Log:Tanks for the Harvest

Tanks for the Harvest

OOC Date: May 27th, 2016
Location: Blue Harvest
Participants: Gren Delede, Ambrosia Greystorm, Gerratt DeLong, Oriana, Sabella Lockheart, Sesti Gath, Rake, Therous Caavuna, and Aola Ziveri.

The actual loading process of the armoured vehicles that have been aquired for the Resistance ground forces was uneventful. Boring, and lengthy, but uneventful. The crew of the Blue Harvest has some Army guests aboard to protect the gear, and a small fighter escort was allocated. The whole shebang entered hyperspace on a very indirect return to D'Qar about two hours ago.

In the cockpit of his personal X-wing Line Em Up, hereby designated Phoenix Lead(less lame), Gren Delede is really regretting volunteering to lead the escort. "Phoenix would've been real sweet right about now, Can. Sipping drinks in the lounge, walking abou..." A heavy sigh, as he lifts his left cheek and reaches down to try to massage some life into it. "But, no. Of course. Deemed to conspicious. Bite me, brassholes..." In the solitude of his cockpit, he's likely been irritating his astromech for hours with this muttering. Nothing out of the ordinary about this run.

Gerratt was back on duty, moving amongst the loaded machines, the Master Sergeant checks the load securement without a word for the moment. Whistling softly as he goes about his work.

There's no fancy names for Aola's X-Wing, but it was as precious to her as a mother's gift. With the callsign of the rather literal Blue 4, the Rutian Twi'lek pilot was riding along silently. She'd been grateful for any excuse that got her off-world and into the stars. If things went sideways? That was almost certainly better then dying of bordom elsewhere. Drumming fingers on the control sticks of the fighter, she idly watches the rushing lights of hyperspace go by.

It was always so damn relaxing.

Strapped in with the rest of the 'guests' in Blue Harvest, Major Greystorm fidgets in her seat. Three things are wrong with this 'very right' situation, presently. 1) It's flight. Her hatred ought to be self explanatory there. 2) She's got the motor control of a pre-K kid from the waist down. 3) It's a dry flight, so she's quite sober. Also, there's a tingling/itch on the arch of her foot and she can't reach her damn boots. Attempting to reach will likely result in an awkward tumble to the floor, in front of her men. SIGH.

Ambrosia thumps her head back against the hull and stares down her nose at her datapad, scrolling idly along the copied manifest of their new toys. It's pretty fantastic, present scenery aside. Sabella Lockheart is along for the ride, one of the extra's who doesn't need a engineer slash mechanic around after all? She is sitting in one of those seats right now looking over a data pad near one of the new fancy armoured vehicles an dhuming a faint tune to herself. She lifts her gaze up slightly as she hears some movement from the others and tilts her head as she takes in who is all around and the like once more.

There is a sudden jerk as Blue Harvest is yanked out of hyperspace with no warning, well ahead of of schedule. Alarm klaxons begin to sound aboard the freighter, and any cargo not strapped down is likely to shift as the inertial compensators struggle to compensate for the unexpected manuever. In the cockpit and over all open channels, the pilot is receiving orders to cut all forward motion, and powerdown all defensive systems. The speaker appears to have a gruff, if slightly bored sounding voice.

Outside the cockpits of the Resistance starships, the situation quickly becomes somewhat apparent. There's a battered bulk freighter sitting directly ahead, and it appears to be escorted by a half squadron of three Headhunters, and a trio of old-model Tie Interceptors. A pair of assault shuttles are already inbound and -very- close to the Blue Harvest. A Corellian Corvette appears to be providing fire support, and likely harbors a small hangar for the TIEs.

Gren's own bitching is cut off almost immediately to be replaced by annoyed cursing. <<<Blue 4. You still with us?>> His first question is a quick one, as he struggles to get a sense of the situation. <<<Blue Harvest. We're not talking to them. We're killing them. Prepare to repel boarders.>>> His s-foils are deployed into attack position, but there's no time to actually engage.

Having been checking a load strap when they were jerked out of hyperspace, Gerratt had just held on and swung around the strap like a professional poledancer. Landing back on his feet, the middle aged soldier grunts and continues walking without missing a beat, headed towards the seating area and his gear. "Everything alright back here?"

"I'll tell ya what," Ambrosia mumbles to no one in particular. "These babies are going to be much more fun to drive than my hoverchair." A scheming smile stirs her stony visage to life and she tosses the datapad lightly from one hand to the other... Except not. Her look of surprise could not possibly be greater as the device suddenly reverses course and smacks her in the face. It clatter-skids to the floor and under a few spaces down while her own body may have followed suit, were it not for her deathgrip on the edge of her seat and the straps anchoring her in. "WHAT IN THE HELL IS GOING ON!?" she roars towards the fore of the craft, and back at DeLong, sending red spittle in all directions. Fingers scrabble for the 'oh shit' straps overhead and the comforting leather of her holster simultaneously. The few other soldiers along of the ride are experiencing similar surprises.

Sabella Lockheart can't help it, as she is listening in on what Ambrosia is saying there and she almost asks 'what things' but she stops herself as she flicks another page over on her data pad. Then everythng get's a bit turned upside down and a half squeak escapes her as she is jerked to the side and her data pad is sent flying off into who knows where. She grabs hold of the seat next to her and just blinks as she glances over the room and to the others. "Well... That an't normal."

There is a sudden jerk as Blue Harvest is yanked out of hyperspace with no warning, well ahead of of schedule. Alarm klaxons begin to sound aboard the freighter, and any cargo not strapped down is likely to shift as the inertial compensators struggle to compensate for the unexpected manuever. In the cockpit and over all open channels, the pilot is receiving orders to cut all forward motion, and powerdown all defensive systems. The speaker appears to have a gruff, if slightly bored sounding voice.

Outside the cockpits of the Resistance starships, the situation quickly becomes somewhat apparent. There's a battered bulk freighter sitting directly ahead, and it appears to be escorted by a half squadron of three Headhunters, and a trio of old-model Tie Interceptors. A pair of assault shuttles are already inbound and -very- close to the Blue Harvest. A Corellian Corvette appears to be providing fire support, and likely harbors a small hangar for the TIEs.

Gren's own bitching is cut off almost immediately to be replaced by annoyed cursing. <<<Blue 4. You still with us?>> His first question is a quick one, as he struggles to get a sense of the situation. <<<Blue Harvest. We're not talking to them. We're killing them. Prepare to repel boarders.>>> His s-foils are deployed into attack position, but there's no time to actually engage.'

Oriana had been.. busy, kept her head down and such. Now back in action and standing holding a rail when the boat shifts suddenly she is yanked off her feet flying forward like a stuffed animal tossed like by a child throwing a fit (which to note is karma as she laughed at Ambers face smack). Ending up upside down on a chair she rolls to her side with a curse and fumbles for the buckles.

"What in the?" Aola manages to get out half a sentance of suprise as their little convoy is yanked back into the slower speeds of sublight flight. This isn't exactly what she'd been expecting, but fortunately her reflexes are quick enough to recover as she yanks the switch to open the S-foils of her fighter almost immediately and banks. Luck or instinct puts her in line with the hostile fighters as Gren talks. <<Blue 4, I'm with you, Phoenix. No talking here.>> The Twi'lek's eyes quickly sweep over the visuals and the threats, but she's making a beeline for the big one as she flicks a switch and jams down on the button to launch. The best way to deal with sudden ferocious attacking is to outdo your attacker, so Aola's torpedo slams into the corvette, ripping its shield away and damaging the hull.

In getting use to the feeling of hyper space for quite some time, and almost having dozed from his meditations, Therous jolts awake as their convoy exits hyperspace. Remembering his training, Therous quickly raises his viewscope, getting a glimps of what was before him, the other two fighters and the transport they were sent to escort. Noticing a few headhunters ahead of him, he quickly raises his target viewfinder, accelerates, and locks on, firing a few bersts from his wing mounted blaster cannons, hitting one of the headhunters directly in the shields, disabling them. He then extends his ship's commlink, and says, in a calm and controled voice, "Red3 reporting in, awaiting your next orders." Knowing the Major wouldn't enjoy her time out half as much if Sesti fully sanctioned the tagalong, she gave her recommendation that it might not be a good idea, which would probably ensure that Amber went. Ensure because everyone, including the future daughter-in-law, needed some sanity. After making sure the Greystorm would go, she joined herself, and boarded early because... well, bunks. Bunks meant nap for much needed sleep until they arrived at their milk-run's destination. Although the sudden stop jarred her out of her bunk, she landed on her feet and looked around for her belongings to see where they landed, listening to the voice over the public comms. "Right. We have Major Greystorm and Master Sargeant DeLong along for the ride. Why did I not realize this would happen?"

Aboard the Blue Harvest, there is the sound of explosions, and smoke begins to fill a number of corridors. A portion of the primary hold's bulkhead buckles inward, and armoured 'troops' begin to file in. Errant blaster bolts fill the area, and dozen or so humanoids begin to sweep the cargo, and shoot at anything, or anyone that moves. Elsewhere in the vessel, a similair scene is taking place. In the cockpit, the pilots attempt to make for the edge of this spontaneous gravity well.

<<<Red 3, keep it up with those Skulls. Blue 4, finish that fucking Corellian sausage. I'll clean up the Squints.>>> Gren's snapping out orders, while he throws his old T-65c into a barrel roll, and evades a steady stream of incoming green blaster bolts that appear to be directed his way. A pair of Red 3's Headhunters seem to be attempting to chase him through the manuever. "Can.....Hook me up with Greystorm." He hauls his stick hard to starboard, jamming his throttle forward. Grunting with the effort, he sprays red death at the lead Interceptor just prior to the old Imperial formation's dive toward Blue 4. The first burst brushes it's hull, and the second tears off a wing strut, sending it flipping off into space. <<<Greystorm. Delede. Blue Harvest is being boarded. We've got a dogfight out here. Hold the bastards off in there, and we'll figure out where the interdictor is.>>>

Back turned to the boarding party for a moment, Gerratt Lets out a shout as a blaster rifle bolt catches him in the hip. Filling the area with the acrid smell of burnt armor panel and barbecue, the Master Sergeant drops to a knee as he pivots, a pair of pistols in his hands, the man opens fire Catching the first attacker in the head, and 3 more mid mass, killing one of them as well and injuring the other 2. "Private Gath, you and the reservist are to ensure the Major is untouched and unharmed in this skirmish!" You paged Rake with 'We just got yanked out of hyperspace by pirates. 6 fighters, a corvette, a few assault shuttles, and a freighter. something is casting a gravity well, and Blue Harvest currently is being boarded.'

(No need to reprimand Sgt Vrenni for laughing at my expense)Oo Amber notes while watching the younger woman tumble through the air. Physics has done it for her. Thanks, physics. Probably a better throw than she could manage, too! Probing the new ache in her tooth with a curious tongue, the Major turns a malignant eye towards the sounds of explosions. Damn pirates. Only they would be so messy. And Delede's com confirms. "Copy that, Delede. We'll do our best." Then, changing frequencies to cue her own crew, she adds "Prepare to be boarded, I guess," and draws her pistol to level it squarely at who or whatever is about to climb their way out of the smoking lift on passenger level. Doesn't take but a moment though for her to remember that 1) she's strapped in like a toddler and 2) is gonna be shit at mobility. So she opts for plan B. Playing dead. Hastily, Ambrosia unbuckles her harness, smears her mouth blood across her brow and scalp, then staggers towards the cockpit's hatch and collapses there, head against wall, belly-down. Blaster aimed beneath the folds of her tunic's armpit. She's Rake's protector here, best she can be. Without a pilot, there is no homeward bound, anyhow.

Rake wasn't a fighter pilot, but he was a decent enough pilot to fly the Harvest. Unfortunately, it was a large, bulky, slow, and unarmed vessel. There was no way it was going to outrun the enemy. "Damn we need a better hauler," he mutters. He sets off the internal alarms and puts out a mayday on the secure resistance channel to call in for backup, just in case. Looking to his co-pilot, he readies his vibro-ax and prepares to keep any boarders away from the bridge. "Just keep her moving and hopefully get us out of the gravity well so we can jump, boarders or not, get us out of here if you can."

Sabella Lockheart is jerked around again as more things are hapening, she shifts and undoes the latch for her strap and is quick to drop out of her seat once the soke is filling the room it seems. She blinks a few times as she glances towards the carco area knowing rather well that is where things is about to go down and get a bit crazy. The voices over the coms makes her pause and she lets a faint breath escape her before she pulls her blaster free from her hip so it's ready. Her gaze quickly follows after Oriana and then after Ambrosia not to sure where she is going, though for the moment the mechanic stays put leaned up against one of the seats and looking down where people may or may not be coming.

"Roger that, sir." Therous says promptly in his commlink, as he makes another barrel roll, and heads after the headhunter he disabled shields from. Lining up his target once more, he lets off a steady burst of fire, killing the headhunter easily then banking hard to starbord to head after the second headhunter with his wingman, he tries to get off a fiew bersts, but ends up coming up short, and continues his relentless purseut

Finding her weapons, Sesti pulls them out, and hurriedly pulls her medkit over her shoulder, clipping it into place. "On my way, Master Sargeant," she replies as she opens the door and finds herself immediately dodging a blaster bolt. "Yhasu, may take me a couple minutes, sir," she adds as the blade hums, driving into the pirate closest to her, the second blade following to finish him off, but she's against the wall edging her way along.

Physics. Gravity. Damn Newton. After having fallen upside down left to look like rag doll. Quickly getting to her feet she jumps up and grabs her vibro sword. "Stay defensive, watch yourself!" She remarks to Sabella as she quickly runs into the chaos herself, managing to dodge shots - if there were any, and moves into the group. Oriana turns easily and slices up one leaving him to drop into a fleshy puddle. Lifting her sword it comes down at another dragging across his side. Not a kill shot but he is pretty hurt.

Well...that made her a few friends. Aola's X-wing twists and sweeps between the blaster bolts of the old TIE interceptors that are hunting her after that first assault, but she turns and flies straight towards the ship she'd already crippled, sweeping right by it...and jamming down on her triggers. A barrage of blaster fire and another torpedo? The ship snaps in half as it explodes, still rupturing by the time it's effectively dead. <<Scratch one sausage.>>

The melee in space has gotten even more condensed into an area very tight around the Blue Harvest. The assault shuttles defensive batteries are even entering the mix, firing at passing X-wings, whenever they happen to find a clean target. The death of the corvette has certainly upped the stakes, especially for the pair of surviving interceptors. Targets of oppurtunity are everywhere, and there is not much room for error in manuevering.

Blue Harvest's co-pilot is trying to outrun the gravity well, but she looks up with panicked eyes at Rake. "Mr. Rake! I can't seem to find the edge. It seems like its following us!" And, indeed....the bulk freighter that seems to belong to the pirates is shadowing the Action IV.

The boarding crews are taking heavy losses, but they've atleast inflicted a bit of damage, and seem intent on reaching the bridge. A squad enters the view of Amber's group outside of the bridge, and throw themselves into action, charging down the corridor, and filling the air with blaster fire. In the hold, the survivors of Garrett's massacare are heavily engaged with the hardbitten NCO.

Rake nods to the co-pilot, picking up a mic linked to the sensors. "That freighter on our six is the epicenter of the grav-well... Just so ya know. The sooner it's gone, the sooner we hit hyper and cut down the number of adversaries." Vibro-ax in hand, he watches the blast door between the bridge and the rest of the ship, "I'm getting too old for this shit. This was supposed to be a milk run. Just go, pick up some cargo, and fly back. We have the worst damned luck."

<<<Scratch another squint...>>> Gren informs the other x-wings over the radio, as Line Em Up rolls through the debris field. A solid quad burst does nasty things to an unshielded cockpit. His second target's solar panel is half-melted, but still seems to be flying, and trying to fight. Rake's message has the old Imperial pilot smiling slowly...<<<Blue 4. Nice work with that Corellian compensator....kill that freighter, lass. It's your target. Red 3, you and I are on fighter clean-up.>>> Laser bolts continue to fill the void around his ship, but all in all...this is turning into a good day for the man.

Stars above, below, and all around them...This sucks. Ambrosia's diaphragm twitches as shallowly as it can, smushed between her weight and the cool floor tiles. Minimal movement, down to the last rib. Wearing a bulky vest probably helps this ruse, but it certainly isn't easy. Perspiration mixes with the blood, and isn't long before a drop of it seeps into the corner of her half-closed eyelid. Burning. Saliva and more blood is collecting under her cheek, oozing from a slack jaw. Irritating. The tilt of her hips, splay of her legs, is starting to put a strain on the nerves in her lower back. Uncomfortable. Her trigger finger flexes subtly, ensuring it doesn't get lazy on her. Followed by a flex of her wrist. Repeat. Stillness reigns once more when a tremor of the floor heralds the arrival of friends...or not. There may be a sudden clench of her jaw as the surrounding space suddenly errupts with incoming blasterfire, maybe even a sucked breath of 'shit'. But the Major does not yield her farce. Instead, she begins a mental count down, watching the thunder approach boot over boot. Just two more strides at the lead rat will be 'dead' center in her calculated sweet spot. That finger starts to curl...

Seeing the attackers still coming, Gerratt continues to open fire. Nothing fancy, but the shots came fast. It might be too fast as his bodycount rises from 2 injured and 2 killed, to 6 dead, 4 more with Blaster bolts turning their torsos into canoes, 2 injured, and 1 friendly fire as a Tech runs for cover and Gerratt shoots him in the ass. "Get there as fast as you can Gath. Sergeant, do what you can to help her make her way. the Major is not to be touched. Lockheart! what's your status?"

"Dammit..." Sabella mutters out faintly to herself as the badies are coming closer and closer. She waits until she feels is the last possible moment before firing off her blaster towards one of the oncoming guys, which nearly gets him thoughin the end only seems to give herself away. The voice over the comms is heard a half bit of a sound heard as theone she was fring upon shoots her instead. "Not to well at themoment.. She's still safe... Somewhere near the bridge I think." This offered back, her shoulder having taken the hit while the rest of her isat least somewhat hidden by a seat, as for her blaster it is up once more ready to fire again.

Moving steadily Oriana takes one more down via blade through the chest, the other gets a slice through the side making him drop in pain.

Although she ducks the blaster fire, or uses her opponents as a shield, Sesti isn't able to make much headway in her goal of joining the Major. She mutters a few curses in zabrak as she slices into one, but her follow up misses as she ducks, and the blade scores along the wall.

"Roger that sir." Therous says, as he vears off, heading after the last headhunter there is, and leaves the other one to grend, he comes in close to the headhunter, rolling upside down, with his canapy close to the headhunter's cockpit, getting a close look at the man inside, firing a burst of blaster cannon fire, to the headhunger, dead ahead, then performing another roll back rightside up, vearing off once more, and reappearing behind the last headhunter's tail. He fires another long burst of blaster cannons, and hits the headhunter square in the engines, causing a small explosion from the fighter as he breaks off, and heads back to join gren. "All clear sir." He says through his commlink.

Aboard Blue Harvest, the numbers of boarders are thinning...mostly thanks to Gerratt's shooting. The cargo hold has been cleared out. A wounded Blue Harvest crewman is holding his smoking ass, proof that not even the NCO is perfect. In the Bridge corridor, the attackers continue to close ground, firing steadily at anyone foolish enough to fire at them. Including a certain Major, should she feel feisty.

<<<Nice shooting, Three. Watch my arse. Going to open up the door!>>> Phoenix Lead goes ass over end, punching his throttle back up to full, and blazing in at the slow, easy to hit bulkfreighter that seems to be housing an interdictor. His attack run is on point, and a pair of proton torpedoes leave their tubes. The impacts are brutal, and the warheads were well-placed. The target's reactor goes critical moments later, and a bright flash is all that remains of the pirate freighter. <<<Harvest. Get the piss out of here.>>> Blue Harvest is clear to enter hyperspace, though it does still have a pair of shuttles attached to it. The crippled Tie Interceptor passes across Gren's cockpit, but his laser cannons are not accurate.

"Roger that," Rake calls out over the comms before taking his seat back in the pilot's chair. Having spent decades as a scout, plotting hyperspace jumps on the fly was an easy feat. In less than a minute, course was laid out, bypassing the major hyper lanes, making tracking them difficult at best. "Rendezvous Alpha Three One Seven," he calls into the comms just before pulling the hyperspace lever. The boarders left onboard were now going to be without backup or a ride off, meaning they were all soon to die or spend some time in a cell. With a burst of light, the Blue Harvest vanishes from realspace into hyper.

Time. Pull! Her left shoulder cocks back, just an inch to peek-a-boo the blaster's barrel from under her arm while her wrist angles up. A chilling smile creeps across her formerly dead-eyed stare and Ambrosia's 'corpse' fires off two rounds from the floor.

• PEW*PEW*

Scorching holes send two bridge-bound invaders into the afterlife, and not a moment after they hit the deck does the Major roll up and over, seeking to scramble behind a seat for some crap cover! She's not keen on testing the belief that you can't kill a ghost. But someone is! A searing pain cuts through her left tush mid-crawl and she curls into as protective ball as she can, firing around the edge of the seat. "RAKE!" She cries over the com in warning. "They're comi--" and shuts up as she gets knocked about by the sudden surge into hyperspace. Oh! Guess he got the memo.

Sabella Lockheart eyes widen slightly as more of the badies are coming and she shifts a bit in her bit of cover to try and find a bit more, though so far no more such space is appearing out of thin air. She hears the shots from furher down near the bridge and is quick to fire on another badguy that was just firing down towards Ambrosia, and is at least able to wing the guy. "We could use a bit of help up here!" This is said over the comms to the ones elsewhere in the ship it seems. Though she is jerked back slightly once the ship is sent into hyperspace which does little for her shoulder.

Therous Caavuna then pears through his viewscope once more, and spots a straigh tie intercepternot far off from his position. He extends his commlink and calls to gren. "Sir, we have a straigh intercepter. With all due respect sir, i'll finish him off and catch up with you on the way back to base. Is that ok?" Therous sasks, and then accelerates towards the intercepter, aiming with almost deadly skill. He accelerates to the crippled intercepter, and lets forth a vali of blaster fire, hitting it in the right wing, destroying it with a direct hit. He then turns his x-wing around, heading back to his superior. There is still skirmishing on the Blue Harvest, but as the ship lurches into hyperspace, a number of the surviving pirates are quick to throw down their blasters, and swear that they surrender! Please don't hurt them. The Assault Shuttle crews are likely quick to follow suit, as they were still stuck to the Blue Harvest when it jumped.

<<<Rendezvous Alpha Three One Seven, children. Enter hyperspace on three.>>> Gren states over the comms, sighing inwardly at the enthusiasm shown by Red 3. His own ship took a bit of battle damage, but a fresh coat of paint should cover it right up. "Alright, Can. Course charted?" After an affirmative bleep...the old fellow smile, and reaches up to find the lever...<<<Phoenix Lead. Punching it.>>> Stars turn into lines. And hopefully they don't slam into a star

Keeping his guns trained on the now surrendered crew, Gerratt moves around them to check on the Major. "Good job with the Bantha slicer there Sergeant. Round up their weapons and make them comfortable in an airlock." Seeing that the Major is only shot int he ass, the Master Sergeant leans on the wall and holsters a pistol to pat himself down for chewing tobacco. "Sitrep. Everyone alive?"

"Good job, crew," comes Rake's voice over the internal comms. "We'll rendezvous with the fighters in about an hour. They'll get there well before us to make sure the coast is clear. Make sure that any prisoners are secured in a cargo container or something." There's a bit of a pause. "ETA to home base is three hours. This old bird is slower than hell, so lick your wounds and keep her locked down until we get there. Beer's on me when we get back, granted, not the good stuff, I don't get a commissioned officer's salary."

"Give my share to DeLong, in that case," the Major cracks over the com, looking Gerratt in the eye as she says so. Grunting and grimacing, she wriggles out of the crack she'd squeezed into while keeping her blaster trained on the nearest surviving pirate. "Or split it among yourselves. Looks like you've all earned it." Blood. Sort of everywhere...and that's just this level. Leaving the more able-bodied to haul their prisoners into their new accomodations, she reclines stiffly on one side across a few seats lining the hull. "Why is it men fixate on the ass?" She inquires lightly and cranes her head to inspect the damage done. Hard to see, not hard to feel. So the hoverchair's just become even MORE unideal.