"Wake up, rookie."
O'Hara, the squadron leader, was getting irritated at the rookie pilot, Ambrose, who was napping in his cockpit through the trip through hyperspace.
"I'm up. I'm up," said the rookie pilot as he waved away the captain.
"Hee hee, next time you should just hit him, no warning," said Pete. Pete pulled a cigarette from his pocket and put it in his mouth.
"Stow it lieutenant and the contraband too."
Pete rolled his eyes and put the cigarette back in his pocket without a word; he knew what happened when he didn't listen to O'Hara: he swore like a drunken sailor.
O'Hara, Pete, and Ambrose were an Eta-7b clone fighter squadron, called Zulu squadron, aboard the Republic carrier Solace. O'Hara was a veteran and Pete and Ambrose were new, Ambrose being the newest pilot. They piloted a three-man squadron of Eta-7b's, which were different from the Etas that the Jedi were famous for piloting. The 7b's were a little bulkier as they had light deflector shields and a small payload of multi-purpose rockets. They weren't as maneuverable as the standard Etas, but most pilots preferred the 7b because of the deflector shield, regardless of the slight loss of maneuverability. Commanders liked the 7b for its longevity in the field: the 7b had a lower casualty rate than the standard Eta.
"Deceleration from hyper space in 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . .," blared the intercom. Pilots rushed to their fighters and the hiss of cockpits filled the air. "7 . . . 6 . . . 5 . . ." The rumble of fighter engines grew louder and louder. "4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . deceleration complete."
"This is it boys!" yelled O'Hara over the COM link.
The hangar bay doors rattled open and fighters gushed out of the gap, reminiscent of the way blood gushes out a wound. Zulu squadron leveled out and saw the battle that had already ensued. A Republic fleet had engaged a larger Confederate fleet and 192nd Fleet was called in to assist 76th Fleet in the battle.
The fighter squadrons rolled under their fleet to avoid turbolaser fire from the battleships of 192nd Fleet. Soon they were spread out in the open space in between the three fleets.
"Open S-foils," said O'Hara.
"Roger. S-foils open."
"Roger. S-foils open."
"Accelerate to attack speed and engage any bombers attacking 76th Fleet." Ambrose's R2 unit began whistling excitedly and Ambrose found out why. "Goddammit, vulture droids!" Vulture droids were dangerously speeding towards the recently released fighters, guns ablazing. "Break formation, but stay on course. We have to protect those cruisers if we are to win this battle!"
Zulu squadron rolled left and right, firing their lasers at the incoming vulture droids. R2-W6 whistled excitedly as Ambrose sped into combat. "This is it R2!"
The droids deftly turned around and followed the fighter squadrons. Ambrose could see on his radar that he had picked up four fighters on his tail. Ambrose subconsciously went left towards the Confederate fleet while O'Hara, Pete and most of the other fighter squadrons headed towards 76th fleet; the four vulture droids followed him.
"What the hell do you think you doing, rookie?" yelled O'Hara over the COM link.
"I'm trying to drag some of these droids away from the cruisers and, hell, maybe I'll take a couple down with me in the process."
O'Hara sighed, "Go ahead, and try to take down more than those four clankers, rookie."
"Roger that." Ambrose went out on a gut feeling. In basic, he was taught not to go with gut feelings full of the bravado that the one he had was full of. R2-W6 tried to question Ambrose. "We're just doing our jobs, fight and don't question it, unfortunately." Ambrose and all the other clones were referred to by the rest of the galaxy as organic battle droids: soldiers who will go on suicide missions without complaining. The clones normally didn't find any of this unpleasent, but that was the way they were bred.
The vulture droids caught up with Ambrose and proceeded to fire their lasers at him. Ambrose nimbly dodged and accelerated. Though the vulture droids were a trouble, Ambrose avoided a large problem by singularly flying into the Confederate fleet: flak guns. The Confederate fleet was too preoccupied with the combined Republic fleets. The vulture droids collectively fired several rockets at Ambrose. R2-W6 beeped and whistled excitedly, almost fearfully, at the sight of this. "I see 'em R2." Ambrose had reached the Confederate fleet with the missiles and the vulture droids closing in. Ambrose cut and weaved almost on top of Confederate ships around terminal and antennae hoping to lose a few missiles while taking a couple shots at whatever he thought might be important. While closely passing a command terminal of a frigate, three missiles caught the base of the tower, while the frigate was unshielded. The frigate was basically dead in space and internal explosions ripped it apart although not completely. A few missiles remained. He saw a cylindrical destroyer and formulated a quick plan that he knew was full of holes, but he made it this far, he thought. He made a tight loop around the cylindrical mid-section of the destroyer. The missiles lazily followed, but crashed into two of the four vultures that had managed to catch up. The debris of the vultures hurtled harmlessly into the shielded hull of the destroyer.
Ambrose sighed a sigh of relief, but he new he was far away from finished, "Two more R2, but I'm running out of ideas and . . . ."
"YEE-HAW!" blasted a voice over the COM link. The two remaining vulture droids were hit by lasers and exploded. "You thought I was just going to let you take all the glory, didn't Ya?"
"Pete! What the hell? You do know what's going to happen when O'Hara finds out you're here, right?"
"Yah yah, he's going to swear like a drunken . . ." A voice on the COM link cut them off.
"Hey, you two . . . ." The COM link was full of static, "Get your asses back here, NOW!" The COM link was cut off and static filled the silent cockpit.
"Sounds like O'Hara."
"Let's give those clankers a reason to come back here, eh Ambrose?"
A smirk spread across Ambrose's face, "Let's." R2-W6 whimpered at the sound of this.