Rogue Squadron Mission: Lost Lothalites

[Loske Treicolt]

Rogue Squadron: Mission Two [Logged]
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<< Distress signal received .. transmission outgoing 07:00 >>

An unarmed transport from Lothal, full of seedlings and farming exports had been scheduled to depart and set route for Karfeddion for cross pollination of their fruitage. The captain's flight schedule determined that the freighter and it's crew were to use the edge of the Corellian Trade Spine for a series of parsecs before taking a sharp detour from the route and arriving in the Senex sector.

Contact was lost at 05:00. Just before contact was lost, the captain transmitted a distress signal from the Ison system reporting bogies on their radar, amidst the debris.


It is assumed that the freighter was intercepted by either pirates or, considering it's location, Vanguards.

For the sake of the negotiations that initiated the launch of this freighter, it is imperative the Lothal crew are recovered, and if possible, escorted to Karfeddion.

Objective 1: Locate the lost Lothal freighter
Objective 2: If necessary, defend the Lothal freighter
Objective 3: Escort Lothal freighter through original course to Karfeddion

--

Loske had never heard of Lothal. Frank, knowing this, pulled up the map and highlighted the planets that had been mentioned in the debrief as the teen, the droid, and the other Rogue pilots headed for their fighters.

The dismissal from the Captain came quickly, urgency at the end of the farewell and good luck notion.

"Seems like a tricky route," came the musing aloud, accompanied by a scratch to the chin. A navigator of the stars herself, she deemed it an appropriate comment. One day, she'd make a hyperlane to dwarf all other hyperlanes. Or..at least..get on the map. Despite her contemplations, the girl's steps were hurried. Time was of the essence. Sullust was still several hours from Ison, and they were already two hours behind the initial outbound distress call. In a situation of survival, no matter the strength of the shields, looking for the freighter would be optimistic at best.

As she navigated through the hangar, the zipper from her abdomen stretched up to her neck; sealing her into her tackily orange onesie.

"We can take the Sanctuary Pipeline until it crosses with the Corellian Spine," she suggested over her shoulder to the fellow pilots who, hopefully, were keeping up. There were lives at stake here! This is what being a Rogue was about! Plus - it sounded like there'd be some pew pew pew to contend with in the stars. "Start calculating, Frank. Get that route to it's fastest possible and share it with all of us A.S.A.P."

[member="Asmus Janes"] | [member="Berric Kelso"] | [member="Encouragement Gets"]

 

[Choli Vyn]

The orange onesie.

It was certainly brighter than Cho originally imagined. Unlike the other pilots, hers was wrapped at half mast around her waist, with a bit of a grimy white tank top allowing a measure of cool air to her arms and chest. She was actually head deep in her starfighter, hydrospanner in hand and fixing one of the calibrated piloting controls. It had been loose you see, and not one to allow it to linger, Choli decided to dive in and GetErDun. A tiny trinket of a necklace swung back and forth as she ducked down within the pilot's cabin.

"Alright... just a little --" her voice broke, heavy of breath as she gave a small grunt. The thing about working in tight spaces, is that one had to have little fingers to properly managed to tighten the torque required for some of these bolts. She had the little fingers, but even then, they could be a paaaaaaaain.

"--We can take the Sanctuary Pipeline until it crosses with the Corellian Spine."

Huh? Wait I know that voice! Choli thought as she gave a sudden jerk of her head - which promptly landed with a loud "OW!" as the back of her head struck against the upper panel.

"Gorram it!"

 

[Juggerduck]

"Rogue Eight standing by," said Gets, falling in behind [member="Loske Matson"]. No one had asked for a formal sign in, but the Neti had been waiting for a long time to say it, and found he couldn't wait any longer, even though he wasn't even in the cockpit of his fighter yet

So this is what it's like to be a member of a team, he mused. This is what it's like to fly. All these centuries of remaining on the ground, dirtside, the pilots called it, or riding as a passenger, passively observing. What new and interesting feelings this adventure is cultivating inside me.

We still need call signs, he realized. Better make sure we all survive. Bad luck, not having call signs. Someone in flight school had told him that, and Gets decided if he was going to believe some of what he was told, he might as well believe it all.

 

[Asmus Janes]

[member="Loske Matson"] [member="Choli Vyn"] [member="Berric Kelso"] [member="Encouragement Gets"]

Rogue Nine entered the hangar in a rush, rapidly pulling his overalls on. He cut a path across the busy hangar towards the rest of their group. He'd received the alert from the Commander of the Fighter Group a few minutes after the others because he hadn't been paying attention. It took him just a moment to spot the group and angle his jog towards them as he finished zipping up his overalls. A black and gold astromech with a trapezoid head deployed its third wheel and made a beeline for him, beeping and whistling as it went.

"Yes R7, I'm well aware that's not the direction of my quarters....no I don't need to tell you where I've been," Asmus replied as the astromech fell into line beside him. He idly wondered what formation they'd be flying. Sometimes third flight, of which he was a member, would fly the Alliance B-Wing model. He was only allowed to fly his personal fighter when they were doing unofficial missions.

Hearing the cry from underneath the fuselage of one of the fighters, Asmus ducked down to see who it was. "You know they pay people to do that for us right Vyn?"

 

[Loske Treicolt]

She almost shot right past her ladder, but an extension of her palm that looped around the vertical rod swung her to the rungs and she quickly scaled them like a cat. A well-practiced exercise.

Meanwhile, one of the Alliance’s claws reached down and clasped around Frank’s head, lifting him up into his own little crevice. [Route ready.]

“This is Rogue Five, transmitting the route through to your nav computers. Stick to it, and we should jump out in Ison space in..”

[An hour, 4 minutes, and 49 seconds] Frank chipped in, finishing the direction from the girl.

Loske was not officially in command, they were all sort of on the same level, but she had a naturally competitive tendency to be first. In this instance, that translated to being the one who would give directions and suggestions first.

“How’s ion efflux formation? Helps us be careful when we enter, have shields on high and scopes sharp. There’ll be tons of debris and we don’t know if we’re walking into furball attacks or a game of hide-and-seek. Have wing pairs by the time we’re out of hyperspace.”

She switched channels, and rerouted feedback to standby while communicating to flight control. “Rogue Five to Flight Control, we’re looking to status green to launch.”

“Flight control back to Rogue Five, standby for approval. Run flight checks. Green in seven minutes.”

With that signal, robots and humans alike peeled to each of the pilot’s ships to remove ladders and other supportive pieces that kept them standing while unoccupied.


[member="Berric Kelso"] | [member="Asmus Janes"] | [member="Choli Vyn"] | [member="Encouragement Gets"]

 

[Berric Kelso]

[member="Loske Matson"] | [member="Choli Vyn"] | [member="Asmus Janes"] | [member="Encouragement Gets"]

With subtly and little notice to his comrades, Berric made his way into the hangar, equipped with his orange flight jumpsuit and grey flight apparatus, his pilot's pilot tucked beneath his right arm as technicians mount a bright yellow ladder to the side of his canopy as a large magnetic lift settles his R7 unit into the astromech socket of his XJ7 model X-wing, certainly not a newer make of the X-wing but he favored the toughness of its hull over the swiftness of later models. Berric's pale hands grabbbed ahold of the metal rungs of the ladder, the boots stepping against them with a metal clank before he sat himself in the canopy of his fighter, nonchalantly placing his pilot's helmet, decorated with a mundane grey finish next to the helmet's ridge and two maroon emblems of the alliance on each sides, the edge of the helmet just above the orange transparent visor depicting various kill marks, though as of now with his tenure with the Alliance, Berric had little to brag of in the realm of kills and had no rights to call himself an 'ace'.

Fixing the thick leather gloves over his hands he dragged his furrowed brow along the dashboard, displaying several lit buttons, switches and digital displays of various significance. After the gloves were secured over his hands he took ahold of the helmet and placed it over his head, blinking momentarily as his vision took a tinge of orange from the visor, the comms crackling into his ears as he hears [member="Loske Matson"] 's impromptu orders. As he brings a vial of glitterstim from the chest pocket of his jumpsuit technicians detach the yellow and black ladder from the side of the canopy.

"Copy, this is Rogue Four, all good on my end." He said with a tone bearing a tinge of enthusiasm as his R7 unit emitted a few affirmative binary beeps to confirm the ship was prepped for launch as the thick glass cockpit sealed onto the edge of the canopy Berric settled his hands on the controls eagerly.

 

[Asmus Janes]

[member="Loske Matson"] [member="Choli Vyn"] [member="Berric Kelso"] [member="Encouragement Gets"]

"Copy, route processed by nav comp at Rogue Nine," Asmus called. He hit a few switches and the rotating cockpit of the B-wing shifted to test the motion. He murmured quietly to himself as the screens brought up diagnostic information as each subsystem came online. Payloads were in place, but a red light showed that control had locked the controls. Apparently they didn't like the notion of pilots accidentally launching proton torpedoes from within the hangar bay.

With any luck this was a simple mission to find and escort the damaged vessel back to Alliance space. This ship wasn't the best at dogfighting, but pirates tended to use powerful freighters and gunships. The B-wing excelled when it came to directly assaulting heavier ships and it stood up much better than a Y-Wing against TIEs.

 

[Alexandra Porte]

[member="Loske Matson"] [member="Choli Vyn"] [member="Encouragement Gets"] [member="Berric Kelso"] [member="Asmus Janes"]

Spoiler

Joining… Hope it is okay.

Russo had been a last minute add on to Rogue Squadron's roster as the veteran starfighter pilot had just returned from an extended leave and the mission needed more wings on deck. The Rogues would be looking for a 'lost' transport, which had sent a distress call before going silent. It had departed Lothal en route to Karfeddion with cargo not particularly 'ambush worthy', but then again who really knew what was on that freighter.

The long-legged brunette strolled out into the hangar dressed in a standard 'rebel' orange flight suit with her helmet tucked up underneath her left arm and black gauntlet gloves gripped in the other hand as it swung at her shapely side with each purposeful stride towards her ship. Alleycat stopped momentarily at the base of the ladder to pull on her helmet and gloves, then booted feet climbed up the ladder to the cockpit of her assigned X-wing. She set herself down with well-practiced ease into the pilot couch and attached the crash webbing, then began flipping switches as the clear transparisteel canopy closed down to seal the snubfighter.

"How we doing, Rusty?" Russo inquired of her loyal and trusted copper red astromech droid that was positioned in its socket behind her dorsally on the fuselage. He had already done the pre-flight and a message from him scrolled across the data screen on the flight console; snarky as ever. [We are most ready, your worshipfulness, and only live to serve you and your every need.]

Brandy-brown eyes rolled at his sarcastic remarks, then she keyed the inner ship comm unit. "Don't you think that is laying it on a little thick for this early in the day?" Alex quipped, then asked. "Did you get the nav coordinates?"

A [ ] showed on the screen, and the word [affirmative]to follow.

"Better watch that tongue of yours, mister… One of these days you're gonna stick it out too far and I'll swipe it."

Next a pair of puppy dog eyes appeared on the screen. With that she just let out an exasperated sigh, then togged over to the squadron's comm frequency. Russo swore she heard the refurbished R2 unit whirl a snicker-like response at her expense. Rusty was certainly trying to push Alleycat's buttons this morning, and that wasn't a good thing as she had not had a sufficient amount of caf yet to ward off evil thoughts of revenge.

"Eleven with four lit and green to go"

 

[Choli Vyn]

[member="Asmus Janes"][member="Alexandra Russo"][member="Berric Kelso"][member="Loske Matson"][member="Encouragement Gets"]

The owner of the voice that had passed by with a parting quip was no where to be seen by the time Choli managed to duck her head from under the fuselage. As it was, she was pressed for time as the rest of Rogue Squadron was prepping to launch. R2-D9 went spurting out a series of rushed boops and beeps about needing to hurry up or get left behind.

"Damnit!" she cursed, quickly ducking under to secure the last bolt. A grunt and a,"come on!" were the last two hurried sounds before she managed to torque it down.

In a rush, she yelled out to R2-D9, her Pebbledrone set on top of her X-Wing. "You ready?!" Cho tucked in her hydrospanner into a thigh pocket, zipping it up to secure it. A silly half rush and hop had the teenager wiggle her way into the sleeves of her bright orange jumper. Still half zipped, her ponytail swung at her back as she hurriedly began preflight procedures.

Nabbing her helmet, she slipped it on, barely a crackle before her voice joined the others, [ Rogue Seven coming in hot!]

 

[Asmus Janes]

[member="Asmus Janes"][member="Alexandra Russo"][member="Berric Kelso"][member="Loske Matson"][member="Encouragement Gets"] [member="Areiana Slayer"]

The B-Wing gently lifted off from the hangar bay floor. It wasn't the easiest ship the manoeuvre; it lacked the basic symmetry of the X-Wing. Still, Asmus was pretty quick to pick these things up when he was determined.

He let the heavy tail end of the ship sink as he lifted off. Partly because it was easier to hold that way until they left AG, but mostly because it really wound the deck commander up to leave the ship in such a slovenly fashion.

"Rogue Nine falling in. Bagsy not flying behind Vyn, she was screwing parts back on that ship five minutes ago!"

"Shut up Janes."

"Yes One."

 

[Areiana_Slayer]

[member="Asmus Janes"]Alexandra @RussoBerric @KelsoLoske @MatsonEncouragement Gets

She had never liked that bright orange jumpsuits it always clashed with her red hair but she wore it but decided to ware it tied around her hips the arms tied together to hold in place and a black tank top under. Most of them had white tank tops but she was never one to go along with everyone else. She slide into the cockpit of the X wing and turned to watch her R2 unit is loaded into the back. She had found the old unit in a junk yard years ago and had been fixing it up but because of something wrong inside the old droid it was a little "off" but she had grown use to the weird little droid and came to enjoy its company.
She was use to driving her big Corellian YT-1300 light freighter but she was fine driving a smaller ship. She brushed some red hair behind her ear starting up the ship and the xwing took off catching up with the rest. She wasn't use to working with others must the time as a smugger she didn't have much contact with other people but she would give this a try.
"This is Rogue Ten Sorry I'm Late to the Party."

 

[Loske Treicolt]

It was the Matteo in her that edged the teen to ensure there was organization to the squadron. The confirmations rolled in. Seven, Nine, Eight, Eleven, Four, Ten - all with the speed that was demanded by the mission. The fact that each of these individuals could make themselves ready on the whim of the issuance spoke to their professional ability.

Loske tilted the yoke of her T-70 and the nose lead the way for the turn. Now facing the opening of the hangar that looked out at the black, the X-Wing rolled forward, taxiing for several meters into flight position while her canopy lowered and locked into position.


With flight control's positive signal the hook was released and her fighter jumped forward, burners quickly turning to full as she rocketed out of the hangar with a slight dip after tipping over the lip. Ion engines roared before the tilt.

Not quite the smooth launch Loske had planned. And especially not in front of her new friends.

"Hey!"

[Just making sure you're awake.] Frank reassured her, the eery accuracy of knavishness in his tone was accredited to Kaili's mastery. [Big stuff ahead of us.]

The pilot murmured something unholy beneath her breath in response - adjusting herself in the seat to regain composure. She swore she was the only pilot in the Alliance that had to contend with friendly sabotage.

"Preparing to enter light speed." She communicated back to her comm, the others shortly behind her. Soon the viewport would be blurred with rays of light streaking past, just once Frank finished the calculation and whoop there we go. "And we're go!"

[member="Areiana Slayer"] | [member="Asmus Janes"] | [member="Choli Vyn"] | [member="Alexandra Russo"] | [member="Berric Kelso"] | [member="Encouragement Gets"] | [member="Lucius Varad"]

 

[LT-137]

I was late. That much was simple, as I bore witness to the rest of my squadron dust off the polished surface of the flight deck and angle themselves towards the Hangar's exit. To think, that I who bore the final number in the Squadron's count, would be the last to make himself ready for departure. While I could slander the quartermaster for mistaking my uniform for another's, or berate those that sought to stall my advance - hoping that the act of staining my record with tardiness I would be expunged from the Squadron's Roster - the only one I could blame in this situation was myself. There would be consequences, of that I had no doubt, but there was also the lingering thought that whatever would come my way, would pale in comparison to the lash marks that despoiled my flesh. Taking the odd measure of reassurance from my youthful slavery, I adorned my muscular frame in the sewn threads of molten copper and the various paraphernalia to complete my Uniformed attire.

Crowning myself with the standard issue Helmet, I dashed out of the locker room and burst onto the flight deck, scouring the assemblage for my assigned craft. Within a heartbeat, and thanks to the verbal direction of a nearby technician, I had found my Starfighter adorned in the lusterless silver enamel and bearing the fractured Starbird Sigil of the Alliance upon either side of the cockpit. It wasn't the prettiest fighter that I had ever seen, but in retrospect, that mattered little. Function, over Fashion - my comrades had told me. What she lacked in aesthetics, this T 70 X-wing more than made up for in versatility. Or at least, that's what my superiors had said during my days at the academy. Well, I thought to myself, it was time to put those boasts to the test. My only hope was that they were right, and this wasn't about to become my first - and final mission.

Ascending the exterior ladder and enthroning myself within the cockpit, I began the necessary motions to breathe life into my aetheric steed. The pre-flight checks had last thankfully lasted all of a minute, and out of the corner of my eye, I bore witness to a venerable Corellian Freighter depart the Hangar. Various curses and expletives were flung from my lips as I egged my mount to complete its internal diagnostics with whatever alacrity it could muster, and swore ever louder as my primary display filled with the binaric cant from my assigned astromech droid. While I was far from literate in the language of the Droids, there were classes at the Academy that I had taken, which in turn had bequeathed a limited understanding of their mechanical tongue. From what I could translate, albeit marginally faster than the terminal itself, the Droid had introduced himself as BB-34 and would be acting as his Co-pilot for this operation. Following through with returning the pleasantries, I had made my name known to the Droid and thanked him for waiting. During our discourse, the Starfighter had finished its pre-flight checks and awaited my deft guidance to ascend towards the heavens.

Thus, fanning my fingers along the length of the textured grip, I ignited the ion drives and felt my starfighter roar with personified pleasure. Soon, I whispered as my free hand caressed the bare lip of the cockpit, we will ride as one.

:: Rogue Twelve, Dusting Off. :: I called out into the micro-bead attached to my helmet, letting my Squadron know that while I was overdue - they would not leave me behind. With the astographical data having been previously transmitted to the socketed BB unit, all I had to do was lift off the flight deck and speed after my wingmates. And so, pulling back on the yoke and angling the prow of my fighter towards the exit, I gunned the throttle and shot out of the Hangar Bay - following after the rest of the Rogues; stretching into the distance as the hyperdrive motivators filled the sealed cockpit with a pleasant chime.

| [member="Areiana Slayer"] | [member="Asmus Janes"] | [member="Choli Vyn"] | [member="Alexandra Russo"] | [member="Berric Kelso"] | [member="Encouragement Gets"] | [member="Loske Matson"] |

 

[Asmus Janes]

[member="Lucius Varad"] | [member="Areiana Slayer"] | [member="Asmus Janes"] | [member="Choli Vyn"] | [member="Alexandra Russo"] | [member="Berric Kelso"] | [member="Encouragement Gets"] | [member="Loske Matson"]

The journey always seemed longer than it really was. Asmus didn't really like being cooped up in such a small cockpit. It seemed even longer for Asmus who was - after attempting to start some casual chat across the squadron channel - cut off by Rogue One. Greatly unfair in Asmus' view, especially as he hadn't even been flirting. One was apparently stepping up his campaign to increase Asmus' standards of discipline.

He could have cut into the emergency channel to complain, but that would have made matters worse. Instead he laid back and rested his eyes, bathed in the cerulean hue of hyperspace. Within his flight suit Asmus had three haptic pads strapped to his body. A pilot was always overburdened with information. Splitting flight and squadron channels into each ear was a start. The haptic pads on his left and right thighs and the small of his back could draw his attention to enemy vessels or missiles coming from those directions. For now however, the small buzz drew his attention to the five minute warning.

Pulling his seat forwards, Asmus checked over his controls. Weapons started to warm up, gas chambers primed and energised. He finished up just as the streaks of the stars returned and he reverted to realspace. His squadron was suddenly visible around him, but little else.

"No signals," Rogue One stated.

"I've got debris, still hot," Asmus replied.

"S-Foils in attack position, spread out and scan!"

 

[Alexandra Porte]

[member="Loske Matson"] [member="Choli Vyn"] [member="Encouragement Gets"] [member="Asmus Janes"] [member="Berric Kelso"] [member="Areiana Slayer"] [member="Lucius Varad"]

Hyperspace travel was not the funnest thing to do especially if you were stuck in the cramped cockpit of a starfighter. Force users had it easier as they could just put themselves in one of their fancy trances where as non-Force users had to find other means to keep them from going space crazy. Alex didn't like to sleep while flying so she relied on brain games to keep her mind sharp and not 'thinking' too much about her life troubles, which only depressed her and made doubt creep into her confidence as a pilot. Today's activity was a crossword puzzle; playing it with the help of Rusty. Sadly, the R2 unit was her only companion these days. At least he wouldn't hurt her intentionally.

When the nav computer started the countdown to reversion, Russo put away her datapad and readied herself to come out of light speed; never knowing what would be awaiting one on the other side. Good thing too as debris littered the space in front of her X-wing as she decanted, which made Alleycat have to go evasive immediately to avoid a collision.


"This is Eleven… Affirmative on the debris. Fuselage of some kind," she keyed over the squadron's frequency as the S-foils on her snubfighter opened up into the feared X of the Alliance.

 

[Areiana_Slayer]

[member="Loske Matson"] [member="Choli Vyn"] [member="Encouragement Gets"] [member="Asmus Janes"] [member="Berric Kelso"] [member="Lucius Varad"]

After years of being in space even being in a small ship didn't bother her as much as she thought it would have. She soon as everyone hit hyperspace she sat back closing her eyes going into a meditation state drawing on her training to relax her stressed body. She remained that way until they came out of hyperspace. She opened her eyes sitting forward hitting a button on the panel bring the ship into attack position. She called back to Snip.
"keep a eye out old friend I have a really bad feeling about that."
The droid beeped at her. No rude of snippy comment which made Faye think that he was worried as well as much as a druid could be worried. She swallowed hard as she started scanning the debris.

 

[Asmus Janes]

[member="Lucius Varad"] | [member="Areiana Slayer"] | [member="Asmus Janes"] | [member="Choli Vyn"] | [member="Alexandra Russo"] | [member="Berric Kelso"] | [member="Encouragement Gets"] | [member="Loske Matson"]

Another cloud of dots appeared on Asmus' display. He tried to relate this to the original field, but found he simply couldn't put the pictures together. Tapping a few buttons he brought a three dimensional hologram.

There was no astromech on the B-Wing, but he did have an onboard computer. One of the screens started the spectral readings from the field.

"Computer, fit that to a black body and give me a temperature."

Asmus checked the fit and temperature.

"Interesting. Now do the same for the original field."

That number was lower.

"At the expected rate of cooling by radiation what's the difference in age between the two fields, assuming the same starting temperature? Now equate that the a velocity between the two fields. Account for drift. Relative to the transport we're following? Scan for further debris down that vector."

Asmus looked at the trail of answers down his screens. He keyed in the squadron channel.

"The debris fields are still cooling, I'm seeing a trail here. The transport was limping out of here at around a quarter power in real space. Sending over the vector now."

 

[Choli Vyn]

Real space always had a curious way of being a bit surreal as one came out of hyperspace. Truth be told, there were a few bits that made her stomach flop. It was different than doing so in a much larger freighter, much like the Aurora. Different, but not unpleasant.

The Pebbledrone astromech at her back sent back a response in regards to the debris. A new vector had been charted by Rogue Nine -- the one with a mouth on him.

[ The debris fields are still cooling, I’m seeing a trail here. The transport was limping out of here at around a quarter power in real space. Sending over the vector now. ]

[ Copy that Rogue Nine. ] Choli’s voice would crackle through the Squadron comm. It was one of the few times one could tell whether she was a male or a female. Usually she was swathed from head to toe in space bedouin clothing that it made it difficult to discern.

Sigils went blooming across her sensor array and HUD. This had always been the bit where nervousness would flutter in her belly. Noting being able to read… well, that had a tendency to make things complicated.

Choli’s experience didn’t come from an academy nor from any kind of schooling. Her’s was on the job training, with Chloe Blake and others teaching her through visual and tactical means on what to do and how to do it. It is how she fixed things and how she learned to fly. Beyond that, things were rather rudimentary in the trying to not be an illiterate hindrance.

[ Moving forward with life scans. ]

 

[Loske Treicolt]

The time with the streaks out her window never failed to mesmerize her. Probably because she’d really only been doing this for a few years, and these were the first real experiences she was having out of simulators and injected memories. While they drifted, and [member="Asmus Janes"]’ camaraderie chit chat was cut short, Frank recited the history of flight to Loske. The fact that she could be airborne in the vacuum of space was incredible to her, awe inspiring, and she couldn’t help but be dreamily entranced by the brilliant surroundings she was funnelled in. She didn’t think it would ever get old!

It was over sooner rather than later, what with all the distracting information from Frank and her daydreaming.

Rogue Nine’s call came through the channel as soon as they broke into the atmosphere, soon followed by [member="Choli Vyn"]. Loske, as usual, was delayed as soon as they broke into the atmosphere field because of the transition from light speed to real speed. Her stomach was volatile and couldn’t handle the changes in pressure. Blame it on rather unstable genetics. Her vomit bag now tightly sealed, plump with fresh refuse, was tucked away and she shifted the span of her wings to extend to their namesake X.

“Holy!” She breathed heavily, giving a sharp yank on her yoke to the left and avoiding a spiralling incoming. It probably would have just been drifting, but she’d come in at such a speed it became somewhat perilous. It was a narrow miss, but a miss nevertheless.

“Watch behind you, Twelve!” During the flight over, it’d been established the new member would be her wing buddy.

The information of the disappearing vessel was patched through, and Loske opened up her own radar as she zig-zagged through the debris to follow the sector from the trail of the limping Loth vessel. Her radar orbited around it’s little nucleus, sweeping around the range-able sector and picking up debris and .. “I might be picking up on an unfriendly signal.” Loske commed, squinting at her screen.

“Getting a little close to Seven,” [member="Encouragement Gets"]

 

[LT-137]

It was normal for pilots to develop a sense of claustrophobia when ensconced within their fighters for any given length of time, but as the azure lights had enveloped Rogue Squadron and me - I felt an uncommon sense of tranquility wash over my mind. Had the Squadron remained silent during our transit through Hyperspace, I felt like I would've slept for as long as Fate would allow me too, but alas our comms had steadily been droning on with whatever scraps of information we had on hand. Wingmen were assigned, and it seemed that my destiny for the time being had been tied to the young Lieutenant that flew by the callsign of Rogue Five, or as he had picked up during the Squadron's banter - 'Bruno.' An odd name for a woman, but there was little point in broaching the subject. With how the squadron seemed to have swiftly bonded to one another, it was likely that the story would surface one day, and all the answers that swam in my head would be swept away.

When we had decanted from the swirling sapphire tides of hyperspace and spilled out into reality, my eyes were drawn instantly to what Rogue Nine had reported. The still smoldering remains of what I had assumed was the transport we were assigned to locate. Whatever saw fit to slag the freighter left little for us to use to confirm the readings our instruments gave us. That was when we were ordered to lock S-foils in attack position, and even before the words had died in Rogue One's throat, my fighter was cycling power to the forward cannons and arming the underslung proton torpedoes. Whatever had attacked the transport could still be out there, and the Gods be damned if I wasn't ready for the first contact.

I was scanning my implanted terminals when I heard my Wingmate's voice call out her warning, informing me that something was coming up behind me - and doing so at breakneck speeds. Without a moment of hesitation, I banked the craft to the right and fired off the emergency thrusters to give my trajectory a slight boost. Whatever had caused such a stir in the Squadron blew right past my canopy, and sailed on into the bespeckled darkness of space with such haste it belied all previously held notion of realism. For all I knew, it could've been a reflec coated Squint sworn into the service of the Vanguard. Nevertheless, as I restored my fighter's planar balance across the 3-9 line, I keyed my squad-level comms.

"Anyone got eyes on that bogey? My scanners aren't picking anything up."

While I had wanted to check in on my Wingmate, my heart had told me that my duty to the squadron came first at this moment. She was a big girl, and more than capable of handling herself, asking if she was alright was a moot point - especially when the woman had been able to give him the forewarning he required and had made mention of its direction towards the Seventh of their number. Thus, what he said was true, as while his sensors had picked up a spacial anomaly, his Astromech was unable to formulate a targeting solution for the pilot and garner the desired chime, signifying a target lock.

"Dammit, Fangs out and moving to intercept!"

I called out, as I throttled my engines to embrace the all too familiar combat speed, and surged forth through the void - hunting for my prey with both man and machine at my beckon call.