Recreational Area
Reading Room
POV: Call To Silence (Cont.)
By Daniel Sutherland
[In the briefing room on board the Alliance Frigate Joan d'Arc]
"Okay, pilots, settle down," Foxfire's voice sounded through the ready room. The individual conversations gradually died down as everyone turned towards White Squadron's Executive Officer. "Commander Krenzel's asked me to conduct this briefing," Foxfire continued. "We aren't actually flying a mission now, but things are going to move quickly pretty soon and you need to know the facts while we still have time to tell them."
Drake studied his Executive Officer closely as she looked around at each of them in turn, briefly establishing eye contact, grabbing their attention and holding it, reassuring them at the same time. He had seen Shok'wave do the same, and he mentally filed it away as good briefing technique, in case he ever needed to conduct a briefing. Right now, the bartender Foxfire seemed light-years away, replaced by the grim, but determined woman who stood at the front of the room and continued.
"I've asked the members of the Training Wing to be present as well, not only because they should know too, but because we may need you all to fly some operational missions alongside us for this one. Now, as I'm sure you're all aware, earlier today we captured five Imperial shuttles, one of which carried top secret documents." There were several nods.
"Those documents have since been decoded using cracks obtained recently at great cost to the Bothans. What they are, as far as we can tell, is one of only two sets of data concerning a project that the Empire calls "The Emperor's Voice". This name is a little obscure, so I'll elaborate on its meaning.
Put simply, the "Emperor's Voice" is a Force amplifier. "We believe that this device greatly amplifies and enhances Force abilities in even the most mediocre of Force-gifted people. Were it introduced, armies of Jedi Knights (of a kind, anyway,) would spring up - all Dark Jedi, devoted to the Empire. Our people wouldn't stand a chance. Our Jedi and Jedi-initiates could not hope to combat such a massive army. Pilots, if this device is completed and introduced into active service, it will mean the end of the Rebellion, and the Empire will reign supreme in the galaxy."
A few heads shook in disbelief, and all the pilots' faces were ashen. Foxfire managed a smile.
"Fortunately, it's not all bad news. We've already intercepted the plans, and, thanks to Shok'wave's intuition, we have all five of the shuttles intact. We hope to fool the Empire so that it doesn't know we "borrowed" its little convoy. Even as we speak, the shuttles are being doctored to appear as if they narrowly escaped a battle with pirates in which their escorts were destroyed. The shuttle pilots have been replaced with specially selected Alliance Intelligence operatives - we don't want the Empire realising that their operation has been compromised. Secrecy is their main priority here - that's why there's only two sets of plans for the Emperor's Voice. With only two sets of plans, less people know about them, and less people can have access to them - and now the Empire is moving both sets of plans to its secret development site. Unfortunately for them, that is also their weakness - all scientists, plans and materiel for the project are in one place: hence, you hit that place, and the project is totally destroyed, hopefully never to return." Foxfire paused dramatically.
"White Squadron has been called upon to destroy the Emperor's Voice." A good deal of noise met this statement as everyone began to talk amongst themselves. Foxfire raised a hand to stop the conversation and continued.
"What our mission will be is to remove any defences - space borne or otherwise - from the development site. We'll then be escorting teams of Rebel Commandos in - they'll be the ones that actually destroy all Emperor's Voice facilities. Now, in order to get to the site, we'll have to move through an Imperial controlled system - this means we have to quickly eliminate all Imperial presence there and move on, before the Empire realizes what's happening. The mission details aren't finalised yet, but they will be soon, so rest and prepare yourselves. Later today, the Joan d'Arc will be hyperspacing to the Bonaad system - that's the intermediate one before we get to the EV site. Any questions?"
No hands were raised, and each pilot seemed to be lost in their own thoughts as they realized the seriousness of what they were about to do. Foxfire sighed heavily. "No?"
Ibero raised his hand, a frown on his face.
"Yes, Ibero?" Foxfire asked.
"Ma'am...could we not capture these devices? " Ibero asked. "Surely we could put them to good use." Foxfire shook her head.
"Unfortunately we can't. The suggestion has already been put to the Jedi Luke Skywalker, who rejected it. According to Skywalker, such a device can really only lead to, and manipulate, the Dark Side of the Force. It disrupts the natural order, the equilibrium, of the Force, by trying to unnaturally modify the energy field created by all living things. Perverting nature for our own purposes leads only to evil, according to the experts." Ibero nodded solemnly, and no one else had any questions. "Therefore, we'll have to destroy this thing. Dismissed. " The pilots stood and filed out solemnly.
"The Bomb Shelter's closed," Ibero observed.
Drake was lying on his bunk, staring at the ceiling. "Yep," he said flatly.
"I don't like it," Ibero continued. "We need it to get our minds off this - to loosen up a little, stop worrying so much."
"No," Drake, answered distractedly, still in the same monotone. Staring at the ceiling, a chaotic jumble of thoughts jostled inside his head, with the only noticeable sound the beating of his own heart. Ah, the Empire's big plans have been beaten before, he reminded himself, and now, they're going to be beaten again...I hope. Finally he sat up and turned to face Ibero, and his voice regained some of its normal emotion and inflection. "We can't have it open. We'll hardly be in prime condition to fly dangerous missions if we're all half tanked full of Blue Stuff and tequilas, will we?"
Ibero reluctantly shook his head. "No, my friend, I guess not. You are right. Still, I do not think that this brooding is good for everyone."
"Who's brooding?" Drake asked and shot him a grin. A strange feeling filled him - a kind of excitement mixed with dread, and Drake realized that his adrenaline was already pumping, even though he wasn't yet in a cockpit. Ibero smiled back.
"Well, you seem not to be anymore," he answered.
"Neither am I - that's two down." Drake laughed. "C'mon, let's go and get something to eat," he suggested. "I'm not flying and claiming victory for the Alliance on an empty stomach."
Drake smiled as he walked into the mess. The entire squadron and training wing was there.
"Hi Drake, hi Ibero!" Ladyfox called, and waved at them. The two pilots began to walk over.
"What do we call this, the Bomb Shelter Mark II?" Drake asked.
The two pilots joined Ladyfox, who was sitting with Shok'wave, Vyper and the other pilots from the morning's mission. Shok'wave smiled at them as they sat down.
"Yes, it seems to be, Drake," she answered his question. "Except _this_ Bomb Shelter doesn't serve drinks, unless they're water," she continued. Drake nodded. "How are you three doing?" the CO asked.
"Fine," they all answered. Shok'wave nodded and began to speak as Drake looked at her. The face, although still youthful and full of grace, seemed harder somehow, or perhaps stronger, than it naturally might have been. Shok'wave, he realized, had seen a lot of combat, and despite her sensitive nature - after all, she had some ability with the Force - she was a squadron commander, a strong warrior. The different aspects of her character seemed to show through at different times, and usually when they were most needed. The strong commander would be there when leadership and authority was required, but the listener and counselor was also ready if that was what one needed.
Drake immediately thought how Foxfire seemed to be similar, and how the two complimented each other and worked as a team. Foxfire was always ready for a joke, a drink, or anything exciting, but when the time came, he could already see that she could be serious, too.
Then there was Vyper, the Intelligence Officer that Drake had taken an instant liking to since joining the squadron. Vyper had seen service in several places and for different sides in this Civil War, but despite all that he'd seen, done and experienced, he retained his sense of humor, and was a strong comrade, always ready to defend a friend. As well as that, Drake thought wryly, the man was something of a technical wizard. The Rebellion - or New Republic, as it was now, Drake reminded himself, employed Vyper as a pilot, but he could just as easily have been one of their top slicers, or software people.
Moose - Drake glanced across at White Squadron's tall Training Officer, who was seated at the next table - Moose was nice, too. He spent a lot of time signing up new recruits for the Training Wing, training with them, and liasing with other Alliance squadrons. He always had time for a kind word and a sound piece of advice, though, as Drake was starting to discover.
His gaze continued to drift around the mess, until it settled on the squadron's Tactical Officer, Torpedo. Drake hadn't seen much of Torpedo, as the latter spent a lot of time on the bridge of the Joan d'Arc. In fact, Torpedo was the man who was the Joan d'Arc's Flight Controller during those missions where he didn't fly. He seemed more at home, Drake thought reflectively, on a starship bridge than in a starfighter.
He leaned back slightly and smiled as he realized that his subconscious evaluation of White Squadron's Command Wing had come up excellent. He had had little time to think about himself and his situation since joining White Squadron just a couple of weeks ago. Has it really only been two weeks? Seems like I've been here for months, he thought. Much of those two weeks had largely been spent flying, (getting used to an A-Wing was something that required a bit of practice,) and learning the disciplines and protocols used within the Rebellion. The New Republic, he corrected himself silently. Ahh, it's always been the Rebellion to me. It stands for the rebellion against tyranny and evil, and even though it's "officially" become the New Republic, what it stands for hasn't changed. I'll stick with calling it the Rebellion.
Drake smiled and he sighed contentedly despite the tension in the room. Here, he had a real sense of belonging that he hadn't had back on Arrebnac, which was, he thought, probably because most of the people on that world were Imperial beaurecrats. Drake looked around the mess again, at the other White pilots conversing amongst themselves - his eyes flicked over Granite, the loud and boisterous Caldanian that would cheerfully fight about, or drink to, almost anything, then he caught sight of Joker, who was always friendly and ready to laugh. Finally his gaze settled on the table in front of him again. Ladyfox and Ibero sat there, the two people in the squadron that he identified with most because they had flown the most together, being the squadron's three newest pilots - but Ibero had joined a while earlier, Drake reminded himself. Drake smiled at his wingmates, and at Shok'wave, who was talking to them.
"Yes, everyone seems to be doing well. We're all dealing with this in our own way, and, thankfully, no one seems to need to be alone to handle this. We're doing it together."
"Yeah, imagine what they felt like at the Battle of Yavin, or the Battle of Endor," someone suggested. Drake grunted.
"No doubt Commander Antilles could tell you, " he said, and sighed wistfully. "That is, if he was here." He looked around and his face brightened. "Of course, we don't need him...we're Whites, after all. What good is an Imp blaster against a crowbar, I ask you?"
"Not much," Shok'wave answered him with a grin.
"Not much good against a sledgehammer, either, " Ibero added, and Drake shot him a sharp look.
"Oh, come on, Ibero!" he chided him. "Who wants a slegehammer?? I mean, just look at the crowbar - not as clumsy or random as a sledgehammer, it's an elegant weapon, of a more civilized age."
Shok'wave raised a quizzical eyebrow at him. She had the feeling that he had not made that up on the spur of the moment, but was at a loss to place where it had come from.
"Okay, I take it that you are against sledgehammers?" she asked. Drake's face brightened.
"My congratulations, ma'am, for your perceptiveness," he said with a smile. "Now..."
"Oh, don't you ever shut up?" Ladyfox asked with a grin. "You're worse than a protocol 'droid. I'd say you were born talking..."
"Well, I was," Drake interrupted, still grinning. "I do stop to eat, though." With that, he promptly began to eat his meal.
"Ahh, peace and quiet at last," Shok'wave sighed. "Life on Arrebnac must've been very boring for you to make you talk this much about..."
"Haven't I told you about Arrebnac?" Ladyfox asked with a wicked smile. "You know, the strangest life forms come from..."
"Well, I see our new pilots are settling in well," Vyper observed with a smile, in an obvious attempt to change the subject. Drake swallowed and smiled.
"Yep, nice quarters we have here," he commented, and resumed eating. "It is nice to be here, although at first it was a little difficult to find my way to the Bomb Shelter," Ibero added. "I did get lost a few times."
Ladyfox grinned at this admission. "I've enjoyed my time here so far," she said. "Just keep offering me Imps to shoot at and I won't complain."
Vyper nodded. "You'll get plenty of those before long," he said, and shot a glance at Shok'wave. The White CO ignored him and concentrated on her food. "Hey, I can say no more," Vyper said and held up his hands as Iceman and Zeppelin looked sideways at him.
"Well, isn't that just like an Intelligence Officer," Iceman grumbled.
"Pretty much," Zeppelin agreed. Vyper smiled. "You'll find out soon enough," he said.
[Inside the hangar of the Frigate Joan d'Arc]
"Soon enough" proved to be right, Drake mused as three hours later he sat in the open cockpit of his A-Wing on the flight deck of the Joan d'Arc. He glanced down at the dome-topped 'droid that hooted indignantly at him. "Relax, Ledner," he said, in a reassuring tone. "Look, there's nothing I can do about it. For starters, the squadron flies A-Wings and I'm part of the squadron. Secondly, I'm actually starting to quite like this little baby." He patted the cockpit affectionately. "I can really outrun and out maneuver TIEs in this thing, as well as outclass them."
Ledner, the R2 unit, beeped a smug rejoinder, then spat a series of hoots and whistles at him. Drake glanced at his cockpit screen to read what the 'droid was saying. He actually understood some of the 'droid's "speech", if it could be called that, because he had bought the little R2 from a smuggler during his early days with the Arrebnac Security Organization and had served with him throughout his time there. Still, when there was a proper interpreter like a protocol 'droid or computer around, Drake was grateful for the help, since he could really only guess at the main gist of what Ledner was saying, rather than the specifics.
"Well, I'm sorry about that. Aren't you going to be on the bridge, though?" Drake asked. Ledner whistled a reluctant reply. "Exactly. So what's your problem? You'll be winning the fight for us just as much as I am. Add to that the bonus that you won't be as likely to have that noble head of yours cracked open." Ledner blatted a retort. "I've gotta go, Ledner," Drake interrupted him. "Take care of yourself, hey?" The 'droid answered with a mournful tone. "Don't worry about me," Drake reassured him. "I'll take care of myself - and if I don't, my squad mates will do it for me." Drake waved goodbye and donned his flight helmet and gloves as Ledner moved off and the sound of A- and B-Wing engines could be heard throughout the hangar as they began to wind up.
Drake looked down proudly at the bright orange flight suit he wore as a tech unclipped the fuel hose to his A-Wing. The cockpit slowly slid forward and closed, suddenly muffling the noise from the hangar. Drake settled into his suit comfortably as he buckled in. This is where he felt most relaxed and at ease...with the noise pleasantly muted and him warm and relaxed in the cockpit. He flicked on the main power and glanced around his cockpit with satisfaction as the various boards and lights illuminated.
He turned on the comm. "Control, Five is powered up. Beginning engine start..."
"Copy, Five," the flight controller responded. It wasn't Torpedo, Drake knew - the Tactical Officer was flying with them for this mission.
Drake started his engines and let them wind up to 50% of full power - running engines up to full power in an enclosed space such as a hangar was usually hazardous to one's health. Satisfied at his engines' condition, Drake brought them down to idle. The on-board computer reported all navigation and flight systems were working.
Drake glanced at his controls. "Control, this is Five. All systems green and go."
"Affirmative, Five. Stand by."
"As ordered, Control." Drake sat back in his seat and glanced around the hangar. Numerous other A-Wings and B-Wings were also running through their pre-flight checks. While he waited, Drake punched up the in-flight briefing on his computer. White Squadron itself would operate in three flight groups of four ships each, lead by Shok'wave, Foxfire and Vyper respectively.
Drake grinned at the thought, remembering Foxfire's indignant outburst when assigned to a B-Wing. "A what?!" she had exclaimed. "Shok'wave, you know I have more class and sense than to fly in one of those pigs. They're better than a Y-Wing, but not by much." She had grinned mischeviously as she protested, and winked at Moose, who had folded his arms and done his best to look offended, which was hard to do with a huge grin stretching across his face.
Drake shook his head with a smile, glad that it wasn't him having to fly in the B-Wing. Dogfighting and recon are what I do best, and I don't fancy doing either in a B-Wing, he thought to himself. He returned his attention to the computer briefing.
White Training Wing would fly in two flight groups, led by Moose and Torpedo. The sequence of events itself was more complicated than most missions. The Whites were going to assault an Imperial space station, but rather than hyperspace in all at once, they were going to come into the system at timed intervals. This was done for a couple of reasons. Firstly, the entire squadron and training wing turning up at once would doubtless cause alarm on the station, prompting it to call for reinforcements - reinforcements that the squadron did not have time to tangle with. Added to that was the fact that a multi-sided attack would further serve to confuse the Imperials and also exploit any weak spots they left open.
Drake's flight group, led by Vyper, would be flying A-Wings in the attack. Shok'wave and Foxfire would both be leading B-Wing groups, and the WTW flight groups were both a mix of A-Wing and B-Wing craft.
Drake checked his readouts - yes, his ship was loaded with the standard twelve concussion missiles. The B-Wings, he knew, would be carrying twelve torpedoes each. Some of the pilots would have preferred heavy rockets, but the new rocket warheads were in short supply and the Joan d'Arc, which had been operating independent of any base for a while, had none.
Of course, Drake reminded himself, you could only take a smaller amount of rockets anyway, so the difference in destructive capability wouldn't be too bad, with the B-Wings making up for their lack of warhead strength with sheer quantity of torpedoes. His own A-Wing's missiles would be effectively only useful against enemy starfighters, being far too weak to properly damage the station's shields.
He looked up at the sound of fighters launching. Shok'wave's B-Wing rose from the deck, followed by her flight group, and the four fighters sailed serenely into space. Drake looked as the formation slowly swung out from the Joan d'Arc. "Nice takeoff," he murmured to himself. The B-Wings outside suddenly vanished as they entered hyperspace.
Drake waited a couple of minutes, drumming his gloved fingers on his thighs with impatience.
Vyper's voice suddenly cut in over the comm. "Three Group, this is Fi...er, I mean, Three. We're leaving now."
The flight acknowledged the order and Drake powered up his repulsorlift generators. The A-Wing rose smoothly into the air. Ahead and to his right, he saw Vyper's ship slide forward, and Drake nudged the throttle forward as his A-Wing began to cruise out of the hangar. Three Group broke through the magnetic atmospheric containment bubble and then, they were out in the vacuum of space.
"Three Group, report in," Vyper ordered.
"White Five, standing by," Drake reported.
"White Nine, standing by," Ibero said. "White Fourteen, standing by," Zeppelin finished.
"Good. Prepare to enter hyperspace on my mark," Vyper informed them.
Instead of a verbal countdown, Drake watched the hyperspace "mark" light on his console as it went from yellow to green. He pulled the lever and the stars streaked away into nothingness as the A-Wing burst into hyperspace.
[Near Imperial Deep Space Station ZX-5, in the Bonaad system]
"Nice of you to drop by, Three," Shok'wave said as they slid back into realspace.
"Our pleasure, Lead," Vyper answered her. "What's the situation? Do the Imps suspect a large scale attack yet?"
"I don't think so," Shok'wave replied. "We've launched a few torpedoes each at the station, damaged it's shields a bit, but nothing serious yet. I think they think we're just a deep space patrol. You keep these TIEs off us and we'll start dishing out some real trouble, though, and make them think otherwise."
"Copy, Lead. Fourteen, you and I will take TIE group Alpha. Five, Nine, you two have Beta."
"Copy, Three."
"As ordered, Three."
Drake and Ibero's A-Wings shifted vectors to the left slightly as the formation raced toward the cluster of laserfire in the distance.
"Beta Two down." Drake reported tightly as he barrel rolled his A-Wing to avoid a burst of laserfire from behind.
Apparently the station considered the additional four A-Wings a sigificant threat, because it had now launched a TIE Interceptor squadron as well as another TIE Fighter squadron. With the high ratio of enemy-to-friendly fighters, Drake was spending a lot of his time trying to avoid hitting other ships. It was worse, he knew, for the Imperial pilots. Not only were there more of them, making it more likely that they would hit each other, but their unshielded ships could not expect to survive a hit, whereas the Alliance ships could.
Drake winced and yanked the stick over as his front shields blossomed with light as an Interceptor raced past, its quad lasers blazing. Drake quickly evened the shields out, and shunted laser power to them as he thumbed the selector over to concussion missiles. Selecting the Interceptor that had just fired at him as his target, he whipped the A-Wing around in a lightning turn and dove to try and gain a missile lock.
Foxfire's B-Wing group as well as the Training Wing flight groups came out of hyperspace just four kilometers from the station. Instantly the well ordered formations broke apart, with the B-Wings steadily heading towards the station and the A-Wings flying circles around them and dogfighting TIEs.
"B-Wings...launch a spread - now," Shok'wave ordered.
There was a series of acknowledgements which all overlapped one another and blended into a string of sound as dozens of proton torpedoes suddenly appeared around the Imperial station.
"Sithspawn!" Drake swore as he threw his A-Wing over to avoid a torpedo. "It's raining torpedoes," he muttered darkly to himself. It was almost true. The area of space around the station was filled with blue streaks, each of which was a proton torpedo. Drake's observation of the torpedoes was cut short as an Interceptor sailed across his nose. He looked at it just in time and pulled the A-Wing to the left as he pulled the trigger on his stick twice before the Interceptor flew past him. Caught side on by three fully charged laser bolts, the Imperial fighter's port wing panel blew apart into chunks of molten metal, some of which perforated the ball cockpit. The squint, beyond Drake's vision, began to veer left, before it collided with a TIE Fighter and the two ships exploded.
"Nice work, Five," came Vyper's comment over the comm.
"Thanks, Three," Drake answered. "Watch it, you've got a couple on your tail!"
"Yeah, I see them," Vyper acknowledged. "Not easy to shake two of them, though."
"That's okay," Drake told him. "I'm settling in for a shot at them, break right on my mark."
"Affirmative, Five," Vyper replied.
"Mark!" Vyper's A-Wing suddenly snapped around to the right, the green lasers of the TIEs pursuing him splashing against his shields. The two TIEs swung around, almost in formation, to follow him as Drake's A-Wing soared in from their starboard quarter. There was the orange explosion of a concussion missile launch followed by a couple of laser bursts, and soon only a few lumps of instantly frozen molten metal drifted in space where the two TIEs had been.
"Thanks, Five," Vyper said as he engaged another target.
"My pleasure, Three," Drake answered him with a grin. "I'll trade two TIE kills for a glass of schnapps, what do you say?"
"I appear to have no choice," Vyper chuckled.
"Cut the chatter, you two," Shok'wave cut in. "I'll remind you that this is a tactical frequency, not a smuggler's channel!" Her voice was cut off by the dull whoosh of explosions as the torpedoes began to slam against the station's shields. Inside her cockpit, Shok'wave looked at her screen as the station's shield strength scrolled down quickly to zero. The hull also began to take damage as the last torpedoes struck their target. "Whites, disable that station with your ions," she ordered.
"As ordered, Lead," Foxfire acknowledged. The two B-Wing flight groups angled toward the station, opening up with their triple ion cannons. Blue bolts of energy sped towards the station and spread throughout its infrastructure, racing along with fiery explosions and sparks, as the answering green turbolaser fire slackened and died.
Drake glanced out of the starboard side of his cockpit as the station was covered by the torpedoes exploding against its shields and hull. Why not destroy the station? he asked himself. The computer reported that the station had been disabled.
"Good work, Whites," Shok'wave's calm voice told them over the radio. "They won't be sending any requests for assistance now."
It was then that Drake understood. The initial torpedo attack had not destroyed the station, but it had begun to damage the hull. The Imperials would no doubt by that stage be getting worried, and might wish to request reinforcements. In the glory days of the Empire reinforcements had been easy to come by, but since Endor and the fragmentation of the Empire proper, Drake had no doubt that Imperial commanders were under pressure not to request reinforcements unless absolutely necessary. Besides, here in Bonaad, there was little help to call to. Just in case the Imps did try, Drake reflected, rather than taking the time to destroy the station first, Shok'wave and Foxfire with their flight groups had quickly disabled it, thereby preventing any communications being made. An added bonus was that White Squadron could now destroy it at their leisure without any turbolaser interference.
"Lead, I'm showing a lamb leaving the station," Joker reported over the radio.
"Copy, Thirteen," Shok'wave replied. "I've got him too. Looks like rats leaving a sinking ship. Two, you're closer. Think you can take them?"
"Affirmative, Lead," Foxfire answered. "You want us to put them to sleep or take them out?" By this Foxfire meant to ask whether they were to disable or destroy the shuttle.
"We haven't got the time or resources to retreive prisoners, Two," Shok'wave's voice came over the comm heavily. "And we can't risk them getting away or communicating to anyone. Take them out," she finished with a sigh.
"As ordered, Lead," Foxfire acknowledged and her flight group swung around to rapidly overhaul the retreating Lambda class shuttle.
"How many fighters have we still got here?" Shok'wave asked.
"Lead, this is Six," Moose said. "I put the count at about a squadron's worth, a mix of eyeballs and squints. They seem to be anxious to get out of here."
"Copy, Six," Shok'wave acknowledged him. "One Group, begin strafing runs on the station," she ordered. "Three, Four and Five groups, get after those fighters. We can't afford to leave a single one alive. B-Wings from Four and Five, you can come and strafe the station too."
Vyper, Moose and Torpedo all acknowledged the order and the ships of White Squadron all broke into their respective parts to complete their mission in the Bonaad system.
[On the bridge of the Imperial Star Destroyer Providence , patrolling the Outer Rim]
"Captain Piett!" Piett turned from the window and strode over to the man who had called his name.
"Yes, Lieutenant?"
"Sir, we've just received a partial distress call from the Station ZX-5, in the Bonaad system. They've been attacked."
"Attacked? By who?"
"The message doesn't say, sir, it was cut off before they could get out any details."
"Very well," Piett replied in his clipped, concise tone. "Let's hear the message."
The lieutenant nodded and pressed a button, and the distress call filtered through the speakers. "To any and all Imperial craft...." it began, and was interrupted by a burst of static. Captain Piett frowned as the message continued. "....ion cannons to disable.....under attack from.....need immediate assistance, we're...." With that, the speakers fell silent.
Piett stood with his brow furrowed. I don't have time for this! I need to find White Squadron! "Are there any other ships in this sector?"
"No, sir. Our task group is the only one in this part of the Rim. It seems that most others seem to be moving either to more densely populated areas of the Rim, or they're moving Coreward."
Piett rubbed a hand over his chin. "Hmm." Thrawn may be ruthless, and he may have given me a specific mission to destroy White Squadron, but I can't just ignore that station. Besides, if I did he'd probably kill me anyway. He's brilliant, but also completely unpredictable.
"Very well, Lieutenant. Contact the captains of the Dagger of Truth and the Angel of Fury and inform them we'll be assisting the station." I'm no closer to finding White Squadron anyway. The reports that they were operating somewhere in this part of the Rim were sketchy at best - the danger I haven't found yet can wait till I've dealt with the one I have on hand.
"Yes, sir." The Lieutenant bent to his console and set to work. The Dagger of Truth and the Angel of Fury were the two Nebulon-B Frigates that constituted the other part of the Providence's task group.
Captain Piett whirled around. "Helm, lay in a course for Station ZX-5 and engage hyperspace on my mark." Thirty seconds later the hulking Imperial starships blasted into hyperspace.
[Near the Imperial Deep Space Station ZX-5, in the Bonaad system]
"Joan d'Arc, this is White Leader," Shok'wave acknowledged the order. "We're moving away from the station." As she spoke the starfighters that had been strafing the battered remains of the Imperial station ZX-5 broke off and circled at a safe distance as the newly arrived Alliance Frigate Joan d'Arc moved in like a bird of prey and settled above the station. A few seconds later, red turbolasers poured from the Frigate into the station, and a minute later it broke apart into flaming chunks of infrastructure which intermittently exploded on their own.The Whites watched in silence as the Joan d'Arc swung slowly around and headed for the edge of the system.
"Joan d'Arc," Shok'wave asked tentatively, "was there any sign of them getting any communications off?"
"Negative, White Leader. It appears you disabled them in time."
"Affirmative, Joan d'Arc," Shok'wave replied. "We're coming in for reloading and re-arming."
"Copy, White Leader. You're cleared."
"I trust that Lieutenant Commander Schroeder briefed you well," Shok'wave began. "Right now as our fighters are readied I'm going to fill you in on specifics for this mission." She pressed a control and a three-dimensional representation of a jungle planet, not unlike Endor but with more water, appeared from the holoprojector.
"Our mission is simple," Shok'wave continued. "The B-Wing flight groups will form an outer perimeter around the planet - as far as we know, there'll be no space borne defences. It's hard to keep an installation secret with a Space Platform hovering over it, after all."
Some of the pilots chuckled, mainly to relieve the tension, and Shok'wave smiled tightly. "In the event that the Imps do have any capital ships down there...nothing bigger than Corvettes is expected, this project relies more on secrecy than strength - then it will be groups One and Two that take them out. Three, Four and Five groups will fly cover for the Commando transports against any starfighters - and believe me, we do expect those. What types exactly we aren't sure, although the Empire would be wise to defend this place with its best, so expect some good pilots flying the TIE Advanced, or perhaps Gunboats. Questions?"
Trojan raised a hand. "Mister Watson."
"Yes, ma'am....the Commando transports....will they be coming from the Joan d'Arc when she hypers in?"
Shok'wave shook her head. "No. For added security, they're actually coming from another system entirely by a different and long route. Any other questions?"
Now Drake raised a hand, a frown on his face. "Commander, this is just a feeling, but...this whole thing seems too easy. Sure, the Imps have to keep their project a secret, but... I can't believe they'd leave such an important secret undefended. We'll probably find a couple of wings of brights down there. And the station attack....what if they did get off a communication? How far away is the nearest Imperial support?"
Shok'wave smiled. "You certainly are suspicious, aren't you, Drake?"
Drake smiled and relaxed a little. "I guess so, ma'am. Too much time as a Security Officer and you always look for the negative side of things."
Shok'wave nodded. "Understandable. Just so you know....whatever starfighter resistance there is, we should be able to take it. With all of us involved, and fighting for something so important, I'm sure that each and every one of us will fly better than ever before so that we prevail. We've got only the best pilots in this squadron, and I'm proud to command it. The threat we face may not seem as close or dangerous as the Death Stars, nor the mission we undertake so momentous, but the threat is just as real and the mission vital to our continued survival. I hope and believe that it is our destiny to succeed, as the legends of the Rebellion have before us."
Shok'wave stopped and took a breath. Whew! So much for avoiding giving them a traditional pep talk. Oh, well - hopefully it was useful and encouraging.
"Getting back to your question, Drake, at last report there were no Imperial starships operating in this sector." The young man nodded, apparently satisfied. "However, I won't lie to you. Chances are that some of us may not make it back from this mission. For that reason, you have fifteen minutes to record any messages you want for family and friends, and to get your personal gear in order for transport if needed. These will be shipped to your family in the event of your death."
Everyone nodded solemnly, and Shok'wave nodded. "Let's go - and may the Force be with us."
[Just outside the system with the planet where the Emperor's Voice is located]
Drake watched the chronometer on his computer slowly marching down towards zero as he pulled his gloves tighter and flexed his fingers in anticipation. Boy, they really get you right into it here in White, he thought wryly to himself. Two weeks ago I'm flying in on a bounty hunter's captured X-Wing... today, I'm off to save the Rebellion and civilization as we know it. He checked over the systems once more, and looked at his in-flight briefing again. The flight group leaders had been shuffled a bit for this mission, he knew, to put flight leaders into their preferred starfighters, the ones they performed better in. Foxfire now flew an A-Wing and led Flight Group Four, the Training Wing, whereas Moose, in her former B-Wing, now led Group Two. Torpedo had been offered that lead, Drake knew, but declined as he wished to fly an A-Wing.
Drake glanced quickly overhead at the mottled tunnel of light that was hyperspace, half expecting it to break up under the influence of an Imperial Interdictor Cruiser at any minute. He silently berated himself for being paranoid, and leaned slightly forward in his seat, left hand poised over his controls as the tunnel broke into streaks which shrunk back to points as his flight group came back into realspace. Drake's right hand tensed on the stick, ready to maneuver - - and slackened as he saw his radar, which was filled with green dots. Groups One and Two were already present, and Four burst into existence behind them a second later. Five seconds after that, Five Group joined them and White Squadron had arrived at their destination.
"All groups, report in," Shok'wave's voice cut clearly across the channel. The flight leaders acknowledged and Shok'wave ordered the B-Wings to lock their S-foils into attack positions. The B-Wings slowly rotated and extended into their inverted sword shape and the formation headed for the planet ahead of them by the shortest possible route.
"Look at the spatial interference the planet's atmosphere is causing!" Moose exclaimed.
"They probably picked this planet so that the installation can't be detected, Six," Shok'wave reminded him.
Inside his cockpit, Drake looked thoughtful. Nor can ships facing the opposite side of the planet to us. Drake ground his teeth as he sideslipped his A-Wing to avoid a chunk of rock ahead of him. "Lead, this is Five," he said as he keyed the comm. "I don't suppose that Intell had anything to say about a meteor shower, did they?"
"Negative, Five," came Shok'wave's cool reply. "But it's nothing you can't handle."
"Affirmative, Lead, but..."
"Five, we're supposed to be maintaining radio silence," Shok'wave reminded him, just a little frostily.
Drake double clicked his mike in acknowledgement and frowned with annoyance. Sure, Commander, but what if they're out there already? Irritably, Drake keyed the comm again. He couldn't help it...something here didn't feel right...
"Lead, what if those asteroids or meteors are harbouring TIEs?"
"Five, check your sensors," Shok'wave answered. "If you see anything, let me know." Her voice retained none of its previous annoyance - Shok'wave, with her Force sensitivity, recognized that hunches and intuition were quite often valid - but still left Drake with the clear notion that unless he had something other than suspicions to report, he'd better keep quiet. The formation passed through the cluster of rocks without incident and the planet loomed closer.
Inside her cockpit, Shok'wave frowned and nibbled her lip. Waiting is worse than fighting, she thought to herself. The sooner they show, the sooner we'll get rid of them. And that had better all happen before those commandos arrive. The planet seemed to grow larger and larger, and then, in a split second, the comm exploded into twenty different exclaimations at once.
"Lead, I have- "
"This is Ten, reporting-"
"Incoming Imperial-"
"From where?" Instinctively the White CO dived as she checked her radar. And groaned aloud.
Drake's left hand blurred into action, redirecting engine energy to the lasers as he pulled his A-Wing randomly off it's straight course and checked his radar. TIEs - from both directions at once! I was right - they WERE in that meteor shower! His train of thought was interrupted as two green lasers streaked past his ship, the other two slamming into his aft shield. "Great. Brights." he remarked to himself calmly, cutting his throttle to one third and pivoting his A-Wing on it's thrusters to face the incoming TIE Advanced. As he throttled up and turned to chase the enemy fighter, which had veered away as he turned, Drake's hand hovered over the concussion missile select switch. He frowned and drew the hand away. His concussion missiles would really be too slow to track a fast, nimble ship like the TIE Advanced... especially with a pilot who knew what he was doing. And these pilots all looked like they knew what they were doing. Instead he hit the fire mode select switch, setting his lasers to dual fire, as he swung around onto the bright's tail. The other ship immediately began to juke, then corkscrewed, and Drake swore under his breath as he fought to stay with it.
Shok'wave checked her chronometer hurriedly as she triggered another burst of triple laser fire. She observed with grim satisfaction that two of her shots had hit the TIE Advanced before it pulled away.
"Lead, this is Eleven, I have your bright."
"Copy, Eleven." Shok'wave grinned at the sound of Granite's Caldanian brogue on the comm.
"Since we're both in B-Wings, I'll keep after him, too... it'll take too long to take out the TIE Advanced with a single B-Wing."
Granite's reply was preceded by a grunt. "Mmph... I wish I had my Blastboat," he growled. "Then I could show those Imperials a thing or two about firepower...and Drake, too."
Shok'wave smiled again at this remark. Earlier, Drake had made an offhand comment that criticized the Skipray Blastboat, the Bannockburn, that was Granite's pride and joy. Bigger than an average fighter, Granite's Blastboat had also been souped up considerably with a dual SLAMS system, quadrupling its thrust, which, added to its enormous firepower, made a formidable craft indeed. Granite had shortly after taken Drake on a ride in it, a ride which Drake would not soon forget, and the latter had apologized not long after his recovery from the experience.
"I got the message the first time, Eleven," Drake's voice cut in. "Much as I wouldn't mind a second demonstration now, though." Granite chuckled over the comm, but didn't comment, as he flipped his B-Wing around again to stay with his TIE.
"Lead, this is Thirteen! I can't shake this bright!"
"Copy, Thirteen," Drake replied smoothly before anyone else could. "I'm on him. Break hard right, now." Obediently Joker pulled to the right, the TIE Advanced following her. Drake's A-Wing snapped on to its tail and seemed to stay glued there as he poured several shots into the Imperial craft's aft shields. For all their speed, manueverability, and destructive power, the TIE Advanced had very little in the way of shields. The bright, which had been firing at Joker, abruptly stopped and streaked away, hotly pursued by Drake.
"Thanks, Five." Joker's voice was calm as she went after a new target.
"Anytime, Thirteen," Drake replied, his voice a little strained as he corkscrewed and rolled his fighter to stick with his prey. He thumbed the trigger intermittently - the TIE, no longer hunting a target of its own, was now far harder to hit. Drake's earlier volley, however, had done its shields significant damage.
"This is Three," Vyper's voice came over the comm. "One bright down."
At the first kill in the engagement, Drake felt his spirits lift considerably, and he curled his lip in a determined snarl, thumbing the concussion missile selector.
"Lead, this is Eleven - one more Imp down," Granite reported.
Drake pulled his flight stick into his stomach as the TIE Advanced shot into a climb, and he glanced down at his targeting display. The Imperial's shields were rapidly gaining strength as they recharged, and he had to stop that... he selected double fire for his concussion missiles, and then redirected energy from the lasers to the engines. The A-Wing shot forward suddenly, and before the TIE pilot could compensate, Drake hit the trigger at twenty meters from his tail, sending the A-Wing into a dive at the same time. The dumb-fired missiles streaked straight into the aft section of the hapless Imperial fighter just as it began to turn. The TIE Advanced exploded spectacularly, scattering debris.
"Lead, this is Five," Drake said dutifully with a triumphant smile. "That's one more bright down." He glanced at his radar... the Whites were still outnumbered, but they hadn't lost anyone yet. It's not over yet, he told himself with a mirthless smile.
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