisers move between the warship and the distant Commonwealth batteries.It wasn’t enough. The hostile formation simply changed its angle. New firing solutions appeared. Another barrage came. The forward shields surrounding the
Grace flashed so brightly that Michael’s canopy darkened automatically. The light faded. The warship remained. Wounded. Surrounded.
Fighting.
Then the next boarding wave appeared. Sixty-four Reavers. Thirty-two Skarnaths. Glaivewing autofighters poured around them in replenished swarms. Commonwealth fighters accompanied the advance, their approach vectors merging with the Kainate assault as every vessel converged upon the same objective.
The bridge.
The breaches surrounding it. The command decks already contested by Sith forces. BRED populated Michael’s display with contacts. Ten. Twenty. Fifty. The count continued rising. Michael said nothing.
One Reaver passed through the Republic defenses.
It struck the
Grace near the command superstructure. Docking clamps fired. Plasma torches ignited. Life-sign indicators began disappearing from the surrounding decks. Another Reaver followed. Then a Skarnath reached one of the existing breaches. Michael watched the tactical display update. Blackblades. Mowhefs. Crew casualties.
Emergency signals.
The Void surrounded everything. Michael could not feel the people dying aboard the
Grace. He could not reach toward Ala or sense the darkness moving through the ship. No warning pressed against the back of his thoughts. No unseen current carried answers toward him. There were only icons vanishing from a display.
That was enough.
BRED did not whistle. No sarcastic observation scrolled across the screen. The astromech simply placed firing solutions over every assault craft approaching the warship. Michael looked at them.
[You too?]
Wooo-beep
[Good.] The boy disappeared from his voice.
[Striker Squadron, new priority.] Eleven acknowledgements answered. Michael transmitted the incoming formation.
[If it’s moving toward the Grace, kill it.]
BRED flashed the weapons inventory across his display.
Wooo-beep
Michael watched another Reaver bite into the hull.
[None.] A moment passed.
Wooo-beep
Michael opened a channel to nearby Republic forces.
[Striker Lead. Incoming boarding wave belongs to us. Keep your batteries on the capital ships and anything that gets through.]
He switched back to the squadron frequency.
[Strikers, weapons free.] The tactical display turned red.
[All of them.] The twelve T-1650s accelerated.
They did not charge directly toward the boarding craft.
Michael studied their vectors. Carnifex’s forces were not approaching the entire
Grace. The Reavers and Skarnaths were concentrating upon the breaches already opened around the bridge, moving through overlapping approach cones toward a limited number of entry points. They had told Michael where they were going.
That was considerate of them.
“BRED, mark every breach within five decks of the bridge. Project final approach corridors for the assault craft.][/COLOR] Cones extended from the
Grace. The boarding vessels filled them. Michael distributed the projection across Striker Squadron.
“We don’t defend the whole ship.][/COLOR] His targeting reticle settled over the largest concentration. “We defend the doors.][/COLOR] The squadron divided.
[First Flight, Skarnaths. S-foils open. Feenix torpedoes.]
Four X-wings moved with Michael.
[Second Flight, close foils. Rotary cannons against the Reavers. Don’t chase anything that misses its approach.] Four sets of S-foils snapped shut.
[Third Flight, take the Glaivewings. Anything trying to land on the Grace belongs to you. Commonwealth escorts are hostile if they maintain attack vectors or engage Republic forces.] The final four fighters climbed above the formation.
Michael studied the assault wave.
The Skarnaths occupied the center of each approach corridor. Heavy armor protected them while Glaivewings and Commonwealth fighters screened their advance. Reavers used the larger transports as cover, darting between them as SLAM systems drove them toward the hull. A frontal attack would leave Striker Squadron exposed to every escort.So Michael did not order one.
[Phase echoes.]
Seventy-two X-wing contacts erupted across the battlefield. The false fighters appeared ahead of the Republic formation, racing directly toward the center of the boarding wave with targeting systems active. Hostile sensors filled with threats. The real Strikers disappeared beneath them. Sensor masks activated.
Emissions dropped.
Michael pulled First Flight away from the obvious approach, diving below the plane of battle while Second Flight climbed above it. Third Flight disappeared into debris drifting from the latest exchange between capital ships. The boarding formation reacted to the echoes. Glaivewings moved outward. Commonwealth fighters adjusted toward the apparent threat. The protective screen expanded. Openings appeared.
Michael saw them.
[First Flight, stay with me.] He rolled beneath a damaged Republic frigate and accelerated along the shadow of its hull. The
Grace filled half his canopy. Beyond it, the boarding craft advanced through fire and wreckage.
BRED began counting down.
Wooo-beep
[Now.] The real Strikers appeared among them. Michael opened his S-foils.
Four selective-fire cannons came alive.
The Skarnath ahead of him had no opportunity to turn its heaviest armor toward the sudden contact. Michael fired along its approach, pouring energy toward the lander’s engines and control surfaces before rolling beneath its ventral guns. He did not wait to see whether the shots struck. BRED had already marked the next target. A Feenix torpedo dropped from the weapons bay and accelerated toward a second Skarnath. Another followed half a heartbeat later, aimed toward the transport directly behind it.
First Flight fired.
Torpedoes crossed the approach corridors from multiple angles, racing toward cockpits, engines and heavily loaded troop compartments. Whether the lead transports absorbed the attacks or maneuvered away, every vessel behind them would be forced to react. The formation compressed. Skarnaths turned across one another’s vectors. Reavers scattered around the larger transports.
Second Flight descended.
Their S-foils remained closed. Twin rotary cannons opened fire. Continuous streams of energy crossed the Reavers’ final approach paths. The Strikers did not chase individual pods. They swept the corridors, forcing every boarding craft to pass through concentrated fire before reaching the hull.
One Reaver broke apart.
A second tumbled, plasma torches and docking clamps spinning away from its ruined body. A third drove through the barrage until rotary fire found its center and opened it from bow to engine. More continued. They came through the wreckage of the first vessels, SLAM systems burning as they raced toward the
Grace.
Second Flight turned and crossed them again.
Another Reaver vanished. Then two more. A damaged pod attempted to correct toward a secondary breach. A Striker rolled behind it, fired once and immediately moved toward the next target. There were no warnings. No demands for surrender.
No effort to drive them home.
The assault craft were carrying soldiers who had already begun killing everyone they encountered aboard the
Grace. Every Reaver that reached the hull became another dead engineer. Every Skarnath became a corridor full of Blackblades and Mowhefs advancing toward the bridge. Michael did not hate the people aboard them. He did not need to. They had chosen their destination.
Striker Squadron denied it.
A cluster of Glaivewings broke away from the escort screen and accelerated toward the
Grace. Their articulated wings spread as they prepared to find purchase upon the outer hull. Third Flight intercepted. Selective-fire cannons reached toward the autofighters. Laserfire converged across their paths, turning the space between them and the
Grace into a lattice of destruction.
Some pushed through.
Others attempted to engage the Strikers. The squadron met them head-on. Michael emerged from beneath the first Skarnath as a Glaivewing crossed his canopy. BRED marked it. Michael fired. The hostile fighter disappeared behind him as he rolled toward another transport. His eyes did not follow it. There were too many targets to admire anything.
[BRED, next.]
WARBLE BEEEPP BOOOp
Michael found the transport. Six Commonwealth fighters moved around it, screening the lander as it advanced toward the largest breach.
[Striker Three, high.]
One fighter climbed.
[Four, starboard.]
Another moved away. Michael remained alone in front of the formation. The Commonwealth contacts reacted. Their formation shifted toward him. Exactly as he wanted. Michael pushed the throttle forward. The six fighters filled his targeting display. Behind them, the Skarnath continued toward the
Grace. BRED produced a sharp warning.
Wooop
[I know.]
Wooeep
[Not yet.] The range collapsed. Commonwealth weapons fire began reaching toward him.
Michael rolled through it.
One burst passed beneath his port wing. Another crossed where his cockpit had been a fraction of a second earlier. His shields flashed beneath a glancing impact. He continued. The escorts tightened. Michael waited until they had fully committed to his approach.
[Three. Four. Now.]
Two Strikers descended upon the Skarnath from opposite angles. Torpedoes launched. Cannon fire followed, reaching toward the lander and the hostile fighters surrounding it.
Michael broke.
The T-1650 rolled between two Commonwealth contacts, selective-fire cannons blazing toward their flight paths as he passed. He claimed no hits. He assumed no pilot failed to evade.
He forced them to choose.
Follow him. Defend the Skarnath. Avoid the Strikers attacking from above. Avoid the torpedoes racing toward the transport behind them. Every choice cost them something. Michael came around again. The Skarnath remained on his display. So did several escorts.
[Still coming.]
Wooo-beep
[Then hit them again.] First Flight turned. More fire reached toward the formation. The assault wave continued.
It was no longer organized.
Burning Reavers drifted through the approach cones. Skarnaths maneuvered around damaged transports. Glaivewings scattered between real Strikers and sensor-perfect echoes. Commonwealth escorts fought through a battlespace that had become increasingly difficult to distinguish from its own tactical display. The Void had taken the Force.
Michael could still see.
He could still think. He could still fly. A flash erupted against the
Grace. One of the hidden fighters fired near the command superstructure. The shot was brief. Milliseconds. Then the contact disappeared. No sustained sensor signature followed. No gravitic anomaly. No useful mass reading. Only the place from which weapons fire had emerged and the damage left behind.
BRED attempted to correlate the flash.
Wooo-beep
Michael did not search for the fighter. He looked at the hull. Several tractor-beam emplacements surrounded the
Grace’s command section. Some had already begun turning toward the intermittent attacker. Power relays beneath the hull fed the bridge and the systems supporting it.
Bloodborn had attacked both.
The hidden fighter was not moving randomly. It had objectives. Michael marked the primary relay. Then the auxiliary. Then every tractor-beam generator positioned between them. Lines appeared. Possible attack corridors. Most were obstructed by the
Grace’s superstructure or crossed the defensive fire of nearby Republic vessels. A few did not.
[BRED, forget the fighter.]
Wauuuuuuuu.
[I know.] Michael highlighted the power relays.
[He wants those.] The tractor-beam generators followed.
[And those.]
Wooo-beep.
[We don’t need his position.] Michael rotated the projection.
[We know where he has to go.] Another weapons flash appeared.
Brief.
Violent. Gone. Michael’s eyes tracked the angle. The fighter was moving closer to the bridge.
[Third Flight, split. Two remain on Glaivewings. Two with me.] He transmitted the projected corridors.
[Do not attempt a lock. Bracket fire around every weapons discharge. Overlap these approaches.]
The Strikers moved.
Michael cut across the
Grace’s hull, flying low enough that the enormous ship filled the world beneath him. Armor plating raced beneath his wings. Defensive emplacements tracked threats above. Somewhere ahead, a fighter existed that instruments insisted did not. Michael did not care. A flash erupted near a tractor-beam emplacement.
[Left corridor.]
The two Strikers fired. Cannon bursts crossed the space surrounding the brief weapons bloom, reaching toward the invisible attacker’s possible vectors without declaring contact.
Michael fired toward the projected exit. He did not know whether Bloodborn remained there. He did not know whether the pilot turned, climbed, accelerated or simply allowed the shots to pass. That decision belonged to Bloodborn. The space no longer belonged to him alone. Another burst came from closer to the bridge relay. Michael rolled.
[Starboard.]
Striker fire reached toward it. Michael’s cannons followed, aiming along the route between the primary and auxiliary systems. Phase echoes appeared across the corridor, racing toward the place where the hidden fighter might emerge.
Chaff burst over the hull. Emergency flares ignited. Not to reveal the
Huxian. To make every optical, infrared and navigational decision more difficult. Michael opened a direct channel.
[There you are!]
There was no answer. He had not expected one.
[You came into my squadron.] A fresh weapons flash illuminated the hull. Michael turned toward it and fired.
[Now earn your way out.] He did not pursue.
That was what Bloodborn would want.
A chase would pull Striker fighters away from the boarding wave and allow the transports to reach the
Grace uncontested. Michael left the two Strikers bracketing the attack corridors and returned toward the assault. Bloodborn was dangerous. The shuttles were killing people now. They came first. BRED marked another thermal bloom beyond the
Grace.
Caligo.
The hostile craft appeared only intermittently across conventional sensors, but its massive weapon had left heat that stealth could not entirely erase. Rook Squadron continued its attack around the projected thermal track. Michael saw a firing opportunity. Not certainty. Opportunity.
[BRED, slave passive infrared to the fleet telemetry.]
Wooo-beep
[Don’t confirm it.] Michael rotated the T-1650 toward the ragged heat signature.
[Give me the lane.] The targeting computer created a broad intercept cone rather than a precise lock.
Caligo might turn.
It might accelerate. It might vanish beneath other sources of heat. Michael fired toward the projected course. Short bursts crossed the thermal track, adding Striker fire to the space around Petra’s attack without declaring impact or control over the hostile vessel. Then Michael broke away. Caligo belonged to the Rooks. The boarding wave belonged to him.
Another Skarnath crossed the perimeter.
This one had survived the opening torpedo volleys. Scorch marks covered its armor. Glaivewings surrounded it while Reavers clustered beneath its hull. Its approach led directly toward the command decks. Michael’s ammunition display flashed. Feenix torpedoes remained. Not enough for every transport.
Enough for this one.
[Strikers, collapse on my target.] Eleven fighters changed direction. No hesitation. No confusion.
No one questioned why Michael had selected a vessel that was neither the closest nor the most damaged.
They saw its course. They understood. The Skarnath had a clean line to the bridge. It had to die. First Flight approached from below. Second Flight crossed above with rotary cannons spinning. Third Flight swept in from the side, engaging Glaivewings and any Commonwealth escorts maintaining the transport’s approach. The assault craft fired back. Space filled with weapons.
Michael went through the center.
His shields flashed. A warning screamed as fire passed close enough to overwhelm one sensor cluster. BRED redirected power. The display cleared. The Skarnath grew across the canopy. Michael could see the armor seams. The weapon emplacements. The open recesses from which point-defense fire reached toward him. He did not pull away.
[BRED.]
Woooeep
[Cockpit.] Wooo-beep
[Engines.] Wooo-beep.
[Troop compartment.] The droid paused.
Wooo-beep
[All of them.] Michael fired. Cannons reached toward the Skarnath. Torpedoes followed.
The rest of Striker Squadron opened fire around him.
Rotary cannons poured sustained energy across the Reavers using the lander as cover. Selective-fire bursts reached toward Glaivewings and Commonwealth escorts. Torpedoes crossed the transport’s path from several directions. Michael claimed no result before the weapons arrived. He did not need to. The Skarnath would evade, endure or die. It would earn every meter. Michael passed beneath it and rolled into the Reaver formation. The first pod crossed his reticle. He fired.
It exploded.
The second attempted to climb around the wreckage. Michael followed long enough for his cannons to tear through it, then immediately changed targets. A third Reaver reached final approach. Striker Seven crossed behind it. Rotary fire opened the pod along its center. A fourth drove directly through the debris of the others.
BRED offered a firing solution.
Wooop. Michael had already fired. The Reaver vanished in a brief orange-white flash.
Wooo-beep
[It was going to be there.]
Auuuugh.
[Did I hit it?] A pause.
Wooo-beep
[Then write a complaint.] Michael turned toward the next group. The boarding wave was breaking. Not stopping.
Breaking.
Reavers still passed through the gauntlet. Some struck the
Grace. A Skarnath reached one of the existing breaches despite concentrated fire. More Glaivewings found purchase upon the hull and began attacking external systems. Striker Squadron could not stop all of them. Michael had known that before the first shot. Knowing did not make it easier to watch. Another Reaver disappeared against the hull. Michael flinched.
[One through.]
Wooo-beep.
[That isn’t better.]
Warble
Michael looked across the approach corridors.
They burned.
Destroyed pods drifted between the boarding formation and the
Grace. Damaged Skarnaths obstructed vessels behind them. Glaivewings maneuvered around phase echoes and Striker attack runs. Commonwealth fighters faced fire every time they attempted to screen another transport. The original wave had possessed formation. Momentum. Protection. Now every surviving assault craft approached alone or in fragments.
Michael tightened his grip on the controls.
[Then keep it that way.] The Strikers attacked again. One flight crossed the Reaver approach corridors. One flight launched against the Skarnaths. One remained between the
Grace and anything that survived.
Michael moved among all three.
He issued corrections before pilots asked for them. He marked targets before they became obvious. When Commonwealth fighters threatened one flight, another crossed their approach. When Glaivewings broke toward the hull, phase echoes appeared ahead of them and Strikers attacked from behind.
When Bloodborn fired, cannons turned toward the flash.
When Caligo’s thermal track offered an opening, Michael sent fire toward the projected course. When the Commonwealth screen moved closer, Striker weapons reached toward any fighter that chose to maintain its hostile vector. No result was assumed. No opponent’s skill was denied.
But nobody entered Michael’s battlespace without being challenged.
Another volley from the distant Commonwealth fleet reached the
Grace. The warship’s shields flashed. Kainate fire followed. The bridge superstructure disappeared briefly behind light and debris. Michael stared at it. Still there. Still fighting. He keyed the squadron channel.
[Strikers, listen carefully.]
Eleven fighters moved through the wreckage around him.
[The Sith want the bridge. The Commonwealth wants the ship. Every fighter around us is trying to make a hole for those transports.]
His targeting display marked the surviving assault craft.
[We are the hole.]
BRED chirped.
Weep
[Not now.]
Wooo
Michael pushed the throttle forward.
[Anything that wants the Grace comes through us.]
The nearest Skarnath turned toward the hull. Michael opened his S-foils.
[Make them regret it.]
Striker Squadron went to work. There was no grand charge. No screaming across the comms. No celebration when another Reaver came apart. Only movement. Target. Fire. Turn. Target. Fire. Turn. Brutal. Efficient. Angry.
The Force remained absent.
Michael did not need it to understand what he was seeing. Every assault craft carried death toward the
Grace. Every hostile fighter sought to clear its path. Every weapons flash betrayed an intention, even when it did not reveal a ship. Michael Angellus had spent much of his life wondering whether he deserved the name he carried.
Whether Liram’s blood meant anything when compared with the man his father had become. Whether command was inherited, taught or simply forced upon someone at the worst possible moment. There was no room for those questions now. The battle moved around him. And Michael understood it. Not perfectly.
Not completely.
Enough. He knew which transport had to die first. He knew where an invisible pilot wanted to fire next. He knew when a false contact could become a weapon and when a real fighter needed to disappear. He knew eleven people were waiting for his voice.
Michael painted the next assault group.
[First Flight, landers.] Four acknowledgements.
[Second Flight, Reavers.] Four more.
[Third Flight, clear the escorts.] The last three joined them. BRED populated his display with targets.
Wooo-beep
Michael looked toward the
Grace. Another assault craft accelerated toward her hull. His cannons began to spin.
[They said that about me living this long.]
Wooo-beep
Michael smiled without humor.
[Let’s make them wrong again.]
Twelve X-wings accelerated. Ahead, the surviving shuttles came on. Michael met them. No quarter. No mercy. No clear path to the
Grace of Theed.
TAG:
Petra
Knoll
Tiberius Rath
CT-312
Kurayami Bloodborn
Darth Carnifex
Damos Rennar
Rowyna Galeway
CUTTO SCENE -
This is where he is speaking in a different setting, as if recapping what he had just seen on a holovid
Wooo-beep
Kaivaan Raaf
Aurelian Veruna
|
Taeli Raaf
|
Verity Stuyveris
|
Vornak
|
Sibylla Abrantes
, certainly, wouldn't forgive Dominique is she just sat there and watched Aurelian get cut down.
