Leaph Chausew: Starfighter

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Leaph
Posts: 5
Joined: Sat Mar 23, 2019 6:49 pm

Leaph Chausew: Starfighter

Post by Leaph »

A narrative scraped together by the author and recounts from colleagues and enemies alike - some foes which became friends, and vice versa. After all was said and done though, it would've been rude not to have recorded this tale onto a datapad. Ok, I'm ready now. Farewell forever. - Leaph Chausew M.I.A.

Captain Soel Jinn - Imperial Navy Service Log Entry #97:

The crew of the Star Ravager was again victorious: C-3 passenger liner Paradise Embodied long suspected smuggling glitterstim is no longer a concern.

C-3 annihilated upon exit from hyperspace - ambushed off Corellian Trade Spine. Escape pods neutralised. All hands lost.

Spice recovered and incinerated.

Long live the Empire!

Chapter 1: Rebel Cadet

The Karthakk system remained contested for the duration of the war. Our imperative was to prevent the Empire from establishing a large space port on Lok. To quote another author: ‘Lok was a barren, dusty planet in the Outer Rim territories. Sulphur pools, lifeless rivers and volcanoes were commonly found on the planet’ - the odorous armpit of the galaxy. But it was the home of Nym: Captain, space pirate and leader of the Lok Revenants - a pirate band who harboured their own grudge against the Empire, and crucially one of the Rebel Alliance’s key suppliers during the Galactic Civil War. Moreover, the Karthakk system provided access to the Corellian Trade Spine along which we targeted Imperial shipping.

Our forays into Imperial dominated quadrants contributed to suppressing the Empire’s efforts establishing a foothold on Lok itself but all of us knew that we were but a remedy to a seemingly incurable disease - the Empire would succeed.

Rebellion Blaze became our primary off-world base of operations shortly following the destruction of the Rebel starfighter base on Lok. Following the same designs of the heavily armed deep space Freedom Station, our forces were bolstered with a downgraded, but capable, starfighter platform positioned within a protective obsidian asteroid field.

Rebellion Blaze, or simply 'Blaze' as its crew referred to it, enabled higher frequency supply drop-offs and personnel exchanges for our operations on Lok. It would also be responsible for saving my life on multiple occasions.

I was being briefed for one of my final sorties as a cadet when the call for major strike action came in from Alliance High Command. I’d been part of the Rebellion for three months following a turbulent recruitment process and was completing my training with General Warvog Arkon’s ‘Havoc Squadron’. I’d progressed rapidly and led a trio of cadets designated ‘Deviant Flight’.

The Empire had been flexing its muscles on the Outer Rim seeking out Rebel starfighter units and destroying them with a new starfighter oriented strategy. At the spearhead of this advance was the highly advanced reconnaissance CR90 corvette Star Ravager and it had been sighted patrolling a nearby system.

* * *

Twelve mark III Z-95 Headhunters and eight BTL-A4 Y-wings of Havoc Squadron clustered around the carrier Bitter Dancer. Carrier. Our ride was a converted CEC Y-8 mining vessel with a myriad of TIE Fighter launch racks jury rigged to its disproportionately deep keel. Four tiers of racks reached out both sides of the keel each capable of holding three fighters making for a total starfighter capacity of twenty four vessels. I sighed briefly as I scrutinised the vessel from top to tail and wished not for the first time that our Mark IIIs possessed hyperdrives.

Corroded durasteel plates encapsulated Bitter Dancer. About twice the height as it was long, the CEC vessel was as useless at mining as it was ungainly in appearance and difficult to manoeuvre. The Alliance, having discovered far more creative and lucrative mining methods, often converted Y-8s into makeshift carriers or retained them for other specialised operations.

The lance-like heavy mining laser, which typically protruded twenty metres in front of the bridge, was missing. In its place was a complex array of antennae and sensor dishes built for hyperwave communication, intelligence gathering and sensor jamming. Otherwise, the awkward vessel was identical to any other Y-8 except for the replacement of its other mining lasers with four CEC AG2G quad lasers.

I positioned my Headhunter between our squadron leader Warvog Arkon’s and my wingman Eshiem’s. “This is Havoc Seven. Engaging mag-locks.” A red LED on my console blinked three times then switched to green confirming the ‘95 was clamped in place. We would remain snug within our snubfighters for the duration of the ride.

I peered ahead and spotted the Y-wings form up into flights of four ahead of us. Possessing Class 1 hyperdrives, they would reach the target system some minutes ahead of the Y-8.

Havoc Squadron. Supposedly a training unit, isolated on the Outer Rim, we flew ancient and dilapidated fighters which were deemed unserviceable within the fledgling fleets of the credit-strapped Rebel Alliance. The Mark III Z-95 Headhunters were of Old Republic stock armed with triple blasters and lacking hyperdrives. Triple blasters were all but useless against anything moderately shielded, but the fighter compensated somewhat with respectable agility and hardiness. The Y-wing was even tougher possessing powerful blasters, an ion cannon turret and sturdy armour but it moved like a pregnant Hutt.

The comm crackled. It was Lady Viopa. “Pilots, our latest intelligence reports at least one squadron of TIE Fighters, a flight of TIE Interceptors and two flights of uncategorised TIE craft escorting the Star Ravager at its last position - all vessels are hyperdrive equipped.”

“I’ll leave enough of them for you.” my wingman Eshiem squawked jubilantly. “Try n-”

I killed the channel and keyed up my flight systems diagnostics onto my H.U.D. Throughout the war, blazing aces would rise and fall. Everyone had heroes; everyone had nemeses. But above all, all of us yearned to be greatest. This was a most delicate and rarely spoken truth. And it often cost lives. Of course I wished to excel but I didn’t believe in bravado in the face of death. It was distasteful. Most important was the mission itself.
I toggled the H.U.D. to display the mission objectives all the while listening to Viopa.

Star Ravager’s hyperdrive vector signature indicates that it is taking the Triellus Trade Route from its last position at Tatooine where it will likely stop at Nelvaan to rendezvous with the freighter convoy coming in from the Corellian Run. Elements of the Thirteenth Roving Line are moving to intercept the freighters before they can jump to Nelvaan. You have an approximately one hour window to complete your mission. Good luck pilots. May the Force be with you. Viopa out.” The dignitary closed the channel.

Arkon’s voice crackled over the intercom, “Keep your thrusters idling. We’ll be disembarking the carrier at combat velocity and making for Nelvaan’s dark side while the Y-wings scout entry and exit hyperjump points. Maintain comm silence until my signal. The Imps seem to be bringing new fighters to the party so stay sharp, stick with your wingman and shoot to kill. Don’t do anything stupid - I specifically mean you Chausew. Havoc Lead out.”

I grimaced. The Twi’lek formally known as General Warvog Arkon was Havoc Squadron’s cantankerous leader. A veteran of the Clone Wars, we’d been told Arkon had fought with the CIS and then, during the rise of the Empire, carved out a living flying for and leading various pirate and smuggling organisations. I didn’t know his reasons for flying for the Rebel Alliance. On the ground, he was reclusive and impossible to talk to. His verbal communications to us cadets typically involved tirades of verbal abuse and strict, often punishing orders. We feared but respected him. We obeyed his every command without question and those of us who lived owed our continued existence to his training. It was also appreciated, amongst the more perceptive of us, that being part of Arkon’s Havoc Squadron afforded a certain level of respect and protection from Nym's bandits. The gnarly Twi’lek feared no one.

I turned to glance into Arkon’s canopy and gave him a nod. His piercing yellow eyes blinked once at me before casting down at his instruments, his weathered flight gloves reaching to vacuum seal his maroon helmet. The Twi'lek helmet extended at the back of the skull to allow his blue worm-like lekku to be encapsulated within the flight suit either side of his head, draping over his shoulders partway down his chest. I sealed my own suit.
The countdown came in: Three... Two… One… And then pinpoint stars elongated to incandescent streaks followed by the haunting blue of hyperspace.

An unnerving oscillation reverberated through Bitter Dancer’s spindly fighter racks as it exited hyperspace into the Koobi system causing our suspended Z-95s to shudder. Nelvaan was a sapphire pearl against the barren void, its three moons conducting a lazy waltz around its circumference.

I spooled my thrusters to forty percent as the pre-mission briefing instructed and turned to Eshiem, dialling up his comm volume. The human male gave a zealous thumbs up which I casually returned.

A fellow Corellian male, Cadet Eshiem flew Havoc Eight and had latched himself onto me since we’d been assigned to the squadron following recruitment. He was of medium height and build with a terracotta crew cut. His saucer-like baby blue eyes puffed out and were shadowy from an out-of-cockpit existence of playing hologames and slicing codes. This indoors digital predilection had led to the man developing a somewhat pasty and blotchy complexion which was further aggravated through sleep deprivation. Despite his enthusiasm for starfighter combat, this lifestyle took its toll in the cockpit.

I kept my eyes on Eshiem’s fighter while awaiting the docking clamps to release us: that would be the signal to form up. The Incom 2a Fission engines hummed eerily behind me synchronising at thirty nine percent. I nudged the throttle a millimetre forward, turbines hissing faintly in response. Forty three percent - good enough. I toed the rudder pedals counteracting the subtle yawing motion resulting from the imperfectly tuned engines’ thrust increase.

The clamps abruptly prized open with a hollow clank of rusted durasteel grinding against worn pivots and we accelerated towards the planet. Silence permeated our helmets.

The Y-8 blinked out of existence on sensors as it re-entered hyperspace. A single bead of sweat trickled down my spine settling in the small of my lower back and, for the first time this day, I experienced the sinking sensation of loneliness. There’d be no possible retreat on this sortie if it went awry. I gritted my teeth and ground the perspiration against my seat.

We entered Nelvaan’s modest mass shadow within ten minutes and shrouded our fighters within the blackened cloak of its dark side. We waited.
I heard that the quiet before the storm was always the worst part of any battle and the silence served to amplify our trepidation a thousand fold. Against the backdrop of stark nothingness, I felt my trembling was all too obvious to my comrades not-so-far away in loose formation.
Ten minutes passed, then thirty, then an hour. No Star Ravager and our mission window was closing...

I peered across through as many canopies as I could trying to make out the pilots within, what they were doing. Arkon sat back gazing out at the void, his eyes coolly scanning.

Eshiem sat bolt upright against the reclined seat, his eyes staring straight ahead. I gestured at him with a rude gesture but he remained transfixed. “Don’t fixate man,” I muttered.

Havoc Six, a new human pilot in my flight named D’thome gazed out into the void, like many others in the squadron, his eyes squinting, searching, and head pushed forward as if reading an optician’s holo.

The flight’s fourth member designated Havoc Five, and D’thome’s wing man, was a self assured human named Erom. He had been a full Lieutenant with a fleet Y-wing squadron but was now ranked Flight Officer and that’s all we knew about him. Erom rarely spoke and there was something eerie about his quietness which put us off further enquiry. He only ever seemed to respond to his squadron designation of Havoc Five.

We played patience without a word between us suspended amongst the stars and shrouded by Nelvaan’s dark side...
And then the universe exploded.

Piercing interference grated through our collective earphones and collectively we swore curses in our native tongues.

“Fierfek, what was that?!” gasped Eshiem over the comm.

I didn’t respond as the wavering screech resolved itself into a raucous thunder.

“Distress signal priority one incoming!” commed the Y-wing flight leader. “It’s the...”

Bitter Dancer blazed across the starscape with a kilometre comet tail of ignited fuel.

“We must assist - “ the Y-wing continued.

“We’re no use to it!” growled Arkon. “All ships accelerate to attack speed. They knew we were coming! Remain within the planetary shadow and expect incoming! Y-wings commence area patrol. Everyone else, form up in flights on me.”

I winced at the acid in Warvog Arkon’s voice and opened the comm to my pilots. “Ok, Deviant Flight form up, loose finger-four,” I instructed. I knew the finger four was essentially useless in space; however, D’thome lacked zero-G flight experience and I had to work with what he knew to maximise his survival. "Six, keep them peeled. We’re likely to be bounced from relative aft or below. Five, follow everything Six orders - stay with your wing element. Same for you Eight - you’re with me.”

“Yes Sir,” chimed Eshiem. So did the others.

Typically, Havoc Squadron consisted of Alliance recruits who, for various reasons, weren’t deemed suitable for training within the main fleets or privateers wishing to commit their allegiance to the Rebellion. Either way, pilots were always inexperienced in formal military combat and many possessed only a few hours of vacuum flight experience, let alone combat. The assignment to Lok was supposed to offer a relatively safe training zone for new pilots to gain confidence flying low level operations. But lately we were getting murdered. Today seemed to be shaping up to be a day like any other, only this time being stalked by phantom predators a whole hyperjump away from home.

I opened a channel to Arkon, “Nothing on scopes yet Le-”

“Can it Seven! Comm silence!” Arkon snapped at me. Fifty metres ahead of my flight, Havoc One abruptly powered down his engines and, using manoeuvring thrusters, completed a single roll to starboard followed up with another roll to port. I gritted my teeth and shook my head. It was standard survival protocol we’d used before and the message, though primitive, was effective and clear: we were catastrophically outmatched in this fight so Arkon opted to abort mission and hide us. With such close proximity to Nelvaan and thrusters set at zero, we’d be pulled into a rapid sweeping orbit around the planet and hopefully go unnoticed.

I gritted my teeth and noticed that our Y-wing friends were far out on the edge of our scanners. One by one, they jumped to hyperspace. The signature left by their hyperdrive engines would hopefully convince the Empire that we'd all escaped. There was still no sign of the Imperials.
In the distance, Bitter Dancer pirouetted lazily listing to port as it was captured by Nelvaan’s gravitational pull. Fires and localised explosions flayed across the stricken vessel splitting it across the seams of its modular superstructure. And then it erupted as its reactor went critical. I registered no escape pods. And then it was gone.

Unknown to us, across the gulf of space a flight of four peculiarly shaped TIEs, invisible against the black, streaked towards us. Each boasting three proton torpedo launchers and advanced targeting computers, these stealthy fighters painted each of us as targets.

“Incoming! Multiple contacts - TIES!” Eshiem squawked through my headset. “Looks like-I dunno-don’t recognise these. They’re fast!”

I noted my wingman’s starfighter twitching along its trajectory as its pilot’s anxiety built rapidly towards a crescendo.

“Nothing else on sensors - just them,” Eshiem’s voice crackled loudly in my ear. “We can take them!”

As he finished his sentence, my missile alert blared and instinct took over. I launched flares and went evasive, peeling off at a sharp tangent away from the aggressors. “Deviant! SPLIT!”

Eshiem, to his credit, stuck with me, trailing slightly as the rest of Havoc Squadron split at full throttle.
A single missile extinguished the flare.

Sirens still wailing, I wrenched the stick to my stomach, reversing thrust momentarily sending nose over tail and ramped throttle back up to 100% resulting in both remaining proton torpedoes streaking wide and the ‘95 screaming through an extending power loop putting distance between my assailant and I. Or so I thought. The rocketing TIE craft was already three quarters the way through mirroring my manoeuvre as I pointed my nose at the aggressor and painted it with my sights. Twin tripleblasters flared into life raining staccato fire directly into the TIE. Six direct hits achieved little but shield flare.

“Sithspawn! These things have shields too and they’re heavy!” I growled over the squadron wide channel. “Concentrate fire!”

But the squadron was in chaos as similar missile strikes sliced through space towards them. The previously hushed comm was now a fury of panicked orders and calls for assistance. Four experimental TIEs had shattered our resolve.

“Squints inbound!” shouted the Squadron Leader. A flight of the Empire's cutting edge TIE Interceptors screamed towards the fray. “We need missiles on these TIEs!”

But the Y-wings were long gone.

I was engaged in an impossibly tight turn with my TIE. The Headhunter was known for its incredibly tight turning capabilities, but the blasted TIE could apparently match it, and at this rate apparently beat it. I calculated it’d have a firing solution on me within the next quarter turn so I flipped the Headhunter onto its back and reversed, finalising on the TIE’s six o’clock. But the TIE used its superior momentum and simply turreted around its axis firing both its heavy blasters.

Simultaneously I felt my stomach implode and shunted the stick left to roll away, but then the star-scape was spinning and someone was screaming in my headset. I spat the vomit into my lap and wrestled with the spiralling starfighter as flames spat violently from the controls.

"PUNCH OUT CHAUSEW! PUNCH IT! PUNCH!" Arkon yelled.

I slammed my visor shut and clumsily reached for the ejection handle. "Graaghh!!!"

The Headhunter's inertial compensators failed with G-forces causing durasteel and electrical circuits to twist and tear rending the fighter apart.
I yanked the handle in the throes of desperation and the fighter expelled me, stars still spinning.

We’d lost four Z-95s and two Y-wings in the time I’d been engaged with the first TIE and as the horrifying death cries of other comrades were intermittently extinguished over comms, I was assaulted by the realisation that I would die out here in the merciless void.
Last edited by Leaph on Sat Mar 23, 2019 8:43 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Leaph
Posts: 5
Joined: Sat Mar 23, 2019 6:49 pm

Re: Leaph Chausew: Starfighter

Post by Leaph »

Chapter 2: Naval Doctrine

I received your mission report. Beta squadron took zero casualties, Commander."

"Thank you."

"But you failed to annihilate all of the Rebels."

Commander Paige Avion narrowed his piercing cobalt eyes. Relaxed at his office desk, the Commander raised a dark brow a millimetre and regarded the short swinish Imperial Security Bureau officer standing before him. The pasty and white uniformed agent barely exceeded Avion's height sitting down. "The threat was neutralised. Star Ravager completed her mission and entered hyperspace. The Rebel Z-95s were destroyed or left stranded with no carrier support. It's all in my report to my superiors," replied Avion.

"I read it Commander. I also read how you let a separate squadron of X-wings escape: Shadow Squadron. They should have become your primary target. They-"

"Weren't a threat: the Headhunters were - they were almost on Ravager's position." Avion bore his stare into the ISB agent's pale puffy eyes. “And you neglected to acknowledge Beta Squadron’s handling of the Rebel’s pathetic carrier. The insurgency is crippled if they cannot hyperspace their fighters around the sector.”

The meeting was entering its second hour. Paige knew interrupting an ISB agent's investigation was risky. The ISB notified Beta Squadron of their imminent inspection shortly after they'd been outfitted with the highly experimental TIE Oppressor strike starfighter. Of course the fighter didn’t comply with standard Imperial Navy strategic fleet doctrine and Paige's squadron had so far been the only unit on the Outer Rim to receive them.

The ISB agent frowned. "That may be Commander."

"It is," Avion returned flatly. "And Zeta squadron's TIE Interceptors tested those X-wings and learned their tactics."

The agent started to interject but Avion raised a gloved hand. "And you'll hear me finish. You obviously came to my office for clarification on my report." The starfighter commander subtly tilted back his head raising his chin slightly and smirked the slither of a predatory grin, his tone venomous. "Do not forget your rank, Lieutenant. We appreciate the Bureau's obligation to investigate examples of unorthodox spending of the Naval budget, but Beta squadron has been allocated the Oppressor as part of the Navy's Limited Fielding Test Initiative in order to curtail the Rebel starfighter threat and that is what we will do. Our work here is nothing more than an extension of what the Grand Admiral commenced with the TIE Defender project. You have your investigation to pursue - I have my orders. We lost three Interceptors in exchange for zero X-wings but, continuing to provide cover for the Ravager afforded us some valuable intelligence and dissuaded the Rebels from persisting in their attack."

The ISB man's expression had steadily hardened throughout the chastisement but finally it relaxed. He waited a full three seconds before he asked, "You let them go then for strategic reasons?"

Avion's smirk spread thinly becoming almost reptilian. "Naturally. So that we may destroy the wamprats in their nest. The TIE Oppressor is equipped with hyperdrive and carries the heaviest destructive payload out of all our dedicated fighters. We will plan, strike and vanquish the insurgency in this sector once and for all." He arched a brow. "It is a job that a capital ship of the line and standard TIE Fighters or bombers couldn't achieve in this theatre - at least not without considerable delay. Hyperdrive equipped Oppressors will save us countless credits in the long run - will that satisfy your masters?"

The ISB agent recorded the information into his datapad and looked up, meeting Avion's stare. "This Empire is built on the fear and order instilled by its Star Destroyers, Commander, but if you're successful... You have provided sufficient context, for now. I would caution you, however, that time is limited and failure will be...more troubling to contextualise for our masters if indeed results aren’t delivered. I assume you have proof of a Rebel base?"

Paige nodded and, pressing a finger to a button on his desk console, caused the door to his office to hiss open. "The specifics are currently classified. Beta Squadron doesn't fail, Lieutenant. You will learn everything you need to know in due course so that you may complete your report satisfactorily." Avion unclasped his hands, leaning forward to place his now clenched fists on his desk and frowned darkly. "Good day to you, Lieutenant."

The ISB agent entered some final notes into the datapad before posting the device into his uniform trouser pocket. Satisfied, he nodded, saluted curtly and exited.

The entrance snapped closed and Paige outstretched a finger to a second desk button, this time illuminating the otherwise low-lit room with a glowing holo-projection of the Outer Rim Territories. Avion reached for the integrated comm link on his chest mounted rank placard and pressed it. "Attention all Beta squadron flying personnel, report to the briefing room within two minutes. We're going hunting on Lok gentlemen. Avion out."
Leaph
Posts: 5
Joined: Sat Mar 23, 2019 6:49 pm

Re: Leaph Chausew: Starfighter

Post by Leaph »

Chapter 3: Unfit for Purpose

Captain Corvalis Mierdrym of the Thirteenth Roving Line's Shadow Squadron stood at ease. "We narrowly avoided a massacre Sir." The silver haired near-human Firrerreo regarded General Arkon coolly. "Although, Shadow squadron can't claim all the credit for averting such an event. Havoc Squa-"

"Are amateurs. Foolhardy, lacking discipline - Sithspit - they're already dead: they just don't know it yet." Arkon grumbled and shook his head. The aged Twi'lek stroked his chin, shaking his head before levelling his stare at Corvalis. "But worst of all, ye know is the Alliance knows this and they give me broken kites with freakin' feather dusters as weapons." He spat. "And...and...Havoc 'Squadron'" his fingers mimicked the inverted commas as he spoke, "Believe that they actually stand a chance. They think they're being prepared to actually make a difference."

Corvalis dipped his head. "They have hope sir. That's the one thing the Alliance can't buy or train."

The Twi'lek snorted and waved a hand dismissively. "Just like all those other fleet pilots Mierdrym: you're a dreamer."

The Firrerreo refrained from physically reacting. His briefing prior to meeting the General had warned him of the Twi'lek's confrontational idiosyncrasies but he had to admit his patience was being tested even so. He had some good news, however. "Sir. You actually touched upon the real reason for my visit." Shadow leader risked a smirk. "What would you say to the prospect of receiving some real starfighters?"

Chapter 4: Space Superiority

Commander Avion stalked across the flight deck of the Ton-Falk-class escort carrier Plight verifying the status of each of Beta Squadron's TIE Oppressors. Signing off the squadron of twelve as fully serviceable, Avion allowed himself a satisfied smile and drank in the sight of the majestic spread of fighters.

The TIE Oppressor: built on the standard ball cockpit design of the Navy's excellent TIE/LN starfighter, this craft had been developed as a heavy weapons strike platform boasting an uprated pair of the TIE's chin mounted laser cannons along with an additional pair of heavy blaster cannons slung immediately below on an external weapons pod.

Within this pod were three warhead launchers capable of accepting anything from space bombs all the way down to concussion missiles as well as the latest 'Image Recognition Missiles' colloquially known as ‘IR2s’.

Possessing shields, hyperdrive, additional armour and a heavy duty reactor core, the TIE Oppressor was somewhat less agile than its TIE/LN counterpart especially given the fact that, despite the substantial mass increase, the Oppressor and standard TIE Fighter shared the same engines. Of course, with its supercharged reactor, Oppressor pilots had learned to divert surplus power to the Twin Ion Engines and latest model Oppressors sported powerful ion boosters which gave the craft remarkable top velocity but the fighter was still a handful to fly and reserved for the very finest of the Empire's best. Avion knew this was a superlative craft. Set off by its triad of sweeping back dagger shaped solar arrays, the Oppressor appeared like some kind of freakish bird of prey poised in an eternal dive.

Avion deactivated the data pad and passed it to the chief deck officer. "Today we solidify the case for the Limited Fielding Test Initiative, Chief. And it's men like you who will have helped contribute to that victory." He gave the chief an enthusiastic pat on the back. "Twelve fighters stripped, loaded and serviceable within ten hours. Remarkable work!" Paige paused and frowned. "Which fighters were pushed to the back of the queue?" He cocked an inquisitive brow at the chief mechanic, a wire of a man with sharp quick features.

The chief shook his head. "None sir. All TIE variant starfighters aboard the Plight are serviceable. Twenty four hours service time from last operation Sir." The man snapped to attention and his superior smiled smugly.

"Very well, Mansk, excellent. I'm recommending you for a commendation. I trust that the swift turn-around time on the Oppressors indicates that its systems, whilst unusual for a TIE, are all familiar Imperial tech?"

Chief Mansk nodded curtly. "If I may speak freely, Sir?"

"Very well ."

"This a wonderful ship to work on. Supreme performance made possible by a unique combination of time tested standard equipment."

Avion nodded and placed a powerful gloved hand gently on the chief's shoulder. "Go on..."

Mansk smiled faintly. "Well, Sir, we achieved the fast maintenance time by stripping each fighter to its base components, tagging them so we could track them in the system, but then, for example, put the cockpits in for refurb with the TIE Fighters and Interceptors. Heavy blasters went in with the TIE/SA cycle and ordnance launchers were packed off down to munitions on a priority order. Actually pretty standard procedure." The chief nodded and shrugged. "Only bits of bespoke work were recalibrating flight control avionics and piecing each serviced part back together again - but that was easy."

Paige took a moment to consider the man's words. "Chief, forget that commendation." He paused briefly, enough to note the colour begin to fade from Mansk's cheeks. "No. If this mission succeeds, then I'm putting you up for promotion."

Avion promptly turned on his heel and made for the briefing room where his pilots awaited.
Last edited by Leaph on Mon Mar 25, 2019 6:39 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Leaph
Posts: 5
Joined: Sat Mar 23, 2019 6:49 pm

Re: Leaph Chausew: Starfighter

Post by Leaph »

Chapter 5: Upgrades

It wasn't my first experience going extra-vehicular from a stricken starfighter, but that hadn't made it any easier. The nausea lasted for only a standard day after the med droids resuscitated me from a brief induced coma. Then it was two days suspended in bacta to treat my flesh of its burns and radiation poisoning. You see, that's the part none of the great space adventure holos show you: starfighter combat is deadly enough in the cockpit, but if you do eject and survive the initial E.V. experience, your flightsuit is grossly under equipped for protecting your fleshy organic mass from the various intense forms of killer radiation that flash throughout the immediate cosmos during a space battle. And my meat got cooked good. I didn’t even ask how I was rescued.

I couldn't shake the headache nor the thronging in my ears. But I was alive. I was deemed fit enough for service: fit enough to stand for half an hour as General Arkon dressed me down for a near catastrophic performance. And then he promoted me to Second Lieutenant.

Some silver haired human was also present in the murky office.

Arkon gestured to the near-human. "Captain Mierdrym here was so horrified by Havoc's performance, he wanted to hear exactly how you stuffed it up. So just summarise what I told you Chausew - ye know, start with the part where you broke formation and compromised the whole squadron..." The Twi'lek's arms folded as he rocked back on his chair, boot strapped feet crossed on the table.

I hesitated. Arkon was mean and unrelenting but humiliating too? I stiffened and stood to attention. "I broke comm silence which gave the Imperials a signal to intercept. And then we were embroiled in a furball before we knew it. I-"

"You did. And I made a tactical error." Arkon interrupted staring plainly into my surprised eyes. "Knowing the Dancer had been ambushed like that, with its very own stealth package, I should've known ordering a bunch of near derelict '95s to commence silent running was going to be a death sentence." He raised his hands palms facing out towards me. "The Alliance sends me those it doesn't deem worthy or ready for its fleet. The fighters it allows us are hardly worth calling fighters at all." He nodded at me. "But my job is to forge worthy pilots and make them ready - and out there I forgot that for a moment. Sithspit - I'm a hateful crusty bastard Chausew and I don't like you. But you and Eshiem thought fast and gave everyone else a chance to stall the enemy long enough for Shadow Squadron to swoop in." Arkon raised a silencing finger to Corvalis as he began to speak and nodded at me. "Speak Chausew."

I realised there and then what the purpose of the meeting was and I nodded faintly to the General before turning to Corvallis.

"Captain, Havoc lost its only carrier, five Y-wings, nine out of twelve Z-95s and..." I sighed and shrugged. "We were screwed from the start. I scored multiple hits on one of those super-TIEs and achieved nothing. Ravager was a suicide mission and the General is right: why even bother fighting if we're..."

It was the Firrerreo's turn to do the silencing. Something in his eyes twinkled. "Havoc squadron was sorely outmatched and I understand the resentment borne from being confined to the outer reaches of the galaxy with few resources and credits. It hasn't gone unnoticed."

I stood easy while I listened to the Captain.

He continued, "The Thirteenth has recently begun operating in this region due to increased Imperial activity - it appears that the Empire wants to establish a foothold in the Outer Rim and that, I guess, is why you were ambushed by those advanced model TIE Fighters." The Captain smiled extracting a data pad from his flight jacket and tossed it to me. "The General here already convinced me earlier but my superiors wanted further pilot testimony in order for us to help hook you up with more suitable fighters..."

I looked down at the datapad. It was blank. I arched a brow at the Firrerreo.

He nodded, "Your astromech has the pass code. This datapad is a manifest for Havoc Squadron's new starfighter consignment. With that blasted corvette Star Ravager skulking around the sector recently, expect an Imperial attack on the Karthakk system imminently. The Alliance needs Havoc Squadron ready to defend itself."

I looked at Arkon who shrugged and shook his head. "Don't get your hopes up too much Chausew. I'll be deciding starfighter assignments and you'll help sign off pilots on new starfighter certs. Most of you will be dead within the week still, but at least you made XO..."
Locked