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(44:4:11) Cat and Mouse
-=Bridge of the Imperial I-class Star Destroyer Redemption 44:3:31:09:13=-
“Status report!” Admiral Falcion bellows powerfully, his eyes fixed on the drifting hulk of what was once the Victory-class Star Destroyer Black Hawk.
“Getting reports from the fleet now, Sir… All enemy Victory Star Destroyers have either been destroyed or have escaped into hyperspace. Sensors show over two dozen enemy support craft made it to the surface; all carrying ground material. Friendly support craft are en route to take them out on the ground while they unload the rest of their troops.” The sensor officer reports while reading over the streaming lines of text and indicators on his console.
“The Ad Astra is reporting in, Sir. Minor damage to secondary hull, lateral sensors damaged… nothing too serious. The Unforgiven has formed up on her blind side and is working on repairing some minor power fluctuations. The Crimson Ghost reports she’ll need a new paint job, but that’s about it.” The communications officer speaks up, glancing up toward the Admiral while listening to the reports through an ear piece.
“What of our ground forces?” The Admiral inquires; a part of him hoping that the battle was not going well; orbital bombardments always brought a grin to his face.
“We’ve only been receiving intermittent communications, the Imperials are likely trying to jam any and all signals being sent from the base… but from the limited excepts we’ve received, Righteous Indignation Division commanders have routed the primary attack force, and are working on mopping up some pockets of heavy resistance. The last report indicates that they should have everything mopped up within the hour.”
“Excellent… Recall all fighters and begin any necessary repairs; inform our flight officers that the next time they’re launched for interdiction missions to actually destroy the ships they are sent to kill… not let them slip past.” Kaz says with a hint of venom in his voice, before swiveling his chair around to gaze out into space.
“Yes, Sir.”
-=Primary Conference Room, Imperial I-class Star Destroyer Redemption 44:3:34:12:02=-
“What do you mean our X-wings are out of service?!” Admiral Falcion screams at the top of his lungs at his flight control officer; the poor soul had just delivered the news to the admiral that the entire Strike Force’s compliment of X-wings, save three, were in desperate need of repair… and spare parts were nowhere to be found.
“They’ve sustained heavy damage in every engagement up to this point; in our last engagement we lost nearly a full squadron of fighters, and every single one has sustained damage of SOME sort! We don’t have the parts to fix everything, so until we get things situated our X-wings are completely out of commission!” The officer half-stammers as he attempts to defend himself, fearing the admiral’s wrath.
“You mean to tell me we’re OUT of spare parts?”
“Yes, Sir. Our torpedo stores aren’t doing so well either, space bombs are non-existent, I think we have three rockets left, and I’m not going to even think of asking a pilot to use an X-wing when it’s missing an entire wing!”
“A re-supply convoy is scheduled to try to sneak into the sector and bring us more munitions; I will inform Greeop that we require new stores of refit and repair materials. Until then, make due with what you have; do you hear me? I don’t care if you have to float around in space yourself in order to find some scrap metal that can be used to patch a hole or a wire that can be used, I want my X-wings back online! Do I make myself clear?!”
“…Yes, Sir.”
“Get out of my sight.”
The flight control officer spins around on his right heel, marching out of the conference room in a huff of frustration.
“Maybe a more fitting punishment would be to tell our pilots that it’s his fault they’re going to be stuck in Y-wings for awhile…” Raven speaks up, having silently watched Kaz chew out the flight officer.
“Good idea, maybe I’ll do that as well.”
“Heh… You do realize that it’s going to be a pain in the ass to get a convoy through all of the Imperial activity in this sector?”
“Of course, what do you take me for; an idiot?”
“At times.”
Kaz shoots Raven a look of disgust, frowning. “In either case, I’ve got a plan for that.”
“So you’ve finally decided to get off your ass and do something? This I must hear.” Exaggerating his demeanor, Raven leans forward intently in his chair, propping his elbows on the table and resting his head on his hands, staring at Kaz.
Ignoring him, Kaz merely grins. “We will dispatch a contingent of fighters in Y-wings to escort the convoy in along with some light capital ships that can easily evade enemy sensors; while a second flight consisting of A-wings harasses Imperial patrols along the most direct route from Greeop to here. The A-wings will tie up the enemy forces, and the convoy will slip right under their noses.”
“I’m somewhat impressed, how do you know where the Imperial patrols will be?”
“As I have said before… on my ship, I am King. I’ve had people working on pinpointing their patrol routes since the attack on Aphene. Congratulations on being a week behind the times; again.” Kaz says, the grin remaining on his face the entire time.
Raven quirks an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair before nodding approvingly.
“I’ll make the arrangements with Greeop, let’s do it.”
-=Open space, near the Subterrel Strike Force, Fersto System, 44:4:11:08:43=-
“I can’t believe we have to fly these Wishbones …” First Lieutenant Adam Mieter transmits over his squadron communication frequency, his hands gripping the flight column of the Y-wing lazily as he cruises in formation with the rest of his flight.
“I know, it feels like I’m flying a slug.” The voice of Commander Galic Mars fills the communication channel; his Y-wing flying alongside Adam’s.
“Just look at it this way…” Galic continues, “A few hours in a wishbone escorting a convoy, a cozy debriefing and another medal pinned on your chest; and before you know it you’ll be in your cross again.”
“Yeah, still, these things handle like a bantha.”
“They sure d…” Galic is interrupted by the voice of Lieutenant Commander Olith Hesto.
“This is Dragon One to all flights, the convoy will be in position in thirty standard minutes; mission is a go. Repeat, all flights, enter hyperspace immediately to begin combat and escort operations.”
“Well, it looks like our little chat is going to have to wait.” Galic says with a chuckle over the comm.
“Aye, see you on the other side.”
In a series of brilliant flashes of light, flights of A-wings leap into hyperspace to undertake their harassment missions, while Y-wings leap forward to rendezvous with the convoy and escort them to the fleet. Rumbling after them, two Corellian Gunships and Nebulon-B escort frigates elongate and blast into hyperspace behind them. A series of communications follows them into hyperspace; each vessel of the strike force relaying a singular message to the pilots…
“Good luck…”
“Status report!” Admiral Falcion bellows powerfully, his eyes fixed on the drifting hulk of what was once the Victory-class Star Destroyer Black Hawk.
“Getting reports from the fleet now, Sir… All enemy Victory Star Destroyers have either been destroyed or have escaped into hyperspace. Sensors show over two dozen enemy support craft made it to the surface; all carrying ground material. Friendly support craft are en route to take them out on the ground while they unload the rest of their troops.” The sensor officer reports while reading over the streaming lines of text and indicators on his console.
“The Ad Astra is reporting in, Sir. Minor damage to secondary hull, lateral sensors damaged… nothing too serious. The Unforgiven has formed up on her blind side and is working on repairing some minor power fluctuations. The Crimson Ghost reports she’ll need a new paint job, but that’s about it.” The communications officer speaks up, glancing up toward the Admiral while listening to the reports through an ear piece.
“What of our ground forces?” The Admiral inquires; a part of him hoping that the battle was not going well; orbital bombardments always brought a grin to his face.
“We’ve only been receiving intermittent communications, the Imperials are likely trying to jam any and all signals being sent from the base… but from the limited excepts we’ve received, Righteous Indignation Division commanders have routed the primary attack force, and are working on mopping up some pockets of heavy resistance. The last report indicates that they should have everything mopped up within the hour.”
“Excellent… Recall all fighters and begin any necessary repairs; inform our flight officers that the next time they’re launched for interdiction missions to actually destroy the ships they are sent to kill… not let them slip past.” Kaz says with a hint of venom in his voice, before swiveling his chair around to gaze out into space.
“Yes, Sir.”
-=Primary Conference Room, Imperial I-class Star Destroyer Redemption 44:3:34:12:02=-
“What do you mean our X-wings are out of service?!” Admiral Falcion screams at the top of his lungs at his flight control officer; the poor soul had just delivered the news to the admiral that the entire Strike Force’s compliment of X-wings, save three, were in desperate need of repair… and spare parts were nowhere to be found.
“They’ve sustained heavy damage in every engagement up to this point; in our last engagement we lost nearly a full squadron of fighters, and every single one has sustained damage of SOME sort! We don’t have the parts to fix everything, so until we get things situated our X-wings are completely out of commission!” The officer half-stammers as he attempts to defend himself, fearing the admiral’s wrath.
“You mean to tell me we’re OUT of spare parts?”
“Yes, Sir. Our torpedo stores aren’t doing so well either, space bombs are non-existent, I think we have three rockets left, and I’m not going to even think of asking a pilot to use an X-wing when it’s missing an entire wing!”
“A re-supply convoy is scheduled to try to sneak into the sector and bring us more munitions; I will inform Greeop that we require new stores of refit and repair materials. Until then, make due with what you have; do you hear me? I don’t care if you have to float around in space yourself in order to find some scrap metal that can be used to patch a hole or a wire that can be used, I want my X-wings back online! Do I make myself clear?!”
“…Yes, Sir.”
“Get out of my sight.”
The flight control officer spins around on his right heel, marching out of the conference room in a huff of frustration.
“Maybe a more fitting punishment would be to tell our pilots that it’s his fault they’re going to be stuck in Y-wings for awhile…” Raven speaks up, having silently watched Kaz chew out the flight officer.
“Good idea, maybe I’ll do that as well.”
“Heh… You do realize that it’s going to be a pain in the ass to get a convoy through all of the Imperial activity in this sector?”
“Of course, what do you take me for; an idiot?”
“At times.”
Kaz shoots Raven a look of disgust, frowning. “In either case, I’ve got a plan for that.”
“So you’ve finally decided to get off your ass and do something? This I must hear.” Exaggerating his demeanor, Raven leans forward intently in his chair, propping his elbows on the table and resting his head on his hands, staring at Kaz.
Ignoring him, Kaz merely grins. “We will dispatch a contingent of fighters in Y-wings to escort the convoy in along with some light capital ships that can easily evade enemy sensors; while a second flight consisting of A-wings harasses Imperial patrols along the most direct route from Greeop to here. The A-wings will tie up the enemy forces, and the convoy will slip right under their noses.”
“I’m somewhat impressed, how do you know where the Imperial patrols will be?”
“As I have said before… on my ship, I am King. I’ve had people working on pinpointing their patrol routes since the attack on Aphene. Congratulations on being a week behind the times; again.” Kaz says, the grin remaining on his face the entire time.
Raven quirks an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair before nodding approvingly.
“I’ll make the arrangements with Greeop, let’s do it.”
-=Open space, near the Subterrel Strike Force, Fersto System, 44:4:11:08:43=-
“I can’t believe we have to fly these Wishbones …” First Lieutenant Adam Mieter transmits over his squadron communication frequency, his hands gripping the flight column of the Y-wing lazily as he cruises in formation with the rest of his flight.
“I know, it feels like I’m flying a slug.” The voice of Commander Galic Mars fills the communication channel; his Y-wing flying alongside Adam’s.
“Just look at it this way…” Galic continues, “A few hours in a wishbone escorting a convoy, a cozy debriefing and another medal pinned on your chest; and before you know it you’ll be in your cross again.”
“Yeah, still, these things handle like a bantha.”
“They sure d…” Galic is interrupted by the voice of Lieutenant Commander Olith Hesto.
“This is Dragon One to all flights, the convoy will be in position in thirty standard minutes; mission is a go. Repeat, all flights, enter hyperspace immediately to begin combat and escort operations.”
“Well, it looks like our little chat is going to have to wait.” Galic says with a chuckle over the comm.
“Aye, see you on the other side.”
In a series of brilliant flashes of light, flights of A-wings leap into hyperspace to undertake their harassment missions, while Y-wings leap forward to rendezvous with the convoy and escort them to the fleet. Rumbling after them, two Corellian Gunships and Nebulon-B escort frigates elongate and blast into hyperspace behind them. A series of communications follows them into hyperspace; each vessel of the strike force relaying a singular message to the pilots…
“Good luck…”