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Battle 3, Additional Story: Dawn to Dusk
By R.C.Miller (Castor Efrata-Landis)
A Grey Squadron, of the Rebel Squadrons, Additional Bonus Story
after add-on Mission 2, Battle 3, Tour 5
before add-on Mission 3, Battle 3, Tour 5
for the Star Wars TIE Fighter Combat Simulator game.

Smoke filled the air. The red emergency lighting flashed intermittently as it fought to stay lit. Sprays of sparks flew from the scorched control panels, and numerous small flames burned in various places through the command room causing shadows to flicker. Bent and twisted support beams and conduits laid at all angles where ever they’d fallen. Steam and other gases shot from some of the conduits in the overhead where they’d broken off when the heavier beams had fallen. The carrier’s normal background vibrations and noises had ceased. All there was left was the crackling staccato of damaged electronic circuits and the hiss of the venting gases. The forward viewport sported a large weblike crack, but while the bridge wasn’t losing atmosphere through the breach it wouldn’t take much more pounding before the transparisteel shattered and everything that was loose on the bridge, all the debris and the bodies, would become projectiles in the void.
Drefclu, the given Major in charge of the Aragorn’s Computer and Communications departments, stood just inside the entry to the bridge. He waved his bony hand through the cloud of smoke and steam hanging in front of his face in the hopes that he might be able to see better through it. He climbed through the debris and fallen hull supports checking for any signs of life in those beings he found, his long thin arms an advantage when the bodies weren’t easily reachable. Given’s were a race who’s bones were on the outside of their bodies, and even though he’d lived with “meat people” for a very long time, the conditions of some of the bodies he’d found was making his upper digestive tract quiver uncomfortably.
As he made his way through the destruction to the broken command chair, Drefclu searched through the wreckage accounting for all the personnel. There were supposed to have been fifteen in the bridge crew, and Drefclu had found all but one, so far. Lieutenant Colonel Davit. The commanding officer of the Dawn’s Hope. All of the rest were dead, but he couldn’t leave the bridge without being sure of the status of the captain of the vessel code named Thistle.

--------

A short time prior...

The Major had been on the lower decks when the first salvo of rockets had hit, waiting in the staging area for the report from the commandoes that the area was secure before he entered the Interdictor. His upcoming task was to secure the Interdictor’s main computer core and slice out the operating codes so that the staff left by Admiral Efrata-Landis would have a secure and fully functional starship - at least as far as the comp systems were concerned. His team was assembled and waiting for the go ahead to come through by way of their Shock Team escort. Occasionally, the Shock team leader would speak in low tones into his comlink, look up, and then nod saying something loud enough that the given knew that it was meant to also give him a current status report.
He’d been watching the starfighter battle outside through the viewport, and reviewing his plan of action when a pair of heavy rockets, Drefclu identified them more by their jet trail and speed than actually seeing the projectiles, glided swiftly past the window on their way toward the bridge. After the violent shudder that rocked the ship had stopped, Drefclu had turned to his team second, a female bothan, Lieutenant Commander Chiria Shi’asa.
“Commander.” He said urgently. The Shock escort leader turned toward the given and bothan so as to be able to hear their conversation as well.
“Sir!” The bothan female jumped to stand before the Major and saluted, an exaggerated gesture. Drefclu knew that the overreaching movement meant no disrespect, considering his own limit range of movement. It was only that she normally moved her hands and arms to help her express thoughts. The bothan was almost always in motion, and hanging on to the handrail that ranged down the side of the boarding ramp, as she was, limited that vital range of motion.
Standard operating procedures were that anyone in the staging area needed to be attached, by some manner or another, to that railing as a precaution in the event that gravity cut out in either the boarding craft or the one being boarded. Strategic tactics suggested that cutting gravity at any given time might be advantageous to either ship during the first few moments of boarding, but not on both, so either ship might cut its gravity generators if it felt it would give it a significant advantage. In practice, though, it very rarely happened on purpose. Accidentally, maybe.
The given pointed at his second in command with the top of his wrist, a given gesture. “Take-a zee-a team. You are-a all quite-a competent wizzout me-a. I feel zat zee-a bridge-a crew needss me-a more-a zen you do right now.”
“Sir!” She saluted wildy again. “We’ll take care of things. If we run into problems,” she tapped the comlink that showed slightly over the top of one of her upper arm pockets, “we know where you live.”
Drefclu had bobbed his head in the given equivalent of a chuckle. “Good fortune-a be-a yours,” he said slowly.
“May the force be with you, Major,” the bothan said as she watched Drefclu move as fast as he possibly could, with his stiff jointed waddling gait, back up the ramp.

-----------

Drefclu had run, in his own fashion, to MedOps to assemble a team to search for survivors among the carrier’s upper levels, knowing that the bridge was likely a complete shambles. The ship lurched again before he’d gotten there, though, and upon arrival he had found a large hole in the hull which had partially opened MedOps to the vacuum of space. The carrier’s medical team was gone, as was most of the contents of the room.
Using a series of passageway hatches as a functional multistage airlock, the given pulled his joints tight and entered the vacuum. He moved slowly, keeping his joints sealed, and put together a medical kit from the remaining cabinets as he watched the starfighters outside of the carrier doing their waltz of death. Another barrage of rockets hit the Dawn’s Hope, and the given was practically thrown through the gaping hole. The only reason he remained on board at all was the fact of givens’ exoskeletons, and the biomechanics thereof, which allowed him to lock his hand firmly around a stabilizer bar to keep from being thrown clear. Drefclu had then made his way back out of MedOps, back through his makeshift airlock.

-----------

Currently...

A groan came from a large pile of pieces of bulkhead panels, off to the given’s right.
Drefclu vaulted over a fallen overhead truss, and began removing pieces of debris. He had to look around to find a spot to put it all where it wouldn’t hinder their route back to the bridge exit, and wouldn’t do any more damage to the bodies already littering the space. In a short while, though, he found that it was, in fact, Davit was the being under the pile. The human’s upper arm was bent at an odd angle suggesting that it was broken from within, but the lack of blood in the area of the bend also suggested that it was a simple break of the bone but the external (ugh!) tissue was intact. Dark red stains marked a number of places on Davit’s head, face and torso, and Drefclu was reasonably certain that the human was suffering from a concussion among her many other injuries.
The given prepared a pain receptor neutralizer for the human and gave her the air-pressured shot in the neck. He also gave her another injection in the human’s shoulder, through the uniform jacket, above the break. Davit’s eyes focused a little better, but she was still fairly dazed.
“Major Drefclu? What are you doing here?” Davit was laying mostly on her stomach, but could turn her head slightly so as to look almost directly at the given.
“Attempting to ssave-a your life-a. Can you work your way out of zzere-a?” The given spoke faster than his normal slow and halting way, practically making his stilted basic unintelligible, his normally conscientious attempts to speak clearly overridden by the need for haste.
The human looked around at the pile which was still covering most of her, braced herself, and then tried to push with her legs. The attempt was immediately aborted as the human’s face turned deathly white and a hiss of blinding pain escaped her. “My leg,” she gasped, and Drefclu thought that Davit might lose consciousness again.
Moving around the pile as best he could, Drefclu began exposing more of the human’s lower body. In a few short seconds, the given found the problem. A finger-thin conduit had pierced the human’s thigh. Drefclu felt around under the human’s leg and found that the conduit had gone completely through and embedded itself in the deck plating, effectively pinning Davit firmly in place like the prized specimen of an insect collector. The given briefly stared at the piece of metal as if trying to use the Force to dissolve it.
Extracting the hypo from his breast pocket, the given gave Davit a large dose of the pain killer on either side of the wound. He strained to remove the pipe from the flooring and pull it out of the human’s leg but only succeeded in breaking off most of the upper end at the point it had been bent over. Drefclu regained his balance and studied the situation.
“What is it?” Davit asked weakly, not being entirely able to twist around to look. The truss that held the human down prevented him from bending far enough to view the circumstances. It also effectively prevented her from being able to remove her leg from the conduit.
“I find zzat zziss iss not going to be-a very eassy.” Drefclu paused, looking around. “I need a lever.” He found a long solid piece of strut that he might be able to use, and went to get it. It was heavy, but it might work to move the truss far enough. Placing the strut carefully, Drefclu explained. “You have-a a piesse-a of metal ssrough your leg and it continuess into zzee-a deck. Wizz zziss I am going to move-a zziss beam. You sshould be-a able-a to get free-a, but you will have-a to pull your leg off zzee-a metal zzat pinss it. Zzere iss only about fifteen ssentimeters of it on zziss sside-a which you will have-a to pull ssrough. But I will not be-a able-a to help you. You musst do zziss by yoursself, and you musst sstay conssiouss. Are-a you ready-a?” He asked carefully.
“If you can lift that beam far enough for me to try, I’ll unstick my leg. Are you sure that it won’t come with me when I move?” Davit asked.
“I tried to move-a zzee-a pipe-a, but it sseemss to be-a buried very deeply into zzee-a decking,” Drefclu explained.
“No choices, then.”
“Are-a you ready-a?” The given braced himself under the far end of the lever.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Davit grimaced, mentally steeling herself against the expected pain.
Without another word, the bony given stood slowly under the weight of the lever and the truss. As the strut bowed, the beam began to move. There was crunching noise from the given’s shoulder, and he gasped, but continued to straighten his legs. The support beam continued to rise and pieces of the pile shifted and slid. When the gap was as wide as the given could manage, he told the human to move. Davit heaved up and her leg slid up the short length of the piece of pipe. Blood flowed freely from the wound as Davit’s leg finally came free of the piece of metal, and Davit screamed as pieces of muscle tore, sticking to the ragged end of the pipe. She rolled free and clear of the debris as another crunch came from the given’s shoulder and Drefclu collapsed under the strain, unable to hold the weight any longer.
After a very brief lapse of consciousness, Davit became awake enough to start thinking again. She removed her jacket and, using an existing hole as a starting point, she ripped off a large strip of the tough cloth. The pool of blood coming from her leg was getting bigger, and it didn’t look like the bleeding would stop any time soon, so she fashioned a tourniquet using the cloth, a small piece of mostly straight metal and a short coil of cable. Moving around, she spied the Major, a large stain beginning to spread across the chest of his jacket starting at the shoulder.
“Major! Are you okay? Can you get up?”
“I have-a broken my mysself,” the given said slowly, drawing ragged breaths. “I briefly losst conssioussnesss, but I will live-a.” Drefclu stood slowly, but his right arm hung completely useless at his side. He moved around to Davit, and used his left arm to help the human to stand. Davit clung to the given, trying very hard not to put any more weight on him than he had to, and trying desperately hard not to cause any more damage to the broken shoulder.
They supported each other through the mess which had been the bridge.
“Was anyone else alive up here?” Davit asked weakly.
“Not zzat I wass able-a to find,” Drefclu answered slowly. “I counted fifteen bridge-a crew, including yourself.”
“Fifteen should have been all there was unless someone came in without me noticing.”
Drefclu’s foot slipped in the blood that ran over the deck from the sullustan navigator who’s control panel had exploded into her face when the whole system had been shorted out. Both the given and the human went down, and both laid gasping for a few seconds.
Beyond the viewport the starfighters were still dancing.
Drefclu and Davit finally got back on their feet. The exit hatch was just short yards away to the rear of the bridge. They hobbled forward making their way to it slowly, each leaning on and supporting the other. The blood leaking from their wounds ran down their bodies and soaked their shoes, making their steps uncertain. The deck plates became even more slippery than they had been to begin with. It seemed like it took them hours to cross the debris to the door with careful steps.
The emergency lighting went out and came on again very dimly, working on their individual battery power. Sparks flew from bared wires that swung from the overhead freely.
Davit saw these things as if in slow motion, her vision narrowing as her eyes seemed to blink from the sides. NO! Must... stay... conscious... She shook her head to clear it, but only succeeded in making herself dizzy and nauseous.
Drefclu reached and touched the button to open the hatch as Davit leaned heavily against the bulkhead. The panel sparked weakly and the door remained closed. Drawing on energy she didn’t have, Davit reached across the panel and flipped open the manual override to the hydraulics that controlled the hatch. The given reached inside the space, grabbed the hand grip and pumped it a few times forcing fluid into the chamber that would push the door open. When they had enough room for their fingers to get a good hold on the door, they both worked at it, pulling against the slight warp in the frame that fought their efforts.
When finally there was enough room that the two could squeeze their way through the opening, Davit turned back to look out the viewport. Her hiss of breath and the squeeze on his arm urged the given to turn and look as well. Drefclu instinctively closed his joints as he watched the huge rocket break through the forward viewport.
They didn’t see blinding flash of light, or feel the shrapnel tear their bodies into ribbons, or sense the explosion and then the vacuum burst their remains nearly into their separate atoms. They didn’t know that the Dawn’s Hope died with them.

----------------------------

The emergency docking release latches automatically blew as the dying carrier’s roll increased the torque pressure passed the point of safety. The Interdictor’s docking bay atmosphere energy shield slammed into place to prevent the internal atmosphere from rushing out. The force of the surge welded pieces of decking in place that had lifted with the explosions from the latches. The fact that some of the Shock personnel and their prisoners were caught in the surge, as well, was only briefly noted by the other beings which had been clear on either side of the hatch. The starship jolted once as the dead hulk of the Dawn’s Hope broke free. The members of the Shock team were momentarily thrown off balance, but they were fairly well in control of the ship by now. The few uprisings caused by the unexpected death of the carrier were quickly and efficiently put down.
The comp team was already at work on the computer core.
Lieutenant Commander Shi’asa, the delegated computer strike team leader, watched the carrier’s death on a small monitor beside the station she sat working at. She pounded the station framing with her balled fists with frustration. Yanking her comlink from her pocket, she barked into it hastily.
“Control, this is Shi’asa. Who was still on the D.H. when it went?”
“Commander, this is Control. Please keep the channel clear. We are collecting that information now, and will let everyone know as soon as we can.”
“Control, Major Drefclu may have still been aboard. He sent us in, but he stayed to help on the carrier.”
“Understood. Control out.”
The bothan clipped the comlink to the lapel of her jumpsuit, and attached a small y-cord to it. The double end of the y she stuck to her face close to the edge of her mouth, and pushed the remaining end into her ear and adjusted the positioning until it was comfortable. She stared at the console screen for a few moments with a distant look on her face, but began punching buttons after only a short pause. She mumbled to herself as she extracted the command codes from the computer.
Her datapad blinked a few times. She grabbed it up, taking it with her, and crawled under the console to move the connections. At one point, bringing her knees closer to her shoulders so that she could maneuver a little, she had to roll to the side from her position on the floor with her head and one arm inside the console base. She reached to the comlink, and a muffled “understood, thank you” issued from the hole, after which a number of bangs echoed from inside the console as the bothan beat against the casing with the only hand free to do so. With a little grunting and pushing with her feet, the bothan seemed to have accomplished her main objective, and withdrew from under the console. The fur under her eyes was wet as she brought herself to a sitting position on the floor.
“CompTeam alert,” she said into the comlink after making an adjustment to the frequency. She paused for a second or two to steady her breathing. “Major Drefclu is reported missing in action and presumed dead. I’ve been placed in charge of CompComm until further notice.” She waited until she heard the double clicks signifying acknowledgment from her entire team. “Status reports, all stations.” She listened while all the progress reports came in from the various members of her team and swiped angrily at the tears that fell with the heels of her hands and wiped them on the legs of her jumpsuit as if they were an far more than just a simple annoyance.

-----------------------------------

Castor stood anxiously over the com-console while rosters were checked and all crew aboard the Interdictor were accounted for. Since most of the Dawn’s Hope had been converted into holding cells, and many of the Interdictor’s crew had been transferred over, the carrier took a large number of Malachite’s people with it when it went. But there had been a number of the members of Shock, as well as the command watch and the personnel needed to operate the ship. Best estimates at this time were that about a four hundred of the carrier’s personnel, two hundred Shock, and seventeen hundred prisoners had died with the Dawn’s Hope. The Jes had only the skeleton crew - all junior officers. All dead.
It was fortunate that most of the carrier’s crew had been aboard the Interdictor during the operation. It had been the plan to transfer all of the Dawn’s Hope crew aboard the Interdictor, and use the carrier as a holding area for the prisoners with a bare minimum of crew on board until Malachite’s people could be dropped off somewhere reasonably safe and out of the way.
“Acceptable losses,” Greedo said shortly, “and less Imps that we have to worry about.”
Castor stood up straight and stared hard at Greedo.
“Oh, spare me, Ad-miral,” Greedo continued. “If you don’t have the stomach for it, this is the wrong game to play. I’ll use little words and short sentences so you will understand. This is war. People die. They are the enemy. We kill them. Lots of them if possible. Sometimes we die too. Get over it!”
Castor scowled took a deep breath, as if in preperation to answer the insult.
“Admiral!” The scratchily voiced call came from a calamari a few stations over from where he stood. “Commander Shi’asa reports that we are in possession of the Interdictor’s command codes and its computer core. Shock Team Leader reports that according to the database on file, all the Interdictor’s personnel, except for the expected crew aboard the Escort Carrier, are accounted for. Commander Kiellaret reports minimal damage to the Interdictor, and that all minimum necessary repairs will be completed in three hours. Grey Squadron reports that almost all of the enemy starfighters have been destroyed, but that we’ve lost two of the Gunboats, the Y-Wing, and two of the Interceptors. Brier reports recovery is nearly completed, and no severe damage to any of the pilots recovered so far.”
Castor nodded at the commtech. “Shock reported their rosters yet?”
“Not yet, Admiral.”
Castor nodded again, and went back to studying the data on the screen in front of him.
“Your ship is ours now,” Greedo spat raising both fists to about the level of his shoulders. He continued in a low hissing voice as if his words were meant only for direct communication with certain far away ears. “You’re losing ground, Malachite. I’m coming for you, and your time is running out. You can’t hide from me.” Suddenly Greedo straightened as if he’d just realized that he was speaking out loud. He turned with a sneer and precipitously left the bridge.
Castor looked around at his bridge crew, all looking back at him questioningly. Slowly he leaned over and touched the switches which would activate the general ship com, the ship-to-ship com, and the personnel comlinks.
“This is Grey Leader to all personnel. It seems that we have won this day. But the price of our victory was high. Our losses today were not inconsequential. And they are NOT by any means acceptable. Many good people have died today. Among those losses are Lieutenant Commander Davit, Major Drefclu, the Jes’n’Case, the Dawn’s Hope, and five of our starfighters. A list of all casualties shall be made available as soon as we can put one together.” Castor paused to collect his thoughts.
“The price we’ve paid today does not sway our resolve. It heightens and strengthens it. Malachite and his people shall not be allowed to remain free, and the Star Hammer project will be destroyed - by mindwipe if by nothing else. His bases will be cannibalized and or destroyed, and those in command will be brought to justice. I promise this as surely as I stand here. Malachite will pay for his crimes, both those committed and those planned.”

************************

Begin log: T5B3M2a, Dawn to Dusk

Jila Cosa: additional p.o.v.
Control, this is Shi'asa. Who was still on the D.H. when it went?
"Commander, this is Control. Please keep the channel clear. We are collecting that information now, and will let everyone know as soon as we can."
Control, Major Drefclu may have still been on board. He sent us in, but he stayed to help on the carrier.
"Understood. Control out." The rest had heard Shi’asa’s report; she didn’t need to relay it.
Damn! Jila thought again as she tried to keep her hand steady enough to sign her reports, and place her datapad and headset back on the com console. How could that have happened? The Admiral's plans usually run better than this. Jila held herself together until the TacTeam dismissed her and she exited TacOps. Then the tears began to flow. So many lives ended.
As soon as she cleared the doorway she ran using the less traveled ways, dodging this way and that as people appeared in front of her. She couldn't go to her room, there was no guarantee that her roommate wouldn't be there. Jila didn't want to talk to anybody right now, she needed to be alone, but there were just too many people. If there was one thing that Jila had learned in her years since graduating from the Tech school it was that droids were safe. They didn't expect you to be their friends, and most of them didn't have the capability to become yours. Droids would listen without condescension or condemnation of your emotional state. Jila continued down the halls to the Droid Maintenance bay. There were a couple of little used alcoves where she could sit and be undisturbed.
Jila cried and cried as she sat in an empty corner, arms around her legs and her head resting on her knees. She hadn't heard anything from Lessa yet. The only voice she'd heard from the Brier was the co pilot, Crais. Was Lessa hurt and couldn't communicate? How could the Admiral think she could do this job when she could end up an emotional mess after every mission?
click, whirrrrrrrr, beeeep
Jila could feel an insistent thumping on the toe of her boot. She lifted her head and through tear filled eyes saw an MSE 6 unit reverse and advance itself to bump her boot and try to get her attention. It was when Jila wiped her eyes on her sleeve that she saw that she was surrounded by her favorite droids, especially the blue R5 unit that reminded her of a small child. He was all attitude sometimes and could only be given one command at a time. Jila wasn’t really sure why this unit was here, except that maybe credits were a factor and he was useful if allowed to finish one job before being given another. More tears streamed down Jila’s face as the droids whistled and beeped quietly as if trying to soothe her pain. Perhaps they were. When Jila had her emotions under control once more, she stood, patted the droids heads in thanks, and then went to her quarters to shower and change. Kartil would be looking for her by now, and she had promised to meet him in the B&G. And Lessa said she buy a round, so Jila had to go and find out if her friend had made it back.
When Jila opened the door to her quarters she wasn’t at all surprised to see her roommate, Rivyn sitting at the small desk.
"Tough day, huh?" Rivyn turned in her chair, and noticed Jila’s puffy red eyes.
"Yah." Jila answered pulling a clean uniform out of her locker and laying it on her bunk. "Give me a few minutes will ya?" Jila said as she headed for the shower. In a few minutes Jila came back into the room and sat down to get dressed.
"Got a message for you." Riv said with a grin. "Kartil said he’ll meet you at the B&G. Rock on!"
"Thanks!" Jila replied as she ducked her head. She knew she was blushing but didn’t want Riv to see it. Jila had an instant love/hate relationship with this situation. It was nice that a guy wanted to pay attention to her right now, but so many men had walked out of her life that she wasn’t sure if she could handle it again. At least Kartil wasn’t Grey. Though she didn’t think she’d really mind if one of the Greys payed a bit of attention to her too.
As Jila rounded the corner into the B&G she saw nearly every pilot there, plus a lot of the Aragorn personnel. Kartil had taken a seat at the bar, so that was where Jila headed first. Tess slid a glass into Jila’s left hand before she even sat down, patting her other arm as he did so. Then he smiled and nodded his head sideways as if to congratulate Jila on having a date. Jila chuckled and nodded back.
"You did a great job today." Kartil said softly. "Even if you don’t think so."
"Yes. But will they think so?" Jila looked around the room. Some people were talking quietly, some weren’t saying anything to the other people at their table, and others just sat staring into their cups looking depressed. Then she saw Lessa in her usual seat. She made it! Jila was relieved. Now she could relax. Jila hoped with all her heart that whatever was coming in the days ahead wouldn’t be as bad as this, but she knew she’d probably be disappointed.

*******************

End log: T5B3M2a

Battle 3, Mission 3: Woort Drive
by R.C.Miller (Castor@RebelSquadrons.org)
A Grey Squadron, of the Rebel Squadrons, Additional Text Briefing
for Grey Squadron’s add-on Mission 3, Battle 3, Tour 5

for the Star Wars TIE Fighter Combat Simulator game.

The knock came at Castor’s door. “Open,” he called. The door whisked open and Tag Rendar entered slowly. The expression on her face showed she had a question that she wasn’t sure if she should ask.
“Sir.”
“Have a seat, Tag.” Castor motioned toward one of the chairs in front of his desk. Tag took the one closer to the wall. Making it easier to see the door. Castor chuckled inwardly. Old habits die hard, don’t they? The question remained unasked aloud. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, Sir,” Tag began. “It’s more of an ‘if I can do something for you’.”
“Ah.” Castor raised an eyebrow. “And that would be...”
“That would be helping you write the notes informing the families of the crew that we lost.”
Castor sensed the small woman’s emotions, the hurt that she tried to keep buried to a manageable level. The loss of the people on the Dawn’s Hope and Jes’n’Case weighed on her heavily. The Admiral sighed. “I appreciate your offer, Tag. But I’m not going to be writing any of those right now.”
Shock registered on the woman’s face. “Why not?” She blurted her question. “Sir.” She tried to recover.
The corners of Castor’s moustaches turned up slightly, amused with her discomfort. But his smile was short lived. “Well, the biggest reason is that we have no way of getting the notes to those families. It’s impossible to send any transmissions or canisters through the nebula.”
“Oh.” Tag looked down toward her lap. “I knew that.”
“Understood.” Castor’s tone eased. “We’re in a situation now that none of us have ever been in. It’s taking a little getting used to for me too.”
Tag nodded. “But then I could...”
Castor interrupted her. “In any event, it may become quite academic.” Tag’s eyes snapped back to Castor’s. “It mostly depends on whether or not we survive this; which is why I’m going to need everyone to be at their peak until further notice.”
Castor’s eyes dropped to his desk and rose again to meet Tag’s. She could sense that he didn’t give much stock in their chances of surviving Greedo’s obsessive mission. Not at Grey’s present level of performance.

----------------

The Greys stood on the flight deck. All were as tired as they looked. Control had ordered everyone left in a workable craft back to the Aragorn after the Scorpion had destroyed Variscite’s transport. That had been a bit of a shock. Though not as much as losing the Dawn’s Hope. They’d watched the replay of the recording that the Aragorn had made when they’d all congregated in Tess’s place a little earlier. It seemed that someone felt that the price of failure should be fairly dear.
Transfers between the captured Interdictor and the Aragorn had gone very quickly. Personnel transferred over with supplies, and starfighters were towed back.
The Sarlacc had a number of starfighters that had been partially dismantled for maintenance. That had probably been the only reason that the Aragorn had survived at all. If the entire compliment of the Sarlacc’s defense had been able to fly, the Interdictor would not likely have been captured to begin with.
The Admiral had originally only wanted to replace the starfighters we’d lost with those from the Sarlacc, because the Interdictor would need all the fighters it could lay hold of if attacked. The situation here was dicey. Grey couldn’t split up to protect the Sarlacc too, but the Interdictor couldn’t go with the Aragorn deeper into the mire. If the Sarlacc stayed shut down, then it should cause confusion among Malachite’s starships. But the Scorpion had already proved that the point could be found (uncertain about with how much difficulty) without the help of the artificial gravity well.
Losing the Dawn’s Hope had put a tremendous crimp in our flexibility.
Now, everything was a priority. Captain Ra had transferred over to the Sarlacc in order to get it fully functional soonest. That was near disaster, because now he wouldn’t be onboard to oversee repairs to the Aragorn and the starfighters. We had lost a significant amount of the of Shock commandos, because a whole security detail had to stay on the Dawn’s Hope to deal with the prisoners, and the crew which had transferred from the Dawn’s Hope to the Sarlacc needed support personnel.
All of this was on the Greys minds as Castor approached them, Katie toddling behind. His face was drawn and his eyes were framed by dark circles. It seemed that the same thoughts that had been plaguing the Greys were also foremost with the Admiral as well.
Castor looked up. “The two Interceptors, and the Bomber from the Sarlacc have just about been put back together, but they haven’t been released for duty. Even so - not great a return for the loss of two Interceptors, two Gunboats and the Y-Wing.”
Even having lost some pilots, and saving some of the TIE Fighters for reserve only, being short on the heavier starfighters meant that there would be pilots with nothing to do. And every one of the Greys knew exactly what that meant - a shorter rotational duty. Round the clock.
“The two Avengers we ferried over,” Castor continued, “still have lockdowns in place. Two of the Sarlacc’s Avenger simulators have been brought back as well. But I’m not going to let anyone fly those, anyway, until you’ve spent time in those simulators and qualified for them.”
That was the other shoe that the Greys knew would fall. Those off duty would be required to spend just about all their spare time in the Combat Sims.
“The good news is...”
Castor paused as he heard someone mumble, “I thought there never was good news.”
“Occasionally, yes, there is good news.” Castor interrupted himself. “To paraphrase a wise man: All news is good, depending upon your point of view.” Everyone knew the old stories. The historical reports of the times signaling the end of Palpatine and his Empire had been released to the public long ago. Many works of drama and fiction were based on them.
“A number of TIE Fighter shield generators were also brought back.” Castor smiled, knowing that the ‘point of view’ on the ‘good’ in that news was as wide in range as the personalities that received that particular news. “So we should be able to make the rest of those fighters into something less suicidal. Everyone has worked their behinds off to get things settled quickly; those who are actually structured such that they have behinds that could be worked off, and even those that don’t.”
“At this point, our total inventory of starfighters needing various amounts of repair include one T-Wing, three shielded Squints, one shielded Bomber, and two Avengers. Our flyable fighters are a single Gunboat, and five shielded Eyeballs. Being that the one Gunboat is our only ion capable fighter, we’re going to be holding that one back for emergencies only; our present set of circumstances constituting a constant state of emergency not withstanding.”
“So what’s the plan?” Agreement to the question practically masked the asker.
Castor nodded, and looked over the expectant faces. “The General knows a number of coordinate points which can be reached from this junction, but nothing in the direction that the Scorpion went. So, we don’t know where it might have gone, what it’s doing, or when it might be back.”
“So. At the moment, we’re safe. We don’t know for how long. The Pit has got every single body they have working non-stop on getting our fighters ready. They’re hooking up the shield generators to the rest of the Eyeballs, and getting the Avenger simulators installed. Your new duty rotation is in your pads. On duty pilots, get what rest you can. I’d suggest napping close to your fighters after getting your comforts swapped out - whether they need it or not - we’re at a point where EnviOps isn’t going to be real concerned about to what degree you’ve used them.”

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...GREY SQUADRON... The battle claxon blared loudly. ALERT! GREY SQUADRON TO YOUR FIGHTERS!
The engines and com units in the TIE Fighters came alive as the Greys dropped into their pilot chairs and strapped in. Each of the pilots called ready as they finalized their minimal flight preps. The whines of ion drives heating up droned shrilly through the bay. The bay came alive as the fighters all lifted and prepped to head out, the tractor beams holding them in place until they were given the order to launch.
Greys. Castor’s voice from Control came through the com speaker low, calm, and clear in the pilot’s ears. The Scorpion has just made a short run through this area. General Greedo believes he knows where it’s going; a smaller junction between a communications relay and a supply dump. He believes that, as lightened up as we are, we should be able to catch up and jump in right behind it. From that vantage point we should be able to take the Victory class Star Destroyer out of the game, and be that much closer to Malachite and the Star Hammer.
This is going to be a tough one, boys, girls, and otherwise. And it’s likely only going to get harder from here. I hope you got some sleep, because it’s probably all you’re going to get.
Sleep? What’s that?
I could use some.
Sleep when you die, two.
Various comments sounded over the com.
Soar with the Gods, my Greys. Castor finished calmly.

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