[Note: This mini-narrative will partially bridge the gap between FC Narrative 2 and the upcoming VSG/RID102 narrative. Please enjoy this for now as we wait for the release of VSG/RID 102.]



-=Rebel Squadrons' Domed Command Complex, Blerthmore, 44:2:27:04:10=-


The Operations Center in the Command Dome was pitch black. It was a deep, dark and inky black relieved only by the occasional flash of sparks spitting out of some overloaded work station. The groans of the wounded echoed across the room. Soon they were joined by a few uncertain voices. Very quickly, they all gave way to one voice, which was speaking rapidly and with authority, spitting out orders. It was the voice of Vice Admiral Tyrell "Spokes" Borran.

"Break out emergency lights!"

"Get a medical team over here immediately! The Fleet Commander is wounded!"

"Gosling, what is the status of our communications?"

"Can somebody restore power?"

Gradually, the situation began to stabilize. An ensign and two soldiers flicked on handheld emergency lamps. As the lights swept back and forth, the officers of the Operations Center realized the extent of the damage. Work stations had blown out all around the room, and several struts and beams had shook loose from the ceiling and fallen to the floor. One officer lay beneath a structural support beam near the weapons' station, almost certainly dead. Several officers with burns over their arms and faces twisted in agony on the floor. Next to the holographic galactic display lay the Fleet Commander, Dave Trebonious-Astoris, unconscious and bleeding. Nearby, with debris all around him, Spokes sat calmly in his wheelchair. Somehow he had emerged unscathed. The Operations Officer, Jon Anchorage, struggled to his feet beside Spokes, his eyes glassy from a concussion.

The communications officer, Lieutenant Gosling, had pulled out a datapad and plugged it into her clearly disabled station. She looked frazzled and frail, but her voice was steady. "Admiral, we appear to have lost all communications with the fleet. Communications within the Command Dome itself are still online, and a medical team is on its way here now. Casualty reports are coming in from all over the Dome, sir."

Spokes frowned. "If we can't establish communications with the ships in orbit, we're effectively out of this fight. We need to talk to them, Gosling. I don't care if you have to send somebody outside to set up a new comm dish!"

"Engineering Officer Warren is incapacitated, sir," shouted a nearby ensign, "but it looks like the entire Dome has lost primary power. Minimal life support on auxiliary power is the best we have right now."

"Not the answer I want to hear," Spokes retorted, "get down to Engineering and get us back in this fight!"

As medical teams rushed into the Operations Center and began to tend to the wounded, Jon licked his lips, slowly gaining control of his faculties. He looked down at Dave's crumpled form on the floor, surrounded by medics, and some half-remembered line from an old epic drifted through his dazed head - and all around me the darkness falls.



-=Bridge of the Imperial I-class Star Destroyer Redemption, 44:2:27:04:11=-


The bridge was pandemonium. A half dozen officers shouted out reports at once and there was a constant clatter of footsteps as officers raced from station to station. Occasionally, the booming voice of Fleet Admiral Kaz Falcion punctuated the noisy atmosphere. The Star Destroyer Redemption was stationed near the Golan-III Raptor, the ship and station relying on each other for support in attempting to repel the massive imperial assault.

As Kaz studied the tactical situation from his perch near the command walkway of the bridge, surrounded by officers and advisers, one voice emerged distinctly from the general uproar. It was the voice of the sensor officer. "Sir, sir, the Command Dome on the surface is in trouble! They appear to have lost power and we cannot raise them on communications!"

Kaz grunted, thinking to himself that it was good that the officer had identified the Command Dome on the surface, as opposed to some Command Dome floating around in space. Choking down a sarcastically bitter response, he shrugged his shoulders. "Not like we can do anything about it, unless you want to take an escape pod down and see how things are." Despite his somewhat flippant response, Kaz was at least moderately concerned. The Command Dome was the only thing on Blerthmore worth protecting, after all. He turned to his circle of officers and tactical advisers, "With the Command Dome out of the fight, we're in charge now." Kaz gritted his teeth, "Bring all units closer to Bases Raptor and Stalwart and prepare to make a last stand."



-=Rebel Squadrons' Domed Command Complex, Blerthmore, 44:2:27:04:20=-


In the Operations Center, it seemed that the situation was stabilizing. The wounded had already been carried off to MedOps, the emergency lights, fueled by a trickle of auxiliary power, had come on, and the room was bustling as officers cleared debris. Spokes nodded approvingly. Although main power and communications were still out, the crew was focused and keeping busy, trying to do whatever they could to restore normalcy. Despite this progress, the tension in the air was palpable.

Spokes wheeled over to Gosling, where the communications officer had managed to cobble together a makeshift workstation by pulling up a fallen beam and perching on it precariously while she pecked at her datapad. She looked over at him. "Admiral, reports from Engineering are not encouraging. They have managed to route additional secondary power to MedOps and they are working on getting power to us here in the Ops Center, but they say primary power will take days to restore. We've simply lost too many conduits and had too many lines severed by all the shaking."

Spokes nodded. "If they can at least get secondary power to us here, then we can monitor the status of the Dome itself. What about communications?"

Gosling smiled wryly. "I'm cobbling together a few emergency beacons and the back-up transmitter. This should at least give us verbal communication with our fleet in orbit, but I'm afraid the galactic display will be down until Engineering gets us power in here."

"How long until your transmitter is working?"

"Ten more minutes," Gosling promised.


-----


In MedOps, the lights were dim and only half of the bacta tanks were operational. Dr. Rori Connessey bent over Dave Trebonious-Astoris, inspecting his wound. A 2-1B medical droid at his side took the Fleet Commander's vital signs. "Dr. Connessey, the patient's vitals are steady, but the pulse is too low," the droid reported cheerfully. Connessey nodded. "He's been severely concussed, but a brief dip in the bacta tank should take care of both that and his cranial laceration. Put him in the tank for three hours, and we'll check on him again after that time expires."

Connessey sighed as he turned away. There were many more patients to see...



-=Bridge of the MC80 Cruiser Rebel Fist, 44:2:27:04:30, one and a half hours after the start of the Imperial attack=-


At long last, the elongated blue-white streaks of hyperspace shortened and shrank, and quite suddenly the massive cruiser Rebel Fist and the other craft of its fleet reverted to real space. The Intrepid Battle Group had arrived at Blerthmore. On the bridge, the crew stood still for the briefest of moments, transfixed by the sight in the main viewport. Wreckage floated everywhere. The ships that had been at the Eagle's Nest repair station were already largely slag. Closer to the planet, the battle still raged hotly around the Star Destroyer Redemption and Golan-III base Raptor. Flashes of turbolaser blasts lit up the space between the RS and Imperial forces. Other Imperial vessels were even closer and seemed ready to pounce on the newly arrived force. One bridge crewman murmured, "this is terrible."

The eyes of Major General Anton Nels flashed. "What's terrible is what we're going to do to these people. They will pay. All of them. Launch all fighters! Bring us forward, toward the Redemption! We must come to her assistance! Destroy anything that gets in the way!" Galvanized by the spirit of their commander, the crew jumped into action, shaking off the shock of seeing the home system of the Rebel Squadrons in shambles. As the fighters of the Intrepid Battle Group screamed into the great melee above the planet Blerthmore, the Rebel Fist and its escorts moved in to engage the Imperial vessels at point blank range. The odds were still heavily in the Imperials' favor, but the RS forces were now able to put up a fight and prevent the quick knock-out blow. With grim determination and a spark of hope, the men and women of the Rebel Squadrons fought to preserve all that they knew.



[Note: At this point, the narratives have brought the story up to the point of the beginning of VSG 101 XWA. Fill in the battle narrative with your own experience of flying that mission. The VSG/RID 102 narrative will pick up at the end of the Battle of Blerthmore at approximately 44:2:27:06:00.]