The Keep under the transponder signal 'Infinity' dropped out of hyperspace. Before them sat the Venator Star Destroyer, the Majestic. Once upon a time these vessels were symbols of hope in a Galaxy in Turmoil. Then they become weapons of fear as the Galactic Republic reformed into the Galactic Empire, rarely seen in active service these vessels were still formidable in combat. Which was why the Rebellion wanted one so badly. A Star Destroyer capable of fielding more Starfighters than any one ship in the fleet, and standing toe to toe with an Imperial Star Destroyer. When the Rebellion heard that Governor Lorne was keeping one as a private Museum to the 'good old days', not in Imperial Service, poorly staffed and looking for memorabilia a plan was devised that only Rancor Company could complete.

Nae sat in the cockpit of his X-Wing. [PUTTING THROUGH SYSTEM SCANS NOW.] Nae looked down at his readout, as the officers on the Keep transmitted the system scan through to him. Two Imperial Light Cruisers as well as four Imperial Freighter. That could mean a total of eighteen TIEs to combat, he liked those odds. Two TIES separated themselves from the main group, as two LAATs squeezed their way past the ready fighters and out into space. Now it was just a case of watching what was going on.

Nae hit the transmit button, putting him through to all squadron leaders. "Steady, be ready to go boys and girls. We've got our launch order, the second the command comes through punch it."

---

As the Keep swung around to the port side of the Majestic the docking tube extended, sealing the two vessels together. Though the doors did not open yet, no doubt the Governor thought that was part of the negotiating strategy. Instead it was just allowing the Commandant time to prepare his forces within the Keep as well as move the makeshift boarding tubes were moved into position. While they weren't perfect, they would at least allow the Commandants forces to board the Imperial vessel without them needing enviromental suits. The main bay of the Venator opened, the massive doors sliding open splitting in two allowing the LAATs to land in the middle of the hangar. The TIE fighters slowed behind them, and once they had safely touched down they broke off to return to flying a patrol.

The Hangar bay was relatively empty, at least of personnel. There were only around twenty armed individuals patrolling the hangar, with a further five moving towards the LAATs to greet the 'delegation'. Despite this there were a number of mechanics around the hangar, some repairing walkers and starfighters while others busied themselves with repainting these vessels in the colours reminiscent of the Grand Army of the Republic. One of the larger mercenaries, a Besalisk, stepped towards the LAATs. Banging on the door, before speaking up. His voice rough, this was definitely no Imperial.

"OI! Open up! We got' get this deal goin'. My boss has places to be."

---

Ibus tossed and turned in his cot as a knock came at his door. In his still half-asleep daze, he caught a glimpse of his watch: 0335. He rose, and listened as Senior Sergeant Upard began to speak. "Lieutenant, are you awake?" Came the muffled voice from behind the door.

"Aye." Enunciated Trad, making to press himself up to stand. He does so, and makes for the door. He presses a few keys on the door's console, and the lock clicks, the door sliding open with a whirr.

Krok was already dressed, wearing his usual NCO fatigues, and met the Lieutenant with a nod of greeting. Ibus returned the nod, and made to get past him. His next move was into the head, where he applied the various hygienic supplies at his disposal, shaved the stubble that had grown, and got dressed into his junior officer fatigues.

To the mess he went next, though he was less than hungry. His troops expressed greetings and Trad returned them, as he looked around. Section leaders sat with their squads, and Senior Sergeant Upard was tailing him. Ibus walked by a mess table and swiped a stack of hardtack, opting to munch on it as thoughts about the coming operation raced through his head.

The minutes dragged on and the Lieutenant could not help but stare at his datapad as he bit off small bites from the ever-so-salty and almost molar-breaking hard bread crackers. Next thing he knew, 0430 came along. He took a swig from his canteen and made way to the common area proper.

His quarters was his next destination, and once inside he threw on the signature black jacket and fastened the webbing and rigger's belt, both loaded with gear, over it all. Next he made to wield his A280, sliding a magazine of ionised gas into the magazine well. He slung the weapon and met his group in the common area.

The neat stacked tripods of weapons were now gone, and it was 0445. The common area saw all four sections in formation, and the fourth section leader approached him. Traj Brigg. Stood at a tall 6'4", compared to Ibus' 5'9".

"Section Four is ready to depart and join the Sapper Platoon, sir." Stated Brigg.

"Do so." Replied Trad. "And make sure their Second Section double times it here."

Traj nodded and departed with a salute, which Ibus returned. Brigg formed his section and they filed off in an orderly manner. Five minutes passed and the sappers joined the platoon. As they formed and greeted the rest of the platoon, they were off.

"Second Platoon, forward march!" Exclaimed Senior Sergeant Upard, and so the sections did. Each made the trek in their respective directions to the airlocks.

---

Ibus stood adjacent to the leader of the section, Turk Joul. Krok accompanied him, and stood rigid and stalwart, waiting for the order. Though, Trad was not as up in high confidence as his second in command, though sported a noteworthy posture. Spine straight, eyes forward.

The same could not be said for the troops. Some sported eager expressions, fidgeting and mumbling loudly, but many had expressions of stress. Some were pale as ghosts, anticipating the coming battle.

"Comms check." Ibus murmured into his radio as he depressed the push-to-talk. A response prompted him to nod with satisfaction and stow the radio. Tightly still he gripped his A280. Thoughts still coursed through his head about the outcome of the battle.

Either way, Second Platoon was ready.

The screams of the wounded and the dying seemed to be all around him. They all seemed to call out at him, screaming his name, pleading desperately for help. Yet he couldn’t do anything. He stood where he was, his feet feeling as if they were a part of the ground that they stood on. He couldn’t make a move. He couldn’t help. And the voices begged for him to help him from every direction.

Corpses stretched as far as the eye could see. There was a vast variety of the bodies, not one exactly the same as its neighbor. There were Mon Cals and Zabraks, Bothans and of course humans, all dressed in the dark greens and greys of the Rebel Alliance. Even the uniform white armor of the Imperial Stormtroopers that were littered between the Rebel dead had variations, as some were covered in black scars from where blaster fire had burned in them, while others were missing limbs from where a thermal detonator had exploded. It was a scene of gruesome destruction, a hellish nightmare of death and pain and suffering.

Then the bodies began to move. They began to slowly stumble to their feet, their limbs stiff from the rictus mortem that had already set in. They shuffled and they limped, moving in agonizingly slow strides. As one, they rose to their feet approaching him, their arms outstretched, their eyes vacant and lifeless, their mouths open as they pleaded for him, begged for him to help them, to help, help, help, help…


Orren Yar awoke with a start. Gasping for breath, he bolted into an upright sitting position and bumped his head into the ceiling that was only a few feet above his bunk. His cot was the third one, a makeshift addition to the original two in order to squeeze as many soldiers into as little a space as possible. Swearing to himself and rubbing where he had hit his head, Orren swung his feet over the side of the bed and felt himself drop to the ground, landing neatly, if a bit painfully, on the ground below. The nightmare that had been plaguing Orren’s sleep just a few moments before was already beginning to fade, only a faint feeling of disgust and helplessness remaining.

Those dreams had been finding its way into Orren’s sleep ever since Anaxes. That had been his first real battle and it had been haunting him ever since. Sure, he had fought in a number of skirmishes and engagements on Corellia, but that was mere child's play compared to what he had seen in his first engagement with the Rebel Alliance. He had never seen so much death and carnage in one spot before. Obviously, it had left its mark on him.

He had performed surprisingly well, though, despite it being his first operation and the horrifying experience that it had been. Orren had been able to gather himself even despite the overwhelming feeling of fear and disgust that had been filling through him and had been able to play his own role in the battle. He had picked off a number of bucketheads with his E-17d sniper rifle, keeping enough of them at bay to help allow the forces of Rancor company to escape. He could tell that he had earned at least a little bit of respect from his squad-mates, including his CO, Lieutenant Ves. Now, even the members of his squad that completely hated him at least knew that he had what it took to fight.

“Well, look heresssss. The little princesssss isssss finally awake.” Ssasamin Stigg, a Trandoshan and the weapons specialist of Shabuir Section, said. Unfortunately, she was one of the members of Shabuir that still hated Orren. There were very few humans in the entire Chakaar Detachment, and even less in Shabuir. Sergeant Shestu Yankem was the only other human in the section, and for some reason Ssasamin Stigg, along with the second-in-command, a Rodian by the name of Stog Bra and the demoltions expert, Sabra Toqot, a Zabrak, hated humans. Yankem at least had the luck of being with Shabuir long enough for the three to not hate him that much. Orren was not that lucky.

“Oh shut up, Ssasamin. You just woke up a minute ago.” Ta’Lani, a Twilek, said, coming to Orren’s rescue. Orren smiled to her, grateful for the support, though somewhat embarrased. Since joining Rancor Company, Ta’Lani had taken to mothering Orren almost as a child. Orren certaintly didn’t want her fighting his battles against bullies like Ssasmin. Before Orren could say anything, though, Ves, the Durese leader of Shabuir Section began to speak.

“Alright Shabuir, let’s get moving. It’s time for deployment. We got some bucketheads that need bashing in.”

*****

Orren stood in the bed of the LAAT, hanging on tight to the handgrip provided from the ceiling above. The hangar crew had reassured them that the old Clone War-era ships were still in peak condition and capable of flying, yet that didn’t make Orren feel any more comfortable when the ship randomly shook violently or let out a mysterious groaning sound.

An A280 blaster rifle hung slung over his right shoulder. He was slightly upset that he had to leave his E-17d back aboard the Keep, as it would be far too close quarters aboard the Majestic for the sniper rifle to do much good. However, the comfortable feeling of his DH-17 at his hip and the knife in its sheath made Orren feel at least a little bit better.

As Orren and the rest of Chakaar Detachment flew towards their target inside of the LAAT’s, he couldn’t help but stare at the figure ahead of him. She was older than Orren by a number of years, but still not old and quite pretty. She was tall, as tall as Orren himself, and lean as well. However, it wasn’t her appearance that was the reason for him staring. It was the object that hung from her belt. It was barely visible in the dark light of the LAAT bed, yet he still knew that it was there. It seemed to have an aura to it, a presence more powerful than any simple object he had ever known. It emanated power and danger, promising that it was more than just lethal, yet it also had a symbolic presence to it, one that was reminiscent of a past, forgotten time of peace and tranquility, when the object was as much a symbol as it was a weapon.

Orren couldn’t take his eyes off of the woman. He couldn’t believe that he was actually about to fight alongside a Jedi. His father had long ago told him stories of the Jedi, recounting the tales of those he had served alongside during the Clone Wars. He had told Orren that they were good people, dedicated to saving lives as much as taking them. He had once told Orren that they were “warriors out of necessity, not out of choice. They fought because they had to, not because they wanted to. And that, my son, is what makes a true warrior.”

Yet all his life, the Jedi had only been stories to him, mere tales of a time that had long since been lost. To not only see one with his very own eyes, but to fight alongside one? Orren simply couldn’t believe it. It represented the very reason why he was fighting. He was fighting to restore what had been lost, what had been ripped away by so many people. He was fighting to give back the lives that had been lost throughout the entire galaxy.

Orren’s silent reminiscing was suddenly brought to an end when he felt the LAAT gently set down against the hangar floor of the Majestic. The ship’s engine died, leaving the Rebels in an utter silence that seemed to consume them and stretch on forever. That silence was sudden broken by a knock along the side of the LAAT and someone outside yelling into them, their voice muffled and barely distinguishable through the heavy plating of the LAAT’s side. Orren swung the A280 over his shoulder and into his hands, priming the weapon. It was showtime.

Victor Tavik

_{Commandant’s Quarters}

---

A debris strewn field, tall grasses blowing in the wind concealing death and destruction. Majestic Mountains rose in the distance, beckoning him. Smoke curled skyward along several points on the horizon as well as in the debris strewn field, calling the thin infantry commander forward. Victor Tavik walked disoriented and confused through the field. A slow fog rolled low over the field covering much of the debris, allowing his visibility to remain over the cloud. The smell of burnt cordite, thermite and death wafted in the air and into his nostrils.

After what seemed like hours of walking, Rancor Company’s Infantry Commander came upon Captain Kruger wearing his formal military uniform seated at a table in the middle of the field. A tea set was placed and the Executive Officer sipped a cup while reading a newspaper. It was a periodical that can be found on any datapad from Alderaan. It did not strike Victor Tavik as odd that the man would be reading newsprint instead of articles in digital form. The Captain looked up as his commander approached, “Victor!” the man spoke with an affable smile. “Please, won’t you join me?”

Victor Tavik looked confused. Lorne Kruger never called him by his first name. But the scene was completely foreign to him. He felt compelled to pull out a chair and have a seat. Captain Kruger stood and began pouring before and during asking, “would you like a cup of tea, sir?”

Victor felt unable to say no. He nodded in compliance raised the cup to take a sip, but stopped with the cup inches from his lips. His eyes caught something peculiar. Glancing into the liquid as it neared his mouth, he spied something causing revulsion. His expression turned to that of sudden horror as he noticed the presence of a human eyeball, recently detached from its retina settled at the bottom of clear liquid in his tea cup.

Victor looked up at his friend, “Lorne!” The newspaper outstretched in his two hands concealing the Captain, who now lowered his newspaper in response to Victor’s exclamation. The Commandant looked at the man, now missing both eyes. Bloody black sockets trailed thick oozing blood streaming down his face, over his cheeks, dripping off his jawline and collecting across the table. The man collapsed face first across the table then slumping to the ground. Victor jumped upon hearing explosions, disturbing the otherwise peaceful setting. The disruptive noise distracted him from the tea setting. His eyes scanned the horizon as fireballs billowed up like deadly mushrooms into the skies. He looked back towards the table, but it and Captain Kruger were gone.

‘Where am I? What is this hellish place?’ Victor thought to himself. He continued walking through the field. He felt an overwhelming sense of fear and dread. It all but debilitated him. He came to a trench line. The musky odor of the dirt snuck its way into his nostrils. Soon, the smells were comingled with blood and death. He jumped down into the trench. The floor was muddy with pools of blood; corpses scattered in various shapes. Some were slumped along the base of the trench. One rebel soldier’s face was plunged into a pool of stagnant water and blood.

As he made his way along the ghoulish trench, which appeared to go on forever, he began to recognize faces in the mud. These were his soldiers. Their corpses splayed about in a macabre way, many dismembered or with body parts completely smashed into the soil. It was a terrifying experience.

“Hey Commandant,” the dismembered head of Captain Mosh Karada uttered in a nonchalant way. The way you would tell a friend about a new exercise class you recently found, free from emotion, The head, resembling Captain Karada asked, “How can we take a Venator-Class ship with only 160 people? I mean, the intelligence we have on this Majestic is incomplete. Isn't this what you told us a week ago when we went into Anaxes?"

Victor Tavik stumbled back upon hearing the words. He was overwhelmed with fright. The expression on his face was one of tremendous horror. The head yelled at Victor, “You’re going to command a company of dead men if you keep this up!! They are all going to die, you pompous ass!!”

Victor fell back into the water. It splashed up around him. “Stop!” Victor yelled. He clutched his head, burying his face into his bent knees. “Stop this madness!” The corpses began falling in around him. He tried to stand up. With every futile attempt another body fell on top of him. He became pinned to the damp ground, the corpses piling up. They suffocated him. He could no longer see the light of day.

He woke with his heart racing in panic. He looked around the room furtively, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. The fear and dread of the dream created an overwhelming sense within the Commandant. He was visibly frightened, adrenaline pumped through his veins as the sound of his own heart thumped heavily in his chest. The alarm clock rang.

Mosh Karada

_{First Platoon Breaching Point}

---

“Captain?” the NCO asked the Platoon Commander, “is this First platoon? My name is Sergeant Duron, from the Sapper Platoon.”

“Nice to meet you, Sergeant. I am Captain Karada and yes, this is first platoon. Do you have breaching charges ready?”

“Yes sir. Who will install the bridging tube?”

“My third section. Get your charges in place. When I receive the order to move, go ahead and blow it. The Company Commander is coming with us on this. He may signal you himself,” Mosh Karada uttered the words just as Major Tavik approached the breaching site.

“I may take you up on that liberty, Mosh. Thank you very much.” He looked down his pointed beak nose at the Sapper NCO. His thin, lifeless lips drawn taut for several seconds. “Well, are the charges set, Sergeant?”

“No sir!” then took that as a cue to get working. Mosh pulled his platoon back. The sappers would blow a hole through the Majestic after third section got their temporary bridging tube in place. Once the hole was made, the Second section lead by Sergeant Jyneth Paltoy, a female Kiffar from planet Kiffu with her dreadlock hair and yellow facial tattoos would lead the First Platoon’s assault across the bridging tube and into the enemy ship.

“I will follow the lead section, sir. You are welcome to join me,” Captain Karada stated to his superior.

“No, Captain. I will monitor the radios from the other platoons and the ship’s CIC. I will follow your platoon sergeant through the breach.” The Major referred to the ship’s Combat Information Center, near the bridge.

“As you wish, sir,” Captain Karada remarked. “How did you sleep sir?”

“As serene as a baby, Mosh. I assure you, I am ready for this operation; quite excited actually. But that is to be expected.” Major Tavik glanced at his chronograph and listened to the radio in his ear piece. “Chakaar is aboard the Majestic. I expect it could happen at any time now. Get ready, Captain.”

“Yes sir!” Captain Karada checked on the sappers and then each of his sections. The first platoon was ready to go. He patted Halliq Neban, the newly acquired Kaleeshi warrior on the back as he passed him. He gave the new soldier a warm smile and yelled to the platoon, “this is it boys and girls! You get to earn your pay! Focus on what you are doing and you’ll come out alive! Remember to clear the corridors and rooms as we practiced them. If someone wants to give you quarter, let them. We are not fighting imperial storm troopers. These are mercenaries. Who knows what their motivation to fight is. Listen to your NCOs, do what you are told and we will be victorious. Huzzah!?” Captain Karada yelled the battle cry for everyone to hear.

The Platoon responded with three cries in response, loud and proud, “Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!” First Platoon was ready.

@Sep@Lauder@POOHEAD189@CaptainBritton

He hated Laarty drops. There was always something to them that said "meat to the slaughter" to him. It was all a little too nostalgic, with white-painted armor and an ARC helmet under his arm, playing dress up like a fossil or piece of living history that he didn't feel. He even had the sabre jockey in there, green as grass and brim-full with idealism. He hated the idea that history was repeating itself, even though this kriffing moff would absolutely love it all. Barve. He remembered all too well the shudder of the drives and the whine of the engine, holding on to a strap with his legs straddled just so, anticipating the movements like the old days.

This one had a cargo, but it was droids, and a couple other SpecForces troopers dressed like scuzzy fringe junk merchants, which wasn't really hard -- dress for Nar Shaddaa. Spacer pants, boots, jacket, blaster, blaster and maybe paint the hair a shocking bright color. The other one was sealed tight with a bunch of commando types. The Moff might want to inspect a Laarty, this would be the one.

Of course, the plan involved him doing the talking, the bastard would be all over that. Besk felt that this was too much like working in Intelligence -- of course, if Intelligence had a clone, he would have found a way to choke the right officer until he unclenched his cheeks and squatted the clone out and then -he- would be wearing the ARC getup to give some Moff with a fetish for a war he didn't fight his jollies while Besk stuck to what he did.

It just felt too polished and gleaming and, dare he say, hero-posing for a galaxy that had the ideals kicked out of it in the Dark Times. They were under the triangular shadow of the Venator, which itself was the dull grey of the Imperial Navy, lacking color and in itself a potent symbol but not one the Empire preferred. He'd had a lot of the idealism beaten out of him. He followed an emotional gizka-hole into the Rebellion chasing after the old times and found himself embroiled in what he knew were his last battles, spending himself strategically because he knew no better way to contribute to the galactic whole.

As the LAATs door opened, the mercenaries all raised their weapons before lowering them. They weren’t sure what to expect, though the gleaming white armour of a… clone trooper? Wasn’t exactly what they were expecting, nor were the old droids that were in their ‘offline’ configuration. The only reason the mercenaries really knew what the droids were was due to the fact that their ‘boss’ was so interested in clone wars era relics.

Without so much as a grunt, the besalisk put down a hologram emitter on the ground between them. With a characteristic hum the visage of the Governor appeared, blue with streaks running down it. The range on the holopad must have been extended to include the occupants in the LAAT as he paused for a minute as if to collect himself. “My, my. I didn’t know that I would be dealing with an trooper!” His eyes directed to the clones helmet. “Let alone an arc trooper! Tell me, before we start anything else. What do you think of this museum in the honour of your former brothers?” The hologram raised its arms to indicate the ship.

“I realize I still need to have the hull painted, and am missing a couple of bits and pieces. Though Clone Wars technology is so hard to come by these days, what with most of it being picked up by the Rebel Alliance or mercenaries such as yourself. Though I must say, none of the other outfits I dealt with had an actual clone working for them. I say, would you be available to hire?”

“Depends on the job, Moff, you’d have to talk to my boss.” Usually, Besk made an attempt to be less conspicuous, but here the plan was to stand out as a clone. In most cases, he’d learned how to lose himself in a crowd and dress a certain way and add headgear to blunt the effect. It didn’t stop a really cunning person from not recognizing him. The moff, of course, was rendering him down to one of a large batch, a production run after a lifetime of existence where they sought meaning for themselves and, by this late stage, either found it or didn’t. Besk, of course, embraced that he was built to do something, but decided where and how to apply those prodigious abilities.

“It’s certainly a blast from the past.”

“Excellent. I may well do that, once this business is concluded first.” The hologram waved his hands at one of the guards, who carried forth a container full of credits. “I have the agreed price here for you, feel free to inspect it, that said we shall wait for the Juggernaut to be brought aboard before anything exchanges hands. In the meantime-” He turned, his voice mouthing words that didn’t transmit as he was facing someone outside of the hologram.

He looked back a the delegation again, whatever he had been told was giving him serious pause as he considered something. “-I am afraid I was going to offer you a tour, but I am required urgently elsewhere. So if you could please have the Juggernaut brought aboard as soon as possible, we can exchange funds and be done with this.”

"Copy that." Clone sarcasm, as Besk keyed in the 'go' code to Keep. Now the sabre-jockey had to see to her end of the business, "I'm sure you'll love the Juggernaut. It's a classic."

Quick, barked introductions, bad food, and not enough sleep - Selas had expected rough conditions on an Alliance ship, but she still found herself taken by surprise. Besk - or Alpha-32, she supposed - could barely stand to look at her, and she could hear the venom in his voice whenever he spoke her name. Dark, serpentine shapes in the Force whirled around Besk when thought of his new charge, she could see that much. That power had gathered itself to him, a heavy stormcloud that towered and billowed when they met, a tension pressing toward violence that Selas found she would have had no response for. For a moment, she’d considered that her time in the Rebellion might have ended there. Though Besk had obviously pushed past the urge, she didn’t find herself admiring the courage of someone fighting against how they were made. Rather, she couldn’t help but wonder when his self-control would snap, and whether a small piece of history would repeat itself.

Not the finest foundation upon which to build trust, she had to admit. She couldn’t help but feel the trepidation around Besk when he’d handed her the data spike, and she saw the way that leapt to every other member of his group. If she were being honest with herself, she wasn’t entirely sure they were wrong.

But there had been no time to dwell, there had barely been enough time to sleep. For Selas’ academia-adjusted schedule, there certainly hadn’t been. The ship had dropped out of hyperspace with the same sliding tension she always felt, and with that had come a flurry of activity. More shouted orders, the sounds of armor being buckled on, the calls of comrades in arms to one another. She watched the Force move between these people, saw the bright web that linked one person to another, whether they realized it or not. In the hangar, she watched pilots strap themselves into fighters, and the whole became greater than either of them were alone, the entire squadron a separate pattern pressing against the endlessly shifting, swirling movement of the Force with their own striking power. Further down, another group of what she could only assume were other foot soldiers gathered, their heads bowed, quick, quiet words flowing between them, each syllable binding them together in subtle, shining ways.

And now, in the belly of the shuttle, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with armed and armored soldiers of the Rebellion, all the uncertainty, all the fear and doubt settled, coalesced, became something so bright and strong she felt like she could reach out and touch it. Movements became less nervous, minds became more clear, purpose and will becoming something fierce and bright, the brilliant center of a comet burning though the Force. Selas took a long, slow breath and let that feeling slide through her awareness, felt it take some of her own anxiety away, felt her heart beat a little slower, her breath coming a little deeper, a little more even. Not invigorated, exactly, not refreshed…driven, perhaps.

Selas saw her fate, her own place in the Force, entwine with these people, and then she noticed something else. Behind her and to one side, she felt someone’s attention on her. Orren, she thought, sifting through the flurry of names she’d learned in the last handful of hours. Not drilling into her, not a lash of expectation, and not the sharp spike of…well, the sort of tension she’d learned to make a hasty retreat from. His was something else, something almost reverent. Selas smiled to herself - maybe Nazik was right, maybe there would be someone she’d be able to help see further than the end of their blaster barrel. When the shuttle’s belly thumped against the Majestic’s hangar deck, she made a point to turn to Orren and give him a nod and a small smile.

An armored fist banged against the door, and Selas brought her attention back to the moment. The bang came again, louder, this time followed by a voice roughened by deathsticks and alcohol.

She leaned over to Besk and whispered, “He’s knocking on that door,” she pointed to their left, “Open the one on the other side, claim that one’s stuck. When he comes around, I’ll open this door,” she pointed to their right, “and then slip out. I don’t think anyone has a clear view there, and they’ll never know I was here. When I get the data spike into a terminal, I’ll click my comm open three times. Sound good?”

She didn’t expect an acknowledgement, and she didn’t receive one - for all she knew, that had been the trooper’s plan in the first place. Still, she saw him open the far door, and the rest of the group make their way into the hangar, looking for all the world like the roughest sort of mercenaries. She heard an exasperated groan, followed by what sounded very much like cursing in a language she didn’t understand, then heavy footsteps moving from the left-hand door, around the back of the ship, to where Besk and his troops stood.

Heart pounding in her ears, the moment the mercenary stepped out of view of the right-hand door, Selas yanked on the release lever inside. The door swung out and up, and she slipped out and behind the bulk of the front of the shuttle before it rose to the top of its travel. She took a couple of quick, deep breaths through her nose, stepped around the bulging side turret, and pressed herself against the shuttle’s hull, felt the cold soak through her clothes. A moment later, she heard Besk’s voice, already in an argument with the mercenary. Good, that would keep his attention somewhere else, at least.

Selas turned her head, closed her eyes, focused her senses to fill the hangar. The space was crowded with vehicles and crews, and even the Keep’s hangar wasn’t so loud. All the same, while she knew there would be computer terminals here, there were too many people, too much open space. She needed somewhere smaller, somewhere she could control, and preferably somewhere with a door she could close. If the plan went right, even an inexperienced crew would figure out where the data spike was, and she knew the Keep and her fighters would have a much more complicated time if the Majestic’s weapons came back on-line halfway through the mission.

Somewhere other than the hangar, then. The file she’d been handed - and had all of half an hour to examine - had included maps of corridors and areas near the hangar too, or at least a reasonable idea based on the ship’s expected design. Ahead and to her right, there would be a door leading further into the ship, then to a series of corridors that would lead to a control room. The only problem was that there were at least two people between her and that door, working on what she could only tell was some kind of armored, bipedal walker. She could see the bright point of a welder in one person’s hand - that would mean they were wearing goggles, and small noises wouldn’t reach them. That was good, but the other one was going to be a problem. He had put down his tools and walked further into the hangar, suspicion plain in his body language. He turned his head this way and that, twisting to look around. He expected trouble. His body was tense, his senses flared into the world around him. Heavy, scarred fists curled into balls at his side, muscles twitched along his frame. A supicious trap on a hai trigger. Not good - but not entirely bad, either.

Besk continued speaking, and Selas pushed her breath between her lips in a long, slow stream of air. She’d prefer to have waited for an opportunity to present itself, but she could already feel a spring-coil constriction wrapping around Besk, one that would snap and scythe away into violence sooner than later. Another deep breath, and she dove a hand into her pocket, pulled out a piece of debris the size of her index finger, something she’d stopped off the hangar deck before they’d left. Just a piece of a starfighter, slag from a turbolaser’s glancing blow, something knocked loose and forgotten. Even to her senses, its weight was something that drifted through her awareness, something hard to focus on.

She took another pair of quick breaths, hefted the slag, then pushed herself off the shuttle’s hull. A pair of quick step and Selas turned, then whipped her arm around, sending the chunk of metal on a high, high arc - but not toward the more suspicious of the two men. She watched the piece of metal rise, the wispy imprint it made on the Force like a curl of smoke. She sent it where, all things being equal, it would have landed behind the suspicious man, between him and the man with the welder, and considerably to one side of where Selas wanted to go. But the moment the metal fragment left her hand, she focused on it, and sent tendrils of her own will out though the Force, wrapping her intention around and though the scarred, battered thing. She watched it crest the arc it would move though, she watched it fall. She watched it gather speed…

And at just the instant before it would have hit the ground, with a twitch of her hand, Selas sent the fragment flying with considerable force into the back of the suspicious man’s head. She head the wooden thunk it made against the back of the man’s skull, heard him stagger with a pair of heavy thuds. She felt the man’s attention whirl wildly through the room, then settle on the man with the welder, hunks of bright slag flying from his torch. The suspicious man stomped over to the welder, kicked the torch out of his hand, grabbed him by the front of his jacket and hauled him up, cursing in Huttese the whole time. In seconds, the two were in a screaming argument just the side of fisticuffs. A second after that, unable to entirely keep the grin off her face, Selas had slipped by them, unnoticed and unheeded, her feet moving with perfect, silent strides.

She touched the controls on door back to the hangar, winced at the way they screeched closed. Rather than freeze to see if anyone was coming, Selas took her leave on silent feet, padding away from the door precisely because someone might be coming to see what that sound was about. She couldn’t feel anyone nearby, which didn’t necessarily mean there wasn’t anyone, but she didn’t care to leave this to chance. She crept further into the ship, down one set of corridors, up one ramp, then another. To her relief, she didn’t encounter anything more dangerous than a box of electrical couplings left in the middle of a hallway. Another few meters and she jammed her hand against a control panel, which buzzed with the universality of an access-denied message.

Kneeling, Selas reached into her jacket again, pulled out a few small tools. In the space of a breath she had the control panel off the wall, exposing the complicated circuitry behind it. She focused her senses on the tangle of wires, and in her awareness the patterns of circuits and wires, logic and countermeasure spread out in front of her. She knew how to read them, or at least she knew how to read this one. With quick, deft hands she probed, clipped, jumped, teased, prodded, and under her breath, cajoled, and in the span of a dozen heartbeats she heard the door swish open.

Ahead, the tiny room looked out over the hangar from a dozen meters off the deck, the array of weapons and vehicles spread out in uneven islands of activity. She saw Besk from above now, saw him speaking with the hazy outline of a hologram, and saw his limbs gesticulating more and more wildly. The swirling, crackling cloud of potential around him lanced out to the other members of his group, and Selas knew she had no more time. She stepped into the room, sweat suddenly prickling her forehead, and reached into her jacket again, pulled the data spike out.

“Hey,” she heard a voice from behind her say, “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

She turned, and realized that she’d been focused far too closely on Besk and his men. The man behind her was taller than her by a head, rail-thin, and if she had to guess, only a little more than half her age. A dozen different choices crackled out though her mind in the skin of a second, then Selas moved. She put one foot on the console, pushed herself up a meter’s height with her other leg, then launched herself laterally at the man, using the last of the leverage of her shove off the console to twist her entire upper body around, the data spike held in one hand. She felt the blunt end thump into the man’s temple with a sound like a stone being dropped on a board, felt him reel to one side. Her feet hit the deck with velvet pats, and she reached up to catch the man around the neck with her free arm, yanking him further off-balance. She dropped the spike, reached to her belt, pulled out the single-use personal stunner she’d brought along, and pressed it to the back of the man’s neck, barely a second after he’d managed to choke in a breath.

The Force swirled around her, the man, and the stunner for a moment after she pressed the activation stud, and she could feel the electric zap even though her free arm, making the skin a little numb. Then Selas felt the awareness drain out of the man - he wasn’t asleep, but he was insensate. She’d been hit by one of those stunners before, and she did not envy the headache he would have when he woke up, but at least that wouldn’t be her problem. She let him down to the floor with all the gentleness her haste could lend her, snatched up the data spike, and clicked it home in a terminal on the console.

A moment later the terminal started to spin and twirl of its own accord, and Selas could see the pulses of energy moving down the console and out into the ship, seeds carrying a future that was about to make everyone’s day much more complicated. She pulled the comm out of her belt and clicked the channel open - once, twice, a third time, then clicked it back and took a step away from the console. Below her, the fight was still going on between the two she’d distracted, but that couldn’t last much longer.

Selas knelt again, reached into her jacket for the last piece of equipment she’d brought with her, and pried the console cover off on this side of the door. She reached in again, but this time just attached a device to the complicated nest of wiring in the door, touched a few buttons on it, and slid out of the doorframe. The door swished shut behind her, locking the hapless man who had discovered her in, and Selas’ feet took her several meters further down the corridor before she heard the loud bang that meant her little device had exploded, destroying the lock mechanism and, hopefully, welding at least one of the bolts into its own frame.

She started moving more quickly now, knowing that being alone in the next few minutes would not be a great idea - and then the ship’s alarms blared, filling the corridors with light and noise, and the air with a startled intensity. Apparently, someone on the Bridge had noticed that the Majestic’s weapons had all just fallen offline, and decided that everyone on the ship needed to know about it.

Her feet made almost no noise running across the hangar floor, and this time she felt the attention of one of the brawlers latch onto her, heard one of the men make a startled noise, start to pull away from the one she was pretty sure was the welder. She skidded around a piece of broken ion cannon, leapt over a table with a half-assembled battle droid, and pulled her comm from her belt.

“Bes…oh, damn it, Captain, I think we’ve got their attention,” Selas hissed into her comm unit, hoping against hope that Besk’s helmet was soundproof, “I got the spike in the computer system. It’s in a control room overlooking the hangar, and I destroyed the lock, but someone found me before I got it in. I stunned them, but if they wake up before we’re done, the ship’s fighters are going to have a bad day.” She felt a gathering tension behind her, threw herself into a slide that took her beneath a table at the same time a blaster shrieked, the bolt banging into the plasteel surface over her head. She tucked, rolled, used her momentum to come back to her feet and slide behind the bulk of another half-restored shuttle, “What happens now?”

"Gizka." If that were an answer to Selas, that was cryptic, but the team knew what that meant -- game was up, and they were in for it.

What happened now, of course, was that the weapons on the Laarties came up, fast, straining the generators. These weren't entirely clone-wars vintage. The modification to make the power systems quick-fire was done on the needs to have the ships activate fast and be guns ready in an instant, something the clones learned to do in certain units in order to react to situations. It wasn't easy on the generators, but the Alliance techs could deal with that later. What was important was that the blasters were up fast as soon as they could be and were already firing; the Moff's men might be that ready to do hair-trigger violence, in which case it was a standoff and firepower would determine.

But if surprise -did- work, then there was the added crucial moments where sonic grenades were thrown, where the clankers suddenly activated and started deploying in their methodical way. The place erupted in fire from the Laarties and the SpecForces troops in the Laarties. Beam lasers and disruptors, and droid blasters.

"Droids, secure this hangar." He didn't even bother to acknowledge the 'roger-roger.' He couldn't stand the things after all this time, but they'd soak up blaster bolts meant for his men.

He hated wearing the ARC outfit, it felt entirely conspicuous, but there was no time, "The rest, get in those damned corridors and take targets." Engineering and Bridge, one detachment to stay and hold the hangar with the clankers until the infantry got in.

"Remember, Captain said limited explosives. Don't blow a huge whole in the side of the ship and send us all into space. I'd be fine with it if we were in a planet's orbit or something, could you just imagine all the chaos then?" Zuhlg said with a tentacled smirk as he eyed Onhar, his voice lecturing in tone but it was mostly in jest.

He liked to keep up a friendly rapport with his squad-mates, it helped relieved some of the immense pressure they were under. The Ugnaught simply rolled his eyes in reply. Being outnumbered wasn't an unusual situation to a special forces team. Still while the Quarren would never admit it, he was a bit nervous about the mission. He had the utmost faith in himself and his soldiers, but they had gotten lucky on Anaxes. They'd all made it back in one piece even when that mission had gone awry. Zulhg was not the biggest believer in luckiness, but that was an example of it for his men. Of course the incredible talent of his team probably had something to do with it as well.

"Sargent Bren, what are our odds of making it out of here alive?" Mos Zessom inquired. The skeletal Givin simply stared at him for a brief moment, formulating an answer inside his mathematically focused mind.

"Don't say it. The odds are in our favor though, Maker knows that." Zulhg interrupted gently with a raised hand and another calming smile.

Then the seven soldiers of Chain-Breaker squadron took up strategic positions in the corridors right as the Captain ordered them to do so. Zulhg quietly removed his blaster rifle from its sling, he could see the aliens under his command making the same motions. Then he ducked behind cover, his mind going to more primal thoughts. How many Imperial dogtags he was going to take this day, it was his duty as squad leader to try to claim the most. The thought further calmed the Quarren.

Nae counted the seconds in his head after the hangar closed behind the LAATs. Then, the second the command came in he lost all count. The code word having been said by the members of the SpecForce and relayed back to the the command centre. At any point now the breaching charges on the hull of the Majestic would be set off which would then allow the infantry to storm the ship. It was the job of him and the other flight squadrons to keep reinforcements from causing a problem. Initially to stop the TIE fighters messing with the boarding tubes, and preventing the cruisers from docking to disperse more troops in opposition. In the long run, if more Imperial Vessels turned up they also had to prevent the Majestic from being blown up with all their people on it. The Imperials had a nasty habit of shooting at their own ships to keep them from rebel hands.

"All wings report in."

"Lightning 1-2 ready-"

"Lightning 1-3 go-"

"Lightning 1-4 a-okay-"

"Lightning 2, we're ready over here."

Nae nodded to himself. "Here we go boys and girls." At the most speed he could build up within the confines of the hangar he shot out into space, pulling back on the yoke and twisting it to the left he came up in a vertical spiral turning towards the Imperial vessels that were already on alert. To be fair to them one of their ships having lost weapons was a clear indication that an attack. The fact that the unknown vessel had just spewed a surpising number of starfighters let them know that it was a rebel offensive.

He clicked his comm onto the command frequency. "Black Squadron, Mynock. You focus on the TIEs coming in at 2.6 making a run towards the Keep. Thantra focus on the Light Cruisers, we've got you covered." He clicked it back to his own squadrons comm. "Lock S-Foils in attack position." He felt the ship shake and the unmistakable 'clunk' as they locked into position. Technically they should move smoothly and he shouldn't feel it, his X-Wing wasn't exactly brand new and without damage. He was just happy it flew well.

He spun to the left moving to go below one of the freighters, flipping the safety up he pressed down on the trigger for the blasters in two second intervals. His shots impacted harmlessly with the shields of the ship, however as he continued to move several hit home on the TIEs. One even falling from it's docked position, before exploding. Another notch for the hull of his ship, though it wasn't so much a battle yet as much as it was shooting fish in a barrell. Unfortunately soon enough the Imperials would regain their composure and start fighting back.

The light beeping suddenly turned deeper, drawing the attention of the two Mercs before they were both obliterated by the Thermal detonators. The hall was suddenly lit from blaster fire, the LMG gunners of 2nd and 3rd Section opened fire, decimating the bewildered and inaccurate remaining Mercs in a hail of lasfire.

The hallway was now empty, though shouts could be heard down the next corner. Through the smoke, Dred Ortega stepped into view. He held a fist, holding up one finger, then five, then motioning forward in a spinning rotation. 1st Section moved forward, Ca'tra Forg holding his heavy blaster aloft as the others moved forward as silent as death.

As expected, a grenade was sent back in response. It bounced along the floor and ricocheted into their hall. Gren scooped it up expertly, sending it straight back into the opposite hall just as it was within a moment of detonation. One Rodian Merc foolishly moved forward too soon, hoping not to be caught in the blast of his own grenade.

Mons Tar, the 1st Section Assistant Leader, knocked his rifle to the side with his forearm and gutted the Rodian with a swift movement of his Vibroblade. The others sprinted passed him, Lodan Peerce and Grek Kalo hitting the wall and crouching, rifles out. Dred Ortega, Mons Tar, and Nad Gren moved in. The latter two standing between Lodan and Grek, but standing tall with their blasters to fire over them. They began making precise shots into the Mercs.

Dred Ortega stood dead center, taking out three with well aimed and cool headed shots. Ca'tra Forg suddenly appeared from the corner of the hall, LMG ready and revved. It began to spray death and fear into the hall, and moments later all was quite. The Bridge lay beyond. Grek had a small wound to his shoulder, but otherwise...flawless.

"Secured," Dred said.
"Move in," Pib Dosa replied through the Comm. Behind them, they could hear the other two sections coming.

"Gizka"

Major Tavik heard the proword uttered by the SpecForces Commander on the ship’s command frequency to the CIC. The Majestic’s computers were spiked. Their weapons were down. The Keep was in position alongside the target ship. It was time to go.

Commander Tavik keyed the mic to transmit over the company frequency, “All Rancor elements, we are a go. Breach and Attack Now!”

Captain Karada, standing near the man when he uttered the words, yelled at the third section, “Go!”

Sergeant Shyam Hickens, a 25-year old Alderaanian NCO yelled for his soldiers to pick up the bridging tube and drag it into position between the two ships. Soldiers of Sergeant Paltoy’s Second Section jumped to help push the large tube in place. Once the magnetic seal locked the bridge in position, the infantry soldiers cleared away from it to allow the sappers to do their work.

Sergeant Jett Duron, the sapper section leader ordered Corporal Dev Martus to set the charge. The Corporal carried what appeared to be an oversized oval shield with a ring of explosives glued around the edge facing away from him. He ran into the tube, placed the breaching charge up against the hull of the Majestic, pushed a button causing a green light to flash and ran back the five meters out of the bridge. Corporal Martus took up a position along a wall to shield the blast. He looked at Sergeant Hickens and Captain Karada as if he were asking for permission. Both nodded emphatically with wide eyes, telling him what he wanted to know. The Corporal depressed the button on the remote detonator instantly sending a small piece of the Majestic hurtling rapidly inwards.

As the dust and smoke cleared, it was obvious to all that the breach worked. “Go!” Yelled Captain Mosh Karada. Sergeant Paltoy’s second section pushed across the bridge and through the newly made hole. Captain Karada followed the section through, crouching near the breach point to observe the assaulting section’s progress and to insure the remaining sections came through the hole.

Meanwhile, Major Tavik listened as the other three platoons conducted their assaults onto the objective. Once, he was satisfied the entire company was moving forward into the interior of the Majestic, Major Tavik followed the First Platoon after notifying the ship’s CIC that the Infantry Company was aboard the target ship and moving forward. The plan for the sixteen sections that made up Rancor Company to fan out operating independently once on the inside. Rebel infantry sections of Rancor Company would have access to every region of the Majestic soon.

Captain Kruger listened to the Company radio as well as the ship’s command frequency. He followed Lieutenant Lomax and Senior Sergeant Feldron from the company’s sniper section across The Keep’s organic bridge; the one intended for the mammoth Juggernaut, which would not follow the two sections. The group of seventeen soldiers moved tactically forward heading toward the Majestic’s Landing bay, where they could hear laser fire coming from inside. The sixteen sections of Rancor Company were prepared to fight if the mercenaries aboard the target ship, put up a fight.

@Sep@CaptainBritton@Lauder@POOHEAD189

Trad's face contorted and his eyes glassed over as the order buzzed through the receiver of the radio. His finger scrambled to cycle the dial, to the channel which linked him and all his section leaders.

"We are go. Breach, breach!" Ibus rasped into the small device. He clipped it to his rigging and grasped the A280. A dull beeping sounded before him, echoing out of the docking bridge. Finally, BANG! His men filed down the bridge, automatic riflemen taking lead with Ibus in the thick of his first section.

The mercenaries which greeted them got nary two shots before the repeating blaster-wielding troopers riddled them with shots. All that remained of the enemy was slumped corpses covered in cauterized holes surrounded by black soot.

Ibus' nose wrinkled and his face contorted once more, and he spoke into the radio. "First section take lead. Second section, left flank. Third, right. Sappers cover our rear. Split into fireteams, clear it all room by room, hallway by hallway." And his soldiers replied an acknowledgement, the radio buzzing and beeping.

They spread in the fashion laid out, and split into respective hallways, moving sternwards.

Blind Spots

---

Besk was moving with the rest of his assault element, half of Mir'osik and Shabuir, toward Selas' location. Dislike the idea of a jedi or a wannabe as he did, she'd done her job and wasn't going to fare well cut off for much longer, "Do your best to hold position, specialist, we're on the way to you." They moved with assurance, stacking up and then moving out again in room-to-room sweeps. They checked blind spots, cleared the corridors and moved to the next bulkhead. Wash, rinse, repeat. They were suited up in Alliance Marine battlearmor, acknowledging the reality of boarding ops; loss of atmosphere was the worst. It wasn't as protective as Stormtrooper armor, but it was also more agile, made for SpecForces.

The disruptor bucked hard in his hands, nothing like a blaster, but it was powerful and devastating in the tight confines of the white-washed corridors. That wasn't made for SpecForces. That was purely illegal fringe weaponry, brutal and mean. The favored weapon of the Hutt Cartels and other factions that didn't give a damn for civilized norms of warfare it had a very distinctive sound. A brutal weapon, for a less civilized time.

Besk drilled his men in this sort of fighting in anticipation of this sort of operation coming down sooner or later, as the Alliance was fleet based. Some of them had been to Drop Camp and SpecForces Marine training, but Besk was a veteran of the Clone Wars. Chakaar didn't get much out of Anaxes; they had to lay up and call down fire support. This time, they were at the tip of the spear. Some of these were Rebel troopers, believers, and others were bounty hunters.

In other parts of the ship, he could hear the blast of sonic grenades, that unique buzz, and they certainly were being hit with the feedback of it as they moved in deeper.

The resistance wasn't ready for that kind of synchronicity and precision; muscle memory carried them through this series of engagements. Presence of mind allowed him to keep up with the progress of other elements as he gave the occasional directive, but without overloading the comms.

Besk was getting on, but he still had the Jango reflexes and less to lose than most.

But even the violence of action and precision of the assault was held up when they came to a corridor that was saturated with flames, between them and the power plant, or Selas' position. Some smart pirate had flushed something flammable into the corridor and lit a match, making the whole corridor impassible -- not hot enough to melt bulkheads, but definitely hot enough to crisp his men. He gave the signal for the others to hold while he got on the comms.

"Specialist, we have an obstacle. I'm patching the camera feed from my helmet over to you. I am marking fire control stations and airlocks on your map," it helped that he knew Venators first hand, "I need a solution as soon as possible."

Use the Force

---

Shan was the new guy, but he was where he needed to be; the cockpit. Black Leader called out the orders, down from Lightning Leader, and he carried them out, even as he slipped into the strange mode of focus that allowed him to feel the minute yawing and pitching of his craft and to adjust in a fine hand. He came from Intruder to Black with a combat record to show for himself, so he'd gotten a minimal 'new guy' treatment from his new squadronmates, but there was a distance. Tum shook his hand before they launched, and they wished each other luck, but there was still a degree of fear that Shan could pick up from his wingman. On a datafile, Shan looked great, but there was always room for doubt. He was hardly the only new guy in there; Black had a number of rookies. Tum was way more relieved than some of the others, including Black-6 who was frazzled. It would have made more sense to spread Shan out with a rookie and Tum with a rookie, but there was an organizational scheme and tactical thinking Shan wasn't privy to.

"Black 2-8, nominal," he called out his status report in turn with everyone else.

He had gloves on the control yoke, fitted just so, so that sweat wouldn't cause them to bunch up, so they'd grip no matter what without depriving him of too much tactile sense. The hum of the engines was a familiar and comforting environment after time spent on the Keep, however briefly, getting used to a different sort of operation. TIEs were also familiar; he knew how to fight TIE's. You took the turns tight, you cut engines at the right time, turned fast, hit the engines again. You kept range between you and a TIE, you used shielding to outlast them, and, above all, you tried to maintain a vertical angle on them, out of their line of sight and hoping that you could shift them into the barrels of your guns in a pass. That was if decisively engaged in space combat maneuvering.

You also expected to get scratched. You anticipated the shields being able to take the hit when the time came. You nursed power levels, trying to squeeze that bit of power to the weapons, engine or shields as required. Black-6 didn't come from that school, but Shan was used to manipulating power levels, he'd done it all through his childhood as a swoop-rider and in other situations. He let the instinct guide his hands. The CO wasn't watching now.

It wasn't as easy as it sounded, Imperial fighter pilots were tough, highly trained professionals. The Rebellion had extremely good natural talents, but anyone that didn't pay attention to the ebb and flow of the battle, that didn't keep their head, check the rear (he mounted mirrors inside his canopy to help that) could get jumped. This was a fight where skills and awareness counted, because the craft had their advantages and disadvantages. The TIE did not forgive pilot error or tactical mistakes, it demanded excellence from its pilots. The X-wing was designed to provide buffers for gifted amateurs. Pilot skills determined outcome.

In the zone, Shan had the razor's awareness of cutting through space and the sudden sensation of danger.

"2-7, tail. Swat starboard." Shan barely felt the presence, looked into his rearviews and saw the danger coming in; a TIE on his tail. The shots were already coming as he was entering the roll, a moment later would have taken down his shields. He dropped his thrust back, giving Tum a clear line of fire on the tango. Tum gave the TIE a precise series of four rapid blasts, which lead to the disintegration of a TIE in vacuum-silence. He covered Tum from a lagging position to make sure that the Imperials didn't jump his wingman while he was taking care of business.

Shan never really told anyone, but he didn't have time to look down at the scopes and find the threat on sensors. It was a wasted motion so often. The habit gave him a bad reputation in flight school, but mattered a lot less in the real world of starfighter combat, where the results counted more than the process.

Suddenly, the world was awash in TIE/LN's. The tactic was to swarm with the rapid little craft, and the antidote to that was to push thrust and find the edges of the combat zone. An X-wing that stayed mixed in would lose shields and be beaten out by the more agile TIE's. You used the shields to break early and move to the outskirts and then dive back in for a pass.

One rookie didn't get it and started to take hits, "1-4," Black 6 thundered, "break now."

The name of the game was longevity. An X-wing pilot had to be patient in a fight with a TIE, but patience was hard for a brand new pilot. Shan rode the fringes of the fight to the port and rear of his wingman, Tum, watching for the next opportunity to make a pass. Other pairs were doing the same thing, trying to keep the TIE's on their inside, rather than letting them get spread out where they could turn, maneuver and take more advantage of their craft's natural abilities. The idea was to contain them and provide cover for the Keep. The A-wings, further out, were meant to run down anything that really got away, because they could match the acceleration. The X-wings were keeping the larger bulk of the enemy force pinned, leaving the A-wings to hunt freely over a much larger range. You didn't want the A-wings tied down too much, that wasn't the best use of their design.

One started to break, and the moment felt wrong. The angle looked good -- ah, the TIE had two more in support, they were baiting the X-wings. The instinct to hold off and wait put him in the position behind the two and the third, but Tum didn't catch it and was out of position when Shan dropped to engage.

He had three ahead of him and a not even split second on how to do it without getting overwhelmed when he started shooting. The solution was counter-intuitive to a lot of X-wing pilots but struck Shan as the right thing to do; decrease shield power, increase thrust and weapon charge. He blasted one in a series of shots. The second one tried to out-turn him as TIE's often could, but was at such a velocity that he was slower on the turn. Shan burst out blaster-cannon fire on #2, a full-charge that let him completely finish the TIE. He broke fast to avoid #3's attempt to catch him and make him pay, using every ounce of thrust, causing the craft to shudder from the degree of performance the engines and powerplant were pushed, to put himself back in the 'safe-zone' of the X-wing cordon. He climbed hard.

They were, patiently, whittling down the enemy reaction force, keeping them off the Keep and the grunts. In many operations, the intent was to quickly get in, hit and get out before they could be caught, but here the idea was to keep the Imperials busy. And, of course, survive if possible.

Someone else got #3, but Shan had no idea, nor did he care. He was already looking for the next opportunity.

The bridge of a Venator was near identical to that of the Imperial Class. It was really the vessel that had spearheaded the entire line of Star Destroyers, it was a shame that few still existed in active service. They acted as a bridge between the sheer firepower of an Imperial Class and the compliment of a dedicated carrier. Unlike a regular carrier vessel the Venator was still able to hold it's own, the fact the Imperials had not repurposed the design was surprising given the Tarkin Doctrines reliance on manpower. The entire point of the TIE fighter for example was that they were cheap and easy to produce, so they could replace broken units easily and field hundreds of the craft.

So why the Empire didn't use ships capable of fielding hundreds and pack a punch was beyond him. It wasn't important, if he had leaked the necessary information this vessel would be fighting against the Empire soon enough. He just had to put up a show so that when the ISB showed up with questions, he was covered. Lorne spoke up, the officers on the bridge were all ex-military. Not that he had a problem with mercenaries, most of the ships crew were from the fringes of civilized space, he just wanted people who actually knew what they were doing at the controls of his masterpiece. "Inform the pilot of the Endurance in the lower hangar to prepare for departure, I want the engines warmed up and ready to go." He turned to one of the few Stormtroopers aboard, part of his personal guard. "I want your squad to move out and clear a path to the Endurance. Leave some behind for my personal escort."

"Sir."

He ran off, his voice muffled via his helmet as he spoke through the internal comms rather than relaying his voice to the outside. Two more troops fell back and stood behind him. He didn't even acknowledge their presence, that's not what they were there for. He turned to one of the men in the pits. "I want you to lock down all bulkheads with the exception of from here to my ship, and here to the nearest escape pods. Once that's done set the engines to full power, and the self destruct to my personal comm." He had no interest in actually using the self destruct, though having it known that he had it armed wasn't a bad thing in the long run when the agents came investigating. It technically wasn't an Imperial Navy vessel, and he'd get a smack on the wrist for using back alleys to secure and fully equip a star destroyer to then have it fall into enemy hands. If he made a gesture at not letting the Rebels take it, at least he'd keep his life and position.

"Inform the Imperial Fleet of our situation, see if we can't get any reinforcements and then set out the call to abandon ship. The enemy have obviously prepared for this, mercenaries aren't going to do any good."

Cordo sat aboard one of the Gozanti's. She sighed as she rested her chin on her hand and her elbow on her knee. Jassie Morgana "Bigdog" and Temekra Yunasi "Rainmaker" were 2 of her squadron-mates, they sat across the room from her, playing Dejarik. Bigdog smiled as one of his pieces stomped across and smashed another ones head in, Rainmaker smiled as well "Exactly what I wanted." he smiled as another walked around and headbutted Bigdog's piece into oblivion.

"WHAT? DO-OVER!" he called.

"No takesies-backsies" Rainmaker laughed. Cordo looked over at her last pilot Jason "Fodder" Bulrigard was reading a book.

"Any good?" Cordo called to him. Fodder looked up.

"Oh yes, it's abou-" at that point, an alarm went off.

"TP-319, TP-527, to your fighters." a voice came "We have a cruiser in need of escort for the governor" Cordo and Fodder both sighed as he put his book down and set off at a run.

"Sucks to be you." Bigdog smiled. "Anyway, rematch. You cheated." ignoring the situation, he went back to chastising his wingman.

"Great, one of the Empire's foremost Fighter pilots and they have me playing nursemaid to some nutjob with a Clone-Wars fetish." She ran towards her fighter, grabbing her helmet on the way past. She ran over to a hatch that led down to the TIE Fighter. She clasped her helmet on and pressed several buttons, opening the hatch, before climbing into the small chute. It was about a 2 meters wide and 7 meters in length, heading down to the Fighters cockpit. As she reached the bottom, she pressed several buttons on the side of the chute. A few seconds later, there was a woosh sound as all of the oxygen was drained. TIE Fighters lacked life-support units, so her suit was the only thing that kept her breathing. Although she hated the mask over her eyes. Everyone knows you can survive in space, so long as you have air, a simple mouth-nose piece would do. She suspected it was something to make her look more intimidating, which made even less sense, since enemy pilots wouldn't get to see her, unless they were literally just about to crash... At which point, it didn't matter what she looked like, that pilot would be bricking his space-suit as they were both about to die horribly. The hatch then opened and she climbed down. Quickly performing the boot-up sequence, she was so used to it, that she didn't even know how to explain to someone how to do it, it was just instinctive. A second later, the craft jerked as it shot off through space. She gave the fighter a little twirl and formed up with Fodder.

"Maybe it's because you don't do as you are asked. I mean, that stunt back on Larrikar VIII-"

"I wasn't going to kill Civs. We're pilots, not murderers. I'll shoot down combatants all day, every day. Hell, i'll shoot you down if ordered. But i'm not going to just slaughter people who's only crime was living close to a traitor."

"I'd knock that off... Sounds like that Rebel propaganda. I mean, that nonsense from Lothal was just some punks looking for attention. I mean, all that "Look what the empire's done to your families" stuff. Empire's done wonders for me and my folks. And you are lucky they slapped you with guard duty." She heard over the comm.

"Well, they weren't going to execute me, i make my superiors look too good for that." she laughed.

"Cut the chatter" Came a message from the Gozanti. Cordo looked out of her window. An old Nebulon-B. Nice looking ships, nothing compared to the Imperial-Class she was used to serving on, but it was still a looker.

"Copy. Beginning Operation." she said. "Alright, Fodder, by the numbers." She watched as a second pair of fighters formed up with one of the LAAT's, whilst she and Fodder began to form up on the other. "LAAT, follow the flight path to the main hangar." she said. She then got the response of acknowledgement. She couldn't wait for this to be over. She was still trying to find a way to get in touch with the Rebellion and she couldn't do so in the ass-end of no-where. As they approached the hangar, Cordo and Fodder broke off their escort. "Operation complete, returning to mothership." she replied. They then began to return to the Gozanti. Just as they had arrived, is when the alarms started to go off.

"IT'S A TRICK! THOSE ARE REBELS, THEY HAVE BOARDED AND TRYING TO CAPTURE THE MAJESTIC! ALL FIGHTERS, DESTROY THAT NEBULON-B!!!" roared the comms.

"Well, looks like its time for me to show them just why they keep me around." Cordo laughed. Nebulon's had heavy shielding, but with no fighter support, they would quickly find themselves-

"Incoming enemy fighters, A-wing Interceptors and X-Wing Assault Fighters at 35194.1" Cordo looked out to see several fighter had just exitted from the hangar of the Nebulon and were moving to take defensive positions

"Now, that's more like it." she replied. "This is TP-319, moving to engage the Interceptors, Fodder, form up on me, Classic attack tunnel"

"Didn't training say that only work if there's at least 8 of us?" Fodder asked.

"Yeah, but the Rebels don't know that." she laughed. The Attack Tunnels was a move used by TIE Fighters, Performed by flying parallel to a fighters course, then, pulling up. It was a strategy that often claimed the lives of inexperienced pilots, when they instinctively pulled up to dodge out of the way of the coming attack, only to fly straight into a hail of blaster-fire. As they flew towards the A-Wings, they lined up for the maneuver. The A-Wings were small and fast, but they lacked any real shielding. Unlike something like an X-Wing that could take a few hits, the A-Wings that broke formation were more likely to be crippled. As they came to the point of passing, Cordo called "Break and open fire!" one of the A-Wings fell for it, breaking off in an attempt to dodge out of the TIE's way, for Cordo, this was an easy shot... But if she wanted to defect and join them, this was her opportunity. Time seemed to freeze as her mind sped at light-speed trying to come to a decision. She instinctively pulled the trigger, but managed to correct herself and pull to the left with her shot and fired, the green flashes sped right by the A-Wing and scorched the paintwork, but the rookie was otherwise unharmed.

Luckily, Fodder hadn't seen a thing. As Cordo came round for another pass, she saw 4 more TIE's joining as Mynock Squadron engaged her. "Pick your targets and open fire." she ordered. She saw the rookie from earlier and began pursuit of his A-Wing. At this point, her piloting skills were instinctively taking over as her conscious mind tried to wrestle with what she had to do. Plans quickly being formulated and even more quickly being rejected. This was her golden opportunity that she couldn't pass up, but at the same time, the longer she waited, the more likely she was to be spotted not actually engaging them with any real effort.

"All fighters, the frigate has now launched Y-Wing Figher-Bombers, keep them away from the Gozanti's and the Endurance, we must ensure the Governors escape."

Cordo let out a breath of relief. she fired 3 more shots to scrape more paint off the A-Wing and, hopefully scare him a little, before breaking off and making a run at the Bombers. Those Y-Wings were tricky, but they had the one fatal weakness of their unprotected underbellies. The TIE went into a nose-dive before heading towards the Y-Wings from low. "Fodder, take care of those A-Wings, i'll meet up with Bigdog and Rainmaker and take care of those Y-Wings."

Clank.

Clank.

Clank.

The unmistakeable sounds of the heavy boots of Stormtroopers echoed into the ears of Zulhg. Even over the sound of the alarm ringing around them. His breathing had slowed, his movement totally still as his squad and him awaited the arrival of the plastic boys. They each knew the unmistakable sounds of them, more resembling marching insects than a group of highly trained soldiers. The hallway they had stationed in was long and narrow, doorways to the side provided cover for each of the ex slave soldiers. As soon as the first Imperial soldier came into sight, blaster bolts slammed through the air. A dark mark appeared on the chest armor of the all white clad soldier, he went down with a grunt. His fellow Stormtroopers took aim down their side of the corridor, and the hallway was silent except for the sounds of combat.

"Take this you plastics!" Zulhg exclaimed as he popped from cover, a thermal detonator in hand. The red light lit up as it was released from his hand, then the explosive soared through the air and clanked against the floor.

Two stormtroopers in the vicinity stared at it, then the detonator ignited. Taking out the duo in a blaze. A smirk briefly appeared on the Quarren's tentacled face before he felt a blaster shot impact into his shoulder. Pain surged through him for a moment, as he ducked behind cover. His armor absorbed most of the impact but he shouldn't have been hit. It was a rookie mistake. He peered back around, blind firing his A280C down the corridor. He counted thirteen helmets, easy odds for his squad of misfits to overcome.

"Delstee, help us out here. Pull something from your belt of magic!" Zulhg ordered to the Ugnaught in front of him. The compact alien briefly holstered his heavy blaster, then pulled two flash-bang grenades off his belt.

"Eyes!" CPL. Delstee exclaimed before he flung both grenades down the hallway, one right after another.

Zulhg shut his eyes, as did the others in Chain-Breaker Squad. The explosives went off, two eye piercing flashes accompanied by a loud ringing. Several of the Stormtroopers were affected by the site, unable to get away shots as their attackers hurdled forward. Then Zulhg yelled as he bounced from cover, hurdling forward with rifle in hands.

"Forward, charge!"

Zaghirr and Jaa each let out feral screams, more comparable to roars as they bounded forward. Breaker Squad closed the gap between them and the plastics. Jaa slide to the floor, aligning the bipod of his heavy blaster rifle with the floor. Then he squeezed the trigger with his clawed hand. The weapon shook as bolts emited at a rapid pace, a few slamming into soldiers, others not. Surpressing fire was the key here. As the Stormtroopers recovered from their daze, Breaker Squad seized the moment.

One by the one the identically armored troopers went down, Zaghirr pulled one from cover and put his weight on the dazed soldier, crushing his throat. Another thermal detonator landed, sending a trio stormies into the air. The scene was one of total chaos, bodies rolling around. It descended into a brawl as the number of Imperial soldiers dwindled to where it was one less than the number of alien special operations aces hammering them. PFC. Zessom laced several blaster bolts into a stormtrooper at point blank range, as Zaghirr hit another with a bowcaster bolt.

Zulhg leveled his rifle into the stomach of another one right across from him, then he fired off bolts in an automatic fashion. The stormtrooper hit the ground hard, that oh so satisfying sound of their armor impacting onto the floor. Another was taken down at the same time, Onhar and Jaa both hammering the unfortunate soldier to an early grave. PFC. Janrenk fired into a plastic boy as they poked their head from cover, going down with a scream.

One left. Zulhg had him in his sights, still tucked behind cover as the nameless trooper watched his comrades go down in heaps. A tentacle twitched as Zulhg aimed down the sights of his blaster rifle, as soon as the bastard moved he'd be finished with. Zulhg watched the all too familar white armor flash, and squeezed the trigger. He could only watch as his fired bolt slammed into the ground, another of his squadmates having stolen the kill. Someone behind him.

He spun around, only to see his second in command, SGT. Bren with a smirk on his skeletal face. Smoke emitting from the tip of his sniper rifle. A perfect headshot, Zulhg couldn't be mad at his favorite sniper for that beauty of a shot. He rose his hand upwards, his thumb towards the ceiling, then walked forward and surveyed the post view of the battle. He counted the number of Stomtrooper bodies as he walked, then paused in front of a large set of double metal doors, sealed shut.

"Is everyone alright?" He asked as he stared at the doors, then back towards his group of seven soldiers. Each one of them moving towards him as they gathered together to assess the situation.

"No one died, sir. Which is a positive, some got hit but its nothing a little bacta can't fix." The Nosaurian medic stated as he moved to apply bacta to Jaa, who had been struck in the left chest by a blaster. His fur burnt a darker shade.

"Good, good. See to it that any injuries are patched up, private Janrenk. Now about these doors." Zulhg started to say, before his words trailed off as he shot a glance at Onhar Delstee. The Ugnaught likely formulating an idea to breach through the doors with an explosive.

"Just be careful, get the doors open but don't rip a hole in the ship." Zulhg said as he walked away, patting Onhar on the back as the alien went to work. He pulled something from his bag, then kneeled in front of the doors. The others just watched for a few moments, then the Ugnaught moved away from the door, waving everyone else back. As they all ducked behind the safety of cover, Onhar flicked a switch on his wrist. The hallway shook, and an explosion went off. There was now a large hole directly in the center of the doors, wide enough for them all to walk right through.

"Nice work." Zulhg said as they stepped out into the open, through the hole into the starfighter control bridge he could see two Imperial personal staring at them. Mercenaries were in there as well, a trio of them, no Stormtroopers though. One of the mercenaries fired his blaster rifle, the shots ringing out, another did as well. Breaker Squad returned fire as they moved towards the newly created entrance into the bridge. One mercenary went down, as the third fired their blaster.

As the group of aliens stepped inside the bridge, Zaghirr went down with a yelp. He'd been hit in the stomach, the smell of burning fur in the air. Janrenk knelt down beside the wookie, and began to help with immediate medical attention. Zulhg's eyes narrowed at the sight, then the assaulting mercenary went down hard. The last surviving one dropped his blaster as his hands shot to the ceiling. The two Imperials made the same gesture as Breaker Squad secured the starfighter control bridge.

"Is Zaghirr alright, private?" Zulhg asked as he looked towards his now injured squadmate and the medic. Janrenk knelt over as he applied bacta, trying his best to patch the wound up.

"He's hurting a lot, sir. I'll try my best to patch him up."

"Alright. I want these three bound up and taken alive. Jaa and Zessom, set up a perimeter on that hole we came through. Alert me if you see anyone heading towards us. Delstee, take control of the bridge controls. Sargent Bren, you assist him. Help our flyboys out there." Zulhg ordered rapidly as his men moved around the bridge, he then rose his hand towards his ear to speak into the comlink.

"This is Corporal Bens, Chain-Breaker Squad has secured the starfighter control bridge. We're held up in the room and awaiting further orders." He said as he sent a message through the communications channel. Then his hands went back to his blaster rifle, he didn't believe their fight was over yet. No reason to as the action continued around the ship and outside of it.

Nae twisted the yoke as he hit the repulsors, throwing the craft 'up', while there was no real up or down in space like most pilots he picked a point and used it as his reference. At this moment in time he was using the Majestic as his reference point,w ith it being the biggest object nearby. He twisted as the green blaster bolts from a TIE fighter came streaking through them, he watched his scanner for it turning to pursue but obviously it had other ideas in heading toward the keep. That wasn't however his mission as he stuck close to the bombers as they made a beeline for the cruiser.

[YOU HAVE FIGHTERS COMING UP ON YOU, PERHAPS YOU SHOULD SHOOT AT THEM] As the beep came through indicating a transmission from his astromech Nae turned his attention to it, and then on the scanners. The astromech was right, and if the attack pattern was anything to go by Naes assumption would be that it they were meaking a run for the bombers. He clicked his comm onto his squadrons command frequency.

"Second flight, break right and take out those fighters. How copy?"

"Solid copy."

"Execute." There was a mic click before four of his X-Wings turned to attack the trailing TIEs. "Chuckles, set deflectors to double front." Just as he said the command large red bolts of energy came streaking towards them from the cruiser they were currently approaching.

[WHAT ABOUT THE REAR DEFLECTORS WHERE THE TIES ARE?]

"The TIEs aren't the ones shooting at us, just do as I tell you." He twisted as he thumbed the trigger for three seconds, sending a strafing shot at the cruiser. In the long run it wouldn't do much but anything he could do to soften it up for the bombers would help.

[THREE TIES COMING IN AT MARK 8]

As soon as he got the transmission he broke hard right, there was a slight delay from Lightning-5 but without so much as a word his wing turned towards the incoming TIEs. It was a game of chicken between the two groups, and he knew for a fact that with shielding he would win. "4-5 break off and loop round." Space combat was all about anticipation, as two of his X-Wings broke right in order to loop around the enemy fighters the TIEs flew past them, before he could turn to face them they were already on his tail. It was all about anticipation, the shields taking a light spray, causing the ship to shake.

[PERHAPS I SHOULD REROUTE POWER TO THE REAR DEFLECTORS SINCE THE TIES ARE SHOOTING AT US?]

"Negative Chuckles."

[YOU REALIZE THE SHIELDS AT LOW POWER CAN'T TAKE-] In the middle of the transmission the two X-Wings that had broken off before swung behind the TIEs, two proton torpedoes later and one TIE lay incapacitated with two destroyed. [NEVER MIND]

If the battle kept up like this for much longer, they'd have cleared the Imperial forces out of the area in no time. Then something hit him, not literally but an idea just came to him. It was obvious that the Governor wasn't going to leave by shuttle craft from the main hangar, given that was where the main fighting was going on. The hangar to the port side was inaccessible due to the fact that the Keep blocked it, and the one on the starboard side was open and it had been reported by Mynock squadron that it was empty. That meant that if he wanted off the Majestic he was going to need to launch from some form of frieghter or crusier, and the fact that no ships had moved in to dock yet meant that something was already docked.

He clicked his comm to relay a message to the Keep. "Lightning Lead to the Keep, be advised I believe that the Governor may seek to flee using a ship docked in the lower hangar bay of the target vessel." There was a brief second of static before the acknowledgement came through, if they played their cards right they may get two ships out of a mission meant to gain one.

Belok Parja gazed out of the corridor as cautiously as he dared, confirming that there were less than two dozen highly trained Storm Troopers now moving to entrench themselves upon the Venator's Bridge. The Mandalorian's hand moved in swift and coordinated movements, signalling the numbers, estimated enemy skill, and the urgency needed if they wanted to take the ground. The Signal was transferred to Section Leader Tor Akaavi, which was in turned given to Pib Dosa.

"Move out. Maneuver Dragon," he ordered them. Todal Fist nodded and sent the troops into their positions. The lightest of footbeats could be heard on the metallic floor, and the other squads had just finished reloaded their DC-15A Rifles. Ca'Tra Forg, Briike Ghes, and Venku Tank had their DLT-19 heavy blaster rifle reloaded and at the ready, being given the signal. Stepping out into the center of the blast door opening, they began to lay down a galactic level amount of suppressing fire.

Red lasfire filled the vision of the StormTroopers. Two were hit and went down, and the others ducked for cover, firing back as best they could. To their credit, they fired with precision, even in the hailstorm of lasfire. Briike Ghes was hit on his left, but he grunted, fell to a knee and continued to fire, spraying the room with what was left in his LMG. This exchange lasted for many moments as the LMG's comrades hustled into positions.

Even as the LMG Gunner's rifles phased out and needed to be reloaded, the suppressing fire had been enough. All three Squads were in the room, exchanging intense fire with the Red Mark StormTroopers that fought back stubbornly. The Mandalorian's fought with a cold precision that was reserved for the most elite soldiers in the galaxy. Pib Dosa instinctively ducked under a returned hail of lasfire he had expected from the enemy leader, firing simultaneously and burning the opponent's shoulder with a well aimed shot from his rifle. Foggo Nex was shot in the shoulder, and then in the Kidney. He let out a slight grunt as Laaz Gunder lifted him up. "Leave me be, I have this," Foggo told him. His armor held the first shot, but the second was hit in an angle that bore through his armor and into his body. Perhaps he could have survived the blast if given medical treatment, for he was a tough soldier. But he wasn't going to find out.

The Grenader took out two thermal detonators, and with a warcry, sprinted into the main Bridge area, being utterly lit up by blaster fire as both a distraction, and a suicide strike on the entrenched enemy. Even as his body was shorn apart by lasfire, his thermal detonators went off in the middle of the Storm Troopers, engulfing at least four, and burning/scarring various others. Vorten Cham fought with his blaster Pistol, his left arm now rendered useless from being hit multiple times. Nevertheless, he shot the helmet off one of the Stormtroopers.

They were winning, but only for now. They never counted their victory before the battle was done.