Log:Rebellion: Blockade Run: Hapes
Blockade Run: Hapes
OOC Date: March 8, 2025
Location: Hapes Star Cluster
Participants: Ben Relor, Ben Solo, Bizz Bliptettjupp, Braiden Solo, Chewbacca, Evie Kora, Ferr'ai'ovumlu, Hadrix Kora, Igoz Shaxar, Poe Dameron, Rey, Vega
| Ship Type | Ship Name | Crew |
|---|---|---|
| A-Wing Interceptor | BLUE FLARE | Rey |
| X-Wing Starfighter | RED FIVE | Ben Solo |
| VCX-100 Freighter | GHOST | Poe Dameron & Santos |
| YT-1300 Freighter | ELEGANT CORSAIR | Igoz Shaxar |
| ARC-170 Starfighter | DECONSTRUCTIONIST | Ben Relor |
| YT-1300 Freighter | MILLENNIUM FALCON | Braiden Solo, Chewbacca, and Ferr'ai'ovumlu |
| B-Wing Bomber | ROYAL EDICT | Evie Kora |
| Delta-7 Aethersprite Interceptor | SABER TWO | Vega |
| GS-100 Salvage Freighter | MERCY NINE | Bizz Bliptettjupp |
| Firespray-31 Patrol Craft | WRAITH SIX | Hadrix Kora |
There were famously only two stable hyperspace lanes into the Hapes Star Cluster; one led into the Mid Rim, away from the galactic core. The other linked the worlds of the Consortium to the Inner Rim, and had become its primary artery of trade with the larger galaxy. Three weeks ago, that trade lane became a path of invasion as an Imperial fleet clashed with the massed Battle Dragons of the Queen's Own Navy. A battle pitting nearly a hundred capital ships and over a thousand fightercraft had ended when the hard-pressed Hapans detonated a chain of mass-pulse mines that had spawned a new and unstable gravity well in the center of their own hyperspace lane.
It had been a risky and dangerous gamble that resulted in strands of nearby nebulae being drawn into a luminous pink and purple tangle that choked what had been a clear hyperspace route. It wasn't yet clear how long this new gravity well would last, as it had continued to fluctuate wildly as the war raged on in its shadow; some predicted it would fade after weeks, others that it would remain forever.
Within the Transitory Mists that cloaked Hapan Space, more battles had followed. The Royal Guard had fought with stubborn heroism to halt the Imperial drive toward their throneworld resulting in a bloody stalemate. The Empire was left holding two of the six Consortium sectors, while the Royal Navy continued to doggedly guard Hapes Prime. It was the fate of those two occupied sectors- the Lorelli Reach, and the Rifle Worlds- which had driven the current enterprise…
With the hyperspace lances into the star cluster disrupted or still in Hapan hands, the typical process of Imperial subjugation had been delayed; the inevitable scouring of worlds to locate force sensitives for indoctrination had not yet taken place. It was the nature of life in the Consortium that some factions on every planet would seek to ingratiate themselves to the Empire, while others would prepare to resist to the last. The Sith Navy within the star cluster was largely isolated from their brethren on the outside, who had deployed many capital ships and picket patrols to guard every parsec of stable spacelane into newly conquered Imperial territory.
But for those brave, stubborn, or foolish enough, there was still the option of taking the UNstable spacelanes.
Hoping to bring crucial supplies to nascent resistance movements, and smuggle any force-sensitive individuals offworld before the Sith can seize them, Bizz Bliptettjupp had organized a convoy to the Hapan world of Daruvvia, where an old tradition of Hapan mystics survived. To reach their goal, all would need to outrun or fight through the initial Imperial defenses, and then navigate a roiling route along the edge of a newborn gravity well to slip deep behind Sith lines.
Poe Dameron's hand runs along a row of switches within the dark control cabin; almost every alarm is sounding off much to the chagrin of the massive Wookiee helping Poe. Making it worse is the warbling of BB-8, who is further articulating data already conveyed by the alarms.
"I GET IT.. I get it. Lots of gravity, nothing a little..umph won't fix.." The ship structural integrity picks that moment to groan, and all three look back. Poe, nervously, ticks the speed up a bit more. BB-8 starts again, "Happy beeps, buddy, happy beeps. We've been in worse."
The Ghost, appearing as a subspace anomaly, takes the lead for the time being. <<"This is Ghost, sound off if you're still alive.. we're pushing through so keep it tight and follow my lead.. I know what I'm doing.">> Poe cut the comms just before Santos debated that with an angry grunt. "Well, you didn't have any other ideas.."
Technically, Ben Relor hasn't been cleared for official Rebellion starfighter pilot status just yet. So it's probably a good thing that this isn't really an official Rebellion action. The ARC-170 that he's flying even belongs to him; he didn't borrow an X-Wing or anything of the sort. His R5, appropriately named Five, beeps something sarcastic at him. "What? Sleep is for the weak, Five. You know this." Relor looks incredibly wired and is grinning like a lunatic, but that's been his way lately.
<<"This is Relor, Loud & Clear...">> Relor's preferred callsign. Sira isn't here to make him call himself 'Hapan,' though maybe someone else will. <<"Roger that, Ghost, we know who to blame when everything goes knobblypear-shaped.">>
The Elegant Corsair seems to be sound in regard to its integrity and mission purpose. Laden with relief supplies in its holds, both concealed and obvious. The dorsal and ventral quad laser turrets lay dormant at times, but in others swivel about as the gunners decide that some movement may be necessary. The cockpit's quiet save for the quiet chime or warble of some notification being provided to those within it. A broadcast within the net of ships is provided with the pilot of The Elegant Corsair declaring the ship's status, "Royal and the Elegant Corsair is weighed down and ready to push."
The Millenium Falcon is here. Which should really, really worry the Imperials. The old ship, a classic for all time, is still claimed to be the fastest ship in the galaxy. It may still be, given the countless hours of work that Braiden and Chewie have put into it.
In the cockpit, Chewie handles the controls like a master. He's been with this ship for a very long time, and he knows it better than anyone alive, though Braiden is working on it. He hits the comms, rumbling into it. Luckily(?) C-3P0, human-cyborg relations is here to translate for him. <<"rwowoal worieowl rwowoal. wrall rwarrl rwarrl rwowoal woeieowl, rwal, wrall rwowoal ror rwowoal rwal woeieowl rwarrl worieowl.">>
The neurotic golden droid translates, and then mumbles to himself 'Oh dear. We're all going to be killed!'
Classic Threepio.
How The Force Did Captain Ferr'ai'ovumlu end up on the Millennium Falcon? Well, it has a lot to do with the fact that a certain Mando has been training him to do more than stand on the bridge of the Illumination and bark orders at his crew. Said training has gotten him off the bridge and into the mix a couple of times.
This mission is another one of those times.
Raio knows he's a guest on this ship so he's just listening and paying attention to whatever the pilot of this legendary ship command. He's ready for this. About as ready as he'll ever be. And still rocking his usual uniform. He's going to have to find something more fitting for these more action moments. He's going to have to talk to his Mentor about that.
The Falcon's first combative flight since he and Chewie set out to restore it, with a significant amount of credits put in to its many intricately modded systems. "Right after we get it in a state that could be called good, we go and get it shot up." The young Solo muttered on his way down the command corridor. He moved at a fairly brisk pace, with his leather jacket tossed in to the engineering station chair, his sleeves pushed up, and his hands going for the turret access ladder.
Once in his turret seat, Braiden associated himself with it. He'd gotten practice in it over Nar Shaddaa, blasting space junk for some minor creds paid out by a Smuggler's Moon cleanup company. That was enough practice for a full action combat scenario, wasn't it?
The scopes were primed, and the quad cannons were swung side to side, up and down, as the Corellian grimaced. "This is gonna be fun." He sarcastically said.
Bizz Bliptettjupp has cobbled together a ragtag convoy of smugglers and rebels to skirt the artificial gravity distortion caused by Hapan pulse mines. He pilots the VISCACHA, a GS-100 salvaging ship not suited to this work, though some salvaging arms have been ripped out and replaced by laser cannons and a missile launcher. The painting of a rodent on his ship's side has been painted over and a alternate transponder is turned on. <<"This is Mercy Niner, on course. May the FORCE be with us.">>
Bizz's ship is crewed by two Zabrak twins and former orphans, M'nnevus and Su'nil, and an astromech droid. It is stuffed like a Plavonian starfish with proton torpedoes, tibanna blaster gas, grenades, helmets, and foodstuffs. Aside from normal military rations there are live rations as well. From the Gungans of Naboo, dwarf nunas colored green and brown and sometimes referred to as 'swamp turkeys'. From the Ewoks of Endor's moon, the delicious Endorian chicken or tip-yip in Ewokese. And from the Ahch-Tonian Lanai, the white and orange feathered porgs - a delicacy on the ocean planet. Some of them are in cages stuffed in the cockpit right behind him. They squawk and cluck in the background.
Above the wake of the Ghost, near the front of the pack, Ben Solo and R2-D2 man a rather legendary, vintage X-Wing. Its faded Rebellion iconography is cast in the shadowy illumination of distant star and adjacent nebulae across sleek, closed S-Foils, all but flowing with the seemingly chaotic ebb and surge of gravity-- of mass shadow throughout the hyperlanes.
<< "Ronin to convoy-- The pulses come in rhythm, time your calculations based on the surges and we can find a working vector through. Mind the overlap with the grav signatures of other aftershocks." >> It's a bit mad; but the prodigal Jedi has been through this mess before. They all have said astrogation data-- but the distortions are anything but static obstacles.
It's the same ride along the ragged edge /this/ time that it was when Ben took the Infiltrator through to face the Sith on Hapes. << "Make sure your comps record the scans; this is going to be the same joyride on the way out." >> The elder Solo doesn't sound any more put out by this than his younger half-brother; the Jedi Ronin has to focus to coach /some/ of the adrenaline out of his steady tone.
A solid blue A-wing pulled in to an escort position flanking the starboard side of the Ghost.
Inside it, Rey stared out from behind an orange visor, with a Rebel alliance era pilot helmet on, and the Yellow Aces symbols adorning its top. The chinstrap hugged her slim chin, and her eyes glanced toward Poe in the cockpit of the freighter.
"It's flying well enough, lets hope it is worth what we paid." She stated softly, before her voice fell silent, and her eyes went toward the controls. She gripped the flight stick with her natural hand, while her metallic left pushed forward on the throttle, causing the old A-wing's engines to flare to life a little brighter, the thrumming hum a song all in and of itself.
<"The Blue Flare is here, on escort with the Ghost. I'm ready."> Rey's voice said over open group comms.
The Void.
It was the only place that Evennia Kora really felt really, truly, alive these days, and as a result she tried to spend as much time there as possible.
She hadn't planned on sticking her nose into the warring efforts between the Rebels and the newest Empire. Between the Jedi and the Sith. The Empress of the Void was content to be unofficially retired. Working on her pet projects and staying out of the galactic limelight for a change while she lived a happy family life.
...then the actions of one woke the sleeping dragon. Her wife had tempered her temper as the pacifist met the warrior, but while true pacifism was no longer an option that Evie would ever consider, there was one *other* lasting impact the woman had left on her Empress.
The value of saving lives.
So that's why the aptly named Royal Edict drops out of hyperspace alongside the rebellious convoy. The heavily armed B-Wing was as much a manifestation of the Kuati's will as much as it was a starfighter, and it was time to send a message.
<<"Empress reporting in. You won't get rid of me that easily, Ghost.">> There's a pause, her lips quirking upwards as after a moment she adds, <<"Hapan, I hear you're new to this; we use callsigns over comms. Names stay on the ground.">>
Autogyro mounted seat shifting with the jostles that dialing down inertial dampeners causes, Al'Verde Kora grunts as a flurry of tweedles and warbles sounds from below. Heiyuu locked into the droid cubicle and with its ports in place sending information on the cargo being hauled on the old patrol craft Hadrix pilots.
<<"Wraith Six, reporting... Copy, Ronin.">>
Checking data as the other report-ins tumble down through comms, HUD before his eyes feeding data from his panels so he needn't avert his eyes. Long years having made him accustomed to a crowded field of vision providing him data at a glance, direct or peripheral.
"Why are you using that callsign?"
<"Because it's an official op...">
"Not one of the others?" Socketed into a custom fitted point on his armor, the voice of Gripper likely signifying she was bored.
<"No need.">
The big man's head was shaking and he adjusted sensors again to try to compensate for the pulses that... The quite familiar, despite comm distortion, voice had relayed - eyes narrowing some behind his visor.
"Are you sure?"
<"Shut up, Gripper.">
A flick of a switch deploying the fold-out cannon mounts, the tri-barrels of each rotary mount beginning to spin up.
"Why?"
<"Be prepared...">
There is nothing like running a blockade and Vega is here for it! She'd dusted off Saber 2 just like the old days and was more than happy to lend her piloting to the cause. <<Saber 2 is being manned by Gremlin. If anyone gets in a bind please just let us know.>> the Echani states. There's a little warble from Sky and Vega grins, "Don't worry your little head on that. We've got this." she tells the droid. Then she angles the Aethersprite into an escort position, but is definitely expecting trouble to follow them.
The ominous predatory profile of a Nebulon K frigate, the *Gatekeeper* loomed ahead, it's black plating stark against the vivid colors of the neublae at its back. A full squadron was scattered in triads along the perimeter of the Transitory Mists, establishing a secure cordon. As the convoy of five transports and five fightercraft pressed into range, the response was swift.
The Imperial patrols made a token effort to broadcast a warning that civilian ships must power down for inspection or be fired upon, the presence of multiple Republic fightercraft made it very clear that this was not an innocent merchant convoy that had blundered off course. The two nearest triads of TIE/ln fighters were already roaring to intercept a pair of warning shots glittering emerald against the swirling pinks and purples of the Transitory Mists.
Meanwhile, thousands of kilometers away two more triads of patrolling TIEs were changing course to assist, though they remained too distant to affect the initial clash.
Ghost's engines, till this point, have purred but as their sensors come alive with contacts Poe pushes the throttle to bring it to a roar. Behind him, the exterior output of gold suddenly bursts, leaving a short contrail as the Ghost moves in. Santos took the cue to move to the back and mount up, leaving Poe and BB-8 to the control cabin.
Grunting, to stand up, Poe reaches over to the co-pilot spot to hit the shields, then dons the headset, adjusting the boom mic.
<<"Go straight at 'em, don't let these thugs scare you -- We have got to move FAST! When that larger ship gets here, or window for 'easy flying' comes to a close.">>
True to his orders, Poe flies right through the TIE formation splitting them off, the green laser lances from the double heavy cannons coming to life from the fore, then aft, sending two TIEs off, spiraling from the impacts. Poe laughs, adjusting the speed again, this time putting himself against his seat. "Come on, ol' girl.. we got this."
Ben Relor's ARC, incidentally, is called the Deconstructionist. He probably would've mentioned that. And he's got two gunners -- both hot-headed young humans like himself, even younger than him actually, who look up to Relor, however misguidedly, and his fiery attitude/rhetoric: surnames Vantok (male) and Fendari (female), callsigns Mudhorn and Neuro, respectively. <"I know that, Void"> Relor barks. <"But you can't make me call myself Hapan. It's Loud & Clear until I'm flying officially."> And even then, he'll probably fight not to be called Hapan until the end of his days.
But Relor should know better: the more he insists, the less likely anyone will call him anything but Hapan. An admittedly especially confusing callsign given what they're doing here.
But there's work to be done! With the TIEs in firing range and Ghost so kindly splitting them up, Relor opens on the first Executioner to break formation. He angles slightly to starboard to create crossfire pressure with Poe but doesn't commit to a full break, keeping his guns trained on a target. He barks to his gunners, "Keep an eye on Ghost's six!" before squeezing the trigger on his front laser cannons.
Relor cripples one of the TIE's shields, though not entirely, with some help from Mudhorn. It's a start!
The Elegant Corsair continues moving forward. There's no time to stop and engage in dogfighting. The ventral and dorsal quad turrets begin to operate. They whumph-whumph-whumph as they begin spitting lances of death at the TIEs. All the while the Falleen, Igoz, at the controls continues moving forward.
<<"wrall woeieowl rwarrl rwowoal,">> Chewie roars back to his gunners. Threepio translates, of course. He handles the controls with the ease and lack of worry of a master. His eyes glint in the darkened cockpit as he reaches over, flipping switches and toggling toggles. The computer does its job, getting a missile lock.
<<"rwarrl woeieowl, rwowoal! rwarrl rwowoal, rwal!">>
Here we go with the nicknames.
Raio is in his turret seat and all strapped in and looking like he's ready to do some damage. It's easy to make this face when nobody else is looking. But just as quickly as he makes that face, he focuses up as the enemy is in the sight.
"Hrm." Raio narrows his eyes at the readouts around him. It looks like he's counting TIEs or something. And after a brief moment of Quick Maths, "Look alive." is said into the comms. "We might want do this as quickly as possible. I can almost guarantee more Imperial Capital Ships in the area." Maybe his Naval Captainry is coming in more handy than he thought.
Grabbing his turret controls, Raio spins as much as his chair can at the moment and fires off a few shots. Those blasts tag off the shields of that Executioner and Raio is immediately back to tactical thinking. It's what he's actually good at.
With the furball commencing, Braiden sweeps the quad turret cannons up, and begins unleashing a barrage of laser fire toward the incoming TIE Fighters. His chair sweeps in multiple directions, as he tails after one that narrowly avoids collision with the Falcon. It was an adrenaline inducing experience, to say the least, but it wasn't the first time in a gunner's chair for Braiden.
"Starting to feel like the academy back on Corellia." the young Solo said, his brows up, and his gloved hands clutching the turret controls tightly, as he lines up another shot that catches the same TIE as it was hit by his brother turret. "We're wearing them down. Keep it up!"
As the convoy roars through and past the cloud of interceptors, the Ronin breaks formation only for a moment. Tight around its horizontal axis, S-Foils extending, Red Five rolls. The spin comes with a tight spiral of crimson lasers, converging on a nearly pinprick point on an unlucky, and now unshielded TIE. The interceptor ignites, and its power source ruptures, leaving little more than a sparkling shrapnel of durasteel and solar paneling as the T-65 banks and climbs past said deadly cloud of ex-starfighter.
<< "Don't let them bog you down, stick and move-- we need to get through and lose them, not destroy this patrol." >> Ironic from the instigator of the latest fireball, perhaps; but it's good to remind at least himself.
<<"Whatever you say, Hapan.">> The smile on Evie's face is easy to hear in her voice.
Just like that, the battle begins. It's almost like a courting ritual. They use a cheesy pickup line. She knees them in an uncomfortable place. It's a typical Satunda just with more lazors involved.
As the first shot is fired, Evie starts the Royal Edict into a visible spin. It's a little bit different than the sway she used to sport as Ziro One would dance through the air - for one thing? The stationary cockpit of the B-Wing made it so that she couldn't feel the motion in the slightest. Maybe it'll lead towards disorienting her foes. Either way, the simple motion makes *her* feel a bit better in the void.
She can't rely on the sensors as much as a normal pilot would like to, it was fortunate for her that she enjoyed flying sensor-blind because as she sets the B-Wing's heavy laser on one of the TIEs that's lost its shields.
It's almost a shame, really. If she turned ions on it, she could salvage it for parts and maybe a pilot if the former First Order pilot could break through to the current Imperial one. This isn't the kind of theater that will allow for that kind of recovery, though.
<<"I've set him up, somebody knock the guy out!">> Evie chirps over the comms.
<<"Keep alert, we don't know if there are interceptors hiding somewhere.">> A quick rumble to call out when Ghost opens up the storm and Heiyuu is wailing again, <"I. Am. Aware."> Biting out the words and hauling the old Firespray into a spiraling roll turning the mists into a wheeling corkscrew behind the ship.
<<"Copy, engaging, Ghost.">> A series of charge indicators going green on his HUD and his aileron roll breaks into a sweep at the first TIE to come under his brackets, thumbing the firing stud with a prolonged BBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH of high speed cannon fire that chews through shields and riddles the hull with pock marks of blackened durasteel and flash-frozen trails of metal that had been rendered molten before the vacuum sucked away the heat.
<<"Target damaged, may try to run. Continuing cover operation.">>
"Those seem excessive."
<"Shut. Up. Gripper...">
Vega's going to do what Vega does best...which is probably regret what she IS doing. She brings the Aethersprite in quick to battle one of the TIE's, but it seems that the pilots are both anticipating the same thing. Which annoys the pintsized Jedi something FIERCE. "You get this round..." she grumbles inside the cockpit as she brings the fighter around for another go at them…
The A-wing Blue Flare rolled across its side, coming around the mix of fighters and freighters, with Rey's head turning side to side, as she tracked a TIE fighter that was under fire from the Ghost.
With a look of determination, Rey pulled hard on her flight stick, drawing the nose of her nimble fighter around, until the TIE was beneath the HUD reticle that was frantically trailing after it. A computer beep grew quicker and quicker until a solid lock flashed around the starfighter in front of the A-wing, and Rey's finger went to the firing stud...
The first pass of Executioner TIEs runs headlong into a vicious cascade of turret and fighter fire from the heavily armed rebel convoy. One of the TIEs comes apart in a short-lived fireball, with nothing worse than a light patter of emerald cannons across the shields of the Corellian frieghter racing toward the roiling masses of the shattered Mists ahead.
The remainder of the patrol TIEs (Executioners 7-12) race to reinforce their outgunner fellows, while far in the distance, the six stand-by interceptors of the frigate *Gatekeeper* are scrambled. Still too distant to weigh in, but a promise of further battle to those who linger.
Unseen, a signal is sent from the Gatekeeper, by narrow-focus subspace emitters.
<<"This is Ghost, I'm going in. Follow and keep it tight! -- We're going to make it!">>
The Ghost lumbers through a slow spiral as incoming TIE fire threads between the ol' girl's wide span, missing valiantly. Poe chuckles, angling the Ghost into the mist and along the gravity well. Instantly, the ship began to protest, her hull ticking with tension.
Golden hued engine output began to glow more, but the cloudy nebulae masked it in a swirl of dark mystery, hiding the freighter seconds after Poe made his transition. It wasn't long before the ship began to bounce and contest the gravitational forces. His view wasn't great, but he watched the sensors despite hearing the random TINK or TAT of something smacking the armor plating.
BB-8 makes a low warble. Poe nods, "Not numbers, buddy.. luck." When BB-8 articulates a response, Poe is in the midst of flipping a pair of switches, "Yeah, well Jess isn't here, is she?"
The Deconstructionist shudders violently as the gravitational forces rip through its shields, leaving the hull groaning and cracking under the strain. Red warning lights flood the cockpit, and Ben Relor barely keeps his grip on the controls as the ship lurches unpredictably.
"Kriff -- Five, do something about that!" he snaps, but the astromech's frantic beeping tells him what he already knows: they're in deep.
Behind him, the gunners fire desperately, laser turrets spitting red bolts at the TIEs closing in like vultures. Somewhere in the chaos, one of them yells, "Relor, we're wide open here!"
"Yeah, I noticed!" Ben grits out, wrestling with the yoke as the ship rattles under another near-miss. His knuckles are white on the controls -- if he doesn't pull something fast, and if Five doesn't do what he does best soon, they're dead in the void...
The Elegant Corsair may not be the fastest ship in sublight, but she's got it where it counts. It's Captain Igoz Shaxar and his crew. The ship takes a few peppering shots across its shields and its dorsal turret begins to answer with screeching blasts from the quad laser cannons. The Elegant Corsair's purple-and-gold hull begins to shift as the ship itself rolls as its Falleen captain twists the flight yoke to present the ventral belly of the ship. The fresh shields now presented, Igoz calls out to the R2 unit rolling about the corridors, "Get to work recharging the shields and everyone hold on tight, we're about to get lost in a Hapan!"
The ship then plunges into the Mists and Igoz takes a moment to discard his wide-brimmed hat, tossing it into one of the empty chairs behind himself. He needs to focus and there's no one around to admire his fashion sense anyway.
Chewie's hands are steady on the yoke of the Falcon, eyes sharp on meters, gauges and out the viewport. <<"rwarrl rwarrl, grarrrl rwarrl woeieowl rwowoal rwowoal rwarrl rwowoal rwal!">>
Claws flicker across the throttle as Chewie wrenches the Falcon around, trying to skirt the gravity distortion, but he doesn't quite do it. Like a wheeled vehicle skidding through gravel, the Falcon catches the trailings of the anomaly. On the bright side, the shields are doing fantastic and hold up through it. On the downside, the missile fires and misses by inches, spiralling out to detonate harmlessly in space.
As he straightens back out into the convoy, Chewbacca, hero of THREE galactic wars, friend to small children,swears violently.
Maybe Raio knows more about the Falcon than he's let on. Because when he gets to firing off those turrets, he's got one of those TIEs in his sights. It just so happens to be the same TIE that strafed the Falcon only moments ago. There may even be a slight sly smirk of vengeance on his lips when the TIE goes boom.
"Blazinka."
Oh Force. Does Raio have a catch phrase?
The Falcon was rocked by a series of shots, and it rumbled the bulkheads in a violent way. "Shields holding, Chewie! Don't worry! But... you know, fly a bit better too!" Braiden said through the ship's personal comm channel, as he cast his chair to the side once more, following the targeting scope grid pattern.
When the TIE came back in to full view out of the web port in front of him, Braiden cast the turrets down, lined up another shot, and let them fire with a series of bursts from the jostling cannons outside! He scored another fair hit, and saw a splash of lasers against ray shielding covering the enemy ship. "Come on... give it up...."
Bizz Bliptettjupp in the VISCACHA pushes the throttle forward to maximum. The entire ship rumbles as it strains against the gravity distortion caused by the Hapan pulse mines. To his R5 unit he says, "Give me more engine power, you metallic ham!" The GS-100's quad laser turret blasts away at harassing fighters with a loudTHUM-THUM-THUM-THUM but hits nothing. Dwarf nunas and tip-yips in cages cluck with alarm while the porgs just do their characteristic alert crooning.
What -do- S-Foils do, besides look incredibly stylish, exactly? Well, it's a heat sinking system for the wingtip lasers mounted in each of an X-Wing's namesake cross-sections. Enough practice, enough experience, enough connection to the Force-- or the right astromech, and what results is a quick series of pulses in a patient, precise rhythm, pushing those parameters to their very limits.
Ben Solo drifts onto one sparking TIE Interceptor firing upon the Falcon even as it seeks to break off, and drills a quartet of shots off with the briefest of pause in the staccato. As the interceptor breaks apart in a blooming fireball, Ronin rolls the T-65 port and comes in inverted on the other damage TIE firing upon the transiting freighters. This one, too, gets lasers with patient precision.
"Artoo-- one more burst. Pull from engines." The power distribution systems respond to recharge the depleting lasers, to supercharge the cooling systems, and the next interceptor in line finds itself suddenly without shields with a crimson flare suffusing its personal space.
Ronin rights the snubfighter's orientation, relative to the camera's perspective, and holds doggedly to his target's six-- at least until he, hopefully, draws fire from the fighter's comrades, and away from his own.
With Rey's finger about to squeezing the firing stud on her missile lock, the TIE she was chasing was obliterated by another set of laser blasts. She immediately broke off, causing her A-wing to tumble in several arching maneuvers to take it away from the explosive debris, before it could damage her wedge-shaped starfighter. The A-wing came up and around the Millennium Falcon, before sweeping up to port side on the Ghost. "We're slipping past the gravity distortion." Rey said, with the sound of focused determination thick within her voice.
Her metal hand pushed the throttle forward, while over her shoulder, positioned just behind her cockpit chair, the conical head of the Scout Droid 'Dio' rose up. "I-I-I-I am sorry I came along... Rey." He quietly said.
"I told you it'd be a lot to handle!" Rey called back to her little co-pilot.
<<"They're focusing fire on the cargo craft. Screen and focus on any targeting them">> the Mythosaur bucking as he begins to pass through the gravity well, seat shaking and Heiyuu screeching about why the dampeners should be engaged. <<"If they pursue.">> Added while he shakes his head at the astromech's complaining.
<"That's why you're locked in!"> Fighting the urge to look over his shoulder. Not that he'd see anything, presently, The droid is technically below.
Shields flare in oscillating waves of cerulean blues as they compensate and Hadrix fights with the controls to keep things steady.
Being in the Void really is great for the Empress. if she were operating on rage alone, on bloodthirst, she might have stuck around to finish the fight. To take as many of THEM down for what they took from her.
But Juria's lessons persist. Eventhe onesshe taught the Jedi rather than vice versa, and the emptiness of space makes them clear to her.
These pilots weren't the ones that murdered her. The convoy has work to do. The convoy is more important, here. She needs to be in one piece to continue defending them.
It's by no means the prettiest flying, but Evie manages... and somehow *also* manages to shame the poor guy shooting at her in the process. Leave it to the Empress.
"I know that I missed, Sky. Thanks for reminding me!" Vega laughs at the BB unit on board with her. Because obviously things were going downhill REALLY FAST! "Get to fixing stuff and hopefully the Force will see fit to let us both get out of her only relatively mutilated." the Echani states to her ROUND co-pilot. For now, she keeps up with trying to keep the focus on them and not the others.
The two forward TIEs that remain of the initial half squadron go roaring after the bold rebel convoy, wisps of vivid pink and purple gasses trailing along the edges of their hexagonal solar panels as the two line fighters blast after the rebels. One shakes visibly in the grip of the unstable gravity well that threatens to grad it down, the other- Executioner Leader- manages the transit more smoothly, but must take whichever target fate has set before him.. which turns out to be the aft engines of an old ARC-170 heavy fighter. Green energy spits and scores the aged Republic fighter, now trapped between cannonry on one side and catastrophe on the other.
In open space, a half dozen TIEs have engaged in a chaotic dogfight with Vega's Aethersprite, and Solo's legendary Red 5. The next wave of reinforcements are on distant approach when targeting computers light up and a portion of the luminous nebluae outside the canopies was blotted out by the arrowhead bulk of an Imperial II star destroyer.
The Ghost is having a tough go of the route through the mists, and even though Poe is a good pilot, it's hard to contend with the laws of gravity and physics. The Ghost experiences a catastrophic event that see the shields take a pounding. It's enough to shake the interior of the vessel and send BB-8 bouncing like a kickball down the corridor, warbling as he went.
Poe frantically makes adjustments to the flight path, his breathing picking up. It was difficult to contend with things he couldn't see within the mists, his view port was just a constant swirl of cosmic gases, and sensors were being distorted from the radiation and false readings.
Krrsantan was fairing better, the double-heavy laser cannons firing constantly and tracking the fighters following behind them. He narrows his violent stare and growls, squeezing the controls until the green lances hit the TIE, battering shields. A defiant roar alerts Poe to the /massive/ Wookiee's success. It's enough to put a smirk on the Spicer Runner's face.
<<"Keep pushing through, we're almost there!">> Poe calls out, the encrypted channel making his voice sound robotic thanks to the distortion.
The Deconstructionist rattles, hull screaming in protest as Ben fights the stick, but the numbers don't lie -- there's no way through. The gravity well churns ahead like a pink-and-purple maw, a ship-killer waiting to swallow them whole.
His teeth grind. His knuckles ache on the controls. He should've made it. He should've found a way.
"Karking hell -- pulling back!" The words taste like acid, and he hates every single one.
Five bleeps in relief but doesn't waste time celebrating, already working furiously to reroute power and stabilize the shields. A flickering blue glow stutters back to life -- not full strength, not even close, but enough to maybe survive a few more hits.
Relor yanks the ship into a hard bank away from the chaos, ignoring the way the ARC-170 groans in protest. Behind him, the gunners don't stop firing, red streaks still chasing TIEs through the void. And they have more luck than Relor, so that's something.
But. Back to the dogfight. Back to the fight he didn't want. If he couldn't push through -- then he'd burn something down on the way out.
"I said hold on, didn't I?" Had he? It's hard telling given the warning warbles and beeps chiming within the cockpit. Igoz Shaxar may sometimes be of the more pragmatic and cut-your-losses-and-run sort of smuggler, but he's been hired on for a job and that means seeing it through. The fact that his employer, Evie, is somewhere out there potentially watching also means that he can't simply dip out, create an elaborate story, and mourn the loss of some many rebels. Nope, he's going to have to see the job through and make it look like it was intentional all along.
Which is why he's skirting precariously close to a gravity well and while The Elegant Corsair's rich purple plating begins to quiver and even rip away at times as the gravitational pull attempts to suck the entirety of the ship in, the engines flare brightly in answer to that pull. "Come on, darling, just hold together and keep going," he mutters with a charming smile that seems intended more for his ship than the human co-pilot who's presently side-eyeing him with her bright green eyes. "More power to the engines from shields, just do it," he interrupts the potential attempt to question the instruction, "and get the droid pumping the shields as fast as possible".
It's not some sudden affair to break free of the gravity well. Instead it's a gradual process as their speed begins to slowly increase as they pull farther and farther away. Until finally the last grasping tendrils of the gravity well seems to evaporate and quickly the Corsair bursts from the Mists and into good old fashioned abyssally black, starry space.
"I told you we could do it! We just need to pucker up and get through it!" he exclaims with some joy, "keep pushing along the planned course, they'll catch up to us soon, I wager. Keep guns primed and ready.."
<< "Get clear as fast as you can and jump to rendevous, Hapan." >> Ronin advises, more than has the authority to /order/, to the haggard ARC-170.
Alright... STRONGLY advises. << "Do NOT re-engage. We'll see this done." >> And keep the pursuers from harrying the damaged fighter, or the high-speed freighter chase any further. The incoming interceptors have a difficult time drawing a bead on Ronin, his X-Wing weaving between bolts of green like a dancer; if said dancer wants to cut you, at least.
<< "Gremlin, we need to cover the damaged ARC until it's clear, then prepare for transit. Watch your six, just weakened the shield on the one I'm pinging in the targeting comp..." >>
The turrets go, and Chewie wants to cheer on his gunners, but he's actually got to focus. Both hands on the controls, the Wookiee dials in, cranking the throttle, making some of his readouts slightly unhappy. He growls at them, throwing the Falcon into a sliding roll, something only possible in the void of space.
Once more, the Falcon dips into the shredding eddies of gravitational distortion. Once again, Chewbacca rides that wave, letting the shields take the brunt of the damage, but not actually hurting the refitted and upgraded ship.
'By the Maker,' Threepio wails. 'We -are- going to die!'
Raio may have found a new love. Because he's actually getting way too much of an adrenaline rush behind the controls of this turret that he's in. Firing off shots like the entire Rebellion is counting on him while also calculating for preciseness and tactical compliance first. There's no use firing if you're not going to hit your target, after all. Even if there's a grin on one's face while doing so. Which is a scary one because it's a Chiss grin. And those are insane.
The terrible part about being in a turret, is you're forced to wait sometimes, for targets to fall in to your proverbial web...
Without any visible targets, Braiden lays in wait, his eyes focused on the strange majesty of this space anomaly that Chewie was flying them through. He was almost mesmerized by it, when the scream of a TIE fighter drew him back in to the here and now. He gripped the turret controls, spun the cannons around, and fired on the face of a fighter, unleashing a barrage of crimson energy toward the enemy's hull.
Boom. Braiden watched it blow apart, its solar arrays spinning away from the blossoming explosion of super heated gas and debris. He breathed a soft sigh of relief, and spun his guns around again. "Nice shooting, everyone. Good flying, chewie. Threepio, shutup."
Brother Bizz finally gets the extra engine power he requested from his Astromech. "It took you long enough, you automated oaf!" The throttle is already at maximum as the large salvaging craft rumbles through the quasi-accretion disk of the gravity distortion. Bits of cosmic dust and such ping on his craft's shields. "<<That ARC-170 is looking like a slapped gundark's arse! Fighters, can you help him exit the hyperlane? May the FORCE be with you, thank you for the convoy escort!>>" The Endorian chickens behind Bizz in the cockpit get extra clucky as the vessel vibrates.
In the cockpit of the A-wing Blue Flare, Dio rolls around to peak his conical head over Rey's right shoulder. The droid's sharp featured face quivers, as he sees the starfighter twisting through another roll, as Rey skirts the edge of the dangerous space hazard. "G-g-g-go faster, I think!" The nervous droid suggests.
"Nobody likes a back seat driver, Dio." Rey said back, as she was concentrating, her dark eyebrows dipped low over her nose, behind the orange visor of her Yellow Aces helmet. "We're through!" She announced, as the nimble fighter ceased its violent thrashing, and the hull plating settled again, leaving the thrumming twin Event Horizon engines to sing the praises of the ship making it through the danger.
"I'm open for assisting, call it out if you need some extra fire power!"
Dio's head poked around on the left side now, his large wheel body rolling back and forth with a fidgeting energy of anxious droid emotions, stuck back behind the pilot's seat in a relatively cramped space. His conical face pushed up against the canopy glass, as he watched one of the TIE Fighter wings spin past, shedding pieces of itself, as it spiraled away from the destruction left behind the Falcon. "That will teach them for m-m-messing with us..." Dio brazenly declared.
As she maneuvers her way through the mists, Evie's hands are working a mile a millisecond. She's a woman possessed, trying to make her blockade buster of a B-Wing into something vaguely resembling an interceptor so that she can pull the kinds of stunts this particular flight path demands. Not only does she have people waiting for her at home... she has people relying on her here, and a reputation to uphold.
The Empress will not be denied. Not tonight, not ever.
When it comes down to it, it's less a matter of fancy flying and more sheer willpower and the knowledge that she can repair any damages done that keep her pressing forward in escort position. The mission comes first. Lives will be saved. Juria would be proud.
As her B-Wing follows the A-Wing out of the mists, Evie pumps a hand in the air in victory, the various warning sirens ringing in her cockpit from her shields collapsing are music to her ears... because she still has intact ears with which to hear them.
<<"Your Empress has made it through! Likewise, if you need a hole blown in anything...">>
Well. She's got a full compliment of torpedos ready and waiting to fire.
"You're going to get us killed."
The entire ship rattling like a can with pebbles in it while gravity distortions batter and threaten to destroy the ship. Sparks shoot from a console as gravity distortions collapse the shields and buckle part of the hull. Emergency systems forcing the dampeners up to one hundred percent power to cease the shaking within.
<"We'll be fine.">
A fist is slammed against a switch to silence the alarm blaring within the craft.
"Should you do that?"
<"I swear I will turn this ship around and fly us right into that black hole if it will finally shut you up...">
A harsh BANG sounding within the craft as one of the hull panels, crumpled by the Gravitic pressure distortions tears free and slams against the transparisteel viewscreen before tumbling away behind. All the while the R2 unit, Heiyuu has kept up a constant string of binary sounds that have ranged from imploring potential 'organic deities' for some sort of protection, to a series of particular descriptive phrases pertaining to the denigration of Hadrix and his piloting skills.
"Don't threaten me with a good time..." The ID-10, still socketed in the big man's armor rearus keeps where she is, like an obnoxious angel just behind his shoulder.
<<"Wraith Six, through...">> Broadcasting as the pressure alarms, silenced as they were, finally cease. <"An I thought I hated Bothuwi...">
<<Hapan, Ronin and Gremlin will cover you. Just make sure you get out safely.>> Vega states over the comms in her usual calm demeanor. But inside there is SCREAMING. She then listens to Ronin over comms and there is a smile from the Echani, <<On it, Ronin. I'll see if I can clean it up before we transit. You be sure to watch yourself as well.>> she tells the man over the comms. Then Sky is repairing damage while Vega blasts through Executioner 7's shields. Hopefully they'll be able to cover Hapan until they can get out of there!
Under other circumstances, two outdated fightercraft trying to hold off half a squadron of cutting edge TIEs would be a losing proposition. All the more so with two more triads screaming in and the strength of an entire star destroyer about to be committed to the one sided conflict, but the old T65c and even older Aethersprite maneuver marvelously, and hold off the horde long enough for the battered ARC heavy fighter to win free of the treacherous transit, and escape into hyperspace.
The Imperial capital ships can do nothing but fire futile volleys of heavy ion batteries sizzling through the nebula in the vain hope of catching the escaping convoy in an ion storm. It fails, and the rebellion convoy is able to proceed to Daruvvia with nothing worse than the spectacular flashes of ionization illuminating the beautiful and dangerous Transitory Mists at their backs.
The blockade run through the Hapes Cluster continues: https://www.swaoa-mush.com/wiki/Log:Rebellion:_The_Tightening_Noose
