Location: FIV Lion, Hangar
Objective: Get Out Of Here
Allies: Lucan Sirrad | Castor Ren | Foudre Squadron
Enemies: Kyle Farnes | Runi Verin | Ava Cartwright
Vessel: Foudre Three, TIE-III Special Forces Fighter [X]
The hangar of the FIV Lion now was filled with activity. Engineers rushed to their posts, escorting pilots to their cockpits amongst the low, monotonous whine of the warning klaxon. [This is not a drill!] The hangar intercom crackled, [I repeat, this is not a drill, all pilots to station and ready for immediate launch!]. While most of the pilots sprinted to their positions, Flight Lieutenant Vlannem Pox sauntered towards his TIE Fighter, Foudre Three, a Bespin cigar, hanging out the corner of his mouth. The pilot lazily snatched his helm from the nearby workbench, as a technician finished disconnecting the fuel line from the hull of his vessel.
"Come on LT!" A shrill voice snapped, "We're gonna miss all the action!" Pox rolled his eyes atthe source. Pilot Asa Vring always managed to get that reaction from the older pilot. While there was about five years between the two, they could no be further apart. She was green, little over eighteen, uptight and an academy brat. Pox dropped the cigar, and snuffed it with a quick stomp of his boot. Sealing his helm, he began to climb into the cockpit.
"Happy flying chief!" One of the mechanics below barked, giving him a thumbs up. Pox halfheartedly waved the man off, before sealing himself into the confines of his tomb. Vring strapped herself, and began muttering the pre-flight checks for her ordinance, while Pox began to check himself. Dampners? Check. Fuel? Check. Proton, and concussion missiles? Check. But there was one final thing that needed to be checked off. Vlannem reached to his belt, and felt around, until he found it. His palms clasping the large, square outline.
The holodisk. He smirked a little from behind the helm, and keyed in the ignition sequence. As the TIE's engines began to whine to life, Vlannem detatched the disks case from the hook which strapped it to him, and opened it. Mundane comms chatter circled around him, as Major Barnes ran rollcall, while Vlannem worked on inserting the disk, "Foudre Three, ready to rumble." Pox informed the squad leader. He now fiddled with his console, and flicked randomise.
He was immediately greeted with the sounds of Bonnie N: Disputin [Album Edition] (x). As the opening drum solo began, a voice crackled over comms. "Alright boys and girls, traffic has cleared us. Let's get cracking." Barnes snapped in his grizzled drawl. One by one, Vlannem watched as the TIE's lifted off one by one, and followed them through the airlock, and into the void. The six TIE's of Foudre, fanned out into a wedge, as they edged into space.
Vlannem watched as contacts began to fill his feed. He felt some discomfort. While L-49 had been a victory, and the stories he'd told had been legendary amongst the guys back home, he still felt a little pit in his stomach. Vlannem mightn't have been green, but, Foudre was his third squad. The others were torn up over the years. And while that was part and parcel of being a fighter pilot, it never stopped aching. And as much as kids like Asa grated on him, the kid had a life to live. And he didn't want her becoming some kind of forgotten comrade.
The commlink crackled, indicating a transmission coming not from the squad leader, but rather their home vessel, the Lion. "Foudre, this is Lion Command." A youthful, albeit stern voice, "We have a special operative, codenamed, Tonerre, operating in this theatre." Lion Command continued, "We will transmit Tonerre's coordinate, and frequency. Proceed under his instruction. Lion, out."
Vlannem assumed this Tonerre, was some kind of transport. Perhaps a troop carrier, or coaxium freighter. Instead, as he scanned his screen, he saw it was a single, TIE advanced. The situation struck Lieutenant Pox as strange. Was this man some kind of special forces? Because if so, he hadn't been expecting that.