The planet Edara was an icy, storm-tossed rock orbiting a dim star on the frontier of Commonwealth space. Once it had been an unremarkable planet, home to an automated mining station.
Under Imperial rule, it had taken on a new guise; mining still it's main export, but now through convict labour. Edara was a penal colony, a final destination for anyone the Empire found guilty of dissension, trafficking secrets, or anything else that was cause for 'punishment'.
Hanging in orbit of the planet, an Imperial Yeoman-class transport and its' escort of Lancer-class frigates lingered as the transport prepared to offload the latest cargo of prisoners and take on the latest shipments of ore from the world below.
Between the orbit of Edara and its' moon, at the gravitationally stable LaGrange point, space twisted and ruptured as a hyperdrive exit point formed, and the Wandering Star catapulted into real space along with a marine assault carrier. Aboard the Star, klaxons sounded to signal the launch of Onyx squadron into action, along with the ships' marine assault teams. Their mission was clear; Onyx squadron was to shield the assault team as they made planetfall, engaging the fighters from the planet, and taking out the defence systems. The Wandering Star and the assault transport would tackle the frigates head on with their heavy weaponry, and shoot to disable the transport.
The goal of the operation was to liberate the prison - based on intelligence received from resistance agents, a high-ranking imperial defector had been exiled to the prison, and was in posession of information that was high value.

Strapped into her Excalibur's cockpit with her suit sealed, Asora hit her comm channel to the squadron as her fighters' engines spooled up to launch speed. "Listen in, Onyx. We've got to cover those marine dropships and gunships as they make their attack. Fighters will be scrambling from the garrison planetside, which is also armed with defence weapons. Here's the play; Cataract and Monarch you stick with me. We'll be engaging the fighters and giving top cover to the transports while Hatchet and Tusk, you take out the ground defences. Jade, you provide them with electronic jamming cover. They'll be searching the skies with all defences for targets; we'll need you in the SEAD role for certain. Tusk, in particular; you use that railgun to target the heavy cannons and any anti-capship weapons that pop up. The marine gunships will engage in close air-support for the troopers, but be alert for any sudden changes". She hesitated, beak half open, words half-formed in her throat, wanting to say something motivating, something to spur them on. Good luck sounded insincere, like it didn't trust their skills as pilots. Good Hunting too jaunty and irreverent. "Let's do this. See you all back on the ship," she finally said, her voice firm and even.
With the words said, the voice of flight control sounded in the ears of all the pilots. "Onyx squadron, launch".
The pressure of the electromagnetic launch tube accelerating the fighters so rapidly shoved the avian back into her pilots' seat like a massive pair of hands shoving back on her shoulders, the thundrous rumble dying away into the vibrations of the Excaliburs' engines and systems moving through her seat and body as the fighter moved into the vacuum. Gleaming points of light dispersed all around them as decoys and long-range missiles launched from the Wandering Star and the escort ship, others resolved into the shapes of angular gunships and transport dropships, drives flaring bright as they burned at high speed for the cold blue ball of Edara.
"Stay in formation, Onyx and maintain speed. Let's get these grunts on the ground!"

Engines - check, life support - check, ammo - check. Astrid tightened her shoulder straps, making sure she still had enough freedom of movement to look over her shoulders. Ejection capsule - armed. Let’s hope that doesn’t get used. “Allfather Odin, who art in Valhalla, may I prevail in the battle ahead and the damn sensors stay functioning throughout this sortie.” She whispered a mock prayer under her breath, giving the Wildcat an encouraging pat on the dashboard “Hear me, you beautiful thing? Make your designers proud.” And then, the wait. The worst part of any sortie, barring a few exceptions. Then sirens, ship weapons firing and instructions from the shooter. At last, they’ve arrived. With Ebony doling out some last minute orders, she keyed her mic twice in affirmative response and gave the shooter a salute and a thumb up.

Thrown out of the Wandering Star by the invisible hand of the electromagnetic catapult, Astrid quickly turned and burned to form up on her lead. Having cleared the ship and planting her fighter half a klick off Ebony’s five o’clock, she locked onto her fighter to better keep track of the wing leader and rolled her Wildcat so the bottom was facing the star to keep its rays out of her eyes.
She spared a look of pity at one of the troop transports. Last time she’d flown a sortie during a planetary invasion, the Midgard War had just swung into its second month and she was on the other side. Over a third of her aerial victories of that war were transports making planetfall, interceptors having been sent up to put up token resistance and keep their escort fighters busy while the multiroles, supported by bombers hastily refitted to carry a large number of long range air to air missiles guided by AWACS planes, tore the sluggish transports apart.
“One, you think they’ll wait at high altitude to jump us while we’re vulnerable during the descent, or try to meet us in orbit to get at the dropships as early as they can? How many do we expect anyway? The briefing was pretty sparse on details.”

HAZEL TAMIRNYEV — CALLSIGN TUSK

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The cockpit hatch shut with a ker-clunk, and there was a soft hiss as air was siphoned from the chamber. The outside sounds; the blaring klaxons, the shouting and bustle of the fighter bay, all faded away. All that remained was the vibration of the Thunderbolt's engines, and the occasional crackle of the radio. It was like a spacewalk in that way. She found it comforting. That, and knowing she wouldn't be forced through a hole the size of a credit if a stray shot breached the cockpit.

Hazel sat strapped into the seat in the cockpit’s center, illuminated by the glow of consoles. Having just finished the last few stages of her checklists, she glanced towards the small holo-projection of Saint Gagarin fixed to the dashboard and muttered a few words in pidgin—inaudible in the vacuum—but spacers are creatures fond of ritual.

Asura’s voice crackled over her headset partway through the prayer. Hazel didn’t respond until she was done. “Understood, seventy-three.”. Out of the side of the cockpit she could see the magpult spooling up, and could nearly imagine the deafening whir of it. Hazel leaned forwards in her seat (the little that her harness would allow) in anticipation of what was to come.

And they were off! The robotic pilot cackled gleefully as she was launched, plastered against her seat like a fly on a windshield. With the perfusion fluid supplying her brain sealed into a closed system, she was at no risk of G-LOC. There was little to do but enjoy the ride, that which she intended to do. Hazel waited a few moments, allowing the gravity to subside before upping the throttle of the forward thrust, and nosing slightly downwards, falling into the rear of the formation alongside Hatchet.

The whine and tremble of his Rapier's ignition sequence was a small comfort to Aeorin, otherwise known as Monarch, as he did a quick rundown of his last-minute checks. As the hermetic seal was completed on the cockpit, all of the problems that plagued him, his doubts and insecurities, were pushed to the back of his mind... Listening to the short briefing, he gave his affirmative and signaled his own readiness to the ground crew.

He would never admit it but somewhere at the back of his mind was a tiny voice that rose up to whisper that one of them, the ground crew or even his wingmates, would betray him, but he squashed it back down. Asora had selected the pilots for Onyx herself, so she was obviously willing to put her faith in them all; If she was able to to that, then he'd put his faith in her decision in return... He didn't have time for his mind to wander very long, however, as the metaphoric launch timer ticked down to zero and he braced for the sudden onset of g-forces as he was flung into the void of space with rest of Onyx.

Once his craft was clear of the Wandering Star's flight controlled area, his nimble interceptor had no difficulty catching up with the rest of the squadron. He knew that his Rapier was hardly the pinnacle of Starfighter technology even among the less well-equipped outfits of the Resistance, but he understood the reasonings of the higher-ups as for why that's the fighter he was assigned. He would never be able to completely escape the distrust stemming from his roots as an Imperial scion, but he had already resolved to strive for what's right regardless of the perceptions of the others. Even his callsign 'Monarch' was a reminder of that; Originally given to him by other Resistance members when was still freshly defected as a back-handed slight meant to isolate and 'other' him, he instead embraced the connotations as a way of proving that he could rise above where he had come from... It was a symbol of defiance against both the Empire and his detractors, and he preferred it over his old Imperial Callsign of 'Aspect'; that name was a reminder that he had no agency over his own life, that he was simply a part of his Family and the Empire.

Sliding his ship into the formation ahead of the ground attackers and behind the Onyx Leader, he made sure to keep his eyes and sensors for any immediate threats approaching the group as he waited for the signal to break off and engage. He also wondered about Cataract's question, but didn't add any input; he was just as sparse on details as she was after all, and he didn't want to speculate just in case it made things worse. He hadn't run many defensive missions back in the Empire either, so he didn't have useful tactical they could benefit from...

Kayliss appeared calm cool and indifferent. She was pretty good at concealing her emotions. It was a trait she was forced to acquire from an overbearing parent. It also helps in poker. Inside, she was a mess. Very excited about the mission. Confident she would be successful, but a small amount of doubt always seemed to infiltrate the hardened shell she maintained for appearances. She lithely moved her large muscular physique into the cockpit of her Wild Drake. Manipulating the knobs and switches on her console, she fired up her twin Gungnir combined cycle engines.

Suppression of Enemy Air Defense was her mission. knowing Commander Ebonwing intended for her to primarily jam enemy radar in the Electronic Warfare role. Her Wildcat was pre-loaded with three Wasp short range anti-air missiles to fight other light craft similar to what Onyx Squadron used. These were all loaded on one inboard hardpoint. Her port inboard hardpoint contained the ECM Blinder Pod (H), intended to jam and distort enemy communications. The pod could focus on one target or be used in a more broad-based or 'passive' form of disruption. The biggest downfall to the Blinder Pod was its functions could highlight it as a target quite easily. On both outboard hardpoints were mounted two each Hornet medium range anti-air missiles used to fight other light craft like her own.

Kayliss went through her pre-flight checks. Her Wild Drake was ready to take flight. When the Commander finished her last-minute brief from the cockpit and flight control gave the green light to launch, she watched as her squadron mates blasted off the Wandering Star’s Flight Deck. “Roger that,” quick communications into the radio. As soon as the last craft cleared the bay door, she punched her own catapult system hurtling her craft into action behind the rest of the squadron. Onyx Squadron was airborne.