Anobis
Simultaneous with the Onyxian attack on Bilbringi

"Colonel Vos," the communicator squalked.
Wes jerked awake. He had been deep in a much-needed nap; for the last two weeks he had been going nearly non-stop, organizing and positioning his forces. Not to mention training new troops. As he awoke, he recognized the voice of his commander, General Boone.

"Yes, Sir?" Wes replied as he shook his head to clear away the sleep.

"Colonel, execute War Plan Devistation, code Alpha Beta Seven Seven Zeta Nine Two Eight Iota."

Wes was taken aback, but he managed to respond, "Yes, Sir." The link was cut.

War Plan Devistation, he thought. The implications... How could even the kriffing Coalition be so kriffing stupid? he asked himself.



Two weeks earlier

The four Star Destroyers hung suspended in space in the Roche Asteroid Belt. Repairs were being completed on the Astrus Star Destroyer Tyrant; she would be back in action by the end of the week. The conflict at Valinor had left her damaged, but most of it was cosmetic. There was little structural or system damage to Wes's most powerful ship. Of the other three ships, the two Eternals - Daemon's Fury and Reign of Fire - had only suffered minor damage.

Those three had been lucky. The EASD Freedom's Bane had suffered much more permanent damage; her remains would remain in orbit around Valinor until such a time as they finally fell, burning, to the planet's surface. Her death had been avenged, though, as a single torpedo from the starfighter of Captain Racen Selere had destroyed the Pegasus that had dealt the death blow.

Since then, Wes had been regrouping his men at Roche as well as receiving very good news. His request to expand the SS had gone through. Two more squadrons - Blue and Orange - had been waiting for him, along with his fourth Star Destroyer, an Aurora-class ship. Another surprise had come through as well; the fighters and bombers he had ordered from Sienar had come through. Instead of TIE Defenders, the Aurora carried TIE Schutzstaffels, and instead of Scimitars, it carried Hurrikanes. A small carrier had accompanied the Star Destroyer, carrying more Schutzstaffels, Hurrikanes, and Storms. The ships had been traded, and while some Defenders were kept - mostly on the smaller capital ships in the small fleet - the Star Destroyers now all carried the new craft. The pilots had been running through multiple training routines in the weeks since Valinor, becoming as familiar with them as with their old fighters and bombers. Even the Vos-class ships had had half their ships - the Defenders - replaced with Schutzstaffels.

Now, though, was a time to relax. They'd already had nearly a month to recover from the fighting, and they seemed ready to go, but Wes knew better. He was hoping they'd get at least two or three more weeks.

War was brewing with the Coalition; there was no denying it. The recent escalation of hostilities left no doubt about that. An old galactic saying held that whenever there were two big kath hounds on the same plain, sooner or later they were going to fight. Wes had hoped that that fight had been the last TNO-GC war, but apparently the Coalition hadn't learned their lesson. They had not been entirely crushed, and they had been allowed to rebuild. Now, it seemed, they wanted revenge.

They had been striving to build up on all fronts and had been attacking planets that would give them strategic launching points to attack the Empire's territory. There were currently several buildups occurring in Onyxian space, and Intelligence was scrambling to figure out what the targets would be. Other buildups were occurring in Confederation and Cren space, though not as dangerous.

The communicator squawked. "Colonel Vos, this is General Boone. I have new orders for you, transmitting on the secure lines." The orders appeared on Wes's datapad as the General cut the communications link.

To: Colonel Wesley Vos
From: The New Order High Command

Recent intelligence has shown a buildup of Coalition forces near Bilbringi, Fondor, and Anobis. You are ordered to move your fleet to Anobis and keep watch on the Coalition forces near Ord Mantell. Should the Onyxian Commonwealth attack, you will execute Scenario Devistation as War Plan Devistation. Should it be the Confederation, it will be Scenario Retribution as War Plan Retribution. Confirm these orders in code.

So it had finally come. The orders to move. Then Anobis it was. Wes immediately jumped on the comm and signaled three of his Star Destroyers, minus the Tyrant, to plot a course for Anobis. The Tyrant was to join them as soon as possible. Wes glanced over his ship manifest once more: one Astrus, one Aurora, two Eternal Advanced Star Destroyers; two Curiassiers and four Ferros; four Druids and eight Stalwarts; eight Fire-class Light frigates, six Feram vehicles, and his two Venerator troopships carrying two divisions of infantry and one armored regiment. Coalition, he thought, bring it on.



Present
Less than a light-year from Anobis

War Plan Devistation. Wes smiled. It was time to beat some Commonwealth heads. Onyxian Commonwealth, that was.

Even as Wes began to give the orders, reports filtered in of a Coalition attack on Bilbringi. Apparently a large portion of the Commonwealth fleet was there. That would make his job very easy.

War Plan Devistation had been devised by the Imperial High Command in case of a rapid attack by a member of the Onyxian Commonwealth. It was only to be executed if this attack were threatening a major world, and it would be the first of many such strikes. The scenario called for a quick hyperspace jump to Generis and for the attackers to rapidly secure the planet, eliminating Onyxian presence near Yaga Minor and Bastion. From there, another attack would proceed, one focused on tearing the Commonwealth apart at its source. But for now, Wes ordered his captains to plot a course for Generis. The Onyxian Commonwealth was about to feel the sting of the Imperial SS.

<b>Onyx-Past</b>

Marth Meer put down the datapad he was perusing to fix his gaze on the women standing before him.

"Imperial SS?"

Karen Calypso, long-time colleague of Marth Meer and currently the co-director of Coalition Intelligence nodded her head.

"They're the latest elite unit, under the command of a Captain Wesley Vos. They took part in the action at Valinor recently."

The moment the word elite escaped Karen's lips, Marth rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

"Do the Imperials even know what elite means? It seems like every unit we face is an elite unit. Where are they hiding all their normal units? I could call every man and women in Coalition service an elite but it doesn't make them one."

Karen Calypso didn't reply to the tirade from Marth Meer and the Vice-Consul took the moment to continue talking.

"What are their projected targets?"

"From Anobis there are a number of options. Ord Mantell is the closest and most obvious. However we feel that the Empire will make a move for Generis. The Atrivis Sector is a bit too close to Yaga Minor for the Empire to be happy. They'll want to change that."

Marth nodded his head and began to ponder what he'd been told.

"Should we order reinforcements sent to Generis?"

Marth shook his head. "Generis is pratically worthless. If they take Generis all they do is remove our ability to strike at Yaga Minor easily, and its not like we were going to anyways with most of our fleet tied up at defending our planets, the Bothans and have of Western Province, plus the attack on Bilbiringi. If we lose Generis its a loss but really all they'll get is a jungle. If we lose Ord Mantell, that allows them to strike at the heart of the Commonwealth. Plus I know who's commanding the defences of Generis. I'm sure he'd be eager for another round with the Empire. Send this information and our conclusions to Captain Harrison."

<b><i>Pride of Iridonia</i> Orbiting Generis-Present</b>

"Sir, we've just been notified by sattelites that the forces near Anobis have gone missing. Specific Course Heading is unknown but they are heading towards the Raioballo sector."

Captain George Harrison nodded in acknowledgement to the Ensign that had delivered the report.

"So they're either coming here or they're going to reinforce Yaga Minor. Seeing as Yaga Minor doesn't need any reinforcing I feel like we may be expecting company. Are all ships in position?"

The Ensign glanced down at the datapad he was carrying.

"Aye Captain. All ships in position, weapons are loaded. The <i>Heroes of Onyx</i> and the <i>Rainbow Gem</i> have jumped to their starting points. <i>Beast</i> Squadron is also in position. Civilian traffic is normal, though we're prepared to clear the spacelanes if necessary."

Captain Harrison took a deep breath to settle himself before replying. He'd been waiting for this moment, the moment where he would be able to test himself in a straight up fight. Just him and his men and women against the bastard that the Empire had sent. His only regret was that it wouldn't be that son of a bitch Thorton that he'd get to teach a lesson too.

"Order all ships to level yellow and be prepared to go to red. We've got about an hour before they show up."

Captain Harrison didn't fight very hard to prevent the pleasure from tinging his message. The boy had been with him at Bandommer, it was time for the Empire to learn a lesson.

2 light years from Generis

The SS fleet dropped out of hyperspace in perfect formation. The massive triangles of the four Star Destroyers dominated the center of the formation, with the smaller ships branching out in five different directions. Any commander would be proud to have such efficient commanders.

Wesley Vos was not paying much attention at the moment, though. Actually, the reversion to realspace had startled him. He had been finalizing plans for the upcoming assault, making sure everything was in place and all the paperwork was properly filled out. Darn paperwork, he thought. You'd think in a dictatorship all this crap wouldn't be necessary.

He rose from his seat in the communications portion of the bridge and straightened his black uniform. The members of the SS had just recently gotten the new apparrel, and Wes had to admit that the effect was striking. Solid black uniforms, the arm and neck patches bearing white lightning bolts that signified the unit. Something the men could take pride in.

The men. Sith spit, why do I have to think about this right now? he asked himself. The orders he was about to give would certainly cause the deaths of some of his men, even from the actual SS squadrons. To send men into honorable death in battle is one thing; to send them on a suicide mission is quite another, and Wes knew it.

The mixture of feelings flooded his mind. He was supposed to be one of the most ruthless men in the Empire, or at least that was the image he was trying to portray. It didn't completely fit. Morally, he was torn up about things like this. While his men would certainly die for him, something felt wrong about wasting their lives like this.

Stop it! he yelled at himself. You can't afford this! Do your duty and be done with it. Moralize later when you have more time.

But he couldn't quite push the thoughts to the back of his mind. Nevertheless, he knew his duty. "Ensign," he said, "is Commadore Thorton informed of the plan?"

"Yes, Sir," came the crisp reply. "We spoke with him not long before we jumped to hyperspace."

"And is he prepared to perform his role?"

"Sir," the ensign said, "Commodore Thorton said that he would be more than happy to once again tangle with Captain Harrison."

Wes smiled. "Good. Then get me Lieutenant Commander Smith."

Only moments passed before the leader of the newest SS squadron appeared in hologram before Wes. "Commander, execute War Plan Devistation, Phase I. You may launch. And Commander," he added, "take care of yourself."

With that, the image disappeared. Soon, the new squadron appeared in their Schutzstaffel fighters, departing from the bay of the Tyrant. These men (and women) were brave, one of only two fighter squadrons that would escort two bomber squadrons in for an initial assault.

Wes then began giving orders to the rest of the formation, and they began to spread out. The Daemon's Fury and Reign of Fire each took a few cruisers and moved to the flanks. Their vectors would be slightly different from the main fleet, which stayed with the Tyrant. After several minutes, Wes gave the order, and the right flank, consisting of the Daemon's Fury, one Currassair, one Ferro, one Stalwart, and two Fires, jumped to hyperspace. If all went well, they would come in less than two minutes behind the initial bomber group on one side of the planet.

An anxious five minutes later, the left flank - the Reign of Fire, one Ferro, two Stalwarts, one Druid, and two Fires - jumped in on a slightly different vector. They would emerge on the other side of the planet, hopefully trapping any ambushing forces in a pincer.

The pincer was about to close all the way. Another five minutes and Wes said, "Tell Commodore Thorton to begin the countdown." Then he gave the order for the main fleet to jump. They would come in directly between the two flanks, ready to fire into whatever was in front of them. They had hopefully laid a perfect trap for the defenders of Generis.

[font=Palatino Linotype]For Jarred Smith, today was like any other day. Everything somehow made him feel alone. The job was a shadow-business; the recognition was, by logic, just the same. Very few people saw him, nobody knew who he was, and nobody cared. Part of him was used to it, and part of him loved it and lived for it. It was the ability to hold a man's fate in an iron grip...to snuff that life-force out with but a single act...he'd lived on it since he was but a young boy. It only made sense that now, after so long, he'd find it again.

Offering a stiff salute to the fading hologram of his CO, the lieutenant-commander felt a dark smile form on his face. Life and death--which he felt were the true powers of the universe--were at odds once again. It would be yet another grand showing...and another quest to see who held more control over the two weapons of the fates.

There was, he corrected himself, one person who gave a damn about him. It was strange, mostly because he cared about her in return, and he hadn't cared about anyone else at all in his entire life. Perhaps it was in the fact that they'd grown up in much the same way...much the same life... And it was for this reason that he had put in a request for her to be transferred to his squadron--Hell, to his very flight.

But that could be dealt with later. After relaying the order to his squadron, he'd launched along with the rest of them, and now had two minutes upon entering the target zone before they had to pull out. All through the time between their launch and their arrival at the target zone, his thoughts were concentrated on just that: making their two minutes count...in a big way. "Squad leaders, report status." His voice carried over the comm almost monotously as he spoke.

The squad leaders were just as bland and monotonous as they responded, or so he perceived. Why, he couldn't say; maybe he was just mired in some strange dreariness in his spirit that made him hear everything in a near-soulless, dismal quality. Shaking his head, he dismissed it. They were all ready for their part in the coming operation, and that was all that mattered. What's more, they knew what they were assigned to, and how to go about it. A group this competent was every officer's dream; at least he could say, for a day, that he had it.

And so the two minutes began.
[/font]

Kach Thorton was not a man who liked to leave things unfinished.

But that was exactly what George Harrison was- an unfinished assignment.

He'd spent the last two months on station over Yaga Minor, in position to counter-attack the Coalition if the recent escalation of the unofficial boarder war went all out.

He'd spent that time thinking about what he'd done wrong on his first major assignment.

First of all, he'd played his trump card- firepower, and the willingness to use it- far too early. He realized now he should have attempted to use diplomacy, which he had a clear advantage in thanks to his firepower in orbit (it was amazing what a giant battleship would do to the Imperial and Coalition support levels on a plant below) until it was clearly failing, and then made the first move in orbit and neutralized the Coalition ship before assaulting the planet.

He had managed, fortuneately, to still take the planet with minimal complication, but by letting Harrison escape- even if it was necessary to achieve his goals- was not something he had enjoyed doing.

He was glad to have a second chance to correct his mistake.

What was it that Thrawn had said, recorded by Paeleon in his memoirs? Something about an error was not a mistake until you refused to correct it.

Deep in thought, Commodore Thorton smirked, bewildering the Comm Officer overseeing a nearby crew pit.

On the status console at the front of the bridge, the massive digital time counted down until the jump to Genaris.

19 minutes until his mistake would be corrected.

George Harrison was not a happy captain.

He'd been left off the major Bilbringi assignment, but as reports came in about it that might have turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Not that he was all that happy about it.

What he was less happy about was how few ships he had to defend the crucial staging groun of Generis. Did command not recognize its' importance? "This is captain Harrison to all hands, Imperials expected to make contact in a matter of minutes - stand by your guns."

Two of the newest Bird of preys, a Bakura Imperial Star Destroyer serving as his flagship, and a Stryker with its' full compliment of swarm fighters. It wasn't much, really, to hold the entire system and the surrounding area. It'd only been the greatest fortune that they were all up and running around the time of the attack when they could have easily been dry-docked.

"What's the status of our people planetside?" asked Harrison to his bridge crew, eyeing the planet from his seat.

"All expeditions have been recalled and a general lockdown is in effect, sir," explained one officer. "Defences have been raised in case of bombardment."

"Good," mused Harrison. He'd considered pulling them out and retreating back to a more defensible line, but decided against it. The time they'd buy delaying the enemy was far more valuable than letting the Empire deeper into the Commonwealth by retreating. "Keep a tight formation. Once all our fighters are launched and the shields are raised, head for the most likely point of contact and inform me the moment the enemy's in sight. No further orders."

There was nothing more to say. The Pride of Iridonia bristled deadly weaponry and was manned by a crew hardened by endless training and experience. The Onyxians weren't a people to go down without a fight.

[font=Palatino Linotype]A Bakura-class Star Destroyer was such a fine ship to look at. Even if it wasn't something he called 'home', Jarred could always marvel at the ship merely from the fact that it was yet another replication of the majestic Imperial design, made famous since the Clone Wars themselves.[/font]
[font=Palatino Linotype] [/font]
[font=Palatino Linotype]Of course, this specific BSD was in the hands of the Coalition, which made it a living conflict with itself: both cherished sight, and cursed image. Two squadrons of fighters and two squadrons of bombers, all speeding towards the mighty Bakura-class, Pride of Iridonia. As it stood, the very idea of all 48 pilots coming out of this one alive was, quite frankly, absurd; the target ship had some significant defensive measures, counting both onboard defenses and otherwise...which included all of the other ships around the area.[/font]
[font=Palatino Linotype][/font]
[font=Palatino Linotype]"Blue Squadron, report in." Jarred's voice was, despite the coming situation, very calm as he called in one last SitRep before the attack officially commenced. For at least one of his pilots, he knew it would be the very last such report. Everyone chimed in on their comms, in perfect order, just like he would have hoped. With that set, there was nothing else left to do.[/font]
[font=Palatino Linotype][/font]
[font=Palatino Linotype]A large mess of metal, 48 ships in all, streaked towards the mighty Star Destroyer, which unsurprisingly returned fire in kind. The four squads broke their flight pattern as soon as they could, with only one fighter taking a hit, which was summarily absorbed by its shielding. The bombers fired as soon as they were in range, their ordnance streaking through the stars at a pace easily greater than the bombers themselves. At the same time, the fighters overshot their target, looping back for a strafing run from behind.[/font]

"Enemy fighters and bombers, incoming!" exclaimed a sensors officer.

"I have eyes, damnit," cursed George, stalking the bridge. "Keep our distance and send in the Swarm fighters - concentrate on the bombers and don't let them get us entangled! We need our heavy guns free for when enemy capital vessels close range."

The Swarm fighters zipped through space, masses of small but deadly warships oblivious to casualties or damage. They weathered the first hail of bomber ordnance, spitting back wave after wave of mini-concussion missiles to scatter the enemy formations.

To break formation before a swarm is a death sentence - though each fighter was but three meters long, the Stryker Carrier could expel twenty-five squadrons of them. The slightest hit lit them up in a tiny explosion, but there were enough to entrap the bombers and fighters of the Empire in an inescapable dogfight.

A few of the strange enemy fighters were destroyed in the initial confusion, swarm fighters descending on them like scavengers to blast them apart once one slowed from battle-damage. It was the bombers who were most threatened, however, as they were unable to outmaneauver the smaller craft nor dodge the constant barrage of ordnance. The swarm fighters were not the best of warships, however, and any damage they inflicted was slow in coming. The dogfight could last from now until doomsday so long as George cared, it was just a stalling tactic.

In the meantime, the Pride and associated craft pulled away from the dogfight, their heavy guns keeping at bay any Imperial who tried to break free and come after them. George was no fool - the fighters and bombers were a distraction, there to bog him down so heavy Imperial warships could close distance and unload. The battle would be decided by the range he could keep.

"Keep our shields strong," he murmured, to no one in particular. "Things are going to get a lot worse."

As Captain Harrison spoke, six vessels exited hyperspace at the very edge of the Coalition's turbolaser range. Captain Josef Finnicum, on board the EASD Daemon's Fury, stared at the small Coalition fleet in shock. It was amazing how little force was assembled at this planet, considering its relative closeness to Yaga Minor. Oh well, he thought, big or small, time to take 'em down.

He began issuing orders. The various commanders had already launched fighters and raised shields, and some fire was being exchanged with the Coalition vessels. At the moment, though, the Imperial ships were in a simple line, forcing all ships present to absorb Coalition fire. "Imperial commanders, move to over-under formation at 90 degrees." This formation, developed specifically by the SS, would put the Daemon's Fury at the center of two parallel lines. Overhead would be the Curiassier cruiser Medusa with the two Fire-class Frigates forming a screen in front of it. The Stalwart and Ferro were below the ship, trading positions every few minutes to allow diferent shields to absorb the fire. By rotating this formation 90 degrees, the Imperial and Coalition lines would be parallel, maximizing both firepower and defense.

Turbolaser and ion cannon fire raced back and forth between the two lines. The TIE Schutzstaffel fighters swarmed from the belly of the Daemon's Fury and formed the vanguard of the snubfighter formation that even now raced towards the engagement. Finnicum watched as the fighters engaged anxiously. He had a personal interest in the fight.

In the lead Schutzstaffel, Commander Jamison Finnicum stared at the forty-eight brave Imperials facing down a horde of Swarm fighters. Taking a deep breath, he spoke into his comm, "Alright, boys. Let's get in there and save their butts. Accellerate to attack speed." The new fighters cut through space, heading for the center of the formation.

The Schutzstaffel fighter was designed with one purpose - to kill enemy ships. While it carried shields, they were fairly light, at least compared to the TIE Defender. To make up for this deficiency, the craft were fairly fast, and they each carried six laser cannons in their wings. Unlike the relatively rookie SS squadrons and bomber formations that had formed the first assault, the pilots from the Daemon's Fury had reviewed footage of fighter battles against Swarm fighters and had run some simulations at Anobis in the Schutzstaffels. They understood that to break formation was to die, so they stuck together.

The first wave of Schutzstaffel's blew through the center of the fighter battle. Finnicum held down the trigger for his six cannons nearly the entire way through, depleting about half his power supply but also downing four enemy fighters. While the Swarms were fast, twenty-four Schutzstaffel fighters (that's 144 laser cannons) in a tight formation held a lot more concentrated firepower. As the fresh troops flew in, several of the embattled fighters turned and headed for the safety of the capital ships, taking up escort positions. Others, notably Orange and Blue Squadrons of the SS commandos, joined Finnicum's forces in the battle despite their losses and damage.

As Jamison blew apart another Swarm, the second wave of fighters from the other ships hit. TIE Defenders, Devils, and TIE IIs struck the Swarm fighters as they turned to meet the Schutzstaffel threat, ripping more of them to pieces. As the battle continued, part of Jamison's mind wondered how his brother was doing back on the Daemon's Fury.

Captain Josef Finnicum saw his brother's formation blast through the Swarms, then turned his attention back to the Coalition fleet. It was there that the battle would be decided. He ordered the Frigates to concentrate on the Birds of Prey and the cruisers to focus on the Star Destroyer. The Daemon's Fire would lend support where needed. Torpedos and missiles streaked towards the enemy from the ships' launching systems, having little effect because of anti-missile defenses but serving the double purpose of distracting the enemy and, assuming the warhead got through, weakening the enemy shields.

"All ships," Finnicum commanded, "accellerate to flank speed."

"Come on, now," he continued in a whisper. "Take the bait."

[font=Palatino Linotype]There was something to be said for the TIE Schutzstaffel... it was agile, nimble, and powerful. All of these were excellent qualities in a fightercraft, and the Empire had a natural knack for making top-of-the-line fighters. Of course, the Empire had that knack for everything it produced; why should the aerial enforcers of her will be any different than, say, her mighty armor, or her proud cruisers?[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]As the TIEs looped around for another run, thoughts such as these ran through the lieutenant-commander's mind, bringing a smile to his face beneath his helmet. A quick look at his sensor readout gave him another reason to smile: reinforcements were on the way. Such was his confidence in his fellow Imperials that he couldn't even bother with the Swarm fighters coming his way, trying to pick his group off before another run could be taken on the Coalition command ship. If that was what they wanted to do, they were going to be facing a significant fight in doing it.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]The Imperial fighters didn't flinch in the life-or-death game of 'chicken'; instead, they unleashed unholy Hell as they pushed through the wall of incoming fighters. It was a grisly mess, true, and a few of the Imperial bombers and fighters were destroyed in the process, but the majority came out with no damage beyond their shielding.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]And that was when all Hell decided to break loose, and the delicate nature of the operation shattered into a nightmare that was, as Jarred would later recall--something he had regretfully never conceived.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]It all happened as they passed the enemy flagship after the second run. Not all of the bombers were in the second attack, some of them having been lost to the enemy Swarm fighters, but most of them still had their hulls, pilots, and payloads intact and were beginning the next launching spree. More of the deadly laser blasts came at the fighters, some missing wide and some hitting dead-on. A few of those direct hits landed on Blue 4, and Jarred could feel himself start to slowly lose his mind, his sanity fracturing a little more than it already was. The squad display on his HUD had already bracketed her fighter in red, specifically highlighting her starboard engine, which was reading temperatures far in excess of safe operating limits, as well as a sudden, massive obstruction to exhaust flow...namely, most of the engine.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]Blood...that was all he could see in his mind. The shedding of blood...the pain that came of it...his entire life, in an instant of crimson retribution. The anguish that started to scream through his thoughts carried a female voice, strained with worry and impending peril. In the chaos that ravaged his mind, he could feel himself alongside her, as if they were one and the same.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]"I can't hold it!" Lt. Onyx screamed into the comm, her voice cracked with tears that spawned from fear. Even as she spoke, the fighter was spiraling out of control, no longer responsive to any efforts on her part.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]Military instinct told Jarred to stay with the squad. Military protocol told him to bury his passions and concern deep inside himself, away from everyone else.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]Military instinct and protocol can go to Hell! he thought with a distraught frown and mounting fear. Without even worrying about the reaction he'd get from anyone else, Jarred slammed the throttle of his fighter to full power and steered straight for his beloved, lining his trajectory up as carefully as he could. An enemy fighter dared to interrupt his efforts at saving his lover, and laserfire was the Coalition pilot's reward for his own efforts as it tore through his ship, incinerating him in the wreckage. Not even caring to look back, the lieutenant-commander continued on his course, gently pushing against the spinning fighter to stabilize it and guide it towards the Imperial command ship's hangar bay. With the noticeable screaming on the comm, he could only hope that the hangar had emergency reaction crews ready to respond to the situation.[/font]