AN: It all comes down to this folks; the beginning of the end of the beginning! Sorry I took long in setting this stage, I was busy with a new project that suddenly captured my attention; if you like the Legend of Zelda, feel free to try out Golden Treasures, my new post-ALttP funfest. Action, adventure, romance, intrigue, magic, its all there! Now without further delay, our latest installment.
Chapter 12:
Happy Hunting
As the Sanction rocketed through hyperspace with her fleet in tow, Admiral Kemin stared through the transparisteel of the command deck. The bewitching tunnel of blue and white, the dive into the unknown depths of interdimensional space, was something the admiral had not witnessed in eleven long years spent gazing into the fiery monument of a mass grave billions deep. After staring out into the endless blue whirl for the better part of an hour, the admiral returned to her quarters, closing the door tight behind her.
Laid out on the bed by her right hand Denil was plastoid armor and an E-11 blaster rifle. It had been years since Admiral Kemin had gone through intensive combat training, but the feeling was reassuringly familiar as she changed into battle dress and slipped on her armor and load bearing belt, holstering her SE-14 service pistol at her hip. But as she took the pistol from her nightstand, the drawer of the thing called out to her.
It was a pull she had resisted this entire exile. She hasn't dared let her fury consume her while so much work needed to be done for them to do anything but build some meager existence from the shards of their world or wait till the reactors of their ships ran cold and the rations finally ran out. But now that their vengeance was at hand, Admiral Kemin finally allowed what had slowly fueled a small furnace of motivation from afar to ignite her with the full extent of her ire. The fleetmaster opened the nightstand drawer, seizing the sole contents and setting the item upon the table. Uyoroi cleared her throat, touching the sole button.
"...Play," she uttered when the thing blinked green. It cast a lattice of blue light that was arranged into moving picture.
"Come on Tani," the decade old recording of a young man, dark skinned and pale-eyed like his mother, said to somebody out of shot. A young girl, her expression bashful in excess, entered the recording and sat down across her brother on the couch. Her skin was just a touch lighter, and she had her father's darker eyes. Such details were difficult to discern through the single color of the recording, but Uyoroi's memory filled in the details. "Tell Mom what you wanted to say."
"We miss you Mom," the girl insisted. "And if you can, we want you to stay home once the fighting is done. You were gone fighting when we were little and then you did it again, so you've definitely helped the Empire enough to deserve it! I can help more when I'm bigger, but when you come home, tell the Navy you're calling it quits!" She got a nudge on the shoulder from her older brother, before adding; "Please."
"If anything, at least consider retirement when I turn of age," her boy Rof concurred, grinning sheepishly at his sisters uncouth manner. "We're proud of you Mom, so just come safe, okay?"
Uyoroi wept freely, slipping the holodisk into the pocket on the shoulder of her fatigues, behind her medical ID card for the medics to read in case she was injured. It was then that the knock came on her door. "Captain Denil, Ma'am," came the voice of her subordinate.
"Enter," Admiral Kemin sobbed, trying in vain to collect herself. Captain Tranthra entered, and seeing his superior so distraught, he said simply;
"It's Ruvhal."
Uyoroi nodded silently, still sniffling. She freshened herself quickly before stepping out into the hall and taking the turbolift up into the bridge, where the inscrutable visage of a mandalorian warrior waited in projection. "Report," the admiral ordered.
"I've arrived in the target area," the mercenary stated. "Based on my projections, the Republic fleet should arrive no later than a half hour after you, assuming they travel as one. Regardless, by now they have certainly left Coruscant."
"More than enough time to secure control of the ISCA unit," Uyoroi stated with a vicious grin. Sorrow and rage gone for bloodlust. "I will lead the boarding party. Agent Ruvhal, you will take up a position of surveillance on the projected translation point of the rebel fleet. When we arrive, you will assist my forces in preventing the rebels from meddling in our operation. I take it you will have no problems challenging the YZ-775 directly?"
"None. I've got my own bag of tricks. Just make sure your people are assets, not liabilities," Huzo said curtly, cutting the transmission. Uyoroi sighed shaking her head.
"Bounty hunters," she lamented with derision, before coming back to business. "Captain Tranthra, I leave the command of our regularly crewed forces to you."
"Aye Ma'am," responded the captain. "We'll keep the scum off you long enough to finish your objective. And maybe we'll show the shapeshifter how to fight a proper fleet engagement while we're at it. If you deem it prudent I'll assign two mixed wings, along with Butcher, Despoiler, and Nightreaper squadrons to, heh, assist Agent Ruvhal in defeating the rust bucket. They'll pursue the YZ directly."
"It's all up to you now," Admiral Kemin reminded. "The Sanction and her flotilla is yours... Admiral."
Denil smirked, ever cool and understated. "Somehow. I'm not sure she'll ever feel that way. But does that make you Moff?"
"No," Admiral Kemin was quick to insist, her pale eyes flashing with rage. "No more Moffs. No more Emperors."
Denil regarded her with confusion. "Then how is this going to work, ma'am?"
Uyoroi shrugged. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," she stated simply. "If we get to it."
Admiral Tranthra couldnt quite contain his distress. "We have faith in you," he insisted.
"If you say so," Uyoroi relented. The Sanction fell into realspace then, and a massive structure stretched out before them, framed by the blackness of extragalactic space. It had a thick rectangular core, almost three dozen kilometers long, half a kilometer wide and three kilometers tall. From this core extended docking arms like the arms of a multitool. Mounted upon these arms were rows and rows of Imperial warships; the infamous profiles of Imperial-class hulls and their variants, the wider, flatter, double-towered shapes of Secutor-class carriers, and the massive Assertor-class dreadnought with it's command tower sat at the top of a hump-backed fortress running the Assertor's spine. "Come then. Follow me into the abyss. Hell knows there's been worse things we've done."
They gathered in the cargo hold, down below in the Hasty Lady's belly, the lights dimmed out as one of the astromechs lent it's projector to the 80 men and women assembled there with their gear and armaments. The wizened face of General Dodonna explained in grim seriousness the parameters of the mission.
"Your objective should be housed within the bridge of the Assertor-class dreadnought. If control of ISCA cannot be seized, then the control unit must be sabatoged. Let it be absolutely clear; an ISCA unit is unlike any battle droid system seen in the galaxy. If it is activated, and you fight it, you will die. Best of luck, my friends. And may the Force be with you."
Wren rubbed his nose with his thumb, rolling his eyes as he turned towards the stairs at the rear of the cargo bay. As he passed it, the EVA closet called out to him, catching his stare and holding it. The more Wren thought of the contents, the more claustrophobic he felt, until he finally forced himself to break away, clambering up the stairs and into the passenger deck. He took the hallway forwards into the cockpit, plopping himself into his chair and rolling up a cigarra as he watched hyperspace whirl around their conveyance, burning away at his anxiety.
Wren heard a quiet clatter of metal armor coming down the corridor and turned to see Shana, decked out and ready for war. She pulled into the copilot's chair, emerald eyes reading his face carefully.
"Is it heavy?" He asked out of the blue, leaving Shana momentarily confused. "The armor, I mean."
"You get used to it," Shana said with a shrug. She considered that this was reaping what she'd sown; back to square one. "Is yours?"
"You get used to it," Wren returned. They sat silent until Wren could no longer contain himself, snorting once before the floodgates of mirth poured out of them both.
"Look at us," Shana giggled. "Off to save all peace in the galaxy, a bunch of fools, di'kutla children, tricking and teasing and bickering with ourselves. How will we manage?"
Wren looked Shana straight in the eyes, with an expression of ironclad calm and certainty that put a flutter into her center and set her heart bounding. "Ariit ori'shya tal'din," Wren said, and Shana felt a thrill with every familiar syllable, no matter how haltingly and awkwardly it was spoken.
"Family is more than blood," Shana translated, sighing out a breath of sounds with tender, delicate feelings attached to them. Delicate. Laandur. A petty insult among Mando women. But now she felt delicate within her heart, full of something Wren could crush easily if he tried, but which also filled her with a vitality Shana had determined to live her whole life with. The much sought Mandalorian shereshoy, the lust for life; this feeling that was now almost overwhelming to Shana was the bliss which that lust yearned for.
"D-don't look too impressed," Wren stammered, eyes studying the bulkhead with sudden curiosity, his cheeks flushed under the otherworldly glow outside the cockpit. "I holonet searched it. Wasn't hard."
"Are we true family?" Shana asked, her joy turning bittersweet upon her face. She plucked nervously at one beaded strand of fiery red. "I'm not sure my presence is fully welcome... And maybe not sure it should be."
"Why the hell not?" Wren asked. "Don't tell me this is one of those Mando things."
"Family don't lie," Shana said with a shrug.
"Shana. Stop," Wren insisted. "The whole gang, we've all been around the block. We've got secrets, things we're not comfortable with or proud of. They'll deal."
"What about you?" Shana questioned, sitting up suddenly and fixing Wren like a beast stuck staring into a spotlight. "Surely I've paid you the biggest insult of all."
"Maybe," the star captain admitted. "I'll cop to it, at first I felt like flying back to Naruku and leaving you there."
Shana sighed, feeling the desolate weight of that sentiment. "Ni ceta," Shana muttered. Wren saw Shana cast her verdant eyes downward, her demeanor crestfallen, and quickly caved to the urge to gasp Shana's hands in his, drawing that alluring gaze back to him.
"You've given me the chance to fight my war from the right side," Wren said, jaw set, eyes flashing with silvery grey intensity. "After all these years, after growing up not knowing up from down and then making ignorant mistakes I could only loathe the memories of, you've given me a way to settle the score. A way for me to finally thank all the people I lost along the way to the monster that controlled the directions of our lives." Wren hesitated, rubbing drops from his eyes. "You've helped me find a way to deserve to be the one who made it."
Now it was Shana's turn to act without thought, hands closing around Wren's as she stood up. She stood over him, leaning down and pressing her cheek to his, turning Wren's face to plant a long kiss against his temple.
It was at that moment when Fink and Hakyo decided to enter the cockpit, with SENA clipped to the mechanic's belt. Shana bolted back into her seat as the door slid open, busying herself with her right gauntlet weapon pod as Wren frantically reached into his uniform pocketfor a cigarra. Despite this there was no convincing the rest of the crew.
"Whoops!" Fink gushed. "Damn, looks like we interrupted something important."
"Such an opportune moment," SENA added, oozing sarcasm. "Wasted; what a shame."
"No more time for play," Hakyo chortled. "They'll just need to contain themselves till the fight is through."
"N-ne'johaa!" Shana sputtered, feeling her face flush. Wren just fell into a long rolling snicker, shaking his head in disbelief as the rest of the crew took chairs. "Ne'johaa, ori'jagyce!"
"Heh, no," SENA said to Shana. "I don't think we're ever shutting up about this one. But that can wait, we're almost there."
Hyperspace spilled them into reality, a steadily growing assembly of New Republic vessels; the Conciliator gathered with three MC90 star cruisers, two in a conventional layout and the other fitted as a carrier with extra hangars. Three standard manta-like B-series MC80s followed, and after that followed six A-series of varying design; a narrow tubular Home One-type, two winged Liberty-types, and three vessels with even more divergent structures, unique Mon Cal spaceframes made as artistic statements. One bore wings like a Liberty-type that swept up into a forward angle, one wore its drives forward with the bulk of the vessel trailing out behind, and one more with a split forward section opening into an oversized hangar chamber originally made for planetside excursion craft.
Lesser vessels gathered thick in their ranks, amassed at 14 assault frigates built of monolithic Dreadnought-class cruisers and skeletal added systems, a flotilla of lighter Mon Cal vessels totalling three MC-40s and four MC-30s, 22 Nebulon-B and B2 frigates, and close to 40 lesser frigates and corvettes. The shoals of escort vessels bounded forward into a forward defensive screen, the thirteen capital warships mustered to the task adding dispersion to their formation.
The Hasty Lady gently glided between the huge aquatic shapes of the Mon Cal vessels, passing closely the MC90 carrier and the three hangar apertures that broke up the sides of the vessel. Through the canopy Shana saw tiny ambling shapes silhouetted by the lighting within the warship, and as they slid closer she saw their details; techs and pilots, mechanics, and traffic directors. All manner of flight deck crew, as they paused to behold a peculiar ship tagging along on this most curious and sudden of deployments. Shana bumped Wren's shoulder, pointing silently until her captain saw.
Wren shifted the stick, and the Lady dipped left, then right, then left again, and the little shapes in the bays waved in return as the YZ sailed past.
Far in the distance, lines of Imperial vessels already massed opposite them. SENA began counting them through the newly enhanced sensor system, disseminating the information across the entire New Republic taskforce; eight Imperial-II star destroyers, twelve Victory-I and six Victory-II destroyers, a flight of four escort carriers and one Venator-class ship, and a smattering of around 35 tubular Lancer frigates and arrowheaded Vigil-class corvettes. At their center, a Bellator-class battlecruiser, humpbacked much like it's larger cousin, an Assertor-class dreadnought made to a faster and more vicious 7,200 meters.
The console projector came to life as a multi-channel hail came in from the captains of the gathered New Republic capital ships, as well as General Dodonna.
"Long range detection and fighter recon indicate that Admiral Kemin is mirroring the Hasty Lady," Jan stated.
"How are they tracking our movements so accurately from such range?" a Bothan captain mussed from the bridge of the carrier variant MC90.
"We've detected no probe droid or long range fighter launches," Captain Ekmeno of the Conciliator reported; the brand new Nebula-class star destroyer would have had the most sophisticated sensor gear, reaching comparable sensitivity and output to the Hasty Lady, albeit restricted to the more conventional wavelengths.
"Neither have we," Wren confirmed, eyeing SENA for just a moment until he knew that his copilot didn't plan on correcting him.
"It is highly plausable that Admiral Kemin has stealth technologies in the field," the veteran general concluded. "Admiral Kemin very clearly understands the win conditions in this game. Stay sharp as you can, Hasty Lady. The enemy knows that all this hinges on your boarding team, and they will fight accordingly."
"Wouldn't have it any other way," Wren muttered, grinning viciously. "We've got a CGT array on here, if we catch anything we'll pass it along."
"Much obliged, Captain Eschlan," Jan said. "But I believe Captain Tulany of the Correlian prowler Third Eye can fill the role; just focus on making it through."
Now the New Republic fighters began spilling out of their hangar bays, massing together in formation like soaring migratory birds. One by one, six twelve-ship squadrons pulled up alongside the Hasty Lady; one of E-wings, one of A-wings, two of X-wings, and two of B-wings. The faces of the squadron leaders sprang from the holoprojector.
"Fine day for a brawl, eh?" One of the pilots quipped, a near-human woman with pronounced carnivorous teeth. The display marked her as Liani Desto, leading Jester Squadron, the flamboyantly violet-trimmed E-wings.
"If you say so, Jester Lead," Wren responded. "Sorry to put you and yours on the line without cause."
"Stow it," the fighter jockey shot back with a laugh. "Combat action and confidentiality pay are the kinds of things that really get us going. We're your posse, Hasty Lady, we'll help clear you a path and keep the Imps from climbing up your backsides."
"Much obliged, Jester. Happy hunting."
Jester lead dipped her wings, and all as one the two masses of staships began bearing down on each other, until finally lances of emerald and crimson energy began to flash from the most far reaching weapons in play. Markers sprang up on the HUD as long range missiles began leaving their racks and tubes. There was no shoving it away onto the console projector; Wren's eyes danced across the screen as he consumed the arranged info.
"Evade!" SENA called out as a new series of alerts sprang across the screen. Wren took the Lady down and rolling left as the Republic pilots scattered.
"Admiral Tranthra," reported his new first officer. "We are receiving telemetry from Agent Ruvhal. He is feeding us the Hasty Lady's real time approach vector."
"Superb; seems the abominable cut-throat won't sell us out." Denil fidgetted with his new rank placard. His jump from Captain to Rear Admiral had doubled the number of insignia badges and code cylinders on his breast. He drew his breath in to steel himself before issuing his order. "Prepare for long range bombardment."
The thick volley of turbolaser pulses tore through the corner of space that the Lady just previously occupied. Most of the fighters had managed to dance out off the corridor of fire as well. But those who remained, as well as a Correlian gunboat and a Nebulon-B frigate at the front ranks, were blasted apart, their shields ruined by the dreadnought-scale weapons in short order.
Then the lines began to collide, and the storm erupted in full. Sizzling swaths of red and green, the blue of ion bolts, the flashing colored shapes of missiles trailing exhaust. Every turret on the Hasty Lady worked overtime, presenting a strong front of energy that savaged every howling TIE fighter that dared to challenge the Q-ship, and thanks to the suicidally aggressive Imperial tactics, there were more than plenty. The entourage of New Republic attack craft took potshots from behind this wall of fire, and anything that passed their mad dash through the battlespace with fight left in it was immediately jumped and mauled by the trailing squadrons.
The Hasty Lady dove low under the passing bulk of a Victory-II star destroyer, turned on her side to rake the belly of the destroyer with her dual turbolasers. As B-wings broke away to work the Victory over with their torpedoes and cannons, the Hasty Lady danced past, through a field of turbolasers fire that flashed from the broadside of an Imperial-II. It was then that a seething swarm of TIE fighters pulled out from behind the mainstay Imperial warship and lashed out against the Lady. Their icons flashed up on the HUD. Two standard mixed wings, for a total of 96 TIE Fighters, 24 Interceptors, and 24 bombers. Two squadrons of Scimitar bombers and one of TIE Avengers headed up the swarm.
"Show time." Wren growled, as they plowed into the heart of the enemy.
A distance a short way from the fighting, shadowy presence lurked, watching. Despite two CGT arrays scanning the area, it lay hidden; gravitic manipulators and a cold plasma shield assisted its hybridium nodes in concealing the presence of the 75 meter sloop. Were it visible in any way, it wouldve appeared a sinister shape in Sienar Fleet Systems grey; a flat wide body with forward mandibles, a shape similar to many light Correlian freighters. It's bridge sat between the mandibles, radiative solar arrays unfolded like insectoid wings from it's drive section, and both light and heavy turrets studded the sloop's surfaces.
Within, Huzo Ruvhal sat at his chair. There was no crew; he alone piloted the vessel. Filling the wide screen was his prey, a glorified freight-puller showing a fully loaded Imperial fighter assault their failings.
With the silent regard of a consummate hunter, Huzo shifted the controls, and moved to attack.