<font color="red">In orbit above the planet Kail...</font>
Vindicator squadron pilots sat in a rather crowded briefing room while their squadron leader began to speak.
"We will refer to ourselves as 'V-squad' over the comms, people. Vindicator is a bit hard to say in the middle of a battle---this'll hopefully make it easier.
"I'm going to tell you this now before we go out...this raid is at night. It makes it harder for you, but twice as hard for our enemy. One: they don't know we're coming, Two: we're black A-wings, visually tracking us is going to be hard.
"The big target we're after are some turbo laser batteries. These suckers can really gnaw at the bigger ships orbiting in space. We take these out, Tellum gets some maneuvering room and Richter gets something to talk about, got it? We can expect more resistance than just turbolasers. Other fighter craft are expected to be in the vicinity, or at least they may be scrambled upon our arrival. Our A-wings have jammers, we are using them, why wouldn't we, honestly?
"We are going to keep as close to eachother as possible. I want our A-wings scraping eachother until I say otherwise. The reason being that I would like to hide our numbers. If they're going to scramble ships they're going to get a task force big enough to take out what's there. If we read as one ship it may work to our tactical advantage, underestimation is key. We'll split up when I say so and only then. We will be flying low, if missiles come after you I want you dragging your asses in a tree line or scraping your fins in a field. We will be coming in LOW to our targets. The lower we are the less likely we are to be detected by scanners or visual observation. It's going to be like one big joyride for most of you. I want the first sweep to be clean. No alerts. I want to be confident that they didn't get a word in before they were blown to kingdom come. I want any re-enforcemts delayed until the last possible moment. It means less casualties, people. And I am counting on there to be none. Clear?" Sahrah Grummet eyed the crowd of them.
She knew she couldn't make them promise not to die, it was an impossible thing to ask. Battles claimed what victims they would and no one ever had a say in this matter but fate itself, if there was such a thing as fate. Sahrah did not believe in the future being determined for people. People could make things happen early if they willed, later if that was their intention. Death was the one uncontrolled future. You could make your own destiny, but death was inevitable, no amount of putting it off could stop it. Sahrah had no will to live forever, but she had no intentions of letting anyone but herself decide when it was time to go. Her instincts had always served her well, she never doubted them and knew her limits. She only wished each pilot she was staring in the face had that same mindset. She put on a smile to reassure her pilots, mentioning how other pertinent information had been given to them previously and ordering them to their fighters.
Minutes later...
The squadron of A-wings poured out of the belly of The Kahn and roared towards the planet Kail. "Close up formation, guys," Sahrah alerted her pilots.
The A-wings moved in tighter with eachother, forming an odd sort of circle, the pilots adjusting their shields accordingly. They breached the atmosphere and dropped at what would be dizzying speeds had their A-wings not been equipped with inertial compensators. When it looked as if their last formation would be a crater rather than some clever strategic move, the A-wings leveled out, hugging the ground.
In the darkness, merely the engine glow of the fighters lit up the ones riding behind. The colors washing over the wedge-shaped noses, making an eerie effect, as if some odd colored water was rippling across them. Sahrah looked out her canopy, glancing at the two A-wings on either side of her. She could see the faint glints of blinking mulitcolored lights reflecting off their helmets and goggles - the only hint that there were pilots in the ships.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion for her when she went into battles. Her adrenaline for combat must have kicked in. It was merely a bombing sort of run, but the thought of danger perked her senses. It would be a short while before she and her pilots would reach their target. She reached into her black flightsuit (she'd gotten black since she didn't wish to be a beacon if she'd been shot out of A-wing) and pulled out a very primitive device. She turned on the comm to a very low frequency and set the volume rather quiet. She then set the small device near her comm unit, turning it on. A gentle, sort of mellow tune began to eminate from it and flood into the ears of her and her pilots. She smiled softly (not like it mattered much if she did or not, no one could see her), but she could feel the mood of her pilots, even over the comm, their breathing steadied some. It put their minds to other things, soothed them even. "When it's my moment in the sun...oh how beautiful I'll be...but in a normal sort of way...like I am you and you are me..." the gentle voice sang.
Somehow she could feel her pilots swell with some sort of pride. She had no special powers, it was merely her gut feeling. They were all pilots too, and she could think and feel what they were because their ways were the same. As the song winded down a small light on her heads-up display began blinking. They were within range of their target - she checked her computer, so far they showed no signs of being detected. Seconds later the emplacement came into view, its many small white lights twinkling on the horizon. Sahrah took a deep breath and gave the command, "Waiting line, people."
The black A-wings gently glided into a line of pairs, gradually putting space between the ones in front of them. "Target and fire at will. If it's damaged enough by your turn, conserve your missiles and just pump some lasers into it. That way we'll have some leftover for possible ambushes and keep Mr. Vinda's pocket book happy," she heard a few chuckles resulting, however morbid they did sound, it was comforting to hear.
She powered up her shields and lasers, allowing some of her speed to let off, it wouldn't be good if she overshot it before she got a lock. She switched over to concussion missiles, allowing her targeting reticle to lead the way and she lazily guided her A-wing into the proper position for a solid lock. A gentle, constant note sang from her ship's computer, indicating a lock. Normally the targeting lock tone was much more shrill and unbearable, but Sahrah had taken the time to remedy that. She was happy enough to not have some droid screaming robot obscenities in her ear, but, it couldn't hurt to take some of the nuisances out of battle. She squeezed the trigger tightly, and two streams of light slid from the sides of her craft, meeting near the nose like a pair of mating fireflies. They lingered for mere nanoseconds then streaked towards their destination, rolling and compensating accordingly to find the perfect position to be in before they slammed into their target.
Sahrah turned a small screen on, watching their progress from the "eyes" of the missiles. Their miniature cameras emitting a pretty sort of view as they raced eachother to the emplacement. The lights of the structure became brighter, its form clearer. Somehow in all of what was to become hell everything seemed so beautiful, so serene, like a glass surface, untainted and polished to some sort of perfection. She broke formation with her wingman to the right, allowing a clear shot for the tailing comrades. They released their missiles and followed suit.
Sahrah's missiles were mere inches from their target on her screen. She watched as the one took the initiative to head through a window, slamming through the transparisteel. So many sparkling fragments exploded in the eye of the missile, as it momentarily chased down an unlucky officer before finally slamming into the generator beyond. Her monitor went blank and she looked up to see a resulting white flash burn brilliantly across the landscape, washing it in a ghostly hue before turning the colors of fire as thick plumes of smoke began to form and secondary explosions rocked the structure of the emplacement from damaged generators and her other missile. Her wingmate's missiles blew not long after, and the next man's, and the next until the building and all its surrounding ones were smoldering char on the ground. "Only...oh...say 10 more of those to hit, men," she said in an over-enthusiastic tone.
Two emplacements gone...they seemed to be two turbolaser batteries per location. She very much hoped they stayed that way too. The less running around they did the less danger they were in. "Whoever didn't fire you're first in the next lineup, same ordering follows them, anyone who did fire already, we're at the back of the line. Regroup to our original formation. I hope they didn't get a message out to anyone," Sahrah said to her squadron.
The rest of the night seemed uneventful as they hit their targets one-by-one without any resistance. This is WAY too odd, Sahrah was beginning to get nervous. We should have met some resistance by now...what's wrong with these people?!
After their last target had been destroyed, Sahrah turned on her comm. "All right, guys, good run, we blew their asses right out of their pants. Let's get out of here," she switched off her comm unit.
Something is wrong. Something has to be wrong... she looked around the horizon from her canopy as if the solution might present itself somehow. She finally shrugged and began to lead her people away.
"OH MY GOD!" one of her pilots said in a very panicked voice - it was Sahrah's wingmate.
Seconds afterwards nearly three pairs of missiles gouged themselves into his A-wing. The world slowed down again...Sahrah looked out her canopy and saw his head turn towards her, his eyes wide with fear - his mouth gaped open. He had so many things to say, but he couldn't because he could never hope to say them in time. His hand pressed against the transparisteel bubble of his canopy as Sahrah watched his ship just ever so slowly break apart before the actual explosions occured - all the pieces flying together still like some ghost fragment ship.
Her A-wing bucked from the sudden blast and she could hear the clinking of shrapnel against her A-wing's hull. Before realtime could return to Sahrah, the one missile that had missed her unfortunate wingmate spiraled off, its target now gone, and prematurely exploded, damaging another A-wing behind her. It didn't destroy it, but sparks spewed out of the side of the A-wing as its laser cannon was ripped from its hull. "AGCHHHK---" the pilot's remark was cut off.
She could hear it - the coughing, spluttering, the grotesque wash of fluid over the comm. He was throwing up into his mask. His inertial compensators are out... Sahrah lowered her head in a sort of mourning for him as he lost control of his A-wing. It went into a flat spin as the starboard engine exploded, the momentum kicking it around. He spiraled and spun towards the ground, there was no sound from him, from anybody. Everything was quiet, everything paused - he hit.
Sahrah finally regained some reality and checked her screen. There was no need by that time as 30 or so K-222 fighters repulsorlifted themselves out of a thick forest below her, bringing their lasers to bear. More slowing - Sahrah had options...they were atmospheric...were these atmospheric only? could they run maybe? should they fight? could they be overtaken if they ran? DAMN YOU, ODDS! Sahrah screamed into her comm unit and her pilots echoed in after her, it was not a scream of fright, it was a scream of anger. Like some insane war cry, another A-wing blew somewhere...
She targeted two fighters at once, launching missiles at one and chewing away at the other with lasers visually since her lock was preoccupied with the first. Her wingmates were working in a similar fashion - anything went. She fragged maybe three within a few seconds of eachother---these pilots were green. Perhaps they had hoped that by their ambush Vindicator squadron would turn tail and they could overtake what they missed by picking people off as they scattered. Approximately half of their force was taken out before a pilot's voice came over the comm. "More incoming, 29..." the female pilot's voice said sadly.
"Let's get out of here now," Sahrah blew another fighter with a finishing shot to its engine.
"I'm hit!" another pilot yelled.
He was hit all right, but he wasn't destroyed, nor was anything else to happen from it...his shields were merely down and he'd had an engine hit. It was merely offline, wouldn't blow, thankfully. But he was definitely limping. "You!" Sahrah yelled to the A-wing that was flying next to her. "You're his new wingmate, help him get out of here, we'll hold off these leftover ships while you get a head start. We can't hold off the next wave---make him go as fast as you can."
She turned her ship around, engines blazing, lasers blasting like some cheesy second rate movie. Blaze of glory, guns blasting. This is how it was, she couldn't make it anything other than a B-movie from hell. Hell was fun anyway, you got to play with fire...blow things up...too bad anything long-term wasn't something to look forward to...
One hour later...
Sahrah lay on her cot, staring at the ceiling. Her room was dark, she'd shut off all the lights. Mission accomplished, right. She'd rather she'd failed and that everyone was alive. She led them because she was a decent pilot. Decent enough to be trusted to lead...she had no other motive. The thought of leading men and women to their deaths was no comfort to her. The only trophies she received from this work were the pretty new battle scars on her A-wing. Yeah...pretty little scars... Sahrah rolled over, her blue-tipped blonde hair falling over her eyes. It made a straw-colored web in her vision when she saw the dim light that eminated from the small, primitive device she had used earlier. She reached her arm out in the darkness and pressed its button, the sad tune flowing from its speakers...
"...It's my moment in the sun...I won't forget that I am blessed...but every hero walks alone, thinking of more things to confess..."
Vindicator squadron pilots sat in a rather crowded briefing room while their squadron leader began to speak.
"We will refer to ourselves as 'V-squad' over the comms, people. Vindicator is a bit hard to say in the middle of a battle---this'll hopefully make it easier.
"I'm going to tell you this now before we go out...this raid is at night. It makes it harder for you, but twice as hard for our enemy. One: they don't know we're coming, Two: we're black A-wings, visually tracking us is going to be hard.
"The big target we're after are some turbo laser batteries. These suckers can really gnaw at the bigger ships orbiting in space. We take these out, Tellum gets some maneuvering room and Richter gets something to talk about, got it? We can expect more resistance than just turbolasers. Other fighter craft are expected to be in the vicinity, or at least they may be scrambled upon our arrival. Our A-wings have jammers, we are using them, why wouldn't we, honestly?
"We are going to keep as close to eachother as possible. I want our A-wings scraping eachother until I say otherwise. The reason being that I would like to hide our numbers. If they're going to scramble ships they're going to get a task force big enough to take out what's there. If we read as one ship it may work to our tactical advantage, underestimation is key. We'll split up when I say so and only then. We will be flying low, if missiles come after you I want you dragging your asses in a tree line or scraping your fins in a field. We will be coming in LOW to our targets. The lower we are the less likely we are to be detected by scanners or visual observation. It's going to be like one big joyride for most of you. I want the first sweep to be clean. No alerts. I want to be confident that they didn't get a word in before they were blown to kingdom come. I want any re-enforcemts delayed until the last possible moment. It means less casualties, people. And I am counting on there to be none. Clear?" Sahrah Grummet eyed the crowd of them.
She knew she couldn't make them promise not to die, it was an impossible thing to ask. Battles claimed what victims they would and no one ever had a say in this matter but fate itself, if there was such a thing as fate. Sahrah did not believe in the future being determined for people. People could make things happen early if they willed, later if that was their intention. Death was the one uncontrolled future. You could make your own destiny, but death was inevitable, no amount of putting it off could stop it. Sahrah had no will to live forever, but she had no intentions of letting anyone but herself decide when it was time to go. Her instincts had always served her well, she never doubted them and knew her limits. She only wished each pilot she was staring in the face had that same mindset. She put on a smile to reassure her pilots, mentioning how other pertinent information had been given to them previously and ordering them to their fighters.
Minutes later...
The squadron of A-wings poured out of the belly of The Kahn and roared towards the planet Kail. "Close up formation, guys," Sahrah alerted her pilots.
The A-wings moved in tighter with eachother, forming an odd sort of circle, the pilots adjusting their shields accordingly. They breached the atmosphere and dropped at what would be dizzying speeds had their A-wings not been equipped with inertial compensators. When it looked as if their last formation would be a crater rather than some clever strategic move, the A-wings leveled out, hugging the ground.
In the darkness, merely the engine glow of the fighters lit up the ones riding behind. The colors washing over the wedge-shaped noses, making an eerie effect, as if some odd colored water was rippling across them. Sahrah looked out her canopy, glancing at the two A-wings on either side of her. She could see the faint glints of blinking mulitcolored lights reflecting off their helmets and goggles - the only hint that there were pilots in the ships.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion for her when she went into battles. Her adrenaline for combat must have kicked in. It was merely a bombing sort of run, but the thought of danger perked her senses. It would be a short while before she and her pilots would reach their target. She reached into her black flightsuit (she'd gotten black since she didn't wish to be a beacon if she'd been shot out of A-wing) and pulled out a very primitive device. She turned on the comm to a very low frequency and set the volume rather quiet. She then set the small device near her comm unit, turning it on. A gentle, sort of mellow tune began to eminate from it and flood into the ears of her and her pilots. She smiled softly (not like it mattered much if she did or not, no one could see her), but she could feel the mood of her pilots, even over the comm, their breathing steadied some. It put their minds to other things, soothed them even. "When it's my moment in the sun...oh how beautiful I'll be...but in a normal sort of way...like I am you and you are me..." the gentle voice sang.
Somehow she could feel her pilots swell with some sort of pride. She had no special powers, it was merely her gut feeling. They were all pilots too, and she could think and feel what they were because their ways were the same. As the song winded down a small light on her heads-up display began blinking. They were within range of their target - she checked her computer, so far they showed no signs of being detected. Seconds later the emplacement came into view, its many small white lights twinkling on the horizon. Sahrah took a deep breath and gave the command, "Waiting line, people."
The black A-wings gently glided into a line of pairs, gradually putting space between the ones in front of them. "Target and fire at will. If it's damaged enough by your turn, conserve your missiles and just pump some lasers into it. That way we'll have some leftover for possible ambushes and keep Mr. Vinda's pocket book happy," she heard a few chuckles resulting, however morbid they did sound, it was comforting to hear.
She powered up her shields and lasers, allowing some of her speed to let off, it wouldn't be good if she overshot it before she got a lock. She switched over to concussion missiles, allowing her targeting reticle to lead the way and she lazily guided her A-wing into the proper position for a solid lock. A gentle, constant note sang from her ship's computer, indicating a lock. Normally the targeting lock tone was much more shrill and unbearable, but Sahrah had taken the time to remedy that. She was happy enough to not have some droid screaming robot obscenities in her ear, but, it couldn't hurt to take some of the nuisances out of battle. She squeezed the trigger tightly, and two streams of light slid from the sides of her craft, meeting near the nose like a pair of mating fireflies. They lingered for mere nanoseconds then streaked towards their destination, rolling and compensating accordingly to find the perfect position to be in before they slammed into their target.
Sahrah turned a small screen on, watching their progress from the "eyes" of the missiles. Their miniature cameras emitting a pretty sort of view as they raced eachother to the emplacement. The lights of the structure became brighter, its form clearer. Somehow in all of what was to become hell everything seemed so beautiful, so serene, like a glass surface, untainted and polished to some sort of perfection. She broke formation with her wingman to the right, allowing a clear shot for the tailing comrades. They released their missiles and followed suit.
Sahrah's missiles were mere inches from their target on her screen. She watched as the one took the initiative to head through a window, slamming through the transparisteel. So many sparkling fragments exploded in the eye of the missile, as it momentarily chased down an unlucky officer before finally slamming into the generator beyond. Her monitor went blank and she looked up to see a resulting white flash burn brilliantly across the landscape, washing it in a ghostly hue before turning the colors of fire as thick plumes of smoke began to form and secondary explosions rocked the structure of the emplacement from damaged generators and her other missile. Her wingmate's missiles blew not long after, and the next man's, and the next until the building and all its surrounding ones were smoldering char on the ground. "Only...oh...say 10 more of those to hit, men," she said in an over-enthusiastic tone.
Two emplacements gone...they seemed to be two turbolaser batteries per location. She very much hoped they stayed that way too. The less running around they did the less danger they were in. "Whoever didn't fire you're first in the next lineup, same ordering follows them, anyone who did fire already, we're at the back of the line. Regroup to our original formation. I hope they didn't get a message out to anyone," Sahrah said to her squadron.
The rest of the night seemed uneventful as they hit their targets one-by-one without any resistance. This is WAY too odd, Sahrah was beginning to get nervous. We should have met some resistance by now...what's wrong with these people?!
After their last target had been destroyed, Sahrah turned on her comm. "All right, guys, good run, we blew their asses right out of their pants. Let's get out of here," she switched off her comm unit.
Something is wrong. Something has to be wrong... she looked around the horizon from her canopy as if the solution might present itself somehow. She finally shrugged and began to lead her people away.
"OH MY GOD!" one of her pilots said in a very panicked voice - it was Sahrah's wingmate.
Seconds afterwards nearly three pairs of missiles gouged themselves into his A-wing. The world slowed down again...Sahrah looked out her canopy and saw his head turn towards her, his eyes wide with fear - his mouth gaped open. He had so many things to say, but he couldn't because he could never hope to say them in time. His hand pressed against the transparisteel bubble of his canopy as Sahrah watched his ship just ever so slowly break apart before the actual explosions occured - all the pieces flying together still like some ghost fragment ship.
Her A-wing bucked from the sudden blast and she could hear the clinking of shrapnel against her A-wing's hull. Before realtime could return to Sahrah, the one missile that had missed her unfortunate wingmate spiraled off, its target now gone, and prematurely exploded, damaging another A-wing behind her. It didn't destroy it, but sparks spewed out of the side of the A-wing as its laser cannon was ripped from its hull. "AGCHHHK---" the pilot's remark was cut off.
She could hear it - the coughing, spluttering, the grotesque wash of fluid over the comm. He was throwing up into his mask. His inertial compensators are out... Sahrah lowered her head in a sort of mourning for him as he lost control of his A-wing. It went into a flat spin as the starboard engine exploded, the momentum kicking it around. He spiraled and spun towards the ground, there was no sound from him, from anybody. Everything was quiet, everything paused - he hit.
Sahrah finally regained some reality and checked her screen. There was no need by that time as 30 or so K-222 fighters repulsorlifted themselves out of a thick forest below her, bringing their lasers to bear. More slowing - Sahrah had options...they were atmospheric...were these atmospheric only? could they run maybe? should they fight? could they be overtaken if they ran? DAMN YOU, ODDS! Sahrah screamed into her comm unit and her pilots echoed in after her, it was not a scream of fright, it was a scream of anger. Like some insane war cry, another A-wing blew somewhere...
She targeted two fighters at once, launching missiles at one and chewing away at the other with lasers visually since her lock was preoccupied with the first. Her wingmates were working in a similar fashion - anything went. She fragged maybe three within a few seconds of eachother---these pilots were green. Perhaps they had hoped that by their ambush Vindicator squadron would turn tail and they could overtake what they missed by picking people off as they scattered. Approximately half of their force was taken out before a pilot's voice came over the comm. "More incoming, 29..." the female pilot's voice said sadly.
"Let's get out of here now," Sahrah blew another fighter with a finishing shot to its engine.
"I'm hit!" another pilot yelled.
He was hit all right, but he wasn't destroyed, nor was anything else to happen from it...his shields were merely down and he'd had an engine hit. It was merely offline, wouldn't blow, thankfully. But he was definitely limping. "You!" Sahrah yelled to the A-wing that was flying next to her. "You're his new wingmate, help him get out of here, we'll hold off these leftover ships while you get a head start. We can't hold off the next wave---make him go as fast as you can."
She turned her ship around, engines blazing, lasers blasting like some cheesy second rate movie. Blaze of glory, guns blasting. This is how it was, she couldn't make it anything other than a B-movie from hell. Hell was fun anyway, you got to play with fire...blow things up...too bad anything long-term wasn't something to look forward to...
One hour later...
Sahrah lay on her cot, staring at the ceiling. Her room was dark, she'd shut off all the lights. Mission accomplished, right. She'd rather she'd failed and that everyone was alive. She led them because she was a decent pilot. Decent enough to be trusted to lead...she had no other motive. The thought of leading men and women to their deaths was no comfort to her. The only trophies she received from this work were the pretty new battle scars on her A-wing. Yeah...pretty little scars... Sahrah rolled over, her blue-tipped blonde hair falling over her eyes. It made a straw-colored web in her vision when she saw the dim light that eminated from the small, primitive device she had used earlier. She reached her arm out in the darkness and pressed its button, the sad tune flowing from its speakers...
"...It's my moment in the sun...I won't forget that I am blessed...but every hero walks alone, thinking of more things to confess..."
