Log:Are We Pirates?
The Rebels raid an Imperial supply convoy
OOC Date: April 2, 2025
Location: Somewhere in space
Participants: Zena Tane, Prism Igoz Shaxar as Gray Four, Ben Relor, Cin'cirad Rook, Jaq'n Greayf and Hadrix Kora as GM
<<"GRAV FIELD! GRAV FIELD!">>
The first of the intercepted communications were blurs of panic as pilots reported the gravity well that had pulled them from hyperspace, or calls to identify the planet, asteroid, or worse that had caused the circumstance. A quartet of modular conveyors were working on righting themselves as the sudden pull from lightspeed had caused their trajectories to begin a tumble and the dozen TIE craft with them were swarming to assemble something like a formation.
Close by a large, spherical, object sparked and was shaking itself apart now that its purpose was finished and its overloading gravity generator cells were expended.
Further out, streaking in, the collection of craft piloted by volunteers for this 'supply run', with Gray Squadron elements nearby, were racing ahead of tractor-tug craft that were keeping distance until they could move in to acquire the containers carried by the bulk freighters and make their run for hyperspace.
<<"Scan if you can, disable if possible, otherwise focus damage on the freighter fore ends to take them out - watch out for the escorts. We need to disable quickly, keep the tugs clear and get out.">> Hadrix's voice over comms, laying out what needed to be done, <<"Fly like we're wings. If a comrade picks up a tail, clear them off. No glory seeking or we'll talk personally later...">>
A rumble in his tone suggesting talk was precisely not what would be happening if that were the case.
Sira had her hands resting with the hand that was on the stick loosely held. Her head leaned back into the pilot's seat of the Wyvern. A ship that hadn't been out in combat in quite some time, but it still was as good as the day the prototype was built. She reached out to touch along the front of the console above the display monitors, fingers brushing at what looked like a smudge but was really a little scratched in etching of a loth-cat. There had to be some stories there...
Then the freighters, the TIEs, the swarm of everything and her hand moves a bit higher on the stick while the other moves back to grab the throttle controls. Her eyes moving more than her head as she assessed the situation. Head tilting, she didn't bother responding in the usual sense, just double-tapping the transmit to show her confirmation as she starts toward the escorts.
Jaq'n Greayf the stars rip apart into realspace without warning, and Jaq'n grips the controls as the X-wing jolts, alarms flaring briefly across the console. When Hadrix's voice cuts through the comms, he flips switches in response, eyes locking onto the freighter cluster. <<?Copy that, I'll keep my eyes forward and my wing clear.?>> He adjusts his stabilizers, checks his shields, and exhales through his nose, steadying himself. "Let's see how clean we can make this."
"That's us," Ben Relor mutters, eyes flicking over the HUD even before the first scream of <<GRAV FIELD!>> bursts through the comms. He's repping SFC tonight -- full X-Wing getup, helmet tilted back like it doesn't quite belong. It still feels weird.
Five's flat-top dome swivels in the astromech slot behind him, chirping as the gravity rig finishes its suicide job in the distance, scattering itself in a slow, flaming bloom.
"Well, that's one way to say hello," Relor mutters, rolling his shoulders as the first freighters start to tumble and panic. He can already see the formation cracking. "Hapan to squadron -- watch for debris. That gravity rig's shedding metal like a dying sun." He winces as he says it. The callsign still makes his skin crawl. He'd tried to kill it. Sira brought it back. Of course she did.
Five lets out a beep that might be agreement. Or judgment. With that droid, it's hard to tell.
Prism is strapped in and in her covert armor, carefully looking on her headset for when she needs to unstrap and rush off to go and repair something. She seems calm, per her body language in the armor as her hand lightly hovers over the release of her buckle so she can zoom into action when needed. She remains quiet on the comms as she scans the area.
Zena is not a member of the Rebellion. She's an independent contractor, a mercenary on top of her, shall we say, underground shipping business. She's not being paid to be here today, which might seem weird. Except lately she's been absolutely attached to Sira's hip. So she made a trip out to the Landing, swapped her freighter for her E-Wing, and here we are.
The Darasuum Cat'ra floats, engines hot, near the Wyvern. Armored up (because if she gets blown up she won't die), she lifts a hand to wave at Sira in the nearby fighter. Just about when the Imperials are yanked out of hyperspace. She clicks her comms twice before she reaches for the throttle, doublechecking her weapons are armed and loaded and ready to go.
She wrenches on the throttle, and the powerful escort fighter screams into action!
Flight Officer Joren Malco or Gray 4 begins the slow bank of the B-Wing as ships suddenly begin to stagger out of hyperspace in quick order. The calls to form up results in Joren's bomber settling into the flank of the approaching wings and confirmation is given to the order provided by the Mandalorian over comms, "Gray 4 copies. Going for lock on lead transport, cover me", Joren calls out, presuming that one of the more nimble fighters will be covering his bomber for his intended attack run. The B-Wing then rolls and twists from the formation before leveling and gliding through otherwise tranquil space. Tranquil for now, anyway. The bomber doesn't stray far, but it does create enough distance to allow for the bomb to begin acquiring a firing solution for a torpedo run on the lead modular conveyor. He jukes and weaves a bit to create a less stable silhouette for opposition targeting purposes, but keeps the nose of the B-Wing's cockpit settle onto the enemy cargo hauler as the targeting solution works to confirm a lock. He thumbs at his control yoke in order to begin pumping power to forward shields and to prime the ion cannons. He applies some rudder to keep himself shifting and sliding to throw off opposition gunners while the B-Wing begins to align itself with its target; quite a vulnerable time for any bomber pilot.
<<"Pirates, power down your weapons, stop engines and you will be arrested instead of summarily executed.">> a TIE pilot's voice over comms in the hub-bub, the Imperial fighters forming up to begin their approach, engines powering to full and their shields rippling to life. The modular freighters trying to re-angle while each captain tries to get new hyper-jump calculations prepared.
The Grav-Generator did its work though, the Imperial craft are in disarray, half squadrons forming up, to begin the charge towards the oncoming melee.
<<"Imperial forces. Power down weapons, conveyors disengage cargo clamps and we will leave you in peace, without your containers.">> The offer made by Hadrix, the heavy patrol craft chugging along - heavily modified engines allowing it to keep pace with the X-Wings present despite what the classes standard make would suggest.
<<"Eat space, pirate scum.">>
<<"As you wish...">> Chinning a comm toggle, <<"Squad, Wraith Six, soften hauler shields if you can. Keep the B-Wing clear.">>
Already the void between craft was charging, electric almost. Some of the TIEs spouting off warning shots that send emerald flares across cockpit screens, the ball cockpit fightercraft forming into loose line formations. The big man's helm briefly turns towards Prism in the co-pilot seat, <"Going to get rough.">
Sira looks over as the E-wing shoots off with the applied thrust. A tweak of her mouth off to the side, though not like anyone is seeing that beneath the helmet. She keeps her hand light on the stick as she presses some of the controls on the stick to toggle between the different displays. The hands moving off of the throttles to reach out and tap on some of the soft keys to switch to the different settings.
A subtle adjustment as she double checks it, and then a thumb press to lock the lead target in her display. Toggling it as her main target. The TIE is jittering a bit in her sights as she lines it up, the subtle beep of a tone happening as she gets it and loses it. Her finger squeezing on the trigger to set off a few quartets of laser fire set to fire in dual-mode. As she hits the rudder to try and keep it lined while prepping for her next maneuver, the shots seem to skip all around it but none of them quite getting on target.
<"Well you're a fun one."> Sira mutters, not triggering the toggle for comms as she yanks on the stick to follow her target, pulling the Wyvern up hard as she tries to keep up with the TIE. <"But let's see how well you fly...">
Jaq'n Greayf banks in with the rest of the squadron, eyes narrowing as he lines up on the second TIE in the formation. The targeting computer chirps, tracking lock just about there, he squeezes the trigger. Red bolts streak through the void, but the TIE jukes hard and rolls away, slipping past the line of fire like it knew what was coming. "Too slow," he mutters, adjusting course to stay on it. <<Alright, come on then. Let's dance.>>
Relor is already pissed just hearing them called "scum."
He snap-rolls starboard to chase vector, S-foils locking into attack position with a mechanical clack-clack as he dives after one of the TIEs. He slips into a lag pursuit, trying to trail just off-axis for the shot -- but the bastard breaks high, clean and fast, and Ben's lasers streak past empty space.
Five bleeps at him emphatically, annoyed, and Ben scowls without looking back. "What? He's too fast and too light, there's nothing to slow him down." He jerks the stick into another climb, already hunting for the next angle. "I'll karking get the mudscuffer eventually. If not him, then one of his Imp friends..."
He's grinding his teeth now, wishing he had a cigarette to clamp them onto.
Prism's eyes just study all of the movements of the others flying and fighting for now since now needs to be repaired in this moment. Her hands relax to rest in her lap but she is ready to release herself and move quickly at any moment. She slowly scoots closer to the edge of that co-pilot chair, even leaning a little forward to get a better view of the action going on around them.
The E-Wing rockets off, streaking through space and blatantly ignoring the Imperial warnings. Because Kriff those guys. Kriff them so hard. The speedy little fighter wheels through space, breaking away from the TIEs. Could this be the glory hounding that Hadrix was warning about?
Maybe? Though it's less about the glory and more about doing the job. Zena always, always does the job. Though, this time it almost looks like she's bailing? She sends the E-Wing on a vector that takes her away from the skirmish, the fighter rounding some debris and disappearing.
Only because she comes from below, the fighter opening fire on the third transport in line, the heavy cannons shooting into the shields. Not enough, but she's just getting started.
The tone for a firing solution begins to fill Gray 4's cockpit and Joren advises through the squad-wide comms, "Gray 4's has lock. Firing torpedoes". A split second later a pair of torpedoes launch from the bomber and streak toward the leader conveyor. While the distance between the torpedoes and hauler closes, so too does the distance between the target and Joren's own B-Wing as it trails after the pair of torpedoes. It's clear that the Flight Officer intends to follow the torpedo strike with guns in order to punch through anything that remains of the shields.
The shields buckle beneath the onslaught of paired proton torpedoes and nearly collapses. Inside the ship there's no doubt some sparks flying as circuitry is overloaded by the brutal assault.
"First attack run successful, shields are showing nearly depleted. Hitting them with guns," Joren announces to his apparent wingman and to inform the squadron commander of his own progress and status.
Sira's mid arc as she sees the lance of shots coming up at her from the TIE she had originally shot at. Her course was going to take her up and around with a corkscrew to pull her around on him again, but it left her open for the shots. Of course with the slight touch of a rudder, she avoids the lasers lancing up at her, with her head tilting back to track the TIE for the moment that she had locked on her HUD.
While pulling up and over, she sees the TIE heading toward the B-wing and barely missing it. Her head turning toward it as her body as she's already moving to change the course. She doesn't need to look at the controls, only stealing glances around to make sure she's not going to cut into anyone's flight path. The hard hit of the rudder and a pull of the stick to stand the Wyvern on the wing. Removing the pressure to the Aetheric rudder she transitions instead into the climb - now horizontal in relation to the battlespace.
Sira's pull through with a further nudge of the rudder to pull her over and down, she finds the TIE lined up in her sights. The blat-blat-blat of the alternating lasers shooting as they hit hard into the TIE's shields. Heavily damaging the shields as she finishes the roll and around over to continue carrying her fighter into a loop with a half corkscrew to pull her back around to where she expects the TIE will be.
Jaq'n Greayf curses as the TIE loops around fast, and a burst of green fire slams into his X-wing, shaking the cockpit with a sharp jolt. Shields flicker, warning lights flashing, light damage, but enough to feel it. Jaq'n grits his teeth and pulls hard into a turn, lining up a fresh shot. This time, he doesn't miss. Red bolts lance out and slam into the TIE's shields, flaring bright as they buckle under the hit. "There we go," he mutters, eyes tracking the damaged fighter.
Y'know, Relor had some damn fine training, didn't he? Because he seems to fly better with every mission. Like today. Today is a good day. Right now, Ben doesn't think -- he dives. A snap-roll and hard rudder kick yank him out of the TIE's firing line, compensators whining as the X-Wing shudders under the strain. Five shrieks in protest.
"Yeah, yeah," Ben growls, eyes already tracking the next threat.
He pulls into a high yo-yo, nose dipping as he swings around on a TIE chasing the E-wing, the one Sira was tracking. No clean lock -- just a flicker of green on the HUD. He fires anyway.
The burst rips through the last of its shields and chews hard into the fuselage, peeling hull like paper. "Gotcha," Relor mutters, throttle surging forward, a manic grin plastered to his face that no one can see.
Prism continues to sit and watch as all the shots are fired before the various fighters. She is grateful that she is strapped in as the dodge maneuvers around performed. Her hands moving to have her cling to the bottom of the seat momentarily here and there before returning to her lap.
Zena whoops as her heavy blaster cannon shots do some hefty damage to the shields of the transport. <"I should fly this thing more often,"> she says to no one in particular. Since her comms aren't transmitting at the moment. Her sensors yell at her, the computer feeding information to the HUD in her helmet, and she swears as a TIE pulls up on her.
This guy's problem is that he's expecting a Rebellion fighter pilot. Someone trained to fly with the Rebel fleet. What he gets instead is a Mandalorian Smuggler with a strange sense of what self preservation means. As the TIE comes in to try and target lock. The standard proceedure is to maneuver. To roll and weave. Zena, instead, cuts her throttle to zero, and fires repulsors to bring her to a full stop.
The TIE pilot, shocked at this act of supreme battlefield stupidity, is too amazed to shoot. Instead he breaks off, buzzing the top of the E-Wing so -he- doesn't crash and die.
Laughing like a lunatic, Zena fires her thrusters back to top speed, and strafes the transport once again, blaster bolts lancing out as she waggles a wing in greeting and thanks to Hadrix and his souped up Firespray. She knows that ship anywhere.
One of the big parts of operating a bomber in a conflict such as this is having faith in your wingman and squadmates. Which Joren Malco seems to have as he does not waver from his attack run on the modular conveyor, even as streaks of emerald light slash through the space around him as a TIE attempts to box his ship in. That trust is well-founded because when the Imperial fighter does choose to engage the bomber, Joren's own pals slide into position to begin hammering the Imperial.
The fact that for the moment Gray 4's tail is clear means that he can focus on his own part of the mission. The B-Wing isn't a fast ship, but it's got everything else where it counts. Its shields hold strong against the smattering of incoming fire and seems to barely fluctuate in the slightest with the narrow misses and grazes across the unseen barrier protecting the bomber. One TIEs blasts punch into the shields. They hold, but they definitely took a smack. Joren's fingers squeeze on the firing yoke and pale blue lancets of energy begin peppering along the unshielded conveyor's hull.
As cargo hauler shields begin falter the craft tasked with moving in for cargo pods descend, U-Wings modified with clamps in addition to modifications for tractor beams descend, one pair headed for the hauler rendered without shields by Gray Four, launching the couplers that smash into one of the cargo containers on the port side of the lead hauler. Pulling it hard to one side as they continue their flight, causing sparks to fly before the pod is torn free - causing the port lock to be damaged and atmosphere to begin venting.
<<"Vulture team, we have one of the pods and we're breaking to make for jump distance. Watch our backs.">> The lead of the pair sends out - now causing distraction for the TIEs, a pair breaking off to give chase.
The Firespray's cannons continue to pound at hauler shields that flicker and strain to repower - the lead managing to restore some to protect the rest of their haul - the transports pushing their engines in a futile attempt to make distance while still working on jump coordinates.
<"Easy mission for you, eh?"> The big man comments towards Prism, spinning out of the way of another volley.
Sira is mid corkscrew when the first TIE hits her shields, her fingers tapping on the keys to readjust them as she keeps stealing glances toward where the TIE is, <<"Nice hit Hapan.">> Sira glances over her shoulder as there's a bit of a flash of a TIE that scoots by at an angle. <"Oh, coming back, huh?"> Sira murmurs to herself, not keying the comm for that comment. Hitting her rudder she fouls his shot at the last second, and kicking her over in the direction of the TIE she's been after.
<"Nora, shields please."> Nora starts complaining at her, informing her that she /has/ shields, and they are still over half. <"Yes, yes. I get it, but-"> Nora keeps telling her about the proper modulation, <"Nora, shush and work on the-"> She sighs as Nora doesn't stop trying to tell her about the intricacies of shield mechanics, and she tunes her out as she keeps pulling around.
Pushing the retical out in front of the TIE she's after, watching as it turns to break off toward the U-wings, she depresses the trigger. The first shot taking out the shields, and then the rest spearing through the cockpit of the TIE and sending the hexagonal wings spinning off. <<"Scratch one.">> Sira does key the comm that time.
Jaq'n Greayf stays locked on his target, weaving through its twists and rolls when a second TIE suddenly screams in from the flank. Jaq'n snaps the stick hard, veering just in time as green fire lances past, close, but wide. No time to breathe; the original TIE swings around in a tight loop and lands another hit. His X-wing jolts again, warning lights flashing as shields drop to thirty-three percent. Behind him, his astromech chirps into action, trying to restore power, but a sharp buzz signals failure. "Alright, guess we're doing this the hard way," he mutters, jaw tight. He adjusts his angle, keeping tight on the TIE, and squeezes the trigger. This time, red bolts hammer through what's left of the enemy's shields, burning deep into its hull. <<"Target's shields down. Hull's hurting,">> he calls over comms, still calm, still flying.
ck past Relor's canopy, one catching hard across his starboard side. Ben flinches, shields flaring, but they hold. Barely.
"Five, now would be a good time to work some magic." Five blurts something indignant and gets to work. A flicker across the HUD shows shield strength ticking back up -- over two-thirds. But this is what astromechs were born to do! Right?
Sira compliments him over comms, and Ben snorts. <<"What can I say? Sometimes I hit what I'm aiming at.">>
Another TIE peels toward Gray Four, lining up -- but Ben's already moving. He banks hard into pursuit, eyes narrow as the targeting overlay snaps into place. His burst slams into the TIE's shields, punching through most of it and sending it wobbling.
<<"Hey Gray Four, tell your new friend he picked the wrong karking wingman.">> Relor's lopsided grin glitters in the darkness.
Prism is still strapped into the co-pilot chair, she begins to slip back into it so her back is resting on it once more. She even stretches her arms and legs out a bit before relaxing them once more. She looks over to Hadrix as she agrees, <<"You aren't kidding, I thought I would have had to fix something by now.">>
Zena gets shot at. AGAIN. This time the shots lance across her shields, making her swear. A lot. There's a lot of TIES. "I knew I should have bought a rakkin' droid," she mutters as she twitches on the yoke, dodging further shots. Her gaze flickers behind the helmet, checking out her HUD and, once more, deciding to be absolutely reckless.
She pulls a move that, in atmo, would make her crash. No questions asked. Aerodynamics does not function this way. She wrenches the stick, feathers the throttle and repulsors, and goes into some kind of gyroscopic spin. It makes her harder to hit, the next set of TIE blast going wide.
It also sets her up for her specialty. A sniper shot.
Her HUD pings in her ears, flashing in her face, and she fires, the heavy cannon blasts lancing out at the cockpit of the freighter she's been after this whole time, cracking the canopy and venting their atmosphere.
Gray Four was keeping the lead haulers shields down, allowing for the next U-Wings of Vulture Group to buzz past another pair of mag-grapples launched - though this time only one of their lines strike and the other's scrabble along the hull with the heat-lightning of the B-Wing's ion cannons that was steadily causing system issues to mount up within.
The line goes taught and the hauler finds itself in a tug of war with the U-Wing while the other begins banking to go for another attempt. The first pair of craft making enough distance and one of them dropping their line so that the other can clamp the pod to their hull before they both leap to hyperspace.
The TIES continue to swarm, trying to find weak points in the rebel formation, viridian energy darts splashing against shields, trying to find their way to hulls as their number are diminished. One of their attempts lancing into the deflectors of the Firespray when Hadrix isn't fast enough to react - head turning, despite his HUD providing him all the information he needs, when the Firespray rocks and an impact alert goes off,
<"Well... Spoke too soon.">
On sensors, power fluctuations suggest that two of the haulers are getting close to jumping to lightspeed. The lead hauler unable, or perhaps yet unwilling, while connected to one of the U-Wings.
Zena's target begins to list - atmosphere and a body venting from the forward canopy of the cockpit. A ripe target for another pair of capture craft incoming.
Sira Hits the rudder and pushes the stick hard over, completely fowling the shots for the two TIEs that are chasing after her as her head swivels to take in the other combat going on around her. Her eyes locking onto the TIE that's laying into their E-wing who just plunked a shot right into the cockpit of one of the Freighters. <"Hrm. Kriff."> A sigh as she jerks the stick to the right and yanks back with a feathering of the rudder pedals to keep the Wyvern in a quick snap of a bank.
Of course right as she lines up the shot, it seems Zena peels off with the TIE right on her. She takes a snap shot at the TIE and watches as the shots shoot through space and barely miss as she follows through in a roll. Her head jerking to the left and right then back up as she pulls back around to chase after the TIE. <<"Zen, trying to get one of the ones off you.">> Sira says into the comm.
Of course as soon as she releases the comm she says to her droid, <"Nora, can you modulate the shields and shift the power converters to overcharge for the moment and shunt that into the shield repair?"> Nora gives a little affirmative of noise, and reaches out with one of her tools to do what was asked of her. Nora telling her that since she asked for something so reasonable, that of course she would comply, instead of asking for shields like a silly person.
Jaq'n Greayf pulls out of the debris field, just as the second TIE swings around for another pass and misses again. He exhales sharply, then flicks a glance at the shield readout, still blinking in the red. "Okay, please, just, do something about the shields," he calls back to the droid, his tone polite but strained. As the TIE peels away, Jaq'n lines up the shot and squeezes the trigger. Red bolts tear through space and connect, dropping the fighter's shields by half. Behind him, the astromech lets out a satisfied chirp as the shield meter flickers back up to fifty percent. "That's more like it," he mutters, tightening his grip on the stick as he banks into the next turn.
Ben jukes right as another TIE swings in on him -- too late. Red bolts slam into his port side and the X-Wing shudders, shields dipping below half. Five squeals and immediately tries to reroute power aaaaaand...does not succeed. The repair attempt fizzles, a low warning tone echoing through the cockpit.
"You /tried/," Ben mutters through gritted teeth, throwing the fighter into a tight climb as another TIE's shots flash wide beneath him. He levels out, nose dropping toward the damaged hauler -- big, slow, and too busy trying to hold itself together to dodge.
"Let's see how much more you can take." Grinning, Ben fires. Quad lasers open up. His burst slams through the last of its shields and rakes across the hull, scoring deep. Sparks fly. One of the sublight nacelles flares unstable.<<"Lead hauler's bleeding,">> he snaps over comms. <<"Somebody finish locking it down before it jumps and makes this whole mess pointless.">> Don't worry, Ben. Someone will...
Prism is able to finally spring into action, her fingers grab and pull on the release of her harness and she is off like a shot with her toolkit. She slides over to the shields panel and begins to quickly work on bringing them back up to life. She resecures the panel and moves back to the co-pilot seat. She sits back down but doesn't but her harass back on just yet.
Gray 4 spirals and twists through space as it continues to harass the lead transport. Another attack run is performed as ion energy spits from the B-Wing's light cannons and splash along the torn hull of the conveyor. Joren's comm keys up and he announces, "Gray 4 reporting in. Target's disabled and breaking off attack run". The B-Wing rolls away and begins to retreat from the thickest part of the fighting, hoping to lose his tail amid the whirling melee of starfighters.
Another pair of hooks fire with only one latching on after the lead hauler is halted by cannon and ion fire. The U-Wings working in tandem reeling in to connect their hulls to the ship before the first to latch signals. A beacon matched by the first pair that had been flying away after acquiring one of the cargo pods - those two suddenly elongating in pseudomotion before disappearing to hyperspace with their catch.
The TIEs, receiving contact of their own begin to break off in pairs when the remaining cargo haulers disappear in similar flickers of motion - taking half of the cargo with them to the hyperlanes once more. The, now, ten craft squadron boosting at full speed - dropping weapon power into engines and shields as their priority of remaining in escort, should something like this happen -again- during the run occur, takes precedence.
<"Good job."> A nod from the Mandalorian to Prism as she gets the shields back to running at full, any expression he might have concealed by the helmet, but the motions suggest him chinning a toggle again, <<"Copy Gray Four, good work. Squadron the tugs are going to get the other hauler into hyperspace. Imperials are breaking off. Prepare to jump out.">>
Moving to a stationing patrol over the disabled hauler, the firespray follows its pilots own orders, letting the TIEs break off.
Sira keeps in on the TIE that had previously nearly taken out Zena's shields. Seeing Zena break off one direction and then the TIE the other. She lets out a chuckle, her head turning to look back at the previous target that she had marked at the start of the battle. Her head jerking about to check that none of them were following Zena, then back to the target. She taps one of the buttons near her pinky which disengaged the safeties of the requiring a lock for the Protons.
With a hard jerk she pulls back on the Wyvern's stick, pulling it into a tight loop and even kicking off the engines to make the turn a bit harder and using the slide to keep her traveling away from the departing TIEs. <"Well, only fair I give you a parting gift."> She gives a bit of a half-smile. She puts the TIE dead center of her reticle and squeezes the trigger.
Two torpedoes shoot forth from the tubes of the Wyvern. The blue streaks careening off toward the the TIE Commander. Apparently that TIE had the luck of a Corellian, or just happened to glance behind to see the streak of incoming torpedoes. The lead TIE jerking out of the way as the ordnance streaks over top of the TIE and into the abyss. <"Well, damn, that would've been a fun story. Alas.">
Reversing the maneuver and re-engaging the engines she follows after Zena, pushing extra power to the engines to catch up with her on her egress. Pushing the button for the comm, <<"See Zen? Didn't I tell you it would be a fun time?">>
Jaq'n Greayf keeps pressure on the TIE, watching it pull wide then loop back in fast. It comes in sharp, and this time the green bolts hit home. His X-wing jolts violently, warning lights flaring as shields drop back down to a third. He steadies the controls, keeping the fighter level. Before he can regain momentum, his eyes catch another ship take a heavy hit, hull scorched and veering. Without hesitation, he breaks off his current chase, swinging toward the TIE that landed the shot. <<"Hey! Over here!">> he calls out on comms, engines flaring as he goes after the attacker. <<"I got you covered.">> He lines up the shot and fires-too late. The TIE rolls just out of the line of fire and peels off, swinging back toward its squad. Jaq'n watches the scopes as the group begins pulling away.
Ben lines up one last shot as one of the TIEs breaks off at full burn. He fires, quad cannons blaze out --
a nd the bolts splash across its rear shields, flaring bright... but holding. The fighter wobbles, then streaks away with the rest.
"Karking figures," he mutters, jaw tight. "Can't even land a goodbye kiss."
Five chirps in his ear, dry and judgmental as ever. Ben ignores it.
He banks smoothly back toward the others, bruised shields and all, the chaos of battle behind him fading into starlight. <<"This is Hapan -- still flying, still handsome. Forming up for jump.">>
Prism smiles inside of her visor but it can be heard in her voice as she responds, <"Thanks."> Her gaze then looks back out of the cockpit and begins to watch the actions of the other ships for the time being.
<<"Fun,">> Zena says as her navicomputer spools up. <<"Yeah. It was fun,">> She taps a few buttons, head on a swivel for any TIEs that may decide to take a potshot at a sitting duck.
<<"Still gotta go and replace ... a lot of hull. Ugh. Good job, everybody. I'm out, my course is in.">>
She hits the lever, and the E-Wing stretches as it's hurled into hyperspace.
The call to withdraw is made and Gray 4's not about to hang around longer than necessary. Especially not deep in the Sith Empire's outer rim territory. Eriadu, Sluis Van, and Sullust being in the same regional space makes it a formidable sector of space. One that when leading a surprise attack you don't stay in for long after the trap is sprung. The B-Wing rolls into its proper escape vector and Joren Malco calls out to the rest of his squad and cover, "Thanks for covering my tail. Gray 4's making the jump the lightspeed. Drinks are on me when we get home". A moment later and the B-Wing snaps forward and disappears from the subspace grid.
Jaq'n Greayf brings his fighter in line with the others as he has the astromech calculate the jump <<Jumping out. Call if I am needed again.>> With that he punches the button sending the x-wing into hyperspace.
Breaking away from the firing tails the TIEs make enough distance to be clear of firing ranges before they're forced to slow as power shifts to engage their hyperdrives. Something that the old Empire didn't have in their fighter craft. One by one each of the remaining fighters seeming to elongate before they disappears in flashes. In their wake all that remain are the Rebel forces, the tugs doing final checks on their connections.
<<"Vulture lead, attack elements, we're leaving with the bounty. Thanks for lining them up for us." Two cargo haulers and a cargo pod disappearing in similar blinks of motion.
With that handled the Firespray angles, its own systems beginning to shift power. <<"Alright everyone, Arr-Tee-Bee. We'll see what we found once we're back home. Wraith Six, going dark.">> The old Firespray fighter flickering and then disappearing to lightspeed as soon as Hadrix finishes his sentence.
