Ask Mirial Missions: Gathering Allies

[Corran Velt]

Listehol Run trade route - Mirial System

The outskirts of the Mirial System were like countless other star systems. Distant orbiting bodies and nearby asteroid fields. Debris from when their cool sun used its mighty gravity to shape worlds. Unlike thousands of others, Mirial's sun managed to form something habitable and sprung forth independent life. Mirial was a cold, dry place. Barely a detour on the Hydian Way for any poor trade ships that came down the Listehol Run. Corran had traveled the Hydian Way plenty of times but never came down this route. Bulk haulers rarely came this far unless they were destined for one place: Zygerria. That barbarous, repetitive stain on galactic civilization. They exported wealth and imported sentient lives. Sector Rangers stood for a lot, but their main targets were always slavers. It was about time they did something about it.

Corran sat in the cockpit of a BTL-A4 Y-wing. It drifted only barely in the void of space. The young Ranger was adorned in a New Republic style flight-suit. Military surplus from a decade back. Much like the Y-wing itself. The fighter-bomber had been made available for Sector Ranger use from old storage yards on Coruscant - the friendliest government to their organization. They were probably happy to get the old rust bucket off their hands and cared little if it was lost or destroyed. A manual datapad sat on Corran's lap, which he periodically stopped to scroll through as he tapped at the buttons and levers. He had only flown a space fighter exactly once and it was more a celebratory joy-ride than combat. The old workhorse Y-wing was slower than the Dagger; less nimble. He preferred that because his experience was mostly in larger freighters and the heavier weight would make his acclamation to the controls that much easier. He'd need it for the coming ambush.

They had chosen the outer system of Mirial because the gravity well would make it difficult for their targets to jump to hyperspace until they cleared the outer asteroid belt. It also helped that Mirial authorities were friendly to anyone who pushed against their slaving neighbors. If the mission went south, there was a chance local units could rescue them. A slim chance, but still a chance. The Ranger wasn't alone out here anyway. Before their target convoy arrived, it was probably best to check in with them. It would be a good test of their comm systems, if nothing else. "This is Sector Ranger Corran Velt," the young man said stoically and professionally through his headset, "Can you read me? All craft check in, over."

@Darasuum @Frannykins87

 

[Elara Salis]

Elara was at her most comfortable at the moment. In space, on a really good (if almost ancient) fighter ship. She's had many simulations of fighters back at the academy back home, though of course had not experienced actual combat. She was both nervous and excited, but most definitely confident in her ability to pilot. She was also glad she was picked for this particular mission. She hates anyone that would stomp all over people's freedom, slaver being the epitome of that way of life. Some people would find it hard to believe slavers still operated, but Elara knew greed would never be gone from the galaxy, and slavers represented the worst kind of greed.

She took some time beforehand studying the hyper route, the mission parameters, and the specs of her V-19 Torrent, although she focused a bit more on the ship. After all, she's the one piloting it. She still has the data pad with the mission details and the ship's manual on the floor next to her. Looking around from her cockpit, it would be easy to get distracted by the mass expanse of space near her. It was beautiful and peaceful. Elara's sense of awe gets interrupted by the comm system.

"This is Sector Ranger Corran Velt, Can you read me? All craft check in, over."

Elara was quick to reply, not trying to be particularly professional, just mostly friendly. She still needed to adhere to some protocol, though. It wasn't the time to make jokes..yet.

"I can read you, Ranger Velt. This is Ranger Elara Salis checking in."

As she does, she checks over all the systems quickly, scanning over the console, checking the weapons etc as she kept the ship floating next to the two other ships. She wished she could have used her new astromech, but the ship, as good as it was, was pretty old and didn't have a socket for it. It also didn't have ion weaponry, however Elara was confident it would be the most nimble ship in their group, so it means she could deal with any armed ship the slaver convoy was bringing. Or she could be bait. Either idea was fine. She could do it. It also meant that she would need to be extra careful with her shots. Fine, she enjoyed the challenge. But mostly she wouldn't want the enslaved people to get hurt. But she was ready. Ready to make a difference.

 

[Corran Velt]

"Copy that, Ranger Salis. Good comms, all green. Over." Corran flipped off the link. Well, at least there was another Sector Ranger to rely on. Ranger Elara Salis. He'd never worked with her before, but file claimed she was green-as-grass rookie. Not long ago so was he. Had he even been with the force a year yet? So much had happened since he first joined. Flipping through the manual, a final step was battle space assignment. Call-signs. The blond youth glanced around the cockpit for a moment, hoping an idea would make itself known. Finally, he pressed the comm button again, "Ranger Salis, this is Ranger Velt. For the duration of the mission we will be utilizing call-signs. I am now designated Nomad-1. You are now designated Nomad-2. Over." A few taps and a final button press would illuminate their Heads-up-displays with their ship designations. In her own console, Elara would see her fighter cycled to NOMAD-2. Final checklist complete.

They had waited long enough. The supposed Jedi attache to this operation hadn't shown yet. They couldn't be trusted for the hard work like this and the male Ranger disliked working with them in an official capacity. That was Command's decision though and he never disobeyed orders. Corran glanced at the operation timer as it ticked by. Any minute now, the slaver convoy was timed to arrive. The Rangers would have to proceed without the Jedi pilot or hope they came as reinforcements.

Right on schedule, two Action-VI transports exited hyperspace. They were defenseless for only the blink of an eye when four SS-54 gunships dropped out of light speed as well. Armed to the teeth, but slower than a Y-wing, the blast-boats were beatable if the two worked together. Corran gripped his ship's controls and readied himself for the enemy to move to engage. Strangely, the slaver ships didn't immediately react. They moved at impulse speed across the expanse, unaware of the other two fighters. Were their sensors not picking them up? He flipped the comm button again, "Nomad-2, we're undetected. Power shields and weapons. Move to engage escort craft in T-minus 10. Over." Following his own orders, the male Ranger began prepping his weapons and deflector shields. He was nervous - four on two wasn't good odds. Ranger Salis' fighter, and her skills, was likely the only bulwark against total annihilation for the both of them. He would do what he could, but being the only ship armed with Ion weaponry, it was down to him to prevent those freighters from getting way with their living cargo. It was now or never.

@Frannykins87

 

[Vera Coulter]

-THEME-

Gum popped once. Fingers gripped into the controls. Blue eyes narrowed to fine slits. A female voice pinged on the private channel for Rangers. A blackfin blastboat had ghosted from the depths.. from the alternate side of the target and their guards.

"Negative. Ranger Salis, pull back, you're too green for this. Ranger Velt," and here, the voice paused. Vera gave a wry, cold little grin. "This is Ranger Coulter and Jaws, callin' in to kark up some cats. Smash and dash, kiddo, smash and dash." Shields were up, her ship was faster than their enemy's, and she had to babysit yet again. If they kept sending such tenderfoots out to do the dirty work, then they would never have any young bloods to take over the 'glorious cause' and all that pap they fed.

She wanted something to drink. There was nothing to drink.

So there was an alternative.

"Shields up, torpedoes ready. Go save some people kid, I'll get those guard dogs tangled up."

That being said, she shut down comms, and felt her lips twist into a wicked smile, eyes lighting up. These were the moments she lived for.

He said T-minus ten, so soon... soon she would engage. Senses were tuned, she was live, she was ready to blast 'em. So with a chuckle, she gunned it on straight towards the closest two, and she could swear if she squinted, they were scrambling in their seats. Stupid karkin' cats.

Firing off the dual-tube torpedo towards the closest one, she tucked into a slanted sideways roll to dodge the fire of the other, feeling the pull of the corkscrew maneuver, and could swear there would be cursing over their comm lines.

Good. Let her pull their heat away and give the kid some breathing room. Unless he was gonna be utterly karkin' brainless and dive in with her.

@TerranSteel

 

[Corran Velt]

Why do all good plans go to waste? As Corran counted down for operation launch, a gravely woman's voice interrupted first. She was waving Ranger Salis off and essentially starting an attack run. "What!?" Corran exclaimed, in raw reaction to the rapidly changing events. He leaned forward in his cockpit so suddenly in surprise that the Y-wing manual fell off his lap and clattered to the floor. Shock was so beaten back by the male Ranger's iron discipline. Plan or no plan; capturing those haulers now was their only chance. Clicking over to the Ranger private channel, the blond youth signaled back to the new-comer ally. "Affirmative, Ranger Coulter. Shields are up. Weapons charging. I'm moving in for my strafing run. Over" A few final flipped switches and the gentle hum of power flowing to various parts of the ship told the novice fighter pilot the Y-wing was ready for battle.

Intentionally or unintentionally, Ranger Coulter's sudden assault completely shocked the escort gunships. Better yet, when they turned to engage her, they were doubly surprised to see a Y-wing come into view and barreling down on the convoy. The sluggish fighter-bomber felt lighter than the Crimson Venture, but not too unfamiliar. A steadily increasing beeping sound caused Corran to look around the controls. His targeting computer had no inputs and decided to lock onto the nearest craft. That turned out to be one of the escort gunships, but its pilot had turned to attack the other Ranger ship and left its rear flank vulnerable. As the beeping rose to a crescendo, the young man's thumb hovered over the fire controls. The beeps became a solid, shrill signal and a thumb pressed down hard. Blue light streaked across the darkness of space and collided into the rear of the gunship. Onboard lights began to flicker and the slaver escort began to drift aimlessly, totally disabled by an ion blast. One down, three to go.

Hulking brown freighters were now the only thing in Corran's sights. Even now, their startled bridge crews were likely trying to find the closest hyperspace jump point. That would take time and time they didn't have. Beeping from the targeting computer began again as a much larger craft filled in the reticule. A few bursts along the hull would likely disable one. The rookie starfighter pilot chose the first one in line of the convoy. It was what pirates would do against his old freighter - disable the lead ship so the others had to maneuver to avoid a collision. It was odd, being on the other side of this type of engagement. The Action-VI transports grew larger with each passing moment as the sole Y-wing dove on them. Beeping once again flat-lined. With gritted teeth, Corran pressed hard on the trigger. Several blue lasers slammed into the hull of the lead slaver freighter. It didn't seem to react at first, but visibly, the lights along the hull began to fade and the engines shut off completely. "Lead transport is disabled, Ranger Coulter. Moving in for second pass. Keep those escorts off me. Over." Even if that sounded obvious, communication was critical on the battlefield. To line up for another shot, the Ranger Y-wing was forced into a sharp turn, and a few barrel rolls, to pull out of the way of a second transport. It would only be a few moments before the ion turret was ready to fire again, but moments in a dog-fight meant life or death.

@Killa Ree

 

[Vera Coulter]

Just hearing the kid shout in surprise over the comms was gonna make her laugh herself to wheezy for weeks. Ah, what, did they assume they would let a pair of young'uns to do all the mad dodge around here? Nah. Let an old dog roll over, she'd served plenty of time. If she karked up and died, it would be hot in the seat and with her dignity intact. Still, at least the kid was flexible, a dubious point in his favor.

She snorted as the sound of an ion cannon boomed into the empty of vacuum of space. Please. When he was still perched on his mam's lap eatin' a jar of puree, she was already in the starlanes and on her way to many unknowns. At least he wasn't getting in her way either, and hitting into the transports.

Hitting Jaws was a surefire way to earn a fist to the gullet.

"Read ya loud and clear kid, keep them guns up and don't play lightfooted," she commented easily. But she didn't bother with the 'over' bit. This wasn't some secret mission anymore.

Speaking of.

Laser fire from above whined while the narrow profile of the blastboat pulled out of its' maneuver, and out. Live bait for the escorts; three of the four leapt for it, but the fourth broke away, attempting to pull in a shot for the other ship, the Y-wing the kid had come on. They did offer her a Y-wing of her own, but those things were like tin cans, and sitting in those hard-ass seats made her hips ache something fierce.

This baby came with guns.

And sure, they made sure to specify do not damage the 'cargo' freighters. She snorted once again to herself. Yeah, like Max really thought she was gonna hurt the innocents in this. No. She was gonna punish those that had no qualms with slavery.

Namely, the guard SS-54's.

The fourth would make its' turn for Ranger Velt's ship when he would roll away, but she ducked, then gave a sharp spin and hard yank up to bring Jaws right on his tail.

"Here, kitty kitty," she growled. To avoid the shot, he broke away, attempting to roll over the back of the downed ship and join the other three.

She waited until there was the steady whine for a lock on target, and they would be away from the freighters, before opening fire. The shot disabled the first one effectively, with a torpedo shot straight at the engine. Smoking, still alive, but now forced to limp away and rely on his companions for aid.

Too bad she had no qualms with doing the same. But now she had them all right where she wanted them.

@TerranSteel
Success!

 

[Corran Velt]

Space combat was an odd flux between seconds of intense combat and something like a speedy afternoon drive. After rolling away from the disabled lead transport, Corran was protected by the timely intervention of Ranger Coulter. As durable as it was, the venerable Y-wing had limited vision for dog-fighting. The novice starfighter pilot had to rely on his sensors to provide the wider picture of the engagement. Coulter had fired a missile, which blipped on the scanner, before impacting on the ship on Corran's tail. The enemy red dot didn't disappear, but peeled off. It must be damaged and not destroyed. At least it hadn't opened fire.

"Appreciate the cover, Ranger Coulter. I'm preparing my attack run on the third transport. Over." Ending the communication link from his end, the male Ranger lined up his fighter-bomber to look like it was going in for an attack run on the second slave hauler. In the vastness of space, there wasn't much cover, so using the enemy bulk ships as a shield. Corran increased his speed on approach and buzzed the enemy bridge before angling his own craft to fly along the surface of the second transport as if it were the ground. Just head, the third large ship was attempting to veer off, much like the second, to avoid hitting the disabled lead ship. Disabling the rear transport would make reversing and escape much more difficult for the middle slave hauler. Once again, the long history of piracy tactics were being abused by law enforcement. A great irony, that.

A single Y-wing skimmed the surface of the larger ship before finally pulling 'up' and away from its starburst engines. Faint beeping appeared again, like the top fin of an oceanic predator. The blond youth could almost see the bridge crew panicking; their silhouettes pointing and moving about. Instinctively, Corran pressed forward on the throttle. Beeping began to crescendo as the attack run reached its zenith. Two gloved thumbs squeezed the red trigger and twin ion-blasts spewed forth from the canopy turret. They hit just under the bridge. More pulls of the trigger. Blue lasers slammed against the brown, square hull of the Action-VI transports. Lights began to flicker, dim, and finally shut down as the bulk hauler shuttered from the loss of power. It even began to tilt, like a sinking ship. "Third freighter disabled. Wheeling around to make run on the sec-- AH!"

The previously stoic and professional comm-chatter was interrupted by the sudden appearance of two SS-54's coming around the aft of the third slave ship. A short burst of red lasers forced the male Ranger to barrel roll out of immediate danger, but also forced the Y-wing off its text-book attack run. While only slight faster than the gunships, the fighter-bomber wasn't exactly equipped for a 2-on-1 engagement. "Coulter! I've got two on my six!"

@Killa Ree

 

[Vera Coulter]

Kids these days.

Did he really think she'd leave him with a pack of dogs on his tail and she'd be sittin' back on her thumbs?

She was practically born on these starlanes, and learned how to fly here. Popping her gum once, she yanked hard to a left turn, barely banking past the back of the second ship. "I see 'em," she clipped back shortly. "Cool your jets, kid, and duck left."

The moment he would continue his maneuver to get out of firing range, she waited until there was beeping. Until there was a steady whine as the first fighter was gunned down with the dual-torpedo charge. She continued on, and the second peeled away, about to make a break for safety and to his injured comrade still limping away from the fight. Another hit, and that one was disabled as well, the engine leaving a trail into the vacuum of space.

That left one, which had banked hard, attempting to once more lock onto Ranger Velt and dodge the wrath of Vera.

Snarling, she banked hard again with the blastboat, trying to keep an engagement on her quarry and take him down before he would harm the kid. The last fighter was hers, dammit!

@TerranSteel
Rousing Success!

 

[Corran Velt]

Cool his jets? Did she mean relax or ease off on the throttle? Was there a maneuver in the manual for this? With no clear answer, Corran followed his gut instincts. He reduced his speed and ducked his craft left. The two pursuing enemy craft boomed past the now much slower Y-wing with Ranger Coulter hot on their six. One didn't last much longer; taking two missiles to the aft. The inexperienced fighter pilot watched in both interest and shock as the allied Blackfin moved to dispatch the second that had been chasing him only moments before. With immediate danger out of the way, the male Ranger communicated his third and final objective over the commlink, "Thanks for the help, Ranger Coulter. Beginning final approach on objective. Over."

Willing the fighter-bomber forward, the blond youth switched his targeting computer to the active Action-VI transport. It was nosing downwards, attempting to go under and to the right of the first disabled convoy freighter. All Corran had to do was to land a few shots along the hull and the mission was as good as done. Soft beeping began its staccato cadence. As they neared the target, the beeps steadily increased in frequency. To keep his shot lined up, the male Ranger flew underneath the adrift first bulk hauler but above the still operational second one. While not exactly a Death Star trench run, it was tight in there. Beeping was becoming one single sound. Ion cannon was charged. He was practically at optimal range and surface area. A black-gloved digit hovered over the trigger. Suddenly crimson streaks lit up the dark void. Corran turned his head to see the final gunship flanking him at top speed. Red streaks erupted from the enemy gun barrels. Blue eyes went wide.

An explosion towards the rear of the Y-wing forced the cockpit to convulse in horrific violence. "AAHH HAGH!" That was the primal scream of a human who thought they would soon be consumed in the heat of a fireball or frozen by the vacuum of space. The whole galaxy spun as the cockpit twirled at speed from being interrupted in flight. When death refused to come to demand its due, Corran's discipline and training took over. Frantic hands gripped the stick and pulled hard. Various consoles and sensors screamed warnings. As the fighter-bomber seemed to level out of a spin, he began flipping switches to silence alarms and ease the bombardment on his senses. Even though the young man had not left his seat, his breathing was as heavy as if he ran 50 kilometers. The cockpit had a read-out of the ship. Most of the craft was still indicated as green, except the starboard engine. Deep red. Shifting in his seat, Corran looked out the nearest viewport and saw a fractured and twisted metal carcass of where an engine should be. Was all the damage? How was he alive? Returning to face ahead, the display on the dash said some power to the shields remained. The hits to the engine might have killed him without them.

Thankfully, the Rebels in the Galactic Civil War had proven these venerable fighter-bombers were tough as rancors. They could still limp along, even fight, with one engine. Pulling hard on the stick, the male Ranger swung the nose around and tried to get another run on the final active transport. "Coulter, I'm hit. Lost one engine. I'm slow but I can still stop the slave transport from making a jump. Over." His voice wasn't as monotoned as before, but it was clear that professionalism provided spine where raw inexperience would have shaken someone into despair. While he was still alive, Corran could still complete the mission. He intended to.

@Killa Ree

 

[Vera Coulter]

That little rat bastard. Hitting the kid while he had his focus up, and hitting an engine no less. She clicked her tongue once in irritation, and once more savagely yanked on the controls. The top portion of the 'fin' banked sharply left, scraping barely against the hull of the disabled transport beneath her, and there was the smug little fighter again in her sights.

This time, there would be no mercy. He was gonna be taken out of the fight before he could endanger any more Rangers.

"Kid, focus on that ion, I got your back."

Not waiting for a response, she gunned ahead, and waited.

The ship tried to outmaneuver her by tucking and rolling again, but she coasted behind, jaw tight and blue eyes icy cold. "Karkin' dare ya," she snarled at him, "come on, come at me you smug little cat." Sure enough, he tried to make another yank to Corran's direction.

It was literally a long shot, but she aimed one torpedo. Fired before the beeping became a wall of sound.

And it hit.

The fighter wheeled away from the combat, surprised, hurt, and panicked as flames leaped hungrily for the cockpit before smoking out, being forced to drift away from the mad blackfin Jaws. They were all the same, these hired helpers; only eager to fight until their lives were at risk. All fighters were down.

"Shoot to disarm, kid. Get 'em good."

@TerranSteel

Success!

 

[Corran Velt]

Black gloves flipped switches and adjusted controls to silence all the alarms and blinking warning lights. When a fighter was hit, they wanted the pilot to know it. Were the warnings intended to disorient as much as the actual hit? On top of that, the sluggish Y-wing felt like it was barely moving at all under its own power. Even the Crimson Venture didn't move this slow at half-engine output. Luckily, the Action-IV transport was still ducking under its already disabled counterpart and couldn't flee away at full speed. Better still, Corran's fighter-bomber hadn't been sent hurdling towards an adrift freighter and probably crashing into it - resulting in a fatal explosion. Instead, the wounded ship had spun out into free space through what crevice remained between the fleeing and ion-disabled slaver transports. If he had been alone, the gunship escorts would have finished the job. But another Ranger was there and she gave him the all clear. "Affirmative, Ranger Coulter. Beginning attack run. Over."

Although much of the cockpit had gone dark, including the targeting computer, a freighter was a big enough target that the male Ranger could eye-ball his shots. All it took was pointing the bow in the right direction. As the target ship began to pull out from under its adrift comrade, it offered a large, vertical profile. Perfect. All that was needed now was to close the distance. Pushing hard on the throttle, Corran tried to force the speed all the way forward. Every miniscule addition of thrust might mean the difference between capturing the final transport or losing it to the hyperspace lanes. The brown Action-VI grew larger and larger in size as the damaged Y-wing neared. Just as the larger vessel began to maneuver to level-out, the novice starfighter pilot lined up his turret. In something akin to releasing adrenaline or stress, he repeatedly pulled the trigger. The ion cannons fired burst after burst into the ridgeback hull of the enemy ship and its lights shuddered into darkness almost immediately. In the dead of space, it seized up completely; like a tall stone pillar.

"Ranger Coulter, attack run complete. All three slave transports disabled. I repeat, all three objectives are disabled. Over." Despite a determined effort to sound as stoic and professional as possible, there was a distinct relief in the young man's voice. Not only had he piloted his first one-man-fighter in an engagement, but he had nearly died in that engagement. Well, it certainly felt like it. The Y-wing was still functioning and the cockpit undamaged. What they said was true - this thing was rugged as legends claimed.

But it wasn't his survival wasn't entirely on his shoulders. Corran glanced out the viewport to see the Blackfin. There had been some help. He had never met Ranger Coulter. Even if her verbiage was rough around the edges, she had been more than critical to the success of the mission. With some hesitation, the blond youth opened the comm-link again, "Thanks again for the rescue, Ranger Coulter. Couldn't have done it without you." There would be no mistaking the sincerity in the youthful voice.


@Killa Ree

 

[Vera Coulter]

Honestly, seeing that ion cannon hit its' mark was a sweet, sweet sight. She smirked once at the kid's relief pinging through the comms, but wisely didn't remark on any of it yet. Instead she coasted Jaws closer to the kid's limping ship, popping her gum. "Read ya, Velt," she quipped back. "An' happy to help. But next time, grab an EVA suit, these cats have claws." She nodded to the shorted out freighters and the remainder of their guard.

She wasn't a woman for grand speeches or praise, but...

"Ya done good, kid. Ya done good. Now let's unchain these people and rattle the cats in their own cages."

Sweet talk was over, now it was time to board and free some slaves. After all, this was once home turf to Vee. It was the least she could do to clean up this particular crappy part of the galaxy.

@TerranSteel

//End Thread?