Title: A New Path
Summary: Tycho Celchu's journey from the Empire to the Alliance. Set prior to A New Hope.
Disclaimer: Star Wars is, quite clearly, not mine, and no copyright infringement is intended. This story is not written for profit.
* * * * * *
Prologue
* * * * * *
Tycho Celchu took a deep breath of the processed air from his environmental suit as he sat in the cockpit of his TIE fighter. "Engines green," he muttered to himself, "lasers operational." There was no reason they shouldn't be, but it was important to check everything anyway. Besides, going through all his systems allowed him to calm himself before going out -- regardless of whether it was a patrol run or a battle.
This was the former. The Inhibitor's second squadron -- the one he flew with -- would be launching in a few minutes to relieve the first squadron, currently patrolling space around the moon over Kien'tol. The Victory- class Star Destroyer he was assigned to had been sent to investigate suspicious transmissions coming from the supposedly uninhabited moon. Tycho himself was convinced it was probably nothing more than smugglers, but an assignment was an assignment, and he had no say about it.
He heard a click as the channel between his fighter and the ship opened and Captain Rawn's voice came over. "First squadron is under attack. Launch immediately. Repeat, first squadron is under attack. Launch immediately."
The order was instantly followed by a series of clicks from the pilots acknowledging the order, and his commanding officer's voice. "Second squadron, launch by wing pairs."
His attention focused on his controls as he saw the fighter ahead of him drop slowly through the open bay and accelerate away from the ship. A wave from a deck hand gave him the go for launch, and Tycho throttled forward and dropped through the magnetic field of the open bay door, the remaining members of his squadron following in his wake. He watched as the stars changed from pinpoints to streaks of light as his ship's speed steadily increased.
He couldn't yet see the flashes of the battle -- the other squadron must have been attacked on the far side of the moon. Tycho's eyes traveled along the face of the moon as he flew over it. He could barely make out the dark canyons that crisscrossed the rocky surface below him. "Two flight, take point," his CO ordered as the first flashes of light met his eyes. "Acknowledged," he replied, and then throttled forward again, accelerating past the fighters ahead of him.
"Five, I'm your wing," Mith Cabri's voice came over the comm unit. There was a quiet calm in the other man's voice, and Tycho hoped the same emotion -- or lack thereof -- was reflected in his own. This was only the second battle for them both, but Tycho knew his wingman felt like he'd been fighting for years. He himself certainly did.
Tycho glanced down at the HUD and drew a short breath when he saw the lack of friendlies indicated. There were three together, surrounded by several enemy fighters, and then one closer to where he was coming in, flanked by two more unfriendlies. He was just barely out of range when he saw the nearby TIE explode.
Tycho watched the crosshairs on the HUD shift until they were directly over the nearest fighter to him, and smiled grimly. He saw the crosshairs turn green, indicating that he had a targeting lock and was in range to fire. Quickly he depressed the trigger, and watched as the first two bursts of laser fire sizzled against the y-wing's shields, and the third slipped through, slamming into the cockpit. The cockpit shattered, sending metal fragments flying off into space, and was instantly engulfed in flames. There was no question as to the fate of the enemy pilot. The remainder of the ship spun uncontrollably toward the moon Tycho had been looking at just minutes earlier, finally disintegrating in a spectacular explosion as it slammed into the surface.
That was too easy. Y-wings were slow and not very maneuverable, but they could take a beating. That fighter's shields hadn't been at full. Someone had softened it up for him -- possibly the pilot whose death he'd seen as the light had winked out on his HUD as he'd approached the battle. Tycho felt a pang of regret at the senseless loss of life -- on both sides -- but forced his attention to the next ship. He got a target lock on the other y- wing, but his lasers barely glanced off its shields before the TIE's speed brought him past it.
He heard an alarm indicate an enemy lock on his own fighter. He broke hard to port and the lock was broken -- the sluggish y-wing hadn't a hope in the galaxy of keeping up with him.
A glance at his HUD indicated that there were more ships coming in -- and that there was nothing left of the Inhibitor's first squadron. "Watch it. I think they're onto us."
He watched the first and third flights of his squadron veer off to intercept the oncoming y-wings, leaving Tycho's flight to deal with the single one out here. Banking around to bring himself back toward the others, he saw the telltale flashes of lasers glancing off the y-wing's shields. The fighter was taking a lot of hits, but evading a lot as well. Tycho let out a low whistle. This was not an average pilot. He hadn't seen a lot of combat, but in what he had, he'd never seen a pilot handle one of the sluggish ships so well.
He cursed under his breath a moment later when he saw one of the pilots in his flight attempt to dodge a torpedo and fail. Another brilliant explosion lit up space, and Tycho swerved away from the blast, heart pounding, to avoid the debris that could cripple -- or destroy -- his fighter. But Tycho didn't have time to mourn the dead pilot. A moment later he saw that the rest of the y-wing squadron had joined them. And a moment after that he saw streaks of blue light traveling over Mith's fighter. His wingman had been hit by an ion cannon. He watched helplessly as his friend's ship tumbled, out of control, toward the moon below. When it hit, there was no explosion. The ship just came apart at impact.
Tycho swallowed around the lump in his throat. Mith Cabri had been his bunkmate in the Academy, and had been his wingman since they were assigned to the Inhibitor. They'd become good friends, and Tycho knew he'd miss him.
He pushed aside the pain he felt, though, as a y-wing crossed his flight path. Without hesitation, he fired, and watched as his lasers punched through what was left of the shields and chewed away at the port engine. A few sparks indicated that the engine was gone, and the already slow craft slowed even more. Another laser burst brought down the forward shields, and a third blast tore through the cockpit. Tycho knew there was no way the pilot would survive.
He veered away, and again turned his attention to the HUD. His squadron was down three pilots, but the y-wings were down to six ships. "No," he muttered to himself as another y-wing blew apart, sending fragments in all directions. "Make that five."
But that explosion brought his squadron down to eight pilots -- the debris from the blast tore through the cockpit of the fighter that had destroyed it, making the first loss for three flight. It was, he noted, a sort of poetic justice. If he could call anything about this justice.
He banked to starboard, bringing his ship head-to-head with another enemy fighter. One of its engines was trailing smoke, but it wasn't running from the fight -- a big mistake on the pilot's part. His adversary's speed reduced, Tycho had no trouble locking onto the fighter.
* * * * *
Wes Janson desperately guided his damaged y-wing away from the battle. He'd lost his port engine and his ion cannon. Only one laser cannon was still functional, and he considered it a miracle that his astromech had been able to bring his shields back online at all, though they were only at twenty-two percent.
As he brought the ship around what was left of his squadron and the second TIE squadron, he saw another y-wing shot to pieces. The TIE that hit him had been facing him head on when he fired, and his lasers had pierced the cockpit, slamming straight into the pilot and killing him instantly. The pilotless craft, controls destroyed by his lasers, began to drift aimlessly away from the fight.
Cursing out loud, Wes hit his comm unit. "Commander, maybe we oughta get out of here?" "I read you, five. Aces, we've done what we were sent to do. Back to base. Five, we're going to talk when we set down."
Summary: Tycho Celchu's journey from the Empire to the Alliance. Set prior to A New Hope.
Disclaimer: Star Wars is, quite clearly, not mine, and no copyright infringement is intended. This story is not written for profit.
* * * * * *
Prologue
* * * * * *
Tycho Celchu took a deep breath of the processed air from his environmental suit as he sat in the cockpit of his TIE fighter. "Engines green," he muttered to himself, "lasers operational." There was no reason they shouldn't be, but it was important to check everything anyway. Besides, going through all his systems allowed him to calm himself before going out -- regardless of whether it was a patrol run or a battle.
This was the former. The Inhibitor's second squadron -- the one he flew with -- would be launching in a few minutes to relieve the first squadron, currently patrolling space around the moon over Kien'tol. The Victory- class Star Destroyer he was assigned to had been sent to investigate suspicious transmissions coming from the supposedly uninhabited moon. Tycho himself was convinced it was probably nothing more than smugglers, but an assignment was an assignment, and he had no say about it.
He heard a click as the channel between his fighter and the ship opened and Captain Rawn's voice came over. "First squadron is under attack. Launch immediately. Repeat, first squadron is under attack. Launch immediately."
The order was instantly followed by a series of clicks from the pilots acknowledging the order, and his commanding officer's voice. "Second squadron, launch by wing pairs."
His attention focused on his controls as he saw the fighter ahead of him drop slowly through the open bay and accelerate away from the ship. A wave from a deck hand gave him the go for launch, and Tycho throttled forward and dropped through the magnetic field of the open bay door, the remaining members of his squadron following in his wake. He watched as the stars changed from pinpoints to streaks of light as his ship's speed steadily increased.
He couldn't yet see the flashes of the battle -- the other squadron must have been attacked on the far side of the moon. Tycho's eyes traveled along the face of the moon as he flew over it. He could barely make out the dark canyons that crisscrossed the rocky surface below him. "Two flight, take point," his CO ordered as the first flashes of light met his eyes. "Acknowledged," he replied, and then throttled forward again, accelerating past the fighters ahead of him.
"Five, I'm your wing," Mith Cabri's voice came over the comm unit. There was a quiet calm in the other man's voice, and Tycho hoped the same emotion -- or lack thereof -- was reflected in his own. This was only the second battle for them both, but Tycho knew his wingman felt like he'd been fighting for years. He himself certainly did.
Tycho glanced down at the HUD and drew a short breath when he saw the lack of friendlies indicated. There were three together, surrounded by several enemy fighters, and then one closer to where he was coming in, flanked by two more unfriendlies. He was just barely out of range when he saw the nearby TIE explode.
Tycho watched the crosshairs on the HUD shift until they were directly over the nearest fighter to him, and smiled grimly. He saw the crosshairs turn green, indicating that he had a targeting lock and was in range to fire. Quickly he depressed the trigger, and watched as the first two bursts of laser fire sizzled against the y-wing's shields, and the third slipped through, slamming into the cockpit. The cockpit shattered, sending metal fragments flying off into space, and was instantly engulfed in flames. There was no question as to the fate of the enemy pilot. The remainder of the ship spun uncontrollably toward the moon Tycho had been looking at just minutes earlier, finally disintegrating in a spectacular explosion as it slammed into the surface.
That was too easy. Y-wings were slow and not very maneuverable, but they could take a beating. That fighter's shields hadn't been at full. Someone had softened it up for him -- possibly the pilot whose death he'd seen as the light had winked out on his HUD as he'd approached the battle. Tycho felt a pang of regret at the senseless loss of life -- on both sides -- but forced his attention to the next ship. He got a target lock on the other y- wing, but his lasers barely glanced off its shields before the TIE's speed brought him past it.
He heard an alarm indicate an enemy lock on his own fighter. He broke hard to port and the lock was broken -- the sluggish y-wing hadn't a hope in the galaxy of keeping up with him.
A glance at his HUD indicated that there were more ships coming in -- and that there was nothing left of the Inhibitor's first squadron. "Watch it. I think they're onto us."
He watched the first and third flights of his squadron veer off to intercept the oncoming y-wings, leaving Tycho's flight to deal with the single one out here. Banking around to bring himself back toward the others, he saw the telltale flashes of lasers glancing off the y-wing's shields. The fighter was taking a lot of hits, but evading a lot as well. Tycho let out a low whistle. This was not an average pilot. He hadn't seen a lot of combat, but in what he had, he'd never seen a pilot handle one of the sluggish ships so well.
He cursed under his breath a moment later when he saw one of the pilots in his flight attempt to dodge a torpedo and fail. Another brilliant explosion lit up space, and Tycho swerved away from the blast, heart pounding, to avoid the debris that could cripple -- or destroy -- his fighter. But Tycho didn't have time to mourn the dead pilot. A moment later he saw that the rest of the y-wing squadron had joined them. And a moment after that he saw streaks of blue light traveling over Mith's fighter. His wingman had been hit by an ion cannon. He watched helplessly as his friend's ship tumbled, out of control, toward the moon below. When it hit, there was no explosion. The ship just came apart at impact.
Tycho swallowed around the lump in his throat. Mith Cabri had been his bunkmate in the Academy, and had been his wingman since they were assigned to the Inhibitor. They'd become good friends, and Tycho knew he'd miss him.
He pushed aside the pain he felt, though, as a y-wing crossed his flight path. Without hesitation, he fired, and watched as his lasers punched through what was left of the shields and chewed away at the port engine. A few sparks indicated that the engine was gone, and the already slow craft slowed even more. Another laser burst brought down the forward shields, and a third blast tore through the cockpit. Tycho knew there was no way the pilot would survive.
He veered away, and again turned his attention to the HUD. His squadron was down three pilots, but the y-wings were down to six ships. "No," he muttered to himself as another y-wing blew apart, sending fragments in all directions. "Make that five."
But that explosion brought his squadron down to eight pilots -- the debris from the blast tore through the cockpit of the fighter that had destroyed it, making the first loss for three flight. It was, he noted, a sort of poetic justice. If he could call anything about this justice.
He banked to starboard, bringing his ship head-to-head with another enemy fighter. One of its engines was trailing smoke, but it wasn't running from the fight -- a big mistake on the pilot's part. His adversary's speed reduced, Tycho had no trouble locking onto the fighter.
* * * * *
Wes Janson desperately guided his damaged y-wing away from the battle. He'd lost his port engine and his ion cannon. Only one laser cannon was still functional, and he considered it a miracle that his astromech had been able to bring his shields back online at all, though they were only at twenty-two percent.
As he brought the ship around what was left of his squadron and the second TIE squadron, he saw another y-wing shot to pieces. The TIE that hit him had been facing him head on when he fired, and his lasers had pierced the cockpit, slamming straight into the pilot and killing him instantly. The pilotless craft, controls destroyed by his lasers, began to drift aimlessly away from the fight.
Cursing out loud, Wes hit his comm unit. "Commander, maybe we oughta get out of here?" "I read you, five. Aces, we've done what we were sent to do. Back to base. Five, we're going to talk when we set down."