Log:Mission 01: 'Corvette Summer'
Mission 01: 'Corvette Summer'
OOC Date: May 12/2018
Location: Farzaak Nur
Participants: Gren Delede, Karas Darkwing, Jessika Pava, David Ironside, Sar Yavok, Maeve Zavir, The Resistance
The briefing room on the Renegade has been cleared, and only a handful of officers and pilots have been called to this particular meeting. Gren is standing at the holotable in uniform, hands clenched behind his back, waiting to begin. When everyone is settled, he clears his throat.
"This mission is classified, people. There will be no contact with the outside world allowed, so if you've got 'I died' messages to record, get it done, and we'll save them if they need to be sent." Delede nods to his R2 unit, and the holotable displays a system full of gas giants, and asteroids. "This is the Blath system, uninhabited and a navigational nightmare. Good place for a covert meeting. Sacrifice, and a small force of escort fighters will be providing cover for a meeting with members of the Bothan government that have expressed some interest in supporting the Resistance. The secrecy is critical, as the political situation among the Bothans is...fluid. This mission is not officially supported by their goverment, and it is possible that the hardline isolationists among their leadership might go to extreme measures to avoid being ensnared in another galactic war." Gren sighs, and shakes his head. "Bothans and their politics are above your paygrade, thankfully. I'll be commanding Sacrifice and the mission, overall. Captain Yavok will command a flight of Z95 Headhunters flying escort for our diplomats' shuttle. Hopefully, it'll be a bloody quiet cramped flight for you lot, and I can get some paperwork done. The objectives are simple...protect our diplomats, and try not to piss off the Bothans. Questions?" The Coruscanti falls silent, looking out over the Resistance officers, and waiting.
Once the prompt for questions comes out, Jessika pipes up without pretending this is a classroom and avoids raising her hand. It's a simple, straightforward question. "In the event of a serious ambush, what's our rendezvous point if we have to scramble out of system?"
"Sounds like straightforward enough op," Sar says, knowing full-well that the words 'straightforward' and 'op' are hardly viable to describe what happens whenever Gren and him work together. The Captain is seated on one of the benches, turning over a flight-helmet in his hands.
David stands up, having been seated in one of the middle rows of chairs. "I have a question." He looks around, at all the pilots gathered at the briefing. "Where do you want us?" The young Naboo native had noticed several starfighter pilots attend the meeting, and the news of only a few Z-95s being used seems to bum a few of the rookies out. "And yeah. What do we do when inevitably it all goes to hell?" That gets a few chuckles, but Dave absolutely doesn't look like he's joking.
Karas Darkwing sits and just listens, this is pretty much straight forward, but he was curious about something, but before he is able to ask his question David speaks up and well thats what he was wondering himself. So far now Karas just leans back in his seat and waits for the answer.
"There will be three possible rendevous points, in the event of a retreat. Your astromechs will be receive a copy of the flight plan, and Sacrifice will transmit which coordinates we will make for. If we're knocked out, it's up to Yavok." A nod toward Sar. "As for flight assignments, Darkwing, Ironside and Pava will fly the escort fighters along with Yavok, and the rookies that I've called in will be manning the turrets on Sacrifice and our diplomats' shuttle. The remainder of the CR90's crew is unaware of our destination. If it all goes to hell, we make sure the diplomats and the Bothans survive. That's the primary objective. Our survival is the secondary. If that's it...get over to Flurry, and start preflight on your assigned fighters."
Sar Yavok stands up from his seat on the bench and tucks the helmet beneath his arm. Looping a thumb through his life-support rig, he takes a look out over the assembled pilots. "Let's hop to it, then." A look to Delede, "Careful out there, Gramps." He turns to make his exit toward the Flurry.
Rising from her seat, Jessika tucks her helmet under an arm. It's a rare sight, that helmet, with its Tierfon Yellow Aces logo emblazoned on the side. Only one other like it exists in the Resistance. It hearkens back to a time that anyone with the Resistance can sympathize with. Jessika follows after Captain Yavok, and squeezes the padded flight gloves held in one hand.
"Who are the diplomats that will be doing the negotiation, Gren?" Maeve Zavir wonders as everyone is getting ready to exit.
Likewise, David heads out after the orders are all given, helmet under his arm and an R2 unit hot on his heels. Sprinting to the airlocks, David turns back, shaking his head at the little astromech. "Sorry Ones. We're flying Z-95s today. Don't think they have room for two! Keep the Renegade safe, will ya?" David turns his eyes front again, leaving the droid behind with a little wave.
"Some of the best and brightest of the Diplomatic Corps...pencil pushers, I imagine." Gren replies to Maaeve, and adds..."Not really our concern. We just need them to not die. Names only matter if we've got to find their next of kin. Come on, we've got a corvette waiting on us, Doctor."
Grinning, "This is going to be fun." he says. Karas gets up and begins walking out with the others, "Hopefully it's quiet."
The Sacrifice, its Headhunter escort, and the diplomatic shuttle have been in system for a few hours. The shuttle is docked with a Bothan flagged luxury yacht, and talks seem to proceeding slowly, as expected. On the CR90's bridge, Rear Admiral Delede is seated in the command chair, sipping a mug of caf, and tapping away at a datapad stowed across his lap. Paperwork. The struggle is real. The buzz of the lightly crewed command center surrounds him like an annoying, but comfortable habitat. It is in a protective placement between the rest of the system, and the ships they have to protect...the enter formation is positioned snugly in the shadow of a super-sized Gas Giant. It would be quite difficult to detect. It's a boring mission.
Flying in a slow escort pattern around the docked capital ships, Captain Yavok and his fearless band of Z-95s are mostly just getting really bored. Sar's eyes flick between his nav console and the viewport for the hundredth time and he mutters, "Just had to pick me for the /super special/ mission. Dammit, Gren. Played me again."
In the void of space, orientation is usually difficult. It's easy to get lost staring at the expanse of black stretching out before them. In this situation, it's a little easier. The gas giant and the vessels provide easy references, but so does the harmonious flight pattern the Headhunters are locked in. As Captain Yavok guides them around the docked ships, Jessika eases her flight-stick through the motions of maintaining position. It's quiet, this patrol. Boring, even. Jessika doesn't relax, though. At all times, she's maintaining eyes on her systems and whatever the forward view of her port can provide her. "Keep scanning, Sparky." Jess speaks it to the astromech also monitoring the systems. Sparky will know something's up before she does, but breaking the silence with her voice is integral to staying alert.
Fingers tapping on the dashboard, David is leaning in his seat, taking full advantage of the overhead canopy to check for any suspicious movement. Or -any- movement. <<Gold Leader checking in. Got nothing.>> he calls into the comms, sounding incredibly bored. <<Resuming ocular scan.. now.>> The fighter moves lazily through space, twisting and turning when needed, the pilot always keeping an eye on his sensors. The man's been flying for at least a decade now, so open space, not rushing into combat is almost second nature to him.
Shaking his head, Karas was enjoying flying in the Z-95. He couldn't help but smirk, still flying in escort formation, the dark skinned pilot looks around as the others are in formation. Glancing back at his R2 unit, and checking his sensors, <<So far so good.>> he says. The Z-95 is flying smoothly and Spark speaks up at him, having to look at the data screen, "I hope not man, but just keep me informed of anything out of the normal." he says to his droid.
"Just in case they .. get a hangnail or a papercut, having their species specific parameters would be a huge plus," Maeve Zavir remarks as she is checking her datapad for relevant files. One eyebrow wings upward at the normal mix and she takes the time to pack the necessary supplies, just in case. By the time the negotiations are underway the doctor has read every scrap of the medical data available, knows that one of the diplomats has an aversion for chilled fruit juice, another has some interesting allergies and one is a hypochondriac. Mae takes a headache tab, in advance, just in case. As a preventive.
Yet more time passes. Gren is just returning from a trip to the refresher when a call goes up from the sensor station. "We've got unknown contacts entering the system! They're almost on top of us, sir! They've got an impressive EW suite, and we're struggling to get an ID." A brief glance at the 'sky' and Gren sighs. "Sound combat alert, all hands to battlestations." Straightening his tunic, he drops down into his chair, and reaches for the com-link. <<Escort Lead, we've got incoming. Unknown classes. I need eyes on, Captain. Get it done.>>
"Contact the diplomatic ship, and tell them to prepare to embark, and undock. We've been discovered, protocol is remove ourselves from the system. Helm, lay in an intercept course on the incoming contacts, half-thrust. Spin up the turrets." Orders given, Gren purses his lips, and drums his fingers on the arm of his chair. He really dislikes this part.
<<Alright, you heard him. Stick to my wings for now. Til we see what we're dealing with,>> Sar comms. Sucking his teeth, he throttles forward and begins tapping commands into his computer. He breathes a sigh when the results come flickering back to him. <<Green Leader to Sacrifice, we're looking at a CR-90. It's got some smaller craft with it, but I can't get through the interference.>>
<<Fighters, belay my previous order. Spread out and get ready for a hairball. If you gotta duck out, tuck behind the Sacrifice. It's shields are better by a mile.>>
First one order, then the next. Jessika goes with the most recent and nudges her flightstick to the side so that her Z-95 sweeps farther from the formation but maintains the same general heading. Voices are playing out over the comms now, and Jessika keys up her own. <<This is Gold Two, affirmative Green Leader.>> Acknowledgment given, Jess adjusts in the flight seat and settles herself. She clears her head for the potential scrap coming up, and refuses to let errant, distracting things take her focus away.
David perks up at the blaring orders over his headset. <<Gold Leader to Green.>> he starts his reply, <<On your wing.>> The fighter speeds up, the pilot sitting up out of his relaxed position. When the belay order comes in, David immediately yanks the stick to the side. About to contact the shuttle, he stops himself. He's not lead on this operation, he'll leave it to the Captain or the Admiral. <<What are we up against, fighter-wise?>> he questions aloud as he speeds into the action from afar.
Upon hearing the comm chatter from the Sacrifice and from Green Leader, he checks his sensors and is now picking up the hostiles. <<Copy that Green Leader. Tally HO I'm in.>> he calls as he begins moving right stretching out the formation so that he is ready to take on any of the fighters coming in. Checking his weapons, laser cannons fully charged and a full load of concussion missiles. "Alright Spark, lets get ready to rock and roll." he says as he mentally prepares himself.
Sending out the tersely worded message to the diplomatic team, Maeve Zavir keeps the message to the point and calls up a screen that allows her to view the surveillance feed from the airlocks so that she can see when the diplomats safely cross the threshold. "Lets try not to lose any Bothans on this task," is said in a low voice as she switches screens and leans forward again, watching as the profile of the approaching vehicles is matched. "All fighters, the incoming squadron is comprised of four Y-wings and four Z95's."
"Admiral, there's a lot of comm traffic passing between the Bothan yacht, and the incoming CR90. Our people are reporting that the incoming ships seem to belong to a faction of the Bothan government that was alerted to this mission, and is demanding the immediate surrender of our Bothan contacts. They have not hailed us....and their weapons are powered." The comm officer looks up from his console, giving a brief report to Gren. Klaxons call all hands to battlestations on the Sacrifice.
"Very well. It's time for everyone to get out of here. Let the Bothans and our diplomats know that we'll cover their retreat." A quick order, and Gren keys his commlink once again. <<Those Y-wings need to go, before they can launch torpedos. Sacrifice will move to engage the incoming CR90. Green Leader, weapons free.>> The senior officer presses a few keys on his command console, and then pulls the swingout terminal in front of his chair, scanning over it. "Full speed ahead, and lay in a direct course for the corvette."
<<You heard the man. Bombers are top priority,>> Sar comms to the rest of them before tipping the flightstick forward and moving to engage. Leading the charge, he whips between volleys of enemy fire, gritting his teeth as the adrenaline starts to kick in. He presses down hard on one of the firing nubs and sends a hail of blaster fire into the fray. His first target gets it rough. A couple solid hits and its shields flicker and pop before its hull takes a beating.
David nods, even though nobody's there to see. <<Roger that.>> he adds, to make the effort not seem in vain. The brief distraction proves costly, laser fire raining down on the fighter immediately. Several blasts trike true, causing the soft blue glow of the shields to vanish in shards of energy, as though sucked into space. <<Gold Leader here, took fire and lost shields.>> It's at times like this you really start missing an astromech droid, Dave notes with a wry grimace. "Alright, let's see if I can't hotwire the shields back up.." he mutters as he turns right back -out- of the furball.
Maeve Zavir continues to keep an eye on the security feed, tracking their diplomats enroute to their shuttle. She cups one hand over one ear as she listens to the feed and turns towards Gren, alarmed. "The Bothans are reporting that their hyperdrive is nonfunctional, sir. Ours are almost to their shuttle, they should make it at this point without interference."
<<Gold Two, engaging.>> Only, Jessika isn't engaging. Incoming fire leads her to jockey the flightstick, trying to avoid incoming fire. It doesn't help. As bolts plaster the shields, they fail, and a hard shudder shakes through the craft amidst the damage to the hull. In a calm voice that belies the flaring warning lights from her instrument panel, Jessika relays: <<I'm hit.>>
Karas shifts slightly in his cockpit and as he does he hears the orders that are coming in, <<Copy, lining up a shot now.....Ever...nevermind.>> he was about to offer some orders, but they all are in the same Escort Squadron. As incoming fire is being shot at him, Karas rolls his fighter and as he does, he tried to take a shot in mid-roll but misses. Upon completing the barrel roll, he fires off a harder shot and watches the Y-Wing he fired at shields flicker.
The CR90's gunners open up on the approaching Y-wings, and the thrum of persistant laser blasts fill the ship. There is a brief feeling of inertia on the Bridge as the corvette's engines glow brightly, and propel the light capital ship toward the encroaching enemies. A small cheer goes up from a crewman, as reports that combined fire from the turrets managed to slag one of the incoming Y-wings. The capital class laser cannons vaporized the old model fighter-bomber.
Moments later, the entire ship shudders, and the port shields blossom with fire...one of a pair of proton torpedos launched by the dead Bothan Y-wing's wingman impacted. "Sir! Aft shields are failing. Damage control needs time!"
"I wasn't planning on showing anyone our arse, Leftenant. Concentrate defensive fire on our aft arc...and route helm controls to my terminal." He really hates letting other people handle the helm in combat. Maeve's report is now processed, and a sigh. "Very well, Doctor. Tell them that if they can squeeze aboard our shuttle, we'll see them home...."
The Bothan escorting fighters move to engage the Resisitance Headhunters, and the CR90 itself is closing to weapons range, firing its laser turrets at the Resistance ships as it moves to engage the Sacrifice.
Speaking of slagging Y-Wings, Green Leader himself whips out of the way of a burst of mean plasma and positions himself behind one of the Y-Wings approaching the Sacrifice. His first volley flies wide, but the second zips right up the tailpipe of his quarry, sending the vessel spinning out of control for a moment before it explodes. <<Scratch one bomber.>>
"Relaying now," Maeve Zavir says as she keys the channel again and speaks to the security escort to relay the offer to the Bothan diplomats. Then adds, in a lower tone of voice, the suggestion that hurrying is a terribly good idea. One never tells a diplomat to run, of course, it's considered rude to instruct a diplomat to do anything, period. But she can suggest it. Urgently.
Lacking shields, Jessika focuses less on -trying- to dodge the fire and more on letting her instincts do the trick. A combination of flightstick and foot pedal work send her weaving out of the incoming fire that would have peppered her hull with more damage. Quickly lifting the hand not occupied with the stick, Jessika's black-gloved fingers try to engage the system's self-repair module to cycle the shields back into existence. Numerous errors flash across her display, and frowning in frustration, Jessika angles the stick to get one of the Y-Wings in her sight. A depression of the trigger sends a flash of red spitting towards her target, which smacks into it and causes the shield to shimmer.
<<Nice shot, Gold 2.>> David calls as his ship maneuvers around the Sacrifice, briefly offering reprieve from the battle. In this downtime, David starts frantically pulling on wires until a whole clump falls out. The pilot quickly scans them, selecting a few to disconnect. "That's the.. warhead launcher.." Yeah, that's it. Now to put the shields wire in -that- socket. Before Dave can do it, the cockpit is lit up suddenly by the lack of shadow from the Sacrifice. "Oh." David shrugs, drops the clump of wiring and focuses on combat once again. He spots the Y-Wing with the flickering shields, finally adding his own laser fire to the mix. As the bolts strike, the shields stop flickering and fizzle out entirely. A yank back on the stick gets the Z-95 out of the way again, giving him -some- time to fiddle with the wiring once more.
Watching from where he is flying, he sees one of the enemy Bothan Y-Wings detonate. Shaking his head, turning his attention to the remaining fighter and watching as the enemy CR90 is now firing on the Sacrifice, he quickly jukes, pushing the throttle forward increasing the speed of the Headhunter. Karas quickly rolls left and climb, seeing as Jessika has already hit the Y-Wing, he moves in bringing up his secondary sensors, aiming for a target lock with his concussion missile, hoping that he hits.
Sacrifice's gunners weren't quite so effecient, in the last few moments. They graze one of the Y-wings prepped to make an attack run on Sacrifice, but merely graze it's shields. Gren's deft work, causing the light capital ship to roll at the last second, allows the vessel to take no real damage from the exploding warheads. Ranging shots from the incoming Corvette also whip past the starship without impacting. <<Escort, finish off those bombers..Sacrifice is engaging the Bothan warship.>>
The last pair of Y-wings continue to try to engage the large threat, while the Bothan warship's guns reach out to touch the stationary Bothan Yacht, causing shield damage, and various hull breaches.
Z95s continue to try to shoot the Resistance Headhunters out of space.
<<Copy that, Sacrifice,>> Sar remarks, looking around the viewport for his next target. Unfortunately, it's behind him. His Z-95 is rocked by a strafing run, and his shields flicker wildly under the damage. His attacker zips past him, and Sar's not fast enough to land a hit on him. <<I'm hit. Shields are hanging on,>> he relays to his team.
Jessika's Headhunter maneuvers in an erratic, unpredictable pattern that leaves blaster fire speeding into the void instead of impacting against her shieldless snubfighter. Lining up, her instrument panel has the Y-Wing in her sights, and another depression of the trigger on the stick sends a second blurt of her own blaster fire smacking into the Y-Wing's tail. It severs through a critical point in the nacelle, and while the craft doesn't explode, it loses one engine completely in an explosive detonation that sends it veering off its vector. <<Gold Two, bomber is crippled.>>
A safe distance away from the heaviest combat, David finally has an opportunity to plug in the new wire to the shield socket. The cockpit hums briefly, before being engulfed in the safe blue hue of the shields. When the enemy attacks. A single Z-95 had pulled out of the furball, taking aim at David's own fighter. Rocking in his seat, David manages to roll the ship sideways, pulling up to steer it away from the attack. But the shields are down again, and so are the secondary weapons.
"Sir, security aboard the shuttle reports that most," Maeve Zavir pauses as she confirms that statement before continuing in a somewhat more somber tone of voice, "most of the Bothan crew is crammed aboard. They'll be running for the gravity well in moments."
Things have gotten more intense, Karas was maneuvering for a shot when he found that he was also being targeted. He quickly dives and as he banks left to come up under the Sacrifice, he finds that he moved right in the path of a the enemy Y-Wing taking fire. Depressing one of his foot pedals, and yanking the control yoke to he right, Karas is able to roll with the hit that sends him spinning a bit, "Spark, see about that damage." he calls to that droid. <<Alright Escort Group, time for us to start kicking their ass.>>
Sacrifice's inexperienced gunners open fire on the Bothan Corvette, but do no damage. The shots are glancing, if they hit shields at all. Many just whiff, and burn out into space. The piloting, at least, is on point. Gren's face is set into deep concentration, as he manuevers the capital ship through the incoming fire, avoiding take damage to the weakened aft shields. The Resistance shuttle full of diplomats, and Bothans uses the larger Sacrifice to shield it from fire, and the pair of ships are intent on fighting their way to the gravity well at top(slowish) speeds.
The Bothan fighters and bombers continue their various assaults, while a final volley from the Bothan corvette causes the abandoned luxury yacht to explode brightly.
Re-entering the furball is Sar Yavok's Headhunter. Almost immediately, it's rocked with a heavy laser blast, sending its shields fizzling out. Sar lifts a hand in front of his face in anticipation, and a moment later, one of the consoles within the cockpit is shorting out and exploding. "Piece of junk," he says, slapping a hand down hard on it. He gets his bearings again and lines up behind a damaged enemy Y-Wing. His first burst is off, but the second one does its job. <<That's two.>>
"Shit!" Cursing in the confines of the cockpit, the Z-95 Headhunter piloted by Gold Two bucks hard and sparks fly from the side, forcing Jessika to recoil away and squint her eyes against the bright flash of light. A couple of the sparks leave scoring against the side of her helmet, adding a new addition of black marks to the already scuffed helmet. Now when she sends traffic over the net, there's some distinct tension in her voice. <<This is Gold Two, I'm hit pretty bad. I don't know how long this'll hold together.>> She hates this snubfighter. Quickly looping, Jessika spins on her axis and levels her reticle towards the last Y-Wing. A lance of red spikes through the void of space and smashes into the craft. A second later and its obliterated and exploding into particles.
Miraculously not being shot at for the moment, David frantically fiddles around with his trusty clump of wires. "This.. goes there.. life support.. that's no good." David shakes his head. "I'm gonna have to dip out." David pulls his oxygen mask over his mouth, slightly distorted voice informing the others of his necessary decision. <<Gold Leader. Going to have to bail, will face consequences no problem.>> he says as he turns the ship towards the end of the gravity wells, full throttle in retreat.
Karas checks his threat display, seeing that the Y-Wings have been eliminated, he quickly does a wide loop moving in towards the enemy CR90 and the remaining enemy fighters. <<Moving in danger close to engage enemy fighters.>> he calls as he zigs and zags through enemy fire until he is able to move in behind one of the enemy Z-95s. The HUD reticle gets a lock and Karas rains down red laser fire towards the enemy, as he fires he keeps in tight formation hoping to take this fighter out.
As the range closes between the Sacrifice and the Bothan CR90, it becomes more difficult to avoid the incoming fire. A shudder runs through the ship as capital scale weapons begin to squarely impact its shields, stripped away a layer here and there, at scoring the Sacrifice's hull, but not causing any hull breaches. She gives better than she gets, as the dorsal turbolaser battery punches a hole through the enemy warship's shields, and tears a breach down the Bothan vessel's port side as they pass at close range, and high speed. <<It's coming up on time to go, pilots. Keep us clear until the shuttle has reached hyperspace, but be prepared to jump out with us.>>
<<If you have to pull back, pull back, Gold Two,>> Sar comms, just barely getting out of the way of an incoming burst. It's still enough to scorch some paint, but it's nothing serious. Sar peeks out of the viewport in an attempt to find another target. He zeroes in on one and whips the nimble fighter around. The enemy out-pilots him, though. He breathes a sigh and opens a channel, <<Copy that, Sacrifice. Just give the word.>>
The enemy fighter on Jessika's tail tries to get a solid centering of her snubfighter in its reticles. She jukes her Headhunter, then slams the yolk down while suddenly cutting speed. As the enemy fighter has to bank up to avoid a clipped collision, Jessika quickly decouples her flight assist and uses positional thrusters to swing her snub's ass-end around so she's pointed up without having to continue forward. There's a sudden burst of speed from there, and a messy acquisition as Jessika depresses the trigger and spits fire at the enemy fighter's tail. It zips off into space, and Jessika is quick to try and follow. The hard pushes of her fingers against the instrumental panel are only returning more errors. Her shields just refuse to come back.
<<Gold Two, acknowledged.>> Jessika's nav-computer works, at least.
The Z-95 Karas pilots seem to meld with the pilot, as the enemy Z-95 tries to shake him, Karas was still on him, weaving in and out of laser fire and allowing the enemy pilot to try to do crazy stunts. Throttling down a bit so that he didn't over shoot his prey, Karas sensors locks on the fighter and he fires. Red daggers of energy streak into the void of space to detonate into the rear of the fighter destroying it. As the fighter is destroyed, Karas banks right hard, he can feel the inertia dampness kick in and the G's lightly pushing him back into his seat. Smirking, Karas sees another enemy Z-95 trying to find a target, Spark, Karas astromech locks onto it and again Karas fires. Another volley of red laser daggers stitch into the fighter, sparks and fire can be see and Karas begins chasing after it.
The Resistance shuttle flickers into hyperspace, just as the small formation hits the edge of the gravity well. Sacrifice continues to exchange fire with the damaged Bothan corvette, but isn't able to exploit the hull breach it had taken. The return fire is accurate though, causing a breach in the cargo bay. <<All ships, jump to the third set of coordinates. Repeat, rendevous at the tertiery point. Jump immediately. Sacrifice will be right behind you.>> They can't risk leaving a pilot to be captured, if the worst were to hppen, after all. Gren's jaw is clenched, while he watches the numbers roll down on the console, waiting for everyone to make it out safely, so he can order the jump.
<<Alright, pilots; find your window and let's get out of here,>> Sar says, before pulling back hard in an attempt to break away from the fracas. He's home free for about two seconds before his Headhunter is peppered once again. It's nothing too serious, structurally speaking, but the flare of energy causes another console within the cockpit to go haywire and explode. It's just bad luck that a piece of shrapnel is flung into Sar's shoulder. More work for Maeve. Sar grits his teeth and reaches up to put pressure on the wound while his other hand quickly types in the coordinates. A few moments later, and he's moving faster than light, off to the rendezvous.
Scrambling to select the third jump point stored in her navigational information, Jessika aligns her snubfighter with the correct escape vector and maintains her evasive patterns. The Headhunter rocks again and a piece of sharpnel from the console zings up and catches her across the cheek in a harsh scratch. Hissing, she pushes the pain out of her mind and focuses her gaze down on the rapidly ticking numbers signaling the algorithm for jump has been calculated. Once it's ticked down, Jessika is quick to have her snubfighter make lines, and the cockpit view before her turns into streaks of brilliant white before her fighter suddenly jumps to hyperspace.
The orders come in for them to jump, Spark selects the third hyperspace coordinates and Karas breaks from the engagement he was in. As much as he wanted to take that fighter out, showing a bit of mercy would go a long way. Pushing the throttle to MAX, Karas moves to join the other fighters in formation and than pulling the lever for hyperspace back. HIs fighter slows for just a moment, then the pin-prick of stars elongates and the Z-95 jumps into hyperspace.
