The Lost Fleet Returns

[Maxwell Gandel]

It had been a long trip from the unknown regions. A long and boring trip. Then again, Admiral Maxwell Gandel thought to himself, it would have been just as boring had he stayed in the unknown regions. At least this way he was getting something done.

"Seven years," Gandel said aloud as he stood on the command walkway of the Imperial Star Destroyer Decimation. He turned to look at his XO, the ship's captain, Anton Mercils. Mercils stood near the forward viewports, watching the swirling colors of hyperspace pass them by. "Seven years since Thrawn left. What do you suppose he's been up to since then?"

"Forgetting about us, apparently," Was Anton's glib answer. The captain leaned his weight against a support strut and looked back at Gandel. "I don't know, sir. It's been more than a decade since we've been in Imperial space. I don't blame him for forgetting about us. A lot has probably changed."

Gandel nodded his agreement. "And then, some things never change. A decade," He repeated. "More than that, really. What do you want to do the most when we get back to civilization, Anton? What planets do you want to visit?"

Anton didn't even have to think about his answer. "Imperial Center. My sister was there, before we left. I didn't get to give her much of a goodbye. I wonder if she's gotten married by now." The two officer stood in silence for a few moments, both watching the hypnotic lightshow that was hyperspace. "What about you, sir?"

"Hm?" Gandel grunted his question. He'd been distracted by thoughts of just that, and it took his mind a moment to process what Anton had said. "Oh, me. Imperial Center for me, as well... but just to visit. After that... well. There were so many places I wanted to see. Corellia, for one. Mon Calamari, for another. Once we get in contact with Imperial Command I think I'll order a mandatory shoreleave to Mon Cal. Give the crew a chance to go swimming, eh?" Gandel smiled, pleased at the prospect of actually going someplace with civilization and Imperial Order.

"I wouldn't mind that, myself," Anton replied. He started to say something else, but was interrupted by a nav officer calling out from the crew pits.

"One minute to hyperspace reversion!"

Gandel and Anton glanced at each other, Anton straightening from his relaxed position. Gandel didn't stand as much on formalities as some other admirals did. Maybe that would change when they got back to Imperial space. Both men faced forward, watching the ship revert to realspace. "Welcome to Bilbringi," Gandel said with a smile as the shipyards came into view. "Welcome home."

**************

Bilbringi had always had busy spacelanes. Before the war, there had been innumerable commercial and private ships coming and going, along with all the new ships coming out of the yards. During the war, there had been a significant military presense from both sides, each in their turn. Now, after the Thrawn attack, there was an even greater military presense. That, coupled with usual traffic, made Bilbringi Traffic Control a very large, very busy place.

Several sensor stations monitored incoming and outgoing traffic around the clock, ensuring that chaos in the spacelanes was kept to a minimum. A young human manning one of those sensor stations got a very rude awakening shortly before starting his lunch.

*beeeep*

*beeeep*

*beeeep*

*bee-smack*

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. You want my attention." The young man sighed longingly for his unstarted lunch, then looked at the sensor screen. Something was obviously wrong. The sensor panel didn't beep like that for every new arrival, just new arrivals that were out of the ordinary. Glancing over the sensor screen, it slowly dawned on the man that something was wrong. Very wrong. Discard-your-lunch-and-pay-attention wrong.

smack

Alarm claxons blared throughout Bilbringi traffic control. "Alert!" The young man cried out, "Alert! Sensors show an Imperial armada reverting to realspace in sector fourteen!"

The senior man on duty materialized out of nowhere behind the young man's chair. "Show it to me," He ordered tightly. The young man did so, and heard his supervisor say things that definately weren't allowed to be said while on duty. "Open a comm channel to the Warrior." The Warrior was an MC90, the head NR warship on guard duty here are Bilbringi. They'd probably already picked up the Imperial forces, but it never hurt to be sure.

"Go ahead," The decidedly military voice of the Warrior's comm officer responded.

"This is Bilbringi Traffic Control. Tell me you see what I'm seeing," The supervisor demanded.

"Three Star Destroyers and assorted escorts? Oh yeah, we see it. Use SOP and clear the area of civillian traffic. We'll take care of the rest."

**************

"Sir," one of the Decimation's own sensor operators was reporting, "Scans are picking up multiple warships of unknown design..."

"Things must have progressed quite a bit since we left," Gandel said. He wanted to sound confident, but his gut was already telling him something was wrong. He should have gotten a communique from traffic control by now, a hail from one of the ships on guard duty, some sort of contact. Instead, silence. "How many Star Destroyers?" He asked, hoping for an answer that didn't come.

"Ah... none, sir."

"It's not possible for them to have completely phased out the design, is it?" Anton asked, keeping his voice low so only Gandel could hear.

"A decade is a long time, Anton..." But even as he said it, Gandel himself had doubts. The ISD class was a good design, powerful enough to take on any other warship one on one. There was no need to phase it out.

"Sir," The sensor officer was at it again, "I'm not detecting any Imperial IFF transponder codes. I'm not reading any comm traffic on standard Imperial channels, either. And what I am picking up is encrypted."

"Military comm traffic is always encrypted," Gandel told himself as much as Anton. "In the time we've been gone, they could've changed their encrypts a dozen times over."

"What's their footing?" Anton demanded, noting that several of the larger warships had positioned themselves between the 105th and the shipyards. "Fighters?"

"They've scrambled fighters... and it looks like they've got their sheilds up."

"Something's wrong," Gandel finally admitted aloud. "They're too hostile. It's like we're... like we're an invading fleet..."

That's why Thrawn never came back, the thought suddenly struck Gandel. Something happened. To the Empire, the galaxy. Thrawn went back to what he thought was friendly territory and never made it out...

"No," Gandel breathed. The Empire couldn't have fallen. This was all one big mistake. "Comms, set to broadcast this on non military frequencies." When he got the nod that they were ready to broadcase, Gandel took a deep breath. "Bilbringi garrison, this is Admiral Maxwell Gandel of the 105th Imperial fleet. Confirm your identity, please."

"Relay orders to prepare for jump," Anton ordered, heading for the crew pits. He paused at the edge, turning towards Gandel. "Admiral, I suggest we go to a combat footing. Whatever's happened here, I don't think it's wise to stick around."

Gandel nodded his agreement. Anton would take care of the details. There still had been no response from the unidentified warships. They'd assumed a military formation, but weren't moving to attack. Not yet, anyway.

There was a silence filled with the mutterings of crewers at their workstations and the sounds of working machinery. He could hear Anton at a comm station, broadcasting jump prep orders to the rest of the fleet. The unknown fleet began to move...

[Remus Voltaire]

Music drifted quietly through Remus' quarters as he sat at his desk looking over reports and construction status. He'd only came to Bilbringi for his preferred method of random inspections as it kept the contractors for the New Republic on their toes as well as the security forces. No one liked to see the Admiral bearing down on them with an angry look about him. Remus Voltaire wasn't a violent man by nature, in fact all he wanted was peace but he knew one motto that made very much sense to him: if you wish for peace, prepare for war. The Empire was still out their, shattered but still there with random warlords mucking about and harassing eachother and the New Republic. This thought made him look down at the picture of his parents, people who had been slaughtered by the Empire to make an example of them. That was all that he needed to see to keep his resolve in the fight against the Empire, they were monsters, butchers even, and he'd see them all thrown from power and perhaps put before a court if they didn't die during the battles.

There was a small beep and Remus without looking up pressed a button on his desk, permitting the person entry to his quarters. A short, stocky man entered the room wearing the emblems of a flag captain. He was a vicious looking man, especially compared to Remus whose calm presence hid a boiling hatred beneath it. Flag Captain Brin Fruli had no such compunctions, if he was angry, he immediately let you know and it was easy enough for the crew to be intimidate but such a diminutive figure when they realised the uniform covered a rather muscular body built up from years of service in the New Republic Marine Corps. The only reason Brin wasn't a marine any more was simply because he didn't care for it, so he retired his marine commission and went through some academy time, easily passing through into the service of the New Republic Navy. Remus found him rather amusing as well as a probably one of the few people he considered a close friend.

"What's up, Brin?" Remus asked as he looked up to look at his executive officer.

"Just reminding you that your due on the bridge soon, Remus. I know how you get caught up in your paper work," Brin said with a chuckle.

"Ah, is it really that time already?" Remus looked at his desk chrono and made a face. "I really need to pay more attention to time, don't I?"

"No comment, sir," Brin said with a small smile.

"That no comment says a lot, Captain," Remus said with a chuckle and stood up, closing up the collar of his Admiral's uniform he'd let hang open while he did the paper work.

Without another word, the pair moved through the officer quaters to the bridge, which was a standard military style. It wasn't the glossy white of Mon Cal vessels as Remus really couldn't stand how their viewscreens, no matter how heavily modified, still made his eyes water. Thus Remus' own flagship was a Liberator-Class Cruiser, which he had chosen to name the Pax Republica. It was a name he thought suited his own philosophy, a warship named for peace.

Just as Remus stood there, looking out at the depths of space, several flashes of light indicating hyperspace reversion caught his eye. For some reason the new arrivals sent a chill down his spine, which only got worse as he picked up messages from the comm station as The Warrior started relaying data to the rest of the ships. The weren't Republic, which meant only one real answer.

"No warlord is that stupid..." Remus remarked as he watched the ships while the defense forces clustered into formation and fighters launched.

It was then that something rather odd occurred, the Imperial ships sent the most unexpected transmission across general channels.

"Bilbringi garrison, this is Admiral Maxwell Gandel of the 105th Imperial fleet. Confirm your identity, please."

"The 105th?" Remus asked looking over at his Republic Intel officer who was now quickly sorting through the files at his disposal.

"This can't be right, sir... Those ships are under Black classification, only the Emperor would have known about them. Oh frak... Sir, these ships were assigned to Grand Admiral Thrawn for Unknown Regions actions..."

Remus turned and looked back at the Imperial forces, unable to believe something connected to Thrawn had been out there for so long after the Grand Admiral's defeat.

"Opening hailing towards them and order the Revolution and the Peacekeeper along with some support ships to form up with us and make ready to give chase, those Imperials are getting edgy, they'll likely jump pretty soon."

The bridge crew moved to obey Remus' orders and then a comm officer nodded to him, indicating that they were now hailing the Imperial forces, giving Remus his que to speak.

"Attention Imperial forces, this is Admiral Remus Voltaire of the New Republic. Stand down immediately and surrender your vessels. This is your only warning."

[Maxwell Gandel]

Attention Imperial forces, A voice crackled across the comm lines, this is Admiral Remus Voltaire of the New Republic. Stand down immediately and surrender your vessels. This is your only warning.

Gandel raised his eyebrows in surprise. The new republic? He said it aloud, noting the relative silence that had descended across the bridge. Well, this was certainly unexpected. "Bring up the tactical display," Gandel ordered. "Put all ships on alert one, but keep fighters in their bays. If we can't make a jump before they get within weapons range I want them to know chasing us is a bad idea."

The bridge's tactical holographic display sprang to life in front of Gandel, orange gridlines mapping out the surrounding star system in as much detail as the 105th's sensors could manage. Friendly warships showed up outlined in blue. The enemy warships were displayed in green. It was quickly evident that the 105th had gotten too far in-system before they'd realized something was wrong. Having passed beyond the edge of a planetary gravity well, they would have to turn around and retrace their steps before they were able to make a hyperspace jump.

The enemy must have known as well, becuase a number of their warships were accelerating towards the 105th. "Navigation, if we turned around and headed for the edge of the gravity well right now, how long would we need?"

"Five minutes," Anton responded from the crew pits, already on top of the situation. Gandel nodded. At the speed the enemy warships were closing, they could be within weapons range by then. Perhaps, then, it was time for cool heads to prevail.

"Prepare to broadcast," Gandel ordered. "Navigation, turn us about. Anton, have the fleet withdraw to the edge of the gravity well. Comms?"

"Ready to broadcast, admiral."

"New Republic forces... Admiral Voltaire. I have no intention of surrendering my fleet, sir. But neither do I intend to fight you. My fleet is withdrawing as we speak... all I ask is that you let us go in peace."

Perhaps it would work, perhaps it wouldn't. It was worth a try either way. What the hell is going on here, Gandel wondered.

[Remus Voltaire]

"New Republic forces... Admiral Voltaire. I have no intention of surrendering my fleet, sir. But neither do I intend to fight you. My fleet is withdrawing as we speak... all I ask is that you let us go in peace."

"Peace?"

Those of the bridge crew who weren't busily working turned to look at Admiral Remus Voltaire, a man who had fought a personal crusade since the beginning of his military career against the Empire. Remus' eyes now had a cold glint to them that the crew was familiar with, he was going to attack and hound these Imperials. He would remember this fleet, that Admiral, until the day he found and destroyed them both.

"Captain, order my battle group to form up and move in, be ready to trace their coordinates as well, I'm not going to let them get away. I'm not going to let yet another damn Imperial loose to cause havoc."

"Yes, sir!"

The bridge crew moved like lightning, relaying orders as Remus stalked around the tactical hologram at the center of the bridge, observing the enemy fleet. He smiled coldly as his group of Liberators and support craft began to move in while the rest of the forces stayed in place to defend the shipyards.

"Hail them again."

"Connected, sir."

"Admiral Gandel, I order you again to stand down and surrender or I will consider you a hostile. Don't think for a moment I won't have any sympathies blasting that force into space dust either. The time of the Empire is over, now and forever. I won't let you pieces of bantha fodder ruin or terrorize this galaxy anymore."

Remus gave the cut signal with his hand and then gave one final order as he prepared a plan of attack in his head.

"Battle stations."

[Maxwell Gandel]

...The time of the Empire is over, now and forever. I won't let you pieces of bantha fodder ruin or terrorize this galaxy anymore.

Gandel's last hopes fell as he listened to the New Republic admiral's words. Something unpleasent had happened to the Empire in the 105th's absense. Something called he New Republic. "Admiral, the enemy warships are accelerating. They'll be in weapons range within two minutes."

Gandel's mind snapped into focus as those words emerged from the crew pits. It was time for action, not for introspection. "Order the Plague and the Dominator to fall to the rear of the fleet," He ordered. "Tactical, I want us back there with them. Open fire as soon as you think we might be able to score a hit. With any luck, that will keep them at a distance."

The 105th began it's flight from Bilbringi, it's three star destroyers bringing up the rear. They weren't built for speed, Gandel knew, they wouldn't be able to outrun the fastest enemy warships. But if there was one thing a star destroyer had going for it, it was raw firepower. Slowly but surely, the distances closed. "Range!" Anton called out from the crewpits, and it began. Emerald fire sprang from the guns of three star destroyers, lancing across space at the ships that persued them. Crimson energy answered back, turbolaser blasts from the persuers.

It quickly became evident that the enemy's targetting systems were superior to that of Gandel's own warships. Far more shots were hitting the shields than should have been possible. "Looks like we missed out on some technology advancements. Tactical, can our shields hold until we reach the jump marker?"

"I think we can manage, sir. We're pumping everything we can from the forward shields to the aft generators... it should be enough to last until jump."

"And meanwhile," Gandel muttered, "All we're doing is annoying them. Anton, where are we jumping to?" He avoided the urge to lean over and look down into the crewpits. One bad hit could send him sailing over the edge... and he didn't fancy a stay in the medical bay just now.

"Deep space sir, random coordinates." The deckplates took up a slight vibration as the shield generators worked to dissipate the energy from enemy fire. Anton went silent for a moment, appearing on the command walkway several seconds later. "Sir, if what he said is true... if the Empire's days are over in favor of this... this New Republic..."

"Then we'll be hunted," Gandel nodded. "No matter where we jump to, they'll trace our jump route and come after us. Which means multiple jumps."

"But where to, sir? We can't just keep hiding in deep space. We're too short on supplies..." The bridge shook slightly, and Gandel frowned. The enemy must be getting closer, landing more frequent and more powerful volleys.

"All in time, Anton," Gandel replied. "First, we need to get out of here. Tactical, how do our shields look?"

"Holding, sir. But they're weakening fast. Those ships are heavily armed for their size."

"Time to jump?"

"Less than a minute."

Gandel nodded, mostly to himself. He watched the 105th through the forward viewports, saw ships staring to streak away into hyperspace. Crimson turbolaser blasts also passed by on either side of the ship, near misses. Finally, thankfully, the Decimation and it's accompanying VSDs jumped as well. Gandel chewed the inside of his lip. The enemy had been right behind them when they jumped... it would be extremely easy for them to trace the jump route.

"Calculate another random jump," He ordered at last. "Have the fleet move as soon as we're back in realspace. Then we'll figure out where to go next."

The admiral heaved a sigh. This was not going anything like he'd planned. Hiding an entire fleet was going to be extremely difficult... and provisioning it without friendly supply caches was going to be even worse. "I'll be in my quarters," he said, and headed for the lift.

[Maxwell Gandel]

Gandel entered the conference room just minutes before the briefing was set to begin. He noted with satisfaction that all of the 105th's senior captains had been able to attend in person. Having performed a third random jump, the fleet should be sufficiently safe from their persuers. "Admiral," Anton nodded as Gandel took an unoccupied seat. Gandel nodded back, and the captain turned to one of the other men in the room. "You may begin your briefing, Lieutenant."

Lieutenant Raschfield stood from his chair, datapad in hand. "Thank you, sir. Gentlemen, for the record this is an intelligence briefing on the enemy forces encountered at Bilbringi." Raschfield manipulated the datapad he held, and the room's lights dimmed. The table around which the officers sat took on a slight glow, and a three dimensional hologram sprang into life several inches above it's neatly polished surface.

"This has been designated the X-1 starfighter," Raschfield began. "Sensor records show a number of them were present at Bilbringi. They appear to be very similar in design to the Z-95 Headhunter that was being produced shortly before our deployment to the unknown regions. Since our fighters did not engage this ship in a direct dogfight, we have no hard data on it's capabilities. Visual inspection, however, yeilds four wingtip mounted laser cannons. There also appear to be small apetures at the nose of the craft, which we suspect to be missile tubes." Raschfield manipulated his datapad, and the appropriate areas of the model changed color. "It's top observed speed is slower than that of our TIE fighters. We believe it fills the role of a space superiority fighter within the enemy navy," he finished. He paused, perhaps to allow the assembled officers to ask any questions.

Gandel would have liked to know whether or not the ship was shielded, and what it's maneuverability was like, but the sensor recordings must not have been detailed enough to yeild that information. So far, things were not looking good. Imperial doctrine had always been that starfighters were expendible and easily replaced... they won through quantity, not quality. With the Empire as they knew it gone, every fighter they had was precious. This X-1 outgunned the 105th's TIE compliment... with any luck, it would be far less nimble.

Raschfield, seeing that nobody wanted to ask any questions, manipulated his datapad.

"This fighter has been designated the X-2. There were only limited numbers visible amongst the enemy fighter compliment, which suggests one of two things. Either it's obsolete, or it's extremely new. We have hardly any solid sensor data on it, but visual inspection once again shows us it's external weapons compliment: three laser cannons. Speed and maneuvering capabilities are unknown, as is whether or not it's shielded."

This time, Raschfield moved on after only a short pause, and a t-shaped starfighter appeared above the table.

"This is the X-3. It's top observed speed was even less than that of the X-1, and it's heavily armed and armored. Sensor returns on this fighter were good enough that we know it to be outfitted with heavy shields. Note the weapons clusters at each wingtip, and under the cockpit." The appropriate bits of the model changed color, though they hardly needed to. Gandel raised both eyebrows. The ship certainly was heavily armed... that, coupled with it's shields, made Gandel strongly suspect that it was a bomber. Raschfield confirmed his suspicions a moment later.

"There also appear to be two missile apetures near the center of the vessel," The lieutenant was saying. "All things considered, we've classified this fighter as a bomber. It's weapons loadout and shields mean it's probably not very manuverable... a sitting duck for TIEs. It will no doubt be under escort by other starfighter classes whenever encountered, but should nonetheless be considered a primary target."

"That brings us to the last observed starfighter..."

"This is the X-4. Sensor returns on this starfighter are incredibly sketchy. We've tentatively classified it as an interceptor due to it's speed, but other than that we know little about it. We strongly suspect that this starfighter is outfitted with electronic warfare packages, sensor and comm jammers."

"Is it as fast as our TIEs?" Gandel asked. So far the enemy starfighters had outgunned his fighters, but had been slower because of it. To a trained and experienced pilot, that could be a life saving edge. But if they had a fighter that could match the TIE in speed and manuverability...

"Actually, sir," Raschfield said flatly, "It's faster."

A slight murmer went around the holotable. Gandel frowned, barely listening as Raschfield went on to detail what little was known about it's weapons. To Gandel, it didn't matter. Even a single blaster cannon mounted to a ship that was faster than a TIE could be enough to cause the 105th's fighters real trouble. Had it been this fighter that had won the war for the New Republic?

After the briefing oon the X-4, the meeting took a momentary break. Raschfield was preparing a brief on the enemy's capital ships, but even less was known about them than the mysterious starfighters. Only three had proven familiar to Gandel when he'd looked over the sensor readings himself. Apparently, the New Republic wasn't above continuing the use of corellian corvettes and nebulon frigates. And then there had been the Mon Cal ships... Gandel had seen a Mon Cal passenger liner before. He'd even thought about traveling in such a ship some day. To see one outfitted for war had been truely disturbing.

The more Gandel thought about it, the more it became clear the the galaxy had changed a great deal. Before he did anything, he would need intelligence on the situation. The more and the sooner the better.

[Maxwell Gandel]

"I think we've found something useful, sir."

Gandel drew his attention from some deep inner thought and focused on Anton. The Decimation's captain stood before him on the command walkway, face slightly drawn. Gandel imagined his own face looked much the same - it came from worrying about how an entire fleet was going to survive in a suddenly hostile galaxy.

Despite provisions running low throughout the 105th, Gandel had taken things slowly. Fleets of probe droids - one thing the Imperial fleet had in great quantity - had been dispatched through hyperspace to scout nearby star systems. They were looking for signs of New Republic fleets, bases, and supply caches. Signs that any remnant of the old Empire had survived. Signs of hope.

Apparently, one had been found. "What is it, Anton?" Gandel followed his executive officer down into the crewpits, to one of the sensor stations that was reviewing data from the probes. Displayed on one screen was what appeared to be a small outpost of some sort, half burried in one of the larger asteroids of the system's main belt. Ships darted to and fro, and lights blinked placidly on the outpost's exposed sections.

"Pirates, sir." Anton smiled. Pirates were always enemies of the established government, hunted and persecuted for their illegal activities. And they were always in need of something. It was possible, Gandel had discussed with his senior captains, just possible, that a pirate outfit might be willing to assist the 105th in it's intelligence gathering operations.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes sir," Anton responded crisply. "The probe captured sensor and visual recordings of starfighters that show marked ammounts of wear and tear. Some even appear to be cobbled together from two or more fighter types. We've termed them 'oddballs'... most of them use a TIE's ball cocpit, but replace the solar panels with other components." Gandel raised an eyebrow, silently urging his XO to get to the point. "They have only a pair of corellian corvettes for capital ships, both of which also show considerable wear," Anton hurried to finish, "And none of them display transponder codes similar to those used by either the Empire or the New Republic."

"Any small transports?"

"Yes sir, old YT freighters and some shuttle classes."

Gandel nodded, a smile spreading across his face. "Excellent."

**************

In they heyday of the Empire, pirates had been mercilessly hunted down and destroyed. The appearance of an Imperial frigate, much less a whole Star Destroyer, had been cause for panic and evacuations. But it was a Star Destroyer that was paying a visit to the pirate base - the Decimation herself. Gandel stood on the bridge, watching the tactical holo from the moment it sprang to life.

A few moments passed as the massive warship's sudden presense registered itself with the pirate hideaway, the pirate's activity continuing on as if nothing were amiss. Then, suddenly, pandemonium broke loose. The two battered corvettes began to withdraw, pausing as if confused before bravely - if foolishly - approaching Gandel's ship. No doubt orders had been given to help cover an evacuation.

Squadrons of oddly cobbled together starfighters - Anton's oddballs - launched from both the corvettes and the asteroid base's hangar bay. Gandel let them panic. He wasn't here to fight... quite the opposite. "Play the transmission," He ordered, noting that the oddballs were staying well out of gun range, as were the corvettes. They were that smart, at least.

Attention pirates, Gandel heard his own voice through one of the bridge's secondary audio channels, flat and tinny, This is Admiral Maxwell Gandel, of the 105th Imperial Starfleet. I come bearing an offer of mutual cooperation, an offer I believe you will find most generous. If you are interested, respond on this channel.

Gandel had purposly left out the part about what would happen should they refuse his offer. There was no need to panick them further by letting them know the rest of the 105th was only a microjump out, ready to surround the base in seconds, ready to pound it and it's occupants into spacedust. Absolutely no need at all.

Suddenly a cackling, hacking laughter cut across the bridge. The pirates, it seemed, were responding. "Well admiral," A rough voice full of mirth said as the laughter subsided, "That was a hell of an opening. Tell me, what do I have to do for an encore?"

Gandel gave the signal to begin two way visual communication. He stood straight, hands clasped behind his back, head tilted slightly to one side. The beginnings of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "If that's an expression of interest..." He said, leaving the last words for the pirates.

"Aye, admiral, if that's your real rank," the image of the pirate who was speaking appeared before Gandel, a two dimensional representation fashioned by the bridge's holoprojectors. He was far too jolly looking to be a pirate, Gandel decided, though he knew full well that looks could be decieving. At least he was human. The man nodded sharply, displaying crooked teeth to match his cackling laughter. "An Imperial Star Destroyer shows up on my doorstep from right out of the wild black yonder, come from force knows where, and offers me a deal instead of blowing me to smithereens? Aye, it's enough to get my interest." Even though the blue fuzzy lines of the holoprojectin, Gandel could see the glimmer in the man's eyes. Yes, he was interested allright.

"Very good," Gandel said. "I need information. You're going to give it to me."

"An' this is mutual cooperation, is it?"

Gandel allowed his smile to grow fully. "All in good time."

[Maxwell Gandel]

The deal was a fairly simple arrangement. Gandel not only needed information, he needed supplies. Pirates, as a rule, made a living by stealing just the kinds of things Gandel wanted for the 105th. They had a working knowledge of the galaxy and it's current state of affairs, and they could help resupply the fleet.

The Imperials had a variety of things to offer in return. Having been on a mission of exploration, the 105th had been outfitted with a great many probe droids. Very few of them had actually been lost in the line of duty, and Gandel had no qualms about handing half a dozen or so over to the pirates. Presumably they would be used to scout hyperspace jump points ahead of an attack, but it didn't really matter what they were used for in the end.

In addition to probe droids, the 105th also had military training and experience they agreed to share with the pirates. Some assistance repairing oddballs - which the pirates called "uglies" - and a few lessons on combat dogfighting tactics were enough to seal the deal.

After a week, the 105th knew as much as the pirates did about the state of the galaxy... that the Emperor and Vader were dead, that Coruscant was taken, that the rebellion had won. Reports of Thrawn were sketchy, at best, but Gandel knew most of the galaxy considered him to have died at Bilbringi.

"Yer serious?" Lauren Askaza, self styled "Generalissimo Askaza", leader of the Point Blank Pirates, raised both eyebrows and regarded Gandel with something approaching disbelief. Of course, ever since an ISD had dropped into his lap and wanted to be friends, he'd given up thinking anything was impossible. The question had just been a formality... he was fairly certain Gandel was serious.

"Quite serious," Gandel replied as predicted. Askaza nodded, real hand rubbing the stubble on his chin while it's mechanical counterpart drummed a rythm on the table. "My fleet is in desparate need of resupply. Looting a freighter or two here and there is helping, but we need more. Much more. And we need it soon."

"Why don't ya just go back to the remnant?" Askaza demanded, leaning forward to glare at Gandel. "They could resupply ya." He nodded, almost to himself, "Aye, and then ya'd be back in friendly territory ta boot."

Gandel shook his head, "No. The leaders of the remnant have let it collapse into ruin. You said yourself they're not actively fighting against the New Republic. They're more concerned with their own survival... if I went to them, they'd have my fleet patrolling their borders, not taking the fight to the enemy."

"Yer crazy, mate," Askaza said even as he started grinning like a maniac. "Ha! Emperor's black bones, that must be why I like ye so much. But even I know when I'm outnumbered, eh? One fleet, against the entire New Republic Navy? You won't get far."

"I'll get a lot farther when I'm resupplied," Gandel said seriously. Askaza sighed and contemplated the far wall for a few silent seconds.

"Aye... Allright then, admiral. If yer set on doin' this thing, I'll help. Hell, it's crazy enough it just might work, eh? And the payoff is certainly worth it."

*************

"He what?" Anton asked curiously. The captain fell into step with Gandel as the two men made their way from the Decimation's hangar.

"He offered to help," Gandel replied. He'd been as surprised as Anton when Askaza had said he wanted to help with the raid. Pirates, as a general rule, usually avoided big fights. "I think the prospect of having a star destroyer there to back him up helped bolster his confidence."

"What's he expect in return?" Anton asked suspiciously. Pirates never did anything for free. Especially not dangerous things.

"Part of the... how did he put it... 'booty'. After we take what we need, his people get to strip the place to it's hull supports. I don't think they've ever had the chance to ransack a New Republic space station before. Even without the supplies we'll be taking, there's got to be plenty of things there they'd find useful. And," Gandel admitted, "Part of me things he wants to do it just so he can say he did."

"An admirable goal," Anton said dryly. "How are we working them into the plan?"

"The good generalissimo will be sending us a list of assets he intents to commit to the fight. Once we have it, we can put a strategy together."

"Hmm... all of their oddballs - uglies, whatever - are shielded. That's an advantage our TIE squadrons don't have," Anton thought aloud. "We could put them on the front edge of the assault, let them soak the initial hits before out fighters enter the fight."

"Use them for cannon fodder?" Gandel raised an eyebrow. Even though these people were pirates, he found the thought didn't sit well with him.

"It's a thought," Anton shrugged.

"Indeed. In any case, I think it's time we gather the fleet's senior officers. We've got a raid to plan."

[Leto Tariq]

Thwack!

Leto touched a hand to his stinging cheek. "That's the best you can do, is it?"

"Oh, so you think you can do better?" Mischa smirked and swung a fist at Leto again, something that only the Captain's quick step backward could save him from.

Frak, she's getting better. Leto raised his fists, watching Mischa's movements warily. Cantina music played in the background, giving the room a more up-beat atmosphere.

The Rats were off duty, but deployment would come soon. There was a tension in the air among the squadron after their last mission, and the chances of finding any sort of alcoholic beverage on the ship to ease that tension was as likely as a lucky spit destroying a death star. That only left sex and fighting.

And Leto was certain this wasn't sex.

"What do you think of the two rookies?"

"What do you mean?" Leto asked. He swung a fist at Mischa's head, which she easily side-stepped.

Slag.

"The two new ones that are replacing..." Mischa paused.

"Checks and Bounder?" Leto finished for her. "They're dead, Mischa. You have to get used to it."

Hypocrite.

Mischa swung outward, catching Leto hard in the gut. The truth was, it was never easy when one of his pilots died. Not on anyone, especially for himself. And Leto hoped to the Force that never changed.

They danced in silence, one swinging at the other. Leto's fist caught Mischa on the chin, and she quickly returned the favour.

"You're losing your touch, Orion."

Leto grunted.

"Force, I could use a drink."

"How do you propose to get any? There's not a single drop of spirits on the whole ship."

"I think," Leto said, "I know where there is."

Mischa's face brightened up. This didn't stop her from catching Leto in the chest with a well-placed punch.

"Jon'son. He has to have a supply."

"Great. And you think he'll just give it away?" Mischa swung again, missing Leto's nose.

"I could pull rank."

"You think that would work?"

"Frell no. But I'm getting desperate." Leto brought his fist around, striking Mischa in the side of the head. She stumbled a step.

"Frak, maybe Janson was right... you do suck," he said jokingly. Then came pain.

You are a frakking idiot, you know that? Leto struggled from the ground to his knees. His tongue tasted blood where Mischa's punch had damaged the lip.

"You really shouldn't let your guard down like that, Captain."

Leto grimaced. He really was a fool, sometimes. "Mischa, I-"

"Captain Tariq!" A voice came in from his comlink.

"Mischa, I didn't mean to say-"

"Admiral Nerys requests you on the bridge," the electronic voice sounded.

"You'd better move, Captain," Mischa said, "You don't want to anger the brass."

Lieutenant Mischa left, but not without giving Leto a quick shove that knocked him to the durasteel again. Leto wasn't sure if it was playful.

"... Captain Tariq?"

Leto picked up the comlink, "What the frell is it?"

"Admir-"

"I know about the frakking Admiral!"

"O... okay, sir..."

"Let her know I'm on my way."

"Y-yes, sir."

Idiot, he told himself, shrugging into his uniform.

Now let's see what Admiral frakking Nerys has to say.

[Mischa Margolin]

“Idiot” Mischa thought as she stalked angrily through the corridors of the carrier, unwrapping her hands as she went. “Every time I let myself like Tariq just a little bit, he just has to say or do something to make me reconsider.”

He did get a few good shots in, physical ones, before she’d laid him out and she rubbed at her jaw, wincing at the pain and feeling the slight swelling already arising on the left side. “That’ll look pretty tomorrow” the pilot grunted.

Her left hand ached as well from the last punch she launched at Leto and Mischa supposed she should head to Medical and have them look at it. They’d had plenty of experience treating her various break, bumps, and the occasional dislocation before.

She had a better idea on how to fix it up herself though and walked down the portside corridor in the direction of the pilot’s quarters. A little medication of a different sort and the help of a friend to pop her swelling digits back into place was all the first aid Margolin needed.

Stopping in front of the fourth berth down, Mischa started to just bang on the door out of habit. Thinking it was a bad idea to inflict any more damage on her poor abused extremity, she hit the chime instead. There was no answer for a moment and she briefly considered punching in the entry code and letting herself in. Finally a gruff male voice issued from the tiny speaker next to the door. “Who is it?”

“It’s Misch. Let me in.”

A second later the door to the room slid open revealing its lone occupant standing in the doorway, his tall muscular frame nearly obliterating the view of the interior of his quarters from sight. He didn’t say a word, just looked at her with one eyebrow raised amusedly as the petite redhead pushed passed him.

“Don’t know how, but I think Tariq’s wise to your stash, Big Man.” Margolin said to her wingman. “I suggest it be disposed of in fitting fashion as soon as possible.”

[Jon'son Dethrider]

"Frak, they're all around us!" Mischa yelled.

Jon'son felt the sweat rolling down his spine under the flightsuit armor. The view was too obscured, the scopes didn't do shavit from the sensor jamming, it was hard to see what was happening around them from the explosions. The comm wasn't working worth a crap with the static interference that lingered in and out.

"Shut the frell up, Vacuum! Maintain your field of fire, we're going to be fine!" came Tariq's voice over the fizzled audio.

"Oh, Force, Orion, they got Checks!" That from Mischa again. There had been twelve of them in the squadron. Now there were seven. "What are we gonna do?"

Jon'son, bringing up Mischa's rear in his E-wing, swore again. "Where the frak did this second wave come from?" he said.

It was a rhetorical question. Nobody frelling knew.

Behind them, a Howlrunner's laser batteries came alive again, the flashes of green laserfire battering Bounder's shields like pelting rain.

"Stone! Vacuum! Orion! There's a frakload of 'em behind us!"

"Shoot for targets," Tariq ordered. "Lasers only! We don't have enough torpedoes to waste on frelling pirates! We got a convoy to protect!"

Ahead, Tariq's X-wing branched to join the convoy again. On Jon'son's panel, a flashing light blinked and hooted, and a burst of whistles from Stone's astromech kept repeating a warning that their shields were approaching critical. They were going to have to shoot their way out, fast, or get slaughtered by those things. Or else fried into ash by those turbolasers from that Carrack cruiser. Great frelling choice.

"Spearhead through those A-9's, Vacuum!" Jon'son said. "I have your back!"

"Copy, Stone!" The X-wing to his right dodged to his left, then swung its nose up reflexively to engage one of them.

"Move it, people! And watch it, the damned Carrack is still dangerous!" Tariq clipped in Jon'son's helmet.

Space was full of those pirate raiders, Jon'son opened up, his laser cannons on full auto, blasting. Red laserfire tore through a Howlrunner that sprang from his right, the explosion filled the canopy--

"Help!" Bounder cried. "They're on my six!"

"Oh, please, help!"

"No!"

Jon'son came awake, sweat drenching his hair and face, running into his eyes. His light spacer shirt was wet. Oh, damn!

He sat up. He was still in his quarters, on the thin bunk, the dark durosteel walls securely in place.

A chime was heard at the door.

Jon'son rubbed at his eyes. Even aboard a large capital ship with all its security couldn't keep the dreams out. Nothing could stop the dreams.

He pressed the intercom button and replied in a gruff voice. "Who is it?"

"It’s Misch. Let me in."

Jon'son stared at the door. Now why would she be back here already? By this time she would be passed out on the counter of the bar, unless they ran out again. He swung his legs over and got to his feet. He felt his gut churn, and it wasn't just the dregs of what they had for dinner. Whatever that was, it wasn't good.

The door hissed open and he stood in the doorway, observing his wingmate had just been in another spar. He wondered if she took on Orion again. A quizzical eyebrow rose up.

“Don’t know how, but I think Tariq’s wise to your stash, Big Man.” Margolin said as she shouldered passed him. “I suggest it be disposed of in fitting fashion as soon as possible.”

The sunburn that mostly covered the left half of his face began to itch suddenly. Not just bad, but real bad. The explosion he flew through seared his face pretty good, but eventually it would peel and recover.

"He knows about the shoe polish bottle?" he replied, a tinge of annoyance suddenly apparent in his voice as the door hissed closed.

[Mischa Margolin]

"Well I think he knows something?" Mischa replied. "And don't look at me like that, I'm not the one who told him."

"So why aren't you passed out in the lounge anyway?" Jon'son asked grumpily, still in the process of clearing his head from the nightmare filled sleep Margolin's chiming had interupted.

"I wasn't in the lounge, J.D." Mischa responded, this time it was her turn to sound annoyed. "Contrary to popular belief I don't always handle my after mission effects by drinking myself into oblivion. This time I decided to take it out on Leto."

"Oh please tell me you didn't..." The man started to say before Mischa cut him off.

"No, it wasn't anything like that. He asked me if I wanted to spar and I took him up on it. It wasn't my fault he had to go and open his big stupid mouth so I was forced to shut it for him." She said with a shrug. "Besides it was either that or jump his bones and uhm, no. Don't think so.

Anyway, he's fine. Well he will be once the swelling goes down." The pilot smiled at the memory of her CO flat on his back and wiping the back of his hand over his bleeding lip. "All I know is he mentioned something about you having the good booze, maybe the only booze on this crate. But I was not the one who said anything about it."

"So where's the Captain now?" Jon'son asked. "Reaching passed a clothing hamper next to the wall and moving aside the vent cover set in the wall behind it. He retrieved a glass bottle from the space he'd revealed handed it to his wingmate adding, "You look like you need this right about now."

"Thanks, Big Man. You're my hero, as always." Mischa took the bottle, took off the stopper and poured herself a generous amount into a glass sitting on Stone's nightstand.

"Tariq got a comm from the Admiral." she tipped back the glass and swallowed most of the contents in one draught. Shuddering a bit before continuing. "I left out of the gym is a hurry, so I don't know what it's all about. But I'm pretty sure it's nothing good."

"When it comes to us, it usually isn't" The E-wing pilot said as he poured his own, smaller volumed drink. Noticing Margolin's expression as she lifted her hand again he asked. "Need me to pop those knuckles out for you again."

"Would you please?" She asked raising her hand as he grabbed it and she gritted her teeth as best she could against the discomfort as his huge hands reduced the fragile, dislocated bones as best he could out of experience.

"You need to go have medical take a look at that." Jon'son said once he was done.

"Yeah well I didn't see you heading over there for that nasty thermal burn on that pretty face." Mischa said, looking with genuine concern at the mass of reddened skin on the man's face. "Does it hurt much?"

[Gabriella]

"There. This should be the last of the tests we need to run; at least until your next quarterly check-up, Admiral."

Gabriella glanced to the medic as the woman set the blood samples into a small carrier and readied them for the lab. "I'll notify you through the secure channel if anything has changed. I'm sure it hasn't. The rest of your physical went well so there's no need to worry."

"There's always a need to worry," the Admiral responded as she finished buttoning up the front of her blouse. She gave the bicep of her left arm a gentle squeeze. She knew it would be tender for a few days; the shots always left her arm tender for a few days afterward. On rare occasion, the area would bruise; a dark, ugly looking mark. Luckily, no one but she and the medic ever saw it. "As always, come see me if you feel any signs of an adverse reaction."

Admiral Nerys nodded then left the med facility aboard The Second Chance; a Mon Cal Cruiser that had been presented to her the first year she served as an Admiral in the New Republic fleet. The significance behind the ship's name is only known to she and some of her superior officers. They were old enough to have known of the bio-engineered disease that plagues Gabriella and will for the rest of her life. Luckily, the medical staff of the New Republic had found a combination of drugs that slowed the progress of the non-communicable disease drastically. A side-effect the medical team had not expected was that the drug combination seemed to slow down her own biological aging process by a considerable bit. The woman was forty, but didn't appear to be older than her mid to late twenties. Also, luckily for Gabriella, very few knew about that and even fewer were aware of her age.

The disease did not leave Gabriella without any physical defects. Bio-engineered by the Empire to reveal hidden Rebel bases, the disease altered the appearance of her eyes. Some had commented in the past that they could swear to see the stars in her eyes. Others found that fact disturbing. To see a galaxy - or portion of one - in someone's eyes could be rather unnerving. Unfortunately, the starmap revealed in the copper-flecks of her eyes led to the death of her parents; along with many others. Subconsciously, Gabriella will not look at her own reflection for longer than is truly necessary. A mirror only serves to remind her of the fact that she and her brother were the very reason their family was destroyed and the lives of numerous others were as well.

The act of maintaining eye contact without looking away was not easy to learn. Once she and Simon had learned of the truth in their past, it was very difficult to look someone square in the eye without fidgeting or looking away. The eyes are the windows to ones soul, or so it had been said, and for anyone to see into the soul of Gabriella Lioncourt-Nerys would be like suffering a long, agonizing death to the woman.

"Admiral Nerys to the bridge," a metallic robotic voice hailed over the central communication system of the ship; echoing in the corridors and reverberating in the turbolifts. Gabriella let out a breath and straightened her formal attire as the turbolift slowed to a stop at bridge-level. With a swoosh, the doors slid open, revealing the officer closest to her and most trusted by her. Captain Dervis. "Admiral. We've received a transmission from Admiral Voltaire of the Pax Republica." A brow, perfectly manicured, piqued gently. "This can't be good." She twirled her hand, indicating that Captain Dervis should proceed and get straight to the point. He continued as the two walked with haste onto the bridge deck. "The Pax Republica has readied its battlestations, Admiral. Apparently a ship of the 105th Imperial forces appeared near the Bilbringi shipyards."

Gabriella came to a dead stop and looked to Captain Dervis, both brows lofted. She let the name sink in and regained her composure. Plum-copper flecked eyes shot a commanding to look to a few of the bridgecrew whom had stopped doing their tasks and were looking up to the Admiral. The look was all that was needed as each immediately returned their attention to the tasks at hand, looking a bit sheepish for eavesdropping.

"Only the Emperor and Grand Admiral Thrawn would have known about the ships of the 105th fleet. They were assigned to the Grand Admiral for action carried out in the Unknown Regions and reported as lost."

Captain Dervis shrugged his shoulders subtlely as a brow piqued. "Play back the transmission from Admiral Volataire."

The communcations office complied. The bridge suddenly fell into a deathly silence that felt so think that one could cut it with a knife as the transmission played. Admiral Nerys looked to Captain Dervis and shook her head. "I told you this wouldn't be good. Send for Captain Leto immediately. Hail Admiral Voltaire and establish a rendezvous point then prepare for a hyper-jump."

Orders were followed and Captain Dervis relayed the message that Captain Leto was on his way and would arrive shortly. Gabriella nodded and moved to the forward viewport, Dervis at her side. "The Womprats won't be pleased about being sent out yet again. They've hardly had a break between missions and they have more than earned it." "They'll love you even more now," Captain Dervis teased with a slight smile tugging at the left corner of his mouth. "Love to have my head on a platter? You're right. What in the world is an Imperial ship presumed lost doing at Bilbringi?" For the moment, the question was left hanging in the air without a response. That, along with other questions, would have to be answered later.

[Ceryll Tana]

In a brilliant blaze of glory, the large Mon Cal cruiser burst into flames and began to tumble towards the planet below. Bits and pieces caught fire as they passed through the atmosphere, until the once beautiful ship had been reduced to nothing more than a smoldering hunk of metal doomed to crash on the surface.

That can't be good.

Biting her lip hard enough to bring tears to her green eyes, Ceryll sent her X-wing into a sharp turn, barely avoiding a spray of green turbolaser fire from behind. With a moaning roar, the TIE fighter swooped to follow. No amount of banking or spinning could lose the stubborn fighter and Ceryll began to panic. What was that maneuver she had just learned…what was it??

She had gone into this simulation quite sure of herself. She had done well in similar situations, but had never expected such fierce opposition. Ceryll was used to being the best pilot in her class...but her current position was beginning to cast doubt into how much of an accomplishment that had been in the first place.

Slamming the stick to the side, Ceryll sent her X-wing into a rather lousy snap-roll that made metal screech. She grimaced as the green - indicating the state of her shields - faded to a warning orange. The stubborn Eyeball refused to be shaken and continued to rake her aft shields with green lasers.

"Need help, Red?" Lt. Adok Borys queried over the comm, a hint of something resembling amusement in his voice.

Before she could reply, Adok punched four holes in the cockpit of the TIE with his red quad lasers, sending the speedy spacecraft twirling off to the side. There was a white light of an explosion and Ceryll finally released the breath she had been holding. "Thanks."

Adok didn't reply, but immediately banked to the right. Ceryll followed. One of the two Mon Cal cruisers they had been told to escort had already been destroyed by the TIE bombers. The other was making for deep space as fast as it could, swarmed by several TIEs. Red and green lasers were exchanged between the other X-wings and the enemy fighters, though the feisty Imperial ships seemed to have the upper hand.

Green fire lanced across space and struck at Ceryll's cockpit, ricocheting off of her shields. The orange turned to a bright red and there was a squawking alarm, which Ceryll flicked off angrily.

"Reinforce the shields from the weapons, Ritz," she ground out, quickly bringing her X-wing about to target the offending TIE fighter. It had been trying to come around for a second pass that would probably have finished her off. Ritz, the nervous little astromech seated behind her, twittered and the red returned to orange. At least that was better than nothing.

The TIE juked and barely managed to keep from going into a head-to-head with the X-wing. Pulling back hard on the stick, Ceryll managed to keep on its tail until it had stabilized. Her targeting brackets turned green and she fired twice. With a whoop of joy, Ceryll watched as her turbolasers sliced through the cockpit, immediately killing the pilot.

"Nice shooting, Red," Adok offered over the comm, his X-wing dropping into the space beside her as they each headed for the intense part of the fight.

The cruiser was gradually leaving the gravitational pull of the planet, but the TIEs were thick and the Star Destroyer had begun to take aim. Ceryll bit at her lip again as one of her other wingmates - she couldn't identify which - muttered over the comm.

"It's taking a beating."

Ceryll felt her chest clenching. So far, she had only one kill in the entire simulation, her shields were almost non-existent, and one cruiser had already been lost. Definitely not what she had been expecting of herself.

Adok was diving towards the cruiser, taking the lead. "Let's work at picking off the bombers first…keep the Mon Cal clear of those frelling fighters until they can make the jump," he said.

Swallowing, Ceryll snapped an affirmative and headed into the fray.

[Leto Tariq]

Leto marched out of the ship's gym in a foul mood, fixing his uniform so he at least looked like a captain.

Being summoned by the Admiral could only mean one thing; they were being sent back into action. It was far too soon and his men had hardly recovered from the last flight. Frak, Checks and Bounder's memorial had only been the morning before.

And then there were two rookies he hardly knew, yet soon he would have to trust them with his life.

Leto stopped at the bridge, straightened his uniform and wiped the blood from his chin.

Frak, Mischa, you had to hit hard.

The doors hissed open and Leto stepped in and saluted. "Admiral Nerys."

"Captain Tariq," she replied in greeting.

"What the frell happened to you?" Asked Captain... Dervys? Dervis? Dervy as far as Leto knew.

"Sparring, sir. Took a few punches," Leto responded.

"Sparring? With what, a wookie?"

"Not today, sir."

Gabriella waved them both to silence. "At ease, Captain Tariq."

"Yes, sir." Leto dropped the salute and clasped his hands behind his back.

"Not long ago, we received a transmission from Admiral Voltaire. They encountered Imperial ships at Bilbringi."

"An attack?"

"Negative, Captain. After entering the system, they broadcasted a message," the Admiral stroked a button.

"Bilbringi garrison, this is Admiral Maxwell Gandel of the 105th Imperial fleet. Confirm your identity, please."

"You're kidding... they couldn't possibly have thought Bilbringi was under Imperial control."

"Apparently, they did."

"Where have they been, under a frakking rock?"

"No, Captain. The 105th was stationed in the Unknown regions and was reported as lost."

"I guess they were wrong..."

"The two fleets engaged," Gabriella said, "but Admiral Voltaire reports the fleet made a jump into hyperspace."

"Where are they now?" Leto asked. They were coming closer to the real reason she called him to the bridge, now.

"We're not sure; the fleet made another hyperspace jump." The Admiral stroked another key, switching on a small galactic map. She pointed to a sytem, "We suspect the may make an attack here, against a New Republic supply depot, so they can restock and refuel their ships.

"Captain, I want the Rats there in case they do attack."

Leto straightened. "Sir, my men still haven't recovered from our last battle. They need rest."

"I'm sorry, Captain," Gabriella said, and he could almost believe her. "We can't afford your rest, not yet. Debrief your squadron and jump to the station."

"But, sir-"

"That's an order, Captain."

Leto ground his teeth and forced a salute. He left without a word.

Outside the bridge, he grasped his comlink and began issuing orders to his squadron to meet him in the conferance room for debriefing.

Frak, they won't be happy.

[Adok Borys]

Adok looked toward the X-wing keeping formation on his wing, and then toward the TIE bombers boring in toward the cruiser that was making for deep space. He flinched a pair of laser bolts impacted his rear shield, the indicator in the cockpit the flash, though it still stayed green.

“Red, it looks like we’ve picked some eyeballs on the six. Light up the dupes, I’ll keep the eyeballs busy.”

“Roger that, Dock. I copy.”

He jinked his fighter up, causing the next shot from the eyeball to pass harmlessly underneath the ship, and then glanced over his shoulder. Time for some fancy flying. He jerked the throttle back to the reverse thrust position, and then used the control stick to reverse the fighter, so that it was stationary, and Adok had a shot back right into the TIE. As he jammed the throttle forward again, he fired a quad burst from his blaster cannons, then flew threw the expanding cloud of debris that had been an enemy fighter mere moments before.

Adok cursed under his breath as three more TIEs vectored in on him, snap-rolling the X-wing to evade the dangerous field of fire. He managed to line one of the TIEs up with his blasters, and then lit it up with a barrage of fire, scorching through the brace that attached the solar panel to the cockpit, and sending the TIE careening away from the fight. He noticed the shield indicator on his display, flashing, so he reversed thrust, causing the TIE that was shooting at him to overshoot, and leaving him with a clear shot up its engines. Adok was happy to oblige that shot, and the fighter vanished into a cloud of plasma, and the third fighter came blazing through that plasma, forcing Adok to snap a shot off. He managed to nail it in the cockpit though, taking another fighter out of the fight.

He spared an instant to breathe and inquire into the status of his pupil.

“Red, you still holding together?”

“Dock, I haven’t managed to get any of them yet.

“It’s alright Red. And umm...Frak! I’ve gotta go. Just get those bombers.”

Adok glanced down at the console at the light flashing. Someone was had lit him up with a missile. He frantically scrolled through the targets on the computer, trying to locate the missile that was homing in on his fighter.

He located the vector, but it wasn’t one or two missiles. It was six missiles. He flipped the shields to double forward and gulped.

This is gonna HURT!
He was so focused on the missiles that he didn’t notice the assault gunboat that had slipped in behind his fighter until a pair of well-placed ion blasts disabled both of his port engines.

That’s a problem.

Adok tried to run his now sluggish fighter up to get a shot at the missiles that were homing in on him, but to little avail, given that he had lost half of the power in the engines of the X-wing. The first pair of missiles hit, indicator for the first layer of shields flashed amber, then the second pair and third pairs of missiles hit, and he didn’t have any more shields and that Assault gunboat was still out there.

Then the missile warning light flashed again, and then ion cannon impacts. Adok decided not to stick around and wait for the impact of whatever missiles were heading toward him, so he pulled his ejection handle, ending the simulation.

He stood up, stretching his shoulders as the pod opened, and noticed Ceryll shooting him a strange look.

He shot a strange look back at her and climbed out of the pod as she did the same.

“Yeah. I got vaped. It was several somethings with concussion missiles. Of course that scenario is actually designed for several more fighters than we had, generally at least half a squadron. Of course, they’d still be outnumbered.”

He could tell that Ceryll was near tears, so he shrugged and continued.

“I’ve seen some action...”

His sentence trailed off as she interrupted him.

“Dock, why? Why should we train in a scenario where we are outnumbered so badly?”

“Red, it’s training. We’re supposed to get vaped and then learn why and study why, so that if we were in an actual combat situation, we wouldn’t make the same mistake. I guess it keeps an edge.”

She nodded. “I guess I can see that.”

Adok nodded, then his commlink chirped.

He listened briefly and then spoke into it.

“Understood.”

Adok closed the commlink and then stuck it back in its proper place on his belt.
“Well Red, apparently the good captain wants to brief us about something. He was rather vague though, probably because he wants to build suspense for us to attend his meeting.”

Adok turned, bowed, and gestured toward the door.

“And now fair lady, our captain awaits our pleasure on this fine star liner. Shall we?”

[Gabriella]

(Please pm me if I need to edit this post.)

* * * * *

Stone-faced, shoulders poised to the point of appearing arrogant, Gabriella watched Captain Leto leave the bridge; obviously boiling that he and his squad were being sent out yet again. She knew it wasn't the fact they hadn't had any rest since returning from the previous mission; it was because Captain Leto and his squad mates had just held a memorial for two of their comrades.

Truth be told, she truly felt for the Womprats. Though she cannot show emotion and must remain calm, cool, and collected nearly all the time, it didn't mean that she didn't ache whenever one of the crew was lost. One would think with the death and destruction she had witnessed and partook in over the past twenty plus years of her life that she would have grown accustomed to it. But she hadn't and she prayed nightly that she never would. For Gabriella that would be the equivalent of forfeitting her soul and the minute one forfeited their soul, all hope was lost.

Captain Dervis pulled her attention from the fading figure of Captain Leto. It was needed elsewhere. The Admiral left the bridge, escorted by Devis and several other ranking figureheads, and headed to the war room. Everyone seemed to be talking at once, throwing in their strategies and ideas, fears and misguided worries. Little did anyone aboard the ship know that the Admiral knew quite how well the Empire worked. She knew the ins and outs of their ships, she knew the weaponry, the tactics, and even a few slick tricks. After all ... she learned from the best.

"Silence! I can't hear myself think with everyone speaking at once." Gabriella stood at the head of an elongated black slate table centered in the large, closed chamber. Pieces of complicated looking technical equipment beeped and blipped softly in the background. She was getting a headache and ordered the lights to be dimmed. However, she didn't want the other officers present to know the real reason for lowering the lighting, so she had a galactic map projected from the holo appear behind her.

With her arms crossed, Gabriella nipped at her lower lip gingerly as she went into deep thought, delving into the mind of an Imperial Naval Officer. On occasion she'd look at the transparent map hovering mere inches above another long table set near the front wall.

"Until our intelligence - or Admiral Voltaire makes contact with us again with further news and information, we don't have much to go on."

A glance to Captain Dervis and he re-played the transmission The Second Chance received from the Pax Republica so the other men present could hear it just as she had.

"For those of you who are not brushed up on your history ... The 105th Fleet had been assigned to Grand Admiral Thrawn nearly a decade ago and had been presumed lost when none returned from the Unknown Regions. As you heard, the hailing officer of the invading ship proclaimed to be aboard one of those presumedly lost vessels.

"Currently, I am going on the assumption that this Imperial vessel is quite possibly running low on supplies, as well as fuel. Since they'd been chased away from Bilbringi's shipyards, they will be looking for a supply depot. Or, possibly, a ship that they can outgun to take what it needs from them. Or even just take it for themselves.

"I've ordered the Womprats to prepare to go out and bring back the intelligence we need in order to devise a better plan. Currently, we are trying to hail Admiral Voltaire so we can better co-ordinate the efforts of tracking down this newly found vessel. As you can see, there are a few areas they could possibly be heading to."

"Coruscant isn't too far from Bilbringi, Admiral. If they made a quick, short hyperjump, they could be there - or near enough to it - by now," Lieutenant Jercik interjected. Gabriella glanced to the holomap again, nodding slowly.

"That is a possibility, yes, Lieutenant." However, she thought, if I were aboard an Imperial ship that was suddenly startled and scared into turning tail and fleeing Bilbringi by a solitary New Republic Liberator-Class Cruiser, I certainly wouldn't be headed to Coruscant.

"Admiral, might I suggest sending word to Coruscant?"

"It's already been taken care of, Lieutenant," she said. This mysterious Imperial ship must be extremely low on supplies for it to be run off by the Pax Republica. Of course, it is a formidable vessel but a Star Destroyer would stand a good chance against it.

"Captain Dervis, order all battlestations and crew to stand-by status. Make sure everyone is ready to go at a moment's notice. You know what more to do and if you all will excuse me." She nodded curtly, strode from the private meeting and headed straight for her quarters. Something about all of this was not settling right in her mind and she needed to be alone to try to figure things out.

[Ati Quai]

Space.

In one's younger years, it was that siren call that beckoned a person away. So captivating to think that there was so much to see, so many places to go, so many things to do. It's only after you've seen the ugly side of it that you can begin to appreciate how much of a sinister mistress space itself can be. She can welcome you with open arms, inviting you into her embrace. All the while she's got vibroshivs hidden in the sleeves of her robes waiting for just the right time to hit you where it hurts.

Like, say, a few snub fighters with just enough luck to take down the better part of one's shields. It was nothing that Ati hadn't seen before in his days, but for whatever reason, they were harder to dispose of than usual and thus, he found his Corellian freighter limping its way into the nearest place he could find. Some random supply depot, but at least it had the parts that he needed.

If there was a bright side to the whole situation, it was that this delay wouldn't hinder any shipments since he had just dropped his last cargo the previous day. This trip was simply to relax a bit. Didn't quite work out as he had planned. Then again, with his droid programmed to perform ship repairs, Ati wasn't stuck doing all the work himself. He was able to catch up on a few hours of sleep between installments of patching up his ship, all the while Kaybo would finish the work that Ati started.

And despite the remote location of this place, it had served well enough for the uses that Ati required. The Junkpile was spaceworthy once again, with the shields repaired better than he had figured they would be. Not that he planned on doing anything stupid, but he was confident that snub fighters wouldn't have the same success this time around.

Another bonus was that the hyperdrive was also back in working order, if not a little skittish. It would hold enough to get him to an actual system where more serious work could go into it to restore it to its original strength and capacity. The latter was something of a priority. While he was a ways from anywhere that he planned to end up, part of him was hoping to get back to the poodoo pile of life that was Nar Shaddaa. He had connections there, after all, and people he could trust at least as far as he could throw them. The Junkpile would have the chance to be fully restored and credits weren't a problem.

One advantage to not always having a high order of standards on the job's that he took. Most of the time he liked to help out the little man, the disadvantaged, but there were times when the big fish simply paid him too much for him to refuse the job. And then there were the death threats that were implied if he did refuse. Even he wasn't dense enough to overlook those.

Be that as it may, he had secured himself a sizable amount of credits which he planned to put right back into the pride and joy of his life, the little hunk-o-junk that carried out his smuggling duties. He had even thought about a few modifications that he might be able to add, though that would all have to wait until he was actually able to perform them. By then, he just might not have enough money to go around.

-Repairs are complete, Sir.-

"Well done, Kaybo. Go back to the shop and get yourself an oil bath. When you're finished, I imagine that we can leave this little shanty of a place."

A simple duck of the droid's head was enough of an answer before the droid made its way from the cockpit and eventually out of the ship. If there was one thing that Ati did over anything, was take care of his ship and his droid. Oddly enough, there were times that those priorities flipped around. For the most part, droids were devoid of the usual emotions that came with sentient beings. But something told Ati that despite all of that, if the droid felt appreciated, it would continue to function properly. That, and the working relationship that Kaybo and Ati had was by far the longest and most successful of any of Ati's relationships.

With Kaybo gone once again, Ati decided to take one last nap before he planned to leave the depot and continue on.

[Pietur Legatus]

Pietur Legatus sat sprawled in the center of her new quarters surrounded by what appeared to be the remains of a small explosion. An open case nearby testified to the origin of the mess. From somewhere under the piles of scattered articles, her com-link chirped at her -a brief search uncovered it hiding in a shoe. The Captain's voice abruptly informed her that there was to be a debriefing held in the conference room. As she made the appropriate confirmation, Pietur glanced around her small quarters at the strewn belongings.Ah well, unpacking can wait. It shoulda been done lightyears ago anyways, a few more hours won't hurt. Hurriedly bundling anything within arms reach into the small storage drawers, she shunted the rest to the perimeters of the room to clear a path, before making an exit in her normal calm and collected manner -tripping over a pair of socks on the way out.

The blonde paused for a moment in the hallway, sorting out her directions. Right, the debriefing should be....this way. Confidently swinging left, she moved briskly along until she turned a corner and came face to face with what appeared to be a storage room. Dang it, wrong yet again. You'd think this place would be small enough for a soul to memorise in no time... Hurriedly she retraced her steps, this time continuing to the right of her door. This route looked much more familiar. Breaking into a quick trot, Pietur covered the last of the corridor, smacking the door controls and bursting into the room.

Multiple pairs of eyes turned to stare.

Frak, she cursed again, what a way to start out. Flashing a grin, she eased sideways into the nearest chair uttering a muttered apology as she did so. At least she didn't appear to have missed anything, that would have really have got her off on the wrong proverbial foot. A quick glance around confirmed that the other pilots were here too. Why would he call us all in? Unless.. Pietur let out a hissed breath. As far as she could gather from what her wingmates were willing to share (and that was very little), they had only just got out of their latest dogfight, losing two of their own in the process. They don't muck around none, do they?

[Jon'son Dethrider]

A hand rose up to touch his face after she asked the question. Jon'son jerked his head back slightly to prevent her from touching his irritated skin. She got the hint.

He shrugged. "I'll live. Doc says it should just peel and heal up in time. Why? You wanna rub some lotion on me?"

Mischa rolled her eyes.

"Thought so," he winked, and downed another swig of the hard liquor. The truth was, he didn't feel particularly adept at the moment for her antics; the alcohol coursed through his system and the latest nightmare still vibrated in his memory. But if he was ever going to get out of this excuse of a unit, he had to look as if he were in control. While Jon'son was the XO of the Womprats and theorectically subject to command any officer of line rank under him, only Leto was going to be giving the Rats orders.

"Still having the dreams?" she asked.

"About getting spaced?"

Mischa nodded.

"Yeah." He touched the burn on his face, then set down the bottle of shoe polish.

She shook her head. "I don't sleep that well myself. Haven't since this last one."

A chime rang in their quarters. His wingmate sighed as she walked over to their desk and thumbed on the comlink, still shaking off the pain from her other hand.

The communit came to life. It was the voice of their superior, Leto Tariq. His tone was strained, but full of quiet authority.

"Just came back from the CO's office. We're being called in for another one and bringing the rookies with us."

Groans from both of them were heard over the comlink. Jon'son slumped onto his bunk.

"Sorry, guys. I know we all need the rest, but I'll brief you all on what we're up against this time."

Jon'son pulled his thoughts back to their situation. "Me and Vacuum will find the rest of the Rats and head our way down there." Mischa thumbed off the comlink and sighed.

Jon'son smiled, but it was a sour expression. "Well, at least we get to see the new kids on the block."

"Live fast, die young--" she began.

"-- and leave a good-looking corpse," Jon'son finished. She laughed.

Jon'son shook his head. A lot of civilians believed that NR pilots, especially the Womprats, were all steely-eyed, boot-tough, deadly as a nest of wingstingers and as sharp as a room full of needles. That they could chew up nails and pee thumbtacks in their starfighters. The truth was that a basic Womprat pilot was usually just a kid out of flight school, or a major screw-up demoted to their squadron, or an insubordinate like him and Vacuum. It didn't take a genius to pass basic flight entrance exams. If you could find your way to the simulators and spell your name for the computer, you were probably bright enough to get in. How long you stayed alive after that depended on how well the training took and how good your officers were.

He wondered if the commander in charge of this Mon Cal cruiser was a desk rider-- a person with no field experience at all, much less in combat. Maybe this person wanted to show Orion who was in command.

A long moment hung suspended between them. Finally, he shook his head. "Might as well face it and get it over with. At least I can finally get some sleep afterward."

She nodded. "That's about how I see it, Big Man." She eyed the locker on her corner.

He got up and began to gather his pilot gear and flight suit to dress up for launch.

"Hey, Stone?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for saving me back there."

He shrugged. "We got something in common, Misch. We both should have died a long time ago."

She nodded as she undressed. "Yes. I know."

"I hope I don't dream again when I get back."

"Me too..."

Minutes later, a slender short figure, accompanied by a burly, tall figure, exited the quarters on their level of the battleship and proceeded toward the briefing area in their flight gear.