Razorclaw Gets Its Wings - 1 BBY
Dee Numarkos and Avery Rexler stood in the yawning entry to the starboard cargo bay. A few meters behind them crowded nearly every member of the crew who wasn't attending a duty station. Before them played out a scene of barely controlled chaos. Filvian and Human crew members scurried everywhere; a half dozen astromechs roamed the expansive space, their beeps and hoots filling the air with digital intercourse. On the right side of the bay a stout gantry crane lifted a sleek new RZ-1 starfighter. The crane's arm moved along the overhead track and deposited the seven-meter interceptor on the upper storage rack. Beneath it, three more of the snub fighters nestled in their slots.
The entire wall to their left was open to space. The vital environment within the multi-mission bay was separated from the void beyond by a pale blue transparent containment field that sparkled with the flow of dust and particles. Just outside floated another RZ-1, looking like an enormous disembodied spearhead. Rexler and Numarkos watched it penetrate the containment field at barely more than a walking pace, lower its landing gear, and settle to the smooth deck at the direction of a technician waving illuminated wands. It looked decidedly awkward moving so slowly; the lean wedge-shaped fighter was definitely built for speed. Another A-wing waited just beyond the containment field.
The new arrival's engines powered down, their deafening whine dropping to a moderate hum. Technicians surged around the ship while its canopy glided forward. The pilot clambered out of the cramped cockpit, slid down the dull green and gray fuselage, and removed her helmet to reveal short-cropped hair dyed bright blue. She shouted a greeting to her squadron mates. A Filvian ixbish wearing flight crew coveralls fell into step beside her as she approached the officers. They both stopped a few paces away and saluted.
"Warrant Officer Second-Class Siala Leoet, pilot of Razor-Five," said the pilot. "Callsign Deadeye."
"Flight Operations Technician Second-Class K'nar Halikstond," the Filvian followed.
"Reporting to the Pride of Olminar as ordered. Permission to come aboard, Captain," the officer finished for both of them.
"Granted," responded Rexler, returning their salute.
"Welcome aboard," said Dee. "Dianthe Numarkos, Operations Chief." She received their salutes, then shook hands.
"Happy to be aboard, ma'am," said the pilot, looking around. "This is— quite a ship. Don't think I've ever seen anything quite like her."
"I expect you haven't, Officer Leoet," Dee agreed. She looked over her shoulder at the gaggle behind her. "Technician Hudson," she called to a dark-haired woman near the front of the group.
"Yes ma'am," answered the young engineering tech, hastening forward.
"Officer Leoet, Technician Halikstond, this is Reiko Hudson, one of our engineers. She'll show you around the Old Ghost."
K'nar looked confused. "Old ghost? What does that mean, Hudson-aktuu?"
"The Olminar's probably the stealthiest ship in the Alliance," Reiko explained, "so we call her the Old Ghost."
"Makes sense," agreed Siala, but the Filvian tech still seemed perplexed.
"If you'll come this way ma'am, Technician, I'll give you a tour."
Rexler watched the last of the six A-wings being secured in its launch cradle. Over in the starboard cargo bay another six were being similarly embarked. "I don't think I've ever seen a cargo bay converted into a functioning hangar before. These Morata spaceframes really are modular."
Dee Numarkos nodded in agreement. "Good for us, Rex. Hangar space plus living quarters for the pilots and flight techs. I doubt the Empire would ever expect a ship this size to launch an entire squadron of fighters. Not to mention our sloops pack the firepower of gunships. We'll be able to punch significantly above our weight."
"Though we do take a hit in cargo capacity," Avery observed.
"Trade-offs. Can't have everything," Dee shrugged.
"I suppose not. See to the rest of this?" he asked.
"Sure. Something come up?"
"We need a shakedown cruise, some simulated attacks with the new squadron. Then I'm going to find us a target to go after for real."
"Why the rush Rex?"
"Some of these pilots have had prior battle experience, but others are pretty raw. Plus they're a new unit and we'll be employing those fighters in unconventional ways. Our crew are new to coordinating with a fighter arm, too. We all need to get used to fighting alongside each other, and fast."
"Makes sense. I'll take care of the refits." Rexler nodded and turned on his heel. Numarkos strode into the busy hangar and began issuing orders for the work to be done.
----------------------------------------
The alarm on Siala's wrist link buzzed, jolting her away from the sunny beach she'd been walking along. The gentle whoosh of the incoming tide against the sand turned into the sounds of her fellow pilots waking from their sleep period. She cracked her eyes open and rubbed them, grumbling as the Olminar's harsh interior illumination chased away her glorious dream. She swung her legs over the edge of the bunk and dropped to the deck, grabbed her flight suit from the wall hook and stepped into it, then pulled on her boots and jacket. Her wingmate, Adira Pharatos, got dressed beside her.
"Good morning, Deadeye," said the pilot of Razor-Six.
"Nothing good about it, Sweets. I was just walking on Mo'olawe Beach on Kamali'i Four. I went from that to—" she waved her hand at the bunks "—this."
Pharatos smiled broadly, zipping the front of her suit. "C'mon," she said, grabbing Siala's arm and dragging her toward the hangar.
Siala resisted the woman's tugging. "Sweets," she said with an exaggerated whine, "give me back my beach!"
"Next liberty you can go wherever you want."
Deadeye affected a pout. "That's months from now." They walked through the broad hangar into a small hold between the two bays that had been converted into an operations center for the squadron. They grabbed khaff and breakfast wrapped in flatbread, took their seats, and ate their morning meal, trading small talk with their fellow pilots and crews.
Razor squadron's leader, Major Kendra Meeks, got up from her seat at the front of the room. Beside her rose the squadron's square-jawed XO, Captain Garevus. The room fell silent.
"Hope everyone's acclimated to the new post," said Garevus. "The Olminar's an interesting ship. If you haven't memorized her layout yet, you're off my Life Day party invite list. Get it done, people. Quizzes start today. Those who fail pull double watches for the next five rotations."
There were groans all around, which Garevus ignored. "Be sure you know your damage control assignments as well. Fail that quiz and I'll clip your wings. Remember there are two dozen more of you rocket jocks back on Fonash Four who'd like nothing better than to take your posting." He paused to be sure what he said was sinking in. "Next, Goddess will take us through the mission briefing today. Major," he said with a nod to the red-haired squadron leader, and took a step to the side.
"What Phantom said goes double for me," she said with a bright smile, but every member of the squadron knew how serious she was. "I won't just ground you, I'll throw you out the nearest airlock. Don't make me do that. The paperwork's a real hassle.
"Now, the mods on the A-wings are complete, thanks to plenty of hard work and double shifts by our best-in-the-galaxy flight techs." She nodded to D'nok Garadgrav, the chief flight technician and his team sitting on the right side of the room.
"Yes ma'am!" growled the Filvian ixbish to a chorus of applause and hoots from the pilots.
Captain Garevus activated the holoprojector at the front of the room, displaying a schematic of an RZ-1 A-wing. He handed the control to Meeks. She rolled the trackball under her thumb and the schematic zoomed in. "You've got four new hardpoints, one each just outboard of the engines and two on the centerline under the fuselage. Outboard hardpoints can mount a quad launcher for torpedoes or missiles. We can also configure for ground support with a heavy ion gun like the Roba or a repeating blaster like the Z-6." As she spoke the image changed to illustrate the various weapon selections.
"The centerline points will mount an ordnance rack. For space combat it can carry an assault concussion missile or heavy proton torpedo. For ground attack you've got either three GPM-One-One-Seven proton bombs or a single deep penetrator for taking out buried emplacements."
"That's great, Goddess, but she's gonna fly like a nerf cow with all that crap hanging off her," complained Razor-Ten's immaculately groomed pilot.
"What's wrong, Pretty Boy," said Jenica Sayvin, Razor-Eight's pilot, "afraid that weak-assed trollbat guano you call flying will get even worse?"
"You'd know all about weak-ass flying, Racer."
"Stow it you two," drawled Garevus. The rival pilots traded barbed looks, but did as they were ordered.
Major Meeks continued, unperturbed. "Tactical systems have been upgraded to manage the hardpoint-mounted weapons. Nav and flight control sub-systems have been redesigned to take some of the workload off of the pilot. And we've coaxed a little more thrust from the engines. Compared to a stock RZ-1 it's a lot easier to fly and fight with. But yes, Pretty Boy, you'll take a hit in maneuverability and acceleration with a full loadout. What you lose there you gain in flexibility, though.
"The off-bore rotation on the laser cannons is still a work in progress. Garadgrav, where are we with that?"
The Filvian stood, his chair legs grating on the deck plates. "Forward firing arcs to plus or minus seventy-five degrees are solid," he noted, growling out the words. "It's less reliable beyond that, and fire control failure occurs about forty percent of the time when rotation exceeds ninety degrees."
"How long until that gets fixed?" asked Leoet.
"Perhaps never, Deadeye-nagrasha. It's a flaw in the basic design of the hydro-servo bearings and their interface with the A-wing's fire control subroutines. We are working to rebuild it, but the code base that Kuat used is highly proprietary so it is... problematic."
"What's the latest on the maintenance cycle?" asked Goddess.
The Filvian crew chief looked more enthusiastic as he turned to his deputy. "Jahnus-uugresh has been leading that effort, Major."
The balding human technician stood and spoke in a deep bass voice. "As you know, the A-wing has an extended post-operational sustainment cadence. That's a fancy way of saying it spends a lot of time in the shop after a fight. The team have been working on two initiatives. The first is to reduce the time for post-op maintenance, and the other is to increase the consistency and reliability of the RZ-1's subsystems so they can go longer between replacements.
"On the first, we've reorganized the maintenance checklist to optimize the work that the techs and droids have to do. We're still working on the second, but we've sourced some parts for the shield projectors, navigational array, and power converters that have a longer service life. Between the faster checks and less frequent part swaps, we figure we've reduced maintenance time per flight hour from three point one hours to just over an hour."
"Thank you, Mister Garadgrav, Technician Jahnus." said Meeks, turning back to the pilots. "There you have it. You've got seventy-five degrees of elevation and depression you can count on. That's a twenty-five percent improvement over stock. It's way better than any TIE you'll come against, and pretty damn good if you have to face bigger ships.
"Listen people, you all know I'd like to have half of you flying T-65s, but we're not Massassi Group or one of the Core World cells. We don't have a fleet of dreadnaughts, specialized fighter and attack wings, or huge maintenance facilities. We've got this frigate we're all sitting on, a couple of attack ships, and a dozen state-of-the-art interceptors that are faster and more maneuverable than anything the Empire can field against us. With the mods we've made you can take on capital ships, attack hardened planetside targets, and provide direct support for our ground forces. We've knocked two thirds off the maintenance time. That means we can fly more often and get back into the fight faster. And we've got the best pilots in the sector. I expect you to embrace this opportunity to expand your combat profile." She cast her green eyes around the room. "Questions?"
----------------------------------------
Razor squadron's first simulated attack mission was a mixed bag at best. With Arbalest and Lighting standing in for Imperial capital ships, Razor Squadron and the Olminar attempted a pincer attack that went wrong almost as soon as it started. The gunners aboard the cruiser kept shooting their own fighters as the deft sloops got in close to the Razorclaw frigate on attack vectors that were too fast for her turbolaser batteries to track. And her rapid turning point defense turrets were only marginally effective, since they had to take care not to shoot their own ships.
The post-sortie review meeting was illuminating and humiliating all at the same time. In the cruiser's operations center, the combatants gathered to assess their performance.
Rexler and Meeks stood at one end of the table. "Who wants to go first?" said the Olminar's CO, a sour look on his face.
"I'll start,' said Joniah Norissian. "Our gunnery was, well, amateurish."
"You made it pretty easy for Thunder and me, sir," offered Tess Daro.
"Indeed," echoed Lightning's pilot K'ronk Asternog. "Once Daredevil-aktuu and I determined that there was no coordination between the RZ-ones and the Olminar, it was easy for us to use the fighters to screen our approach, then get in so close to the Old Ghost that the fighters couldn't fire on us, and the ship's guns were too slow to keep up."
Sitting next to Meeks, Garevus tapped his fingers on the table. "Razor squadron isn't used to these kinds of tactics. They've been trained for interception and rapid slashing attacks. Taking on capital ships in an extended fight isn't in their playbook. Neither is conducting an attack with a ship as heavily armed as the Pride of Olminar, despite our upgraded weapons and tactical systems." He turned to Avery Rexler. "I'm not making excuses, sir, just explaining."
"Understood, Captain," Rexler acknowledged. "That's why I ordered this exercise." He turned to Norissian. "XO, we're not communicating. If Razor Squadron doesn't know what our gun and missile crews are doing, we're liable to fire right into their attack vectors."
He turned to Meeks. "Same issue with the squadron, Major Meeks. If your team doesn't call out their targets and attack patterns, our gunners won't know which ships you're targeting or where you're flying." He ran a hand over his scalp, feeling the stubble of his close-cropped dark brown hair that was starting to show too much gray.
Meeks nodded her agreement. "Phantom, you and Major Norissian put your heads together and come up with a strategy to coordinate your activities."
"Will do, Goddess."
"Good," said Avery. "We're repeating this exercise at ten-hundred tomorrow. Debrief to immediately follow. I'd love to give us a month of practice, but we don't have the time. The Alliance have requested our help to eliminate an Imperial task force near Iskalon. I don't need to tell you that's pretty much our own back garden, and I'm not keen having the Emperor's minions that close. Sector Command have planned a series of hit and fade attacks to disrupt whatever scheme they're devising. We'll be reinforced by other ships but we're taking the lead on this. In order to do that we're going to have to be completely synchronized." His sober gaze swept over each of the people arrayed around the table in turn. "Four days, people, that's when we strike. Get it right before then."
There was a chorus of 'Yessirs', then the junior officers exited the room.
"You've been quiet. That's not like you, Dee," observed Aver.
"I'm not a pilot or a combat officer, so I figured it was better to listen," she said, waving away his characterization. "Think we'll be ready?"
Lips pressed firmly closed, Rexler let out a long breath. "I hope we are, for everyone's sake."
"Aren't you asking the Old Ghost to punch way above her weight, Major Numarkos?" asked the XO from his seat across the table in the Operations Center.
Dee gave a little shrug of her shoulders. "The Pride of Olminar's been outfitted to do just that, Joniah. Whether through luck or circumstance we haven't had to test her design."
"All things being equal I'd prefer to keep it that way."
Kendra chuckled. "It's only a Gladiator-class, Norissian. That thing barely qualifies as a Star Destroyer."
"Still," cautioned Rexler, "She's more than twice our size, outguns us by a substantial margin, and carries a minimum of two TIE squadrons. When she's fully loaded out she can carry ten times that."
"Don't forget the two Guardians running escort," Joniah added. "Any way you look at this, we're going to have our hands full, and then some."
"I served on a Gladiator once," said Rexler. "That big hangar bay up front is a weak spot. As long as we don't get snagged by a tractor beam we should be able to outrange her with our guns, target the launch bays with missiles and torpedoes, and outmaneuver her. My biggest concern is her ten missile tubes. Gladiators can carry a huge loadout of anti-capital ship ordnance. Those things can turn the Old Ghost into splinters if we take more than a few hits."
Dee Numarkos entered data on her keypad. "Our informant believes the Star Destroyer is only carrying a fraction of her normal missile load. They're expensive, and the Empire doesn't think enough of Rimmers like us to spend a lot of money. That's why Imperial Task Force Twenty-eight Sixty-one is all lower-tier ships."
Razor Squadron's commander drummed her fingers on the tabletop and stared at the holo as it cycled through the specs on the Imperial warships. After a minute she said, "We'll rig four fighters with assault concussion missiles. They'll accompany the YY-96's to attack the escorts. The rest can handle the Gladiator's TIE complement."
"If we're fast, careful, and very very lucky, we might survive," Joniah said. He turned to Dee. "What's their mission profile?"
"Wave the flag in this sector, reinforce the subjugation forces, that kind of thing."
"Look," said Rexler, "This is just step one of a larger operation. We kicked the Empire off Filve two years ago and I mean to do it again, for good this time. We're going to need more ships to make that happen, though. A victory against this task force will go a long way to show Alliance High Command that we're worth supporting." He looked around the room. "Any objections?"
"I've been your XO for seven years and you haven't steered us wrong yet, Captain," Joniah admitted. "I'm not about to start doubting you now."
"Major Meeks?"
"I'm always up for a fight, sir. Our XOs will work out the kinks in tactical communications. I'm ready to put Razor Squadron to the test."
Avery made a definitive nod. "Good. Let's get to work then, people."
----------------------------------------
Rexler's plan was to repeat their successful maneuver at the Cleansing of Filve three years prior: Get close to the lead ship and turn it into space dust. This time they'd do it by deception rather than stealth, though. With their sloops and interceptors taking part in the battle, there was no way they could attack before being detected.
The Pride of Olminar exited hyperspace 474,000 kilometers beyond Iskalon's orbit and assumed a standard approach vector. Her transponder pinged out the ident code of an Old Republic bulk freighter.
"Zed minus four thousand, helm," Rexler ordered. "Let's get beneath them, but fly her like a transport."
"Zed minus four thousand, aye," Lilly acknowledged and sloppily nudged the Olminar into a lower approach.
Rexler looked at the chrono displayed on his command panel. In a little less than two minutes the Alliance cruisers Atrix and Malastare's Moons, plus the Olminar's complement would drop out of hyperspace and commence their attack runs. He meant to be engaged with the big Gladiator-class before then.
As they neared the Imperial vessel the comm beeped on the standard hailing channel. "Freighter Kalendula, this is the Star Destroyer Emphyr. You are approaching an Imperial naval operations area. State your business."
"Deactivate portside stabilizers, Lily," advised the XO. Wobble her around a little." He flipped a switch to begin venting radiation from a portside waste duct, then keyed the comm. "Impeerr, this is Kalendula. We're loaded to the rafters with deep ocean mining gear bound for Viskar Corporation."
There was silence on the channel for a few seconds. Olminar drifted closer. "Optimal firing position on Emphyr's reactor in twelve seconds, Commander," said Lt. Daxarnok from her tactical station.
"Maneuvering thrusters, helm. Line up the shot, but make it look like attitude corrections."
"Thrusters, aye," answered Lily, and began oversteering the ship like a poorly trained pilot. Norissian opened another waste port to vent plasma.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
"Kalendula, this is Emphyr. EmFEAR," came the man's annoyed voice. "You are ordered to heave to. Transmit your manifest and prepare to be boarded for inspection."
Joniah smiled at Rexler and keyed the comm. "Uh, understood, Umpire. Only, we've got this cascade going in one of our reactors and it's giving us a heck of a time. Don't suppose you could send an engineering team over, could you?" Then in an exaggerated tone he shouted "Hold 'er steady boy, dammit. They're sending a repair team!"
"We aren't a maintenance service!" snapped the Imperial officer. There was inaudible conversation on the speaker, then, "Power down your reactors NOW. You're to be taken under tow."
"Uh, okay, sure. Give me a minute to call that down to Engineering. Internal comms're out of commission." Norissian cut the channel and turned to the CO. "Cold shot on the rail gun?"
"Not if we can avoid it. That'll blow the Lorentz compensators." Rexler turned to the imbish sitting at the engineering station. "Lieutenant Boragog, begin a controlled cascade overload on reactor six. Tactical Officer, ready axial cannon for railgun shot. Modulate the capacitance curve to correspond with the reactor cascade. Let's see if we can hide it from them." He received affirmations from both of the female Filvian officers as they set to work.
"Thrusters at station keeping," announced Captain Barou. "Helm control to you, Shooter," she said to Captain Daxarnok.
"My ship, Dancer." After a few seconds she reported, "Ion mass driver at your command, sir."
In the expansive forward viewport they could see a trio of TIE's leave the Emphyr's yawning hangar at the Star Destroyer's bow. Two were standard fighters, escorting a boarding craft. They turned straight toward the Olminar.
"Action stations!" called the XO over the ship-wide comm. "Security forces to forward docking ports. TIE boarding craft inbound with an inspection team. Gunnery crews stand by."
Time ticked away on Rexler's display. With ten seconds to go he ordered, "Missiles and mass driver open fire!" Barely were the words out of his mouth when the Old Ghost jumped under the tremendous recoil force of the four-meter tungsten bolt being hurled from the ship's 114-meter long ion cannon barrel at a significant fraction of lightspeed. The bolt passed through the Emphyr's shields as if they didn't exist and impacted the armored dome that protected the Star Destroyer's massive solar ionization reactor. A flash of searing light was cut off in an instant by the viewport's filters.
When it cleared there was a gaping hole in the Emphyr's underside and she was lurching at an unnatural pitch. The armored dome had been largely vaporized by the kinetic penetrator's impact, and what remained of the multi-layered durasteel was peeled back. Gouts of plasma and explosions from the ghastly wound shook the Imperial ship. Then the rest of the Alliance fleet streaked into realspace.
Just in case the command staff aboard the Emphyr had any doubt of the Rebel frigate's intentions, the impact of a half dozen proton torpedoes and assault concussion missiles communicated the message in no uncertain terms. The YY-96 sloops, their A-wing escorts, and one of the red-painted c70s broke for the Imperial cruisers, opening up with their turbolasers and ion cannons. The other c70 turned toward the Emphyr.
"Captain Sorena Sagol commanding the Alliance cruiser Atrix, calling Pride of Olminar," came a woman's voice over the command channel.
"Colonel Avery Rexler, CO of the Olminar. Welcome to Iskalon, Captain Sagol."
"We're happy to join the party, Colonel. Where would you like us?"
"Behind the Emphyr, if you please. I'd be grateful if you could disable her engines."
"Consider it done," came the woman's confident reply, "though it looks like you've already taken most of the fight out of her. I'll look forward to hearing how you did that after this is over."
"It'll be my pleasure, Captain," answered Rexler as the narrow militarized consular cruiser sped past the Olminar, her trio of stubby cylindrical sublight engines at maximum output. Her turbolaser and heavy ion turrets began firing, finding their range against the opposing Star Destroyer.
TIE fighters swarmed from the maw-like launch bay at Emphyr's tapered bow as her point defense lasers filled the vacuum with their green plasma flashes. Razor Squadron's A-wings flew to meet them as Olminar's axial turbolasers flung a steady cadence of heavy shots at the Imperial vessel. Her spread of missiles slammed into the forward hangar. For a few moments the big ship's shields held, but at least one missile got through. Explosive plasma and debris vomited from the gaping bay.
The starfighters began mixing it up as the escort cruisers opened fire. The Olminar's turrets were online now, dealing out their punishing plasma blasts. Joniah's first shot from the ion cannon turret was wide of its target, but the follow-up shot hit one of the Guardian escorts on its forward port quarter, punching through its shielding and raking the boxy ship with blue filaments of charged particles. The weapons control officers kept a constant drone of communication with the Razor Squadron pilots and their gunnery crews, lending a low-key, barely coherent din to the Olminar's command center.
"Helm, not sure how much power they have left but let's stay out of tractor range," Rexler shouted as the Olminar's sensor ghost drones flew past the forward viewport to add to the confusion of the battle. The Emphyr pivoted slowly, crippled but still in action. Flashes showed in her forward missile tubes as she rocked under the explosions from the Olminar's second round of torpedoes. At nearly the same instant the pocket Star Destroyer's shields flickered under the Rebels' punishing assault.
"Forward shields at maximum. Anti-missile countermeasures," ordered Norissian, receiving a quick confirmation from Daxarnok. Streaks of red from the Olminar's four-barreled point defense turrets and staccato bursts of purple plasma from her short-range pulse cannons filled the space in front of the ship. Explosions flared as the Emphyr's missiles exploded from the intercepting fire. There was a terrific concussion and the ship jumped and groaned under the punishing impact of a heavy missile.
"Damage report!" shouted Rexler. A shower of sparks filled the bridge with smoke and the acrid stench of fried circuitry. He felt a momentary twist in his gut as lights and artificial gravity failed for a second, then returned.
"Forward shields at seventy-four percent." drawled Hal Varanek at his station controlling Olminar's defensive systems. Norissian ordered another spread of missiles and torpedoes as the Emphyr's starboard turbolaser batteries began peppering their deflectors.
----------------------------------------
"TIEs, Deadeye," came Adira Pharatos's voice from Razor-Six.
"Got 'em, Sweets," acknowledged Siala, checking her tactical scope. A quartet of Imperial starfighters approached at max burn and vectored toward the pair of A-wings. At three thousand meters they began exchanging fire. As they passed each other Sweets clipped one of the opposing ship's solar wings, sending it into a wild spin and out of the fight.
"Good shooting Razor-Six!"
"Thanks, Deadeye."
"Let's see if they'll chase." Siala activated the Miradyne short-range jammer. In her headphones she heard the voices of the other Razor Squadron members and the gunners on the Olminar, all rendered in a mechanical tone thanks to the tight-beam transceivers and the interference of electronic countermeasures. To the cacophony she added, "Razor-Five and Six, mynock run on approach kappa." Then she flipped her nimble interceptor on its tail and shot straight up relative to the general plane of the combat while her wingmate Razor-Six banked into a tight right-hand arc.
Rolling the A-wing, Deadeye picked up the three remaining TIEs making their own turns. They kept it tight, she noted with just a hint of respect for the enemy pilots. Sweets burned her Novaldex engines at maximum, jerking her small ship around to avoid the Emphyr's laser cannons. Siala was glad to see that the Imperial vessel's guns were mostly quiet. No doubt the gaping hole in her underside had something to do with that. Not so her launch tubes, though which continued belching missiles and proton torpedoes at a frightening pace.
She shoved her A-wing into a parabolic dive, feeling the negative g-forces pull her out of the seat. Beneath her, Razor-Six was arcing toward the same point in space. Ahead and well below her, the Pride of Olminar continued pounding the larger Imperial ship with her turbolasers and missiles. Two of the TIEs stayed on Sweet's tail. One swept into an intercept course with Deadeye, jockeying behind her for a good firing position. She thumbed the deflector control, angling the shield behind her.
"Call it, Sweets," she said, using the strike fighter's etheric control surfaces to slip sideways, up, and down as the TIE behind her fired a string of ranging shots.
"Meatball in three… two… one… CROSS!"
As her A-wing and Sweet's passed within a couple of meters of each other, Deadeye flipped her ship and cut the main engines, letting inertia carry her along. At the same instant she angled her deflector shield forward, unleashed a pair of concussion missiles and a hail of fire from her laser cannons at the two TIEs on Sweet's tail. Then she gunned the Event Horizon sublight engines. More than 8G of acceleration slammed her back into her seat thanks to the de-tuned inertial damper setting she favored, the better to feel what her little wedge of destruction was doing.
"Splash one," she grunted against the acceleration as a TIE vaporized under her cannon blasts. That's what no shields gets you, you Imp bastard, she thought as her A-wing rocked under the force of the second TIE's lasers. A half-second later her missiles' proximity warheads exploded beneath the TIE, sending shrapnel shearing through the Imperial fighter's unarmored hull. An explosion near the engines was followed an instant later by the characteristic flare of an ejector seat.
Sweets had copied her maneuver, targeting the TIE tailing Razor-Five. That pilot seemed to be more experienced and had peeled away, only to be caught in a hail of purple plasma from the Old Ghost's pulse cannons. It jerked violently to the side, then spun out of control, off into space.
Deadeye smiled and ran a quick systems check. Some damage to her targeting system and navcomp, but she was still in the fight. "Let's find some more TIEs to smash, Sweets."
----------------------------------------
The brilliant star streaks sprang back to their one-dimensional pinpoints as Razors Nine and Ten jerked into normal space from their hyperspace transit.
"Whoa!" shouted Malindo Tobian when he caught sight of the Gladiator, wrecked and spewing plasma from the shredded remains of its armored reactor dome. "She's already down for the count!"
"Don't get cocky, Pretty Boy," advised his wing lead in his maddening low-key tone, "that ship's got plenty of fight left in her."
"Sure she does, Credits. Her main's been smoked! She won't be—"
"Markers inbound by seven," Credits interrupted as the missile lock alarm whistled behind Mal's seat. He flicked a glance at his scope. The concussion missiles were closing fast, and behind them a pair of larger bogeys.
"TIEs right behind!" Pretty Boy answered and turned hard with his wingmate to see if they could break the missile lock. The pitch of the warning whistle increased. Swearing, Mal keyed a spread of ECM flares that fanned out behind him as his engines shot him ever closer to the big Imperial ship.
Credits made an even tighter arc, then flipped over into a steep dive across the Emphyr's primary combat plane. "Head for the reactor," he called. "The radiation should scramble the missiles' guidance."
"Copy." Pretty Boy tucked in as close behind Credits as he could without getting caught in the wash of Razor-Nine's roaring sublight drives. He smirked to himself as they raced beneath the Gladiator and spun the thumb wheel on the throttle lever, angling his laser cannons to ninety degrees above. As they passed between the twisted scraps of the reactor dome he triggered his cannons. He got off a half dozen shots before the portside cannon fizzled and sparked. Mal swore again, a long, loud string of invective, remembering only then that the servos weren't reliable past seventy-five degrees. Hurriedly he dialed the cannons back to neutral, but only the starboard weapon responded. He was already imagining the tongue-lashing he'd get from Halikstond, his flight tech. The Filvian imbish was short, even for one of her race, but her temper more than compensated, especially when it meant extra work for her.
"K'nar's gonna kick your ass," Credits' voice crackled over the radio, tinnier than usual from all the radiation belching from the Emphyr's solar ionization reactor.
"Yeah, yeah," Pretty Boy answered. He swore again as green laser bolts flew by the cockpit. The pursuing TIEs hadn't been thrown off like the concussion missiles had. "TIEs by six!"
The A-wings shot out behind the Gladiator, the TIEs hot behind them. "Keep it together, Pretty Boy," Credits advised the younger pilot as Mal angled his deflector rearward. He could hear Razor-Nine requesting cover fire from the nearby Rebel cruiser as the Imperial pilot's laser cannon fire pounded away at his deflector. The c70 responded with a hail of shots from its quad cannon. Alarms blared in Mal's ear as the deflector reached its saturation point. "I can't hold them!" he yelled, his heart in his throat.
Razor-Nine's command to break left came a millisecond too late as one of the TIE's laser bolts punctured his A-wing's starboard fuel cell, sending it into an ungainly spiral with a spectacular explosion. The inertial compensator failed, whipping Mal's head around and cracking it against the transparisteel cowling. A terrific tearing sound and a blast of heat like flying into a star were the last sensations Malindo Tobian felt as Razor-ten ripped itself to pieces.
----------------------------------------
Sol Areakis in Razor-Two maintained a hundred meters' separation from his lead, Goddess, in Razor-One. Flying in echelon with her they arced left, providing high cover for the Lightning as it bore down on one of the light cruisers escorting the star destroyer. Sol spared a glance at the Gladiator, venting plasma and debris. He felt a swell of pride at the genius and skill of the Filvian engineers of his homeworld who had packed such deadly firepower into a compact package like the Olminar.
The Lightning opened up with its guns as it angled in on the Guardian's rear quarter. The Imperial hammered back, but only a couple of their cannons had clear lines of fire at the approaching rebels.
"Fish five," came Goddess's voice over his helmet comm. Her A-wing jumped as the plasma torpedo detached from its underslung rail and streaked away.
Sol waited a second, then thumbed the trigger on the throttle. A shock went through his fighter as the assault concussion missile dropped from its launch rail and fired its high burn engine. "Fish three," he called. The two fighters peeled away from the Imperial cruiser's incoming laser fire.
Goddess's plasma torpedo impacted the cruiser's shields, generating an impressive storm of electrical arcs that overwhelmed the small vessel's ability to absorb and deflect. Sol's missile shot in behind, its armor-piercing head penetrated the Guardian's hull near the engines and detonated, ripping away most of its rear quarter and causing it to tumble.
"Nice work Slammer," came Goddess's voice in his ears.
"Great shot yourself, Razor-One."
"Woo Hoo!" howled Lightning's Filvian pilot. "Thanks for the knock-out punch Goddess and Slammer! We'll clean up here if you want to have some fun hunting TIEs."
"Send our regards to the Guardian's commander, Thunder," replied Major Meeks.
"Roger that, Goddess."
"Slammer, let's see if there's any meat left on that Gladiator's bones."
"Sure, though it looks like she's been smacked around pretty good, Boss." They ducked under the struggling Guardian as Lightning vectored for an assault landing with her team of Ballista commandos.
Between the Olminar and Atrix, the Gladiator was taking a good deal of punishment, but it wasn't totally out of commission. The Rebel ship's portside sublight engine was a twisted mass of wreckage and she was leaking fuel, but her quartet of turbolasers, and especially her heavy ion cannons, continued to rake the Emphyr from behind. The star destroyer's four massive ion drives flickered ineffectively, but every few seconds a TIE fighter exited one of the side launch bays.
Goddess picked off the TIEs as they emerged, nailing four or five until the Emphyr's ventral laser cannons swiveled slowly toward them. She opened the sublight engines to full burn and shot beneath the ship, sticking close to the hull. Slammer was on her tail, his laser cannons elevated to fifty degrees so that he could pepper the ventral hull as they passed. With its main reactor crippled Sol could see that the Imperial warship's reserve power was mostly being used to maintain its shields and operate its missile tubes. The laser turrets were either running on emergency power or their own backup reactors, he couldn't be sure which. A hit from one would still make for a bad day, though, so he dialed up the ECM to confuse their targeting systems as much as possible and jinked his A-wing with unpredictable spasms.
Razors One and Two emerged from the Emphyr's shadow on its starboard side. Scopes were clear of TIEs, but Sol suddenly heard Fidget in Razor-Eleven call for an assist with fighters on his flank, before he was cut off by a crackle of static. Goddess swore over the squadron's channel and pulled up into a tight climb. Slammer followed. "Where to, Boss?"
"Payback for Fidget," she snapped. "Take down their shield projectors, then we hit the bridge. I'm sick of these bastards!"
A pair of TIEs flying near the superstructure dove on them, cannons blazing. Another pair closed from nearby. Slammer dropped back and angled his deflector rearward. "Two on my tail," he announced.
"Inbound by five. we'll intercept," came Phantom's voice from Razor-Seven as Slammer's A-wing was buffeted by the green TIE blasts.
Goddess pressed her attack. "You good, Slammer?" she called.
"I'm good, Boss."
Razor-One launched a pair of missiles, then another right after. She yawed toward the onrushing TIEs and opened up. Slammer added his own cannon fire, though mostly he was trying to keep his pursuers at bay. He slid right just as Goddess's first missiles exploded near the Gladiator's starboard deflector. The force of the explosion blasted it from its mounting. Then there was a terrific screeching noise as his A-wing flipped and spun wildly under the impact of the TIE fighter's laser cannons.
Slammer cursed and scrambled as the tiny cockpit filled with noxious black smoke and warning klaxons. He reached for the ejector lever, but just at that instant he caught a glimpse of Phantom's two-seat A-wing through his obscured canopy and decided to try saving his ship instead. He cut power to the engines, triggered the fire suppression system, and purged the canopy. Luckily his inertial compensators were still online to keep him from splattering against the inside of the wildly gyrating fighter. Using the etheric controls like brakes, he reduced the spinning and tumbling until he could engage the little ship's attitude thrusters to null out the various accelerations. It took agonizing seconds, and with every passing instant he figured he'd either get vaporized by an enemy fighter or crash into the Emphyr, but gradually he got Razor-Two under control.
He realized he'd been hearing Goddess and Phantom calling his name for some time now. He keyed the comm with an audible sigh of relief. "Razor-Two, still kicking, Boss."
----------------------------------------
The two Rebel captains stood at the back of the Olminar's bridge with Rexler, Numarkos, and Major Meeks. Droids and technicians made the command deck more crowded than usual. Burnt out panels and scorch marks adorned the broad, semicircular command deck, lingering reminders of the punishment the Old Ghost had taken.
"Seventeen TIEs destroyed and none remaining in action," she said over the Basic beeps and hoots of an astromech repairing a ruptured power conduit.
"How's Razor Squadron, Major?"
Meeks wore a steely look of grim satisfaction. "I'm satisfied with its performance, Colonel. I'd say our first mission was a success."
"Status?"
Razors Three and Eleven didn't make it," she said matter-of-factly, but her fists were clenched. Razor Two sustained major damage and will need a complete rebuild. Razor-Ten was destroyed. Its pilot ejected, but he suffered serious burns and lost a leg when his fuel cell was hit. They have him in surgery now. Razors Five and Nine have minor damage but are combat capable."
"I concur with your assessment of the squadron's performance, Major Meeks," Rexler said. "The losses hurt, and I'm sure your team is grieving, but the pilots and flight techs performed exceptionally."
"We'll let them know that personally," Dee added.
"Thank you Colonel, Major. That will mean a lot to my people."
"XO, where are we with the enemy ships?"
Norissian looked up from the damage report he was perusing and handed the datapad to a Filvian engineer. "Ballistas boarded one of the Guardians, the Talisker, and subdued the crew. She jumped with us to the rally point. A repair team's onboard getting her patched up enough to make the jump to Alliance Command.
Falk, the CO of the cruiser Malastare's Moons, added, "The Quoron broke up. We retrieved six lifepods before jumping."
"And the Emphyr?"
"Adrift when we left," said Joniah. "Her bridge and deflectors were destroyed, she was venting radiation, and on fire internally.
"Survivors?"
"Not many. Looks like the initial reactor explosion took out a lot of the crew and troop spaces. Sensors showed most compartments flooded with lethal radiation. Like the Quoron, a few lifeboats launched, but it's likely most of the crew perished."
Rexler pursed his lips with a stiff nod. He'd commanded Imperial vessels and their crews. Firing on them, killing thousands, was a grim duty that gave him no pleasure. "Very well. Any sign of reinforcements?"
"Not yet, but we can't be sure they didn't get off a distress signal. We're continuing to monitor with long-range sensors."
"Protocol will have them checking in every four standard hours. If there's nothing in an hour, bounce a narrowcast off the Iskalon hypernet relay on a civilian mayday channel. I want the Empire to know their Star Destroyer and its escorts have been reduced to a navigation hazard."
Joniah smiled. "That will be my pleasure, sir."
"You have quite an impressive ship here Colonel, Major," said Captain Sagol.
"It's too bad we couldn't take the Emphyr, though. She'd have made a great prize," Captain Falk said, adopting a deliberately neutral tone.
"Perhaps," Rexler answered, betraying no trace of the annoyance he felt, "But it was always our intention to destroy her. Like all Star Destroyers, she's a resource hog. Even had we taken her, she'd be too expensive for the Alliance to deploy. Besides, I want to send a message to Imperial High Command that they can't just do as they please out here without incurring the consequences."
Numarkos interjected, "We'd like to do more, but we're a small cell, Captain Falk. We lack the resources of the Coreward cells."
The Rebel captain looked around the bridge. "Hmm. Your crew looks well trained and equipped. And your ship—" he waved his hand for emphasis— "is newer than our c70's. Packs a lot more punch, too."
"I think what Captain Falk is trying to say," interjected the pale, slender Sagol, "is that you're better off than you think you are. I haven't seen a better crew or ship in the entire fleet. Speaking of which, we do need to get back to Alliance Command."
Avery and Dianthe escorted the two Rebel commanders down the corridor toward the Olminar's portside docking ring. Numarkos and Captain Sagol of the Atrix walked a few paces ahead of the others. "Forgive my curiosity, Captain, but I thought the Dathomirians had all perished during the Separatist conflict. I'm—"
Sagol finished her thought. "Surprised to see someone like me, a member of the Alliance, no less?"
The corner of Dee's mouth curled into a wry grin. "Forgive me. You must get rude questions like that all the time."
The shorter woman waved her pale hand. "I have grown used to the curious questions of others, Major. The truth is, I have no memory of Dathomir. I was spirited away from my clan by pirates when I was an infant. Duros travelers raised me. Other than my chromosomes, I am no more a child of Dathomir than you are."
"I see," Dee said, inclining her head, and changed the subject. "I know Alliance High Command has some reservations about cells like ours," Dee said evenly. "What do you think now that you've seen the Olminar's combat performance and Razorclaw Cell's effectiveness?"
"Most impressive, Major Numarkos," Offered Captain Sagol with a nod that made her cropped white hair catch the light.
"Indeed." Commander Falk followed. "What I'd really like to have seen was how you demolished the Emphyr's main reactor, though. No missile could deal that kind of damage."
Rexler folded his hands behind his back. "As captains of your own ships I'm certain you both can appreciate a certain level of circumspection regarding our precise combat capabilities."
"If the Alliance is to succeed against Palpatine's war machine we will need to trust each other, Colonel," the pale-skinned Dathomiri countered.
"Alright, Captain." He paused a moment. "When you get back to your ships, look up ion railguns. I think you'll find their capabilities to be... unexpected. In the meantime, I've always felt trust is best when it's been earned. I believe Razorclaw have demonstrated our value by helping to eliminate a significant Imperial presence in this sector. I hope that's earned us some of the Alliance's trust. In return," Rexler concluded, stopping at the door to the docking port, "Razorclaw will continue to assist the Alliance whenever we can."
"Fair enough, Colonel Rexler," the older, portly Falk acknowledged, though he didn't look all that satisfied.
"What is next for your cell, Major?" asked Captain Sagol.
"Filve's neck has been ground under the Empire's heel for too many years, Captain. We mean to drive the Protectorate off our planet and out of the sector."
"A tall order."
Dee nodded. "We did it once, or nearly so. If the Alliance will aid us, I think we can do so again, this time for good."
Rexler drew a data cylinder from his sleeve pocket and handed it to Falk. "An outline of our operational plan for a coordinated strike on the Imperial garrisons planetside and the task force in orbit. I'd be grateful if you would take that back to Alliance Command and present it along with your reports on the action here. I look forward to the opportunity to fight alongside you both in the future, Captains."
The Alliance commanders entered the airlock. "We'll deliver your plan, Colonel," said the other man. The officers exchanged salutes as the doors closed.
----------------------------------------
Jenica Sayvin slipped inside the quiet infirmary with its subdued lighting and moved to bay number five. Taz Oktos looked up from the bed where he was reviewing the monitor and making notations on his datapad. In a quiet voice, he said, "Can I help you, Lieutenant?"
Sayvin tucked a short lock of hair behind her ear. "No, Doc. I just thought I'd stop by and—"
"That you, Racer?" asked the young pilot in the bed, his eye cracking open. Bandages covered most of his face, and his voice was little more than a croak. "Come to gloat?"
"Don't flatter yourself. I just wanted to see for myself why you're laying down on the job."
A bitter look flashed across what could be seen of Tobian's face, replaced a moment later by fatigue and pain. He moved the stump of his left leg beneath the sheets. "You try piloting an A-wing like this," he retorted, though his tone betrayed more despair than belligerence.
Savin glanced a question at Taz.
"Technician Hotodak was here a few hours ago taking measurements. He said he'll have a cybernetic leg fabricated this time tomorrow, then we'll start rehab therapy. The ocular implant will take a little longer."
"Guess you won't have any excuses for laying around, Pretty Boy," she said. Then back to Taz, "What about that ugly face of his?"
Taz looked at the injured pilot, who gave him the slightest nod. "The burns were pretty serious. Even with the bacta treatments he'll likely have some scarring."
She flashed a joyless grin. "Well, that'll be an improvement." She expected him to snap back at her like he always did. Instead, he just stared at the ceiling. Her eyes narrowed at his uncharacteristic surrender. "Anyway, only a steaming pile of bantha crap would let a little thing like this keep him out of a cockpit. You a steaming pile of bantha crap, Pretty Boy?" She waited a few seconds for an answer, then turned purposefully on her heel and left.
Tobian muttered a curse and made an unkind comparison of Sayvin to a diseased female w'lorta.
Taz followed her out. "Hey, that was pretty harsh, don't you think, Lieutenant?" challenged the medtech. "He needs encouragement, not insults."
Outside the door Racer turned. Her dark eyes glinting in the artificial light. "He's a jerk with an ego the size of a bantha, but he's tough enough. You're not a pilot, so you don't understand." She paused a beat, then in a firm, quiet voice she asked, "He'll fly again, right Doc?"
"I expect he will, after he gets used to the cybernetics."
A look of relief might have crossed her face for just a second. "Gonna hold you to that, Doc." Then she strode away.
Confused, Taz returned to his patient. "You okay, Officer Tobian?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" the other man shot back.
Oktos couldn't think of a good answer. "Got any family, someone I should contact?"
The pilot shook his head. "My girlfriend left me when I joined up. Said she didn't want to sit around day after day, waiting for a holo with bad news. Guess my family is the other Razors now. You can see how much they care." He turned away, groaning with the effort.
The corner of Taz's mouth twitched. "Your wingmate Officer Moonrider stopped in right after your surgery. Major Meeks and the Old Man, too. You were pretty heavily sedated so I'm not surprised you don't remember. I don't know about the rest of your squadron, but I think Officer Sayvin cares more than she lets on. I heard she's the one that found you out among all the debris."
Tobian didn't say anything, but his eye grew a degree wider.
Taz checked the vitals monitor, then adjusted the dosage on Mal's analgesic pad. The other man's face relaxed as the drugs went to work. "Try to get some sleep."
The pilot grunted, but closed his eyes.Taz pulled the curtain and went back to writing his reports.