The planning thread can be found here.




Calando was never well known, but if it had one good factor it was the fact that it was still a neutral planet, allowing both sides of the Galactic Civil War to conduct businesses here, even though there was hardly anything of worth on the planet itself. It explained why one pilot, who recently got demoted to Flight Officer, was walking around with a solemn look on his face, his eyes setting on the nearest bar in the town he was in.
   
He appeared pissed off, but that was only one part of it: he was torn by the fact that Command not only took away his Captain rank and his position as Wing Commander, but even that wasn’t the sorrowful part of it. He was saddened because he was shipped out: away from the squadron that he had put so much time into; he hoped that Jack and Blue could run it as good as he did when he was sober.
   
He walked a bit faster, coming up to the cantina that appeared like heaven in his eyes. With forced vigor he pushed open the door to the cantina and walked slowly. There was hardly anyone in here, but it looked like a popular pilot hotspot, with many pilot names on the board above the bar, with little flight time marks and scores. Corbin merely chuckled when he saw that, heading straight for the bar. There were four other people in the bar, the bartender and three other pilots. One of them sat at the bar, looking solemn.
   
Corbin sat a seat away from him, the bartender looking at him with a curious glance.
   
“Kuatian Fire Whiskey. And keep them coming.” Corbin said, slipping a few credits towards the bartender while he rubbed his eyes. Corbin breathed in deeply, the pain of him losing his squadron completely harrowing deep within his soul. The man next to him, wearing simple civilian clothes, smiled at him.
   
“Trying to get yourself killed tonight?” The man spoke, a slight smile to his face. Corbin looked at him, and sized him up immediately. He was a bit shorter than he was, but to him he looked better than he was. He had an athletic build, he could easily tell that from this angle, had the same blond hair that he had but he had green eyes. All in all, he looked like Corbin but a bit younger, give or take six years.
   
The one thing that didn’t make him hit the pilot, however, was that he appeared to be a combat pilot.
   
“Yeah, got myself kicked out of my squadron. Need to drink, before I apply for reassignment.”
   
“You a combat pilot?” The man asked, taking a drink from his own glass in front of him.
   
“Yeah, I am. You?”
   
“Yep. Down here for some R & R until our next assignment.” The man replied, taking another sip from his drink with one eye watching Corbin. He, too, by the looks of it was sizing up Corbin for what he was. Corbin didn’t mind it, he was just doing the same to him, and it was normally a combat pilot thing. It proved to Corbin that this guy was the real deal.
   
“Corbin Starlight.” Corbin said, holding out a hand. The pilot smiled, almost immediately returning the hand shake. Firm. I like this guy already Corbin thought, feeling the pressure on his hand toughen up.
   
“Zak Uer.” The man replied. Corbin smiled, pulling back as the bartender delivered his drink to him. With another smile, Corbin glanced at him. It was the voice, he figured, that made him weary. It was as if he heard it before, but to his knowledge he had never met this fellow before.
   
“Remember to pay up at the end, Cipher.” He heard the bartender utter, nodding, as he cleaned a glass. Corbin nearly choked on his drink, the contents within his mouth flying out towards the bar itself. The bartender gave him a look, while Zak had a look of concern.
   
“You okay, pilot?”
   
“Cipher?!” He said, looking back at him.
   
“Yeah, got a problem with it?” He responded, suddenly seeming a bit nervous as his hands moved back, towards his chest, in a hurried movement. Corbin slowed his breathing, looking at him.
   
“I flew against you, in the Termina Cold War.” He spoke, his bright blue eyes staring directly at Uer’s, with a somewhat evil contempt in them. As if he had killed his best friend in combat long ago. Truth be told, he hadn’t, but Corbin never trusts an Imperial. This fellow, like Mister Dunn, hold a special place when compared to other Imperials.
   
“Solo Wing Pixy?” Zak uttered, looking at him with cold, very cold eyes. The green colour remained, but was now placed with an even more colder green, as if it was changing to a different hue.
   
“So you remember…”


         

11 ABY

   
Termina.
   

One of the few places in the entire Galaxy that could feed the Core Worlds.
   
It was one of the few remaining food providers in the Galaxy, made up of farmers and butchers, gardeners and food inspectors, even fishermen and hunters. It processes food and exports it at a fast rate, most of its transportation goes directly to Coruscant and the other heavily populated Core Worlds.
   
It was, until very recently, a peaceful place.
   
Half of the planet, known as the Termina Separatists, wanted to become a New Republic world, to still help the Rebels and to feed their new home. However, the other half of the planet, controlled by the Termina Loyalists, wanted to remain with the current head of power, the Empire, and remain loyal subjects.
   
It was surprising when both factions did not want to fight against each other: directly. So they did the next best thing that they could do. The Rebels began to ship weapons and supplies, officers to train them, and pilots to train the pilots of the Termina Separatists.
   
The Empire did the exact same thing: it sent in men to train the original militia in warfare tactics, on how to fight on foot. It taught its pilots the Imperial way, to fly en masse and to let the weak die, if they show weakness. The thing was, it sent the 181st to train them, the old Imperial aces.
   
And that only meant that there was probably going to be conflict.
   

         
   
South Ustio, Near the City of Vectoris

   
“Saddle up.” Corbin said into his comlink, watching the squadron of E-Wings form up behind him. There was only four of them, including Corbin, and he was worried the recruits might pull some crazy stunt and get themselves killed. He wasn’t really worried about the recruits, there was too many of them to fill slots, he was really worried about the E-Wings themselves.
   
“Hey, Pixydust, keep your formation tight. You’re slipping.” Jack Weiss, his wingmate and the only other E-Wing instructor on the planet, said into the unit communication’s link.
   
“Jack, shut up.” He said back, a frown on his face as he kept his fighter hard on his wingmate’s formation, making a long, loop turn.
   
“You see, Rot Squadron, Captain Starlight is one of those guys. Say one thing, mean another. Ain't that right, Capt'n?”
   
“Jack.”
   
"Corbino! I'm just telling them what these little kids want to hear!"
   
“Rot Squadron, if I hear one more frakkin’ little giggle, I’ll…”
   
“Rot Squadron, this is New Republic Command. Entering Airspace B7R, so don’t get shot down; communication interference will be high.”
   
“Roger that, Command. Rot Squadron, star formation. We’re going…”
   
“Rot Squadron, unidentified contacts in Airspace B7R. Neutralize them.”
   
“Copy that, Command. Rot Squadron, let’s see if we can hunt ourselves some birds today!”

Re: The Demons borne of the Round Table

“Yeah, I remember.”  The Imperial slowly brought the small glass to his lips, downing what was left of the emerald liquid inside.  Thoughts were rushing back into his head at the mentioning of that war.  The snowy mountains, his old wingman, and that damned airspace.


Just thinking about The Round Table caused Cipher to shudder slightly.  The barren mesa had been nothing but a dry wasteland, and the skies above it naught but killing fields.


Valais Air Base, South-East Ustio, Kresh Mountain Range

“So they tell me you used to fly with the Baron.”  There was only one man that the squadron collectively referred to as “The Baron,” but he was long gone by now.  Still, new recruits always asked about him, and PJ was no exception.  The young pilot was fresh out of flight school, the top in his class.  Already after three days, he had several hours of combat experience and surprised the older commander.  While his skills were sub-par to the rest of the squadron, Uer believed he could stand toe-to-toe with most of the pilots the New Republic had sent to the small planet.

He was new to losing though, and it was something that the youngster would learn well over the next few years.  Still, Zak liked the kid already and did not mind at all if he did not address him as ‘sir.’  After all, PJ reminded Uer a lot of himself at a younger and more inquisitive age.  “Yeah, I flew with Fel.  That was a long time ago though.”  That was a very long time ago, back in the tropical climate of Brentaal IV.  Now here they were, members of the elite Imperial Squadron, stuck in the mountain ranges of some nation called Ustio.  Why?  It was all for some damn food so that the grunts and pilots alike could have three square meals a day.  All the bloodshed for just this?  It did not make sense to Cipher, but then again many things did not make sense anymore.

“So…”  Zak knew what was coming, even before PJ decided to continue with what he was going to ask.  “What was he like?”  The older pilot let a little smirk stretch over his face as he stared out the window, taking in the dark night sky and the snow-capped mountains beyond.  

“Fel was one of a kind, they type of guy who could go into a battle and make the hardest dogfight seem like a walk in the park.”  He missed the old lug, but never tried to let that show.  Turr and Carter were really the only ones who knew how close the Baron and Zak had been.  Like a little brother, Uer had always followed the man around, and like an older brother, Sootir just smiled and allowed him.

Sitting there, PJ thought the words over in silence before finally turning his head to speak once more.  “Wish I knew him.”  The young man’s voice carried with it a serious tone, and Zak knew that the conversation was ending.

With a loud sigh, the commander pushed his body up and looked over toward where his young counterpart was sitting.  “Well PJ, I think it is time you got to bed.  We have a big day ahead of us.”  For a member of the 181st, Jacen reminded Zak an awful lot of some youngster still in his high school years.  Without another word though, the flight leader walked out of the room, and started down the lit hallways with his hands in his pockets.  Cold air rushed down the corridors, creating a tunnel effect that just made the air that much more bitter.  Damn these mountains, they were the last strongholds of the loyalist forces.  The rebel-trained separatists already took control of North Ustio, and were steadily making their way south.  In only a matter of time, the base would be overrun.  That is why the following day’s mission was one of extreme importance.


It was odd this time, how for once in his life Zak felt as though he was fighting for the right side.  The separatist forces controlled everything now except the mountain ranges and were in the process killing many of the civilians in Ustio with daily bombing raids.  This was not war, it was a small-scale genocide in Uer’s mind.  Then again, that was war, people died, there was no getting around it.  Sitting near the front of the relatively empty room, the imperial pilot looked around and noted on how many pilots the Air Division had lost during the campaign.

The seats used to be full of eager young men, but they were now empty.  Most of the pilots had fallen in battle to the lone Rebel E-Wing squadron that seemed to live in the Round Table.  It was their turf, but Zak was about to take it away from them.  

A computer system booted near the front of the room and a single man walked in, the base commander.  He looked at the two men in the room and gave a small sigh.  The losses were without a doubt causing some distress for the older man as well.  In a few seconds though, the commander started the briefing nonetheless.  “The Round Table has long been a hot bed of activity.  Our air forces sustained 40 percent losses in that area alone, even with the training they received from you.”  Uer had told the commander it was not enough time.  Throwing the youngsters against a superior air force would simply lead to their deaths.  He had been right about that.

“Though we know that you have been barred by your government from engaging any Rebel forces, we need to at least make a dent in the defensive forces that the separatists have placed in the B7R proximity.”  The Empire did not want their pilots to engage any rebel units for a simple reason, it would just lead to global confrontations.  Cipher knew that the waning Imperial forces could not stand up to a retaliatory attack thrown at them by the Rebels.  Of course, it seemed as though the engagement restrictions ended.  This man was asking, or begging rather for the pilot’s help.  Uer was sure as hell going to give it to him.  “Dismissed.”

Zak had not even noticed the rest of the briefing, mind instead thinking over the coming mission.  There was no doubt that the Rebel forces would be waiting for them, but that was fine.  After all, Cipher was spoiling for a fight, and PJ looked rather energized this morning.  With a slight smile at how the young pilot shot upright from his seat, Cipher reached down to pick up his flight helmet.  Unlike the normal TIE helmets, this one had a clear facemask, which granted superb vision capabilities when compared to the normal ones.  A single red stripe lined the black flight suits on both shoulders, running down the arm and disappearing behind the gloves that they needed as well.  While a squint was lacking in life support systems, it sure made up with those shortcomings with speed and maneuverability.

A single hangar stood before Cipher, and seemed insignificant when compared to the majestic peaks that rested beyond.  Twin doors opened wide, as if greeting the soldiers with outstretched arms.  With another grin, two green eyes locked on the sweetest sight that the commander had noticed over the course of the morning.  His TIE Interceptor rested there on the hangar floor, its odd shaped wings providing a fierce aspect that caused many rebel pilots to shake with foreboding.  While the red bars that lined his fighter’s solar panels were beginning to fade, they were still visible.  It was possibly one aspect of the bird that Uer made sure was always visible.  For when a squint might frighten an average Rebel, one from the 181st would be twice as bad.  Recently though, the squadron started to lose some of its fabled glory.  Now they were turning into another simple group that filled the Imperial ranks.  The commander was determined to see to it that such a thing never happened.

Zak rolled his eyes as he overheard the lieutenant whistling again.  That damned tune was getting old, but it never seemed to faze the other combat pilot.  Of course, he never asked PJ about it, though he planned to in the near future.


“Lieutenant.”  PJ snapped out of the song, his hand immediately pulling back from the squint’s solar panel which he had been checking over.  The young pilot looked ready to go, and so Cipher did not see any reason why they should remain on the ground any longer.

“Saddle up lieutenant…”  He started up the odd shaped boarding stairs before continuing with what he had to say, not bothering to turn around.  “If you get confused, just let your hands take over.  You’ve had enough training to do this in your sleep.”  It was the truth, PJ taught by some of the best.  While their squadrons seemed to be faltering lately, the Imperial flight trainers remained among the most elite.

With a simple twist of his wrist, the flight leader initiated a start-up sequence for the small fighter.  Galm squadron was about to be put to the test.


“Galm team, approaching area B7R.  Communications will be hazy due to a large magnetic field.  For this mission you’re going solo.”  Zak took a quick look to his port side as the AWACS craft peeled off, not wanting to venture near the violent airspace.  With no weapons to defend it, the larger craft would have made an easy target.  

“Roger Eagle Eye, we’ll take it from here.  You fall way back and stay out of the fight.”  Uer took a quick glance at his IFF, noting several bandits cutting away from their CAPs and breaking toward the pair of squints.

PJ tightened the formation as the enemy fighters started to close in, their loose deuce not really holding up to the first part of its name.  “Fast movers inbound, ten o’ clock high.  600 knots closure.”

The short-range transceiver instantly picked up the enemy chatter, the commander smirking at their surprised comments.  “Is something wrong with the IFF?  I am only picking up two fighters.  Don’t they know about the Round Table?”  The Imperials both knew full well what flying in B7R meant, they were in for one frell of a furball.

Two bandits were burning toward the pair of Imperials at full military power, good ships but no match for the squints.  With no need to inform PJ of his strategy, both Interceptors opened fire on the larger crafts while they were still out of range.  The bolts did nothing but pepper the front shields, but at the same time, they were proving to be a valuable ally.  “What the frak, my targeting computer is going haywire.”  Cipher smiled slightly as the Belkan pilots let out a cry of dismay.  It seemed that Zak's trick had worked, as their sensor suites had been confused by the fire.  Now it turned into a turning battle, and there was no way the TIEs would lose.

Breaking off from his wingman, one X-Wing dove for the deck, trying to bolt and run.  PJ seemed to drift slightly, unsure of whether to follow him or not.  “Leave him, he’s not worth our time.”  Zak rolled slightly as the X-Wing juked from side to side, trying to get a better angle from above the craft.  As the bandit slid across his piper, Uer opened up with all four cannon emplacements.  The separatist fighter incinerated in seconds, burning pieces of wreckage falling to the earth below.  “Splash one bandit.”

PJ rolled back into the formation several seconds later, and the commander knew instantly that the younger pilot had disobeyed his previous order.  When he banked to the left, Zak knew that the assumption was true as a black mark was etched into the light brown mesa, the result of another X-Wing colliding with the earth.  While not wanting to yell at the young man during a dogfight, Zak made sure to remind himself to yell at the lieutenant when they returned to the mountain base.

A crackle came over the wireless, soon followed by the voice of their AWACS craft.  “Galm team, additional aircraft approaching B7R at high speed.”  Instinctively the commander’s eyes dropped to the IFF, picking up several new blips on his radar.  He wanted to inform Eagle Eye that there were rebel transponders within the group.  However, Cipher also knew that the area needed to be taken at all costs, even if it did mean engaging rebels.

“Galm 2 to Galm 1, enemy reinforcements inbound, closing at 700 knots.”  The bandits were cruising faster than the other pair of hostiles and were no doubt using different birds.  Uer guessed that they were either piloting A-Wings or E-Wings, both of which signified bad news.

“Galm team, we cannot authorize a retreat, intercept them.”  The commander was already checking his systems, noting that one fighter was falling back behind the others.  Still, four were still coming strong and seemed to be determined to stop the Imperial forces.  “Wilco Eagle Eye, moving to intercept.”

The squints screamed through the air at around the same speed as the closing enemy.  If they were going to take the other fighters, Zak wanted the attack to be quick.  “PJ, climb to 10,000 and engage from there.”  With a confirming click of the transmitter, the other TIE broke off and quickly climbed about two thousand feet.  Hopefully, the enemy would overlook that height differential when closing in.

Twenty seconds.  Cipher was already reviewing the timing and engagement in his head.  Hopefully the enemy craft would be full of nuggets, but Zak could not tell for sure if that was true.  That is when he saw the E-Wings, closing in directly in front of his nose.  Without warning, PJ dived through the formation, with his quad emplacements blazing.  One of the bolts pierced a trailing E-Wing’s cockpit, sending it spinning into the ground.  Two bandits broke off to pursue the other Imperial while Uer continued on to intercept the other.  It seemed as though his little plan worked, for now the odds were even.  

His bandit was well trained, opening up on the squint before it had a chance to return fire with its weaker weapons.  Streaks of plasma lit up the air around Uer’s bird, but he was able to see each one in his head as they closed in.  This is where his so-called “quick reactions” helped, though Cipher knew it was something different.  It was as if he could see the incoming fire’s trajectory before it even left the focusing lens.  Expertly the young man weaved through it, snap rolling to his starboard side at the last moment and opening up with his own weapons systems.  They tore into the E-Wing, and effectively downed the hostile.  Four down, three to go.  That brought the commander’s attention back to the IFF though, still watching as that single bandit held back away from the engagement as if waiting.

In the distance, he could see an explosion of fire, and heard PJ’s yell of joy seconds after it appeared in the viewport.  It seemed as though he used a simple reverse on the enemy fighter and turned the tides.  The pilots had been trained well, but not to the extent of the two Imperials.  That was the least of Uer’s problems though, because he noticed a few seconds later that the remaining craft carried Rebel transponders.  The one that had led the Belkan squadron now fell back to join the one that up to this point had stayed out of the fight.  They were turning to engage as a pair now, and Cipher knew that the fight would be no walk in the park.  “PJ, form up now.”  The young hotshot complied by rolling in once more over the commander’s bird and coming to rest on his port side.  

Jacen was getting into the fight too much for Zak’s liking.  He was so energized that the older pilot believed a mistake was inevitable.  That is when he heard the RWR signal an incoming missile.  Reactions kicked in as Uer noticed the white plume of an inbound proton warhead, and instantly started to yell into the wireless.  “PJ, missile, break now.”  

However, the younger man did the unexpected, by suddenly pulling ahead of Zak’s squint and then breaking right in front of him, across his field of fire.  For years, the older imperial would wonder why PJ did such a thing.  Had the younger pilot been trying to protect the commander’s bird, or had he just panicked.  In any case, the proton warhead pierced the cockpit, sending shards of PJ’s fighter everywhere, and as a result peppering Uer’s own.  The frakkers had engaged BVR, or close to it, and managed to down his wingman.  Suddenly Cipher could feel the anger boiling up inside, and instead of withdrawing, he kept moving to engage the enemy.  Only this time he was a very determined and very pissed off man.  

A single red wing, one that would haunt the commander for several more years, was attached to the port side of the lead E-Wing where the proton missile had generated.  Suddenly stories started to fill Uer’s head about an enemy fighter that seemed to be invincible.  A single red wing, I've heard of this guy.  This was the man everyone called ‘Solo Wing Pixy.’  Well now, it seemed as though his long record of air superiority was about to come to an end.  In seconds plasma erupted from all three fighters, and the new furball was initiated.  Now Zak returned to the flying he was known so well for, basically the reason for his callsign.  He flew with no emotion, bottling the hate up, and seemed to know every move a hostile would make before they did so.  As far as the Rebels were concerned, there was no human flying the TIE, but rather a machine.

Re: The Demons borne of the Round Table

"These guys…" Jack began over the open comm line. "Guess  they got tired of losing rookie pilots." He continued  while performing a quick roll over Corbin's E-Wing,  shifting himself to the left of the flight group to gain a  more favorable approach.

"Bout time we got some real action.." Corbin stated  anxiously as the his sublight engines burned a brilliant  magenta, kicking his fighter out to the lead of the group,  anxious to add another TIE shaped stamp to the side of his  E-wing's cockpit. Blue followed suit, veering off a bit to the left and dropping back slightly to cut off the TIE's potential escape route. Corbin himself was in full burn running a game of chicken with the bogey, a tactic he seemed to be growing rather fond of.

With forward blasters blazing, Corbin pressed forward at breakneck speeds. The fighters closed the distance quickly but Corbin blinked first, breaking off into a sharp roll to the right that forced his opponent to do the same. This allowed Blue, who was trailing shortly behind Corbin to pick up the chase, a gentle lean of his control stick to the left bringing him directly behind the TIE.

Meanwhile, Jack began a sharp climb, using the distraction below to slip out of vision and take cover in the high clouds that loomed above the skirmish. As Corbin and his wingman engaged in the bogey head on down below, Weiss overshot the skirmish and with a steep rolling dive, brought his E-Wing back down through the clouds in an attempt to drop in behind the enemy and gain a torpedo lock.

"We've got him running Jack, where the hell are you?!"  Corbin's voice sounded in Jack's helmet comm, followed by  the fierce frapping of his E-Wing's forward cannons.

"Keep your panties on Pixydust.." Jack responded, accompanied by the persistant beeping of his targeting system trying to gain a lock. Jack's thumb hovered over the launch button as he dove down from the clouds, easing his thrusters into a steady pace so he could maintain a precise torpedo lock.

The beeping suddenly turned solid as Jack's targeting computer gained a lock. "Psh!" Jack exclaimed over the open comm, letting his enemy hear his taunting as well.  "Can't believe this guy graduated the academy…" He said,  launching a small torpedo from his E-Wing that streaked  towards it's target, leaving a trail of light blue energy.

Much to Jack's surprise, the TIE performed a sharp roll off to the left at the last moment, vanishing behind the  top of a mountain and allowing the missle to collide with  the mountainside, and turning too sharply for Corbin and Blue to follow.

"Whaaaat??" Jack said as if the TIE's maneuver was bithspit. It was the same tone he used when he suspected cheating slices in the combat flight sim. "Come on man…" He said with a bit of annoyance, breaking left and heading around the far side of the mountain, hoping to cut him off when he emerged from behind the terrain. "…I better not miss my holostories for this…" His fingers danced across the  controls, redirecting power from the rear shields and the  torpedo launchers to the engines, burning after the bogey.

"What happened Jack, you let him shake you like that?" Corbin chuckled over the open comm, still  keeping the channel unscrambled to allow the enemy to hear their chatter. They always did that. It always seemed to throw enemy pilots off their game, especially Imperials.

"I didn't see you take him down." He joked, banking hard to the right to curl around the opposite side of the mountain hopefully for an intercept.

Corbin's laughter erupted over the comm channel. "Did you forget who you're talking to?" He said just as his E-Wing emerged from behind the mountain's horizon, fast on the TIE's tail. Corbin rained blasterfire towards the retreating TIE, which corkscrewed into a quick dive, heading towards the safety of the planet's surface where he could hopefully outrun the bulkier E-Wings in a sublight podrace through the mountainous terrain.

"Awww c'mon Pixydust we're not gonna do this are we?.." Jack pleaded as he and Blue flew a good distance above and behind Corbin who was now in full burn after the retreating TIE, weaving his way through mountain formations, just above a thick mist that settled over the forests below. "…the cantina's calling me."

"I can get him…" Corbin said, clearly focusing all of his attention on the retreating TIE that kept inching it's way just outside of his blaster range. His trigger fingers clenched, spraying red blasterfire in front of the TIE in an attempt to free some of the larger rocks and drop them on the retreating bogey.

Unfortunately, the TIE pilot proved his mettle, navigating the falling debris just before it formed a collapsed wall before Corbin's E-Wing. He was forced to pull up. "Frak!!" He exclaimed over the comm channel, clearly more aggrivated by the fact that the bogey got away, rather then the close call he just experienced.

"Yea yea frak this frak that…" Jack's voice chimed in over the scratchy comm channel. "We done now? C'mon man, the barstools are callin'."

Blue chimed in. "Yea c'mon, we're getting the RTB signal, time to head home."

Re: The Demons borne of the Round Table

Two men, in an office.  One seated at a desk, the other pacing in front of it.  The seated one looks up.  "They need another pilot down there, huh?"

"Yep.  Lost one during a skirmish.  Newbie."

"Damn recruits."

"Hey, look at it as a golden opportunity."

"Huh?"

"You wanted to get rid of the girl.  Now's our chance."

"… I like that.  Stick it to the 181st, too.  See how good they are when a woman's flying with them."

"If they even let her fly."

"Oh, come on.  Like they'd keep their best from flying just because of a girl."

"You never know."

Papers shuffle.  A datapad moves to the center of the desk.  Keys click rapidly, then stop.  The chair creaks.  "Consider it done.  One Commander Jordan Lane, transferred from Gamma Squadron to atmosphere patrol duties with the 181st, effective immediately."

"It's music to my ears."

---

Jordan Lane headed down the hallway at a brisk trot.  In her quarters, she was safe; in the open corridors, her every move could be observed.

On a foreign air base, the scrutiny more than doubled.

A scant few hours earlier she had been residing in the relative safety of Gamma Squadron's base ship, continuing about her duties as normal.  The transfer order had then arrived, explaining in curt detail that she was to travel down to the surface with all haste to take on duties at the Valais Air Base.

She hated surface patrol.

Jordan felt most at home on board a Star Destroyer or within a TIE.  The former due to its Imperial Center resemblance; the latter from her confidence in her skills, despite all the comments male cadets and officers had thrown in her path.

She felt least at home in a Lambda-class shuttle.  Between the cold gazes of men on board and the lack of control she had over their flight path, shuttle trips were one of her least favorite experiences.  Matters were worsened, in this case, by the direction: moving away from her familiarity and driving her down to a planet's surface did not endear the vehicle to her whatsoever.  Jordan was grateful that the excursion did not last long.

She knew many officers disliked, even hated, her; however, she had not had it so blatantly displayed in well over two years.  It was.. disheartening.

What was worse: the assignment as wingmate to one Commander Zak Uer, also known as "Cipher".  And as a damn good pilot, she mused briefly, attitude dipping further.  Her relocation came about due to the loss of his previous wingmate.  She did not know the man, but if he was the type to get to know his wingmate, learn about him to work well with him, she would not face a warm welcome.

Jordan's sole source of consolation was the impending time in a TIE Interceptor.  Her previous squadron, though skilled, had been relegated to operating the standard fighter–when bombers were not required, of course.  She longed for the speed and agility the Interceptors offered.

And now she would have it.

Arriving in the hangar, Jordan walked swiftly toward the nearest set of Interceptors and the techs who ran around them.  The first one, a short, wiry man, did not greet her with proper respect initially.  He quickly learned how much of a bad idea that had been.

It was in the middle of her lecture that Commander Uer arrived.  Behind her, she did not spot his approach.  He cleared his throat.  "You would be Commander Lane?"

Jordan spun smartly on her heel and saluted.  "Yes, Commander.  It is a pleasure."

He saluted in return, a very sharp and crisp motion, offering no words of response.  Small creases around his eyes exhibited the only signs of stress she could observe.  No jocose mannerisms could be expected here.  "I wish I could say the same," he finally added.

Jordan had heard such words before.  They would have stung little had the man she had just lectured not been standing there.  This would make life more difficult.  "I am sorry to hear about your loss."

Uer looked at her sharply, but did not respond.  Jordan wisely kept her mouth shut.  After a moment, he continued.  "Look, I don't know you, and you don't know me.  We'll just keep it that way.  In the meantime, I hope you can find your way around this base.  Pilots' quarters are all in the same area; there's one mess we use.  If you can't find it, pray to whatever deity you prefer that you can find your way without help in a short amount of time, else you'll be out of a cockpit so fast your head will spin.  Understood?"

Jordan nodded.  "Quite clear, sir."  They might have similar ranks, but she knew when to offer a step in authority if the situation called for it.  Carida had taught her that lesson well.

"Good."  He turned and quickly walked away.

New or no, recent loss or not, they were wingmates; she knew she had to intervene before it was too late..  "Commander."

He stopped, turned, fixed a steel gaze upon her.  "What is it?"

"I would be honored if you would join me in the sims at your earliest convenience.  The opportunity to display my skills would be most appreciated."

The Battle for Directus

Termina’s vast regions were under conflict once more.
   
The food processing plants were still held by the Separatists, but the Loyalists were now gaining territory with every battle. More TIEs were coming in, more equipment, and the same was being done with the opposite, the Separatists. More and more, by each day, was being taken and forgotten, as the two continued in a war that might destroyed them all.
   
Which is why Doctor Kir Falken III was sent to Termina; a smart and independent scientist who originally came here to develop vaccines for the diseases that raged across the planet. However, two weeks into his trip, he was kidnapped by Separatists in a huge ceremony on his honor, sparking more hatred against the rebels on the planet. However, unbeknownst to the rest of the planet, he was placed to work on a number of secret projects, some of which were discovered by the Loyalists. They were small: new tank designs, radical improvements on some vehicles, and a new class of fighters. And a month after this, the war continued to drag on.
   
Soon, the war developed into something much more than it soon began worth for. So, the Separatists decided to pull most of its units in the former Loyalist capital city, Directus, and put them against other sort of planet-nations that had sprung up in this war. As such, the Republic of Ustio found its opening, and commenced Operation Requiem against the Belkans.
   
Operation Requiem originally began as an anti-ground operation in the area Solis Ortis, a small village but down an important highway that led from Solis Ortis to Directus, and even to some towns within the region of Belka. If the Loyalists re-captured the town and took control of that section of the highway, they could have a foothold into Belka and perhaps win the war itself.
   
So it was no surprise when they took it, with the help of the two Imperial pilots now being covered by the holo-news on the planet, talking about the valiant efforts of Cipher and the female pilot, who both were the main source of propaganda to fuel recruiting and inspire hope to those who needed it.
   
Cipher earned ten kills, with his wingmate earning five, an instant ace. The battle above Solis Ortis inspired the men on the ground to fight harder, and they overwhelmed the enemy positions on the battle floor and took the village. The highway was theirs, and tanks soon began to roll in the direction of Directus, to liberate the civilians working and living there, under a semi-pleasant but much more lenient government than before. The Separatists were not harassing the people, not doing anything that could spark rebellion, but patriotism rang deep in that city.
   
Soon, at seven thirty six in the evening, Belkan Coast Time, on the twelfth day of the second month, the battle to retake the heart of the Loyalist country in the war that started two years ago had begun. Now, with the plans of the Doctor, Kir Falken, in their hands, the Separatists were determined to hold onto the city itself with its advanced weapons, and it was easily seen to be working as three pilots, the poster boys of the Separatists, held the skies above Directus.
   
“Hey, Blue, watch out. Bogey on your left, diving straight. Jink!” Captain Corbin Starlight spoke into his communicator, pulling a long and elegant left turn over a small suburban property area as he came around. The three pilots, Captain Starlight and his two wingmates Commander Eielson and Lieutenant Commander Weiss, were holding their own in this sector of the city, fighting against the numerous pilots and tanks that were trying to roll in from the south.
   
Commander Fal Eielson, with the callsign of ‘Blue’, jinked hard to the right with a tight roll, green laser fire rushing past his former position as he pulled extra speed into his turn. To the enemy pilot, Blue seemed to be rushing upwards towards the sky, trying to out fly him within the clouds. The enemy TIE fighter complied, following him upwards towards the cloud-covered sky.
   
Suddenly, Blue pulled down as Weiss screamed forward, his E-Wing pulling gees as he descended, straight for the TIE as he squeezed the trigger in a burst of three. The TIE did not know what happened, as the green lasers struck his craft. The TIE fighter exploded within the sky, the cockpit disintegrating as the wings flew off in different directions, towards the ground.
   
“Teaches ya to watch out for Weissguy, shutta!” The smiling pilot exclaimed, pulling low as Blue came back on his wing. With a smile, they flew together in a simple wingman formation, flying upward as Corbin took Blue’s spot, Blue sliding back to make a triangle formation.
   
“Command, this is Silber Flight. Bogeys down, enemy forces destroyed. Requesting permission to engage other targets across Sectors One, Three, and Six.” He prompted on the command communicator, asking to attack targets along the city borders, where fighting was increasing in strength.
   
Suddenly, he looked down. The message wasn’t sent, the communicator reporting a no receiving signal. Corbin immediately knew something was wrong at command: either it was just having problems and wasn’t communicating or Headquarters was destroyed.
   
Suddenly, again, the warning light blipped.
   
“Warning! Warning! OCCA to Silber Flight, you have incoming. Only two of them.” The special Orbital Communications Command and Control Aircraft’s controllers reported to Corbin, just before he checked his radar to confirm the warning. He saw the two red dots approaching the sector, and then he smiled.
   
“Blue, disengage and attack the targets in Sector Two. When you get there, contact Gelb flight, they’ll deal with these if we can’t take them.”
   
Blue sent in his confirmation signal, and broke off from the flight, pulling hard right towards the sky.
   
“Why did you have ‘im disengage, Solo Wing?” His wingmate and drinking buddy inquired, tightning formation as the pair pulled hard left, towards the two incoming fighters.
   
“Because he needs to get some kills, and these Belkans…”
   
“Corbin, these guys…” Jack uttered, looking at the incoming fighters with a renewed interest. From this distance, the computer on board could paint a 3-D picture of the craft, colors included. The lead fighter had red markings all over, detailing him a member of the 181st. But, the most surprising thing is that Corbin slightly remembered that he fought against this pilot.

Then he remembered it was him
   
Corbin smiled, turning on his all-ship communicator, which even he would receive.
   
“Yo, buddy. Still alive?”

Re: The Demons borne of the Round Table

The skies above the Directus…






"Heh are these the same guys? I'm tellin' 'ya, you'd think  people would get the messa…." Weiss was cut off by a  spray of green blaster fire that peppered his front  shields before he veered off to the left, Corbin breaking  right. "…Wow, cutting off a guy mid-sentence, that's  just rude, especially for an Imperial…" Jack persisted,  refusing to let something like a brush with death kill a  good joke opportunity.

In reality, there wasn't much to joke about, the TIEs had  pounced on the opportunity they had created by splitting  Weiss and Corbin's formation, easing themselves behind the  NR pilots and taking pop shots at them, scoring a few  hits, but clearly not enough to shut Weiss up.

His E-Wing kicked into overdrive and rolled into a sharp  turn towards his wingman, hoping that Corbin would do the  same and they could form a criss cross formation and pick  off each other's tailgaters.

Rockets red blaster fire rained up from Directus however,  firing far more shots than was necessary for two enemy  TIEs and still scoring no hits. Their wild shooting was  making things more dangerous than they needed to be. Damn  conscript gunners. Worthless.

The sharp turn gave Weiss a bit of breathing room since  the TIE's wing design caused alot of drag in atmospheric  combat, effecting their turning ability considerably. A  green burst of energy from below exploded a several meters  below and to the right of his craft, throwing his E-Wing  into a roll in the opposite direction and bringing him  across the chasing TIE's crosshairs again momentarily.

The TIE scored another hit, and this time Weiss' ship  shook violently from the blast. All systems were still up  and running, but the rear shields had been punched down to  12%, and the front only held another 37%, only enough for  maybe 3 more shots if all power was diverted to either  side. He needed some time, hopefully RE, the new astromech  he'd been assigned, could do something to earn his keep.

"Blue, what're 'ya doin over there? I'm taking fire from  the ground." Jack commented, shifting his control stick  into his forced roll, banking his craft down towards the  sprawling metropolis below. This not only brought him out  of the chasing TIE's crosshairs, but revealed the setting  sun to the TIE pilot, likely causing enough of a flash to  give him an extra second of maneuvering.

"Yea I saw it.." Blue chimed back, the sound of ordinance  being dropped could be heard in the background, slicing  through the air towards it's ground target. "…Looks like  the Loyalists are pushing in from the northern side of the  city, we're gonna be taking alot more ground fire in a  minute."

"Oh yea… yea that's great.." Jack replied with dry  sarcasm.

There was at least some good news. His gamble seemed to  have paid off and the TIE pilot let him go. He now had a  clear path, random anti-aircraft fire aside, to reach  Corbin and get a good approach vector on the TIE that was  still hanging tight on ol' Pixy's tail, keeping up with  each roll and twist that Corbin could muster.

Re: The Demons borne of the Round Table

Directus

   Warning bells chimed in the city as proton weapons turned the ground into a pit of molten rock.  This had been Ustio’s capitol until the Belkan forces closed in around it, kicking the defenders to the vast mountain range to the south.  They were back though, with a massive force built from the remnants of the formerly defeated Ustian army.  They were pushing through all three sectors of the city relentlessly, pushing separatist forces back to the outskirts.

   From his position, in the skies above the war-torn city, the pilot known as Cipher watched as tanks advanced across fields to the second and third sectors.  There was one thing that he found odd about Directus, it divided into three parts, which the countryside surrounded.  Suburbs were only present around the first, and major, portion of the capitol.

   This meant that the loyalist forces had to leapfrog their way through the streets, taking one portion before moving to the next.  So far, two of the sectors were in their control, with the two squints providing CAS for the ground troops and maintaining air superiority in their sector.  X-Wings and TIE fighters alike dropped from the skies in a single fireball, pieces eventually starting to dislodge from the main fuselage before the fighter collided with the ground.

   There was a major cost for this battle in lives, but of course, if the loyalists emerged victorious from this engagement, then the separatists would be on the run.  It was one of the things that brightened Zak’s mood.  He wanted this war to end finally, for it was growing annoying.

   Uer’s short-range radio crackled to live amid the voices of hundreds as the battle net processed transmissions to and from the command center.  The commander was surprised when he heard a familiar voice, that of his AWACS bird’s pilot.  It seemed as though a few bandits were trying to cause trouble in the third sector.

   “Cipher, we got two baddies orbiting area three at 10,000, two E-Wings with New Republic markings.  Command wants you to engage and send ‘em packing.”

   Zak started to correct the squints flight pattern almost midway through the comment, TIE already banking toward the final part of the city where separatist forces were making their last stand in the air and on the ground.  

   “Wilco Eagle Eye, Galm flight is moving to engage.”

   The flight leader of course was not able to check over his shoulder to see if his new wingman, or woman rather, was following.  Frell, she had not spoken for at least twenty minutes.  The commander decided to break the ice though, his own voice playing over the radio line.
   
   “You better be marking my tail commander.”
   He received a response at least, though Uer was not sure what to make of it.  If he had to guess though, the Imperial pilot would have said that it was halfway between a grunt and a yeah.  He had to hold back a small chuckle at the thought of such an answer coming from the other pilot.  Still, Cipher did not mind, after all he was trying to concentrate on the skies as well.

   “Tally-ho, fast movers inbound, ten o’ clock.”

   Zak’s green orbs quickly adjusted, easily spotting the two craft a second after Lane’s voice filled his ears.  Two E-Wings, just like Eagle Eye reported.  It could have been any one of their squadrons, but something deep down inside Uer told him that it was them.

   “Copy that two, now let’s be a nice welcoming committee, and greet our guests.”

   Was that a chuckle?  No, it could not have been.  For two weeks, Zak had known the other imperial and never once did he see her smile, let alone laugh.  It was probably his mind playing tricks on him, again.  The two hostile squadrons closed in on each other, nearing firing range when an unknown voice sounded over Uer’s radio link.  It was him, the one with the red wing, the frakker who everyone took to calling Solo Wing Pixy.  With his teeth grinding, Cipher hit the throttle a little too hard, his squint shooting away from the other imperial’s as if ready to take both enemy fighters on if needed.

   The commander did not even bother responding over the radio, but instead spoke to himself concerning the question.  “Alive and kicking you mother frakker.”

   Once again, the imperials opened up early, peppering the Rebels’ shields and as a result forcing them to roll over and evade.  Again, the two squints took trail positions, though Uer knew it would not last long.  The E-Wing fighters might have been less maneuverable than his interceptor in space, but in atmospheric flight, they had the turning advantage.

   Uer took the lead fighter, knowing from the red wing that it was the same bastard that killed PJ.  Revenge was the only thing on his mind, as he stayed tight on the Rebel’s tail, not even allowing the sporadic jinking movements to throw him off.  Every once and a while he took a shot at the bandit, but of course the rebel would roll away from most of the lasers, usually only receiving damage from one.  That was not enough to down the frakker of course, but Cipher kept at it.  Eventually the bandit would make a mistake and that would be the end of him.

   For several minutes they turned, Cipher trying to achieve a firing position while Pixy tried to find an escape route.  Unfortunately, the other pilot got what he wanted first.

   Two things happened in quick succession, the first was a red laser that streaked across Zak’s view port from the right, and the second was Pixy’s fighter pulling a quick split-s.  It was timed almost perfectly, and Uer had to admire that fact, but he could not think forever.  Without hesitating, the imperial banked hard to his starboard side, forcing the pursuing rebel to overshoot and then pull a high-gee turn to stay on the squint’s tail.  He lost a lot of energy in that maneuver, time Cipher took to break low.  He wanted to get out of the enemy’s sights and take him by surprise.

   Of course, Cipher was now wondering where the other imperial pilot was.  If the other rebel managed to get on his tail, then that meant that Jordan was either dead or in a dogfight with some other Belkan.

   “Two, you still out there?”

   Immediately after he asked the question, fire erupted around his bird. Instinctively the pilot rolled over, pulling a split-s just like the Rebel pilot had.  Half-way through the maneuver, he was able to see the two Rebel craft closing in on his six.  Uer pulled out at five hundred feet, screaming over the tree line as red lasers fell all around his craft.  Uer was rolling between the fire with nothing but sheer luck and the help of that minor force connection.  Still, like always his luck would run out eventually.

   “Two, where the frak are you!?”

Fal 'Blue' Eielson's Ground Operation

Lieutenant Markus knelled down next to the rubble that was once his home here in Directus, before the war broke out. A former loyalist, he enlisted in the Separatist Movement after he read books in the library about the Empire, about the New Republic. That was what caused him to join the movement, to become a Separatist in the first place, and now he was fighting in the home against the revengeful Loyalists.
   
His squad fired their blasters into the nearest collection of troopers, their white Stormtrooper armor glinting in the sun as Markus’ squad rains hell upon them. They returned fire, the street turning into some sort of war zone as men on both sides were being killed. Markus looked back to his right to see his squad of covered troopers now was numbered eight, not the ten he originally had.
   
An IFT rolled in, its turret and guns turning slowly to face upon Markus’ squad. He watched as the heavy repeating fire destroyed his squad as quickly as they entered the position. Men screamed as Markus’ squad members were hit in this barrage of fire and hell.  He made no movement, just an open mouth and fearful eyes as the last member of his squad held up two blasters, going out in a blaze of glory, before the IFT-T’s fire cleansed his body.
   
Markus watched in horror as the IFT-T brought its guns to bear on his position, from a little hole in the wall, and he ducked down and prayed to his alter of Gods for his life to not be extinguished this day. He heard the whine of the laser activators being armed, and he knew it was only seconds before either the lasers will kill or the falling rubble will.
   
Suddenly, a scream rushed by, the sound of engines blasting by was followed by explosions of such magnitude that Markus had to hold himself down on the ground. He quickly stood up and ran out, unloading his blaster onto nothing around him. After a brief moment of two seconds, he saw that no Stormtrooper was around his position. The remains of the IFT apparently took them out as well.
   
He looked to the left, the sky left, and saw one E-Wing with blue markings on the fuselage, barely visible, as it flew around in a large and elegant circle…

   
   
   
The radio chatter was blazing in Lieutenant Commander Fal Eielson’s ears, the radio seemingly pestering him to turn itself off as he initiated a long turn. His hands gently glided over the stick as he pulled speed into the engine. His blue marked E-Wing complied with his order, Fal breathing slowly as he looked at the long range radar. He saw the two green dots and the one red dot, representing the bogey and his two wingmates, play around across the area of space. He pulled down low, ending his turn, and heading towards the retreat line.
   
The massive amount of tanks rolled on forward, out of the town, firing backwards at the IFTs and the A5s and the mess of troopers that were attempting to follow the Belkan soldiers. A group of five Juggernauts and three IFTs were in a column behind the retreat forces, lined up perfect for a strafing run. With a little smile Blue performed a turning roll, now behind the last A5 in that group. He pushed forward on the speed locator, squeezing down on the trigger.
   
His laser blasts smacked down on the advancing forces. The A5 in the rear was hit on its left wheel side, losing control and turning radically to the right. It smacked directly into a gas refinery, the refined gas tanks exploding as the A5 slammed into them. The Juggernaut seemingly disappeared in the explosions that followed the refinery’s destruction.
   
The three IFTs in the column were destroyed by the laser blasts from “Blue’s” E-Wing, but the A5 in the back column was able to activate its laser turret and tried to shoot down Fal as he pulled up and away from the last A5. He pulled back on a sharp left turn, pulling around so he would be behind the A5’s turret system. The turret followed his movements, but never had time to pull off the shot before a proton torpedo slammed into its side. Not only lifting it off its right side, it killed all who were inside it with that lucky shot, the remains tumbling to the side of the road and into a bank.
   
Blue smiled, pulling up.
   
“Silber Three to Rot Squadron; thanks for the save.”
   
“Any time, Silber Three. Rot One out.”
   
He pulled a hard right, coming around to try to get back to Corbin and Jack’s position, after hearing the call for help. He pulled in tough, coming about quickly. However, he soon changed paths and targeted his torpedoes for launch as he saw the squadron of TIE Fighters coming in hot in pursuit.
   
“Frak…”

      
Fal couldn’t pay attention to the communication hub as he solely concentrated on the dogfight. There was too many TIEs to think straight, nor could he win the battle. He had to retreat, but they were blocking his path into a downward spiral, and soon enough perhaps right into the ground floor. Intelligence frakkers, oh yes indeed.
   
His radar suddenly went blue as nine blue little dots zoomed forward towards his position. He couldn’t notice it well, but he knew they were friendly at least, this is what inspired him to roll almost directly into a TIE fighter. His shielded craft took major damage to its shield projectors, but it suffered the hit.
   
The TIE exploded on impact, its left wing slamming outward and colliding with another TIE, slicing the cockpit in half before exploding. Fal’s E-Wing slipped out of the chaos and in the direction of the approaching A-Wing squadron, Indigo Flight.
   
The A-Wings were different from the normal A-Wings that Corbin often saw. These had dark purple stripes on them, and the leader had a black and purple combination for his craft overall. Fal realized he was one of the NR ‘advisors’ that they sent to help train the Belkan pilots, and by the amount of kills on the side of the A-Wing he realized it had to be two people: either it was Lieutenant Commander Faltia, the A-Wing recon ace, or it was General Edward Vonstolken, the A-Wing interdiction ace.
   
When he saw the subtle turn of the A-Wing’s left gun to shoot one blaster, then another subtle decrease to shoot once more, then he knew it was General Edward Vonstolken.
   
Fal had to pull out to help Corbin and Jack.
   
“Silber Three to Indigo One. I owe you some Corellian Brandy.”
   
“That you do, Silber Three.”

Re: The Demons borne of the Round Table

Jordan Lane allowed herself one second to watch her wingmate veer off in chase of a strangely painted enemy fighter, the one with a single red wing.  From what he had mentioned in the past, among others' comments, she knew it to be a so-called "Solo Wing Pixy".  The name had struck her as strange enough to lodge itself in her memory.

But no matter.  She had to concentrate on her own fighting.  Resolving to follow him only if he requested aid–a light-year distant possibility–Jordan returned her attention to the airspace around her.  

Lasers flashed overhead as another X-wing shot over her cockpit.  Jordan rolled to port, cursing for the umpteenth time the air resistance experienced in atmosphere, and shot her own blasts of lethal energy at the offending craft.  Only one came close, and it merely glanced off the shields.  Frak me, I have met a good one.  Only a small part of her mind murmured the change in word habits her time with the other commander and the rest of the pilots on this frakking planet had brought about.

Her scopes indicated that this one was alone, much like that Pixy fighter.  Perhaps this is the wingmate?  She resolved to remain on his tail until his death parted them as her one source of aid to her own partner.  

Thirty seconds' juking proved this fighter's tail was not one easily tracked.  Rarely had she met such a match.  A small grin twitched the corners of her mouth.  Regardless of the dangers she faced, she was enjoying herself.

Then he–for she assumed only a male would be so daring as to skim treetops at such a low altitude as he had ten seconds prior–flipped a full half-circle to place Jordan's craft squarely in her sights.  Years of training took over and sent her rocketing spaceward, energy darts heating the air she had occupied too short a time earlier.  "Frak!" she actually cried aloud as she throttled back and reversed direction to return to a proper line of fire.

But he was not where she expected him to be.  A warning alarm alerted her to the rapidly incoming torpedo on her six.  Jordan darted forward to the nearest group of mountains, falling low in altitude, hoping that a trick learned in a battle years ago would prove useful.

She swayed and squirmed her way over small hills, around pockets of forest, and over two lakes, each time sending spray everywhere from her close proximity to the surface of the water.  Then: opportunity.  A giant rock outcropping, half-crumbled from years of erosion, appeared before her.  She juked up; over; down.  The torpedo had no time to react.

Debris from the pulverized pumice formation showered her craft as she quickly regained distance from the ground, breathing heavily.

Her nemesis had followed her to determine the results of his attack, but hung back, possibly wary of the fact that it had failed in such a spectacular fashion.

Jordan allowed herself a small smile of amusement and pounced on his tail in three heartbeats–possibly closer to six with the way her own pounded.

They danced for three full minutes before their return to the main battle lost each from the other.  Jordan did not mind so much.  She had not had such a good exercise in the field in far too long.

---

"The Rebels are falling back!  Go, go, go!"

I'm on them!

Reports are coming in that their headquarters is gone!  Push forward with full force!

We're on it!

---

"Two, you still out there?"

Jordan would have responded to her wingmate's inquiry had gravitational forces allowed her breath.  She still had a few seconds before she could finish her U-shaped trek through the skies.  Three.. two.. one.. She leveled out, inhaling much-needed oxygen.

"Two, where the frak are you?"

"Inbound on your position, One, ETA ten seconds."

"I may not have ten seconds, Two."

She did not believe that until her eyes refocused on the scopes.  Low altitude, multiple enemy fighters, one friendly dot.  It did not spell good fortune.  Kicking her throttle back to full, Jordan shot toward him, cannons blazing a trail.  "I shall do what I can, One.  Just stay alive."  At this point it did not matter if the pulses struck; she needed to grab their attention.

And grab she did.  Though she held it for only a few seconds, she managed, under combined fire from Uer, to disable a shield and wound one X-wing's engine.

Out the corner of her eye a strange apparition appeared.  Blue, flashing across her vision, much like a blast from an ion cannon, but somehow.. different.  A difference that unnerved her.

The battle quickly regained her focus as the undamaged X-wing nearly blasted her starboard solar panels with red blaster bolts.

Re: The Demons borne of the Round Table

"Frak.." Jack exclaimed as a green discharge from above caught the top of his right wing, rolling his E-Wing into a downward spiral.

Whistles and clicks chimed in over his comm system.

"I dunno Ardy, do you think I want you to put the fire out?" Weiss responded as his hands wrestled with the stick, trying to level off and stop his descent.

From his astromech slot, RD-3 extended a droid arm and began to spray down a plasma fire that was spreading across Jack's right wing.

"..there ya' go.." Jack commented with a roll of the eyes before flipping on the squad comm channel. "Flew through a flaker, comm went down. Where are you guys?"

Blue chimed in a few seconds later as Jack finally regained control of his fighter, pulling it out of it's spiraling suicide dive. "We got the RTB, Imps are takin' us to town. Get low, get out."

"Way ahead of ya'" Jack replied, cutting the comm channel. "Ardy, dump the packages and drain the cannons. We're outta here."

Two heavy clicks were heard as his remaining 3 torpedos were dumped like bombs. The targeting interface went dark and the pitch of the howling Frietek engines rose, kicking his E-Wing out ahead of the tailing TIEs, and back home to fight another day.




Back at the bar…





"Xs and Es baby! What'd I tell ya?" Jack declared with a raised bottle of ale that clinked with an identical one in Blue's hand.

His comments earned grumbles and boos by the A and Y-Wing pilots, some going far enough to toss crumpled up bar napkins at Weiss.

True, it was a bit inappropriate following a day with so many losses, but hey, negative thinking isn't going to help.

Jack displayed an appalled look to his fellow pilots.

"Well that's just jealousy is what that is…" He said, gazing out over the lot with a scolding look before turning back to Blue with a smirk and taking a seat on his barstool.

"Don't listen to 'em Jack.." Blue took a pause to dump about half of his glass' brown liquid down his throat. "..What can they say? Those pieces a' junk just can't maneuver in atmospheres."

"Hey…" Jack replied before taking an even larger swig than his buddy. "I dunno what to tell ya'. People don't listen to the Weissguy anymore."

Blue snorted a laugh, reaching for one of the crumpled up napkins to wipe the liquor from the frames of his nostrils.

"Where the hell's Pixydust? He should be gettin' in on this." Weiss adopted a disappointed tone as he turned back around on his barstool, gazing out across the barscene to scan for their missing compadre.

Blue started speaking before swallowing a second, smaller swig. "..Probably with his fist through a wall?… You know how he takes these things…"

---

A shirtless Corbin pounded away at the heavy bag with a fixed gaze, his mind locked on the recent dogfight. Some of the groundpounders were in the gym during his workout, tossing their best friendly insults to the significantly smaller flyboy, but he ignored them when he got like this. Much too focused to even acknowledge the infantry.

Bithspit..

He thought as a vicious one two combo slammed into the bag.

It was the wind…

His teeth gritted as three more aggressive shots to the bag knocked that excuse out cold.

That TIE must've been modified…

He thought before delivering a single hard punch that knocked the bag backwards only to swing forward and be caught in Corbin's palms.

A shake of the head as he shrugged himself off the bag, putting his dukes up for another shot.

"Aaaaaaaaaayyy Corbin!!" A very inebriated Weiss and Blue called in drunken unison from the gym's entrance, breaking Corbin's concentration and forcing the beginnings of a smirk onto his face.

"Told you he would be here! You so owe me 50 credits.." Blue slurred, leaning onto the doorframe to keep his balance as he gave Jack a mild shove on the shoulder.

"…Dude…" Jack began, pausing to give Blue a look as if that push was totally uncool. He held the look for a good thirty seconds before turning to Corbin with a huge grin. "Why.. What is this gonna do fer ya' huh? Eeeevery time you miss a …"

Blue interrupted Jack's rant by starting to slide off the doorframe, threatening to tip over straight forward and land forehead first on the durasteel tiles.
"..Who..oo..ooohh! Easy champ…There you go…" Weiss said, laying a hand on Blue's shoulder and easing him back to his position propped up against the doorframe.

Corbin's face was already buried in an open palm, still doing his best to remain pissed at the enemy that got away.

He couldn't.

As rediculous as the two of them appeared, they were right.

He finally spoke between heavy breaths. "Hey…. ya know… I don't like… to make the other guys feel bad." Trying to play off his obvious frustration with a little joke.

"Feel bad.." Weiss repeated with a scoff. "Can you believe this guy?" He turned to ask what appeared to be a snoozing Blue while pointing his beer towards Starlight.

"C'mon man…" Blue mumbled with his gaze fixed on the floor tile before him and black hair hanging over his face. "..Tomorrow we fly, tomorrow they die!" He shouted suddenly in a very outdoor voice, flinging a fist into the air.

"Ha!" Corbin exclaimed at Blue's drunken impression of their first flight instructor back in training which was actually very very accurate.

They were right. Again. Tomorrow was another day.

Re: The Demons borne of the Round Table

What the frell was that flash?  The momentary lapse of concentration almost sent Uer’s fighter tumbling into the green forest below.  Rolling the fighter onto its port wing, Zak pulled back on the control yoke and scanned the sky before him.  Of course, the light had vanished just as quickly as it appeared.  Was his mind playing tricks on him?  Maybe the stress from battle was finally getting to him.  I know what I saw.  Cipher tried to convince himself that he did not imagine the brilliant flash, but rather that the light had been there only a few moments earlier.  The Imperial pilot would have to worry about that at a different time, for now he was still in the middle of a dogfight.

Without thinking the commander continued his sharp bank, bringing the fighter back into the fight and into the gunsights of a Separatist fighter.  “Frak!”  The entire world seemed to slow down once more, red bolts erupting from the X-Wing all intended for his squint.  Using the momentum from the turn, Uer snapped the fighter over and sent it tumbling for a few seconds.  While he temporarily lost control of the fighter, Zak’s maneuver saved him from a world of hurt.

However, Cipher’s snap-roll also devoured his velocity like a hungry rancor, the squint lingering near stall speed.  Knowing that he would be an easy target for the Separatist craft when it circled around again, the pilot drained all of the energy from his weapons and applied it to his engines.  Fighting gravity, the craft shook violently as it slowly gained speed.

Within a few seconds it was well above the stall line, though it seemed the X-Wing now brought a few friends to the party.  Two of the “heavy” Y-Wing fighters employed by Separatist forces now followed their more agile leader in a loose formation that partially resembled a V.  Normally the heavier fighters would not worry Uer, but these two had an upgrade.  Above their canopies rested lethal ion cannons, which could turn Zak’s bird into a pile of flying metal.  If he lost power at this altitude, the ground would be unforgiving.

Working the craft into another tight turn, Uer bore down on the bandits from the front while his hands changed the power output back to the four lasers mounted on the squint’s wings.  Most would have considered it suicide to attack a formation of three shielded ships without any protection of your own.  Cipher, on the other hand, liked to think of it as a challenge.

Split them Uer and then go after the weaker of the three.  He could still remember Baron’s words from Brentaal IV, when Zak first engaged ion equipped Y-Wings.  They had been the ones to bring down his mentor, but of course, the casualty rate among that Y-Wing squadron had been almost sickening.  In one night, the 181st had wiped out an entire flight.  These were not Rebel fighters though, instead belonging to the Separatist forces that were barely competent enough to pilot the starfighters.  

The two groups closed to a fair distance, and so the Imperial let lose with a hail of laser fire from his four weapons emplacements.  Fire-linking was unheard of on normal TIE fighters, but when a squint pilot employed the technique properly, it could turn the entire tide of battle.  Wanting to scare the bandits into doing something stupid, Zak linked all four cannons to fire at once.  The resulting sea of green scared even him, and while it drained the power coils quicker the sheer amount of fire clipped one of the Y-Wings and forced the group to break up in three separate directions.

Uer saw an opening that would enable him to stay on the offensive through the entire flight, as the injured Y-Wing’s turn was lazy.  The commander pulled back on his control yoke sharply and unleashed another torrent of fire.  This time the lasers ripped one of the engine pods off the fighter, sending it spiraling to the forest below.  Not even bothering to confirm the kill, Cipher twisted and pulled the yoke again to send the squint after the other two fighters that joined after realizing that they would do better flying in a pair.  Applying as much power to the engines as he could, Zak sent the fighter into a sharp turn that blackened the edge of his vision.  It felt as though seven adults were standing on his chest, keeping the young man from breathing properly.  The pilot fought through the pain, determined to get the two fighters before they bugged out of the fight.

As he came out of the turn, Uer was finally able to take a much needed breath.  He sucked greedily at the oxygen that pumped into his helmet.  Both Separatist fighters had seen their partner go down and were now turning to engage the Imperial, obviously seeking revenge.  Not a good choice.  In the middle of their turn, Cipher pounced.  His lasers easily tore through the X-Wing’s cockpit, turning it into a fireball.  To avoid the debris, Zak had to pull up and then roll his TIE over.  This maneuver gave the Y-Wing some time to recover and tighten its turn.  Pulling out of the reverse cuban, he could see blue bolts of energy sizzle past his craft, barely missing the starboard wing.  That was the problem with Y-Wings, they did not have to be behind you to shoot.  Zak continued to dive, finally pulling out just above the tree-line.

Gaining some more altitude, Uer waited for the bandit to complete a split-s and follow.  As soon as he glimpsed the first red laser, which missed his fighter by a few meters, Cipher pulled back hard on the control yoke and cut his power to one-quarter of its full potential.  The resulting thrust, combined with gravity, made it seem as though the squint was hovering, balancing on its tail.  Of course, the hostile pilot had not expected the maneuver and so could not react in time.  Cipher unleashed a hail of fire as the enemy craft passed just above his, green lasers dancing down the fuselage.  

Uer pushed the engines to full military power, and the TIE slowly started to gain altitude.  The Separatist forces had issued a recall order to their troops, and were now backing out of Directus.  Cries of joy rippled across the communication lines, citizens of the city ecstatic now that the enemy was out of their city.  The battle had been costly on both sides, A-Wing and Y-Wing fighters from the Separatists falling like flies while at the same time New Republic controlled squadrons tore into Loyalist ground forces.  It seemed as though the entire northern sector of Directus was on fire and in ruins.  Jordan fell in along side of Uer’s bird, having split with her flight lead to deal with ground units that were holding up a Loyalist advance.  “Why are they cheering?  The victory came at such a great cost.”

She was right, there had been a terrible loss of life.  However, the army’s morale would now skyrocket after capturing a key city.  “There may have been a great cost, but it was a victory nonetheless.”  Zak scanned the city once more, noticing several flashes as people fired their weapons into the air.  “Come on Two, let’s head home.”  The Imperial banked toward the south, where the Kresh Mountains stood tall.  He still had not killed this “Solo Wing Pixy,” anger welling up inside as he thought about the enemy pilot still roaming the skies.


Ground technicians surrounded the TIE interceptors as both Imperial pilots climbed out of their respective starfighters.  News traveled fast around the base, especially when it was of a good variety.  To these people there was no better news than a Loyalist victory.  It meant that they still had a purpose in life, and that they would continue to fight until the war claimed them all.  Zak never wanted it to come to that, and promised himself that it would not.  After all, these people were slowly becoming his friends.  While command told the pilot to distance himself from the Loyalist forces he trained, Cipher could not help but make friends with a few of the men.  After all, they had been the ones repairing his fighter.  

As the crowd grew, a smiling Commander Uer waved a few of them off and motioned toward Jordan.  “Commander Lane is the one you want to congratulate.  She must have downed twenty hostile fighters.”  He really was not sure what her kill count had been, but realized that she had inflicted heavy damage on the enemy squadrons.  The other pilot’s prowess in battle proved to the young man that women were fully capable of fighting within the Imperial ranks.  No longer would he doubt their ability, for one had saved him.

More people swarmed her fighter as Zak looked on, a smile forming over his lips.  After a few moments, Cipher turned away from the scene and walked out of the hangar.  Their job for the day was finished, and now the Loyalist forces could finally receive some down time.  As far as Uer was concerned, they earned every minute of it.


“That’s right, the flash you saw originated in Belka.  Lucky for us it was in the South.”

It had been a few days since the Loyalists captured Directus, and reports concerning the flash Uer saw were still coming in.  Other pilots had seen the light as well, and now there was a story of a missing TIE unit circulating within the Air Forces.  The intelligence officer informed Cipher that both incidents tied in with the other.  Apparently, this TIE unit circled North before attempting to block the Separatist retreat.  This energy weapon, allowing the enemy time to escape, destroyed them.  “Lucky?  An entire air unit was wiped out.”

Morale had plummeted throughout the base, people thinking that the weapon could strike ground targets as well.  That is what happened when the command staff did not keep soldiers informed.  The troops, in pursuit of information, started drawing conclusions.  In fact, the energy weapon only worked against aerial targets.  

A scowl appeared on the intelligence officer's face before his lips parted again to respond to Uer's words.  “Yes, lucky.  Because of it’s location, we will be able to mount an offensive against this ‘Tauberg’s Sword.’”

So that is what they were calling it, “Tauberg’s Sword.”  It seemed fitting considering the shape of the object.  It was a tall tower, topped by a focusing lens for the energy weapon within its structure.  The lens could rotate, and therefore cover a 360 degree area.  So the attack force would have to maneuver constantly during their approach.  Thankfully, radar systems provided early warning, showing the pilots the direction of the weapon's shot as particles in the vicinity were excited by its charge.

“Let me guess, we’re going to be leading the attack.”

The Intelligence Officer did not speak, a reaction that gave Zak all the information he needed.  The Loyalist leaders were using the Imperial pilots at every opportunity.  While Cipher despised that fact, he still had a job to do.  After all, the planet’s food resources could provide the Imperial fleet with much needed provisions.  “Fine, but I want all forces under my direct command.  I do not want to go through AWACS to get clearance for anything.”

For a few moments the Loyalist officer did not move, but eventually nodded his head in an affirmative response.  “Fine, you will be in direct command of the attack force.”

Just because he received, the answer he wanted did not mean Zak was happy.  As far as he was concerned, this mission was truly suicide.  He rose from the seat and left the room, searching for Lane.  She deserved to know what they would be facing.  

“Frak me sideways.”  Uer rubbed his temple, going over the briefing once more in his mind.  So they were to face a nearly invincible structure guarded by hostile squadrons and various AAA emplacements.  A few years earlier, a younger Uer might have laughed at the thought of such a thing.  Now, he knew that this was just another day with the 181st.  

“I need a drink.”

Talks of Corruption and the Battle for the Whiskey Corridor

   
The Belkan Separatists can’t retake the city of Hoffnung from the Loyalists, and while we think we could take it with superior air power it just cannot happen. Triple A holds it well and I doubt we could just bomb it and lose the city as an effective holding point. The Belkans and the others want to keep it too, as a moral victory if we so win it back, so I’ll make this little notion brief.

You are to be relieved of duty there at Hammer Air Division Headquarters and be redeployed here at Glatisant Air Base along with Commanders Jack Weiss and Fal Eielson, Ensign Jerek Diego, and Flight Officer Unitas Mani; the Belkan 13th Tactical Fighter Squadron, 13th Night Fighter Division, and the 1st Tactical Fighter Squadron, 1st Air Division.

Myself and the 2nd Tactical Air Fighter Squadron, 34th Air Division will be deployed with you in this operation, but besides from the normal station squadrons this is entirely a ground operation battle.

I also wanted to express the rumors about the mag pulse beam. It is still under heavy guard and I believe that only perhaps the TIE ace group or a small force could even hope to penetrate the defenses, slip under the radar, let alone destroy it and score a victory against their sea of defeats. I may not be able to practice war well but I do know that we’re going to win. Attrition is the enemy of our enemy, and it’s our friend.

Standard transport will pick you and equipment up, along with the rest of your flight, to Glatisant at 0400.

                  

   

Captain Corbin Starlight quickly skimmed over the letter again, to find any sort of other mention to the mysterious fighter squadron, but as he looked it over he found nothing alluding to the nagging thought entering his mind. He needed to concentrate, especially now. But the images of Wolfbane and Jackal past through his brain for a few brief moments: apparently General Vonstolken hadn’t heard that they were KIA since Directus.

He sat by himself in another Officer’s Briefing, hearing some Separatist drone on and on about battle plans and what he needs from his and the rest of the unit commanders, and then the cycle could continue to Corbin. When it got to Corbin, he would always opt to pass and not speak, but today, he wanted to address to the unit commanders the gravity of the war.

“Look.” He began, his voice low. “I know that you all may believe we are winning this war but once an enemy gets on the offensive they usually aren’t stopped. And with the assistance of that hotshot fighter team, I highly doubt we’ll win this war. Even with your ‘Sword of Tauberg’ or whatever you’re calling it.” He stated in a voice that exuded command and respect, something the rest of the officers in the room caught on quickly.

“Nonsense. The Sword can strike anywhere on the Northern Hemisphere. No one can stop us.”

“The Imperials had that idea with the Death Star. You know what happened?”

“Captain.” The man sitting at the opposite end of the table, a food processing executive with some sort of rank in a major company security force, spoke to catch Corbin’s attention. The pilot, who was the third-highest ranked man in the room, turned his head but his look was ultimately spiteful and angry: something that made the man cringe before he spoke.

“This is not your war. You are only here because we asked for your help. Not for your condescending…”

“Condescending?!” He shouted, shooting straight up onto his feet, staring down his opponent with his fists clenched. What he was about to do would suspend his flight license, get him stripped of rank, and possibly even booted from the NR Starfighter Corps, but he was hot and livid: he did not care no more. He did not ‘appreciate’ when people called him out in public.

“Captain Starlight! You will sit down and remain quiet!” Colonel Isguil, the New Republic ground pounder, yelled out into the room with resounding, firm anger. Corbin, upon realizing who was yelling at him, snapped his mouth shut and sat back down. Colonel Isguil was formerly a pilot, now a ground pounder, possibly bucking for High Marshal: a position that requires the man or woman to have served in the Navy and the Army. Corbin respected any man who did both.

“And y’all, stop goading our men into fights! I’ve already gotten three confirmed reports of your men trying to stop our men from doing their frakkin’ jobs! One more report, I frakkin’ swear.”

“Or what, Colonel Isguil, or what?”

“I can’t speak for my men, but I certainly can try to avoid yawl’s special buildings and man when I go on my bombing runs.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“I didn’t say I would do shit. My men are bloodthirsty, Commissioner Harold.” He said with a wicked smile, turning his head from the man who called out Corbin to the Captain himself: the smile was infectious and Corbin smiled with that wicked sense of humor both possessed. The other people in the room flinched.

“Is the meeting adjourned?”

“For the love of Mara, yes!”

   

“This is getting out of hand, Starlight.” Kevan Isguil said as he relaxed against his chair. The forty-five year old Colonel looked tired beyond a doubt: Corbin himself was tired of life and war but Isguil looked much more haggard than Corbin ever could. They both had hard liquor glasses and a light brownish liquid was filled to the brim, both sipping cordially from their glasses.

“Command wants us to clear an area of operations known as the Whiskey Corridor. I have to send in inexperienced units against some of the best in ground operators in the Galaxy because some stupid, high-n’ mighty corporate security leader doesn’t want to spare men. You know what that means?”

“What?”

“K-Wing bombers converted to flying atmo.” Isguil said with a bit of humor in his voice, Corbin’s face showing confusion.

“What’s wrong with E-Wings?”

“Two standard hours ago I got a call from Glatisant HQ: a saboteur snuck in four sappers and they caused some major damage before security forces could ‘contain’ the threat.”

“Contain?”

“They murdered them. Took their weapons and killed them execution-style.”

“Figures.”

“The Whiskey Corridor is a very heavy ground forces operation. Two other wings will be assisting you. A bomber detachment with controllers from Corellia and Indigo Squadron, commanded by the political officer.”

The Political Officer, his real name Edward Vonstolken, was considered the best pilot when it came to flying A-Wings: his only fallacy was that he never disobeyed an order when it came from anyone higher than him. No matter what he thought, he did not direct himself from that order: even if it was to bomb a hotel of civilians because some of them were thought to be enemies of state (a mission that he himself carried out in the name of the Alliance). Corbin and Kevan both respected him, and hated him, for his record.

He has lost more men on sorties than any other General in the New Republic.

“Great. So, what, you’re trying to get me killed?” He smiled, before he looked back at Colonel Isguil.

“Something else has been bothering me, Kevan.”

“Shoot.”

“There have been reports that the fighter team won’t be there.” He said, being quite vague about what he was talking about but Kevan had heard the rumors and read the reports on his team to know what he was talking about. Colonel Isguil thought that only Vonstolken or Green Squadron had a chance in Hell to fight off that ace wing: but the reports indicated that the wing wasn’t close to Glatisant, or the Whiskey Corridor.

“That Sword of Tauberg’s probably going to be hit. And I know it. But trust me; you’re going to get your chance to bag another ace.

“But I only hope that you got the balls to hit them hard.”

   

The Whiskey Corridor.

Once a lush green area with a large inlet to the open sea: once a great area for primary fishermen and women and the winds always right for aeronautical experiments. A former community that was prided for its hard work ethic and, under Imperial rule, its adherence to the ‘no-hybrid’ law.

That was before the Uprising.

The insurrection detonated twelve high-octave wave frequency (HOWF) anti-matter bombs within the inlet area, causing the water to evaporate and to turn the grass into hard, hot desert. The inner inlet, or what it was once, is now reflective and shiny glass: radioactive powers that may be have let no human or alien get even close enough to see it.

The only reason that people fight over the area is because, land-wise, it’s the fastest route to Belka that bypasses the gigantic fortress that is Glatisant. Not to mention the only way to rewrite the historical records by recovering several key artifacts that prove that humanity wasn’t the first ones here.

Over four million people were killed in the twelve nuclear explosions around the area.

Captain Corbin Starlight stared at the destruction that his own faction on Termina caused: the desert echoed into his heart the many atrocities that he saw on different planets when he flew with the Rebel Alliance against the Death Star, but it was hard for him to realize that he was flying with people who believed in their ideals but would commit whole-sale murder of civilians in order to get their freedoms.

“Mobius Squadron, report.”

“Mobius Three, here.” The sound of an Aldernaanian accent bursting through the communication’s center, static filling the line from the radio interference that came with the Whiskey Corridor. Lieutenant Commander Fal Eielson, flying a ship-shape A-Wing fighter with green stripes, flew his interceptor in close formation with his flight leader: the level of his control in his A-Wing was shown when he was mere inches from Captain Starlight’s wing.

“Yeah, yeah, Mobius Two here.” Lieutenant Commander Jack Weiss reported back to Corbin with usual gusto that made him sound like he didn’t care, but the E-Wing pilot was known to not show worry or fear or even excitement at times. Corbin understood him more than anyone else outside the Starlights or the Weisses, and he smiled. He was happy to have him by his side right now.

“We’re ready back here.” The Lieutenant reported, sitting in the gunner’s chair ready for action. The Flight Sergeant sat under the both of them, the Bombardier arming the torpedoes. Corbin nodded in satisfaction, his crew was hand-picked Republic men, and he’d wouldn’t trust any Belkan with his bomber than he would Republican Starfighter people.

“Mobius One, on standby.”

“This is OCCA Vigilant, listen up Mobius Squadron. The main enemy General Headquarters is located nearby, guarded by heavy triple A and numerous fighter squadrons. You, from high orbit, will launch the Ion Pulsar Bomb at the enemy base and then ditch out of the area.”

“That’s it?”

“We’re trying to give our own boys combat experience. Trust the rest of the battle to them. Is that a problem?”

“More like a godsend. Mobius One, ready to receive additional orders on take. Out.”

He felt the jolt of life as he turned his craft upwards, with his  X-Wing XO and his A-Wing angel on either side of him prepared to battle for Corbin’s life if an errant TIE Squadron decides to try to take on Corbin as he begins his bombing run. Jack held a lazy stance, as if he wasn’t trying to look like he was trying, but he could easily tell Fal was by the way he hovered close to the craft.

More or less likely to try to impress Corbin, the Captain figured. He knew Fal and how he never hung out with anyone else but Jack and him: he lost all of his friends on Aldernaan when it went, and he kept to himself unless the ‘Drunk Trio’ was out on the town. But right now Fal showed that he was thinking only about his two friends and how he wanted to insure their safety.

And then Corbin smiled.

Contacts.

“Mobius Two, engaging.”

“Mobius Three, I’ll stop them!”

“Roger, cleared for combat. Good hunting.” The OCCA pilot said, with a hint of humor in his voice, before the channel cleared and they were now on their own, trying to maintain radio silence so they could catch the HQ off guard, running on stealth power so they could slip through their radar. The X-Wing and the A-Wing veered off, to distract the TIEs from the K-Wing bomber on its mission.

Corbin watched as the blue sky slowly became dark, and then darker, before it became eternal black with stars shining brightly in the sky. He watched the oxygen/atmo reading low, before it read ‘0’, and Corbin then nodded. The space around the craft was quiet, and behind him the Lieutenant and the Flight Sergeant were silent. The Lieutenant seemed a bit nervous, not used to Corbin’s flight style, it seemed, but the Flight Sergeant seemed to be more or less fine, at least with himself.

“Coming back around.” He said, turning his head to his onboard crew. They both nodded in understanding, but beads of sweat could be seen coming down his forehead. Why was he sweating? Was he really that worried about this mission? All he had to do was drop the bombs and then high-tail it out of h—

“Pax Imperialia!” The Lieutenant screamed, jumping out from his seat and taking a blaster pistol out of his holster. Corbin, strapped in, realized what the Lieutenant had done, but could do nothing and only turns his head. The Lieutenant now seemed calm, ready to kill, an angry smile on his face.

“What the hell are you doing, Lieuteuant!?”

“I am not a lieutenant in the Republic, but a loyal follower of the Empire, and victory belongs to us! And it starts here! And it will reign for—“ Rudely, the Flight Sergeant tackled the Lieutenant with force, knocking him back against a panel of controls. The Lieutenant smacked his head against a sharp corner, slightly impaling his head and letting a loose blood vessel dribble out. The Flight Sergeant nodded at Corbin, the Lieutenant out cold, and dragged him to the co-pilot chair to tie him up.

Corbin nodded and kept a low orbit, his engines now deactivated for stealth running, using only his flight stick and his manual back-up burst rockets to keep a steady and simple orbit. The Flight Sergeant then took a position under Corbin, the actual bomb firing slot, ready to begin the final leg of the mission.

“Ready, Sergeant?”

“Yes sir.”

“Let’s hit it then.”
   
   

The GHQ was in a panic.

The Colonel could only wait for news from the battle begin. Earlier before an electromagnetic pulse blasted through his equipment the news was a standstill, but his men were gaining a bit of momentum on the south flank. He had no idea what was happening at the moment because of equipment failure, but he trusted his command staff out there.

“Sir, I got scanners working again!”

“Good job, COMSCAN. All we need to get now is—”

“Take cover, sir!”

   
   
The large unguided balls of Hell smacked into the GHQ building, almost vaporizing it with one, huge blast. Immediately the power for the rest of the triple A batteries depleted and they shut themselves off. That’s when one lone K-Wing dropped in low, near the ground, releasing proton bombs on one single straight path. The path was in the direction of the barracks, the motor pool, the backup communication’s post and the generator building. It flew high as it left destruction behind it, pulling back up into the sky as non-locked Merr-Sonn missiles and blaster fire dotted the sky.
   
The Sergeant got up from his position under Corbin and got into the gunner’s chair, the Lieutenant now dead from his wounds and no longer needed to be tied. The Sergeant made sure by firing two, high powered blaster bolts into the Lieutenant’s head, confident that the interloper was dead before he secured himself into his seat. Corbin was not bothered: he almost destroyed the mission and an enemy spy was dealt with.
   
“This is Mobius One. Mission completed. We’re going home.”
   
“Roger that, Mobius One. We don’t want to keep anyone waiting.”
   
   
   
The K-Wing landed hard on the flight path, Corbin and the Flight Sergeant exiting their craft with smiles on their faces. Corbin had just gained a new friend, Flight Sergeant Tex Horath, and they were talking to themselves about the K-Wing and how well it did on one of its many live-fire trial missions. They both were planning to give a good report. The Flight Sergeant said goodbye and veered off towards his barracks on the other side of the command deck, and Corbin kept on walking forward.
   
Eielson and Weiss came out from their X-Wings.
   
“Hey, Chief!” Eielson said, patting him on the shoulder with a smile. Corbin smiled back and looked at Jack, who had his typical no-care look and nodded at him. They, all dressed in their flight suits, went right past the debriefing room and towards the one place on this planet that they surely knew was the best place on the entire hellhole of a life-giving ball.
   
The bar.

Final Battle

It’s one thing to risk your life in battle, but it’s another thing to have the fate of a war rest on your shoulders.
   
Zak Uer felt the sweat drip down on his forehead, the excitement of the coming battle racing through him, causing him to lose immediate focus as his mind let him think about the operation. To destroy a superweapon with enough anti-air batteries and missiles and point defense lasers to level an entire planet was already a feat worth singing to the townsfolk about, but to attack a weapon that was designed to pick off pilots in the air…That was a whole different deal. Zak was worried that his Defender, not known for flying well in atmo, would get hit in a tight maneuver, or that his engine signature would be spotted, and he would have to abort.
   
“Lead, we’re coming up on the valley.” The voice of his wingmate, Commander Jordan Lane, eased into his ear from his communication piece, getting his attention as he realized where he was.
   
There were in a heavy forested area, but the sky was dark and grey, rain coming down all around the two TIE Defenders. Hills and flat stretches of land were all that Zak could see for miles up in the sky, with one lonesome road curving around these hills and such. Almost all of it was forest, which also hid the ground team assembled for this operation.
   
“Galm Lead, this is Ghost 1. We’re in the hot box. SPMA-T Artillery is arched and ready to fire, and we’re ready to commence ground operations. Once you take out the power stations, my men will destroy the secondary generators around the base. This should completely take out their anti-air capabilities by ground targets. However, if you do get snubfighters on your ass, just bring them by Rally Point Fox. We got three AT-AAs waiting in the forest.”
   
“Roger that, Ghost 1. Received intel, about to hit valley in two minutes. Maintain radio silence, over.”
   
“Ghost 1 to Galm Lead, roger. Out.”
   
Zak relaxed, if only for a little bit. The knowledge that he had extensive backup for what he originally thought was a suicide mission had soften his view on this operation to the point where the fear of failing was pushed to the far corner of his mind. The ground commander was an experienced commando, so he knew how to do his job. Zak then shook his head, and focused on the job at hand, letting the emotion and the fear, all of it, drain from him like a facet.
   
He felt his grip loosen, the stick now seemingly becoming an extension of his body, another simple and controllable appendage. The fears of the crafts vanished, replaced with his senses reaching outwards, making the Defender not only a thing to be controlled, but just the outer extension of himself. He was Cipher, the pilot who flew with absolute calm, the one who flew by the book and only by the book. His wingmate, to his glee, seemed to be on the same level as him, both in style and in experience, so the flow of their combat was on their advantage, compared to new pilots who were of two different flight styles.
   
“We’re coming up on it now. We’re BVR but I think they’ll see us if we’re not low enough.”
   
“Good point. We’ll stick to one twenty.”
   
“Yes, sir.”
   
Zak’s craft easily shifted with the single touch, his Defender banking over his wingmate easily and driftedly, a detached style to it that made it easy and lazy. Jordan, after a brief wait of two seconds, followed the movement by banking the same way, easily matching her wing with his in a balanced movement.
   
His jet soared past bridges, man-made devices that would seem to be heavy obstacles in the path of the two Defenders, However, their movements and turns, all of it seemed to be robotic for the two pilots, like an well-oiled machine was running the two’s brains. It was an art, a controlled and precise art, as if delicate strokes were all that was needed to paint the canvas, the sky. Once Zak would complete a full, slow arc in the valley’s innerside, the cool and similarly calm-headed Jordan would be right with him, doing the same maneuver in the same speed and arc.
   
They were angels, practicing the Gods’ will.
   
“…zzt! This is Archangel 7, reporting patrol report.”
   
Zak shook his head. He didn’t realize he didn’t cut to radio silence. He prayed to the Gods that Jordan wouldn’t switch off or anything, or that would give them away. A more powerful comm. connection broke in, cutting out static completely.
   
“This is Anchorage, ready to receive report.”
   
“Roger. Reporting no irregularities, just birds and lizards.”
   
Zak followed the trail of the Valley as they were getting more and more closer to the self-named ‘Sword of the Sleeping King’, and as they approached closer and closer they could see the installation in the distance, and then Zak realized that this was not going to be easy.
   
The large, three kilometer high weapon shot straight up into the sky, huge in appearance connected by huge generators and other sorts of weapons. Seven huge, large anti-air craft cannons surrounded the structure, immediately letting Zak know that this was apparent suicide. The only thing, besides Jordan, that gave him a little bit of comfort was the one Bomber squadron and the two Interceptor squadrons waiting in the space above Termina.
   
“This is Archangel 7, I got contact!”
   
Frak.
   
“This is Anchorage! Two fast-movers! They’re using the valley to get here!”
   
“If they’re in the valley we can’t hit them with our weapons. Take your X-Wing squadron, Archangel and hit them hard. We’ll stay here. It looks like they’re alone.”
   
“Roger, General. Archangel Squadron, let’s move in for the kill!”
   
On his FOE radar scanner system he saw five blips, all red, speed towards him and Jordan as they continued to weave through the valley. Judging by how they weaved into formation to close in on them, he recognized the star pattern normally associated with either X-Wings or E-Wings, but the speed of the craft prompted Uer to guess that they were X-Wings.
   
“Two, I’m breaking off. I’ll draw them off.”
   
“Bring them by Rally Point Fox.” Ghost 1 reported, apparently listening in on their conversation.
   
Uer clicked off his comm., immediately pulling low over the rift of the valley, hugging the ground floor with his fighter. He saw, in the distance, the star formation break off into two separate flights, one group heading towards him with three of their fighters, and the other two heading off, most likely to flank him.
   
“This should be interesting…”

   
   
Lieutenant Commander Antonius Maarco shoved his shoulder against the side of the durasteel wall, the only cover that the open area was giving him and his four man point squad. The WESTAR-M6 blaster was gripped tight in his hands, his right hand relaxed over the trigger, his head holding the advanced HUD-COM, giving him data and other sorts of streams, screened on the orange optical piece. His other squad members only had the Storm Commando helmets, but they were more protected.
   
“zzt! This is Archangel 7, I got contact!”
   
“Frak. Paragon, get me Lieutenant Berne.”
   
One of the Storm Commandos, a female by the looks of her armor, turned around and let Maarco use the receiver, her hands adjusting the output sender on her arm.
   
“This is Ghost 5, over.”
   
“I need artillery brackets at zero one five, break…Alpha two seven, Charlie break…Bravo ten niner. Over.”
   
“Roger. Data recorded. Sending hellfire, over.”
   
He took his personal comm..
   
“Bring them by Rally Point Fox.”
   
The whines of shells suddenly impacted the large buildings over on the other side of the wall, the massive Shield and Power Generator complex began to crumble and level itself under the heavy firepower of SPMA-T artillery. Soldiers and workers began to fly, with or without connected parts, Soldiers who would spot Maarco and his men were, unless dealt by the blasts of death coming from the sky, shot and killed by the array of weapons that his men held. The wall, seemingly connected with the forest, held its own as the shelling began to cease, slowly. Immediately, Maarco and his men rushed out past the wall, away from the shelling, and into a wide, long ditch that trailed a dirt road. They slipped by, unseen; their weapons held close as vehicles drew by, trying to get to the point of devastation. Maarco held a near silent voice activate in his receiver.
   
“Sir, looks like the sub-generator complex. Once we take care of that, then the flyboys will have access to Tauberg’s Sword.” Sergeant Horvath, with his callsign of ‘Renegade’, spoke quietly, pointing to the large, square building that held no other indication that it was the sub-generator building other than the large noise, the wire connected to the sides, and the fact that Maarco and his team studied the plans for this operation for days made it more noticeable than anything.
   
“zzt! This is Archangel 1 to Anchorage, I see one fast mover. Repeat, one. Clarify on the number, sir.”
   
“Only one?!”
   
Maarco smiled as he and his team crouched, trying to stay invisible, knowing that there was still hope for the pilots to take down that thing.
   
“Confirm. We only see one!”
   
“Something’s wrong. COMSCAN, get us a view of the area, stat.”
   
Frak. They weren’t going to have enough time to enter and destroy it with C8. That had to change. Another artillery strike would have to work, even though the next one might give away their position.
   
“Gimme the communicator.”
   
A few seconds later, and followed by tense moments, Maarco waited for a signal to clear though.
   
“This is Ghost 5, over.”
   
“I got new targets.”
   
“Roger. We’ve moved our position. What do you want destroyed?”
   
“Grid coordinate kilo, mike, ten four, break…Alpha two seven, Charlie break…Bravo niner six, over.”
   
“Roger, orders confirmed. Shots, over.”
   
Maarco huddled closer to his squadmates, and hung his head.
   
A few seconds later, hell rose up from the ground, or the appearance of it around the men and the building, as artillery shells rumbled and smacked down against the surface. Men flew into the air and people screamed, as the building began to crumble before a shell struck the power core of the building, causing it to explode sky-high in a violet display of destruction. The sky, already grey by clouds hiding the sun, was darkened more by black and white smoke, colliding together to make something that wasn’t normal, a death cloud.
   
“Moving.”
   
“zzt! What the hell is going on!? We’ve lost power to the anti-air guns!”
   
Come on, Galm Flight, this is your chance!

   
   
Jordan heard her commanding officer’s order, and she obeyed.
   
The TIE Defender easily cruised into the valley, hugging the low surface like a bee to honey; her focus was to remain under the disarrayed radar, affected by her wing leader and the ground operators. The experienced pilot grunted to herself as he pulled another hard turn, her fighter trying its hardest not to crash into the valleyside. The enemy communication panel was alive with chatter, screaming and yelling. The enemy forces were being lead by one General in the skies, so that meant there was an Orbital Command and Control Aircraft (OCCA) up in the sky nearby.
   
She waited until she heard another voice on her com to pull up.
   
“What?! There’s triple A walkers in the woods! Archangel Squadron, sit-rep!”
   
“This guy is amazing! We’ve lost two fighters! Me and Jonesy and David are all that are left!”
   
“It’s my chance!”
   
Her Defender screamed, exploding out of the valley and heading right for the Sword.
   
“Archangel Squadron! There’s another one!”
   
“We can’t do anything about it! This…Demon has us in his grasp.”
   
Jordan smiled at the reference to her flight lead, but she shook her head and held on tight to the flight-stick, holding close to the ground, hugging the treeline as if it was an important thing to her: It kept her out of the reach of anti-air missiles nearby and it also decreased her profile visually. The Sword was growing closer, and she wondered what pushed the Belkan-Republic front to build such a deadly weapon like this. Was there really that much hatred between the two factions?
   
“zzt! This is Ghost 1 to all Galm Units. All generators have been taken out and we’re in a safe location to upload data.”
   
What?
   
“We found data on the internal substructures that make this weapon. I’m sending the target data…”
   
Immediately, on her visual HUD displayed across the interior of her helmet came small red diamonds all around the Sword; that was the proximity target alarm showing up. Suddenly, an EX-54 order alarm popped up, replacing the numerous targets with four blue diamonds.
   
“You have to hit the first generator. They’re powering up the laser.”
   
“Thanks, Ghost 1.”
   
She banked upwards now, dodging non-targeting anti-snubcraft fire with subtle and yet powerful rolls and banks, closing the distance between her and the installation more and more quickly.
   
“This is Archangel Leader. I see the interloper. I’ll chase him down.”
   
She recognized the voice belonging to the A-Wing Ace, General Edward Vonstolken. She pulled all her power to the engine with the flip of a few switches, pushing the craft to the limit. Her Defender rolled hard right, coming up higher a few hundred feet, switching her weapons to torpedoes. Her Defender HUD streamed into a singular torpedo-length attack pattern, lining up the crosshairs on the 1st blue diamond.
   
“No! NO!”
   
Her torpedoes launched forward, the large structure within the air seemingly creeping back as the blue shells of death screamed forward towards the rows of generators, powering the weapon’s core that allowed it to fire its magna-pulse weaponry.
   
They impacted, exploding into the generators, taking out main power for the weapon.
   
“That pilot killed the Generator Team! Fire the weapon!”
   
“What!? At this range?! Are you serious?!”
   
“It’s the only way to stop them!”
   
Jordan realized it was going to get a lot tougher.

   
   
Edward Vonstolken knew of these aces, Galm Team, and he knew how ferociously they fought together. That’s why he assigned himself here, to make sure that the aerial defense of the Sword goes very smoothly. But the fact that only two Defenders, against a six-ship formation plus his A-Wing, were doing this much damage spoke volumes of the pilots’ flight abilities. His A-Wing, however modified, was proving to have a hard time keeping up with the pilots, especially the one who was attempting to take out the Sword.
   
The giant weapon, shaped up into the air about a mile or two, was curved in appearance, a grey color to it. It was formerly the Animal Research Institute of Belka, but the Insurrectionists instead began to make it into the magna-pulse weapon that it is today. Numerous grey structures, holding food and power supplies and the like, surrounded the building in an uninteresting formation. The energy complex, now sky high in the air in a million pieces, was the farthest away from the weapon.
   
His A-Wing pulled hard, following Galm 2’s trail close, his laser shots going past her craft. They both pulled into the sky, his craft fighting to gain even the smallest bit of ground. He was good, the General knew, but this pilot was good too. The A-Wing was more maneuverable in atmo, but this pilot was making the best out of it, flying against him with tooth and nail.
   
“This is General Vonstolken, the commanding…”
   
He stopped speaking immediately as he pulled a barrel roll, the other pilot hot on his tail now as green laser blasts streamed past his cockpit. He realized that Galm 1 had taken out Archangel Squadron, or had at least driven them off. It was him, Galm 1, and Galm 2.
   
But he certainly wasn’t going to go down.
   
“This is Archangel Leader. Come and get me.”
   
He pulled another hard turn, banking low over the trees, turning swiftly with his craft, outrunning the Defenders as he pulled front shields into his engines, trying his best to outrun them. The maneuver he would pull would be him making another sharp turn and engaging them head-on. The General never lost a fight that way, and he was known to make moves like that in order to insure victory.
   
He pulled hard, seeing the two Defenders come into view.
   
He fired his lasers, attempting to destroy him.
   
He screamed, the three fighters engaging in another fight.
   
He didn’t hear the alarm.
   
He didn’t feel the explosion rip through his A-Wing.
   

   
Jordan sighed as she relaxed in her cockpit chair, her shoulders shrugging as she pulled through the explosion that once was General Vonstolken and his token A-Wing. Zak pulled closely on her wing, slightly ahead of her.
   
“Good hunting, Galm Team! I’m heading for extraction.”
   
“Thanks for your support, Ghost 1.”
   
“I’ll see you guys at Directus. Ghost 1 out.”
   
She turned her fight back to the Sword, now some distance away again thanks to the pursuit of Vonstolken. Her craft now slowly moved with Zak’s, the two Defenders moving in unison, a perfect balance of harmony and teamwork. The sun now began to shine, the bright light of Termina’s sun shining now through a break through the clouds. Jordan did not look at the sun directly, but she did admire the calming features of the yellow rays. The two fighters banked to line up more shots on the target.
   
Then the world went dark again.
   
“Fire!”
   
The blue laser of the Sword lighted up the sky, shooting towards them, cutting through the space between the Defenders. They both jinked hard, rolling outwards. The laser attempted to sway towards Zak’s fighter, but Galm 1 proved to be more maneuverable and avoided it. When the laser made contact with the trees, they instantly burst into flames.
   
“Shoot for the generators. We’re taking this thing down.”
   
“Acknowledged, Flight Lead.”
   
Her blue diamond HUD targets popped up again, cycled again in order of importance.
   
Zak’s voice came up once again.
   
“We need to take out the actual laser. I’ll concentrate on the backup generators. You take out the actual firing ballast tower.”
   
“Roger.”
   
Her Defender snapped under, while Zak’s rolled up, each branching off into different directions. Jordan’s craft danced with her touch; the seemingly arched turns she performed were perfect in execution and style. Her left hand, not on the stick, switched knobs to get to the secondary weapon activation. Her proton torpedoes activated, and she smiled, bringing the tower into view.
   
“Galm 2, fox three.”
   
Her activated tracking weapon ‘chunked’ out of the weapon’s bay, streaming out from her Defender towards the weapon.
   
It struck.
   
The explosion was big, the blue field of destruction expanding out from the large tower.
   
But it held.
   
“What?!”
   
“Gods dammit…Two, what else do you got?”
   
“I got one high-yield, earth penetrating weapon, and it’s outdated.”
   
“Baradium?”
   
“Yes…You don’t think…?”
   
“I’d rather hit it here than in Directus or Imperial Center, Two.”
   
“Roger.”
   
Her Defender rolled back, now momentarily safe due to Zak’s strafing run of the generators, the huge weapon now unable to fire its blue beam of death. But the Commander, apparent to Jordan, did not want this weapon standing. She pulled upwards, switching her target computer to the high-yield earth penetrating weapon display. She was still gaining altitude, but when she hit nine thousand feet, she pulled back on the stick, slowing her speed down so she could fall into her split.
   
Now, she could see the circular features of the huge complex that the weapon comprised itself of. Her targeting display was the flat surface itself, with a green circle slowly expanding. That was the area of effect the weapon would have, and she had to get in closer.
   
Eight thousand, it still wasn’t enough, but she bit her lip.
   
Seven thousand, it still wasn’t enough, but she fought the craft’s errant speeding.
   
Six thousand, it still wasn’t enough, but the targeting circle was almost there.
   
There! Five thousand! She clicked down on the button on her flight stick, her special missile exploding out of her weapon’s bay, Jordan violently pulling back on the stick to gain altitude. Her craft trimmed the top of a large pine tree, but she pulled more speed to get out of the area.
   
The missile shot through the top of the tower, continuing to blast its way through the many levels and walls that the tower was comprised of. Near the lower levels, it activated its secondary boosters to reach the underground portion of the complex. It busted through the underground parking section, now tunneling through raw earth.
   
Then, when it hit two thousand feet below sea level, it exploded.
   
A big shockwave exploded outwards from the center of the tower, before a huge column of flame and death shot out right from the tower itself. The tower then exploded into millions of fragments, a white light vibrantly appearing as the shockwave threw trees into the air. A large circular area around the former tower depressed into smaller circles, coming to a point right where the tower once stood. The large tower, once the one trump card the New Republic and the Insurrectionists had, was gone. The debris crashed into the countryside, taking out trees and large sections of field with the cloud dissipating, replaced by an off-color mist that was folding out against the sky.
   
Zak’s fighter slowly came next to Jordan’s again, taking lead.
   
“Whew…You okay, Two?”
   
“Yes. I’m fine.”
   
“Flight check.”
   
“Weapons read normal, good on fuel, and shields are at maximum.”
   
“I’m good to go as well. I’ll radio Command.”
   
The two Defenders banked together, heading in the general direction of Valasis Air Base, the General Headquarters of the entire operation save the two Star Destroyers outside the system.
   
They cleared the Valley range, now onto seas of trees and plains that interrupted the forests.
   
“Two, we’re heading for Directus. The two Interceptor squadrons will be joining us.”
   
“What’s the matter?”
   
“They’re making the last big push.”

   
   
Corbin shouted.
   
“About bloody time! We’re going to take that damn city back once and for all!” He got another round of hollers from the pilots in the briefing room. The OCCA officer, ‘Sky Eye’, nodded and smiled, but he did not join in on the festive nature of the pilots. The news was good, and he agreed with the Captain, but he just kept calm. That was the penchant all the pilots had for Sky Eye; pressure did not affect him.
   
“That’s right. This is a huge, combined air operation, with almost every single snubfighter and bomber on the planet taking part in the battle. The Operational Codename is ‘Valiance’, and if it gets too dicey, we have the support of the Home One Battle Fleet.”
   
The pilots awed at that announcement. If the shit really hit the fan, then Admiral Ackbar and the Home One, plus its support fleet, would come to either rescue or help the New Republic pilots. Corbin himself was surprised; Was the situation on this planet really that important in the grand scheme of galactic affairs?
   
“Unfortunately, it’s for a good reason. We just got word that Tauberg’s Sword was destroyed.”
   
Corbin spoke up first, only waiting a couple of seconds after Captain Eyre gave that little morale destroyer.
   
“It was Galm Team, wasn’t it?”
   
“And a Special Operations team with an AT-AA. Reports say they used a baradium heavy weapon, but we still have no idea what it is. But, the fact of the matter is, we’re going to make them pay.”
   
The room went completely silent as it darkened, the holo-projector displaying the city of Directus.
   
“On the south side of the town, the 1st through the 4th Armored Battalions, along with the 12th and 15th Line Battalions will strike through, sweeping through the government sector. 2nd and 3rd Armoured will penetrate the defensive line with heavy tanks on the west side. However, our object is different from the ground pounders. Rot Squadron, your X-Wings will sweep through the government sector and give the 1st and 4th anti-snubcraft support. Blau, you will be in K-Wings primarily doing anti-ground operations with the line penetrating battalions. Grun, Silber, you will be supporting Rot. Now, here’s the kicker for this operation…
   
“Captain Starlight, once this meeting is concluded, take some volunteers and adapt them into your squadron.”
   
Corbin leaned back into his chair.
   
“Why’s that, Captain?”
   
“Mobius Squadron is tasked with the overall support of anti-air operations in the city, but should Galm Team enter the area, your squadron will break off from your engagements, and take the Demon Lord out.”
   
The rest of the squadron leaders stood up.
   
“Corbin, if you want me in, I’d be glad to help you take that Demon down.” Commander Jurgen Faltia, the commanding officer of Rot Squadron, stood and proclaimed to the Mobius Squadron commander. Corbin was surprised: ‘Io’ never spoke up much, but his squadron was one of the ones that was hit the hardest in the last few engagements. Now it was a vendetta against the Demon, so it seemed, and Corbin was more then willing to let the bloodthirsty pilot into his ranks for this operation.
   
He took note of the other pilots who raised their hands, and Corbin recognized that not a single one of them was Belkan or native to the planet. Apparently, the Demon had wounded the New Republic ranks to the point of revenge, but Fal, sitting next to him, took down their names as he looked at their names on their uniforms.
   
“This appears to be the last big, final engagement of the war. We have to end it here.”
   
Sky Eye’s word took meaning to Corbin, who took his gaze to look at the Air Wing Commander. The Orbital Command and Control Aircraft Captain seemed to stare directly into Corbin’s eyes when he said that, giving him a real reason to take down Cipher and his wingmate. Corbin gripped his desk, staring right back at Sky Eye, not saying a word, but hoping to himself that his stare would only answer the senior Captain’s answer.
   
“Alright. The ground operation will begin in one hour. All pilots, head to your snubcraft and follow the squadron commanders. All Mobius volunteers, follow Corbin to Hanger E. Pilots, you are dismissed.”
   
The pilots got up and left the briefing room, albeit in a hurried manner to get to their snubfighters and bombers. Corbin stood up and watched the pilots who remained.
   
And smiled when he saw Colonel Isguil standing fast.
   
“I’ve lost too many men to let that son of a bitch leave this planet alive.” He said, his accent causing the other Mobius volunteers to smile as well. Corbin gave the Colonel a nod, then he walked out of the briefing room himself.
   
He recognized the pilots already, and he knew which ones were E-Wing capable. So far, besides the Green Squadron members who fought with him before, it was only Commander Faltia and Colonel Isguil who knew how to handle an E-Wing interceptor. They all walked together, each pilot already in their flight gear. All of the Green Squadron members had their green flight suits on, compared to the volunteered pilots, with their orange suits clashing against the other flight leadership.
   
They entered the Hanger Bay.
   
“All volunteers, except for Commander Faltia and Colonel Isguil, head to your designated X-Wings or other craft. Jurgen and Kevan, you can take the two spare E-Wings we have.” Corbin ordered, facing the volunteer squadron, his stance tall and his arms crossed over his chest. Colonel Isguil smiled and headed to the other side of the hanger, with a silent Faltia behind him. He looked at the rest of the squadron, save for Jack and Blue, the two pilots heading towards their own E-Wings.
   
“You two, you’re Team One. You two, Team Two. And you three, you’ll be the Intercepting Team in case the ground battle gets too dicy. Understood?”
   
“Yes, sir.” They all replied back in unison, with Corbin responding with a firm nod, immediately heading to his E-Wing. As he walked, he was stopped by Fal, who was standing next to Corbin’s E-Wing.
   
“Corbin, we need to talk for a quick second.”
   
“We don’t have a lot of time, Blue.”
   
“Sir, you’re not a pilot anymore. You’re not up there fighting for an ideal, or a mission. Sir, now, you’re acting like a mercenary or a bounty hunter. You’re headhunting, for the gods’ sake! This isn’t about honor!”
   
“Stow your mouth, Blue. I don’t want to pull rank on you.”
   
“…I thought we were friends, Corbin. I thought you were a true Rebel; the one that fights for honor and courage, for the cause. But look at you! You’re turned your back on everything that WE fought for.”
   
“I’m going up there for Vonstolken. I’m going up there for those nuggets we lost at the first engagement at the Round Table. I’m going up there for every single Belkan who’s died because of him. It is about revenge, yes, but it is for the ideal that he is destroying with each death, Blue. I’m going up there to fight for you, for Jack, and for the Rebellion. Do you understand me?”
   
Blue gave Corbin a cool and calm stare, but the gleam in his eyes told the Captain much about what was on Blue’s mind. Corbin immediately knew why he was angry at him for doing this: He wasn’t fighting against the murderers of Aldernaan, but rather just another group of men in uniform, not the staunch Imperialists. It was only a collision of ideals in Blue’s mind, or at least that was how the war should have been fought out. Corbin, however, knew that only people make institutions harmful, and he fought against the people whose volition was evil.
   
In the end of this stare, Blue merely shook his head, a common thing for him, and walked up into his E-Wing. Corbin stood there for a brief moment, realizing that no matter what Blue thought, the mission always came first for Fal. In his heart, he knew that Commander Eielson would fight beside him with all he had, as he always had done.
   
He climbed into his E-Wing and stared at the data, switching his engine on.
   
“Exit when cleared. Mobius Squadron.”
   
His craft was cleared first, it being pulled into the exit point in the hangar. When the pulling truck’s clamp released, his craft was free to exit the hangar. Corbin immediately pulled up, and then eased her out of the hanger, the craft dancing to his fingers. His craft, upon exiting the hanger built into the mountainside where Sudentor Air Force Base was located, eased slowly into the sky, the other craft quickly exiting the building to catch up to his craft. They were all now in the sun-setting sky of Belka, screaming towards the city of Directus.
   
“This is Sky Eye. Mobius Squadron, report in.”
   
Seven X-Wings flanked a flight of five E-Wings, a sharp arrowhead heading towards the dawn sky, their colors shining bright against the sun reaching an ever-growing apex of light. The bright blue clashed with the gunmetal grey that made their colors, the battle dress for the old heroes of the Mobius Knights. The fabled Belkan heroes defended the realm against invaders for a thousand years, and this was the first time an outsider lead the brigade.
   
“Mobius 13, engaging.”
   
“Mobius 12, engaging.”
   
“Mobius 11 through 6, engaging.”
   
The X-Wings had reported in, and now came to the heavy interceptors, the five heroes of the Republic forces on this planet.
   
“Mobius Five, ready.” Colonel Isguil, his hard and offsetting backwater accent catching the ears of the rest of the pilots, boomed into the com as he spoke. His E-Wing was marked with green markings, noting him as a former member of Green Squadron.
   
“Mobius Four, engaging.” That was Commander Faltia.  His E-Wing was marked with a red tipped nose, detailing the red for his former squad. His fighter was on the opposite side of Isguil’s, and was trailing close.
   
“Mobius Three here, I’m good to go.” Blue’s voice tuned in harmoniously, catching the ears of all of the squadron.
   
“Mobius Two. Yeah. I’m good.” That was infamous Jack.
   
And then it came to him, the Flight Lead, the Paladin himself. The Mobius Squadron Leader, Captain Corbin Starlight, breathed in before he spoke, his voice carrying weight to it as he spoke to the squadron.
   
“This is Mobius 1. All systems go, all flights checked in.”
   
“Roger that. Do you have anything to say?”
   
Corbin breathed in again, thinking for a moment about how he wanted to formulate his words. Wasn’t he an asshole-officer? Would he be better off just making a joke and going back to flying? Or since the Belkans have given him a somewhat honorable position, would he be that honorable commander?
   
He sighed.
   
“The enemy is numerous, and they have the Demon Lord on their side. But, like the Razgriz of old, there is always an outstanding individual who stands up to that evil. Mobius Squadron, we are not that individual. Individuals fall. A team, a well-oiled squad, never falls. We’ll win this battle, but only if you believe in yourself.”
   
He left the sentence hang for a moment, before he spoke again.
   
“Only if you believe in me.”
   
He felt that was sufficient, the words not his own but coming from somewhere else in his heart. He breathed in slow, then exhaled, his eyes blinking as he grabbed the control stick, a small smile forming over his face.
   
“This is Mobius 1. All Mobius snub-craft, follow me!”

       

   
The two forces were about to collide.
   
The Defenders, leading two squadrons of mid-level Interceptors, were screaming to get to fight, the spirits of the other pilots were carried by the two aces, Galm Team. The formation was loose, but they were all worried. The stories of Solo Wing Pixy were legendary; he did things in his E-Wing that required them to fly above and beyond their skill was just to keep up with him. He and his two other wingmen were infamous as well, and the report was that the three of them were going to take them on.
   
Jordan wasn’t worried about it. Two squadrons of Interceptor pilots plus herself and Galm 1 would be able to take on the three ship formation.
   
The radar came alive.
   
“This is Ghost Eye, contacts bearing 067. 13 craft outside of the battle zone, heading straight for you.”
   
“What’s the makeup, Ghost Eye?” She heard her flight lead respond back to the AWACS operator, his voice calm and collective. Typical of her Commander.
   
“Seven X-Wings…five E-Wings. Responder codes are all Rebel.”
   
It’s them/
   
“This is Grabacr Squadron, roger. We’ll cover Galm Team.”
   
“This is Ofnir Squadron, we’ll help out too. We’re all in this together.”
   
Jordan smiled.
   
“This is Galm 2. I see them. Galm 1, let’s dive into the fireworks.”
   
“Agreed. Grabacr, Ofnir, follo-”
   
Jordan felt the comm. go cold, static slightly filling in the silence as a Rebel spoke. His voice was dark, foreboding, and even though Jordan recognized who it was, it startled her to hear that kind of malice coming through the communicator. With eleven syllables, eleven haunting and harrowing syllables, the voice had not caught only the attention of Jordan, but she knew it had to petrify Zak’s attention.
   
“…Have you found a reason to fight yet…Buddy?”
   
It was him, the Knight. The bane to her Commanding Officer, who kept him up late for the past few nights, and the tension was now thicker than anything Jordan had dealt with in her life, so far. The final round, not only for their lives but for their souls, was going to begin today in the air around the Round Table, the final dueling arena for aces in this sector of the Galaxy.
   
“Your trail of death ends here today, Solo Wing.”
   
A chuckle came back, but it was venomous, made more so by the white noise by the comm. interference.
   
“Forget your death trail, Cipher. This is war. Even innocents die.”
   
The squadrons were coming closer.
   
“You killed PJ. You made this personal. I’ll see this until the end, Pixy.”
   
They were even closer. Jordan activated her concussion missile launcher.
   
“Then let us begin.”
   
They were upon each other, the space above the city now erupting into a huge dogfight.
   
Two explosions burst into the sky, TIE Interceptor wreckage falling to the city below, the cockpits failing to explode before hitting the ground, causing the pilots to watch the ground come closer and closer before they died. Jordan, immediately, barrel-rolled around the incoming fire from an E-Wing with blue markings. She recognized, in the instance that her multi-role fighter flew over it, that it belonged to the aptly-named Blue Baron, Commander Eielson. He was responsible for the retreat of the Rebel army, and because of his efforts, more men and women were able to get out of the city alive and re-group.
   
He is the reason this battle is happening.
   
She snapped her Defender back into a hard bank under and up her starboard side, letting loose laser fire when an X-Wing or an E-Wing would scream into her crosshairs. She began to realize, after fifteen seconds and with four Interceptors lost, that these pilots were the best of the Belkan and Rebel forces. Not a single snubcraft under Solo Wing had fallen to Grabacr or Ofnir, or to her and the Demon…
   
She rolled under and skimmed over the top of the Clocktower, a large landmark that told the time around the city, as an X-Wing followed her close, peppering her shields. But her craft pulled back into the middle of the dogfight, planning.
   
“One, I need help!”
   
“I see you. Bearing 054!”
   
She pulled her craft in that direction, pulling all of the faith she had into her Captain that he could take this thorn off of her. Her bearing ranger was snapped to 054, and she watched as Uer came up from above her, firing his lasers in quick succession at the errant X-Wing. The lasers snapped the X-Wing’s port wings in half, the shield from the X-Wing apparent failure evident as the craft began to spin. Her Defender pulled back up higher into the clouds, attempting to circle around.
   
Her alarm began to spike.
   
WARNING!
   
WARNING!
   
Her radar had a blue dot inbound on her, most likely an E-Wing.
   
Dammit.
   
“This is Ofnir Lead, I’m on my—”
   
The line cut.
   
“This is Grabacr Leader; Ofnir’s been killed!”
   
Great.
   
“This is Galm 2, I need support!” She requested again, diving back into the furball of a dogfight as the squadrons pounded each other into submission. Out of the thirteen aces, only two had been shot down, and they were flying possibly damaged X-Wings to begin with. Jordan cursed as she pulled tighter into another turn, both of the two fighters locked in a spiral of death.
   
“…zzt! This is Blue. I got a Defender in my grasp. Looks like Galm 2.”
   
Frak.
   
She snapped to her left, trying to pull away from the Baron, but his firing was getting closer and clos—
   
FRAK!
   
Warning lights screamed as her primary ion engine flickered, losing power quickly after being hit. Jordan immediately disengaged from combat and titled her craft’s cockpit towards the ground, trying to find a clear route to land. No more shots came her way, they must have labeled her as dead in her craft. She held the stick steady as she aimed for a ground-level highway that was relatively clear of craft or destruction. An E-Wing with one orange wing flew past her, no doubt belonging to Captain Starlight, and no doubt the one who disabled her craft.
   
Landing struts were not functional.
   
Her craft was now coming closer and closer to the road.
   
“This is Galm 2. Track my location.”
   
“Pull up!” That was Zak’s voice, but she knew she couldn’t do that, the craft was too damaged at this point. She only smiled, realizing that was one of the few moments that she would see Commander Uer display fear like that.

   The Defender hit ground.

       
   
Above the battlefield of Directus, just above the standard operating range of anti-air rocket propellants and just below the dogfight itself, a SAR Dropship patrolled the sky, and just took in that information about the downed Interceptor. Based on the chassis of a LAAT, it was modified both in design and in purpose, and now the aesthically different Dropship had a different, but altogether more hopeful mission, than its predecessor.
   
Inside the Dropship was the SAR/Recon Team Alpha, codenamed ‘GHOST’.
   
Lieutenant Commander Maarco watched the Defender crash into the highway, plowing through certain vehicles like they were butter. His hand holding onto a railing, his eyes trained on the Defender as it slowed down to a crawl, right against another building and an intersection.
   
“I don’t see any life. Just like the last one.” Sergeant Horvath commented through his helmet, his blaster rifle in his hand as he looked from his seat. His sniper, Paragon, was hooked onto a sling around her waist, now tightened to the point where a finger couldn’t fit its way through the sling and the armor. Her eyes were staring through a scope, watching the Interceptor.
   
“…No, wait. The pilot’s coming out.”
   
Maarco turned his gaze to the cockpit itself now, watching it from this distance slowly open. His free hand clicked on his optics, the devices zooming in onto the pilot. The pilot was the female, Galm 2, and she looked hurt. Her leg was bleeding from the mid-thigh, but she had a blaster pistol in her hand.
   
“This is Command. Is the pilot alive?”
   
“Yes, sir.” Maarco replied, his squad members staring out as well.
   
“We cannot force you to land and secure the pilot, but we are requesting you do so.”
   
Maarco took the hint.
   
“Requesting permission to land and secure the pilot.”
   
“Granted. Pick-up point is at Rally Point Lima, Elmendorf Park.”
   
The SAR Dropship arched downwards, streaming down towards the enclove, the location where Commander Lane managed to crash her bird. The Dropship quickly curved to its opposite side as an unguided rocket flew past. Maarco swung forward, but his grip never left the bar. Horvath, Paragon, and his two other members were sitting down at this point.
   
The Dropship was now twenty feet off the ground.
   
“Go! Go!” Maarco yelled, grabbing a hold of the role that was attached to the upper frame of the Dropship. Maarco hurried, his eyes catching a glimpse of the pro-Rebel crowd that was coming closer towards the crash site, about a few blocks away. Small arms fire was going off in that direction, but it only increased the speed at which Ghost Squad exited the Dropship. Soon, Horvath was on the ground with Paragon, and the three other newbies were locked and loaded.
   
Maarco saw the pilot remove her helmet when they landed, the Dropship flying off away from them.
   
He immediately recognized her as Galm 2.
   
“Mam, Ghost 1 reporting. Here to get you out.”
   
Jordan was ducking next to her crumpled, damaged Defender.
   
“My leg’s broken. I’m not going to be able to run far.”
   
Maarco took his gaze and gave his mind a quick briefing. There was blood around the knee-cap, possibly from the crash itself. Her hand over it was shaking, the pain must be very bad, but he saw how she hardly let that show.
   
“They’re getting closer, Lead.” Horvath commented again, his hands steadied on his heavy blaster rifle. Maarco nodded, taking his full gaze back onto Jordan. He held on his hand, and for a moment, Jordan looked confused. She shook her head, with Maarco probably putting her focus on the pain higher than what was really happening right now.
   
But she grabbed it.
   
When she was standing on her good leg, he wrapped her right arm around her upper shoulder, giving her balance as they viewed the area around them. The dusted and ruined buildings, not caused by the downed Imperial craft, were marked by time and war, rusted and having an unsettling aura. It was a large square, and judging by the wall the blocks of durasteel and other building materials were placed in front of escape routes, the other escape route was through the Underground Mall that connected the two parts of the city through the Directus River.
   
They began to hobble towards that exit, with Ghost Squad following close to the Unit Commander and the injured pilot. Sergeant Ciitra, the very last person, activated a detonator, linking to the few C14 explosive charges he planted on the Defender and its critical hardware. The craft exploded, a funnel of black and orange and red shot into the cloudy sky, a huge marker for anyone within two miles.
   
“Gives us about two to three minutes, sir.” Horvath reported, his voice low as he turned his head back towards the entrance to the Square, where the crowd’s roars were becoming more and more hearable.
   
The entrance to the Mall shifted, and it descended.
   
“Uh oh. Possible enemies. We need to move.”
   
Maarco nodded.
   
“This is stupid. Look, hold on.”
   
Maarco raised his eyebrow, not only surprised by how Horvath found any way to get out of the Square, but the fact he made an outburst like that was what surprised the Special Forces operative so much. The Sergeant, with his grenade-launcher attachment, aimed it at the wall of a burned-out, but blocked, building that had no real access from the ground. The grenade inside his weapon exploded outwards, zinging to the wall near the door.
   
The brick erupted in a hellstorm, shooting inward from the building, although some specks and dust shot their way as well. Horvath took point, running forward into the building, with Ciitra and the two rookies behind him. Paragon stood close by, her head turning over her right shoulder towards the open entrance to the Business Square.
   
“They’re close now. Mam, can you keep up with us if we have to run?”
   
“I’m sorry, but I think it’s broken in all of the wrong places, Lieutenant.”
   
Paragon only shrugged, rushing into the building as well.
   
“Clear.” Horvath spoke, ducked against a wall. Maarco walked as fast as Jordan would allow with her leg, both of them trying their best to hurry. No doubt Horvath’s grenade launcher got the attention of the crowd that was coming closer. Horvath and Sergeant Ciitra moved towards the backside door; Paragon and the other rooks were standing behind Maarco as they moved further.
   
Ciitra kicked down the door.
   
It led to the outside city, a backstreet with more apartments lined up. The street curved back towards the fighting, but Maarco knew that if they followed the street west, they’ll make it to Elmendorf Park. Paragon followed Maarco with her back turned to her commander, her sniper rifle trained. Anton grunted as he walked across the sidewalk, with all of the soldiers giving covering positions.
   
Then they attacked.
   
   
   An E-Wing curved across the atmosphere of Termina, the streak of a red-tipped Defender following close, green and red blasters flying all around the pair of fighters. The space was becoming more and more bright, as the sun was now forcing its way through the clouds. Only two X-Wings were left out of the original flight, but the E-Wings were still fighting. Ofnir and Grabacr Squadrons were completely devastated, and had to leave the battle. With only Grabacr Leader and Uer left in the fight, the other E and X-Wings, save for Blue and Jack, left for the other side of the operation, to aid in the ground battle. However, Blue and Jack were doing nothing, only circling Captain Corbin ‘Pixy’ Starlight and the Imperial ace they only knew as ‘Cipher’.
   
Corbin growled.
   
“Come on! Show me what you got, killer.” His words were hard, full of blackness. It wasn’t Corbin flying at the controls anymore, it was a machine bred for way. His instincts kicked in, and each time Cipher would pull a maneuver he would out-perform it. With each counter-maneuver that Corbin attempted, however, Cipher would just fall back to something else, and no one was getting the upper hand.
   
When Cipher’s Defender went anywhere, Corbin followed, but with such reflexive abilities that Corbin was utter amazed…and angry. He knew that Cipher could be the Ace of Aces, judging by his flying skills with a Defender in atmo, but Corbin knew he would easily kill more of his fellow soldiers if he let him go or if he died. He put all of his concentration into this, determined to wound or kill Cipher.
   
Conversely, Zak was punishing himself to get Corbin off of his tail.
   
“Come on, frakker; just get in my sights…” Zak breathed, pulling back hard, cutting across Corbin’s cockpit and banking hard. Zak was amazed by this pilot’s lack of fear, and how he handled his craft. With the TIE Defender, he was gliding, but Corbin was using his like there was nothing to stop him. Each turn, he would match the Rebel, but his wild diving and turning was making him much more than a difficult target.
   
But he knew that if he let this ace leave alive then a lot of Imperial pilots would die. That much was for certain. That’s why he was putting everything that he had left into this dogfight. He was going to kill Pixy, not only for PJ but for Commander Lane as well.
   
“It’s time.”
   

   
   
They made it to Elmendorf Park, but they were utterly surrounded.
   
“This is Ghost 1! Where the frell are you!?” Maarco screamed into his comlink, ducking against the wall of the foxhole, his hands trained on his blaster rifle. All around them, red and green blaster bolts were erupting from the houses and from sparse trees. He and Paragon flanked Commander Lane on the ground, their weapons firing from the enemies coming to flank the foxhole. Ciitra and Horvath continued to fire their weapons into the houseline, hoping to get a lucky shot.
   
A T-2B Repulsorlift IFV hovered closer, firing its light repeating blaster on top, but Maarco silenced it by going to one knee and risking his life for three seconds, aiming his Merr-Sonn Anti-Tank missile launcher. When he heard the confirmation signal that the target was locked, he fired, and then ducked. He did not see the rocket hit the tank, but he heard the explosion, and he could feel the heat expanding outwards as the tank erupted into pieces, killing the tree crewmen operating it. Paragon popped off another shot with her sniper rifle, but it was useless, they were just too many Rebels and trained New Republic soldiers.
   
“This is madness!” Tex screamed through his helmet, popping off another shot that hit an unlucky Belkan.
   
“We’re under heavy fire! This is Ghost 1! Requesting immediate support, over! We’re going to be overrun!” Maarco screamed, his yells trying their best to carry over the sounds of war all around them. Another explosion erupted near the foxhole, sending debris everywhere. Jung, the newest member, was screaming near the town-side, his hands over his ears, his mouth wide.
   
Maarco could see the fear in him, but he only saw calm resolute in the pilot, taking pot shots with her blaster pistol.
   
“zzt! This is Tahoe 2-10. Ghost 1, throw flares to mark your position, over.”
   
Maarco did not answer back immediately, flexing his hand muscle three times, giving a signal. All of Ghost Squad, save Jung, threw out small canisters around the foxhole in the middle of Elmendorf Park. In one second, they gave a ‘Pop! zzz’ sound, expelling green smoke around the foxhole.
   
“This is Ghost 1, smoke launched. We’re all in the hole, over!”
   
“zzt! Roger, Ghost 1. Keep your heads down.”
   
The fire intensified, no doubt spurred by the smoke, but then it died in Maarco’s ear.
   
Only replaced by disorientating ringing.
   
Three TIE Bombers came in low, dropping proton bombs all around the park, no doubt killing many soldiers who were trying to stop the extraction of the pilot. Jung was dead, killed by a sniper’s bolt to the chest, but the rest of the soldiers had their heads down covering their ears. Horvath was lucky; his helmet had absorbed most of the sound coming from the bombs and their after-effect, and he was pointing now to the modified L/AAT that had dropped them off.
   
It was across the park.
   
Maarco moved, holding his arm out so Jordan could grab it. When he felt her hands grabbing tightly, he pulled her up, slinging an arm around her shoulder, and he moved across the foxhole, planting his feet down hard so he could get up over the top of the hole. Behind him, Paragon moved quickly, sniping a Rebel who was coming closer. Horvath was trying to talk, but Maarco only heard the ringing, and he knew he had to make it.
   
Not only for himself, but for Jordan’s sake as well.
   
Horvath snapped backwards, falling to a knee, firing his blaster rifle at the enemies attempting to approach. Green blaster bolts flew all around the soldier and the pilot, but they did not stop hobbling.  Another explosion ripped next to the squad, running now as fast as they could, not wasting time to take shots anymore, and just firing over the shoulder.
   
They were halfway when Jordan was stuck in the other leg, a stray bolt shot.
   
She tripped down, her jaw clenched but her mouth open, her eyes squinted together, enduring much pain not just from the broken leg but from the new leg wound. Maarco stopped immediately, and he turned to face her. He ducked, avoiding some errant bolts, letting go of his WESTAR-M5, the sling still holding onto the weapon. He slid his left hand under her knees, and his other hand cupped her back, lifting her off of the ground, her face showing pain. He sprinted with all he had, his energy painfully low, but he did not stop.
   
He had to make it.
   
And, with Paragon and Horvath covering him, and Ciitra using the Dropship’s gatling laser, he made it.
   
He put her in first; one of the crew chiefs grabbing her and placing her towards the medic. He pulled the Lieutenant Commander into the Dropship; Maarco quickly snapping back and using his blaster rifle to cover his other two mates. Paragon jumped in, followed by Horvath, still firing into the enemy lines as the Dropship lifted off.
   
For five seconds, they unloaded what they could into the houseline, but then, after those long, terrible five seconds, they stopped, now in the safe zone. The Dropship was out of range, and it was screaming to get to safety. Horvath slumped against the gunner’s seat next to Ciitra, laughing, while Paragon slumped against the side again, the doors closing to the outside, and keeping the soldiers safe.
   
Maarco slid carefully over to the medic’s station, where he placed Jordan on her back, administrating a sedative into her body to release the pain. He took off his optics, letting her look at him fully in the face.
   
“Are you okay, ‘mam?!” He yelled over the engines, his hand on her shoulder. He had no smile, but his face was relaxed, relieved of the battle and letting his pent-up energy slowly dissipate over his body, his eyes calm and mellow.
   
She nodded, her fists gripped tight.
   
“Thanks for the rescue!” She replied back, but she grimaced, the pain still present. He nodded, and smiled, and then he turned away.
   
They would land, get her to medical attention, and then repeat the whole process all over again, just with a different pilot and the intensity of the battle would change inversely or directly, causing them to either lose or gain new SAR members.
   
All it did was cause Maarco to wish for this damn war to be over.

   
   
Corbin knew this was the last duel.
   
Zak knew it as well.
   
They were both circling away; both of them preparing for the last fight, a head-on fight, both of them losing the energy to continue to their rolling dogfight yet again. The grueling fifteen minutes of continued twirls and dives and planned maneuvers and unplanned executions were taxing, and now they were coming to the final battle.
   
Corbin’s E-Wing turned, his craft scarred by a few lucky bolts, but he pressed forward, grunting as he held onto his flight-stick. With each planned maneuver, he pulled all of the unorthodox tactics he had left into his bag of tricks and used them up, somehow catching Zak off-guard instead of falling into a standard route of play. He was all courage, and he never backed down, but he hesitated at key moments, failing to take the final shot, not comfortable with it. He truly represented his caste, the Rebels, the ones who do not follow codes and order of battles, instead unleashing the passion they had left within them, flying wild and unpredictable.
   
Zak’s TIE Defender rolled left, snapping, a text-book maneuver. To Corbin’s unorthodox assaults, he had swiftly and easily countered them with maneuvers he had learned over his years of flying with the 181st, but he could not guess what the pilot was doing. To him, Corbin was seemingly one-step ahead, but Zak confidently knew that he always met the pilot with his tactics, and both of them were stepping one step farther than their enemy each time.
   
They were lined up, but twenty miles away.
   
They were silent, for this run, only breathing. Static filled the comlinks, both of their fighters screaming towards each other. They were closing distance very fast, now only five in the span of seconds, and each was pressing their fingers hard on their triggers, ripping apart each other in a glorious, final joust. Zak was yelling into his comlink, and Corbin was screaming ‘Come on!’, daring the Imperial to best him in combat.
   
His E-Wing screamed, firing.

Corbin screamed.
   
His Defender shot forward, unloading what he had left in a final, desperate charge.

"Come on, you coward!" Zak yelled back to Corbin's growl.

Green fired with red, black folded with gunmetal, and two heroes battled among the skies.
   
One for vengeance, one for revenge. Both common of each other, but different in totality.
   
They flew past each, but one craft was listing downwards, a trail of black and white smoke simmering out of the back of his snubfighter. Warnings could be heard in his comlink, his breathing now faster.
   
Corbin had been hit, and Zak was lucky.
   
His cockpit turned red as he struggled to maintain control of his E-Wing, grunting, but then he knew his craft wasn’t salvageable. He only needed to keep it maintained under he reached a semi-decent ejection height.
   
“You…you bested me…Maybe you are the Ace of Aces, maybe not. All I know is, you’ve won. But I’ll be back.” His words were without passion, cold, like Zak’s flight style, and with that, he pulled his ejection handle.
   
And exploded into the Termina atmosphere…
   
           
Corbin was sitting down next to Zak, his hand hovering over a drink. It still hadn’t hit him hard yet; the man who he was talking to was the infamous Cipher, or Lieutenant Commander Uer, as his rank and name read on his relaxed-fit jacket. He wasn’t smiling, but he had a neutral, composed look displayed on his weathered face. Both of them, judging from his past experiences from the Void, had been through Hell, especially on Termina, so he was easy.
   
“I remember too.” Corbin replied, his gaze staring forward, his eyes lacking that charmful luster he often was told he had. Now, he only could keep a steady face, the memories now were terrible. He had lost a lot of good friends in that war, but judging by the look on Zak’s face as well, they both knew what they lost in the ‘Cold War’.
   
A few seconds of silence, seemingly a mixture of comfortable and uncomfortable, jolted together as the two pilots simply drank, not looking at each other. Corbin, just having to know, turned his head towards Zak and talked, slow and comfortable, not like he usually did over the comlink back on Termina.
   
“What was your friend like? PJ, I mean.”
   
Zak stopped drinking, placing his drink down on the bar.
   
“He was like me when I first started to fly. Headstrong, intelligent, inquisitive…He was good, too. He really had potential.”
   
Corbin nodded, knowing the type well enough.
   
“I’ve never seen nor heard of a pilot taking a shot for their commander…He must have been one of the self-sacrificing types, but you never see those pilots around these days. Either old drunks like me who just ink out a living, or those high-and-medal searching types…” Corbin was going to continue, but he was amazed. He was talking to his greatest enemy as if he was just a fellow Rebel, and he caught himself.
   
Zak seemed to notice, only leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his drink, staring forward. A soft little, small smile was on his face, turning his head to look at Corbin for a minute.
   
“I always thought of you as a great demon or something, spitting on babies or something. Never would have thought you were sentimental.”
   
Corbin chuckled.
   
“I can say the same for you.”
   
The bartender relaxed, seeing the tension lessen with each minute, and the conversation becoming more and more than banter. He merely turned around and began to clean another glass, leaving his ears to leave Pixy and Cipher alone, to converse in times long gone by.
   
“What was Jordan like? He was great up there.”
   
“She.” Zak corrected Corbin, and smiling at his shocked face.
   
“No way.”
   
“Yeah, I know. Female pilot. She really had skill…Lemme tell you about her.”
   
And finally, after an hour of talking, Corbin was leaving.
   
Zak turned his head, a smile no longer present from the humorous story of Corbin and Jack getting them into a brig on Bandomeer, to look at his enemy one more time.
   
And Corbin, to this day, surprised himself with what he said.
   
“For all the deaths I caused you, Commander Uer, I want you to know that I regret them. War is a taxing thing, not only on resources and time, but of morality and ethical responsibilities. It is a wrong thing, and I wish to let you know that, if we ever meet again, I hope that it is in peacetime. I just hope we never face each other with laser sights anymore.”
   
Zak did not reply, instead only nodding, a small thing that communicated so much between the two pilots, and Corbin replied with a smile, leaving the bar.

But, before he could leave, Zak spoke up next.

"And ye, men of old tymes…"

Corbin stopped and looked back, a clear and sad look on his face.

"Yet men are we, so proud and full."

And then Corbin took his leave.
   
And left his profound anger behind him for that war, leaving only the sadness of being lonely once more…

   
The war was over, completely, and the holo-news covered its entirety.
   
Belka reclaimed the city, and the two countries remained in a stalemate, resolving in the Combine Resource Management Corporation, allowing Belka to ship its food supplies to the New Republic and Ustio to ship its to the Empire, no longer forcing to having to allocate to one Galactic organization. Both heroes were stamped in their respective galactic news as warriors, humanized and glorified.
   
The Empire lost a lot of good men and women in the War, more than the New Republic, but the Rebels lost more good aces to the Empire’s great ace. Colonel Isguil, General Vonstolken, Captain John ‘Sky Eye’ Eyre, and many other officers who previously led the Rebel Alliance in key victories before this war.
   
But now, as the dust was settling, hatred was still seen as an enemy of everyone, all except for two aces from the war. Former Captain, now Flight Officer Corbin Starlight and Lieutenant Commander Uer have removed themselves from the spotlight of inter-galactic conflicts, no longer heroes but legends now from a planet that was ravaged by the angels of war.
   
And the war ended, truly for them, in a little bar on a neutral planet.
   
An ugly, loud war ended on a snowy day, in a small bar on neutral Calando, softly, and quietly, with no ticker-tape parade of victory or the sadness of losing a loved-one. It was a silent ending, but most importantly, an ending both of them wished happened from the beginning.
   
A quiet, dull, peaceful way to another one, but hopefully further away from them, and certainly not near a familiar crossroad ever again…