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The Fwatna Dilemma - Operation: Urgent Light
50:03:02 - Rebel Squadrons’ Command Dome, Blerthmore
Late in the evening, local time, Commodore Lamin Zykara, Rebel Squadrons’ Fleet Commander, pinched the bridge of his nose and emptied the remnants of a carafe of strong caf into the mug in front of him. “Carry on with the strike group reports, Ensign.”
“Yes, sir.”, a Duros aide-de-camp said in a rough voice, just as weary as Zykara’s. “Ah… Allegiance Battle Group, Baphomet System...Admiral Sconn reports that he’s transferred his flag to the Victory-I Class Star Destroyer Bloodstripe from the modified Dreadnaught Gold Star and that Colonel Ginofev is to be commended for coordinating the defense against a recent pirate raid from the ...ah...Howling Akk pirates.” Lamin’s voice came across gravelly. “We lost a shuttle, right? That’s what Qel-Droma has been hounding me about?” “Yes, sir. Shuttle LCS-937 was lost in the defense. When it appeared she was being boarded by Howling Akk forces in vacuum suits, Captain Taraan apparently triggered the self-destruct mechanism. All hands lost, along with two pirate Y-Wings and their pilots. We also lost an A-Wing piloted by…” the Duros trailed off. “Flight Officer Trehug. Admiral Sconn has forwarded recommendations for posthumous decorations to your queue.”
Lamin paused for a moment, looking up at his Duros aide-de-camp. “Trehug? A...relative?” The particulars of Duros familial lineage had always escaped him, but he recognized a surname when he saw one. “A cousin, sir.”, Ensign Ara Trehug responded with a hitch in his throat. “My mother’s sister’s son. Three years my junior.” “Include two-days bereavement leave for yourself to notify your family, Ensign, and I’ll review and approve with Sconn’s recommendations. Next?”
“Vigilance Strike Group, Subterrel Sector. Commodore Lommax reports that he has still not forgiven you for last month’s dinner with the Fwanaese, and has put in a requisition for a ludicrous amount of anti-diarrheal capsules. Otherwise, he reports more or less quiet in the Subterrel Sector. He’s been maintaining the Minos picket, and combat space patrols have run off a few hyperspace equipped starfighters, primarily older models. Potential but unconfirmed pirate hits, per RS Intel.”
“Very well,” Lamin continued. “Ask him to increase his patrol frequency along the Minos Cluster border and see if we can confirm these speculative pirate reports. Wouldn’t do for our Vigilance Strike Group to be caught with their pants down by a bunch of pirates, would it?” He cracked a wry smile. “No, sir. It wouldn’t do at all.” Ensign Trehug responded, monotone. Well, Lamin thought to himself, the Duros weren’t exactly known for their sense of humor, and he didn’t hire Trehug to laugh at his jokes.
Trehug continued in his same monotone. “Redemption Fleet, Greeop Sector. Fleet Admiral Falcion reports no status change, no pirate incursions and has forwarded on an application for the open Historical Officer position…” Lamin looked over the information displaying on his datapad. “Commander Syrin Mereel...graduate, University of Coruscant, archivist program...history of insubordination at both an academy and active duty level...assaulting a superior officer…well, she sounds like the kind of officer Kaz would recommend. Set up an interview, we’ll see how it goes.”
“Very good, Fleet Commander. Moving on…oh, yes, another profanity-laced tirade from Fleet Admiral Qel-Droma regarding Admiral Sconn losing the shuttle Fleet Admiral Qel-Droma considers to be ‘his’, the promiscuity and obesity of Admiral Sconn’s mother, actually deceased according to our records, and some creative threats of physical violence towar…” “That’s enough, Ensign.” Lamin cut him off. “What say we skip Qel-Droma’s report for now and move on to Admiral Borran’s report.”
“Patriot Battle Group...Aurora Sector. Admiral Borran’s forces have skirmished with pirate groups identified as the Bleeding Scar, as well as units presumed to be from Gash and Teeth and Bovvil’s Bandits. Reports indicate several incursions with runs being made periodically against our supply depots and convoys. The attacks seem to be mostly uncoordinated between different pirate groups, but the frequency has been steadily ramping up. Admiral Borran has laid out an aggressive strategy of counterattacks and would prefer to go on the offensive unless you have any significant concerns with that.” Lamin shook his head. “No, Spokes should be an old hand at this by now, and his strike force is the best composed to go after a mixed force like this.” Lamin tapped a few keys on his datapad, murmuring audibly as he composed an order to the CO of the Patriot Battle Group. “Spokes - please advise any pirate groups in your sector, preferably in the most lethal manner you can manage, that harassing RS supply lines is an extremely poor decision.” He tapped ‘send’ before returning his attention to Ensign Trehug. “Okay, what’s next, Ensign?”
“That concludes page two, sir. Moving on to page three of 48…”, Trehug intoned, droning on. Lamin blinked pointedly before bouncing his head off the desk in front of him with an audible thud. “...Ensign, we’re going to need more caf…”, the Rebel Squadrons Fleet Commander groaned into his paperwork.
Late in the evening, local time, Commodore Lamin Zykara, Rebel Squadrons’ Fleet Commander, pinched the bridge of his nose and emptied the remnants of a carafe of strong caf into the mug in front of him. “Carry on with the strike group reports, Ensign.”
“Yes, sir.”, a Duros aide-de-camp said in a rough voice, just as weary as Zykara’s. “Ah… Allegiance Battle Group, Baphomet System...Admiral Sconn reports that he’s transferred his flag to the Victory-I Class Star Destroyer Bloodstripe from the modified Dreadnaught Gold Star and that Colonel Ginofev is to be commended for coordinating the defense against a recent pirate raid from the ...ah...Howling Akk pirates.” Lamin’s voice came across gravelly. “We lost a shuttle, right? That’s what Qel-Droma has been hounding me about?” “Yes, sir. Shuttle LCS-937 was lost in the defense. When it appeared she was being boarded by Howling Akk forces in vacuum suits, Captain Taraan apparently triggered the self-destruct mechanism. All hands lost, along with two pirate Y-Wings and their pilots. We also lost an A-Wing piloted by…” the Duros trailed off. “Flight Officer Trehug. Admiral Sconn has forwarded recommendations for posthumous decorations to your queue.”
Lamin paused for a moment, looking up at his Duros aide-de-camp. “Trehug? A...relative?” The particulars of Duros familial lineage had always escaped him, but he recognized a surname when he saw one. “A cousin, sir.”, Ensign Ara Trehug responded with a hitch in his throat. “My mother’s sister’s son. Three years my junior.” “Include two-days bereavement leave for yourself to notify your family, Ensign, and I’ll review and approve with Sconn’s recommendations. Next?”
“Vigilance Strike Group, Subterrel Sector. Commodore Lommax reports that he has still not forgiven you for last month’s dinner with the Fwanaese, and has put in a requisition for a ludicrous amount of anti-diarrheal capsules. Otherwise, he reports more or less quiet in the Subterrel Sector. He’s been maintaining the Minos picket, and combat space patrols have run off a few hyperspace equipped starfighters, primarily older models. Potential but unconfirmed pirate hits, per RS Intel.”
“Very well,” Lamin continued. “Ask him to increase his patrol frequency along the Minos Cluster border and see if we can confirm these speculative pirate reports. Wouldn’t do for our Vigilance Strike Group to be caught with their pants down by a bunch of pirates, would it?” He cracked a wry smile. “No, sir. It wouldn’t do at all.” Ensign Trehug responded, monotone. Well, Lamin thought to himself, the Duros weren’t exactly known for their sense of humor, and he didn’t hire Trehug to laugh at his jokes.
Trehug continued in his same monotone. “Redemption Fleet, Greeop Sector. Fleet Admiral Falcion reports no status change, no pirate incursions and has forwarded on an application for the open Historical Officer position…” Lamin looked over the information displaying on his datapad. “Commander Syrin Mereel...graduate, University of Coruscant, archivist program...history of insubordination at both an academy and active duty level...assaulting a superior officer…well, she sounds like the kind of officer Kaz would recommend. Set up an interview, we’ll see how it goes.”
“Very good, Fleet Commander. Moving on…oh, yes, another profanity-laced tirade from Fleet Admiral Qel-Droma regarding Admiral Sconn losing the shuttle Fleet Admiral Qel-Droma considers to be ‘his’, the promiscuity and obesity of Admiral Sconn’s mother, actually deceased according to our records, and some creative threats of physical violence towar…” “That’s enough, Ensign.” Lamin cut him off. “What say we skip Qel-Droma’s report for now and move on to Admiral Borran’s report.”
“Patriot Battle Group...Aurora Sector. Admiral Borran’s forces have skirmished with pirate groups identified as the Bleeding Scar, as well as units presumed to be from Gash and Teeth and Bovvil’s Bandits. Reports indicate several incursions with runs being made periodically against our supply depots and convoys. The attacks seem to be mostly uncoordinated between different pirate groups, but the frequency has been steadily ramping up. Admiral Borran has laid out an aggressive strategy of counterattacks and would prefer to go on the offensive unless you have any significant concerns with that.” Lamin shook his head. “No, Spokes should be an old hand at this by now, and his strike force is the best composed to go after a mixed force like this.” Lamin tapped a few keys on his datapad, murmuring audibly as he composed an order to the CO of the Patriot Battle Group. “Spokes - please advise any pirate groups in your sector, preferably in the most lethal manner you can manage, that harassing RS supply lines is an extremely poor decision.” He tapped ‘send’ before returning his attention to Ensign Trehug. “Okay, what’s next, Ensign?”
“That concludes page two, sir. Moving on to page three of 48…”, Trehug intoned, droning on. Lamin blinked pointedly before bouncing his head off the desk in front of him with an audible thud. “...Ensign, we’re going to need more caf…”, the Rebel Squadrons Fleet Commander groaned into his paperwork.