The ship vibrated violently on every side as the atmosphere of the planet attempted to tug on the tiny X-Wing. Dyrien shook off his momentary delusionary day-dreams, pulling about on the yokestick so that he was back in proper formation away from the gravitational pull of the planet.
Anxiety was assailing him as strongly as any amount of laserfire from the shipyard and its outlying defenses.
Given the situation, the military was unable to send out scouts to get a preliminary on the outlying area. There was no telling what they were sending, what they were going to fight, or what was happening. As far as Dyrien was concerned, an entire starfleet could be waiting there for them with a thousand fighters and they would never know.
At least, not until the entire fleet was to bear down on top of them.
"Colonel is everything alright?" one of the other pilots, Captain Gregyo, asked, concern dripping from his voice.
Dyrien shook his head a few times to clear off any lingering dizziness.
"I'm fine...maintain radio silence," he ordered crisply. "Turn to the alternate channel," he warned in the instance that a curious Serasian had picked up on the channel. The colonel reached over and flipped the channels, a slight, static hiss erupting in his headset as it did so.
A moment later it silenced itself, leaving him once again to the solitude of the humming of his sublight drives, and the slight beeps and twitters of his curious astromech droid.
His feet eased off of the rudders as he returned the X-Wing to auto pilot, allowing him to dwell and think before the imminent battle that would certainly erupt in less than twenty minutes. He looked to his starboard, at the bulky Mosquito , the converted and repaired Marauder-Class Corvette seized at the skirmish a couple days ago.
Perhaps, just perhaps, that skirmish would be the turning point of this whole war. That thought sat well inside of Colonel Dyrien's mind.
What if he could go back to living a normal life? Spending three weeks on base, two weeks with his wife, and have a month's worth of rest throughout the year? What if everything could get back to normal, his sons could get back to harvesting wheat, he could watch as enormous foreign freighters pulled into orbit, setting down to trade their goods for the precious minerals and gems that existed below the surface of Kiyar?
What if everything was good again?
So far this new president, Kilam Blackh, was leading them down that course. He had given the people hope, a belief that maybe they could know more than they had. Maybe they could survive the famines, the war, and the nuclear attacks.
President Blackh was a good man.
But what if this failed? What if the colonel wasn't good enough?
Can there be a victory if we lose this operation?
That was the major question that had been haunting him since he received his orders. What if they did not succeed? What would Seras's retribution be like?
Would it be another all out nuclear strike? Would it be a biological attack with their macabre dancing virus?
Question after question constantly entered his mind.
And he had to get rid of them. Such doubts, such concerns held no place here, not when such an important battle was about to take place with the last remaining X-Wings the Federation had.
That was asking for trouble.
Letting out one, long sigh, Dyren looked over through his hatch once more at the Mosquito. The entire operation depended completley on that. If it went down then the entire mission was going to go with it.
Then, adjusting himself in his flight seat, he gripped the yoke stick in front of him firmly, his expression turning hard and determined. His feet were placed back on his rudders.
Looking down at his flight map, he had travelled twenty klicks, much further than he'd initially thought, but his contemplations must have been going longer than he'd thought.
Not a big deal.
Straight ahead the shipyard was finally coming into view, its enormous and bulky figure rising over the horizon of the planet.
Only a few months ago it had belonged to the Federation, producing starfighters, warships, and spaceliners for trade and transportation. After the second wave of nuclear attacks during Operation: Winter's Touch, the Serasians launched a surprisingly large strike against it, catching it completely by surprise. Within the first landing the place was seized.
They were going to do the same, with far less troops than before. But this time...they had that woman...
Raven.
Raven would be the key to this whole operation.
"Alright team," he announced, "lock S-foils in attack position, throttle to full and shields up, expect enemy fighters to come any minute.
"All fighters report in."
The typical barrage that usually consisted of dozens of pilots incurring their designation had diminished to four voices and a double tap from Raven.
"Alright you know the plan, call your targets before attacking and clear the way for the Mosquito," Dyrien instructed. Tightening and adjusting his grip on the yoke stick as the adrenaline began to pump through his body, Dyrien watched his battle monitor carefully.
He adjusted his foot pedal rutters, earning a slight moan from the engines, no doubt a large resemblance of a flame from the ion engines emitting as the craft began to speed toward the target.
And just as he suspected, the port of the gigantic shipyard began to open up like a monstrous maw, vomiting out the starfighters of the Serasian force. The colonel could just imagine the soldiers inside, the blaring alarms, the unsuspecting fear that crept inside of them at the thought of an attack.
Of course he could also suspect the incredulously curious stares as they realized only a handful of ships were attacking.
"Mark mark, we have a squadron of enemy snub fighters, TIE/lns by designation, one-two twelve, repeat, one-two twelve," came the call of a both excited and jittery Green Three. There were twelve TIE fighters, what did Raven call them? Eyeballs?
Whoever was supplying the Kiyarans had brought in Imperial fighter craft as well it seemed.
This all looked so much like the Civil war. The TIEs versus the X-Wings, the good guys versus the bad, the rebels versus the Empire.
"Attention lead," Raven's familiar voice blazed over the comm, "we have another one-two squadron coming out of the port mouth, repeat another one-two twelve squadron."
Dyren took note of this.
"Gyro," he said in reference to his astromech droid, "get a lock on the nearest target. Every time one is dispatched, get a lock on the next nearest."
The little black painted droid whistled an affirmative, and all was a go in a blinding flash.
A beep signified that he'd gotten lock on his nearest TIE fighter, designated Alpha Three.
"Lead, Target Alpha Three," he called out to the squadron. The miniscule figure of a TIE in the middle of his targetting computer waved back and forth between the central target on the green screen.
"Two, Target Alpha One."
"Three, Target Alpha Four."
"Four, Target Alpha Seven."
"Five, Target Alpha Nine."
"Little Bird, Target Alpha Five."
Pressing his rutters to the floor and reassigning all deflector shields to the fore, Dyrien's X-Wing hauled quickly in the direction of his designated fighter.
"All pilots, engage!" the colonel cried out in unison with his fingers squeezing the trigger. Red-gold blasts whizzed past him. He'd set his weapons to dual-fire mode, firing only two of the three cannons on his S-Foils. They whipped outward, three volleys that caught first the tip of the solar panel of the impudent TIE fighter, then the arm that held it to the round base, and then finally bursting through the cockpit to ignite the craft aflame.
The remaining shots simply added fuel to the fire. There was no evidence suggesting the pilot had escaped.
A series of green laser blasts in return screamed at him, painting the fore of his craft black with scorch marks. Easing off one of the pedals and turning hard to port, the X-Wing broke into a barrel roll as two surviving TIEs roared past, their tell-tale whine heralding their movements.
His inertial compensator made it seem as though he were still upright, simply moving hard left. The distant stars spun by him in a flash until he was confident that the two eyeballs were well behind him, though that was something he would have to remedy quickly. A TIE on one's tail was a quick death if the pilot knew what he was doing.
Dyrien glanced about earnestly, seeking out his two opponents while also trying to get a lay of the situation.
The creamy glow of Kiyar's atmosphere radiated against the shipyard, illuminating it beautifully, though that was added onto by light flashes of orange from exploding Imperial craft.
"Report," Dyrien demanded. "Lead, target destroyed."
The other pilots in turn offered their own successes. Only Green Three had struck out, only damaging his fighter. Though he was in hot pursuit of the TIE, hoping to redeem himself for his initial failure to destroy the craft.
"Alright, all pilots break formation and engage."
Pulling a hard right on the yokestick while easing off both rutters, the X-Wing turned its nose toward the thick of the fray, where Raven in her TIE Defender was outclassing three eager eyeballs easily. That won a slight grin from the colonel.
Looking down at his own scanner he noticed that the two fighters who had passed him were moving in a dual formation to try to remain on his aft.
"Gyro, reallocate the shields to balance out the ship," he warned, just as a green flash of light followed by the clicking of a TIE's twin laser cannons rammed across one of his S-Foils.
After a quick scan of his equipment, it seemed everything was still in order. The hit wasn't bad and simply scraped off some of the deflector shields. Pressing hard down on the pedals at his feet and ramming the yoke stick in the same direction, the X-Wing dived, though the agile and nimble TIEs were hot on his tail, unleashing volley after volley of green blasts.
Dyrien tucked and turned his X-Wing both left and right before ending in yet another starboard barrel roll, before giving a hard turn upward.
Against a trained and professionally trained Imperial pilot, no doubt this manuever would have done little but against a Serasian who was still learning the ropes he managed to barely break the chase, turning on his aft and dropping so he was coming in at the side of one of them.
Squeezing down on the trigger he placed several well aimed shots against one, tearing through the solar panel and cockpit beyond. The second one tried to break with a similar manuever.
A pair of well-aimed shots in his direction caught him, sending him as well to a fiery grave.
Looking at his short range scanner it seemed that seven TIEs were down, one fleeing, and the remaining four of the first squadron were heading as quickly as they could for the Mosquito. Green four ended the trajectory of one of them with three well aimed bursts, while two others, in a panic, simply crashed into one another while trying to avoid a pincer movement by Raven and Green Two.
They still had that second squadron to worry about though, which was closing fast on their rears.
Anxiety was assailing him as strongly as any amount of laserfire from the shipyard and its outlying defenses.
Given the situation, the military was unable to send out scouts to get a preliminary on the outlying area. There was no telling what they were sending, what they were going to fight, or what was happening. As far as Dyrien was concerned, an entire starfleet could be waiting there for them with a thousand fighters and they would never know.
At least, not until the entire fleet was to bear down on top of them.
"Colonel is everything alright?" one of the other pilots, Captain Gregyo, asked, concern dripping from his voice.
Dyrien shook his head a few times to clear off any lingering dizziness.
"I'm fine...maintain radio silence," he ordered crisply. "Turn to the alternate channel," he warned in the instance that a curious Serasian had picked up on the channel. The colonel reached over and flipped the channels, a slight, static hiss erupting in his headset as it did so.
A moment later it silenced itself, leaving him once again to the solitude of the humming of his sublight drives, and the slight beeps and twitters of his curious astromech droid.
His feet eased off of the rudders as he returned the X-Wing to auto pilot, allowing him to dwell and think before the imminent battle that would certainly erupt in less than twenty minutes. He looked to his starboard, at the bulky Mosquito , the converted and repaired Marauder-Class Corvette seized at the skirmish a couple days ago.
Perhaps, just perhaps, that skirmish would be the turning point of this whole war. That thought sat well inside of Colonel Dyrien's mind.
What if he could go back to living a normal life? Spending three weeks on base, two weeks with his wife, and have a month's worth of rest throughout the year? What if everything could get back to normal, his sons could get back to harvesting wheat, he could watch as enormous foreign freighters pulled into orbit, setting down to trade their goods for the precious minerals and gems that existed below the surface of Kiyar?
What if everything was good again?
So far this new president, Kilam Blackh, was leading them down that course. He had given the people hope, a belief that maybe they could know more than they had. Maybe they could survive the famines, the war, and the nuclear attacks.
President Blackh was a good man.
But what if this failed? What if the colonel wasn't good enough?
Can there be a victory if we lose this operation?
That was the major question that had been haunting him since he received his orders. What if they did not succeed? What would Seras's retribution be like?
Would it be another all out nuclear strike? Would it be a biological attack with their macabre dancing virus?
Question after question constantly entered his mind.
And he had to get rid of them. Such doubts, such concerns held no place here, not when such an important battle was about to take place with the last remaining X-Wings the Federation had.
That was asking for trouble.
Letting out one, long sigh, Dyren looked over through his hatch once more at the Mosquito. The entire operation depended completley on that. If it went down then the entire mission was going to go with it.
Then, adjusting himself in his flight seat, he gripped the yoke stick in front of him firmly, his expression turning hard and determined. His feet were placed back on his rudders.
Looking down at his flight map, he had travelled twenty klicks, much further than he'd initially thought, but his contemplations must have been going longer than he'd thought.
Not a big deal.
Straight ahead the shipyard was finally coming into view, its enormous and bulky figure rising over the horizon of the planet.
Only a few months ago it had belonged to the Federation, producing starfighters, warships, and spaceliners for trade and transportation. After the second wave of nuclear attacks during Operation: Winter's Touch, the Serasians launched a surprisingly large strike against it, catching it completely by surprise. Within the first landing the place was seized.
They were going to do the same, with far less troops than before. But this time...they had that woman...
Raven.
Raven would be the key to this whole operation.
"Alright team," he announced, "lock S-foils in attack position, throttle to full and shields up, expect enemy fighters to come any minute.
"All fighters report in."
The typical barrage that usually consisted of dozens of pilots incurring their designation had diminished to four voices and a double tap from Raven.
"Alright you know the plan, call your targets before attacking and clear the way for the Mosquito," Dyrien instructed. Tightening and adjusting his grip on the yoke stick as the adrenaline began to pump through his body, Dyrien watched his battle monitor carefully.
He adjusted his foot pedal rutters, earning a slight moan from the engines, no doubt a large resemblance of a flame from the ion engines emitting as the craft began to speed toward the target.
And just as he suspected, the port of the gigantic shipyard began to open up like a monstrous maw, vomiting out the starfighters of the Serasian force. The colonel could just imagine the soldiers inside, the blaring alarms, the unsuspecting fear that crept inside of them at the thought of an attack.
Of course he could also suspect the incredulously curious stares as they realized only a handful of ships were attacking.
"Mark mark, we have a squadron of enemy snub fighters, TIE/lns by designation, one-two twelve, repeat, one-two twelve," came the call of a both excited and jittery Green Three. There were twelve TIE fighters, what did Raven call them? Eyeballs?
Whoever was supplying the Kiyarans had brought in Imperial fighter craft as well it seemed.
This all looked so much like the Civil war. The TIEs versus the X-Wings, the good guys versus the bad, the rebels versus the Empire.
"Attention lead," Raven's familiar voice blazed over the comm, "we have another one-two squadron coming out of the port mouth, repeat another one-two twelve squadron."
Dyren took note of this.
"Gyro," he said in reference to his astromech droid, "get a lock on the nearest target. Every time one is dispatched, get a lock on the next nearest."
The little black painted droid whistled an affirmative, and all was a go in a blinding flash.
A beep signified that he'd gotten lock on his nearest TIE fighter, designated Alpha Three.
"Lead, Target Alpha Three," he called out to the squadron. The miniscule figure of a TIE in the middle of his targetting computer waved back and forth between the central target on the green screen.
"Two, Target Alpha One."
"Three, Target Alpha Four."
"Four, Target Alpha Seven."
"Five, Target Alpha Nine."
"Little Bird, Target Alpha Five."
Pressing his rutters to the floor and reassigning all deflector shields to the fore, Dyrien's X-Wing hauled quickly in the direction of his designated fighter.
"All pilots, engage!" the colonel cried out in unison with his fingers squeezing the trigger. Red-gold blasts whizzed past him. He'd set his weapons to dual-fire mode, firing only two of the three cannons on his S-Foils. They whipped outward, three volleys that caught first the tip of the solar panel of the impudent TIE fighter, then the arm that held it to the round base, and then finally bursting through the cockpit to ignite the craft aflame.
The remaining shots simply added fuel to the fire. There was no evidence suggesting the pilot had escaped.
A series of green laser blasts in return screamed at him, painting the fore of his craft black with scorch marks. Easing off one of the pedals and turning hard to port, the X-Wing broke into a barrel roll as two surviving TIEs roared past, their tell-tale whine heralding their movements.
His inertial compensator made it seem as though he were still upright, simply moving hard left. The distant stars spun by him in a flash until he was confident that the two eyeballs were well behind him, though that was something he would have to remedy quickly. A TIE on one's tail was a quick death if the pilot knew what he was doing.
Dyrien glanced about earnestly, seeking out his two opponents while also trying to get a lay of the situation.
The creamy glow of Kiyar's atmosphere radiated against the shipyard, illuminating it beautifully, though that was added onto by light flashes of orange from exploding Imperial craft.
"Report," Dyrien demanded. "Lead, target destroyed."
The other pilots in turn offered their own successes. Only Green Three had struck out, only damaging his fighter. Though he was in hot pursuit of the TIE, hoping to redeem himself for his initial failure to destroy the craft.
"Alright, all pilots break formation and engage."
Pulling a hard right on the yokestick while easing off both rutters, the X-Wing turned its nose toward the thick of the fray, where Raven in her TIE Defender was outclassing three eager eyeballs easily. That won a slight grin from the colonel.
Looking down at his own scanner he noticed that the two fighters who had passed him were moving in a dual formation to try to remain on his aft.
"Gyro, reallocate the shields to balance out the ship," he warned, just as a green flash of light followed by the clicking of a TIE's twin laser cannons rammed across one of his S-Foils.
After a quick scan of his equipment, it seemed everything was still in order. The hit wasn't bad and simply scraped off some of the deflector shields. Pressing hard down on the pedals at his feet and ramming the yoke stick in the same direction, the X-Wing dived, though the agile and nimble TIEs were hot on his tail, unleashing volley after volley of green blasts.
Dyrien tucked and turned his X-Wing both left and right before ending in yet another starboard barrel roll, before giving a hard turn upward.
Against a trained and professionally trained Imperial pilot, no doubt this manuever would have done little but against a Serasian who was still learning the ropes he managed to barely break the chase, turning on his aft and dropping so he was coming in at the side of one of them.
Squeezing down on the trigger he placed several well aimed shots against one, tearing through the solar panel and cockpit beyond. The second one tried to break with a similar manuever.
A pair of well-aimed shots in his direction caught him, sending him as well to a fiery grave.
Looking at his short range scanner it seemed that seven TIEs were down, one fleeing, and the remaining four of the first squadron were heading as quickly as they could for the Mosquito. Green four ended the trajectory of one of them with three well aimed bursts, while two others, in a panic, simply crashed into one another while trying to avoid a pincer movement by Raven and Green Two.
They still had that second squadron to worry about though, which was closing fast on their rears.