Delta

Wing Commander-General Escalante Gallows brooded silently in his slightly modified Skipray Blastboat, the Twisted Step. It seemed like ages since the re-opening of Wing II....and the many battles fought since then had not helped improve his perception of time. And it was thus that the whole of Wing II was off to celebrate the year anniversary of it's re-opening. Their place at the battlelines being taken by a group of reservists; Gallows had forced himself to restrain his laughter seeing the horizontally gifted, slightly aging veterans squeeze themselves in the TIE cockpits. But now, on the middle leg of their trip to Aurora to celebrate the anniversary, his thoughts drifted to the future. The battles with the Rebels had taken their toll, but he wondered...who would be around come next year? He let his gaze drift out to the starfighters clustered around the Step. At any given time, any given moment, one of those starfighters could turn into nothing but spacedust....any moment. Gallows had heard that when his time came, a pilot simply knew. While there was no way of statistically proving the fact, the anectode did have a certain calming effect on jittery Sub-Lieutenants facing their first real battle. So....why was he thinking that, here on a routine journey... Gallows wondered if he had made a mistake in choosing to travel in the Twisted Step, instead of the accomodations offered above the only large ship travelling with Wing II; the Corvette Hoplite. The ship's commander, Major Wyil, had been a bit taken aback when the WC declined passengership aboard the Hoplite, but seemed to understand; one could only stay away so long from the lure of flying. For the first time, Gallows' attention drifted to the mottled blue-green world that lay on the far edges of the Maltar system. All starcharts listed it as uninhabited....but, of course, no investagations or sensor sweeps of any kind had been done. Regardless, he could detect no energy surges, so life, if any existed down there, remained primitive. Still, it seemed a nice world... The General's thoughts were suddenly turned from thoughts of the nice little world to anger and amazement. "What the..." His time behind the Wing Commander's desk had not dulled his reflexes. "II, break formation and form up into flights!" Gallows glared at the newcome ships. Some nine fully-staffed squadrons of starfighters, in addition to a Modified Nebulon-B Frigate and Strike Cruiser, both of which were boiling out streams of their own snubfighters. Too well equipped to be pirate....Rebels? What are they doing here, behind our lines? Gallows knew it could be only one thing. Ambush.

Lieutenant-Colonel Freelancer, CMDR of Rho Squadron, tried to surmise the situation and organize accordingly. "Awright, ladies and gentlemen...time to split up. Dave, you take Flight Two's MIS' down towards that nasty little STRKC, and Mike, you groove Three's MIS' over to that Modified Frigate right down there a piece. Depriest, you and LCM Binks cover Two Flight, me and Chronos will keep 'em off Three." "Acknowledge, LC sah!" Rho's eleven fighters split off according to Freelancer's direction. Two approaching Z-95's were shredded by Rho's one-cannon laser-fire, and an A-Wing sent hurtling, uncontrolled through space. The Rebels, apparently seeing Rho's objective, shifted their forces to direct a squadron of X-Wings their way. "Shavit!" Freelancer rolled starboard and set his laser fire to dual mode. He was going to need a lot of shots... The LC merely aimed his target reticle in the middle of the X-Wings formation and let loose. Two were obliterated almost immediately. Seeing their mistake, the X-Wing's split up into pairs and headed straight toward Freelancer. "Er...." Laser fire flashed in from behind him, and Free, almost on reflex, spun his craft into a dive. A sheepish voice came in through his comm. "Uh, sir, you all right?" "Chronos! Where..." Freelancer trailed off as he realized the source of the laser fire, shrugged, and climbed back up to engage the Rebels. A well-placed missile scattered several and blew out one's engines, leaving it a sitting duck in space. Just as he was about to wonder where the rest of the Rebels had gone, a flashing 'critical' alert on his shield status answered his unasked question. The Rho CMDR wrenched his TIE Advanced in a series of gut-pounding evasive maneuvers, suddenly wishing he hadn't had that Chalupa for lunch. Finally, he worked free of the X-Wing's laser target sight's and decided to polish up on a little bit of his own. With a quick loop, he settled his T/A right on the aft of the X-Wing. Sighing with satisfaction, Freelancer pushed the laser trigger and did not let up for several seconds, eyes dancing with the resulting explosion. Unfortunately for him, he failed to note the coming of the X-Wing's wingman...and his two other friends. Then again, unfortunately for the Rebels, they failed to take note of Psi Squadron.

Lieutenant-Commander Sidian's TIE Advanced blew through the ring of smoke the exploding X-Wing had created. "Yo, Free! You wouldn't happen to need any help, would you?" The LCM smirked. "Not at all. I was merely playing decoy so, uh, right." Freelancer vaguely noticed Rho's Missile Boats embroiled in dogfights...not quite the situation they were made for. A cool voice came through. "Thanks for the distraction, Rho....now if you don't mind, we'll take care of this big sucka blocking my view." Commander Hawkins of Kappa Squadron shifted weapon's selection to Proton Torpedos and waited until he got a firing solution. "Kappa 1 here...got a target lock, transmitting data....on my mark!" He mentally counted down the seconds. Three...two....one... "Mark!" Hawkins waited until he saw the blue-white end-tails of his torpedos streak about a hundred meters from his MIS, then fired off another two rounds of warheads. The Strike Cruiser, obviously not wishing to merely allow the deadly missiles to hit it, began a slow roll to bring it's weapons to bear on the torpedos. "Time for another distraction..." Kicking the MIS into overdrive, Hawkins blitzed forward towards the STRKC, lasers blazing away. The unfortunate gunners, confused for several moments on what to target, failed to pick either one...proving most costly. The first wave of proton torps managed to knock out the aft shields, leaving the second and third waves to wreak havoc with it's unguarded engines. And engines were a most volatile piece of equipment. The seconds wave did it's job more than well enough. Suddenly bursting into fire, the engines let out a deafening boom and silenced...in addition to disappearing from sight. The third wave merely fed the already raging flames that quickly engulfed the rest of the Strike Cruiser, now slowly breaking apart burning bits and pieces of itself.

The Hoplite, meanwhile, was making a valiant defense of itself. Though somewhat protected by the Missile Boats of Sin and Theta squadrons, a relentless assault by the Rebel Frigate and a squadron of A-wing's was taking it's toll. Commander Mordred Pendragon shot off another missile at the twisting A-Wing, hoping that the warhead would acquire a complete lock on the Rebel craft before it was shaken off. His hopes proved in vain as the concussion missile gradually peeled off course, and the Rebel fighter shot forward. Grimacing slightly, he pulled his MIS up to full throttle and powered up the lasers. With a brief prayer, Mordred slowly began to weave a deadly trap of laser fire, hoping to enclose the A-Wing within a box of deadly bolts. His tactic succeeded; the wildly swerving A-wing hurled itself into a hail of green-yellow bolts. The fragile ship's hull was pelted by the numerous energy bolts, resulting in the fiery explosion of the Rebel craft. Sadly, this success was a somewhat isolated one. The TC pilots, though fighting most valiantly, were simply outnumbered, at a rate of almost three-to-one. This would not have been a problem had the whole Wing been outfitted with TIE Advanced or Defenders, but the large amount of GUNs and MISs in the wing made dogfighting a much more complicated task. "Starfighters, this is Major Wyil. Our shields are failing and our hull is already at 60% integrity. Neither of our groups can hold out much longer. I suggest that those who can, run." "Run? Never!" "Commander Lennox, though your tenacity is admirable, there is no disgrace in retreat, only reckless endangerment of yourselves and your squadron." "Very well, Major....in a way." Wing Commander Gallows sat, arms folded, in the heavily damaged Step. "II, all volunteers say 'aye' and form up behind me." Captain Ai Ris shook his head. "No, General, you can't do that...your position is much too valuable to waste in a losing battle like this." "Agreed.", LC Sasquatch broke in, "and is yours, Captain. Psi will take care of the diversion." Gallows was incredulous. "Wha-" "No arguments, sir. We don't have the time." Instantly comprehending the situation, Gallows nodded. "Very well. Good luck, Sas."

"All right, Psi...you see that big cluster of starfighters in front of the M/FRG? The plan is simple-blitz suicidally until we make an escape route for our comrades. Ready?" Commander Prefect grinned at the challenge offered by the glinting capital ship. "Anytime, baby..."

Major Wyil wondered if there was any symbolism to be found in the state of his smoking and burning bridge. Not that he really cared, but his mind was desperately racing to think of something, anything, to relieve itself of the image of the Hoplite, and, more relevantly, the broken bodies tossed about the floor and stations. The Major watched silently as another A-wing deftly avoided the weak turbolaser fire from what remained of theHoplite's weaponry, and drilled another concussion missile into the Corvette's shaken hull. He paid little heed to the explosion that rocked the ship, jerking him around in the command chair. He flicked a gaze over to the status board. Hull at 9%. It was if Wyil could hear the whooshing sound of the last two missiles flash out of the oncoming A-wing. The missiles that spelled the Hoplite's doom. He sighed. They had put up a good fight, and could have asked for nothing more...save victory. Wyil closed his eyes as the missiles hit...

LCM Calzeo Inkwolf deftly swept her Assault Gunboat from the oncoming M/FRG's fire. The pirate forces, taken aback by Psi's sudden, reckless, suicidal charge, were put immediately on a cagey defensive position. They defended themselves as best they could, but the Imperials ran on a wave of desperation. This wave provided the lull their comrades needed for them to escape. General Gallows took one last look at the battlefield. Good luck...

Ford fired off another quad-laser burst and swerved his T/A aside to get in front of the Frigate's engines. While the engine backwash could do damage to his ship, it was a bit safer than sitting around there than waiting for a Rebel gunner to get lucky. Shifting his laser recharge rate up to maximum, he began pumping shot after shot into the Rebel warship's engines. His period of grace lasted for nearly thirty seconds, until the Frigate's commander realized his predicament and began rolling to bring his weapons to bear on the T/A. Prefect, anticipating this move, spun the TIE away starboard and out of the Frigate's immediate range. Ford checked the status display on his warhead console; six Advanced Concussion missiles left. Thumbing weapons selection over to warheads, he quickly acquired a red target lock on the Rebel craft and set a pair of missiles jetting out towards the foe. The warheads ducked just under the Frigate's laser fire and slammed into the already weakened shields, wreathing the Rebel ship in laser fire. Ford stared as he read the words the flames formed, "Ford is your friend. Trust Ford. Ford is your only hope for galactic peace and happiness. Trust Ford." Suddenly, without warning, a massive, round sphere jumped in-system. Sasquatch's jaw dropped open. "But.....no, it can't be! It's...." Captain Stone Darkstar finished the sentence for his CMDR. "A Death Star!" The slow swiveling of the horrifying sphere revealed it's allegiance. "How the heck did the Rebels get one?" Voice reeking of bravado, Ford spoke. "Have no fear, lady and gentlemen. This sucka's goin' down..." Kicking his T/A to full power, Ford shifted all power to lasers, completely abandoning deflector shield energy. Running at 250% throttle, the T/A hurtled impossibly fast towards the Death Star. Green points began forming around the small bowl on the DS' upper sphere. The Superlaser... Ford felt no fear. As soon as the distance between his craft and the Rebel monstrosity hit 2.5 klicks, he began firing off his remaining missiles. Perfect accuracy and the speed which Ford's T/A was travelling proved to be the best combination. It took only two pairs of missiles for the Death Star's hull to rupture, soon enveloping the leviathan in a huge cloud of fire until it blasted apart, sending a massive shockwave rippling throughout the entire system. In the stunned silence that followed, Ford allowed himself a smile. Then, his comm began to be bombarded. Inkwolf's voice was the first, coming dreamily through. "Oh, Ford, you're my hero...." "Grand Admiral Prefect, sir, congratulations on your promotion..." "Uh, Grand Admiral, sir, could I have your autograph?"

Commander Prefect forcibly opened his eyes and stared at the datapad. It was late...though he did some of his best writing at forsaken hours of the night, with as little brainpower as he could muster, tonight simply didn't hold the inspiration it usually did. Ford blinked heaviyl once or twice and scanned the last few paragraphs he had written. Need....caf.... With that thought, he set the padd down and stumbled off for the pilot's lounge....