_{Break left Lightning six...
I can't shake him!
I've got one on my tail.}
I'm hit!

Red laser bolts shot out of the emitters, striking the tail of the X-Wing. Now disabled he shot past it, swearing in sullutese as he went. It was all well and good getting replacement pilots, but one of them barely knew her X axis from her Z axis. There was a beep indicating that there was text coming through from his astromech, he cast his eyes down to the screen that displayed communications as in space listening for the whistles and beeps was out of the question. [PERHAPS IF YOU CHANGED TO LETHAL SHOTS THEY WOULD LEARN TO DODGE THEM BETTER] Nae just shook his head at the comment.

"You know, before Tricks died, your sense of humour was actually funny. Now it's just wrong."

[BLAME MY PROGRAMMER]

"It doesn't do well to speak ill of the dead." He swung his X-Wing around, pulling back on the yoke and into a loop, until he was face to face with The Keep as his squadron had so lovingly named it. He tapped the comm switch on his board, transmitting his voice to the entire squadron. "All units, Lightning leader. Form up and return to base, have your astromechs send AAR reports to mine after docking. Then hit your bunks." There was a chorus of 'copy leader', as his scanner indicated the squadron forming up on him as they headed back towards the frigate.

Lightning was probably the oldest (and most intact) squadron from the initial deployment of the vessel, which meant he still remembered a time when you could move around the ship without having to worry about walking into someone every five seconds. Now even the hangar was starting to feel the strain, especially after the addition of Mynock Squadron and their A-Wings. He pulled back on the throttle as he approached the threshold of the hangar, taking note of the blaster scoring surrounding the entrance from where courageous TIE fighters had struck the hull, chasing the dropships until the last possible moment. The inside of the hangar was no better, people ducked out of the way of the incoming squadron as he pulled right back on the engines. Solely on the power of the repulsors he gently eased it into his docking bay.

As the cockpit opened and he was exposed to the hot, chemical infested and pungent air of the hangar bay the crew chief approached. With him he brought a ladder, clipping it to the side of the X-Wing so Nae could climb out. "Good training op?"

He shot her the closest thing he could muster to what humans would call a 'scowl'. "You know it didn't. You always listen in to training operations." As he climbed down the ladder she opened her mouth, raising one hand to her chest in a mock gesture that she was just insulted.

"Would I ever eavesdrop instead of performing my duties?" There was a series of beeping and whistling from Chuckles, she promptly threw a hydrospanner at the little droid. "You used to be cool Chuckles." Nae laughed as Alexia turned and stormed away, though before she was obscured by the hive of activity that was going on in the hangar she turned around. "Oh that reminds me, brass wants you in the briefing room now." Though before he could ask any questions, she was gone. He sighed again, turning back around to his droid.

"Run a full systems diagnostic, and then analyse the AAR reports from the squad and relay them to my quarters for review. After that, run a diagnostic." The astromech turned it's domed head away from him as it released a high pitched whistle. "No, I am not saying there is anything wrong with you. I just want to ensure that you're on top form. If the brass want a meeting, that means that we're going to be doing an op. I don't need your faulty attempts at humour causing you to stop working in the middle of a battle." As he walked away he faintly heard the droid whistle.

"No it's not because I need you, I'd just get lonely."

---

Nae entered the briefing room. Had they been part of a fleet this room would have been full to the brim, as it was it solely occupied by himself, 'Commandant' Travik, Captain Besk the XO and of course, the captain. A Skakoan by the name of Skor Ximen, word was that he served as a Separatist during the Clone Wars. That said while Nae had lost people to the fighting in the Clone Wars they were fighting for the same goal now, and he had learnt to trust the Captain. After all you didn't get to be a 'Rear Admiral' in the Alliance to Restore the Republic if you didn't believe in it's ideals.

At least there was no possibility of him being an Imperial Spy. A silver protocol droid walked around the room, handing out datapads. Looking down at it he scrolled through the file provided and nodded to himself. This was going to be another big mission. He continued to read as the Admiral began to speak:

"Operations simple. We will approach the target vessel under the transponder signal given to us by Alliance Intelligence." The holotable began to play a diagram of the mock situation, so Nae stopped reading and watched. "We will stay back at a safe distance, sending the LAATs with elements of Chakaar on them into the main landing bay. We're informing the good Governor that we have no way to lift the Juggernaut, giving us an opportunity to dock in order to breach. Due to the close proximity this means that Chakaar-" The admiral looked at Besk "-Have to get a specialized spike we've created into the computer system as quickly as possible. This will disable the ships weapons. Any other forces in the area will hazard on firing on us with turbolasers, due to the risk of hitting the ship carrying the Governor."

Hologram starfighters launched from the holographic Nebulon, covering LAATs and U-Wings. "Once the main assault is underway, we will send reinforcements into the main hangar which should still be open. At the same time Black and Mynock squadron will fly defensive cover for The Keep while Lightning will cover Thranta, which will disable any Imperial ships within weapons range. The Venator should prove easy to take, as it's not in Imperial Service so the crew and defense party are likely to be hired hands. If it proves too hard to take, pull back while grabbing anything that can be off use. Armour, weapons, vehicles. Admiral Ackbar is expecting a shipment, so let's not disappoint him. Full briefing documents will be sent to your quarters, we jump into hyperspace tomorrow morning at 0600 and expect to drop out at 0730. Go get your people ready, dismissed."

Nae stood up, that was one thing he had to say about the Admiral. For all his quirks he was brief and to the point, no messing around. As he stood up, he pressed the transmit button on his commlink. "Chuckles, inform Thranta, Mynock and Black squadron leaders that I need to see them in the ready room in twenty minutes."

Captain Kruger sat at the back of the briefing room while Commandant Tavik listened to Admiral Ximen brief the unit commanders on their next operation. He missed the name of the operation, but realized his company would breach a Venator class Star destroyer, assuming the snake eaters could spike the opposition ship's computer system. He didn't like it. The company had too many new soldiers in the company and its two veteran platoons, the first and the fourth had low morale due to their experiences in the most recent operation. They needed a serious kick in the pants to get them back in shape. Lorne Kruger thought hard how to bring these platoons back around. Both he and Sergeant Major Jax were desperately thinking of ways to get the company back on track; focused on their mission.

At 74" tall, Victor Tavik was relatively tall, but what made him stand out from the crowd was that he was very thin, shaped like a pole. His receding hairline and gaunt cheeks pronounced his heavy forehead and pointed nose. At one time he was nicknamed The birdman behind his back. The Commandant stood, turned and silently called for his Executive Officer to join him on the walk back to deck four where the members of the 332nd were quartered.

"What do you think, Lorne?" Commandant Tavik asked his second in command.

"I don't like it, sir."

"Please, elaborate." The commandant walked casually down the corridor with his hands clasped behind his back. It had quickly become one of his signature moves. He did not walk with a quick step like most officers do. The Commandant of the 332nd Mobile Assault Company set his own pace and expected others to follow suit. Naturally, he accommodated the Admiral and Commander Baesk.

"Karada's platoon is devastated from the Anaxas ordeal. They haven't received any replacements. The Sergeant Major has submitted requests through channels. Admiral Ximen is aware. The men are demoralized. They lost 19 brothers and sisters there. Maybe sending them right back into the fight is just what they need?" Captain Kruger paused to allow his Commander the opportunity to editorialize on his comments. The Commandant grimaced his usual expression nodding as though asking his XO to proceed.

"Lieutenant Trad's platoon is at full strength, but have only just arrived. They are settling into their new quarters as we speak. These men are untested, sir. We don't know how they will perform. The same can be said about the Mandalorians. Lieutenant Dosa's platoon is not green, but they arrived two days befores Trad's people. I know Dosa's record speaks of experience as a mercenary and the history of the Mandalorian people is rife with the warrior culture. Regardless, they are new and we don't know what they can do. The only real saving grace are the Sappers. They are an experienced group and suffered only a few minor scrapes during the Anaxes affair. I expect good things from them."

"I take your advice to heart, Lorne. You are a trusted advisor," the Commandant responded to his second in command. "At the moment when our ship docks with the Venator-class ship, I want three of our sapper squads to prepare breaching charges, making our own doors into their ships. We won't use the conventional portals. Each platoon will have a sapper squad attached and a breaching point. The Assault Platoon will attack in the middle with first on their right and second platoon on their left. The two line platoons will support the Assault platoon's advance in the middle. As we attack into the heart of their ship, we will slowly fan out into the various spaces of the ship eliminating hostiles as we go. Priority will be to securing the bridge and the engine room. Let's sit down with Dosa, Karada, Trad and Lomax. I want Sergeant Major Jax, Sergeant Mott, Sergeant Felidron and Sergeant Dumas present also. Mott should record everything and Dumas and yourself need to come up with a logistical plan to support this operation. Can you get everyone ready?"

"Yes sir, I will get the platoon commanders and the company staff ready in our briefing room."

Commandant Tavik and Captain Kruger continued along at their plodding pace towards the ship's fourth deck.

---

Several soldiers from the First Platoon sat around in the day room on Deck 4 talking about their friends lost on Anaxes. Their attire was either in uniform or various levels of dress and undress. "Who does he think he is?" Ananya Corbo, an Alderaanian woman muttered. "He sends us in there to die while he sits safely aboard a slick." The slick is an informal term the infantrymen call the Low Altitude Assault Transport they use to get from the ship to the surface.

"I hear ya, 'Nanya," a Durosian soldier, Moosa Chalis responded. "He never smiles. He is always talking about us doing our jobs and you don't ever see him doing anything. See how slow he walks down the corridors? The Sergeant Major is always getting on us about moving with a purpose. The Commandant is the slowest pogue on this damn boat!"

"He's only been here three months." Hansa Sarkar, another Alderaanian soldier quipped. "I say we give him a chance. Captain Karada can handle him."

"I wouldn't bet on it," Ananya remarked. "I say we drop a thermal on his ass." She muttered that last part just to test the waters.

The other three people in the room, stopped and looked at her. Trooper Morse, a dark skinned Kuati had not said anything yet. "You know, 'Nanya, that's a pretty serious thing you just said." Tyus Morse stood up and walked near Trooper Corbo. "I mean, if you want to do something like that, it takes big ones, you know what I mean?"

She shook her head in frustration. "I just can't stand him. He is the worst. I wish he would just die!" She yelled the exclamation at her section mate just as Senior Sergeant Ari Jax walked in the room. The four soldiers all stood up and assumed the position of parade rest, with their hands clasped low behind their backs and their head and eyes looking at the Company Sergeant.

The Company Sergeant, also known as the Company Sergeant Major is very dark skinned Alderaanian who stands 6'5" tall. He is very muscular and quite intimidating. "I know you people are not talking about dropping a thermal on the Commander. Even if I heard rumors of such nonsense, I would have my boot so far up your ass, you'd beg me for more." Sergeant Jax stopped and looked around the room. He stopped in front of Ananya. "Trooper Corbo, what are you doing!?"

"Nothing Sergeant Major!

The Seregant walked slowly around the room speaking to the four soldiers of first platoon. "You people think you have it so bad. Your best friends died." He paused and looked at their faces. "Your brothers and your sisters were blasted to hell by those bloody imperials and you are all pissing all over yourselves. Get over this shit right frackin' now, boys and girls. You signed up for this fight and war is about dying. A bigger world of hurt is coming down on you and you don't even know it. I suggest you get your head out of your third point of contact like yesteray and square your shit away. The skipper is getting this tug ready for something hot. It is coming soon. It may not be tomorrow and it may not be next week, but we are going to be back in the shit before you know it. I don't need a bunch of snot-nosed little pansies cowering behind me. I need warriors! Out in front taking the fight to the enemy! Can you people be warriors!?"

"Yes Sergeant Major!" They all yelled.

"Well that's much better," the senior sergeant allowed a smile. "How about you warriors fix your uniforms and get your gear squared away, because something is coming down today."

As the Company Sergeant finished speaking, Captain Mosh Karada walked into the room. "Sergeant Major, could I speak to you?"

"Yes sir," the company sergeant responded to the first platoon commander as the two stepped out of the room.

"I heard you tell my soldiers there is something happening, what do you know?"

"The old man wants you in the briefing room ASAP, sir. He will break the news to you. I'm going to find Lieutenant Dosa, Lieutenant Lomax, Lieutenant Trad and Sergeant Felidron." The company sergeant addressed Captain Karada with the respect of a fellow Clone Wars veteran. They served together in the 41st Regiment years ago and have a mutual respect for one another.

"Thanks, Sergeant Major," Captain Karada responded. "I'll go inform Sergeant Kent to get the platoon ready. "We can walk together on the way. I have everything I need here," datapad in hand.

---

In the Company Briefing room, the Commandant detailed his plan to the Platoon Commanders present: Operation Liberty

---

”Stupid Processing Pads. I came to join a war, not some bureaucracy,” Halliq’s thoughts growled as he made his way through the ship, walking into somebody every few steps. He wondered as to why a ship was so crowded and even better as to how it was allowed to get this overstaffed in the first place. The warrior shifted his rifle to his other shoulder as he looked down at a holo-pad, telling him where to go and who to report to. His distraction led him to walk into another person, his patience already growing thin.

Soon, he would find the place that he was looking for, the common area of the platoon that he would be serving under. Halliq took a step in and saw the people, looking down at his holo-pad to be sure this was the right place. Concluding it was not so, he turned to leave.

“Where do you think you are going Kaleesh?,” spat a woman’s voice, causing the warrior to turn and to see that there were some gazes on him, not welcoming ones either. The woman walked over to him, sizing him up. “I am Sergeant Paltoy. I heard I was getting a Kaleesh as a replacement.”

Halliq extended his hand out, a hand wrapped in bandades “It is a pleasure to meet you, Sergeant I would like-,”

A raised hand from the Sergeant interrupted him, giving him an intimidating glare as her eyes narrowed. “Listen here, trooper, I do not need formalities right now nor did I ask for you as a replacement. The others are still grieving over the losses as am I. So for now, go find a place to settle down and store your junk,” Paltoy warned, turning a walking away from Halliq. Her hands went behind her back as she strolled back to the others of her squad.

The kaleesh gave a confused look, swinging his hand back to his side before letting out a sigh as he stood there for a moment or two. This was going to be a pain, but first impressions aside he would be able to settle in. Halliq followed his Sergeant, taking a seat and setting his rifle to his side. Silently looking at each of his squad mates.

“Go put your damned gun in the armory,” growled a human, who had the luck to be sitting next to Halliq. Short dark hair, brown eyes, and only a measly 64” tall and rather unintimidating to the Kaleesh who just scoffed.

“Be nice Marc, he’s new and we need him to like us. Kaleesh are natural born warriors man!” a bothan chuckled, looking straight at the human, Marc. The bothan was covered in brown hair, roughly 59”.

“You think he is gonna replace Arvin? Arvin was at least funny, Guillermo” the human sighed, slouching onto the table in front of him.

“I can be funny,” Halliq interjected.

“Then tell a joke,” Marc grumbled.

“How many Imperial Soldiers does it take to actually succeed in taking a Kaleesh village?” Halliq began, smiling under his ceremonial mask. All eyes at the table went to him, the Bothan’s excitedly waiting for the punchline as the others just gave a bored look. “All of them! One to take the village and the rest to die!” Halliq laughed rather loudly. He only received blank stares, except for the bothan who was laughing.

“What is your name,” Guillermo laughed, gripping his stomach. The bad joke still affecting even though the rest of the squad remained silent.

“I am Halliq Neban, kaleesh sniper,” He answered, laughing lightly still at his own terrible joke. Halliq extended his hand out to the bothan who actually shook it.

“Good to have you on board, man! You can share my bunk of some random guy hasn't stolen it by now,” Guillermo chuckled, earning a slight chuckle from the Kaleesh. The new guy was happy that someone within his squad was decently kind, granted the bothan may get annoying but he was new family so he would put up with it.

Hopefully.

---

Ibus always hated space travel. He much preferred being on the ground, travelling on foot. Thus, the eventual arrival of the platoon aboard the ship prompted a sigh of relief from him. His fresh faced subordinates followed him out of the ship that had transported them here, scurrying about.

Most were dressed in their utility uniforms, being obviously less weary than their counterparts which occupied other parts of the deck. They hauled crates, bags, and all other sorts of containers from the transport to the quarters of which they were authorized, each talking amongst one another about various topics.

Ibus had already claimed his quarters and had just moved in his belongings, beginning to settle in. Needless to say the arrival of the Sergeant Major was of great surprise. Trad's experiences with Company Sergeants had rarely gone well, and he had nary a high hope for this encounter. As Ibus met eyes with the gruff and experienced senior enlistedman, his posture faltered.

"Sergeant Major Jax, I presume?" spoke Ibus, in his calm, well-mannered voice as he raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Aye," replied he, "First off, I'd like to welcome you to the the Keep, Lieutenant."

"Glad to be here." remarked Trad, a slight grin forming upon his face.

"The Commandant has requested you to the briefing room. He's formulated a plan for the next op, and he wants you and the other platoon commanders there to be briefed as soon as possible."

And there it went. The grin dissipated, replaced again by the blank scowl associated so often with commanding figures. "Understood, Sergeant Major. I will depart momentarily. Just give me a few seconds to offload my gear," the Lieutenant stated, placing the unloaded A280 he had been carrying upon the table of his quarters as the Sergeant Major departed. He then removed the rucksack from his person with another sigh, running one of his hands over the light stubble patch upon his jaw.

He stepped out of his quarters, speaking up to the platoon sergeant, Krok Upard, as he made to depart. "I'm heading to a briefing on one of the upper decks. Hold down the fort for me, eh?"

Krok nodded and cracked a smirk, and then the Lieutenant was off again, clad in his officer uniform, opting to trade his ballistic helmet for a field cover as he passed by his hard-working subordinates, on his trek to the briefing room.

---

Rogaar blocked his opponent's strike with his muscled forearm, and attempted to grapple the arm with a swift grab from his opposite hand. It succeeded, but he was in turn gripped back, and felt a series of hard punches meet his abdomen as Section Leader Dred Ortega pushed the offensive.

Pib Dosa cleaned his rifle as the 2nd Asst Section Leader Rogaar and the 1st Section Leader Dred fought with all of their combat experience amid the group of watching Mandalorians. Many simply kept silent as they studied the two combatants battle circle match, as if it was a math equation to be learned or a painting to be remembered, trying to memorize and contemplate every movement, every block. Combat was a way of life for the Mandalorians, a culture based upon war and warriors.

The Mando'a Platoon Sergeant was a spectar among them, making sure everyone had their proper equipment. Todal Fist was an intimidating sight, even to other Mandalorians. Only Pib and perhaps Dred had just as many victories in battle, bounties, and hunting as he. He received nods and returned them from his brothers in war.

"I've noticed we've not made many friends," Ghez said to his comrade and Section Leader, Tor Akaavi. "These troops have some experience, but it seems the moderate skirmish on Anaxes has rattle them." Tor nodded, for the so-called 'battle' was indeed nothing more than a moderate skirmish to the Mandalorians. Tor slipped his Vibroblade into his sheath as he spoke. "The rebellion is getting desperate. Perhaps that is why they were eager to take us. I saw a Kaleesh here as well."

"None of our concern," Platoon Commander Dosa said, drawing their gazes. "Our goal remains the same." It was at that moment that Todal Fist approached and snapped to attention with his fist upon his chest. "Chieftan. The upper command of the Rebels asks for your presence."

With a twist of his powerful arm, his weapons snapped into a reloaded position and he hefted it. "Soon, we'll take the Empire's measure yet again." Pib Dosa said as he addressed his battle brothers. "Rest and prepare."

*Commander on deck* announced the tactical droid, as the Admiral, perched precipitously atop an clawed mechno-chair, clanked into the bridge, his voluminous blue robes spilling out from the heavy metal frame of his pressure suit.

"rePORT-buzzzt-" demanded Ximen as he futzed with the voice-dials arrayed across his gleaming breastplate, "SYSTEms status."

His chair lurched to the center of the command platform, then froze and settled under his weight with a slow hydraulic hiss. Around him, B-1 pilot models hunched over terminals, beeping quietly as they monitored the Keep's subsystems and the asteroid field in which she lay hidden from Imperial sensors.

*Aft turbo-laser batteries assessed at 37% capacity, deemed not fully recoverable in the absence of repair facilities.* the t-model replied, approaching the admiral with a data-slate, *gas-leak in engineering located and repaired. Keep assessed mission-ready despite sub-optimal offensive systems. Lightning Squadron has requested additional hangar space in-*

"Gr-zzzzzt-anted," said Ximen, with the wave of a black-gloved hand, "Inform Major Sovv that he has my -zzzt- backing in whatever he re-zzzt-quires. Send LOM-8347 to remove any excess ground personnel from the h-zzt-ngers. What of the Imperials?"

*TIE forces continue to sweep the debris cluster* replied the t-series, as a holo-display of the asteroid field flickered into life in front of the admiral, with red indicators of enemy fighter locations, all distant from the Keep's position, *Mynock Squadron in position to intercept/ambush any enemy scouts that breach detection radius.*

"Acceptable. The likelihood of our discovery?"

*15%*

"Analysis."

*Enemy employing standard Imperial search-destroy formations. No detected deviations. At current rate, enemy would breach Keep's detection radius in 7 months. Correction: 8.4 months. Two TIE units just destroyed by asteroid impact. 10% chance of discovery, contingent entirely on change in Imperial search procedure.*

Admiral Ximen's beady eyes watched from behind round goggles as two red pin-points disappeared from the holo-display.

"-zzzt-fools," he said in his mechanical croak, to no one in particular, "squandering their chance to catch us."

*Quite agreed, Admiral.* replied the droid.

Ximen sat back in his chair. Behind his mask, a lipless mouth was curled into a frown. The clumsiness of his hunters was typical of the Imperial Navy, inept as it tended to be in anything but open engagements between ships of the line.

At Anaxes, however, they had been anything but clumsy. Their ambush had been near perfect, failing to destory the Keep only due to the skill of the Rebel ship's fighter screen. One well-placed ion torpedo had been the difference between life and death.

Ximen doubted that whomever had organized the Anaxes trap was bothering to command the pursuit.

"Have you completed your analysis of the Anaxes engagment?" he asked the droid.

*Yes, Admiral.*

"You may proceed."

*Victory-class cruisers Stalwart and Firestorm identified. Engagement histories being uploaded to your data-slate now.*

"What of the Destroyer?"

*Transmission intercepts identified it as the ISD-Lycurgus.*

"Her command-zzzt-er?"

*The databanks to which I have access only indicate that the Lycurgus is not a garrison ship, nor does it appear in our roster of Imperial capital-class vessels.*

Ximen pressed the tips of his long, gloved fingers together. "Perturbing. Ask Commander Axton to report to the Bridge. Perhaps Alliance Intelligence knows more than-zzzzt-they care to enter into our databanks. It will not do for us to ignore an Imperial who knows how to lay a competent ambush-zzzt."

The hangar was crowded. It always was. Thranta squadron, though the smallest in number of craft aboard the Keep, took up more space than Mynock squadron. The craft were large in their own right, but Y-Wings were notoriously maintenance intensive, and always surrounded by technicians, spare parts and supplies, that increased their hangar footprint considerably.

Today however, it was even more severe. Three of the squadrons craft were damaged from the previous battle - and in order to keep the squadron operational, repair crews had been assigned to them with priority. Kytra sat in the cockpit of her craft now, forgoing the relative silence of her quarters for a place she felt comfortable in… And a place too loud and chaotic for anyone to come and ask her how she felt.

The battle had caused more grief to Thranta squadron than the damage to the craft. It had taken from them Lieutenant Verena Aldamar and her ship. Verena had been one of the longest standing members of the squadron and Kytra’s second in command. That alone would’ve been a significant blow to the squadron, but it was worse than that. Kytra though a reasonable starfighter tactician, had never been much of a leader of men. Verena had had the charisma she lacked, and while Kytra was the squadron’s mind, Verena was its soul. The loss was keenly felt.

She had run out of tears for her friend. Now she had to write a letter to Verena’s next of kin. She had been staring at the datapad unable to find the words for half an hour now. This was the worst part of leading her own squadron.

“Hey!” A yell from a goggled human in the messy garb of a technician yelled up at her. “Hey! Flygirl! You need to check some systems!” His shouting roused Kytra from her reverie. She put down the datapad, taking the excuse to focus on something else. “Alright, what's first?” She spoke loudly to be heard over the cacophony of the hangar. “Check the left rear deflector projection strength and the power coupling efficiency to the left engine!” Of course. The left wing had been hit on the retreat after the last battle. She ran a quick systems check, and after a few minutes diagnosis relayed the result “I’m seeing fluctuations in the rear deflector. You should take another look at its alignment.” The repair crews were good, but even good repair crews made mistakes when they were rushed and crowded. “Power flow to the engine is good, but its running hot.” The cooling systems were the eternal bane of the maintenance crews. There was always a problem somewhere with them. The reply from the technician confirmed Kytra’s suspicions. “Yeah, that was the next thing I was going to ask you. We had to bypass the main line with three new lines. Main line is shot and we can't fix it without a complete strip down.” Kytra nodded, then after a moment replied, somewhat stroppily. “I need more cooling on that engine. Work something out.”

All she got back was a sarcastic “Yes your majesty.” From the technician. It was something a disturbing number of the crew had taken to doing whenever she asked for anything, in reference to her occasionally demanding nature and royal lineage. It wasn’t technically the right formal address for her station, but then, that was the point. She let it slide, mostly because she knew if she asked for it to stop, it’d just be said behind her back. It was then her comm link activated and the beeping of an astromech came through. She was needed in the ready room. It was another mission.

Off to the side of the infantry common areas, separate, was a different sort of country. It was a smaller area, furthest from the lifts and sitting in the curves of the Keep's bulkheads, packed with equipment and people eternally out of uniform in the strictest sense. There was no Alderaanian blue and white, but rather an array of different clothing types, though at the moment they were wearing a primarily sand-colored pattern that blended in with the terrain of Anaxes. The place was neat, but it was tight-packed with the addition of work benches and a small table to conference around, indicative of a place where the troopers kept to themselves.

SpecForces came in off the U-wings exhausted but not overly damaged because the scope of their engagement was measured carefully and perhaps cold-bloodedly. There was no way they could have started blasting on Anaxes and done anything except vainly sacrifice themselves. So they sat tight, called in airstrikes and engaged only as needed to disengage as a whole.

As a result, they came in with scrapes, burns, a little shrapnel from when a blaster bolt hit ferrocrete was natural, as were the aches, pains and incidental bruises that came with the job they did. They set down equipment with a groan after the whole thing was through and found their way to the inevitable post-battle needs, drink, food, hitting the refreshers. He needed steam, heat and the other things he used to keep the dull aches and pains down to a manageable level. Their space in the Keep was a overrun with triple bunks and hammocks. It was home base, even if it felt like they were meat in a can, wedged up against the bulkheads the way they were between equipment storage and racks. Packs and load bearing equipment were shed with simultaneous thumps and boots were pulled off with groans of ecstasy. It seemed like the air circulation was overloaded all at once with the amount of human and alien swamp-foot smells that assaulted the room, but everyone's noses were used to it.

That was the grind of the war, fight after fight. Besk knew to keep his guys in their space and away from the Infantry; they'd lost a lot out there and tempers would flare naturally.

So he gave orders to keep them busy, "Make sure the equipment gets repaired, assessed and replaced if necessary. Stow it. There's Alderaanian wine on this ship and I'll make sure some gets down here, but stay away from the troopers until they've gotten it out of their systems." He had that raspy voice with that distinctively Mando accent; Jango trained his batch personally and they'd adopted his speech patterns out of a desperate gambit for some sort of identity and human contact.

The post-battle was the ugly stuff; they had a terminal there to load all their data into, and making sense of that was a bear, but necessary. Intel didn't let them know of the extra forces they ran into, but it was also a risk that you ran in any war. The enemy was good or they were lucky and they showed up to shoot your tail off. He'd seen it happen so many times to clones, whom he had a genetic connection to, that he'd gotten somewhat philosophical about the whole thing, though the numbing was just that -- it wasn't a true healing, just a matter of getting used to those emotional wounds and carrying on with the parts of the job one could control.

---

"Simple" he'd said to them. Besk looked down at the plan. Point A to Point B was to get the ships in the hangar and figure out a means to disable the weapons with the network spike at a terminal. Point B to C was to hold that hangar and potentially take control of other points within the ship.

"Not a lot of time to requisition equipment and if this goes wrong, even a skeleton crew of scrubs on a Venator is a lot to take on." Chakaar was 20 beings, not that much next to the losses they'd just taken at Anaxes, but they'd just been told to come off an op and get back into one the next day with minimal rest and a lot of planning to do. On the way out of the briefing, he sent a text by PDA to Bens and Ves, the other two Specforce officers; [Tell the boys to put down their drinks and get as much rack time as they can once they get their weapons maint done, they're throwing us back into it. We've got a lot of planning to do.]

Nae stood at the front of the room, with all the pilots before him. Himself and the squadron leaders of Mynock, Black and Thantra squadrons at the front. He had known Captain Omun the longest out of all of them. As both Black and Lightning squadrons were seasoned veterans of the Keep while Mynock was a new transfer and Captain Alde was still quite new herself, though she had rebanded the squadron. Not necessarily a bad thing, sometimes a breath of fresh life was exactly what they needed. It kept them on their toes, and despite what she apparently lacked in people skills she more than made up for in the cockpit. So far at least, that said it took more than that to be a good squadron leader. Part of him was starting to wonder whether or not she had the spine to be in command.

Mynock was the new player at the table, experienced though was used to working as part of a fleet. As of yet they hadn't gotten into an engagement and were currently running the Combat Air Patrol (CAP) as they had a squadron at full strength, and with fully functional craft. He hadn't had a fresh squadron since he first joined the Rebellion, and even then the blood stains from the previous pilot still clung to the seat of his X-Wing. Part of him was looking forward to the end of this mission, which would signal the Keeps first real supply from the Rebel fleet in nearly a year. They had had supply runs from the fleet, and from different cells, but this was a chance for them to really get what they needed. From what he could tell the Commandant was virtually drooling over replacing the vehicles that he had in his arsenal, he didn't blame him. If there were any fighters better suited for their line of work he'd be after them like nobodies business.

Chuckles wheeled up beside him, sat in rest and then a hologram came up of the Venator. "Listen up, by now you should have all read the brief regarding the basic details of the operation." He pointed to the hologram as a Nebulon B appeared. "As we go in to dock, we will be on the starboard side of the vessel-" The hologram mirrored what he said. "-Once the offensive begins, Mynock and Black squadrons will launch-" Small diagrams appeared indicating the fighters. "-From there they will protect the Keep from fighter/bomber attack, and take out any craft that attempt to reinforce the forces aboard the target vessel. Lightning and Thantra will go on the offensive, attacking any Imperial forces in the system at the behest of the Admiral."

The hologram flicked off, briefly leaving the room in the dark before the main lights came back on. "Any questions?"

He nodded as Captain Hayes of Mynock squadron spoke up. "What are we expecting in terms of enemy forces?"

"The Venators PDS systems will be disabled with the rest of it's weaponry, and the hangar will be ours so we aren't expecting anything to launch from it. Imperial opposition is expected to be two light cruisers and two transports, with fighter escort. So nothing we can't handle.

"What if the enemy opposition is greater?"

This time it was Black Leader that spoke up. "Then we adjust the plan accordingly. We're trying to get more up to date intel, though it is difficult without tipping our hand." He looked among the faces of the pilots that he served beside in every operation, he recognised the more seasoned hands and struggled to put names to faces of the newer pilots who were more recently transferred, or in rarer cases trained and recruited from Rancors previous missions. "We all know what these missions can go like, go get some rest and prepare your ships. Dismissed."

There was a general sense of murmuring as the pilots stood up and began to file out of the room. "Captain Alde, a word?" He stood towards the front of the presentation area, waiting for everyone else to finish filing out of the room before he spoke.

"Captain, I can't help but notice that you haven't yet picked any replacement pilots. I know you lost Lieutenant Aldamar at Anaxes, though you've got a Y-Wing sitting using up room in the hangar. I've given you the dossiers of pilots in the fleet ready to transfer in, to bring your squadron up to eight starfighters. At this point I need you to pick one of the dossiers from aboard ship to fill the empty Y-Wing. Can you do this?"

Grey smoke gently floated in the air, resting against the ceiling before it was sucked away by the vents. It stank of tabac, a distinctive odor that often made people cringe at the stench. Those in the room that could inhale the smell were far too used to it to do such a thing, the originator of the smoke was an armored Quarren. In one of his gloved hands was a ciggara, which the smoke seeped from. Tabac wrapped in rough paper, it was a nasty habit which calmed Zulhg's mind. He held the ciggara between his fingers as he read a datapad, a message from their commanding officer. His squadmates spoke around the room as they all prepared for the next mission.

"I have a few friends at Nar Shaddaa, they know the black market well. Could ship us some weapons that we wouldn't be able to get otherwise," PFC. Venka Janrenk stated, his hands rested on a table, weapons of all kinds spread out on top of it. "These blasters are good, but it's always good to have as much firepower as we can. Especially if we're dealing with the Empire. Can't bring down an AT-AT with a A280."

"Nar Shaddaa is a filthy world, we'd better not be dealing with the Hutts." PFC. Zesson stated as he did one final equipment check. The newest member of Chain-Breaker Squad, the Gotal had his arms crossed as he spoke. Slung over his shoulder was a compact blaster shotgun.

"They're not employed by any dirty slug, I don't ask where they get the weapons, I just know their reliable and reasonable with their prices." Venka replied as he hooked another grenade to the belt of his armor. He was the medic in the squad, in charge of keeping them all alive. It was not an easy job but nothing within the Alliance was.

On one of the side of the room the two hairest members of the squad quietly conversed amongst themselves. A muscular Yuzzem, his fair a medium gray shade. He wore a few pieces of metal over his heavily furred exterior. A thick chest and stomach piece with shoulder pads, the Alliance insignia painted on one side of the chest plating. In his clawed hands he held a DLT-19 Heavy Blaster, it was normally an Imperial issue weapon. PFC. Jaa pulled it from the hands of a dead Stormtrooper and took a liking to the blaster. The other hairy being, a dark brown haired wookie, let out a deep laugh. CPL. Zaghirr used the typical bowcaster his species were known to carry. He clenched it in one massive paw, his vibrosword hooked to his belt near it.

Two of the highest ranking soldiers in the squadron stood near Lt. Bens, SGT. Pana Bren the Givin sniper and 'brains' of the group was doing complicated calculations in his mind. A way for him to mentally prepare for whatever they'd encounter next. His sniper rifle rested against the wall as his skeletal facial features showed deep focus. Near him an Ugnaught carefully pieced together a makeshift bomb, dozens of small bits and pieces were spread around the device as CPL. Onhar Delstee created yet another explosive for his arsenal. He was short in stature, but the best amongst the squad when it came to machinery. His weapon of choice was a heavy blaster pistol, but the soldier had all manner of explosives to choose from.

The sound of a heavy boot twisting against the floor caused each of the soldiers to glance at their leader. Zulhg had dropped his cigarra after he had taken long smoke from his it. The flame extinguished underneath his foot, as the smoke seeped from his mouth. Then he spoke, his voice deep and guttural in tone.

"So we didn't lose any of our own at Anaxes, we got lucky, left with just burns and bruises. But our fellow Rebels we not as lucky as us. We're gonna claim some Imperial dogtags, comrades. Now I think we should get a running tally going amongst ourselves, whoever bags the most Stormies gets a prize. What it will be I do not know. You'd best be honest though, soldiers. I know when you all lie." Zulhg smirked then winked.

"Might even catch us a Moff, one of them stuck up sleemos. We'll meet with Captain Besk shortly to go over the full plan for our squad. Get yourselves ready." The Quarren added as he finished his speech. Chain-Breaker Squad was as ready as ever.

332nd Mobile Assault Company
Briefing Room, 4th Deck
Commandant Tavik pulled Lieutenant Dosa aside prior to the beginning of the meeting. "How is your platoon, doing Lieutenant?" The Commandant wanted to know the morale of his Assault Platoon. Major Tavik had a habit of tilting his head back slightly, giving off the appearance of peering down the sides of his hooked nose, especially when speaking to subordinates. He treated the Mandalorian officer no differently. He was honestly impressed with the platoon thus far. "I did catch a glimpse of your soldiers sparring earlier today. You have some serious warriors in your platoon. The fact they are training in hand to hand combat tells me they prefer to take the fight to the enemy. Get right in their faces." The Commandant was indeed pleased with the Mandalorians, but Lieutenant Dosa could not see it in the Commandant's face. The tall pencil-thin man gave no indication from his facial expression. One might assume the Alderaanian Major suffered from Bell's Palsey, but alas, he did not. His bloodline was drawn to royalty. The man often felt he was demeaning himself with certain primitive alien races. "Keep up the good job, Lieutenant and we'll get that second pipit back on your blouse." The Major patted the Mandalorian on the shoulder and headed into the 4th deck briefing room. A Lieutenant wears one pipit, a Captain two and a Major three pipits.

"Room, attention!" Senior sergeant Jax commanded with a booming bass voice. The occupants of the room immediately rose to the position of attention. It was customary to call a room to attention when a senior officer entered. Knowing this was a company meeting, it was done only for the Company Commander.

"Carry on, gentlemen," Major Tavik casually ordered with a slight wave of his right hand. He sat at one end of a long rectangular table with everyone else seated along either side. The Major nodded to Captain Kruger who was seated at the other end of the table. The Executive Officer then stood up.

"For those of you who do not know me, I am Captain Lorne Kruger, the Company Executive Officer. I will conduct today's operational briefing." He paused to allow the assembled officers and NCOs to adjust in their seats. Major Tavik prefered his XO to conduct many of the briefings. He felt it was a way of nurturing his XO for command leadership. Some considered the Commandant believed it was beneath him to brief the platoon commanders personally. Captain Kruger looked around the room at the assembled faces; Lieutenant Pib Dosa, Captain Mosh Karada, Lieutenant Ibus Trad, Lieutenanant Percival "Percy" Lomax, the Sapper Platoon Commander, Senior Sergeants Ari Jax, Bobec Felidron and Fen Mott and Sergeant Nesota Dumas. The presence of Sergeant Dumas always seemed to lighten the room, a Twi'lek female with all the right curves, concealed under her Rebel Alliance uniform. She would never flirt with any of this crowd, but enjoyed a little fun with some of the enlisted soldiers. Like a true Twi'lek her seduction dance was one to be experienced.

"Everyone should have received a copy of the Operations Order on their datapads. I will go over the scheme of maneuver. Please hold any questions until the end." Captain Kruger changed the page on his datapad to bring up the Oporder. The other officers and NCOs did the same. "You will notice the Sapper Platoon is broken up. Each of the three line platoons will have one sapper section attached. Mosh, you get Section one, Lieutenant Trad, section two, and Lieutenant Dosa, you get section three. Lieutenant Trad, you are to detach your fourth section to the Sapper Platoon. Lieutenant Lomax, your platoon will consist of one section of sappers, one section of infantry and the sniper section. The sniper section will travel with your platoon and operate like Infantry until they arrive at the vehicle bay area. Then use them for their intended purpose, OK, LT?"

Lieutenant Lomax listened to the XO, nodding his head in comprehension, "Yes sir."

"We do not know how many soldiers and sailors are aboard the Venator-Class ship we are about to assault, but we do know that it is capable of sustaining over seven thousand. We are told the current compliment is considerably less than that. What we do have going for us, is the element of surprise. They don't know we are coming and believe we are an Imperial supply ship bringing them a few LAATs and a Juggernaut."

Captain Karada asked, "Lorne, are we going to lose that Juggernaut?" Major Tavik looked up at the Alderaanian officer, almost smiled and tapped a note into his datapad, possibly about Captain Karada's question.

"No, Mosh. There are no plans to give away our Juggernaut." Lorne Kruger returned to his briefing. "The Special Operations Platoon will fly the two LAATs over to the privately owned ship, Majestic. Once aboard, they will install a spike or virus into the ship's computer system that will disable their ability use their weapon systems. As soon as their batteries have been disabled, the Keep Will pull up alongside the Majestic and dock. On order, the Sapper Platoon will be prepared to board at the docking bridge. The other three platoons will breech the Majestic between the hulls of the two ships using breaching charges. You will each make your own doors. The Assault Platoon will set up a hundred meters from the docking bridge and the Sapper Platoon. To their left will be Lieutenant Trad's Second Platoon and to the right of the Sappers will be Captain Karada's First platoon. Space yourselves out about a hundred to a hundred and fifty meters from the inside two platoons."

As the Captain spoke, Sergeant Mott, the Operations NCO toggled a switch that generated a holographic image of the Venator-Class ship with the Nebulon B alongside. The image expanded to the point where the two ships were touching. The image was able to project the floor plan of both ships and allowed the Platoon Commanders to see what rooms they were entering and the adjacent corridors. They would be able to study the schematics to determine the best routes and courses of action to take in order to rapidly expand towards the interior of the ship. "First Platoon, your objective is to clear all enemy combatants from the middle of the ship, towards the stern. Once in the engine room, defend with one section and report to the Commandant. Second Platoon, your objective is to clear all enemy combatants from the middle of the ship towards the Bow. Assault platoon, you need to move towards the vehicle landing bays and support Chakaar detachment from there. If they have the vehicle bays/landing bays secure, be prepared to either back fill the Special Operations detachment or move to and secure the bridge. There is a High Value Target (HVT) on the bridge, you must capture alive if possible. If Governor Moff Lorne puts up a fight, you have permission to kill, but please make every effort to take him alive. Tobias Lorne is Governor of the Dalonbian Sector and owner of the ship we are assaulting. Once this objective is taken, notify the Commandant."

Finally, Captain Kruger looked at Lieutenant Lomax, "Your platoon is to follow the Assault platoon and clear out any combatants they bypass. Assist them in securing the vehicle bays as well as supporting Chakaar detachment. Be prepared to defend the landing bays and be prepared to take and secure the bridge."

"You can expect no fire support from the Keep due to its proximity to the target vessel. Are there any questions?"

"How can we take a Venator-Class ship with only 160 people?" Captain Karada asked.

"There are plenty of examples where a smaller force has taken a larger force when the element of surprise was on their side and equipped with superior skill and equipment, " the Commandant fielded the question himself.

"Yes, sir. But the intelligence we have on this Majestic is incomplete. Isn't this what you told us a week ago when we went into Anaxes?" Mosh Karada was annoyed at this mission. He felt it was taking on way too much, too soon. He didn't believe the company was prepared for this sort of thing right now. Maybe after they spent a few months training up and rehearsing every detail the company could be prepared for a mission like this, but two of its four platoons were brand new and his own platoon was under strength. He had extreme doubts about its success.

Major Tavik raised his right hand, "that will be enough, Captain. I understand your concerns. The zeal of the soldier and the lust for battle will carry our men through. I am confident in our warriors. They will be victorious and we shall claim the Majestic as our prize. Governor Moff Lorne will know not what has befallen him." Major Tavik allowed the slightest of grins, embellishing his pride in this statement. The grin lasted less than two seconds. The look Tavik gave Karada spoke volumes. Mosh had seen it before. If he persisted in his line of questioning, he would feel the Commandant's wrath. Mosh did want to see the Rebellion succeed, but despised dealing with some of the arrogant personalities that always seemed to surface in the army. These holier than thou images some officers insisted in presenting. He'd heard of such nonsense with general officers, but quietly laughed to himself about a field grade officer putting on such unnecessary airs. His negative opinion of the Commandant had not improved since his first impression three months ago. He would make a mental point to support the Commandant in front of his men. He was still a professional.

Major Tavik then stood up. He looked at Captain Kruger, "Thank you Lorne for your succinct briefing." He pushed his chair in so it was exactly three inches from the edge of the table and properly aligned. He then slowly paced around the table as he addressed the officers and NCOs. The gaunt look of his face was only slightly disturbing to some of the newer unit members. Victor Tavik considered himself a handsome man, a ladies' man even."I know some of you may have your doubts about this operation. I must assure you, I do not share them with you. I have the utmost confidence in the outcome of this affair. It is imperative that you support the operation and stifle any negativity you may hear amongst your men. When we are successful, we will have our pick of some choice ground vehicles for us to use; maybe even some repulsorlift vehicles. I want to assure you and your men that this plan has the backing of the entire Rebel Alliance. During this operation, Captain Kruger will travel with the Lieutenant Trad's platoon and I will travel with Captain Karada's platoon. I will monitor the company net and have a radio frequency set to Admiral Ximen's Combat Information Center. You report your status and I will report to the Admiral. I want everyone, to return to your units and to brief your plans. If they need rest, put them to bed ASAP. The Company needs to be formed up and ready to go by zero-five hundred hours tomorrow morning. Dismissed!" With the last word spoken, everyone in the room came to attention and the Commandant departed heading to his office.

Captain Kruger remained to answer questions. Mosh Karada had none. He gave the Commandant a five-minute lead and then left to return to his platoon. Once back in Infantry Country on Deck four, he told his section sergeants and platoon sergeant what was going on. They were all briefed on the operations plan. Breakfast would be at 4AM and formation at 4:45. They needed to have all their equipment ready to go. Mosh told his NCOs to initiate a rest plan ASAP and use whatever time they had available to rehearse room clearing techniques. That appeared to be the battle drill they would use the most tomorrow morning.

@HeySeuss@POOHEAD189@Lauder@CaptainBritton

---

Ibus had left the briefing room at next convenience once it had ended. His eyes were fixated on his datapad, still scrolling through all the information at his disposal. Each thought of what could go wrong went through his mind as he slowly strolled down the main hallway that connected each platoon's areas.

The Platoon Sergeant, Krok Upard, was the first to greet him as he made his way into the common area. Trad looked onwards from his datapad, returned the greeting, and with a heavy sigh, began to detail the plan.

"We've got an operation due." Trad remarked lowly, passing the datapad for the Senior Sergeant to read.

"I see," replied Upard. "I'll muster and brief the men. Anything else, Lieutenant?"

"Just make sure the men get plenty of rest. It was a long flight here, they'll need it." Ibus furrowed his brow, thinking. "Oh, and make sure to sound reveille at 0330, breakfast will be 0345 to 0430. Formation is at 0445. Everyone should be in full battle rattle. Got it?"

Krok nodded, and Ibus kept walking, heading to his quarters. The thought about the next day's operation weighed heavily on him. No, this is no time to doubt your abilities or your men, he thought.

His walk through the common area saw his own men finally settled. Bunks and cots were strewn about, footlockers and rucks nestled beside them. Rifles were stacked neatly, muzzles interlocked. Men ate, talked, and tidied their gear. Ibus was hit with waves of greetings as he made way back to the place which he claimed as his own.

As he popped the door to his quarters and entered, the exhaustion hit him all at once. He had barely gotten into sleeping gear before near-collapsing onto his own cot. Instantly he was asleep.

Through swirling currents of smoke and snow, Lieutenant Uled watched the shuttle approach, circling the landing pad like some great, black bird of prey, its dark wings folding up along its sides as though preparing to swoop down on Uled and the troopers assembled behind him.

He stood at attention, ignoring as best he could wind that bit right through his uniform, and the overpowering reek of burning gas and melted ferrocrete. He envied the Stormtoopers around him, in their sealed armor, breathing warm, recycled air.

The raid had hit his facility, hard, and though most of the fires were by now under control, smoke and ash hung over the base like a shroud. The occasional break in the dark pall revealed an altogether more disturbing sight: the vast arrow-head shadow of a Star Destroyer, suspended beneath the grey skies, blocking out the pale winter sun.

Uled wondered for the thousandth time if he was about to meet the end of his career or the end of his life, and could not be sure which idea terrified him more.

The shuttle landed, the exit ramp dropping in a gust of hydraulic exhaust, and down they came, a squad of Stormtroopers first, then the black-uniformed agents of the Imperial Security Bureau.

The Colonel descended last, the tails of his dark coat billowing out behind him, his collar upturned against the wind. He was a tall man with graying, slightly unkempt hair swept back from a high forehead. The left side of his face was a patchwork of burns, and he wore a metal patch over his eye. An unlit cigarra hung from the corner of his mouth, and the pistol at his hip was far heavier than the standard officer's model.

"You Uled?" he said, approaching the lieutenant. The Colonel spoke in a gutter drawl from the Outer Rim- nothing like the clipped Coruscanti affectation universal among the Imperial officer caste. His accent shocked Uled, who managed stunned blink and a half-hearted salute.

"Yes sir, Lieutenant Uled, sir, I am the, ah, commander of this facility."

"Colonel Pale, ISB. Rebs hit you boys pretty hard down here," said the Colonel, shielding his cigarra from the wind as he lit it, "Lose anything important?"

"Ah, the comms array, sir, the refueling depot for the ground units, and two turbo laser batteries sir."

"Databases still intact?"

"Databases, sir?"

"Communications logs, ship manifests, that sort've thing?"

"Err, yes, yes sir."

"Good. As of this moment, your facility is under the command of the Imperial Security Bureau. You are to order all personnel- including your troopers- to surrender their weapons to my men and report to the main briefing hall by 0200. Anyone who can't make it without a damned good excuse, we hunt down like an animal. You are relieved of command for the duration of my stay on Anaxes, Lieutenant."

"Sir, I... we managed to destroy the rebel-"

"I don't give a wookie's ass about the rebels," said the Colonel, "If I cared about that lizard-fucker Ximen and his rag-tag gaggle of pirates, I'd be chasing them instead of standing here in the cold with you. Exactly fifty people were authorized to know about the frigate the rebels tried to lift, and all of them work in this facility. You have a leak, Lieutenant."

Uled opened his mouth to reply, but the Colonel held up a gloved hand as he exhaled a cloud of bluish, spicy-smelling smoke. Behind him, Uled could see landers streaming down from the Destroyer. The first to touch down disgorged ISB stormtroopers, who fanned out in combat formation. There were a few bright blue flashes, as the ISB troops stunned anyone in their way.

"Your sidearm, Lieutenant," said Pale, holding out his hand, "and then I'll need your override codes to the facility."

“Alright boys, we have a new operation coming up,” Sergeant Paltoy began, reading her briefing off a holo-pad. A groan ran through most of the squad, earning a look of disappointment from the squad leader who said nothing to lift their moods. “We will be storming an Imperial vessel, a Venator-class star destroyer Majestic. As we are part of the First Platoon, we will be inserting and making our way through the ship towards the bow. It sounds simple enough.”

Halliq raised his hand, attention coming to him from Paltoy. “Yes, Halliq?”

“I am no expert when it comes to vessels, but surely we can consider this a close quarters operations?,” the kaleesh asked, while Paltoy nodded confirming slight doubts that Halliq had. He lowered his hand, feeling that his squadmates’ eyes were burrowing into him. Sighing, he looked to his left to see Corporal Dalmuth, a dark-skinned human, staring right at him. Humans were exceedingly strange creatures which he continually failed to understand.

“Anyways, once we deploy, we will split into two groups. Our assault group will consist of myself, Valante, and Neban. The second group, the support group, shall be consisting of Dalmuth, Soltana, and Ortez. We will clear out any resistance we come into contact with, however, be prepared to pull back if needed,” Paltoy continued briefing, continuing to earn a few mutters and groans from the others. “That is all for now, go get some rest. Wake up at 4AM, then we shall be fine for deploying at 5AM, dismissed.”

The squad scattered to their bunks, Halliq watching them for a moment before following them to their quarters. He watched them shuffle into their beds, staying close behind his bothan friend, Guillermo.

“I suppose that not everyone is happy with being assigned a new mission,” Halliq asked, setting his vibrosword on a ledge near his bunk. He kept his mask on as he hoisted himself onto the top bunk.

“Nah, we’ve had bad luck lately,” the bothan remarked, slipping into the bottom bunk.

“Well, I, for one, am rather excited to kill some Imperial tyrants,” Halliq chuckled to himself before he slowly began drifting off to sleep.

The Force moved strangely in hyperspace. Unlike the ship's sensors and communication arrays, Selas was not rendered blind to the outside world after a jump, but her perceptions did change. Her awareness wasn't dulled or blurred, and she didn't feel impared - nothing like the way she felt after too much Corellian brandy. Not quite like a missing or sour note in a symphony, either, everything seemed just like it should be, but somehow, subtly, not. A favourite song played in a different key, but otherwise flawless, perhaps. Not quite a distraction, but something difficult to ignore, all the same. This feeling was nothing new, Selas sometimes felt she spent more time in hyperspace than otherwise, but she never quite got used to the strange, prickling tension.

She sighed and swung her boots down from the console where she'd propped her feet. The shuttle was a handful of meters long and half that wide, just barely large enough to hold a hyperdrive and two people - maybe three if they really liked one another. She took a pair of steps to a tiny counter and pressed the power button on an automatic kettle, a sharp beep piercing the dull hum of the hyperdrive.

"Ooh, tea?" The pilot said, clicking a couple of controls into place, "I'll have some, if you're making."

"I thought you might," Selas said with a smirk, "I swear, Nazik, you're the laziest person I've met." All the same, she knelt and pulled out two dented and scratched metal cups from the fist-sized cabinet below.

"I told you, I'm only with the Rebellion because no one else would have me." The Twi'lek woman grinned, and Selas felt the infectiousness of her smile without having to turn around.

Selas laughed, "I'm still not sure if I'm supposed to be reassured by that."

Nazik shrugged, "I can't tell you what to think, Professor. But you shouldn't worry. I've only crashed once." She thought for a moment. "No, twice. No, wait...well. That one shouldn't count, it was only-"

Selas cut her off by pressing a steaming cup into Nazik's hands. She made a pleased sound, and took a long, luxurious drink from the cup, her eyes closed, her expression one of unalloyed bliss.

"That's the same blend it's been for the last three days," Selas said, settling into the shuttle's other chair.

"I know, but we're almost there. This is probably the last cup I'm going to have for the next year or so. And the best company, too." Nazik took a smaller sip, then pulled in a long, deep breath of the fragrant steam. "That sounds like two reasons to savour every moment."

A smile crept onto Selas' face, and she took a drink from her own cup. "So, what am I about to get myself into?"

"Well, normally I'd say that I have no idea," Nazik said, "The Alliance just sends me all over the place without telling me why. 'Nazik,' they say, 'Fly to this moon in the end of nowhere,' or 'Nazik, take this general to visit his wampa farm' or 'Nazik, take this bomb to...' well. I probably shouldn't finish that." She took another sip, another shiver of pleasure passing over her face.

"But the Keep? Yeah, I know about that one. You hear stories, sounds like they can do the impossible. Full of old clone troopers and Mandalorians, and captained by someone who likes droids better than people. If I were to guess, very military, very..." She sat up ramrod-straight, squared her shoulders, shifted her hips in an exaggerated parody of a march.

Selas barked out a quick laugh, "And any idea why I'm being sent there?"

"Oh, like I said, the Alliance doesn't tell me anything. But if you want my opinion...oh, hang on." Nazik swivelled back to the front of the ship and started running one hand over the console, flicking switches and dials with deceptive speed.

The shuttle slipped out of hyperspace, and Selas felt a tension against her senses relax, the music of the galaxy back on the right key. She leaned forward, holding her own cup while Nazik continued to manipluate the shuttle's controls. The ship ahead loomed large in her awareness, a whirling forge-glow of will and purpose. She could feel the lives of the people aboard, not individually, but by the subtle weight they put on the Force. The ship itself, cared for, cursed at, clung to by her crew, gleamed in Selas' mind, almost alive in its own right.

And while she watched, she saw the ship's turbolaser turrets arm and start moving toward their shuttle.

"Nazik?" Selas said, letting a piece of her concern into her voice.

"Yeah, I sort of thought Command might have forgotten to tell them we were coming." Nazik leaned forward, jammed one finger against the comm, "Alliance Frigate The Keep, this is Alliance courier shuttle AR-381, under orders to deliver...um, one second." To Nazik's right, two red alarm lights started blinking, each one labeled with a Twi'lek curse word.

"Uh, Alliance Frigate, how about we start with authorization codes then, right?" Nazik said, and now she set her tea to one side, frantically moving to key information into the console. One of the red lights stopped blinking, became solid red, "Oh, for the love of...stop targeting us!" Nazik yelled into the comm, a shrill edge creeping into her voice.

The second alarm light went solid, and Nazik's eyes went very wide. Selas could see that the frigate's turbolaser batteries had locked onto the shuttle, and she swallowed against a sudden hard lump in her throat. Nazik bent over in her chair and, after some scrabbling, pulled out a data slate and started paging through it, her fingers flying. She muttered something about when the last code change was. After a moment, she straightened back up, the slate held in one hand, and rammed the other back down on the comm.

"That's the latest Alliance authorization code, you paranoid lunatics!" Nazik shouted into the microphone, "Stand down your targeting systems! I'm here on orders from Alliance High Command for a personnel delivery!" She took her hand off the comm controls, tossed the slate down to one side, and put her hands on the shuttle's controls. "If they do start shooting, I'll try to get us out of here until we can sort out what's going on." Nazik swallowed.

"And how likely is that?" Selas could see a tension weaving its way through the Force, touching the shuttle and the frigate ahead. It wound tighter and tighter, like a child with a rubber band.

"Well," Nazik said, "Those things were built to kill fighters."

"You know," Selas said, "I've really appreciated your honesty in the last few days."

Nazik pulled in a breath, and was interrupted by a harsh, mechanical voice buzzing across the comm system. "Alliance shuttle AR-381, you are cleared for docking in hangar bay one. Are you in need of supplies?"

Nazik pressed the comm, "I need a case of whiskey, a spice cake, and eight hours alone with your loneliest fighter pilot. But since I'm not going to get any of that, I'll settle for fuel and a few ration packs."

"Acknowledged," came the reply, and the circuit shut off.

"You want to know why I think you're here?" Nazik said, guiding the shuttle in a slow, deliberate approach to the frigate's hangar.

Selas put her cup to one side, tried to get her heart to stop racing. "Of course, Nazik. I did ask."

Nazik chuffed out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, and shook her head. "I think Command wants someone to remind these people what they're fighting for - and that they're not just fighting."

-----

A few minutes later, Selas found herself in the buzzing hive of activity on the Keep's hangar deck, her bag over one shoulder, and being borne along more by the currents of unceasing activity rather than any deliberate action. Nazik had helped Selas get her things and see her off the shuttle, and she had, to Selas' surprise, turned down an offer of a canister of tea. She had, instead, asked for a kiss - which, all things considered, had been a request Selas could hardly refuse. A moment later, though, and the pilot had gone off to harangue a hangar technician, while Selas turned her attention to every direction, searching for someone who might be able to tell her at least where to go in order to avoid being run over by cargo lifts.

She didn't have a problem keeping her balance while she walked over a deck littered with cables, hoses, and abandoned parts, her feet picking with nimble grace over a seemingly-endless debris field. Selas didn't need her otherwordldly senses to know that something bad had happened here. Every breath she pulled in brought the acrid tang of burnt and tortured metal or the coppery smell of blood. To every side, the Force spun in patterns just this side of chaos, whorls and arcs connecting one person to another, to a machine or their fighter, or fraying out into the world, sorrow and loss and fury looking for an outlet.

"Oi!" Came a voice to one side, and Selas had to pull her attention back to the moment, "Who the hell are you?"

"Oh, um," Selas said, "I'm...your new...crewmember?" She said, suddenly aware that she had almost no idea how to introduce herself on a fighting ship. "I'm supposed to meet someone called Besk."

The man's eyes widened, "Besk? Well...all right, then. You have orders?"

"I have this," Selas said, and reached into her coat to pull out the data slate she'd been handed at Command. The motion swept her jacket to one side, and the man sucked in a breath and took a step back.

"Is...that...?" He said, pointing at her coat.

Selas held the slate out to the man, and kept her voice carefully even, "It is."

"Oh." He looked back at Selas' face, and took in some important detals for the first time. "That might be better than orders, ma'am." He took the slate anyway, but Selas couldn't tell if he actually read it before handing it back.

"Captain Besk is probably near the briefing room right now." The hangar tech listed off directions, "Although I don't know how long he'll be there. You might want to hurry. Oh, and...you don't need to keep that hidden, ma'am. Captain Besk won't like it, but if I know him, it'll be better if he knows up front." With those words, he squeezed past Selas, heading further into the hangar.

Selas sighed, and tucked the slate back into a pocket. She pulled her saber hilt out of her jacket, and regarded it for a moment. It seemed to shine, to burn even more fiercely than usual, here among this sorrow and chaos and madness. She had never carried it openly. She felt like it was a badge of an office she didn't hold, and never would. It was a symbol of something so much greater than she could be, but...she looked around, and thought that maybe, these people needed that symbol. Like Nazik said, something to remind them that they were fighting for something.

She clipped the weapon to her belt, felt the unfamiliar weight. With every step she took, it batted softly against her thigh, reminding her it was there. She liked that. She straightened her spine and shrugged her bag higher on her shoulder, stepping around crew and machinery. Many of the ship's lights were out, but that posed no trouble for her. In a corridor, she brushed past two tired-looking men, and she felt their gaze on her as she passed, a murmur spreading like a wake behind her. Down one corridor, up a set of stairs, past a damage control team working with only a force field between them and hard vacuum, and at last, to the briefing room.

The Force moved in a slow, sinuous path around Besk. Selas had met a few older clone troopers, but none of them smouldered like this man. He wasn't a bright splinter against an encroaching darkness, this man was smoke and ash, he was the forge-fire's tightly-leashed ferocity. His life bound him to his purpose, and that purpose could be a woesome one. But unlike those who would only destroy, Selas could see this man's intimate bond to those who walked the same path, the unity and loyalty he commanded and deserved. And she saw the fury boil out of him as she walked toward him, the saber clinking gently against the hook on her belt. Selas felt that tide rising, swallowed, and stepped into it.

"Captain Besk," Selas said, offering the slate with her orders on it to him, "My name is Selas Tariim. It's a pleasure to meet you."

The Commandant 'Tavik' did something Pib did not expect and pulled him aside. On second thought, he should not be surprised. From what he had heard of the Rebel Alliance, their soldiers were brave for common people, but lacking in skill. He should have seen that he would be singled out. Still, this stick of a man had a peculiar way of giving praise, and a very foolish way of gazing at the Mandalorian unless he did not want the Empire to be his only problem.

"From my experience, practicing live fire inside of a Common area is looked down upon by... others." he said, giving off the vibe he was going to reply with less diplomatic wording. "But yes, the Battle Circle is what is to be expected of my unit."

The blouse comment had Lieutenant Dosa going silent, and as Tavik walked away, he would never realize just how close he was to being challenged then and their to a battle to the death. In fact, Dosa would kill him. But only when the war was over.

He began to move again, footsteps echoing off the metal hallway until he stepped into the meeting room. He remained relatively quiet during the briefing, not giving any indication that he disapproved of their orders. Truthfully, he fully expected to move forward and hold the bridge, capture this 'Lorne' alive, and then clean up the mess others would have made after they mopped up their areas. He only hoped they had plenty of opposition.

---

They took the news of their orders in a matter-of-fact manner, nodding and hefting their fists in acknowledgement. "What do you suggest, Chieftan?" his 2nd in command asked.

"We'll use Dragon formation first after we hold our first position." he replied, citing the maneuver that emphasizes large firepower and shock tactics followed by blades. "Afterwords, we'll split and surround, holding the bridge and re-deploy into smaller units once we receive confirmation that the others have failed or succeeded."

The others saluted, and Pib Dosa stood to his full height, hefting his blaster. "Mando'ad draar digu."

"Ready for the fight." they replied.

[REMOVE PERSONAGES FROM HANGAR-LEVEL CORRIDORS EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY. KINDLY REMOVE PERSONAGES CLASSIFIED NON-FLIGHT RELATED/NON-TECHNICAL STAFF OR RISK DISCIPLINARY ACTION. ADMIRAL XIMEN DEMANDS IT. COMPLY WITH DEMANDS OR RISK DISCIPLINARY MEASURES AND CONSIDERABLE PAIN]

Friendly, it seemed, was in a bad mood, if that was the word for it. The LOM droid who served as head of security on the Keep (for reasons completely inscrutable to anyone else on the ship besides the Admiral) was brandishing a sizzling shock-mace in one metallic fist and a data-slate in the other, on which bold runes declared he was acting on direct orders from the Bridge. His bulbous optics glowed red as he blared his directives at the gawping troopers and furious officers clustered in an dim alcove just off the main corridor, where they had been dicing and sharing a bottle of Corellian brandy. Behind the battered droid, several rust-flecked B-1 units stood at attention, armed with shock-maces and riot shields. Techs and pilots rushing back and form from the nearby hangar-bay ogled the scene as they passed by.

[NON-FLIGHT PERSONAGES TO REPLACE THEMSELVES TO ENGINEERING LEVEL 21. FLOODING HAS BEEN RESOLVED AND HABITABLE SPACES ARE BEING PREPARED TO RECEIVE YOUR BODIES]

"21?!" shouted a human commander, "You're sending us to the fuckin' swamp, Friendly? I lost fifte-"

[LOSSES ON ANAXES DEEMED WITHIN ACCEPTABLE CASUALTY MARGINS AND IRRELEVANT TO RELOCATION OF GROUND PERSONAGES FROM-]

"Acceptable?! I'm taking this right to Lieutenant Ensago, bug-bot," screamed the officer, "You and your seperatist freak of an Admiral can't keep stowing us like cargo."

One of his soldiers, a wookie, roared in agreement.

[ENSAGO WILL NOT SAVE YOU. REPORT TO NEW HABITAT OR BE PUNISHED APPROPRIATELY. OPERATIONS TOMORROW WILL LIKELY DECREASE YOUR SQUAD-NUMBERS AND MAKE HABITABLE SPACE MORE AVAILABLE]



"Why was I-zzzt-not informed of this sooner, Commander?" asked the Admiral, his crab-like throne clanking as it slowly carried him in a circle around Trist Axton, who was standing at attention, her angular face a mask of blank professionalism.

"Intelligence did not identify the Lycurgus as a likely threat. We have reliable information that it is detailed to a detachment whose mandate is to uproot Imperial traitors and suppress domestic uprisings, not offensive operations."

"A-zzz-nd yet, I find my ship ambushed by a Star Destroyer which my databas-zzzt-es say does not exist, with no information on its commander, on an operation ordered by the same IntellIGENCE WHO TELL ME-" Ximen twisted down the dial on his pressure-suit, "-that that resistance is ex-zzz-pected to be minimal. And now I-zzz-also am ordered to steal another ship, and operational data I am given is-zzz-incomplete at best. Di-zzzz-spleasure is expressed, Commander Axton."

"I will relay your sentiments to Command, sir" said Axton.

"Zzz-see that you do, a-zzz-ssuming we do not all die after blundering into another fias-zzz-co tomorrow," said the Admiral, "And tell Genera-"

*Sir* one of the tactical droids interrupted, approaching the admiral and handing him a data-slate, *LOM-8347 reports outbreak of violence on Level x-13. Brawling with security droids.*

"The brig for all off-zzz-enders. I am not running a mercy-ward," said the Admiral, "Send reinforcements to clear out that corri-zz-dor. Have the offenders'-zzz-commander report to the Bridge."



"Well, Agent Zorn," said Pale, lowering himself into the shuttle's bucket-seat with a slight wince, "We found our Rebel spy. After five months, ten thousand tons of stolen cargo, two military disasters, and one cunning but-alas-imperfectly executed trap of my devising..."

He pulled a flask from the pocket of his overcoat, took a long swig, and offered it to Kae, who shook her head "...we located- and plugged- the Anaxes leak."

The ramp of the shuttle swung closed with a hiss, cutting off the noise of the bustling landing pad, enclosing the Colonel and his protege in the humming quiet of the spacecraft.

"Who was it?" asked Zorn. She was a woman in her late twenties, slim, with dark hair and skin, her mouth set in what seemed like a permanent grimace. She wore the lightly armored gray tunic of an ISB Agent.

"The lieutenant, or rather, the lieutenant's boyfriend," said Pale with a sigh, "Apparently Commander Uled was a bit chatty after-hours, and his lover was feeding the information he gleaned in the bedroom off-world. Boyfriend disappeared just before the rebs raided. I have Agent Xenyg tracking him down."

"Should have sent me," said Zorn, "I can track a rebel agent faster than Xenyg's team."

Pale smiled as he lit a cigarra, "I need your talents elsewhere. We have bigger bantha to hunt than Officer Pillowtalk's bedmate."

"Always the mistresses of one bureaucrat or another," said Zorn, shaking her head, "Makes you wonder what they teach at rebel training camps."

"This time it wasn't a mistress," replied the Colonel, exhaling a cloud of smoke, "So I appreciate Lieutenant Uled introducing at least that much variety into my otherwise dreary existence, which is why he isn't facing a firing squad."

"Feeling merciful?"

"You know what these Academy-cadet types fear more than blasters or prison camps?" asked Pale, "Demotion. I'm serious. He'll serve as a more effective example to the others in a trooper's uniform than if I'd hung him from the comms tower and left his body for the birds."

"Never wound an enemy you can kill," said Kae.

"Pithy, very pithy, Agent Zorn, if lifted word-for-word from ISB training manuals. I prefer the old Jedi mantra: Love blinds, desire binds," said Pale, and Zorn's jaw clenched almost imperceptibly, "That's why the first place you always check for info leaks is the CO's bedroom, and why stripping a man of his sole ambition can send a clearer message than shooting him."

"Your wisdom, as always, is..." said Zorn, eyes rolling.

"Under-appreciated," said Pale, taking another drink from his flask, "You've much still to learn, padawan."

"You know, I could probably get you arrested for jokes like that."

"I doubt it. I'm one of the ones they send to make those arrests, and I'm miles ahead of my colleagues where it counts," said Pale, tapping his temple.

"With some notable exceptions, Colonel," said Zorn, with the smallest hint of a smile.

---

Outside the Briefing Room
_{aka. Jedi-wannabe ambush site}

---

"That's Captain Alpha-32 to you Commander or is that General?" invoking the Clone Wars-era title for padawans and knights respectively. It didn't take the Force to detect Besk's immediate antipathy for what the universe saw fit to fob off on him. Fett had a great draw, and his clones, particularly the ARC's and little Bob'ika inherited that and he was on the edge of getting that DL-44 out; it was in a fitted holster, designed to keep the weapon tightly wedged in there until pulled, but not too tightly so as to make the draw easy. Bantha-leather, softened up.

Of all the men on the ship to be sent to, Command saw fit to assign a would-be sabre-jockey to the command of the one man aboard the ship that'd killed a Jedi.

He'd come away minus a leg, but he'd carried out the mission that had been envisioned when Jango cloned them. That much was apparent; Jango killed Jedi. They cloned an army of men capable of the same, at their basis. And, in the case of the ARCs, then had that man train them. He was old, but cunning replaced age, and the reflexes hadn't gone that far from their sublime peak. Battles, bounties, battles. He'd lived the life as designed and imagined, even if he'd taken twists and turns to get there.

He took suspicion-slitted eyes off the woman, off the wrappings around the eyes, off the sabre, and down to the slate, which he scrolled over quickly, "No military experience, assigned to SpecForces. Not even drop camp." He had the accent still, the imprint of a clone's contact with their instructor and progenitor strong after all these years. Concord Dawn Mando boy. Fett meant 'farmer' but he'd never done a day of that in his life. She couldn't help but read him, he knew that much because he knew plenty about the Jedi. Too much. She probably was putting more than he would have liked together, but he wasn't of a mood to hide any of it from her.

"Hope you realize that you're going to have to earn your creds around here. So, do you know the old mind trick?"

---

SpecForces Ready Room
_{aka. a very small space packed with gear and a shady array of the universe's scummier denizens who are the good guys but certainly don't comport themselves like it}

---

The plan was multi-layered, and hinged on one of the leakiest vessels Besk could ever imagine, but he took anything in his desperation to save his detachment from annihilation from a superior force in a hangar. Getting that spike into a comp terminal was not a job he wanted to trust to an astromech droid or even to a squad of men, knowing that they'd have to somehow slip off and do the job. One of his men might be able to do it, but there was no guarantees and he was loathe to send anyone out on their own to do it by themselves, unless that someone was himself. He couldn't necessarily pull that off for obvious reasons.

He was used to tough choices, but in this situation the roles were reversed. The Jedi used the clones as a tool and most of them, particularly that Yoda, looked upon them as a convenience rather than a slave army. They were expendable. He wasn't necessarily giving the woman more of a job than she could do, but he assigned her a task that he didn't want to delegate to others. The entire Republic, then the Empire, used clones for all kinds of dirty details. He almost wound up as a medical experiment at the end of his career as cannon fodder. His world was a place of moral ambiguities and sacrifices, dark pacts and unpleasant loose ends.

Now the Jedi, or close enough to it, was a tool under his command. She was there, along with the rest of Chakaar in the ready room, the Venator's plans displayed. They were also uploaded to slates for the rest of them to study in greater detail. The detailed operations orders were there, the briefing was broad strokes. The finalized version would pass through the hands of what were, after all, primarily NCO's with experience who would add touches to the plan.

"As you know, the job is to grab an entire Venator. We insert by Laarty and create a diversion to slip the spike into the weapons system to disable them so the reinforcements can arrive. That is Specialist Tariim's job," word had already gotten around as to who she was in a tight-knit SpecForces community. It was specialists, death dealers and slicers, explosives gurus, sharpshooters, all around.

"We're using the pretext of selling Clone Wars era tech to the Moff. I will be doing much of the talking," a fan of the era wouldn't be able to pass up the chance to discourse with an ARC, they were only getting rarer as they were getting older.

"Our job is to keep the Moff going nice and calmly as long as possible but to take down the forces in the hangar and hold it until relieved. The longer we can keep up the charade of selling them the Laarties and some clankers we scraped up from the Admiral, the less time we spend under fire. Make no mistake, one of those can carry seven thousand troops. They say the complement is reduced and not Imperial, fringer types. Well, we're kriffing fringers and we know what that can be like and we have no idea what the numbers are. So we prepare to be outnumbered and outgunned."

The ARC's pointer moved around, illuminating elements of the plan as the data slates automatically followed the briefing, bringing up the pertinent technical data; Besk was essentially highlighting the most important poitns, the rest was outlining on the devises, "Once the weapons are down, the rest of Rancor moves in. We are playing it off as a delivery of a Juggernaut, but if they suspect at any time, we start firing from the Laarties; our techs are already modifying them for a quick-start so you should have only a few seconds until weapons are hot," He didn't add that he more or less, along with his Lieutenants, made it very clear to the Tech officer that they could replace the reactors on the Laarties afterward. It wasn't good for the lifespans of the power systems but Besk really didn't care.

"So that will help us to clear the hangar with the onboard weapons. Take them out fast, all costs, just don't do any structural damage."

A schematic of the hangar, its entrances and its control points were there for the men to envision the area they were going to fight in.

"Once we get the Keep docked and get the rest of Rancor on, our job will be to assist in taking the bridge and capturing high value targets. We have also secured disruptor weapons. You're welcome." That, of course, would make the Alderaanians uncomfortable, but disruptors were nasty at close range, or at long if optimized for it.

"Fast, hard, but don't damage the goods, especially the power plants. Limited explosives, for breaching. Use sonic grenades when you get the doors open. Unless it's an HVT with intel value, leave prisoners stunned for the infantry to pick up and keep moving."

Kytra had sat wordlessly through the briefing, taking in her role in the upcoming operation. It was rather sooner than expected, but then, sudden missions and short downtimes were not that uncommon in the Alliance.

She was somewhat surprised when the Sullustan Major pulled her over after the meeting, half expecting that there might’ve been a task for her in her capacity as a noble, but that was not the case. Instead, he lectured her, in such a way as to say he was not confident at all in her leadership. It stung.

She scowled as she replied, but otherwise maintained her cool. “That is the spare, for when maintenance can’t keep up and one of the craft is stuck in pieces when we have to launch. But I can choose replacements.”

“I know that is what it has been in the past, though it is just something that is needed for now. When we meet with the fleet I’ll try and requisition another extra Y-Wing so that you still have a spare. I know it’s not easy to deal with leading a squadron while losing people, especially people who’ve been with you awhile.” As Chuckles approached the two of them, Nae waved him away.

He begrudgingly turned around and left.

Nae turned back to Kytra. “If you need help with the squadron, or even just someone to talk to. I’m here.” .It wasn’t unprecedented for Nae to make such an offer, while it took him time to get to know someone and trust them. Once he did the cold exterior tended to disappear, Kytra had earned that respect through fire.

Kytra’s expression softened as the Sullustan spoke. This was more like the understanding Major she knew. “How do you do it Nae?” She said, some of the energy draining from her voice. “How do you hold yourself together so well as your comrades fall around you?”

She looked up for a moment, her gaze unfocused and distant, remembering Verena and all the others she had lost in her time leading the squadron. She looked back at Nae and spoke again.

“I used to rely on Verena to keep my spirits high, but now she is gone.”

Nae sat in one of the neartime seats, and beckoned Kytra to join him. “I do it, because it’s my job. Don’t think it doesn’t affect me, I lost two recruits at Anaxes and my squadrons seen as many roster changes as about anyone else. These people look to us for guidance and support and that’s what we must give them. Sometimes it’s not hard, though remember that every life lost is for a cause, a cause that they believed in with all their hearts. We go on to finish what they started.”

He had seen the squadron in action, and the mention of Verena made sense. Kytra was the mind, Verena was the heart. Kytra would have to change herself in the coming days. “Just remember that Verena died for what she believed in, and as you would put it. Is one with the Force now, take comfort in that. You have the strength Captain Alde to lead these people, otherwise you wouldn’t have a position of command in one of my squadrons.”

“You’re right.” Kytra stated, sounding somewhat less dejected than before. “I do my house and our cause a disservice by allowing events to overtake me.” The words were inspiring, but it wasn’t the complete turn around that the holos often showed. “I’ll do my best.”

She sighed and stood. “Thanks Nae.” She said, turning to leave.

“That’s what I’m here for Captain. See that your squadrons ready for the fight, and that whoever you chose to field that bomber knows what they’re doing.”

“I will.” She stated and left the briefing room.

---

Thranta Squadron Common Area

The mood was subdued as Kytra entered the room. She looked at each of the members of her squadron in turn, trying to get an idea of their state before they noticed her. Yasinda was sitting staring out the window into space. That wasn’t unusual, the blue Twi’lekk was a very private person. Tolth was reading reports, but had a tenseness to his form, and he gripped the datapads just a little too tight. Kal and Dain were playing Dejarik in silence. That was a bad sign. Lieutenant Kal Barizan never played games, and Dain was never quiet.

“Thranta squadron.” She said to get their attention. Kal leapt up out of his seat and saluted her. Tolth and Dain looked to her (Dains hand quickly adjusting the Dejarik board while Kal wasn’t looking) and Yasinda merely turned her head a little. She saluted back to her Cathar lieutenant casually, not one to stand on formality, but making the effort for the regulation obsessed Kal.

“Command has another mission for us.” Silence. Harrowed looks.

“I know you’re all grieving. I understand. Verena was a good friend to all of us. I don’t want you to view this as a mission. I want you to view it as a chance to strike her killers, and honor her memory.” She thought that had an effect, but she wasn’t sure if she could manage the kind of inspiration Nae could.

“We’ll be carrying Ion torpedoes for capital ships - real bomber work.” That definitely got a reaction. Kal’s maned jaw was set more firmly and Dains eyes twinkled.. Yasinda even turned enough for Kytra to see her face.

“We’ll also be welcoming a new pilot to the squadron, flying the extra with me and Yasinda. Kal, you’re now the second flight leader.” She avoided saying ‘replacing Verena’ though they all knew that was what was meant. “Will there be enough time for the new one to adapt?” Tolth said, putting down his datapad.

“You will help him and make sure he is Tolth.” She replied. “Now get up and make sure the techs put your ships back together right!” She exhorted. “If your ship overheats mid flight you’ll have to deal with Verena’s ghost and me - just like she always said!”