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The Blazing Freedom and it's two escorts exited hyperspace far from Dac's reach into neighboring deep space, stealth systems still engaged. Undetected.
Aboard, Zoro Igala
prepped his troops.
"Men, we're engaging in a high stakes mission. The objective is simple. do as much damage as you can. The Imperials won't expect us coming, and we're still far enough out that long range sensors will struggle to pick you up. We've pre-programmed your systems to microjump you right on top of them once you get spaceborn. Any questions?"
A responding 'No Sir' rang out through the Blazing Freedom's barracks, before the pilots headed towards their ships.
The Raid had begun.
Only a few minutes later, the sensors of the Imperial ring lit up with hundreds of starfighters jumping out of hyperspace nearby.
Objective Two: Checkpoint Charlie
[Spy Shit/PvP/Social]
While the Rebel forces prepped their attack, on the opposite side of the Mon Cala Ring, it was business as usual. Imperial Shipping found two Cruiser Sized Freighters exitting hyperspace, as per planned. They had called ahead several days and reserved splot on docking bays 4 and 8, with a shipment of grain from Lothal, a tribute from the people of Lothal to the Imperial War Machine. Everything was above board...
Or so it would seem.
Aboard the freighters, two forces worked in opposition.
Yaeger Sularen
sat in the driver's seat, calling in the haul.
"Breaker Break, this is Yaeger Sularen of the Squawker over Channel 5, Docking Bay 8, Requesting landing perms, as per reserved agreement. Looking for a Drop and Hook, my fellow freighter is dropping off at Docking Bay 4, same deal. I think he's a Sleeper Run after this, so I'll be breaking off from him after. Over and Out."
While, inside the ship, Jonyna Si
stood waiting alongside a group of mercs. Deep in the haul, far enough inside that no immediate scans would detect them.
The trap was being sprung in sequence. As the two cruiser sized freighters docked and were boarded by Stormtroopers, only then did the Starfighters exit hyperspace and begin their attack.
The coordinated strike was surgical off the bat. The Hurricanes broke off, each targetting one of the 24 Defense Satellites with a barrage of ion and proton torpedoes, overwhelming the point defense guns and knocking them out of the sky with a round of fireworks.
All the while, the B-wings used their long range Ion Cannons to engage the 4 Avrils from afar, far outside their range.
The X-wings followed, swarming and drawing the fire from the enemy point defense guns, before the Y-wings came in with a barrage of Ion Torpedos to follow.
For now, it was a symphony of chaos. The Imperial Defenses falling one by one.
Amongst the chaos, a lone fighter flew amongst the X-wings. His objective was different. He was watching the skies for any problem children. Wild Weaseling his way through Imperial defensive fire, in favor of keeping an eye out for incoming attacks.
His eyes were focused on somewhere else. His guns were aimed at the defense platform in front of him.
He was waiting for someone to make themselves known. Tie pilots weren't exactly known for subtlety.
“A grain shipment?! Being delivered to a shipyard? Are we sure this was cleared above board?”
A small element of Titan Squadron had been tasked with patrolling the perimeter of the Mon Calamari Shipyards. Given the presence of a number of VIPs who were visiting to oversee the construction of various new starship classes, the deployment of some of the Confederation’s most elite starfighter pilots had been deemed necessary to ensure that the space around the shipyards was secure and by extension, to ensure the safety of the VIPs. Still, it was somewhat out of the ordinary to give an elite squadron an assignment which under normal circumstances would have amounted to little more than a simple patrol. Nevertheless, the mission was the mission, and Priesse intended to complete it to her best.
Hence, her questioning of the grain shipment.
“You don’t usually deliver grain to a shipyard, do you?” Priesse continued over the squadron’s comms. Although she was only a Cadet, something about this seemed highly irregular. Not to mention, her chronoceptive corona had been lighting up her awareness with precognitive shimmers for the last ten minutes. Although many were situated at the opposite side of the ring, she had seen the crimson trajectories of swarming X-Wings, the blossoming plumes of bombs and missiles going off, and defense satellites overwhelmed by streaking lances of fire.
And worst of all, the hottest of her shimmer-visions seemed to center around and within the two innocent-looking freighters.
A raid was coming. And it would start within the minute. Of course, Priesse had known that for at least the last six minutes, but the Seseli had been unable to do anything owing to her rank and out of fear of revealing her secret.
At the very least though, with time bleeding away, she could warn as many people as would listen.
“We have to stop those freighters from reaching the shipyards...” Priesse tried one more time, her tone threaded with urgency.
Too late. It was then that space ripped apart as hundreds of hyperspace signatures erupted into being. Her network-linked sensor readout lit up with contacts then, her eyes blowing wide open as she took in the tide of pings filling her HUD. Although the vast majority of them were approaching the other side of the ring, she knew immediately what it meant.
“You think something is going on?” Bido considered over the channel. Something was definitely off, and Titan 10’s instincts were definitely picking up on something. She’d been tense for the last hour and Bido suspected that Priesse’s precognitive tendencies were acting up today.
Bido felt a compulsion to impart some of her experience to the much younger pilot, “Well, the shipyard part doesn’t really bother me so much. Big, planet-scale ring stations like these are often capable of processing their own food, and it solves a lot of logistical problems if done correctly. No… what’s concerning is that this grain a land-based carbohydrate. The Mon cala and quarrians—who run this station—are sea-based bipeds. Land-based carbs don’t typically jive well with their digestive systems. I would know. I’m an aquatic mammal myself…”
She pondered the grain shipments a moment longer. The sheer volume of grain cargo on those cruisers was arguably too much to justify stockpiling for hosting foreign guests.
But at least this was something. Bido had not willingly explained this to Priesse Namada
, but the sole reason why Titan Squadron, Flight 3 had been given this assignment was to punish Bido. During a recent training exercise on Mon Calamari, Bido had allowed her subordinates to slack-off after getting shot down. The action had displayed what the brass considered to be a lax in professionalism and would have preferred her to retask her downed pilots with assisting efforts on the ground with the other ground forces.
As a consequence, they assigned her, and her fellow flight-mates, to patrol duty on Mon Calamari.
Before she could start to bully herself internally for her lack of professionalism, Titan 10’s crackling voice cut through her voice thoughts.
Bido shook her head to get a grasp on Titan 10’s sudden urgency. No artifacts were appearing on scopes. Bido knew that Priesse had good intuition, and to trust it. But to interdict a legitimate shipment on the basis of suspicion required a bit more restraint. “Slow down, Ten. Let’s just start with a flyby inspection and then follow up with an inquiry.”
However, the cruisers were already beginning to dock with the station. She tried to steer the squadron towards the cruisers to commence a short range sensor scan. Just then, the scopes on her DS-47 exploded with contacts! Fighters and bombers blossomed into the void from hyperspace and clawed around to secure their grip on the station with lashing weapons! Different units broke off to deal with defence platforms nearby. X-wing variants prowled around and behind the bombers, eager to intercept any efforts by imperial forces to hinder the bombing runs.
Bido swallowed hard to clear her throat to dole out orders, “Titan Squadron, Fight 3 form up on me! Call out readiness and then we’ll move in together! Don’t risk your lives any more than you have to!”
After nearly a century of flying, she had enough on her conscience. Keeping her squad mates alive mattered more to her than defeating the enemy.
As far as she was concerned, Titan Squadron Flight 3 was under her protection. Everything else was secondary.
He had understood his assignment to Mon Calamari, deep within New Imperial space, to be a routine patrol and anti-piracy run. A good chance for his crews to relax and regain their spirits after previous weeks full of challenging deployments. In fact, Felix had just been preparing to transfer over to the Furious to partake in a splendid grav-ball tournament with the ship’s officers when the news broke.
Rebel starfighters were attacking the shipyard.
Felix abruptly reversed course, leaving the Triumph’s hangar and awaiting shuttle to return to the bridge of his flagship. Seconds later, alarms blared across the cruiser, crew and officers rushing by to man battle stations. He rushed towards the bridge, a lid hastily placed over his cup full of Earl Grey tea and the coattails of his impeccable suit flowing behind him.
Minutes later, the commodore was back at his post on the bridge of the Triumph of Will. Officers around him pored over radar readings and projected velocities, allowing the Imperial defenders to understand what exactly they were facing and where. Felix paused to take a long sip of his tea - a sign the officers under his command had long learned meant that he expected information as soon as he finished his drink.
“Radar is picking up at least twenty squadrons of small craft,” announced a radar specialist. “Known signatures are X-Wings, Y-Wings, and B-Wings. There is also an unknown bomber-sized model.”
“We’ve lost contact with nearly all the southern sector’s small defense satellites.” warned a signals officer. “The Avrils are being bombarded from beyond their effective range."
“This is not at all delightful.” remarked Felix. “Gentlemen, it is time to act. I will address the fleet."
He strode over to the front of the bridge, his posture as flawless as always as he took the captain’s seat as he engaged the intercom.
[We are under attack. Extollers, advance at quarter-thrust but keep TIEs reserved. All secondaries should target the Y-wings once in range. Persuader and Monarch, stay back and deploy fighters only. Our starfighters will be outnumbered out there, but not for long. All wings will concentrate on the most urgent threat to both the station and the fleet - the Y-wings and their escorts. Harass them and provoke their escorts into breaking ranks. They will be easy targets for our point-defense cannons and the elite pilots of Titan Squadron. The Avrils will have to hold out against the B-wings until reinforcements arrive or the Y-wings are eliminated and the fleet can advance more readily.]
“Our orders are the same as those for the Extollers.” concluded Felix. “Advance at quarter thrust, keep TIEs in reserve."
Felix’s small fleet was positioned several kilometers within and above the orbital ring of Mon Calamari’s shipyards, the five Extollers forming a wedge-shaped vanguard, the Triumph two kilometers behind the center Extoller, and the two Laimars evenly spaced apart with their weapons retracted another four kilometers behind the Triumph. Following Felix’s orders, every ship except the Laimars engaged their engines at a cautious quarter thrust, advancing towards the battlefield without immediately rendering themselves vulnerable to rebel starfighters.
In the backline, Persuader and Monarch became visible to long-range radar as their hangars opened up, four dozen NCE-100a starfighters spilling out from the underbellies of the carriers. Only after the last squadron formed up outside the two Laimars did their hangar doors close, once more reducing the radar signature of their profiles. Neither carrier was designed for frontline combat, and Felix had the good sense to keep them concealed well away from the action even as their starfighters accelerated ahead of the Extoller vanguard.
True to Felix’s orders, the wing leaders of each NCE-100a squadron made sure their first strike was from beyond the range of the laser cannons of the X-Wings, aiming to draw them into range of both Titan Squadron and the point-defense cannons of the Extollers. At around fifteen kilometers away from the closest X-wings, the six NCE-100a squadrons spread out into a thin but wide hexagonal net, maximizing their angles of fire upon the Y-wings ahead.
Each starfighter had been equipped with Option 2 detachable weapon pods, enabling them to hold five FAE/WH-04-S4 smart concussion missiles per fighter. From a distance of around ten kilometers, the pilots acquired a multi-spectrum lock on the frontmost forty-eight Y-wings, the wing leaders careful to designate targets amongst pilots to avoid having two starfighters accidentally lock onto the same Y-wing. Once all the Imperial starfighters had locked onto a unique target, they fired three of their five concussion missiles and then abruptly scattered, now flying away from the rebel starfighters in pairs towards either the Extollers or the Mon Calamari shipyard ring.
From the bridge of the Triumph, Felix observed the mobilization of his fleet with growing confidence. Despite being caught off guard, his crew and officers had sprung to action within seconds and had all battle stations manned within minutes. The fleet’s maneuvers were being carried out with precision and punctuality, both traits which Felix highly valued in his subordinates.
“Jolly good.” exclaimed Felix, a warm smile on his face as he sipped from a fresh new cup of Earl Grey. “At this rate we’ll have these rebels run out of town by suppertime."
"You may begin when ready, Captain Tennnor", Fleet Admiral Vorin Zonill stated as he watched her command the MIN Gundark. In front of her ship was a firing line consisting of four CR125U Corvettes and a single CR90-EE Corvette. During the Battle of the Florrum Hypergate, Jadaale Tennnor had shown great initiative and skill aboard the Disruptor-class Ion Cannon Carrier that she had been stationed on, so much so that the Imperial Remnant was considering giving her command over the MIN Gundark, the personal command vessel of Salvage Team Six. This exercise was, in reality, merely a formality designed to help Zonill best understand Tennnor's strengths and weaknesses going forward, and to see how she would respond under pressure from external and unknown sources.
In front of her battlegroup lay a single Vilifier-class Star Destroyer, far too damaged to be salvaged or restored back into Mahporeenian service. It would instead serve as the basis for today's test, as Tennnor would be tasked with destroying the vessel and the many TIE Vultures stationed aboard it without ANY "loss" of friendly capital ships. A daunting task, perhaps, but one that Zonill was confident Captain Tennnor could pull off. Before she could even give a single order, however....
"Mayday, mayday! This is the Mon Calamari Shipyards, requesting emergency assistance from any nearby Imperial forces! We are under attack, I repeat, we are under attack from the Wild Space Rebellion!"
Curses! The Wild Space Rebellion had stuck at last, interrupting the exercise that Zonill had prepared for Captain Tennnor. Yet, as dire as situation as this was, it could also provide Tennnor with some valuable experience.
"Captain Tennnor, belay that order. You have a new objective: to save our shipyards from the rebels and terrorists attacking it! I am leaving you in full command of this vessel and the vessels attached to it, along with the TIE Vultures that had been stationed aboard your previous target. I authorize you to use any means necessary to defeat our enemy. May the galaxy be with you, Captain".
"Understood, sir. I won't let you down. Let's give these rebels some hell!"
With that, the Gundark, the four CR125U Corvettes and the CR90-EE Corvette began to make their way toward the fighters that Zoro Igala
had brought with them, being careful to maintain close unit cohesion and a tight formation as they did so. If the Florrum had taught them anything, it was that a well maintained formation could prove the difference between victory and defeat when facing a numerically superior foe. All the assembled ships would travel closely to one another so that they could all benefit from the firepower each vessel brought to the fight. The starfighters carried aboard the Gundark and the CR125U Corvettes were to be held in reserve until the fleet got closer to its target: Tennnor was intending to releasing all of them at once to try and overwhelm the enemy fighters before her Corvettes and Cruiser could lend their weight of fire to the battle.
Meanwhile, large numbers of TIE Vultures began streaming toward the Wild Space Rebellion ships so that they could begin the process of estimating the enemy's strengths and tactics. If they were lost, it would be of no big consequence to Tennnor, since the ships were essentially disposable anyway. The shipyards they were trying to protect? Not so much...
James was feeling good, he was piloting his baby this time under the name Liberty, Freedom and Independence. So far James was holding back, it had been tempting to join the freighters making the first run. Very tempting, but in the end James had decided they didn't need any more help by throwing in a wild card on a precision strike. James ship would be better suited to the dogfighting that would follow. Although not quite as nimble as an interceptor, nor packing a payload like a bomber, the XYZ Freighter was more than capable of holding it's own, at least for the purposes of a raid. It had enough armaments to do some real damage, at least against starfighters, maybe even a corvette if he got lucky.
All of this against their own ships, The Rebellion Class Destroyer, where the hell the rebellion had got a hold of their own destroyer James didn't know, didn't ask questions, and didn't care, he was just glad to have it. Two escort frigates- James knew they didn't pack much in way of armaments but they sure could take a punch. Then of course the usual selection of the Alphabet of starfighters. Which was basically whatever the Wild Space Rebellion could pack together for this little enterprise, as demonstrated by James's own seemingly junker freighter taking part in the battle.
"This is going to be a tough battle."
James grinned.
"Bring it on."
James decided the best place for him was covering the Y Wings on their bombing runs, they would be the target of the enemy fighters, if he were able to provide a bit of cover for them while they did so, freeing up the escort starfighters to chase off or down kills then so much the better. It wasn't the most glory hound position of the battle, but it was the smart play. James was a big believer in smart over flashy.
Hypheer wondered how Imperial pilots got so good. She had been shot down and captured by this Titan Squadron not too long ago. She spent some time in jail and then at the academy. At the academy they spent more time teaching her proper manners than how to fly a TIE fighter. Of course, the pilots who managed to shoot her down might have explained that she was a stellar pilot already and they just needed to make her an Imperial. Maybe the green pilots got tons of simulator time and instruction on how to dominate a battlefield. Hypheer only learned that failure to follow orders would land her back in prison.
As her TIE "Pixie" drifted along with her new squadmates her thoughts drifted to the time waiting prior to that last jump to hyperspace as "Rocket Queen" under the command of Captain Iron Hand. The waiting was boring, but there was the promise of something exciting just a short jump away. Patrol work was just as boring, but there was no telling if anyone, like the Void's Toll, would break the monotony. Then the horned psychic pilot's voice came over the comms. Questioning the validity of a grain delivery.
Hypheer didn't know how things worked in "civilized" systems, but in the Void's Toll if you wanted to eat you took whatever was offered when and where it was offered. The former pirate wasn't about to question the call to action though. When Titan 10 called out that they needed to stop the delivery Hypheer was all about having something to do.
"Titan Eleven is locked and loaded," Hypheer called out as she stated flipping the instruments to be ready to engage. As she prepared to veer towards the super freighters that Priesse had targeted as the threats, it seemed something else was going on. It was then that Titan 9 called for them to form up on him. Hypheer hated being the follower, but that's what was demanded of her for now.
"Titan 11 in formation, still ready to engage when ordered. I'll follow your lead 9."
As the freighter landed, Jonyna looked to her men with resolve. A small contigent from Ashley Nevermore
's squad had volunteered, alongside the vode of Strill and Clan Krayt to hit the Empire where it mattered.
Slipping out of the cargo hatches was easy. Yuri had made sure that the Golem was large enough no Stormtrooper could possibly search it in time before they found the many hidden compartments.
Jonyna herself, had planned this for months. Her usual loadout was discarded, in favor of only her lightsabers and her pistols. It was all she could hide in her coat. Swords were too conspicuous.
With the raid fully underway, the security on the northern side was scrambling.
It meant that getting into it was going to be child's play.
<Yuri, The Cat is out of the Bag. We're waiting for you now.> A discrete message sent over their vambrace communication, as she and her five men slipped out into the artifical atmosphere of the hanger bay, quietly hiding amongst a bit of cargo. They'd need to make sure everyone got out before moving onto the next part of the plan.
Despite dwarfing the chair he sat in, FN-999 felt far too small.
His performance on Brosi had been nothing short of a disaster - 30% of the Seventh Army obliterated in a single day. He had mistakenly assumed that the success of his army in the Mon Calamari war games with the Diarchy could translate into a far more hostile battlefield, and now FN-999 had thousands of extinguished lives on his hands with nothing to show for it.
While the general’s assignment to the shipyards of Dac was meant to be a punishment, in reality it was a blessing in disguise. Based far away from the battlefields of the Empire, FN-999 had plenty of time to reflect on his mistakes and learn from his failures before the next major campaign. Even now, he was poring over combat reports from Brosi laid out in the desk in front of him.
Suddenly, an alarm blared in the office, followed by an automated voice.
[WARNING, HOSTILE STARFIGHTERS DETECTED IN THE SOUTHERN SECTOR. EVACUATION OF NON-COMBAT PERSONNEL ADVISED.]
The message repeated itself once more before both the voice and the alarm went silent.
FN-999 and most of the two Seventh Army battalions contributing to the station garrison were in the northern sector of the orbital shipyard, far from the emerging combat zone. Nonetheless, the general knew that he and his forces had to remain vigilant, if for no other reason than to prevent a repeat of the Brosi disaster.
The general rose from his seat with a pained groan, his ribs still sore from where the Sith witch had struck him on Brosi. He walked towards the comlink attached to the wall, dialing in the contact of the sector supervisor.
[Hello, Supervisor.] greeted FN-999. [I assume we got the same alert. As a safety measure, I advise locking down traffic to the northern sector until the threat is defeated.]
[Will do, General.] replied the officer responsible for supervising shipyard operations in the region. [Want me to screen the most recently docked ships again?]
[That will not be necessary.] responded FN-999. [Unless there are previous reports of suspicious cargo, our efforts are best spent ensuring we are ready if the fighting to our south spills over here.]
[Understood.] [Thank you.] concluded FN-999. [Let me know if anything comes up.]
He turned off the comlink, returning to his desk to await further updates.
The first freighter’s entry into the shipyard went off without a hitch, though the same couldn’t be said for the second freighter as it dropped out of hyperspace and approached the shipyard. Smoke poured from vents and flames licked at one of the engines. A field of panels followed in its trail, with a few more breaking off along the way.
At the helm of the dismal ship sat a very frustrated Yuri, who quickly punched the extinguishers the moment the ship’s feet touched the landing pad. Once the smoke cleared and the ship shut down, the boarding ramp slid out for the Mandalorian to disembark. :: I karkin’ told you not to take that nebula, but no, kark the sensible guy! :: He complained over the comms. Adjusting his poncho to cover his gear and armour, he double checked his kit before disembarking.
Darion of Myrkr
and Sahan Dragr
were both at the meeting on Kessel, but there was no word of them yet. It was fine, at least the group had the support of Saram and the Strills which put Yuri’s mind at ease. Alarms soon began to blare overhead, and Jonyna confirmed his suspicion over the comms. :: Copy that, movin’ now. :: He answered over the comms, making sure to disable his helmet’s voice box.
It was a flimsy cover, he expressed as much. All they could do was make it work as best they could. The massive freighter had plenty of compartments filled with various incendiary substances, all hidden between other items, grains and substances to cover the signature. All of it connected to his vambrace for a nasty surprise.
The last item Yuri grabbed was a backpack containing a backup for their plans in case everything else went south. The quicker and quieter they could get the job done, the better.
All the while, another backup was drifting outside of the massive shipyard. Stuck to one of the drifting pieces of debris was his Basilisk, almost completely powered down to avoid any scanners or sensors until the moment was right to slip away.
Still getting his bearings, Yuri jumped when the hangar bay sealed up. Nothing was getting out or in for the near future. The imps weren’t as stupid as they seemed… or someone capable was at the helm. Yuri flicked through his HUD in search of another contact, just in case things went south. Kjartan Hammer-Hand
was brought up and a message sent over the Covenant’s secure channel with a link to Yuri’s location. :: You bored? ::
“AND SO I... HAH - SO I STARED HER STRAIGHT IN THE F*CKIN’ FACE, AND SAID...” the boisterous, gravely voice of the old pirate that was Kjartan shook with barely contained, ale assisted mirth. He paused to collect himself in the midst of several others of his crew surrounding him, waiting with bated breath for their alor to bring the tale home as several hushes and whispers echoed all around.
“I was going to say ‘you look alot like that dog’. But now, after a few drinks? You look alot like a leg to me.” The ale-hall aboard the Vod’gam erupted in laughter, with an abundance of shoves and slaps on the back all around. Kjartan took a sip of ale and continued his story with renewed gusto; the sort that only retrospect can offer as a tale grows at each retelling. “The woman Vara Rasha
blushes, and leans in. But just as I smirk and lean in, little did I know her love was the f*ckin bartender. He smashes a bottle clean across my face. I heave the bastard clear of the bar and begin hammering”
Kjartan airboxed, sloshing the contents of his tankard while one of his companions shoved his shoulder. “You liar! You got tha’ scar across your face from the son-of-a-kath hound!” The laughter intensified, with Kjartan mock-scowling at the man. Yet in the midst of the merriment, the chieftain’s attention was captured by a soft vibration in his vambrace. He looked down at the indicator to find a message - from the very bastard they were talking about.
Yuri flicked through his HUD in search of another contact, just in case things went south. Kjartan Hammer-HandKjartan Hammer-Hand
was brought up and a message sent over the Covenant’s secure channel with a link to Yuri’s location. :: You bored? ::
Only among the Mando’ade could two men beat each other bloody, share a pint, then walk away better friends than before, if only slightly. All that Kjartan really knew about the Shistevanen was that he was crazier than a gizka force-fed spice; the man could serve you a beer and clasp your hands in friendship one moment, only to snap and start a bar-fight the next.
...Nevermind that Kjartan was flirting with his mate. ‘How was I supposed to know that, eh?’ he mused to himself. Regardless, the wolf-man decided ‘befriend’ the Chieftain, and it would seem to be for the reason of pulling Kjartan into whatever scheme he had going on. Yuri had shared enough information for Kjartan to know that he was about to charge in hard and fast at an Imperial Confederation starbase and cause some sort of a diversion. Despite the damned-lack of information, the chieftain couldn’t help but grin; a gold tooth glimmering in the dim lighting of the ale-hall.
Despite himself, and the ‘seasoned and wise’ version of himself that he had become, Kjartan could not always turn down a bit of trouble.“ALRIGHT YOU LOT!” His voice cracked through the din like a cannon. All merriment and laughing abated as attention was soon snapped into focus. “BATTLESTATIONS! Let’s murder some Imperials.”
Kjartan’s wolfish grin grew wider, mirrored by several of his brothers who immediately shoved off of their barstools and grabbed their helmets. They may have been brothers and companions in the ale-hall, but when battle was about to be joined - they all fell in line behind their chieftain with the loyalty and discipline of men bonded in blood. Kjartan finished the contents of his tankard, savoring the light ale as best as one could. They only carried light brews aboard the Vod’gam, and for this very reason - arriving to battle half-drunk was frowned upon, even amongst the Mando’ade.
Although Kjartan hated it, it was a rule he put into place. He’d have to just take out his anger upon those damned Imperials.
Adorned in his ornate armor, Kjartan sat in his commander’s chair amidst the bridge crew of The Vod’gam - a formidable Ha'rangir-class Star Destroyer with enough fire power to punch well above its weight. The crew stood at battle stations, primed as if a well oiled blaster, waiting for the trigger to be pulled.
And so their commander pulled.
With a nod of his head, the helm pushed the Vod’gam into lightspeed from their anchorage in dead-space - well out of sensor range of most installations, but close enough to arrive within minutes of the signal being given.
The Mandalorian warship emerged out of lightspeed opposite the rebel force, on the other side of the hastily assembled Imperial garrison force.
“Alor, sensors have pinged two Imperial contingents converging on a raiding force - they appear to be insurgents from Wild Space based on their markings.”
Kjartan nodded in acknowledgement. “Hail the rebel forces - tell them the cavalry has arrived...”
As the comms station set about opening a channel, the warchief turned to tactical. “What’s the enemy fleet composition?”
The tactical officer, adorned in her red and white beskar’gam replied without even looking at the screen. “The larger force appears to be led by a Cruiser-class vessel, with a frigate escort. The other is a corvette strike force.”
The Hammer-hand stroked his beard thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded as if assured of his decision. “Get me targeting solutions on the cruiser and frigates; bring the big guns to bear on the Cruiser, and the rest spread across the frigates. Give the Imperials some wreckage to rally behind.”
With a smirk, the tactical officer set about executing his orders. The Vod’gam’s hypermatter cannons and mass drivers articulated and locked into position square at the Imperial Cruiser Felix Yorwell
, while the remaining turbolaser and missile batteries spread across the 5 frigates surrounding the cruiser. Within moments, all of them unleashed with a thunderous volley upon the Imperial force, causing the Vod’gam to lurch from the sheer volume of fire.
It was a luxury in her line of work to get a job you believed in, but that was the beauty of the SuperCommando codex, you didn't have to. Saram had fought for her fair share of rebel causes, the Wild Space Rebellion wasn't the first, and sure as the Manda it wouldn't be the last. Officially, there was no contract between Strill Securities and the Wild Space Rebellion. That was what the company would say if they left any evidence behind that pointed to their presence here or if any of them were to be captured. Wasn't her first deniable black operation either, and she knew it wouldn't be her last.
Their job was simple; get in, make it to the security center, disengage the defenses, get the haran out of there and detonate it on their way out. Simple in theory, bound to get a lot more complicated in practice, as any plan was. Between Anila and Janar, they had enough explosives to bring down a fortified complex or two. Their intel on the facility was somewhat outdated, but based on initial sensor scans from extreme range not too much had changed. Still, they had underestimated this particular enemy before, she was not going to be the first Strill commander to pay the price for doing so.
"So we're the distraction?" asked Viraen as he debated between a guided sabot loaded magazine and a guided flechette cannister round. The sabot-loaded magazine slotted into place with a soft click. Saram realized a moment later it was less of a question and more Viraen coming to that conclusion after examining the operation's various moving parts. She always knew he'd make a good leader if he wasn't such and unrepentant cheeky di'kut.
"All so the mostdini'laplan in recent history can be executed without too much interference? Abso-shabla-lutely!" she confirmed with an amused snort. "Well, at least it's not towing an ice comet for a party," she added with an exaggerated shrug, recalling the story of some dini'la Mandal Hypernautics executive who'd towed one through orbit into the deserts near Sundari. The alor was apparently a fan. He shabla would be, but apparently that had less to do with his antics and more to do with his technical accomplishments.
"Grand theft shipyard," idly deadpanned Anila as she gave her charges one final check, seemingly oblivious to the fact that almost all eyes were on her. She seemed to be distinctly aware of this a moment later, as she looked up and questioned, "What? You know I'm right."
No one got the chance to dispute her assertion, the cabin lights shifted to pre-drop red. "They haven't detected us so far, two minutes till docking." Saram watched as the gunship slowly approached the docking collar on the station that was their planned point of egress. Davaab squad feel into position to breach with such ease that she almost missed it with her attention partially divided. An alert flashed in the corner of her HUD, 'Docking Complete.'
They were going to need to move quick once they were in, they could jam comms all wanted to, but any hardwired monitoring systems would pick up that the airlock had been cut through pretty effortlessly. Then again, part of the plan necessitated them making just enough noise to be a distraction, and one that the Imperials just couldn't ignore. 'Breaching in Progress: 1%,' flashed the alert in her HUD. To her enhanced senses, the seconds dragged on like minutes, but it wasn't long before her HUD gave her news she and the rest of Davaab were no doubt eagerly awaiting; 'Breaching Complete.'
The airlock on the bottom of the gunship parted with a hiss of hydraulics. A picture-in-picture feed appeared in her HUD, displaying the feed from Jaing's Electro Photo ReceptorNanocam. An automated turret oriented at the door presented itself as the immediate issue immediately. Almost instantly the sound of flechettes tearing through metal panels filled the small space, Jaing's launcher itself being as characteristically silent as Verpine Shatter weapons were known to be. "Utre'la," he intoned over squad comms.
Outlines appeared around the essentially invisible forms of Davaab on her HUD as they filed out into the hallway with preternatural speed, grace and practiced ease. Recon droids undocking from their gauntlet-vambrace units and moving ahead to find out just what sort of welcome the Imperials had waiting for them. The airlock on their gunship cycled. No sooner than it had, was the outline of the otherwise invisible starship pulling away. "Oya manda, vode, I'll be on station," chimed Rav in their buy'cese as their gunship pulled off.
"Alright vode, let's give these Imperials something else to worry about. Security center, double time. Jaing, door," she commanded over squad comms, an acknowledgement signal from the others flashing in her HUD. Jaing waved his vambrace-mounted anti-security blade in front of the door, paused for a moment, and then did so again. This time the door yielded, parting for them to pass. Weapons up, enhanced senses honed by years of experience and augmented by neurally interfaced bleeding edge fused sensor and scanner suites, Davaab squad pushed forward.
An encrypted burst ion scrambled burst transmission went out to Yuri Maji
and Jonyna Si
, "This is Davaab, we're in."
The sterile, pressurized air of the Mon Cala shipyards usually smelled of ozone and ionized soldering flux. Today, it smelled like tension. Vahliri Kresten stood at the edge of the observation mezzanine, her silhouette cut sharp against the massive transparisteel panes. Below her, the skeletal frame of a new surgical landing craft—her craft—was being lowered into the primary docking cradle. It was a beautiful piece of engineering: reinforced hull plating, high-output ion engines, and a state-of-the-art medical suite designed to pull soldiers out of the meat grinder before the Force decided their time was up.
She tapped a rhythmic, impatient cadence against the the plate of her thigh, eyes tracking the droid arms as they magnetized the final exterior panels. "Ten more minutes, Major," a Mon Calamari foreman croaked over the comms. "The atmospheric seals are still cycling."
"Make it five, Foreman," Vahliri replied, her voice cool but carrying that unmistakable edge of military-trainged authority. "I have a feeling this patient isn't going to wait for your prep to finish." As if the universe had been waiting for her cue, the station's lighting flickered. The steady, white hum of the shipyard was suddenly drowned out by the soul-jarring braaaaa-hp of a planetary-grade intrusion siren.
The mezzanine shuddered. Far out in the black void beyond the shipyard's defensive shields, the stars seemed to bleed. Reversion flares bloomed like dying suns as an enemy fleet dropped out of hyperspace.
"Contact! Multiple hostiles exiting hyperspace! Sector 4-G through 9-L!" the panicked voice of a deck officer screamed over the intercom. "All hands to battle stations! This is not a drill!"
Vahliri didn't flinch. The shipyard transformed into a hive of chaos. Technicians scrambled for the lifeboats, and security droids began to cycle their weapon systems. Below, the technicians working on her ship began to retract the umbilical cables prematurely.
"Continue the procedure until the last possible moment, Foreman," Major Kresten growled as she readied her rifle for action. "If this operating room becomes unsafe, evacuate your team as required. Otherwise, continue the procedure. This patient may not have the time we expected."
The Foreman knew better than to argue with the Major. Besides it was completely conceivable that the attack would not affect the maintenance hangars at all. They were the most protected outer portions of the shipyards after all. It would take an extreme case of bad luck for something outside the shipyards to threaten the work of the Foreman's crew.
Accepting that the Foreman would do as ordered, Kresten strode out of the hangar and placed her helmet on her head. "Shipyard Security this is Major Vahliri Kresten. I'm in the operating suite overseeing a critical case. Keep me informed of any internal issues. I'm prepared to assist if needed."
Anthony hadn't expected a Mandalorian Star Destroyer to come as backup, but he certainly wasn't arguing against it. All it meant was that they had plenty of space to fall back on heavy firepower.
Anthony gained altitude as best he could, using the Bokken Class's heavy engines to push him to the limit.
Then the wings opened.
And he dove, corkscrewing downwards while using the Force to plan his attack vector. The twin turbolasers hummed to life, as he came right down on Bido Roz’lyn
's fighter. He didn't bother with sensors, he knew the imperials would be jamming them anyways. No, he let the Force guide him. With the click of his trigger, the two turbolasers lit up, aimed right at the top of Bido's fighter. Ion bolts, heavy enough to disable an unshielded corvette.
The arrival of the Mandalorians was a surprise, but a welcome one. Zoro could only assume it was Yuri Maji
's doing. He certainly wasn't complaining, even if it did throw off his flight patterns.
"Send a secure message to the mandalorian vessel. We're out of system, so any messages they have will need to be relayed through our fighters."
"Aye sir. We've already had several flight commanders hailed by the ship."
Zoro nodded, looking to the comms officer. "Sort through them and tell the flights to keep at it. The mission is at hand."
The Blazing Freedom need not participate in the battle directly. His frigates were carriers first, interdictors second, and attack vessels never. He couldn't risk it.
But on the battlefield, the mission was still the same. Y-wings watched the Imperial Response push forward, B-wings shifting and engaging Felix Yorwell
's NC100s from range. Their modular missile launchers opening up with Disruptor Torpedos, primed to airburst ahead of the fighters rather than wait for impact. All the while, the X-wings pushed forward and engaged the Tie Vultures, keeping their distance and engaging with smart missiles, then pushing forward and drawing them into two v one engagements.
The Y-wings kept their distance as well, using the extreme range of the incoming missiles to use ample time to utilize their MDTs, before breaking off and heading towards open space. Those corvettes would be a problem if left on their own. The Y-wings turned, shifting and slipping into Hyperspace.
The Hurricanes did the same, shifting their trajectory and disappearing. Hopefully the addition of a mandalorian SD would mask their escape.
Summery:
Y-wings and Hurricanes disappear into hyperspace, fleeing towards the mothership.
B-wings engage Felix Yorwell
's fighters with air-burst disruptor torpedos, keeping their distance.
X-wings engage Tie Vultures with smart missiles and wingman tactics.
“That’s a new piece of information. I’ll certainly keep that in mind!” Priesse replied, her tone carrying a curious lilt. In that regard, her thoughts briefly wandered towards any catering needs that Titan Squadron might have in the future. They would need to make sure that any restaurants they ordered from had seafood on the menu, so that Bido could eat, as well.
Nevertheless, disciplined as always, Priesse’s thoughts immediately shifted back to the mission at hand. Her flight leader’s nutritional needs were a matter to be contemplated later. For now, a fresh tide of postcognitive echoes and precognitive shimmers were flooding her awareness, feeding directly from the halo-shaped cranial horn encircling her head. She went quiet then, her eyes narrowing in focus as she began weaving the fragments into a clearer picture.
Bido swallowed hard to clear her throat to dole out orders, “Titan Squadron, Fight 3 form up on me! Call out readiness and then we’ll move in together! Don’t risk your lives any more than you have to!”
“Forming on you, Titan Nine. All systems are green on my end.” Priesse said as she vectored her Sprite towards the DS-47’s starboard wing. “I have a track on something that came through here recently,” She added. All the while, her eyes traced the lingering postcognitive echo trail of a small craft which had snuck towards the shipyard perhaps a few minutes prior, likely utilizing the two freighters’ hyperspace reversion to cover its approach. From there, the echo trail terminated at a small piece of debris outside of the shipyard, a fragment just large enough to conceal a small starship.
However, it was then that another shimmer struck her awareness like a lightning bolt. The precognitive warning flared white-hot, causing her halo-shaped cranial horn to thrum with alarm.
“Nine, hard starboard break, now!” Priesse called out, her voice sharp and urgent through the comms. The Seseli did the opposite maneuver as the words left her lips, whipping her Sprite in a violent break to port, attitude thrusters flaring as she and her flight leader potentially split off in opposite directions.
"I'm afraid I've got bad news, gentlemen", Ronhar stated to the assembled members of Reclaimer Squad. "The Night Reaver is going to be unavailable for at least several more hours".
A series of groans sprang up among those assembled. That meant that they would be stuck on the shipyards for a considerable amount of time, with nothing to do or show for.
"I know, I know", Ronhar said as he tried to assuage his men's concerns, "but it is what it is. You know how it goes: a single modified U-Wing just doesn't carry the same weight as a Corvette or Frigate or Star Destroyer, and the mechanics aren't going to want to work on something so small when they are already inundated with dozens of other repair orders. Now, I talked to the Chief Maintenance Officer, and it just so happens that he owes me a couple of favors. He's going to try to jump us ahead in the queue, but regardless its bound to take awhile. I suggest you make yourselves comfortable and find something PRODUCTIVE to do, understood?"
After all, the last thing Ronhar needed was a bunch of elite commandos finding themselves bored on a space station with nothing to do and with lots of things to potentially break.
Before Ronhar could get a response, however, alarms began blaring throughout the space station, the result of a pirate raid or rebel attack. Well, at least Ronhar and his crew would have something to do now.
"LET'S GO! SUIT UP!", Ronhar hollered as his men fell into line behind him. From the reports that he was getting, the Wild Space Rebellion and a small number of Mandalorians were attacking the Mon Cala Shipyards, though to what end Ronhar was not sure. Of course, he had a few ideas in mind, and he would have been willing to bet his life savings that the rebels were here to steal ships to add to their ragtag fleet. Ronhar and company was going to make sure that didn't happen.
"Keep it moving, we gotta hustle!", Ronhar called out as he and Reclaimer Squad ran down the stations many narrow corridors. There current destination was a pair of freighters that were allegedly delivering "grain shipments", which set off a number of red flags in Ronhar's mind. Really? Grain? That was the best they could come up with? They were attacking a shipyard, wouldn't it make more sense to claim delivery of ship parts or repair personnel? Then again, people aboard the station had to eat, and grain was probably a lot easier to get than ship parts were.
Still, that would be Ronhar's starting point, and he couldn't imagine that he wouldn't find any trouble once he and his men got there...
Yaeger had gone over this six times now. He had it in triplicate.
The grain had been for the local garrison. Yaeger had cleared it a month in advance, the Imperials liked to process their own food in house, after all. Something about not wanting to risk rebel forces interrupting mess halls. Rings like this were more than just robotic shipyards, they were cities. And cities had people. And people needed to eat.
Yaeger was literally gesturing to the grain shipment in front of him, inside his haul. The Golem was much bigger than he was used to, and Yaeger just wanted to do a quick drop off, then get back to his own ship. He'd only agreed because the payout for this was massive. Enough to finally fix Old Glory.
This is why he hated dealing with Bucketheads.
"Look, tell your officers to see me personally. I'll go over the paperwork with them. I've already gotten paid. I just need permission to leave."
Zoro Igala
prepped his troops.
Yaeger Sularen
sat in the driver's seat, calling in the haul. 
Jonyna Si
stood waiting alongside a group of mercs. Deep in the haul, far enough inside that no immediate scans would detect them. 
