Kiff Brayde
The One and Only
E C H O E S
Word Count: 3,405
Location: Talay System, Rimward
Tag:
Verin Oldo
Kiff was many things. A gambler. A High Marshal. A suave rogue. A shameless charmer. But no matter what he was or what he did, Kiff had always felt a sense of honor and duty. To his people, to his crew, to his nation. The Confederacy had taken him off the streets when no one else had, and it was in the Confederacy that Kiff had found his true family. Jol. Orril. Verryk. They had all served with him and had become among Kiff's closest friends, akin to family.
The Agents of Chaos didn't know decency. They didn't know honor, and they only fought to kill and wreak terror. They openly lied through their teeth, unashamed of their crimes. Of course, that would usually only mean that Kiff would've considered them to be upstanding people of character, but the fact remained that they were attacking his home. His family.
Kiff was throwing a major Agents of Chaos-whoopin' party, and RSVPs were already through the roof.
If they were trying to pull off a surprise attack, Kiff was slightly surprised by the sheer ineptitude that the Agents of Chaos seemed to be displaying at the moment. His forces had been briefed by Intelligence Command, and apparently, the terrorists had decided to make not only their location but the date of attack known to the entire galaxy. Kiff could only assume that their egos had been astronomically inflated from their smash-and-grab run on Ryloth, but even Kiff, who was as egotistical as you could get, still had a couple of ounces of common sense in his brain.
Kiff's entire fleet sat in dead orbit around a lifeless, nameless moon-sized planet in the Talay System, with all power turned off and systems running on minimal support. They were hiding, in essence, from any watchful scanners or would-be invaders; the gravity well of the moon concealed the physical presence of Kiff's fleet, and all comm chatter had been silenced until the signal was given from command. Kiff was intent to sit and wait for the Agents of Chaos to reveal themselves.
In the meantime, who said that waiting had to be boring?
Kiff, Commander Jol, and Lieutenant Orril sat around a small circular table in Kiff's expansive quarters of the Victator, the Invictus-class battlecruiser that had served as the High Marshal's flagship since before he'd even been promoted to the rank. The battlecruiser, like every other ship in the fleet, was running on emergency, and so only a single emergency light illuminated the room, situated directly over the table. On that table was a worn pack of Correllian Spike Sabacc, and right now Kiff and his two officers were in a heated match, a stack of credits sitting in the 'pot' in the middle. Technically gambling was against fleet regulation, but as the highest-ranking officer in the said fleet, Kiff was able to get some leeway for that.
"Fifteen," Jol called out, his mouth masked by a luscious white beard. The old first mate had his officer's cap still on, and his crinkled brown eyes were focused intently on his cards. Everything about Jol seemed to speak "regulation," from the crisply ironed cuffs to the polished boots of his impeccable uniform. In many ways, the Commander was indeed a great foil to the unorthodox approaches that Kiff took to his command and his life in general.
"I'll raise you by twenty," Verryck declared as he pushed the appropriate amount of credits into the table; Kiff and Jol obligingly did the same. Verryck had served with Kiff before Jol had, but the senior comms master had spent a good several months at Sector Command before being reassigned to Kiff's flagship. Even when he'd been stationed on Fondor, Kiff and Verryk had found chances to catch up on things, and now that he was back it felt just like old times; times when Kiff had just been a Sky Marshal running across the galaxy chasing for battle and glory.
"Fifty," Kiff said with a devilish smile, letting that be the only outward sign of whatever his intents or purposes were. For Kiff, a smile was just as effective as a poker face, and if anything it only had his opponents guessing more. Jol raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he slid his own credits into the pot, but Verryk let out a bark of laughter before throwing in his own share.
"Here are the spike cards," Verryk announced as he dealt out the third card to himself, Jol and Kiff, all facing up. Varryk had gotten a negative nine, Jol a three, and Kiff himself had gotten a plus-seven. Jol's nine was definitely a chance draw, a card that could have both a lot of risks or a lot of rewards, depending on the value of the first two cards that Jol had received. Jol seemed unperturbed as he cast his bet, a high thirty that seemed not-characteristic of the old commander
"Double," Verryk replied almost instantly, his dark eyes shining almost as much as his jet-black hair. Kiff's smile remained as he simply raised an eyebrow in an almost mirror-like reflection of Jol. The actual Jol merely gruffed and put his number in the pot. The man didn't exactly have the same taste for theatrics as Kiff and Verryk did.
"And I'll double that," Kiff finished as he slid a total of one-hundred and twenty credits into the pot, which was by now getting rather large. All three put their credits in a pile before Kiff picked up the dice. The next step in a standard game of Correllian spike would be to roll the dice, and either discard two cards of choice or if double 'spikes' were rolled, they would all have to discard and start with a new set of cards.
Kiff picked up the dice, feeling them tumbling around in his cupped palm as he shooked them.
He rolled.
[] Some Time Later. . . []
It was surprising how fast a civil game of Sabacc could denigrate into a full-out fight.
"Fifteen. I raise it by fifteen."
"Feth that. You don't even have fifteen to put in."
"I'm a High Marshal. I have enough credits to raise it by however much I want."
"I don't see any chips on the table, so unless you want to show me those fething three extra chips, you're out of the round."
"To Malachor with that. I'm raising it by twenty."
"Are you two going to continue your bickering, or can we continue our game?" Jol's stern voice cut through and Verryk's heated argument. The two sat down with the feel of two fighting children being told off by a parent, obligingly but only just so. Sulking, Kiff turned around to an unmade bed and grabbed a small wallet out of a personal drawer, unfolding it and procuring the necessary credits.
"Here they are, happy?" He asked, slapping it down on the table to the unapproving glare of Jol's steady gaze. "Sorry," he added, not looking at either Verryk or Jol in a rare moment of humility, but luckily the two decided to leave it at that. "Now," Kiff continued at last, "I raise it by twenty," he said in exaggeration as he pushed twenty individual chips, one-by-one, into the pot.
Verryk raised his hands in mock protest, but the matter had been settled. At the very least, the comms officer knew that more credits in the game meant more that he could potentially win. The man's black eyes followed intently as Kiff's hands shook and rolled the spike dice, watching them bounce on the cold metal surface of the table. The dice rattled for a second before settling, the green double spikes shining clearly from their final resting space -- all cards would be discarded and replaced. Even Jol groaned in displeasure.
A sudden ping on Kiff's personal comlink interrupted their gameplay, and Kiff brushed past the sleeve of his naval flight jacket to open the transmission. The words were simple and succinct -- "Hostiles at Talay." Kiff didn't read out loud the message, but when he looked up Verryk and Jol seemed to already know; both of their faces were suddenly solemn with the impending thought of battle. "We'll pick this back up when it's all over," Jol said with finality, nodding as the three stood up and began to make their way to the command bridge.
The walk between Kiff's personal quarters and the bridge of the Victator was thankfully short. It had been an admittedly long time since the High marshal had been in command of his own flagship; the aging Invictus-class battlecruiser had spent several months at the drydock undergoing extensive renovations and repairs. Life wasn't easy for a heavy-duty battlecruiser, but now the Victator was once more in peak fighting condition, with perfect timing for this latest deployment.
Verryk headed off to the comms station, but Jol remained by Kiff's side as he arrived at the holoprojection table that made up the battle management system of the Victator. Kiff ran his hand affectionately over the cold, but the familiar metal surface of his ship. "Let's take her for one last spin, eh?" he said aside to Jol as the battle management system lit up with a holographic display of the Talay system, the namesake planet, and the position of Kiff's fleet highlighted. Jol nodded in his affirmation, giving only a warm smile in response.
Kiff pinched in the display, enlarging the image of Talay to the point where the planet itself was so large that it clipped out of the holoprojection. The multitude of ships made deciphering the projection near impossible, but a quick key change highlighted them in a different color - identified friendly ships as purple, hostiles as red, and the rest as blue. Moving away from the planet, he let the system focus on the Confederate and terrorist fleets present. "Present communications indicate that the entirety of the terrorist armada is operating under two separate commanders, given the fact that two separate fleets arrived in the system at different times."
The High Marshal nodded as he zoomed in further, taking note of the positions of the ships. A faint communication relay of what appeared to be the leading terrorist admiral played out in the background, but Kiff chose to take little head of that. He was more interested in the formation of the enemy ships in the rear of the fleet. "Right there," he said at long last, pointing towards the rear. "They're arranged in a standard v-formation, with their backs virtually turned. Hit them from the behind and we can virtually fold them in."
Jol nodded carefully, following Kiff along as he explained the plan. As the High Marshal finished, Jol allowed for a polite pause before pointing at several small clusters of ships, three small groups of four frigate-sized ships spread well apart from each other, even further from the rear than the main formation of ships. "From their placement, those could have some sort of long-range armament onboard. They need to be taken care of, lest we jump right in front of them with our backs exposed."
Kiff nodded. "Right," he said, trailing off as his mind raced, looking back and forth between the various fleet formations. At long last, he came up with a solution. "I'll just drop the carrier line on them," he said with a slight sense of grandeur.
Jol raised his eyebrows. "Do you have three carrier lines?"
"No," Kiff admitted, "but I have two assault cruisers and some flak frigates that can be used to eradicate the other two formations. If they're actually built for long-range combat, they shouldn't stand a chance if we drop an Argente-class or two on them."
"Sounds like a plan," was Jol's reply. "I'll go and calculate the jumps, you give the orders?"
Kiff nodded, and the two friends clasped hands before walking their separate ways -- Jol to the internal systems section, Kiff around the holodisplay to the front of the bridge where he could enjoy a panoramic view of the starfield that lay beyond. Kiff took a moment to breathe in before he turned to comm-scan, Verryk already standing at the ready.
"There are three groups of long-range frigates sitting outside of the formation; inform the Last Disciple that they, the Ormano and the Carrion are to jump to the furthest formation and eradicate them with extreme prejudice, weapons-free. The Shadowrun, the Xalion, and the Moon Dark are to do the same with the formation on the furthest opposite side. In the meantime, the Silver Wings and Destined Call are to drop onto the middle long-range formation, with the Arkham Nights behind it," Kiff said as a line was immediately drawn between the appropriate ships to their destination. Activity on the bridge began to stir as orders were relayed to their respective captains and commanders.
Kiff turned away from the vexing problem of the long-range formations, back to the main fleet in the rear. "The rest of the formation will be jumping in the rear of the main ships, from behind enemy position and slightly closer to the prevention point of the flotilla lead by the Shadowrun. The Apotheosis and Iron Lord are to revert in a line on the left of the flagship, on the side closer to the Shadowrun, while the Exigent, Carrhae White, and Ikelos are to revert in a line on the right of the Victator, in that order. Corvettes in the attack line are to be in the shield bubbles of the larger star destroyers and battleships to provide point-defense support."
"Immediately when we arrive, we are weapons-free. I want as many enemy ships destroyed as quickly as possible. Prepare the fleet to make the jump for hyperspace," Kiff finished, nodding for the corresponding officers to make to their posts as the Victator prepared for battle. The High Marshal took a second to watch them, before turning towards Verryk, who seeing that the High Marshal was looking at him, left his comm-station to walk up to him. "Also," Kiff said in a lower tone as Verryk stopped in front of him, "I want an open frequency to transmit to all present ships ready as soon as we revert. I think it would be. . . polite to give them a verbal response."
Verryk nodded, a knowing smile crossing his face as he winked at the High Marshal before moving back to the comm-station. Kiff turned back to the front of the ship to see that Jol had suddenly materialized, looking as trim and orderly as ever. It was almost odd to think that not even ten minutes ago he, Jol, and Verryk had been playing a game of Sabacc, and now they were here preparing to drop unexpectedly into an enemy war fleet. It was that kind of surprise and daring that Kiff lived for. "The fleet is fully prepared and on standby, High Marshal," Jol informed Kiff with formality, but a twinkle of his eye and with warmth in his smile. "All they're waiting for is your command."
Kiff nodded, a tad more solemn than he had been a minute earlier. He looked around the busy bridge of the Victator, suddenly quiet as they awaited his final order. Kiff let the moment sink in before nodding in finality. "Punch it."
The black-and-white starfield receded into the blue swirls of hyperspace as the Victator left one dimension and traveled into the next.
The voyage was incredibly short, as was the custom of most system-wide microjumps. It was less than ten seconds before the blue swirls of hyperspace receded back into the starfield as the Confederate armada reverted back to realspace, but now the view was littered by the dozens of terrorist ships that obstructed view. Klaxons blared, and the Victator deaccelerated quickly to a stop, barely avoiding full-on ramming into a formation of corvettes that, from Kiff's point of view, were arranged in an inverted v-formation. He would've fired right as they reverted to hyperspace, but first, he had to make some sort of entrance.
"Commander, General, whoever you are, I've come to inform you that you guys are what normal people like to call terrorists. I'd love to leave this system, but first I'm going to have to, unfortunately, blast your ships into pieces of nothing," Kiff replied over the open comms as the warships of the Confederacy opened fire, thundering to life as they spat out all they had against the opposing ships. He didn't even need to give the order. "Even though you would rather cower behind the lives of civvies -- which, if you did your homework, you would know this planet didn't have any to even begin with -- I'm don't have a fething piece of bantha crap for morales, so what I'll try to make your deaths as quick as possible. Stay tuned into this frequency for some fitting music," Kiff finished as he began to broadcast a popular electronic dance song from Fondor before signing off of the communication and turning to the battle at hand.
The High Marshal watched approvingly as the guns of the Victator blasted away at the enemy fleets. But the battle was far from over. "Gunnery, I want the Victators tractor beam generators to focus each on a separate corvette -- immobilize it, and inform your crew that they have target practice. Comm-scan, order each Grievous-class to do the same thing. Most primary weapons should be focusing on the larger ships in their formation, but once the corvettes are destroyed, every ship is permitted to use their full arsenal with impunity. Aim for their weak spots -- by flanking, we're looking at all the unarmored and poorly defend spots. Use it to our advantage. And I want that composite beam laser charged, and prepare to targe the lead Monarch-class Star Destroyer."
Even as Kiff said the words, laser fire continued to pour out from the mainline of star destroyers and battlecruisers. Missiles left white streaks as each launcher propelled dozens of dozens with each volley, targeting the Monarchy and Sentinel-class ships of the terrorist fleet. The missiles launched were the latest M19 Firefly Assault Concussion Missiles, designed to deploy flares in a manner that would confuse enemy point defense systems. Even from the distance, Kiff could see the tiny orange umbrellas of light as the assault concussion missiles descended on their respective targets.
The closer-range guns of the forward fleet focused on the corvettes, Sentinel, and Mark VII, while the long-range mass driver cannons focused on the further-away Monarch-class Star Destroyers. None of the ships had deployed fighter squadrons, but the point-defenses of the Grievous-class Star Destroyers and Flak Frigates were prepared to fire at any hostile small craft on sight.
Even as the battle unfolded at the front of the Confederacy's flanking formation, Kiff's plan for the rear ships was being enacted as well. An individual Argente-class Assault Cruiser, accompanied by two Flak Frigates had jumped right on top of either of the far-flung formations of the long-range frigates, all ships immediately opening fire on all surrounding frigates, using the powerful mass-driver cannons and assorted weapons to deal as much damage as possible. Each assault cruiser also launched their fighters to offensively strafe the surrounding frigates, each cruiser containing two squadrons of Mk III Vulture Droids.
Meanwhile, two escort frigates dropped right on top of the center formation of long-range cruisers, opening fire with their armaments as well and deploying their single squadron of Vulture Droid fighter each, amounting to two squadrons total strafing the enemy frigates. The escort frigates were not meant to be the primary hitting force, however, as the massive Arkham Nights reverted into hyperspace a half-kilometer away from the enemy and friendly frigates, spewing forth its own squadrons of offensive fighters to take on the frigates.
As the battle raged, Kiff and Jol stood side-by-side at the fore of the bridge of the Victator, watching as the stars were painted by bright streaks of laser fire and the lights of war. It was in moments like these that they did not speak to each other, so great was the power of the battle that stood before them. But despite that, the two -- the High Marshal and his right-hand man -- didn't need words to communicate what they were feeling. Their bond was beyond that. And so the two men watched.
They watched as the galaxy before them burned.
