Log:For The Republic: Finale
For The Republic: Finale
OOC Date: June 20, 2019
Location: Coruscant
Participants: Ambrosia Greystorm (as Korvin Fir), Callax Dalso (as Jir Niamh), Ektor (GM), Kimber Fenavo, Merek, Rhysio Ando (as Fa-Zuun chasmik), Tallissan Lintra (as Giret Niv-Saan)
The Savior-class Calamari super-cruiser *Gial Ackbar*, last and greatest product of the New Republic shipyards, now faces its end.
Tracked even through hyperspace by an overwhelming First Order force, half its fighter complement lost in the initial desperate battle, the choice of how the New Republic navy should face its end was made.
The necessary preparations were made: volunteers to remain as skeleton crew were plentiful; lots were drawn among the crew, not to determine who was required to stay, but to choose which were required to leave and live. Intelligence agents had compiled an exhaustive database of the communications, shipping logs, and transponders of all ships which had come and gone from the flagship prior to the First Order attack. Though it was too much to analyze in this desperate hour, perhaps those who carried on could determine how their enemies had found them.
The shield generator, engine apparatus, and tractor beam stations remain fully staffed, as does the astrogation console; meticulous and exhaustive calculations had been made to determine which angle of approach would provide the best opportunity to strike their target at the ideal angle to allow their doomed ship to reach the mark intact, and with power enough to avoid the loss of innocent life, if the Force is with them. All across the ship, regular announcements count down the hours and minutes until the last jump of the *Gial Ackbar* is complete.
Dirk has taken a moment to adjust his flight suit, then he's onto his X-Wing while he prepares for combat. He checks all the systems while he nods a bit, and waits as well for the ship's preparation also.
Kimber Fenavo drew to evacuate, and she argued this point, finally relenting when it was pointed out that her skill set won't actually help much. There are a few goodbyes, a few long hugs, but no tears. There's no time for tears. Her few belongings shoved into a rucksack, she waits.
All stations are manned on the Bridge, heads riveted on the displays that track the ship's progress through realtime and hyperspace. The Rear Admiral rises from his post to stand before the holoprojection of their planned approach. Hands behind his back, feet spread apart, he frowns into the projection then leans forward to study it once again before straightening. He walks a tour of the Bridge momentarily standing behind each section chief's station before laying a hand on a shoulder or saying a brief word of encouragement.
The lieutenant on astrogation sends a signal through all the consoles and says aloud, "That is T-minus 5 minutes and counting, sir."
The rear admiral goes to his seat and opens coms to the ship, "We are T-minus 5 before emergence into our objective's space." There is a slight pause where people on the bridge might see him take a deep breath and square his shoulders. "Each of you who have elected to stay will be marked in the annals of history for your bravery and courage to do your duty in the face of overwhelming odds. The ship's approach will bring minimum damage if any to civilians. A mark of our commitment to not become like our enemy. I am proud to count myself among you. May this day bring us closer to victory." He motions the com to silence and sits back in his seat.
Captain Fa-Zuun Chasmik sits within the cockpit of the X-Wing known as Rogue 8, going through the preflight checklist for this particular model. He is quietly conversing with the R2 unit that is installed in the socket of the starfighter. A series of pensive bleeps and bloops give the pilot pause in his flipping of switches and verifying of numbers. His eyes squint just a little, his lips pursing before he simply shakes his head, "No, where did you hear that? We'll be fine. We're going to survive this and be big damned heroes, you'll see."
Slightly unsettled, though doing his best to contain such a feeling, the pilot goes back to his preflight. Almost eager to change the subject, he says, "Get the thruster output locked and prepare for launch.”
There is no mistaking the Coruscant system. Few others in the galaxy are as iconic, few others so heavily defended. No fewer than three Resurgent-class Star Destroyers secure the spacelanes (Finalizer, Harbinger, and Conqueror), along with a Mandator IV Siege Dreadnought (MSD Siren), and a Banking Clan Victory-I class Destroyer. And at the center of the colossal capital ships, the urban planet of Coruscant, within its glittering world-spanning shield, narrowed to a stranglehold in the First Order?s shield gate.
Within moments of the Republic command ship emerging from hyperspace- in line with the target, but much more distant than had been hoped- the survivors or Rogue, Wraith, and Phoenix Squadrons are signaled to launch, as automated warnings begin to blare and vast clouds of TIE fighters are scrambled to fill to void. Very few will have the needed time to reach the Ackbar, excepting those stationed in the hangars of the Shield Gate station, itself.
Civilian traffic- backup up catastrophically by the single point of access to the world- begins to veer out of subspace waiting lanes, engines flaring to flee what looks to be a sudden and unexpected battle.
Rocking back and forth on her heels, Kimber realizes she just... She has to stay. She slips away, backing into a trash can and falling into it ass-first. Brilliant. She fishes herself out of the trash and mumbles something about needing to hit the head. Once she's out of sight, she throws her rucksack into a random corridor and heads for her station.
They emerge: the quiet breaks into a maelstrom of alarms flashing, voices rapidly relaying commands, status reports being transferred to the teams integral to their attack. Turning in his chair to face the central holoprojection Rear Admiral Giret Niv-Saan watches the ship's approach in real time compared to the projected route, knuckles pale as he unconsciously grips the arms of his chair. A lekku twitches as he grimaces then smoothes his face and nods to the lieutenant on astrogation. "We will be fighting our way in. The odds are good. Well done. Tactical! X-Wings on my mark." He raises his hand, “Mark!"
As the voice of the newest Rogue Leader pops on the comms, Fa-Zuun Chasmik's hand is already resting on the throttle lever. The starfighter has been as prepared as it will ever get, and it responds well when Chasmik pushes the throttle forward. As the fighter clears the launch bay, his eyes immediately start a scan of his forward instruments and the space around him, his hand easily guiding the starfighter through space with the instruments in front of him, "Rogue 8, launched."
He immediately turns towards the squadrons of TIE fighters forming up to launch an offensive against the Ackbar.
The initial long-range batteries on the RSD Finalizer erupt to life, sending pinpricks of emerald turbolaser fire toward the *Gial Ackbar* which grow into angry volleys of destructive energy. The Republic cruiser is fortunate in the opening moments, as ranging fire has no appreciable effect on their port shields. Such luck cannot hold for long.
Meanwhile, the X-wings roar into the void, establishing a fighter screen to ward off the worst of the incoming TIE squadrons. The risk of a lucky missile slowing the engines, or striking the bridge is too great to let the enemy fighters fly unopposed.
Kimber Fenavo arrives at the bridge, taking up her position at the first aid station, which on a suicide mission, does feel a bit like throwing deck chairs off of a sinking ship, but she does it proudly.
Just prior to the X-Wings of Rogue Squadron and other squadrons from the Gial Ackbar launch into the oncoming formations of TIE, Captain Fa-Zuun Chasmik calls out over the radio, "Launching proton torpedo." With the press of a button, a blue ball of a torpedo emits from the front of the X-Wing and straight into an oncoming formation. Unfortunately, the torpedo says 'Not Today' and flies off harmless.
Moments later, the TIE Fighters spread as the Rogues intercept them, firing cannons that threaten to cut into their macrome hulls if they don't scoot.
The Ackbar glides closer to its target, bright blue engine banks burning nearly white under the strain of moving the gargantuan cruiser. The *Finalizer* finds its range and hammers the port shields of the Republic capital ship, causing shield generators to flicker and spark while compensating. One terminal on the bridge is the victim of one such overload and erupts in a shower of sparks and the stink of ozone. "Shields at sixty-one percent! Target is at eight thousand kilometers-“
When that crewman goes down at his terminal, Kimber rushes over to check on him. He's alive, but his eyes are... fried. Fried is a good word, and evocative of the mess on this guy's face. She helps him to his feet and guides him to a spot near a bulkhead where she can try and make him comfortable. A dose of heavy narcotics should do the trick. For half a moment, she considers just giving him a lethal dose. You know. To beat the rush. She decides against it, though, opting to just give him enough to drift off into a peaceful slumber.
"Tactical: Bring full laser and turrets on the Finalizer!" The tip of the rear admiral's lekku mirrors the hand he raises and lets drop. Behind him crews on tactical and gunnery release the lasers and ion cannons on the FO's Resurgence Class star destroyer. The space between the ships burn in an actinic glare as they bring the full battery to bear. A few seconds of delay before their coms show the shields on the Finalizer rainbow. Damage reports show negligible results. No visible reaction can be seen from the Bridge personnel - professionals all of them.
The hit on their on port side shakes the ship. One ensign squeaks at the shower of sparks that erupt from a nearby console, knocking her comrade onto the floor who sprawls, knocked unconscious.
"X-Wings deployed, sir."
With the great big hole in the TIE Fighters offensive screen after the initial offensive battery of Rogue Squadron, Rogue 8 changes the game and instead of the TIE Fighters trying to bypass the Resistance defensive screen, he bypasses the defensive screen of the TIE Fighters that didn't even know they were defending.
Mind = Blown, but that's not all...
As the X-Wing brings the very large star destroyer to the front of the craft, another proton torpedo launches from the front of the vessel. It speeds through the intervening space and slams into the side of the Star Destroyer. Explosions and sub-explosions tear through the vessel and several turbolaser batteries are no more in a brilliant flash of light.
The skeleton Operations crew remaining aboard has been slaving away at each of their assignments, diverting power from this and that to give boosts where needed to help Gial Ackbar stay the course. One final time.
Also, there's damage control.
Master Chief Korvin Fir mans one of the stations himself - the Bridge. The Cerean's remained inordinately calm and composed, having already made his peace with what the consequences of this mad charge will bring for him, his family, and the whole of the Republic. "Restabilize those shield generators," he sighs into his comlink on shoulder while taking his box of tricks to tackle that Finalizer-fried terminal.
Not a glance goes to the poor soul being tended nearby. Korvin's focus is on cracking open that terminal, poking around the components, identifying and snipping out the toasted bits of its network. The old man's a damn neuro surgeon, when it comes to ship bodies. Within no time, he's fusing replacement parts and splicing new wires into the messy mix. The frown dimpling his chin under all that stache and beard says that he himself isn't content with the patch job, but there isn't time for a full overhaul. Tossing a hydrospanner over his hip and back into the box, Korvin scoots backward on knees a couple times before climbing stiffly to his feet. Man's got a bit more headroom to clear than your average officer!
"She'll hold, long as she needs to," he says of the terminal to the crewmen remaining on foot. A few konks to the side panel ensures that the flickering sensors stabilize...or at least produce a steady glow where they ought to be glowing.
The duel between capital ships is increasingly being revealed as a sideshow to the Republic's true goal. The First Order captains had maneuvered to block the super-cruiser's escape, thinking this to be another hit and run raid. All too late is it revealed that they are now out of position and the Ackbar has no intention of fleeing as it's ten-mile long bulk bears down at a precise angle toward the Shield Gate.
Several Republic icons have vanished from the tactical computers as Phoenix, Wraith, and Rogue take and deal further losses. Cannonades are traded, but the *Gial Ackbar* bears on, relentless.
When the call goes out to work on the shield generators, Kimber hops on a nearby terminal. This isn't too different from things she's done before, but the scale is well beyond her ken. She tries rerouting power, but every time she gets one relay in line, another threatens to blow.
Monolithic and beautiful at full speed the Gial Ackbar moves through the glare of lasers lighting its shields. Around them TIE/ins die in a frenzy of colors as Rogue and other squadrons take them head to head and do the unthinkable by slipping behind the Finalizers shields. Rogue receives the brunt of the attention.
The Ackbar shudders and groans as the Finalizer pounds them. "Tactical: continue fire on the Finalizer. All stations, brace for impact. All stations prepare to breach the Gate." The objective looms before them. Behind Niv-Saan, solemn nods and brief smiles are shared between the crew manning the consoles. The rear admiral clears his throat as the final moments of the grand ship approaches.
"Tractor beams ready. Reroute power as needed. We are depending on you to protect those below.
“It has been an honor to serve with you all." He straightens in his seat, shoulders back, lekku aligned formally.
Pulling around for his next pass, Captain Chasmik brings the nose of the X-Wing back towards another section of the Finalizer. So far, he has been able to dodge and weave around the turbolaser fire, but the medical plan for the First Order is just too good.
On the Finalizer, a gunner squints into the control panel for his big damned turbolaser. Luckily, he was not in the blast that took out several turbolaser batteries on the last pass of that X-Wing. Looking out the viewport of his turbolaser, he is able to spot the X-Wing as it initiates a tight turn that begins its second pass. He is able to spot it because of the corrective surgery he was able to obtain once his benefits kicked in. No weird glasses for him anymore. As the little starfighter shoots another torpedo, he pulls the trigger and sends turbolaser fire ripping through the X-Wing.
Just as the kill was confirmed, his sensors completely went out. Not his concern. He leans back as he waits for the engineers to do their thing and get him back up and running.
Korvin casts the medic a furry-browed /look/ of sorts that is one part exasperated, two parts grateful. "It's being handled," he assures her, for somewhere unseen, there are a couple lackeys working hard to keep those shields up...and diverting power accordingly.
"Shield power rerouting to forward shields," M.C. Fir confirms moments later, making good on his promise to ensure that piece of plan went accordingly. Then, he hunkers down alongside the wounded tractor beam console, TC-8. Ideally, a man would spend his last chosen moments reflecting on life, the grand cosmic mysteries retained within one's self. Here on the bridge, stripping away burnt electrical sheathing, is as good a place as any. He can practically do this job with his eye closed, anyway.
"I'll be seeing you soon," he says softly, to no one present, as the familiar whisper of wind through verdant leaves stirs in memory, louder than any of the warning klaxons alarming around the injured, crazed cap ship. A little smile forms unseen beneath the snowy white hairs and somewhere within that faulty console, a bad connection is made right.
Just in time.
He's been down there all this time in the crew pits, Lieutenant Jir Niamh. Twenty years ago he was an asteroid miner in the Rim, learning to run cargo rigs and rock-draggers, something his family had done for many generations before. He's a rockjack's kid from a rockjack family - which is why, when he took the inexplicable turn of joining the Republic Navy, he ended up working the tractor beams of capital ships. Gravitons in the blood. And now he's here, on the greatest ship the Navy ever produced, on a hard run to take out the shield station holding Coruscant in its thrall. And he's sweating. Long, supple, quadruple-jointed fingers flash across the boards of his console, centuries of genetic deviance from the human norm giving the near-Human officer uncanny dexterity. It's what he does, the reigning in of all the crews, keeping them prepared, commanding them to pulse the emitters constantly in his desire to keep them all primed. They are all drilling through eternity, carving their path now to the afterworld and all historical memory...and behind them is the biggest rock that he's ever had to deal with. The Finalizer. Gods of blood and thunder.
But he's a miner's boy. He grew up knowing he could die at any moment, with nary but an errant twiddle on the controls. He prepares himself for the greatest hauling job he's ever done, and knows that failure isn't an option. There is only physics, his old wrestling partner, and the very short remainder of his life.
For the Republic. For the Republic. For the Republic, damn it all. Those bastards won't kill us yet. Not until we do it ourselves.
"Tractor control is prepared, Admiral," he calls into the air, unknowing if the man in the command seat will even hear him. "We won't let you down." A slight trickle of sweat running down his temple betrays what the raw confidence in his voice won't allow to be voiced. /If/. Always if…
The last flagship of the New Republic impacts the vast orbital station, miles of the Ackbar's forward fuselage crack and crumble with the titanic force of an unmovable object stretched up to and then pushed past itâ??s ability to endure, and with a flash that triggers auto-dimming reactions from every canopy in the system, the Coruscant Shield Gate is broken.
Chaos reigns on the bridge, as proximity alarms give way to an overwhelming breadth of hull breaches in the forward section, decompression of the abandoned nose, and myriad structural integrity failures. Many are thrown from their feet by the great jagged crash, as all lights go red, and minor explosions shake the ship's tormented frame.
But power remains for shields and tractor beams. For some mad reason, the TIE fighters appear to begin targeting the tractor beam projectors on the Ackbar. Meanwhile, the *Siren*, the First Order Siege Dreadnought, registers as powering up its main guns..
The Ackbar communications officer frowns in thought and voices, "Admiral! We're being hailed repeatedly.. public frequencies. Civilian vessels are- sir, several freighters are offering to recover our escape pods, if we can launch them in time!" With so many First Order fighters filling the void, it is a scant chance of escape, at best.
As the bow of the ten-kilometer ship begins to breach the Gate a shudder rolls through its length. The harmonics of plasteel and rare alloy metals sing its destruction as compartment after compartment begins to collapse. A chaos of alarms sound as environmental systems fail and pressure breaches are reported. Chairs come uncleated, crew are thrown hard against their restraints. Sparks cascade madly from a console celebrating the end of the great ship.
Grimacing, eyes fixed on the damage reports, Niv-Saan opens the all ship channel, "All non-essential personnel will abandon ship. Escape pods to be released without requesting orders. I repeat, all non-essential personnel to the escape pods."
He releases himself from his restraints and turns to the bridge, his purple skin pale. "Go. We will need gunnery and tractor beams. The rest of you off. This is an order." A brief fey smile lights his face. "Insubordination will be severely punished." Straightening he salutes the crew, "It has been an honor knowing you. May all the protectors of the universe be with you.”
...Maybe Korvin won't be returning 'home' as soon as he'd thought. At least, death won't let him off so easily as to have gone out in an instantaneously fireball of fury. The Cerean's cranium actually puts a bit of a dent in the console's access panel when forward momentum is suddenly jarred and he goes ramming into the object of his ministrations. In all fairness, Rear Admiral Niv-Saan /had/ advised them to prepare for impact.
With his noggin already blotched purple at the site of impact and resulting hematoma blossoming rapidly under skin, Korvin unfolds his crumpled, briefly unconscious form to wipe a little blood from his one good eye. Said blood is transferred to his already messy jumpsuit by way of a one-two dusting, then he snaps a salute back to Niv-Saan. His scuffed, grease-toed boots do not move to follow along after the 'non-essential personnel'. Instead, then shuffle him over to one of the still-functioning consoles. A few mutters into his comlink bid adieu to his released volunteers, inviting them to take as many of the tools and equipment as they can carry on person en route to escape pod. And may the Force speed them on.
And in a moment of great thunder and the rattling of impact, the station is gone. Coruscant, for all intents and purposes, is free.
Lieutenant Liamh's got gravitons in his blood. Heard it all his life. Gravitons in the blood, yes...and some of that blood oozes down the same track where sweat had gone before, thanks to his head bouncing off the top of his console. It was going to be a beautiful thing, the idea he had as he directed the tractor operators, but the sheer thunder of impact that has splintered the fore section of the hull threw his hands just millimeters from his target. And so it is that instead of being hurled directly at enemy targets, the mighty Gial Ackbar has instead flung most of the resulting debris station away from the planet, free and safe. But it's not done. Shown in ghostly blue wireframe on the console's displays, a quarter of the station's sundered corpse still remains, pushed out of its place in the universe and seeking a new one - all the way down, and into the planet's surface.
But not if he can fix it. He can fix it. He's /got/ to fix it. No way is he taking all those civilians with him when he goes. And it would give the Order more fodder for press....and forget that. Forget all those people.
"All emitter stations," he calls over the console, not looking up from his work, not even when the Admiral gives his orders. "Get the rest of that junk out of the way. Extra points if we can haul it into the path of the guns of that dreadnought on our way...wherever we're going. But do /not/ let those civilians down there wish they never saw the Ackbar today!" Like he'd ever abandon his station. He dies as he lived, unless they can somehow get away.
Spared the onslaught of the Finalizer for a short while, the dying Ackbar's tractor beams begin clearing the largest pieces of the broken Shield Gate station out of the planet's gravity well.
But strafing TIEs silence one tractor beam emitter, and then another. Nearly a quarter of the station's mass begins a slow descent, as the deadly calm report from the sensors officer is, "The Siren has established a target lock."
There can be one more attempt to spare the planet below.. but for those who try, there is no hope of escape.
In the stress of losing the pride of the Fleet, losing his world, the rear admiral grips the arms of his chair sending a prayer to the powers of the universe. "Get them, get them," he mutters as the crew, Lt. Liamh and the senior engineer all do their damndest to pull the larger chunk from dropping on the world below. There is a ragged cheer behind him as they succeed.
Destruction tears the great ship into pieces, kilometers of the forward sections have collapsed. The eerie high pitched tone of weapons lock screeches through the bridge. "Kill that," he commands curtly. "Reroute all power not being used on the tractors from the shields into laser and ion cannons. Fire at will on the Siren. Status on the release of escape pods, please." He steels himself for the coming darkness, certain that he will join the family he lost to the FO.
Trying to lock on to progressively smaller and smaller bits of debris is a bit more challenging than the Master Chief can apparently handle. A small sound of frustration blows out the side of his mouth as a hand comes up to wipe the blood out of his eye for the third time. It's difficult to see, but whether the hazy quality to his vision can be blamed on trickling runoff or on something /worse/ is an answer only a medical scan would show. And it's too late for that. Korvin leans heavily on the edge of his impromptu station until the sound of cheering (and disappeared targets to mark) tells him that the others have succeeded. He's free to move on via a hasty, somewhat drunken gait to a couple stations over where he might a) kill the nerve-grating screeching and b)perform a little reallocation of shield power to Ackbar's offensive systems. Lasers - check. Ions - check.
But there's no ragged cry from Lieutenant Liamh, no sound at all - just a hush of understanding as he watches the last pieces of the shattered station drift away. His hands, in the end, they failed him. Too woozy from the hit near his temple, he fumbled at his own console. But that's all right. It's all...all right. They've won the day, they've saved the people...they've freed this world, whether or not the First Order remains in space.
And now there's just the inevitable. The curtain closes on this act...but at least he was a player on the stage.
"Cram it down their craw," the Cerean mumbles before collapsing into his chair.
A scant few escape pods had time to launch in the last moments, gliding clear of the *Ackbar* into the chaos of Coruscanti space. A courageous- or reckless- few civilian light freighters make runs to try and recover the pods, but it is a long gamble. An old Corellian Barloz freighter takes one pod into the care of its tractor beam before it comes under concentrated fire from a half dozen TIEs, and flares out in a short-lived fireball. An old Ghtroc model manages to snare one of the pods with its automated Republic transponder distress signal, harried hard by First Order fire, before fleeing into hyperspace.
The building menace of the Mandator IV Siege Dreadnought is fully charged, and the order to fire follows quickly thereafter, the fleet-killing might of the *Siren’s* capital-class autocannons unleashes a torrent of fire that traces the length Republic super-cruiser, leaving only blossoming explosions, vaporized tons of durasteel, and a scant few shards of hull to mark the site of the *Ackbar’s* final sacrifice.
As First Order patrols, shuttles, and salvage craft are deployed to comb the wreckage, a pattern of chatter emerges. A few at first, and soon dozens of small ships launch across the vast ecumenopolis, ignoring flight controllers who have ordered traffic grounded, and flee the world in all directions. With the Shield Gate gone, the skies are unchained once again.
