Mission Database

Battle 3, Additional Story:  Dawn to Dusk

Smoke filled the air.  The red emergency lighting flashed intermittently as it fought to stay lit.  Sprays of sparks flew from the scorched control panels, and numerous small flames burned in various places through the command room causing shadows to flicker.  Bent and twisted support beams and conduits laid at all angles where ever they’d fallen.  Steam and other gases shot from some of the conduits in the overhead where they’d broken off when the heavier beams had fallen.  The carrier’s normal background vibrations and noises had ceased.  All there was left was the crackling staccato of damaged electronic circuits and the hiss of the venting gases.  The forward viewport sported a large weblike crack, but while the bridge wasn’t losing atmosphere through the breach it wouldn’t take much more pounding before the transparisteel shattered and everything that was loose on the bridge, all the debris and the bodies, would become projectiles in the void.
Drefclu, the given Major in charge of the Aragorn’s Computer and Communications departments, stood just inside the entry to the bridge.  He waved his bony hand through the cloud of smoke and steam hanging in front of his face in the hopes that he might be able to see better through it.  He climbed through the debris and fallen hull supports checking for any signs of life in those beings he found, his long thin arms an advantage when the bodies weren’t easily reachable.  Given’s were a race who’s bones were on the outside of their bodies, and even though he’d lived with “meat people” for a very long time, the conditions of some of the bodies he’d found was making his upper digestive tract quiver uncomfortably.
As he made his way through the destruction to the broken command chair, Drefclu searched through the wreckage accounting for all the personnel.  There were supposed to have been fifteen in the bridge crew, and Drefclu had found all but one, so far.  Lieutenant Colonel Davit.  The commanding officer of the Dawn’s Hope.  All of the rest were dead, but he couldn’t leave the bridge without being sure of the status of the captain of the vessel code named Thistle.

--------

A short time prior...

The Major had been on the lower decks when the first salvo of rockets had hit, waiting in the staging area for the report from the commandoes that the area was secure before he entered the Interdictor.  His upcoming task was to secure the Interdictor’s main computer core and slice out the operating codes so that the staff left by Admiral Efrata-Landis would have a secure and fully functional starship - at least as far as the comp systems were concerned.  His team was assembled and waiting for the go ahead to come through by way of their Shock Team escort.  Occasionally, the Shock team leader would speak in low tones into his comlink, look up, and then nod saying something loud enough that the given knew that it was meant to also give him a current status report.
He’d been watching the starfighter battle outside through the viewport, and reviewing his plan of action when a pair of heavy rockets, Drefclu identified them more by their jet trail and speed than actually seeing the projectiles, glided swiftly past the window on their way toward the bridge.  After the violent shudder that rocked the ship had stopped, Drefclu had turned to his team second, a female bothan, Lieutenant Commander Chiria Shi’asa.
“Commander.”  He said urgently.  The Shock escort leader turned toward the given and bothan so as to be able to hear their conversation as well.
“Sir!”  The bothan female jumped to stand before the Major and saluted, an exaggerated gesture.  Drefclu knew that the overreaching movement meant no disrespect, considering his own limit range of movement.  It was only that she normally moved her hands and arms to help her express thoughts.  The bothan was almost always in motion, and hanging on to the handrail that ranged down the side of the boarding ramp, as she was, limited that vital range of motion.
Standard operating procedures were that anyone in the staging area needed to be attached, by some manner or another, to that railing as a precaution in the event that gravity cut out in either the boarding craft or the one being boarded.  Strategic tactics suggested that cutting gravity at any given time might be advantageous to either ship during the first few moments of boarding, but not on both, so either ship might cut its gravity generators if it felt it would give it a significant advantage.  In practice, though, it very rarely happened on purpose.  Accidentally, maybe.
The given pointed at his second in command with the top of his wrist, a given gesture.  “Take-a zee-a team.  You are-a all quite-a competent wizzout me-a.  I feel zat zee-a bridge-a crew needss me-a more-a zen you do right now.”
“Sir!”  She saluted wildy again.  “We’ll take care of things.  If we run into problems,”  she tapped the comlink that showed slightly over the top of one of her upper arm pockets, “we know where you live.”
Drefclu had bobbed his head in the given equivalent of a chuckle.  “Good fortune-a be-a yours,” he said slowly.
“May the force be with you, Major,” the bothan said as she watched Drefclu move as fast as he possibly could, with his stiff jointed waddling gait, back up the ramp.

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Drefclu had run, in his own fashion, to MedOps to assemble a team to search for survivors among the carrier’s upper levels, knowing that the bridge was likely a complete shambles.  The ship lurched again before he’d gotten there, though, and upon arrival he had found a large hole in the hull which had partially opened MedOps to the vacuum of space.  The carrier’s medical team was gone, as was most of the contents of the room.
Using a series of passageway hatches as a functional multistage airlock, the given pulled his joints tight and entered the vacuum.  He moved slowly, keeping his joints sealed, and put together a medical kit from the remaining cabinets as he watched the starfighters outside of the carrier doing their waltz of death.  Another barrage of rockets hit the Dawn’s Hope, and the given was practically thrown through the gaping hole.  The only reason he remained on board at all was the fact of givens’ exoskeletons, and the biomechanics thereof, which allowed him to lock his hand firmly around a stabilizer bar to keep from being thrown clear.  Drefclu had then made his way back out of MedOps, back through his makeshift airlock.

-----------

Currently...

A groan came from a large pile of pieces of bulkhead panels, off to the given’s right.
Drefclu vaulted over a fallen overhead truss, and began removing pieces of debris.  He had to look around to find a spot to put it all where it wouldn’t hinder their route back to the bridge exit, and wouldn’t do any more damage to the bodies already littering the space.  In a short while, though, he found that it was, in fact, Davit was the being under the pile.  The human’s upper arm was bent at an odd angle suggesting that it was broken from within, but the lack of blood in the area of the bend also suggested that it was a simple break of the bone but the external (ugh!) tissue was intact.  Dark red stains marked a number of places on Davit’s head, face and torso, and Drefclu was reasonably certain that the human was suffering from a concussion among her many other injuries.
The given prepared a pain receptor neutralizer for the human and gave her the air-pressured shot in the neck.  He also gave her another injection in the human’s shoulder, through the uniform jacket, above the break.  Davit’s eyes focused a little better, but she was still fairly dazed.
“Major Drefclu?  What are you doing here?”  Davit was laying mostly on her stomach, but could turn her head slightly so as to look almost directly at the given.
“Attempting to ssave-a your life-a.  Can you work your way out of zzere-a?”  The given spoke faster than his normal slow and halting way, practically making his stilted basic unintelligible, his normally conscientious attempts to speak clearly overridden by the need for haste.
The human looked around at the pile which was still covering most of her, braced herself, and then tried to push with her legs.  The attempt was immediately aborted as the human’s face turned deathly white and a hiss of blinding pain escaped her.  “My leg,” she gasped, and Drefclu thought that Davit might lose consciousness again.
Moving around the pile as best he could, Drefclu began exposing more of the human’s lower body.  In a few short seconds, the given found the problem.  A finger-thin conduit had pierced the human’s thigh.  Drefclu felt around under the human’s leg and found that the conduit had gone completely through and embedded itself in the deck plating, effectively pinning Davit firmly in place like the prized specimen of an insect collector.  The given briefly stared at the piece of metal as if trying to use the Force to dissolve it.
Extracting the hypo from his breast pocket, the given gave Davit a large dose of the pain killer on either side of the wound.  He strained to remove the pipe from the flooring and pull it out of the human’s leg but only succeeded in breaking off most of the upper end at the point it had been bent over.  Drefclu regained his balance and studied the situation.
“What is it?”  Davit asked weakly, not being entirely able to twist around to look.  The truss that held the human down prevented him from bending far enough to view the circumstances.  It also effectively prevented her from being able to remove her leg from the conduit.
“I find zzat zziss iss not going to be-a very eassy.”  Drefclu paused, looking around.  “I need a lever.”  He found a long solid piece of strut that he might be able to use, and went to get it.  It was heavy, but it might work to move the truss far enough.  Placing the strut carefully, Drefclu explained.  “You have-a a piesse-a of metal ssrough your leg and it continuess into zzee-a deck.  Wizz zziss I am going to move-a zziss beam.  You sshould be-a able-a to get free-a, but you will have-a to pull your leg off zzee-a metal zzat pinss it.  Zzere iss only about fifteen ssentimeters of it on zziss sside-a which you will have-a to pull ssrough.  But I will not be-a able-a to help you.  You musst do zziss by yoursself, and you musst sstay conssiouss.  Are-a you ready-a?”  He asked carefully.
“If you can lift that beam far enough for me to try, I’ll unstick my leg.  Are you sure that it won’t come with me when I move?”  Davit asked.
“I tried to move-a zzee-a pipe-a, but it sseemss to be-a buried very deeply into zzee-a decking,” Drefclu explained.
“No choices, then.”
“Are-a you ready-a?”  The given braced himself under the far end of the lever.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Davit grimaced, mentally steeling herself against the expected pain.
Without another word, the bony given stood slowly under the weight of the lever and the truss.  As the strut bowed, the beam began to move.  There was crunching noise from the given’s shoulder, and he gasped, but continued to straighten his legs.  The support beam continued to rise and pieces of the pile shifted and slid.  When the gap was as wide as the given could manage, he told the human to move.  Davit heaved up and her leg slid up the short length of the piece of pipe.  Blood flowed freely from the wound as Davit’s leg finally came free of the piece of metal, and Davit screamed as pieces of muscle tore, sticking to the ragged end of the pipe.  She rolled free and clear of the debris as another crunch came from the given’s shoulder and Drefclu collapsed under the strain, unable to hold the weight any longer.
After a very brief lapse of consciousness, Davit became awake enough to start thinking again.  She removed her jacket and, using an existing hole as a starting point, she ripped off a large strip of the tough cloth.  The pool of blood coming from her leg was getting bigger, and it didn’t look like the bleeding would stop any time soon, so she fashioned a tourniquet using the cloth, a small piece of mostly straight metal and a short coil of cable.  Moving around, she spied the Major, a large stain beginning to spread across the chest of his jacket starting at the shoulder.
“Major!  Are you okay?  Can you get up?”
“I have-a broken my mysself,” the given said slowly, drawing ragged breaths.  “I briefly losst conssioussnesss, but I will live-a.”  Drefclu stood slowly, but his right arm hung completely useless at his side.  He moved around to Davit, and used his left arm to help the human to stand.  Davit clung to the given, trying very hard not to put any more weight on him than he had to, and trying desperately hard not to cause any more damage to the broken shoulder.
They supported each other through the mess which had been the bridge.
“Was anyone else  alive up here?”  Davit asked weakly.
“Not zzat I wass able-a to find,” Drefclu answered slowly.  “I counted fifteen bridge-a crew, including yourself.”
“Fifteen should have been all there was unless someone came in without me noticing.”
Drefclu’s foot slipped in the blood that ran over the deck from the sullustan navigator who’s control panel had exploded into her face when the whole system had been shorted out.  Both the given and the human went down, and both laid gasping for a few seconds.
Beyond the viewport the starfighters were still dancing.
Drefclu and Davit finally got back on their feet.  The exit hatch was just short yards away to the rear of the bridge.  They hobbled forward making their way to it slowly, each leaning on and supporting the other.  The blood leaking from their wounds ran down their bodies and soaked their shoes, making their steps uncertain. The deck plates became even more slippery than they had been to begin with.  It seemed like it took them hours to cross the debris to the door with careful steps.  
The emergency lighting went out and came on again very dimly, working on their individual battery power.  Sparks flew from bared wires that swung from the overhead freely.
Davit saw these things as if in slow motion, her vision narrowing as her eyes seemed to blink from the sides.  NO!  Must... stay... conscious...  She shook her head to clear it, but only succeeded in making herself dizzy and nauseous.
Drefclu reached and touched the button to open the hatch as Davit leaned heavily against the bulkhead.  The panel sparked weakly and the door remained closed.  Drawing on energy she didn’t have, Davit reached across the panel and flipped open the manual override to the hydraulics that controlled the hatch.  The given reached inside the space, grabbed the hand grip and pumped it a few times forcing fluid into the chamber that would push the door open.  When they had enough room for their fingers to get a good hold on the door, they both worked at it, pulling against the slight warp in the frame that fought their efforts.
When finally there was enough room that the two could squeeze their way through the opening, Davit turned back to look out the viewport.  Her hiss of breath and the squeeze on his arm urged the given to turn and look as well.  Drefclu instinctively closed his joints as he watched the huge rocket break through the forward viewport.  
They didn’t see blinding flash of light, or feel the shrapnel tear their bodies into ribbons, or sense the explosion and then the vacuum burst their remains nearly into their separate atoms.  They didn’t know that the Dawn’s Hope died with them.

----------------------------

The emergency docking release latches automatically blew as the dying carrier’s roll increased the torque pressure passed the point of safety.  The Interdictor’s docking bay atmosphere energy shield slammed into place to prevent the internal atmosphere from rushing out.  The force of the surge welded pieces of decking in place that had lifted with the explosions from the latches.  The fact that some of the Shock personnel and their prisoners were caught in the surge, as well, was only briefly noted by the other beings which had been clear on either side of the hatch.  The starship jolted once as the dead hulk of the Dawn’s Hope broke free.  The members of the Shock team were momentarily thrown off balance, but they were fairly well in control of the ship by now.  The few uprisings caused by the unexpected death of the carrier were quickly and efficiently put down.
The comp team was already at work on the computer core.
Lieutenant Commander Shi’asa, the delegated computer strike team leader, watched the carrier’s death on a small monitor beside the station she sat working at.  She pounded the station framing with her balled fists with frustration.  Yanking her comlink from her pocket, she barked into it hastily.
“Control, this is Shi’asa.  Who was still on the D.H. when it went?”
“Commander, this is Control.  Please keep the channel clear.  We are collecting that information now, and will let everyone know as soon as we can.”
“Control, Major Drefclu may have still been aboard.  He sent us in, but he stayed to help on the carrier.”
“Understood.  Control out.”
The bothan clipped the comlink to the lapel of her jumpsuit, and attached a small y-cord to it.  The double end of the y she stuck to her face close to the edge of her mouth, and pushed the remaining end into her ear and adjusted the positioning until it was comfortable.  She stared at the console screen for a few moments with a distant look on her face, but began punching buttons after only a short pause.  She mumbled to herself as she extracted the command codes from the computer.
Her datapad blinked a few times.  She grabbed it up, taking it with her, and crawled under the console to move the connections.  At one point, bringing her knees closer to her shoulders so that she could maneuver a little, she had to roll to the side from her position on the floor with her head and one arm inside the console base.  She reached to the comlink, and a muffled “understood, thank you” issued from the hole, after which a number of bangs echoed from inside the console as the bothan beat against the casing with the only hand free to do so.  With a little grunting and pushing with her feet, the bothan seemed to have accomplished her main objective, and withdrew from under the console.  The fur under her eyes was wet as she brought herself to a sitting position on the floor.
“CompTeam alert,” she said into the comlink after making an adjustment to the frequency.  She paused for a second or two to steady her breathing.  “Major Drefclu is reported missing in action and presumed dead.  I’ve been placed in charge of CompComm until further notice.”  She waited until she heard the double clicks signifying acknowledgment from her entire team.  “Status reports, all stations.”  She listened while all the progress reports came in from the various members of her team and swiped angrily at the tears that fell with the heels of her hands and wiped them on the legs of her jumpsuit as if they were an far more than just a simple annoyance.

-----------------------------------

Castor stood anxiously over the com-console while rosters were checked and all crew aboard the Interdictor were accounted for.  Since most of the Dawn’s Hope had been converted into holding cells, and many of the Interdictor’s crew had been transferred over, the carrier took a large number of Malachite’s people with it when it went.  But there had been a number of the members of Shock, as well as the command watch and the personnel needed to operate the ship.  Best estimates at this time were that about a four hundred of the carrier’s personnel, two hundred Shock, and seventeen hundred prisoners had died with the Dawn’s Hope.  The Jes had only the skeleton crew - all junior officers.  All dead.
It was fortunate that most of the carrier’s crew had been aboard the Interdictor during the operation.  It had been the plan to transfer all of the Dawn’s Hope crew aboard the Interdictor, and use the carrier as a holding area for the prisoners with a bare minimum of crew on board until Malachite’s people could be dropped off somewhere reasonably safe and out of the way.
“Acceptable losses,” Greedo said shortly, “and less Imps that we have to worry about.”
Castor stood up straight and stared hard at Greedo.
“Oh, spare me, Ad-miral,” Greedo continued.  “If you don’t have the stomach for it, this is the wrong game to play.  I’ll use little words and short sentences so you will understand.  This is war.  People die.  They are the enemy.  We kill them.  Lots of them if possible.  Sometimes we die too.  Get over it!”
Castor scowled took a deep breath, as if in preperation to answer the insult.
“Admiral!”  The scratchily voiced call came from a calamari a few stations over from where he stood.  “Commander Shi’asa reports that we are in possession of the Interdictor’s command codes and its computer core.  Shock Team Leader reports that according to the database on file, all the Interdictor’s personnel, except for the expected crew aboard the Escort Carrier, are accounted for.  Commander Kiellaret reports minimal damage to the Interdictor, and that all minimum necessary repairs will be completed in three hours.  Grey Squadron reports that almost all of the enemy starfighters have been destroyed, but that we’ve lost two of the Gunboats, the Y-Wing, and two of the Interceptors.  Brier reports recovery is nearly completed, and no severe damage to any of the pilots recovered so far.”
Castor nodded at the commtech.  “Shock reported their rosters yet?”
“Not yet, Admiral.”
Castor nodded again, and went back to studying the data on the screen in front of him.
“Your ship is ours now,” Greedo spat raising both fists to about the level of his shoulders.  He continued in a low hissing voice as if his words were meant only for direct communication with certain far away ears.  “You’re losing ground, Malachite.  I’m coming for you, and your time is running out.  You can’t hide from me.”  Suddenly Greedo straightened as if he’d just realized that he was speaking out loud.  He turned with a sneer and precipitously left the bridge.
Castor looked around at his bridge crew, all looking back at him questioningly.  Slowly he leaned over and touched the switches which would activate the general ship com, the ship-to-ship com, and the personnel comlinks.
“This is Grey Leader to all personnel.  It seems that we have won this day.  But the price of our victory was high.  Our losses today were not inconsequential.  And they are NOT by any means acceptable.  Many good people have died today.  Among those losses are Lieutenant Commander Davit, Major Drefclu, the Jes’n’Case, the Dawn’s Hope, and five of our starfighters.  A list of all casualties shall be made available as soon as we can put one together.”  Castor paused to collect his thoughts.
“The price we’ve paid today does not sway our resolve.  It heightens and strengthens it.  Malachite and his people shall not be allowed to remain free, and the Star Hammer project will be destroyed - by mindwipe if by nothing else.  His bases will be cannibalized and or destroyed, and those in command will be brought to justice.  I promise this as surely as I stand here.  Malachite will pay for his crimes, both those committed and those planned.”

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Begin log: T5B3M2a, Dawn to Dusk

Jila Cosa: additional p.o.v.
Control, this is Shi'asa.  Who was still on the D.H. when it went?
"Commander, this is Control.  Please keep the channel clear.  We are collecting that information now, and will let everyone know as soon as we can."
Control, Major Drefclu may have still been on board.  He sent us in, but he stayed to help on the carrier.
"Understood.  Control out."  The rest had heard Shi’asa’s report; she didn’t need to relay it.
Damn!  Jila thought again as she tried to keep her hand steady enough to sign her reports, and place her datapad and headset back on the com console.  How could that have happened?  The Admiral's plans usually run better than this.  Jila held herself together until the TacTeam dismissed her and she exited TacOps.  Then the tears began to flow.  So many lives ended.
As soon as she cleared the doorway she ran using the less traveled ways, dodging this way and that as people appeared in front of her.  She couldn't go to her room, there was no guarantee that her roommate wouldn't be there.  Jila didn't want to talk to anybody right now, she needed to be alone, but there were just too many people.  If there was one thing that Jila had learned in her years since graduating from the Tech school it was that droids were safe.  They didn't expect you to be their friends, and most of them didn't have the capability to become yours.  Droids would listen without condescension or condemnation of your emotional state.  Jila continued down the halls to the Droid Maintenance bay.  There were a couple of little used alcoves where she could sit and be undisturbed.
Jila cried and cried as she sat in an empty corner, arms around her legs and her head resting on her knees.  She hadn't heard anything from Lessa yet.  The only voice she'd heard from the Brier was the co pilot, Crais.  Was Lessa hurt and couldn't communicate?  How could the Admiral think she could do this job when she could end up an emotional mess after every mission?
click, whirrrrrrrr, beeeep
Jila could feel an insistent thumping on the toe of her boot.  She lifted her head and through tear filled eyes saw an MSE 6 unit reverse and advance itself to bump her boot and try to get her attention.  It was when Jila wiped her eyes on her sleeve that she saw that she was surrounded by her favorite droids, especially the blue R5 unit that reminded her of a small child.  He was all attitude sometimes and could only be given one command at a time.  Jila wasn’t really sure why this unit was here, except that maybe credits were a factor and he was useful if allowed to finish one job before being given another.  More tears streamed down Jila’s face as the droids whistled and beeped quietly as if trying to soothe her pain.  Perhaps they were.  When Jila had her emotions under control once more, she stood, patted the droids heads in thanks, and then went to her quarters to shower and change.  Kartil would be looking for her by now, and she had promised to meet him in the B&G.  And Lessa said she buy a round, so Jila had to go and find out if her friend had made it back.
When Jila opened the door to her quarters she wasn’t at all surprised to see her roommate, Rivyn sitting at the small desk.
"Tough day, huh?"  Rivyn turned in her chair, and noticed Jila’s puffy red eyes.
"Yah."  Jila answered pulling a clean uniform out of her locker and laying it on her bunk.  "Give me a few minutes will ya?"  Jila said as she headed for the shower.  In a few minutes Jila came back into the room and sat down to get dressed.
"Got a message for you." Riv said with a grin.  "Kartil said he’ll meet you at the B&G.  Rock on!"
"Thanks!"  Jila replied as she ducked her head.  She knew she was blushing but didn’t want Riv to see it.  Jila had an instant love/hate relationship with this situation.  It was nice that a guy wanted to pay attention to her right now, but so many men had walked out of her life that she wasn’t sure if she could handle it again.  At least Kartil wasn’t Grey.  Though she didn’t think she’d really mind if one of the Greys payed a bit of attention to her too.
As Jila rounded the corner into the B&G she saw nearly every pilot there, plus a lot of the Aragorn personnel.  Kartil had taken a seat at the bar, so that was where Jila headed first.  Tess slid a glass into Jila’s left hand before she even sat down, patting her other arm as he did so.  Then he smiled and nodded his head sideways as if to congratulate Jila on having a date.  Jila chuckled and nodded back.
"You did a great job today."  Kartil said softly.  "Even if you don’t think so."
"Yes.  But will they think so?"  Jila looked around the room.  Some people were talking quietly, some weren’t saying anything to the other people at their table, and others just sat staring into their cups looking depressed.  Then she saw Lessa in her usual seat.  She made it!  Jila was relieved.  Now she could relax.  Jila hoped with all her heart that whatever was coming in the days ahead wouldn’t be as bad as this, but she knew she’d probably be disappointed.

*******************

End log: T5B3M2a

Battle 3, Mission 3:  Woort Drive

The knock came at Castor’s door.  “Open,” he called.  The door whisked open and Tag Rendar entered slowly.  The expression on her face showed she had a question that she wasn’t sure if she should ask.
“Sir.”
“Have a seat, Tag.”  Castor motioned toward one of the chairs in front of his desk.  Tag took the one closer to the wall.  Making it easier to see the door.  Castor chuckled inwardly.  Old habits die hard, don’t they?  The question remained unasked aloud.  “What can I do for you?”
“Well, Sir,” Tag began.  “It’s more of an ‘if I can do something for you’.”
“Ah.”  Castor raised an eyebrow.  “And that would be...”
“That would be helping you write the notes informing the families of the crew that we lost.”
Castor sensed the small woman’s emotions, the hurt that she tried to keep buried to a manageable level.  The loss of the people on the Dawn’s Hope and Jes’n’Case weighed on her heavily.  The Admiral sighed.  “I appreciate your offer, Tag.  But I’m not going to be writing any of those right now.”
Shock registered on the woman’s face.  “Why not?”  She blurted her question.  “Sir.”  She tried to recover.
The corners of Castor’s moustaches turned up slightly, amused with her discomfort.  But his smile was short lived.  “Well, the biggest reason is that we have no way of getting the notes to those families.  It’s impossible to send any transmissions or canisters through the nebula.”
“Oh.”  Tag looked down toward her lap.  “I knew that.”
“Understood.”  Castor’s tone eased.  “We’re in a situation now that none of us have ever been in.  It’s taking a little getting used to for me too.”
Tag nodded.  “But then I could...”
Castor interrupted her.  “In any event, it may become quite academic.”  Tag’s eyes snapped back to Castor’s.  “It mostly depends on whether or not we survive this; which is why I’m going to need everyone to be at their peak until further notice.”  
Castor’s eyes dropped to his desk and rose again to meet Tag’s.  She could sense that he didn’t give much stock in their chances of surviving Greedo’s obsessive mission.  Not at Grey’s present level of performance.

----------------

The Greys stood on the flight deck.  All were as tired as they looked.  Control had ordered everyone left in a workable craft back to the Aragorn after the Scorpion had destroyed Variscite’s transport.  That had been a bit of a shock.  Though not as much as losing the Dawn’s Hope.  They’d watched the replay of the recording that the Aragorn had made when they’d all congregated in Tess’s place a little earlier.  It seemed that someone felt that the price of failure should be fairly dear.
Transfers between the captured Interdictor and the Aragorn had gone very quickly.  Personnel transferred over with supplies, and starfighters were towed back.
The Sarlacc had a number of starfighters that had been partially dismantled for maintenance.  That had probably been the only reason that the Aragorn had survived at all.  If the entire compliment of the Sarlacc’s defense had been able to fly, the Interdictor would not likely have been captured to begin with.
The Admiral had originally only wanted to replace the starfighters we’d lost with those from the Sarlacc, because the Interdictor would need all the fighters it could lay hold of if attacked.  The situation here was dicey.  Grey couldn’t split up to protect the Sarlacc too, but the Interdictor couldn’t go with the Aragorn deeper into the mire.  If the Sarlacc stayed shut down, then it should cause confusion among Malachite’s starships.  But the Scorpion had already proved that the point could be found (uncertain about with how much difficulty) without the help of the artificial gravity well.
Losing the Dawn’s Hope had put a tremendous crimp in our flexibility.
Now, everything was a priority.  Captain Ra had transferred over to the Sarlacc in order to get it fully functional soonest.  That was near disaster, because now he wouldn’t be onboard to oversee repairs to the Aragorn and the starfighters.  We had lost a significant amount of the of Shock commandos, because a whole security detail had to stay on the Dawn’s Hope to deal with the prisoners, and the crew which had transferred from the Dawn’s Hope to the Sarlacc needed support personnel.
All of this was on the Greys minds as Castor approached them, Katie toddling behind.  His face was drawn and his eyes were framed by dark circles.  It seemed that the same thoughts that had been plaguing the Greys were also foremost with the Admiral as well.
Castor looked up.  “The two Interceptors, and the Bomber from the Sarlacc have just about been put back together, but they haven’t been released for duty.  Even so - not great a return for the loss of two Interceptors, two Gunboats and the Y-Wing.”
Even having lost some pilots, and saving some of the TIE Fighters for reserve only, being short on the heavier starfighters meant that there would be pilots with nothing to do.  And every one of the Greys knew exactly what that meant - a shorter rotational duty.  Round the clock.
“The two Avengers we ferried over,” Castor continued, “still have lockdowns in place.  Two of the Sarlacc’s Avenger simulators have been brought back as well.  But I’m not going to let anyone fly those, anyway, until you’ve spent time in those simulators and qualified for them.”
That was the other shoe that the Greys knew would fall.  Those off duty would be required to spend just about all their spare time in the Combat Sims.
“The good news is...”
Castor paused as he heard someone mumble, “I thought there never was good news.”
“Occasionally, yes, there is good news.”  Castor interrupted himself.  “To paraphrase a wise man: All news is good, depending upon your point of view.”  Everyone knew the old stories.  The historical reports of the times signaling the end of Palpatine and his Empire had been released to the public long ago.  Many works of drama and fiction were based on them.
“A number of TIE Fighter shield generators were also brought back.”  Castor smiled, knowing that the ‘point of view’ on the ‘good’ in that news was as wide in range as the personalities that received that particular news.  “So we should be able to make the rest of those fighters into something less suicidal.  Everyone has worked their behinds off to get things settled quickly; those who are actually structured such that they have behinds that could be worked off, and even those that don’t.”
“At this point, our total inventory of starfighters needing various amounts of repair include one T-Wing, three shielded Squints, one shielded Bomber, and two Avengers.  Our flyable fighters are a single Gunboat, and five shielded Eyeballs.  Being that the one Gunboat is our only ion capable fighter, we’re going to be holding that one back for emergencies only; our present set of circumstances constituting a constant state of emergency not withstanding.”
“So what’s the plan?”  Agreement to the question practically masked the asker.
Castor nodded, and looked over the expectant faces.  “The General knows a number of coordinate points which can be reached from this junction, but nothing in the direction that the Scorpion went.  So, we don’t know where it might have gone, what it’s doing, or when it might be back.”
“So.  At the moment, we’re safe.  We don’t know for how long.  The Pit has got every single body they have working non-stop on getting our fighters ready.  They’re hooking up the shield generators to the rest of the Eyeballs, and getting the Avenger simulators installed.  Your new duty rotation is in your pads.  On duty pilots, get what rest you can.  I’d suggest napping close to your fighters after getting your comforts swapped out - whether they need it or not - we’re at a point where EnviOps isn’t going to be real concerned about to what degree you’ve used them.”

-------------------------

...GREY SQUADRON...  The battle claxon blared loudly.  ALERT!  GREY SQUADRON TO YOUR FIGHTERS!
The engines and com units in the TIE Fighters came alive as the Greys dropped into their pilot chairs and strapped in.  Each of the pilots called ready as they finalized their minimal flight preps.  The whines of ion drives heating up droned shrilly through the bay.  The bay came alive as the fighters all lifted and prepped to head out, the tractor beams holding them in place until they were given the order to launch.
Greys.  Castor’s voice from Control came through the com speaker low, calm, and clear in the pilot’s ears.  The Scorpion has just made a short run through this area.  General Greedo believes he knows where it’s going; a smaller junction between a communications relay and a supply dump.  He believes that, as lightened up as we are, we should be able to catch up and jump in right behind it.  From that vantage point we should be able to take the Victory class Star Destroyer out of the game, and be that much closer to Malachite and the Star Hammer.
This is going to be a tough one, boys, girls, and otherwise.  And it’s likely only going to get harder from here.  I hope you got some sleep, because it’s probably all you’re going to get.
Sleep?  What’s that?
I could use some.
Sleep when you die, two.
Various comments sounded over the com.
Soar with the Gods, my Greys.  Castor finished calmly.

***********************

Begin Log: T5B3M3 - Woort Drive

Taan Ronar:Flight 6.1, Main P.O.V.

"Good to see you up and about again, Vender. You recovered surprisingly well."
Vender, now fully dressed in his flight suit, smiled. "It's a family trait, like I told the nurse. I can heal pretty quickly when I need to."
I raised an eyebrow. "Speaking of which, I would have stayed in there if I had that nurse. What sane man would choose getting himself killed over spending a few nights in MedOps with the nurse? Sithspit, I keep getting that damn 2 1B every time I get sent there. You should count your blessings."
Vender laughed. "Just lucky, I guess. I couldn't resist the call of the fight. It's what I live for."
"Welcome to the Grey side," I said, patting him on the back. "Let's get down to the Pit, we'll be coming out of hyperspace any minute. We may need you out there if this all goes to hell, which wouldn't be any different from the last few sorties. Especially with the ships we're in. Gluing a shield gen to a TIE does not a good fighter make."
"Get over it, you wouldn't be here if you couldn't fly it. Just make sure Ra doesn't catch you saying anything like that."

--------

"Rienan!"
"Yeah?" Mira didn't have to turn around. She recognised Ra's distinctive voice easily.
"Those TIEs ready for action?"
"Just finished attaching the shield gen to the last one. How long do we have?"
"About ninety seconds."
Mira's eyebrows went up, a small string of epithets flying out of her mouth. "No problem."
"I hope not," I replied, jogging up to the TIE.
Mira glanced up, then back at her panel. "Hi Taan. You ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be. This could be an interesting mission."
"I hope so. You're one of the last pilots to arrive, so get in there. You'll be leaving any second."
"Wait, did you just attach that shield generator?"
"Yeah, but it'll be fine. The preliminary tests showed it to be working at full capacity. Just don't knock it too much."
I smiled grimly. "Glued on."
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
A slight jolt and a flash of light outside the hangar indicated we were back in real space.  All fighters, launch immediately! Control ordered. Protect the Aragorn at all costs!
On the way out, I looked at the flight list. Then I looked up at the adversary. Then I looked at the flight list again. Hmm... "Uh, Control?"
What is it?
"Weren't we here to take out the Scorpion?"
That was the original plan, yes.
"Then aren't we a little light on attack craft?"
We've been thrown on the defensive, our first priority is to protect the Saguaro. Then we'll get to attacking them.
I thought that just a little strange, but I wasn't about to argue. "Roger that."
Aw hell, not those blasted shielded dupes again! One of the Thorns was obviously not happy.
"Let's just do what we're here to do and go home. Okay, the first one's in range. Who wants it?"
You can do the honors, Hawk. We'll take that one trying to be an interceptor, there's a chance it might actually put up a fight.
"You're too kind." I reset my laser charging level and held down the trigger. The dupe's pilot was obviously not too smart, as it didn't pull out until its shields were almost half depleted. "This shouldn't be too hard, guys. I think we could do all right here."
Don't count on it. These things just keep on pouring out. They're going to try and win by sheer numbers. We can't stop them all.
"Let's try, at least." I finished off the first of the dupes and headed for the next one. "Whoa, that's a little less distance than I thought. He's almost in range to attack the Aragorn."
Thorns, we're getting warhead locks here. Stop those bombers!

--------

An explosion rumbled throughout the starship, and everyone looked for something to grab onto. Mira looked out at the unfolding battle. From her position in the hangar, you could see the warheads flying towards them. Despite the manned turrets, a fair few of them were getting through and it was eating at the shields. Please let us survive this one, she prayed to no one in particular. Please.

"This is intense!"
That's an understatement if ever I heard one. Look out, another dupe's getting close. The seemingly endless stream of bombers continued, unfazed by the remnants of their predecessors floating in the vacuum around them. Calamari Cruisers were noted for their durability, but they can only stand so many rocket hits before something gives.
A noticeably brighter explosion marked the stage that everyone was fearing: the Aragorn's shields were down. From here on, every warhead hit counted.
THORNS! OUR SHIELDS ARE DOWN! Control screamed into everyone's headsets.
"We know, we can see." I vaped another dupe and turned to find another one, about two kilometers away, launching more rockets. "Plan of action?"
Keep fighting, we're going to hold out for as long as possible.
"Okay, whatever you say." I targeted the incoming rockets and began firing. A direct hit to the front of one of them caused it to explode prematurely, but the rest went straight overhead. I pulled around frantically, trying to get another lock on the second one. The rocket got within one hundred meters of the Aragorn's hull before one of the laser bursts caught its engine and finished it off.
Unfortunately, they were smart enough to attack with more than one at a time. A few proton torpedoes struck the massive starship's midsection, causing visible hull breaches and scorch marks. This was not turning out for the better.

--------------

"Admiral, we've got a hull breach!"
Castor looked out at the rapidly decaying situation and sighed. Losing the ship was definitely not considered acceptable losses. "Call them back, Jila. We're getting out of here."
"Yes sir. Attention all Thorns, return to the Saguaro IMMEDIATELY! We're getting out of here, now!"
The remaining fighters quickly abandoned any dogfights they were in and set full power to the engines. The second the last fighter was in, the Aragorn switched from its slightly damaged sublight engines to the hyperdrive, accelerating out of danger.

======================

Adam “Vender” Fene: Flight 2.2, alternate p.o.v.

Vender had been out of Grey action for an extremely long time. He had heard stories of what was going on in the med bay from a few friends, and desperately wanted to get out there to help his fellow pilots. It was what he did. His injuries had kept him from flying numerous missions, which he was angered from being kept from. He almost felt responsable for the loss of a few of their ships, because he wasn't out there.
Nearly a week before his fighter had been blown to chunks in an engagement with transports, which left him stranded in the cold dead of space, with numerous injuries. When they recovered him he was immediately submerged in bacta for days. The healing had began, but he was not yet fit for duty. It angered him, feeling the rocking of the ship. The helpless feeling that all pilots got when they knew they couldn't be out there, a part of the action even if it meant being killed.
The medtech, at least, gave her sympathies. She did all she could to support him in his troubling time, as she probably would have with anyone. She struck Vender as a beautiful woman, but he couldn't help but stuff that feeling deep down in realization that he had to be out flying, for the sake of Grey. His contribution may not have even been large, but they could use all the help they could get.
"Let me fly." Vender frowned and stared at the wall as Sheryl Iagin performed a check up. "I need to be out there." Vender frowned again. Never in all his life had he ever been held back from doing his duty of being a pilot, not even with injuries. Once he had even gone out and flown with a concussion, and 3 broken ribs. The pain was berable as long as he felt the void of space around him, and the elegant touch of battle. In a sense that he could save lives, if it could mean his own.
The MedTech, Sheryl Iagin, sighed and sat down on a chair nearby. "I can't do that. Your leg still needs to heal. I'm not a pilot, but I do know that's an important part of the anatomy when it comes to flying. You'd end up using the other leg to use the rudder pedals, and your opposition will begin to realize your pattern of flight. You could die just from that."
Vender frowned and looked away. "I'll manage. I always have." Closing his eyes he grit his teeth and was about ready to hit something. His self control stopped him from doing it, and he realized he shouldn't be taking out his anger on the nearby bedpan. It'd only worsen his injuries anyway. Vender wasn't a guy to have patience, but he was learning to adjust that problem.
"How long?" Vender frowned again, looking back at her.
The medtech looked at him sympathetically again. "A day or so more. You're making a fast recovery, considering the wounds you've received. Faster than what normal humans would experience. It's actually quite interesting  "
"A family trait." Vender cast a cold look at her, warning her not to go any further. He knew he had a quick ability to heal, he wasn't sure why, but he knew his father. "Please, just let me fly. I'll be better use out there than sitting in this musty bed. I'm sick of this, I should be out there! I can't take it anymore! You know what it's like being kept from the very thing you do best and love? What if you couldn't treat people, and were stuck cooking with a wookie, knowing that you could possible save hundreds." Vender's expression began to ease, and he felt his tongue slip. He shouldn't of said that, he was just becoming an obnoxious beast now. His TIE Fighter was calling though..he had to get out there..
Sheryl stared at him with a frown. She had met stubborn patients before, but for the past four days he had been constantly nagging her, giving her excuses, and belittling her job, doing whatever he could to get back in the front line. "I can't believe you. I'm not having this conversation. In any case, you should be ready to go very soon." She began to give a rather sticky tone of voice. Vender could of sworn it turned into a *cough* but then again he wasn't any better. "You're not ready, and I'm not letting you out of my sight until you are. I'm glad the shock team caught you last time, I should of told them to break something else just to teach you some patience." With that, she turned to look at a datapad.
"You don't have to guard me, then, just let the shock team catch me again." Vender grinned.
"Mr. Fene!" She was starting to giggle, Vender could almost see.
She was cute that way. They hadn't really been friends   more like Vender's worst enemy. The enemy that prevented him from flying. He was starting to get to know her like a friend though, even through all the constant nagging. The moods, the little annoying things she did to annoy him further if he even thought about trying to make a break for it for the third time. Vender began to give her puppy eyes "Pleeease." Vender smiled. "I'll be your friend!"
She hesitated with a small smirk. "Please, Vender, I "
Vender fell out of his bed and began kissing her feet "See! I'm okay! I can fly! Look! Come on, lemmy go!"
She smirked again. "Then try to get back on the bed, and I'll let you go."
Vender's expression suddenly collapsed, morphing into a blank but angry expression. He couldn't get back up, he realized. "Uhh, yeah, I can do that." Vender looked over at the bed. His arm was a bit loose, and his leg was slightly in pain, but he'd have to fake it to get through this.
Placing one foot on the ground, he sank all his weight onto it. Grabbing the side of the bed with his left arm, he began to pull himself up, and placed the other foot on the ground, still keeping his weight on the other leg. The bed was about a footstep away before he could sit on it. Jumping would make it obvious he couldn't use his other leg. The pain was great, but bearable if he could get out of the confines of the med bay. "See..I'm standing.."
Sheryl smirked. "Mind letting go of my knee then?"
Vender blushed as he realized he wasn't hanging on to the edge of the bed. She had some strong legs. "Sorry.." Suddenly he realized he was dizzy, and couldn't tell the difference between her leg covered in the white uniform, and the bed covered by a white sheet. His eyes began to swivel. I can do this, I've faked myself out of worse before..
Standing fully now, without support, he began to wobble, but even with it he began to maintain his balance. A trick he learned in zero gravity. "See..standing.." Vender smiled and looked at the bed pan as if it were her face. He took a step with his bad leg, and quickly swivelled around as it collapsed on him to plop his bottom onto the bed. "See? I'm fine."
"Oh, I’d recognize that trick anywhere. You aren't fooling me, Fene." She smiled and examined his leg. "You're lucky you didn't injure yourself further."
Vender sighed as his plan had failed. She was an equal match, no doubt. She couldn't be fooled, all escape routes had been slammed shut, and he suddenly became depressed at the overwhelming void that rushed in on him. In seconds he was unconcious. He didn't realize it, but he had just been given a shot by the MedTech.
That evil witch.

----------

An Hour later, just before coming out of hyperspace to meet the VSD Scorpion in battle.

Vender awoke to see Taan talking with the MedTech. "What the.." Vender felt some more slight dizzyness, but quickly came out of it with a short shake of his head. "Taan? What's up? What's goin on?"
"I am your savior, and you owe me big this time." Taan grinned. "I got you back into active duty. Don't ask, just consider it a debt." Taan waved a hand for him to come over to the door. Sheryl smirked and crossed her arms. "He can't even walk, you know."
Vender stuck his tongue out at her. "Yeah I can." Vender stood up and flung off the sappy medical gown he wore, pretty much to reveal all he had. Sheryl gasped as he began slipping on his flight suit. "I told you, it runs in the family."
Vender walked over to Taan stiffly as he handed Vender a datapad. "Here is the briefing outline. You'll be on backup. If we need to be reinforced, you're back in the rotation." Taan grinned and exited down the hall.
Sheryl watched him go. "I really don't approve of this. I can't believe you can walk, have you been FAKING?" She frowned at him as her eyes trailed down his body and stopped halfway, but quickly reverted to his leg. Her frown sort of dwindled away at his remarkable recovery.
"No, I told you. I'm quick at healing. It was a little trick I learned from my father. Well..he didn't teach me it, but my mother actually had to teach me..but..he was the one to pass it along." Vender frowned and turned his attention toward the datapad. "It's useful, but I don't really want to talk about it." Vender frowned and began reading over the mission parameters.
Sheryl limply leaned against the doorway. "You'll have to show me. It could be put to good use around here.."
Vender suddenly gave her a cold stare, another warning. "No."
Sheryl blinked, as if Vender turned into a completely different person. From a miracle to a monster. "Why? It would mean so much."
Vender gaver her a freezing look. "I said No. Castor would have my head, and I'm not willing to give it away at any cost. Consider that your only clue." Vender turned and walked away. "Sorry for my attitude, I just don't want to talk about it."
He left Sheryl in a confused state. He soon heard her walk back into the med bay to begin tiding up. He felt bad, but it really wasn't something he could give away. He could, but he wouldn't for the fear of the reaction people would get. Soon he was near the hangar. Beyond the mag field, he could see they were whisping through hyperspace, minutes away from battle. Alarms began to sound and suddenly they had dropped from hyerspace.
Pilots began scrambling all around with the loud speakers blaring to get to their fighters. It turned out the "Scorpion" had just tailed them. Within seconds he saw the TIEs launch as he got to his own. "Force forgive me." Climbing in, he waited. A shock went through the hull. It was very distinct..heavy rocket. Most likely from some sort of bomber.
Flight 2, cleared to launch!
Without hesitation, he launched, and was at peace with his void. Bombers swarmed all around him, and at first it was hard to fly like he usually did. Wincing to put the pain behind him, he swooped in with his wingman and open fired on a shielded TIE Bomber. "The dupe is half dead. Go for another group, I'll take care of this one!" Vender broke formation in a hard barrel roll, sweeping in over the bomber cannons blaring as his lasers penetrated its shields. The hull began to fill with laser burns and holes, and assorted metal. The pilot ejected seconds before the bomber exploded.
He turned his attention and began to come back to the main group. ALL FLIGHTS RETURN TO HOME! SHIELDS ARE DOWN, WE'RE GETTING OUT OF HERE! Vender cursed as he had just got into the fight, a fight they had lost. He realized he could be stuck out in space if he didn't, and dropped his laser energy to pick up speed. He was quite far away. The hull integrity of the Aragorn was not good. He could see small explosions errupt all around it.
Seconds later he was nearing the hangar, and the tractor began to pull him in, along with a few other fighters in his flight. "Coming in. Hold her steady.." A jolt went through his craft as the tractor beam exploded, his craft pumeling into the hangar. He had seconds to regain control. Hitting the rudder slightly he turned the TIE onto its side, and would have to make due for a crash landing that would save most of the ship. There wasn't time for normal docking. His flight followed suit and slid in using their port solar panels as landing struts.
WE'RE JUMPING TO HYPERSPACE! The comm called, and as he looked through the glow of the magcon he watched the brilliant void turn into blinding light. "Force help us."

==================

Rensal Darklighter: Flight 1.1, alternate p.o.v.

"Hey Sheryl, how are the greys that were shot out?" I asked as I entered the Med bay.
"The ones that lived to make it on board are doing fine. All of them will be flight certified in just over twenty four hours." She responded.
"Tha..."
...GREY SQUADRON... The battle claxon blared loudly. ALERT! GREY SQUADRON TO YOUR FIGHTERS!
"...nks, but I gota run!" And with that I ran to the Docking bay.
The other greys looked at me as I entered, waiting for me to get into my cockpit so they could vent the hold for launch. As my engines showed green, my com system suddenly popped online.  ...pare to launch! Waiting for 8 to report in.
"8 here, Control. All indicators in the green."

Launch Thorn Flight 1and 6!
Nice of you to join us 8, said Dave leading us out.
"I thought you didn’t want me out here showing you up 5." I replied as I jammed my throttle to full shooting out of the hanger.
Pipe down Thorns.
"As ordered Control," I replied.
Bombers headed our way guys, came Dave’s voice.
"I am showing shields up on the dupes!"
Not again! 1.2 said.
"Stay on my wing 1.2. We are headed to get those circling under us." I said.
I heard a double click on the com telling me he understood. As we came within firing range Control came over the com. We are under attack! get those bombers off us before we loose shields!
"Were trying Control!" I replied as I got the first dupe.
Watch Out 1.1!
I dove just as a missile hit my rear. "Man am I happy for those shields!" I said as I cruised onto the rump of the bomber who tried to kill me. After few minutes of pounding, and an impressive evasive maneuver, I finally got him.
Shields going critical. I heard over the com.
"1.2 let’s head back toward the Saguaro. Kill anything on the way there."
As we headed towards the ship, I picked off six more bombers and started to go towards a seventh when the Aragorn’s shields went out.
All Thorns to the Saguaro now!
We all were able to get onboard before we jumped. As I exited the fighter I noticed a lot of red on the diagnostic monitor on the wall.
"Yeah. The Aragorn got hit hard but we are able to go on." Came Castor’s voice behind me as I was stepping onto the flight deck.
"We have to, Sir. We are the only people able to put an end to Malachite. That’s the only reason the General came back."
"The main reason, Biggy," he said as he turned to talk to Dave.

====================
Tacomah Somers: Flight 1.3, alternate p.o.v.
I slept on tha flight deck floor.
I dreamed about my Mom an' the kids.
My Dad looked at me, an' I saw tears. Mom reached out to me, but my hands slipped through her fingers. Tha young ones cried. I was fallin' backward away from them. I fell faster an' faster.
I awoke feelin' that I'd been dropped from a good ways off the floor. I felt like I'd slammed inta somethin' hard against my back.
I screamed, but it caught in my throat.
My eye's opened, an' all I saw was a fuzzy shade of grey all around me.
I was really confused, an' somethin' was holdin' me down.
I focused my eyes. A face. Tag. Just above me, with her hand on my shoulder.
"Somers," she said, an' shook my shoulder again. "Wake up!"
I focused on her face an' quit strugglin'.
"You were dreaming." She said with a low voice.
"Yah." I said. "A bad one."
"You okay?" She asked.
"Gimme a minute." I said. I was still breathin' hard. I put my hand on her wrist. She left it there, an' I felt better that she did. My breathin' slowed down, but it took a little while.
"You okay?" She repeated.
"Yah." I answered. "Good to go."
"Want to tell me about it?" She asked.
"Nah." I said. "Just a bad dream. I'm okay."
She nodded. "Okay." But she didn't try ta get her hand back. I realized I was grippin' her wrist hard, an' I let it go an' tried ta relax. I guess she could tell, 'cause she narrowed her eyes at me, nodded, an' then let go of my shoulder.
I sat up an' wiped my face with my sleeve. It came away all sweat. I checked my comfort. It was good. My suit life support box was good too. I checked ta see where my helmet was. Right next ta the bulkhead where I put it. Good. My heart was still poundin', an' I took a deep breath. When I looked up, Tag was still lookin' at me.
"I'm okay." I said ta her as I ran my hand through my hair. "I'm okay." I said quieter. She nodded back at me, turned away finally, an' sat back against tha crate she had her back against.
I picked up my datapad, an' checked tha schedule. Not much longer till we flew.

          

Whump!

Lasers against the TIE Fighter's shields weren't as bad as the metallic sound when they weren't shielded, but less muffled than if he were in an X Wing. Tacomah looped down and around to the right, came up again, and looped over, making a kind of a tilted verticle figure eight. He pulled out of the curve and back up onto the tail of the Bomber he'd been chasing.
Shift a unit of laser energy to the shields.
Equalize the shields.
Check the front and rear scanners quick.
Locate the target.
Pull down and to the left.
Center the target.
Lead the target through the curve.
Two linked laser shots.
Three outta four hits.
Don't overrun the bomber.
Loop away and around.
Back to the bomber.
Two more shots.
The bomber exploded.
Pull hard away from the debris.
Laser bolts passed inches away from the transparisteel in front of him.
Punch up the nearest attacking target.
A Squint.
Reset the laser recharge down one level to pick up speed.
Loop up and over.
Loop right and around.
Pull up hard.
Level out and fire.
Interceptor's shield drained.
Three more hits is all it'll take.
Lead it left.
Fire.
Miss.
Nuts!
Fire again.
Two hits.
Almost done.
Lead down.
Jig left.
Crap!
Slow down and miss ramming it.
Speed up.
Loop right.
Check sensors.
Pull right again.
There.
Fire!
Two hits!
Dodge the debris.
Clear.
Next target.
ALL FIGHTERS RETURN TO THE SAGUARO! WE ARE LEAVING NOW!
CRAP!!
Punch up the Aragorn.
Shields down. 48% hull integrity.
Oh no!!
Tacomah's mind went into overdrive.
Scorpion's a Victory class. They carry 'bout two dozen TIEs. What'd we get? Check the log quick. Seventeen Dupes, three Squints, two Eyeballs. Can't be alot left. Just that an' tha Scorpion. I can take a VSD. I can take tha rest of what it's got for fighters. Avengers? Maybe. But they'da launched 'em by now. Dupes mostly. Maybe a coupla more Squints. I can do that. I could stay an' take out tha rest of 'em, an' take tha Scorpion outta tha game too. But they're leaving. I'll get left behind. No knowing if they'll come back at all. Here till my air runs out. I could eject. An' float. Not so bad. Nice view. I could talk ta Mom. At least tha Scorpion wouldn't be able ta chase tha Aragorn any more. I can do this. I can make a difference. I'm not a scaredy kid. ...for tha Aragorn an' Grey. ...an' to destroy tha Star Hammer. Nest high, an' soar with tha gods!
Tacomah flicked the switch to turn off his com unit. He pulled around away from the Aragorn, back toward the oncoming bombers.
...Tacomah... His name rang soft and clear in his ears. It hadn't gotten there by way of the com.
The boy looked around, searching.
...Tacomah. Come back aboard.
Tacomah tapped the side of his helmet.
...we have time. We'll be okay. Come back aboard.
"Admiral?" His question echoed inside his helmet, unheard by anyone but himself.
...come back aboard now, Tacomah. This is not your time.
The young pilot slammed the switches to drain both his laser and shield power to his engines. He punched up the Aragorn on his console. Twenty seven seconds to go two and a half kilometers.
It was going to be tight.
Real tight.

          

GET THOSE TRACTORS READY!!
WHO THE HELL IS THAT?!!
HE'S NOT GOING TO MAKE IT!!
DAMN!!
The TIE Fighter rolled as it screamed through the docking bay port, missing the forward edge of the opening by a fraction of it's hull length, and only a fraction of a second before the stars started to stretch. Rockets weren't far behind it, their thruster trails glowing like comets. The little starfighter jerked violently to the side as the tractor beams took hold. It stopped scant inches away from the crash barrier. Smoke rose from three of the five tractor units.
And the Aragorn slid into hyperspace.

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