...Or at least, they would have.

On the planet, on a beautiful cliff that overlooked a vast bay covered in ice and snow the whole year round, the Certified Mystic Markos watched as the first few emerald beams touched down in the city he overlooked. He hobbled quickly over to his pedastle, intent on performing his duty before the majority of fire could descend. He dropped a beautiful jewel onto a round, stone pedastle. As it touched the stone, a ripple passed through the planet, one invisible to the naked eye, but one that touched the minds of every person in it's path. Smiling, the old Tynnian hobbled back to his hut to sit down.

Across the planet, similar shrines felt the ripple, and equally mysterious tenders ceremonially dropped jewels of great magnificance down onto their pedastals. Wether in the heart of cities or on the highest peaks of mountains, the jewels hummed in unison, the ripple bouncing back and growing louder with each passing, singing in the hearts of the bold defenders arrayed about. As the lances of deadly energy flew downwards with terrible efficiency, they were suddenly met with a wave - nay, a great storm - of light, rising off of the cities, the hills, and the valleys. The blessings of Yunos, god of Light on distant Azguard, had been brought to Tynna, and it's mighty Shield of Faith arose, powered by nothing but the heroic spirits of the people.

The light rose, and coalesced. The majority of laser shattered on it's surface, the raw stuff of courage too strong to overwhelm with crude weapons. It seemed to fill the sky, a shimmering sphere that encircled the whole planet, more beautiful then anything the people had ever seen before.

It passed through the clouds, forming a great protective shield about the planet, and reaching all the way to the orbit - a terrifying thing, for that was where the Astrus was bearing down on them. The forces of the Empire found themselves forced to turn, losing their formation as the shield stood to block their path quite suddenly.

With the Imperial formation disrupted by the appearance of a giant wall in their path, spooked somewhat by this sudden shift in battle, the Coalition forces managed to rally and reform behind them. Ion roared his orders in quick succession, the Unmitigated moving to shield those ships earlier caught in a crossfire as well as to chase down the enemy before them - the Coalition formation was poor, but formation was irrelevant at this point, all that mattered was the Empire was in front of them, facing backwards, and losing formation in the face of the courage of Tynna.

As the enemy capitol ships were forced to veer out of the path, so too were the enemy fighters. Suddenly without the strength of the formation to protect them, their lines were pierced by the furious battlecries of Kris fighters - admittedly unheard in the slience of space - and gunships, which thundered through them and tore the enemy's fighter support to negliglble use.

Proudly, Ion observed as his forces pursued that of the enemy, firing off half their Particle Projectors to gut a Heavy Cruiser from end to end, saving the next salvo for the one in front of it. The enemy was surprised, their strategy broken by a sudden and unexpected event - the bravery and defiance of their enemy.

Inside the enemy warships, things progressed as well. The enemy was being too light on the boarding parties, assuming - wrongly - that the Empire's army was some sort of untouchable force, or that fighting inside a ship was just as fighting in ranks for the control of a battlefield. Maxly continued to scorch the ground before his advance, roaring warcries and braving the occasional volleys as his men poured mostly unopposed through a breach in the lines.

The enemy had lost their chance - they had done nothing to close the hole, assuming the Imperial forces in the area adequete on their own. They were wrong. In the lead, this flood of Coalition forces was only slowed by enemy automated defences - and poor ones they were, for the sensitive electronics were suscpetible to fire, and the turrets were susceptible to grenades. It was a timely advance, and the Empire would pay for taking them so lightly.

In the other two ships, battles progressed more as stalemates - A large section of each Star Destroyer was inaccesible, around the center, as Coalition forces would form their own perimeter and trade shots with the enemy.

Finally sick of the stalemate aboard the middle Reign Class, Captain Johg, a Quarran, rallied a unit of heavy-weapons to help him accomplish a deadly objective.

"Fire at will!" he bellowed, as the half-dozen men following him let a salvo of rockets fly down the hall. The startled Imperial defenders - prepared to do no such thing, for fear of damaging their own ship - tried to scatter as the rockets lit up the far end of the hall and tore down a wall.

Johg dashed along the scorched ground between his position and the newly revealed room, only to gulp at the sight of stack upon stack of explosives - an enemy ammo dump.

Johg, being as mad as any boarding-party captain, grinned wickedly and dropped a timed grenade into the lot - caring little if there was enough time to get away. Running back down the corridor full pelt, his men - curious at the sight - followed suite.

After the suitable pause, an Imperial soldier inched back into the room, only to find the grenade. Fumbling to pick it up, he realized only too late it said '0'.

"Oh sh-"

The explosion was visible from outside the ship, nevermind within. The whole room and a great deal of area around it was torn out completely and a huge, flaming hole gaped in the armor of the Reign. It was about time the Empire took the boarders seriously.

On board the Astrus, for example, flame-thrower still in hand, Maxly began to smile as he recognized another intersection.

"Keep moving, lads - eyes sharp. This is where the fun begins."

The first salvo tore into the planet when the Imperial command ship volleyed and thundered. Targetted at a small city on the coast of the central land mass, the shots were indirciminate: they slammed home and accomplished their mission of creating death, panic, and disorder. Anywhere from ten to a hundred people were killed per blast as the entire frontal armament released its hail of fire. Inside the Relentless' tactical analysis center, estimates were between two and five thousand casualties.


The citizens of Tynna found salvation as a shield deflected the next volley. It was a planetary shield of unknown origin without a definite origin. Angered, Desaria turned his attention to the battle. The Coalition knew he was serious. He sent them a quick-burst transmission ordering them to depart or be iwtness to the destruction of the planet below. At least some of our dead have company.


To the rear of the line, the smaller and more nimble Coalition ships had regrouped and were quite successfully chewing through the shields of the trailing Heavy Cruiser, the Kolath. Her captain had shunted all power from all other shields to stand up to the bomardment but those heavier enemy vessels that remained on the aft-port quarter watched with greedy eyes and fired as they fled through the thin fighter screen. Were it not for the Kolath's thick armor, she would have died immediately. Time would result in her death, and Desaria wrote her off as he watched events unfold.


Firing as they bore, the enemy vessels were proving to be quite the nuissance but their heavier ships had been decimated by their previous salvo. Only three of the enemy battlecruisers remained and their long light cruisers were dropping in number as well. The battle however, was about to change.


" Admiral! Reserves are in range - all ships openning fire!!!"


The Grand Admiral toyed with the thought of ordering the young yoeman to contain his excitement, but then decided against it. The action had indeed been close - closer than he would ever admit. " Recall all fighters to their ships and rehab the pilots if neccessary. My newly arrived Destroyers: launch your Defenders and attack immediately. Fire at all targets of opportunity but concentrate on the enemy battleships."


Another idea occurred to Desaria. As a privilege of rank and command, he implemented it. By changing tactics, the Coalition command would have a harder time of the escape he would now have to make. " All ships - come to course 270 mark zero. Stagger from the Kolath and five hundred meters. Continual fire."


Commencing the maneuver, the formation changed again and the Coalition now found itself dangerously outgunned. Four Imperial Star Destroyers were adding their voices to the inferno and laying waste to the light cruisers that wandered too close.


Meanwhile, near the breech


" Major-General von Hotzendorff. I brought you along to train these new FAC soldiers. They are not performing as well as expected."


Army training aside, the commander of the troops aboard the battleship Suvarov chafed under the castigation of the only other Guard officer aboard the new warship Relentless. " Grand Admiral," the general replied, " they are under the command of Major-General Bra-"


Desaria cut him off: taking valuable time from the battle around his ships was not something he wanted to do. " Major-General Braxillis has proven incompetent. This boarding episode grows critical. Deal with this situation, General."


Von Hotzendorff growled - the men were doing fine, it was their commanders who were acting ineffectively. Rather than counter attack they seemed content to whittle down the intruders and let the grav-traps do their work for them. He checked removed his pistol from the desk, inserted a new magazine, and ran towards the sound of the guns.


Two minutes later...


The Empire did not tolerate incompetence, as evidenced by the smoking hole in the body of General Braxillis that lay sprawled out near the remains of a boarding torpedo whose occupants had been killed upon impact- the only success of the action to date. Running quickly from the remains was von Hotzendorff leading a platoon of FAC troopers, each carrying a heavy blaster rifle and to a man determined to end the fiasco. Into the next breach they charged, from whence a squad of intruders had pushed past the first three defense points and left only two men to defend their craft. The Imperials charged.


Von Hotzendorff was immediately wounded, a bolt from the furthest soldier grazing his right shoulder and singing the black of his uniform tunic. The two aliens fired and eliminated almost a quarter of the platoon but were themselves slain in a concentrated series of shots that filed the room with the smell of burnt flesh.


" Let's end this." He switched on the comm. " All units - they are heading for the reactor. They are being heavily slowed by the grav traps and these boots thy're wearing is making it easier for us to trap them. Attack now!"


The boarders were no more then twenty in number and spread throughou t a very small portion of the ship in three different locations. Almost five hundred soldiers were combatting them, though the corridors nullified their superior numbers.


" Lieutenant ," von Hotzendorff said to a slightly wounded officer who had assumed command of another breech. " Secure the flank of the ship - we'll kill them inside. Set charges on ever single one of these torpedoes and blow them to hell when you're clear. Understand?"


An affirmative nod sealed the fate of the enemies inside. I hope..

Ion had but a split second to think - the enemy was closing a trap. What he thought had been a chaotic split in the enemy line was infact a scheme to catch them between their reinforcements. There was, however, one vital thing about traps, and that was if you were fast enough, you could pull out of them before they snapped down on you. If you were fast enough.

Immeadietly, he bellowed orders for the Unmitigated roll and maximize speed, bringing his fleet 'into' the turn, so to speak, of the enemy's line formation. It was a dangerous maneauver, since although it kept his ship at an angle from the Astrus which turned to face them - an angle they were protected from fire from - it meant flying parralel to the remaining Cruisers, and the bristling broadsides of the Reigns. In his wake, the remaining Coalition warships followed, trusting his judgement. His plan relied on his loyal fighter captain working out what he had planned.

Eisle, fortunately, knew her commanding officer well. Barely screaming an order to be followed into her headset, she banked her fighter and brought the various wings and gunships of the Coalition support forces - support forces which had all-but wiped out the original enemy fighters, but were now close to engaging the next wave - along with her.

The enemy guns were facing away, towards the Coalition's big ships as they prepared to deliver lethal barrages, presenting themselves as excellent targets to the fighters. Waves of Projector fire had long ago shattered any and all particle shields, meaning Eisle and Dolora could grimly fly their fighters right up to the side of the enemy ships. Too late, enemy turrets and gatlings realized their attention had been distracted, and they turned to fend off this new threat, but the Coalition fighters were all speed, spitting what ammounted to tiny balls of instant shrapnel right into the hearts of the turrets, turning them to slag. It was like a swarm of locust, passing over each enemy ship's flank guns and leaving smouldering metal in their wake - such was the price of losing your fighter support, for point defence guns, especially when so distracted, can only do so much. Not nearly enough.

The whole maneauver took less then six seconds, a shocking count. With the Coalition fighters taking out enemy turrets, the Coalition Frigates and Battlecruisers managed to pass relatively unmolested right down the line, down towards where the front of the line had turned to face them. It was not as fast as the Coalition ships, who came in at an upper-rear angle most difficult for them to target.

The Astrust attempted to turn it's monolithic turrets to fire a punishing volley, it's painfully slow movement only matched by the agonizingly slow sound of the Projectors locking on target. If Ion had had a stopwatch, it probably would have taken a second, but for everyone in that battle - and for every one who lived through would swear until their dying day - it felt like a lifetime. For some, it was.

Ion was still quicker on the draw.

The Projector cannonade fired from the diminished but still heavily gunned Coalition fleet, their target the Astrus. It was more then a dozen fists of tightly crammed matter, held together by only the most arcane and complex magnetic fields. Each one passed through the space where the shields would have been, earlier in the battle, but that time was long past - and each one impacted with resonance on the upper armor of the Astrus to which they had been fired.

The armor that covered the Astrus was already cut through with holes, pierced by a dozen Coalition Boarding Torpedoes, making the outer armor fractured and unstable. As the fists pummeled and tore themselves in turn into shrapnel, the metallic pride of the Empire, which was mighty - but by the gods, not that mighty - suffered a hefy blow, and the ship was for a time just a lump of metal. Swooping over it, the Coalition fleet let out a ragged cheer to be clear of the trap - taking great care not to fly into their own shield, of course.

Inside the Astrus, as well as the Reigns, the Coalition Forces resigned themselves to hunkering down and holding their positions. It wasn't like they had much choice - who would accept a surrender from boarders, and more notably, who would want to surrender to the Empire? Hardly known for it's hospitality. As Maxly cursed this unfortunate result, he similarily shrugged it off - they'd make their go of it in the engine room, and see if they couldn't piss off the Empire for as long as possible from there.

Its reinforcements arrived, Imperial warships received the order to depart.


The scene swarmed with the deployed Defenders of the arrived reserve and what remained of the Coalition snubcraft were slaughtered. The battle turned decisively in the Empire's favor even as the enemy concentrated on the command ship. What they considered structural integrity was Imperial compartmentalization at its best. There were no cracks in the interior and the boarding parties were contained.


Orders flowed down from above and the Reigns released their strangle hold on all hyperspace. The globes went down and the order of withdrawal met all commanders. No longer stifled by their own tactics, the Imperial ships chose the first coordinates available and jumped to lightspeed, leaving Tynna in their wake. The field was now in Coalition hands but they had paid a price. The engagement was one of attrition and no side could claim victory. The Empire had lost fewer ships but had lost heavier prizes than those its guns had lain low.


When the Imperial squadron departed it left behind the remains of over two hundred fighters, three heavy cruisers whose innards tore themselves apart thanks to self-destruct commands, and the bodies of almost ten thousand loyal crewmen and officers. Casualities had been heavy and definite flaws in Imperial tactics were now in the light. Many of the veterans of Tynna felt betrayed - by exceeding battle-speed as the Academy termed it, they had abandoned the rules of honour and had foresaken gallantry. Those officers with more rank upon their sleeves knew any advantage counted and could tip their hats to intrepid designs.


Victory was denied the Coalition: while it had retained the field, it had lost a great deal more material than it had bargained for. Nor could the Empire find glory in its day's work: it had yielded the field and lost heavily in its support vessels, though now battleships remained behind.


There was one advantage of the day's affair: the Empire departed the field with those soldiers who had boarded her still contained within iron walls. Now more and more troops were being fed into the fray and one by one the Coalition officers and men surrendered. One of them managed to reboard a torpedo and dislodge it from the hull but was laughed out of memory - the torpedoes had no hyperdrive systems and could never exit the void of hyperspace.


Grand Admiral Desaria left the bridge when black turned to blue and the stars elongated into lines about the ship and made haste for his office. There, in the solace of darkness and cognac, he vowed to return one day. He knew he had erred by breaking from the mould. When I return, I shall bring no less than a fleet and turn every Coalition soldier who resists to ash! They did not even respond to my offer of an honourable withdrawal and instead fired without warning. They violated the laws of honour and decency and for that I shall make them pay.



The Astrus and its escorts, battered and bruised, exited hyperspace in the fortress system of Corellia where friendly faces greeted them.

(I would like to contest this ending.)

no

Ion had rarely seen so angry a departure in all his life - he was hardly a master tactician, but playing out in their lines had been a definite stubborness, a sort of unwillingness to look facts in the face. He had fired a volley of particle projector shots that might very well have torn their ship apart, left them limping, but they refused to see it as such despite no good reason to do so. Was it so hard to believe that he and his men had just fired a volley and it had - dare I say it? - actually hit? Was this so offensive to Imperial Honour that it just couldn't possibly have happened?

Whatever the reason, the enemy treated this as their cue to leave - apparently they weren't worthy enough to fight. As their tactics seemed to favour trying to catch up with his fighters - which they couldn't - so they could dogfight, occasionally mixed with trying to catch up with him - which they couldn't - to broadside and trap him. One thing they had forgotten, though, as their hyperdrives charged up, was that they were too close to the planet.

So, instead, they plotted a course outside of the shadow, intending instead to depart then. Soon, they became stretched pin-pricks of light.

"Telan is NOT going to like this" were the first words Ion heard normally in the entire length of the battle. He blinked, and returned to his surroundings.

"...what?"

He was on the command bridge, a place he realzied he hadn't even looked at in the last... hours? minutes? days? The battle had been a blur. He could see a communications screen, and on it was Regrad, smiling.

"I was saying, Telan is NOT going to like this at all. We've got comm back, so I guess you must be alive and he must be gone. Preliminary CIB reports indicate it was Grand Admiral Baron Telan Desaria you just fought, and he must have been in a foul mood to leave like this."

Ion gawped, and blinked, blindsided by the nation's prime minister appearing suddenly after a mind-blowing battle.

"Of coure, I can see you made a few good decisions of your own... but I heard about your men still aboard. Don't worry, I think I have a favour to call in - and by favour, I mean veiled threat - that might help them out. Still, all around a good job."

Ion felt strangely lightheaded. Had he just won a battle Was the good? He felt as though he couldn't think any more, he could only communicate in fleet actions.

"Of course, I can see they took their toll - not as bad as it looks, trust me, it never is. We'll salvage the disabled ships, and I'll bet the battlefield won't look so grim in a day or two. A few of theirs dead too - too bad you didn't manage to get that new one, but hey, it took a whole salvo of Projectors right in the face from three Battlecruisers and a half-dozen Longswords, it's either made of solid durasteel or you were just feeling merciful."

"Still had men aboard..." mumbled Ion, his first proper words in what felt like ever.

"Well, you did good." said Regrad. "I have to go for now, have to deal with the aftermath of this nightmare, send you some back up, that sort of thin - like Praetorians? They're on their way. No matter what you learn from all of this, know this - you did good. I do believe someone is waiting for you now..." with a mysterious smile, the Prime minister vanished. Puzzled, Ion turned around.

Behind him stood captain Eisle, exhausted and worn from the battle. Dolora stood to one side, a bit of a smile on her face. Ion tried to think of something to say, the whole bridge was waiting expectantly - for what, orders? A victory speech? Dismissal?

He opened his mouth - and was slapped, quite suddenly, by Eisle.

"Ow, hey! What was that for?"

"If you ever try anything as crazy as that fly-by where you used yourself as bait for the Imperial Turbolasers I'll... I'll..." Eisle's mock anger faded, though, and she smiled. "It's good to see you, sir."

Ion just smiled back, and said "Hey, I guess we won."


And then they won. The end. Hopefully. Probably. Maybe.

This post does not appyl - I had a clean vector away as my immobilizers were rescinded. You took the field but your men are trapped and currentlyu on Corellia awaiting execution. This thread was over before this post was made.

Ignoring me does not make you right. We need to reconcile the differences between our endings, but our conversation over AIM did not help much. I propose another open OOC exchange - I know how much you hate that format, but our current methodes haven't worked.

Think of it this way - the sooner the argument is arbitrated, the sooner we can stop arguing.

No - arbitration is unncessarry - you won the field and the day and I withdrew. That is what you wanted and that is what you got. As a result of victory you lost about two hundred men per battleship - casualties of war. The thread is complete.


Das End