Rebel Squadrons

(44:2:27) Dragon Squadron Briefing Narrative, VSG101

By COM David Vaughan
Unit: Vigilance Starfighter Group
Squadron NL, Dec 28, 2006
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The commander of Dragon Squadron sits inside the office compartment of his portable quarters, the Lambda-class shuttle Mediator as it in turn sits in an auxiliary docking bay of the MC80 Star Cruiser Ad Astra. Sipping at a warm cup of milky caf, he pours over logistic reports regarding ship maintenance and repairs of countless carbon-scored starships recently moved to the Eagle's Nest repair yards orbiting the capital world of Blerthmore.

David Vaughan runs a hand through his short hair tiredly and yawns, his eyes skimming over a status report from the squadron's new communication specialist, Major Jair Karredo.

Looking at his wrist-chrono, Vaughan groans and realises the cause for his weary state -- it is already sometime after 0300, meaning that the day is already, and that 44:2:27 has begun.

Most of the pilots of Dragon Squadron are currently sleeping, supposedly, at the present time, which makes Vaughan's state of awakeness all the more aggravating. Misery does love company, as the axiom states, after all.

Vaughan had recalled most of the squadron from their leave on Tarsonis temporarily to check out the batch of X-wing starfighters that the squadron used during campaigns. The entire complement of the squadron's fighters had returned from the repair yards earlier in the night, and Vaughan had been quick to call the pilots back to perform some basic flight tests to make sure the engineers hadn't messed anything up.

David contemplates the options of continuing with the current reports or of trying to get a few hours of shut-eye when a ship-wide alert is sounded. Vaughan jumps to his feet, knocking over his hot cup of caf which splashes over his pants and reports, and grabs a datapad and comlink, racing for the door.

Running through the decks of the ship, crew and personnel are rushing about madly, many wearing night-clothes, having been rudely and abruptly awoken out of their sleep cycles.

As Vaughan runs up the hallways to the starfighter hangar bays where the X-wings of Dragon Squadron are stationed, he calls up details of the alert on his datapad . . . and stops short.



The capital of the Rebel Squadrons, a heavily-defended bastion of power ever thought untouchable, is under siege by a large Imperial strike force at least forty starships strong.

Swallowing back the acidic taste in his throat, Vaughan runs with renewed vigour to the docking bay; the rest of the squadron would be heading there and might possibly have arrived at their starfighters even before he did. There would be no formal briefing, no calm, collected instructions and pre-battle psych-up sessions. This was a scramble, and everyone available would be jumping in any free fighters to prepare themselves for immediate battle.

The Ad Astra, as with all of the ships back from campaigns, is extremely understaffed, with most crews enjoying their leave time planet-side on Tarsonis, but this doesn't stop Vaughan from nearly colliding with many of the frantically-racing personnel in the hallways.

Sure enough, the entire squadron, bar Lieutenant Tahn, currently out of system on leave, are already scrambling over fighters in the hangar when David arrives, and the Dicacian is impressed anew, as he often was, at their professionalism and punctuality.

By the time Vaughan straps himself into the cockpit of his X-wing and pulls on his helmet, the comm systems are overloaded with traffic.

"Dragons, silence!"

"Sir, what's happening?"

"Is it true, is it really--"

"Quiet! All of you! All we know currently is that the capital is under attack by a sizable Imperial strike force. Intrepid and Renegade forces are scrambling to their defence immediately."

As if to punctuate his point, the deckplates shudder as the large vessel jumps into hyperspace, bound for Blerthmore.

"This is the way the mission is going to unfold: when the fleet arrives, we will all launch from the hangar as soon as possible. So make sure your fighters are hot and ready to go before then. If we're lucky, we'll be able to sandwich the Imperial forces between us and the Blerthmore system defences, which are second to none in this region—-"

With a horrible groaning sound, which makes the ship sound alive and in a state of dying, accompanied by an extended lurch, the veteran pilots among the group recognise the sensation of being pulled out of hyperspace prematurely.

Oh no . . .

Sure enough, the Mon Calamari star cruiser shudders violently as a volley of enemy turbolasers smash into the unshielded hull, throwing personnel and equipment about before the shield systems of the cruiser are brought online.

Even through the garbled audio of the comm system, Vaughan recognises the feelings of many of the pilots reflected in himself; feelings of anger, confusion, rage, fear and helplessness.

"All fighters launch now! We've been interdicted! Engage enemy forces, kill them all! Primary target is the Interdictor Cruiser! Get out of here!"

With a strength of voice David doesn't truly feel, he bellows across the squadron-wide comm channel, "You heard Control, Dragons, let's go kill ourselves an Interdictor. Let's teach them why the New Republic put us here in the Outer Rim!"

As a chorus of inspired shouts of warcries blast through the comm, the X-wings of Dragon Squadron lift from the deck and rush out through the hangar entrance, to participate in what is likely to be the most bloody battle of the Rebel Squadrons's history.


Col. David Vaughan
Dragon CO


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