| abstract
| - The arrival of the Republic's forces in Caspia...could have gone better. Both sides had identified the strategic value the tumultuous asteroid belt surrounding the system, and isolating the cold gas-giant Kichnar, and both has sought to exploit it. The Republic suffered heavy losses to its bomber contingents - many young pilots who would never return home. While the Empire sacrificed virtually its entire picket force to hold its ground. The 'Battle of Broken Teeth' as it would later be dubbed by Imperial historians, was over. The war, was not. Kichnar Orbital Station is a sprawling construction holding geosynchronous orbit above the planet and home to the Sloan dry-docks, three vast slipways each large enough to accommodate an Imperial-class Star Destroyer. Left intact, they would allow the Republic to withstand a protracted siege. An X-wing drops out of hyperspace. The shields are down and the fighter is flying at reduced capacity, the transponder is squawking Regulator squadron, currently assigned to the Sixth fleet and virtually wiped out during the battle in the asteroid field. Knowing the strategic importance of not only the system at large, but also the shipyards themselves, Rogue Squadron had been dispatched to patrol the area against hostiles should the Imperials deign to strike. As such, the Squadron was broken into its three wings, S-Foils currently down, allowing for speed over attack. At the head of the first wing in the point of the triangle formation Rogue One flies, eyes always attentive, constantly scanning the readouts and adjusting their trajectory despite the lack of excitement patrols often bring. "We'll turn about to heading four-seven-niner, and make another pass of the dockyards." Lance Corbet is saying over the inter-squad frequency, and as though matching actions to words, they begin to veer. It is then that the transponder erupts from hyperspace, a dot lighting up on the display. Taking in the readings, Corbet hmms softly. "Regulator vessel, this is Rogue Leader. Please identify yourself." Close behind comes another Regulator-squadron identified X-Wing - the distant shape of Kichnar Station visible against the pale background of Kichnar reflecting Solus' light. Active sensors sweep out as a noisy ping in the station's direction, the three vessels of Rogue Squadron mere spots against the star field, easily mistaken for dirt on the canopy, highlighted in the scope. Aboard Regulator 4, Vassily Korolov flips the squadron's encrypted com link on, "Whatever you do, keep your nose pointed on the space station, we will have one shot before all hell breaks loose, make it count." He adjusts the heading of his fighter towards the dry docks, cycling the throttle to 34ths power, talking to his astromech, "We have to look damaged to any scans that come through, keep the fourth engine powered down till we are ready to make a break for it." He flips the coms towards the Republic frequencies, "This is Flight Officer Jones." *Static* , "reporting to rendezvous point." *Static* "Sustained damage in asteroid field." *Static*, "Request escort to shipyards, for repair." "As you would have it, 'squadron leader'." Thel replies across the secured channel - they are perhaps the most valuable persons in this entire quadrant of the galaxy at the present time and the novelty of such an exposed mission is not lost on the Duke. He reaches up to fine tune in his sensors, a focused scan directed upon the lead fighter. "Reg Seven, reporting. Light stabiliser's come loose. Think I hit a mass-shadow on the way out. Whose idea was it to jump into an asteroid field in the first place? Eeesh." a near flawless impersonation of a Corellian accent. "R4, try and lock it down would ya?" Hands play over the consoles of his X-Wing, and as the readings of the clearly damaged ship come flooding in and that voice reporting through the static comes, Lance nods within his cockpit. "I'm not sure how you made it through, Flight Officer, but we're glad to have you back. You too, Seven." A few more scans and he's issuing orders again. "Continue on our flight path, Rogues. I will escort them in." Changing his trajectory, Corbet eases Rogue One towards the two newly arrived fighters. Aboard Regulator 4, the Sith Lord smiles. He responds first to the Rogue squadron X-Wing, "Affirmative Rogue Leader. he flicks his hands over the command console, checking the status of his internal systems, flipping to internal communications, "Good, call out the range as we get closer." He continues to keep his ship pointed towards the space docks. Thrusters fire, and ion engines engage, the astromech on board on Regulator 7 simulating a power-flow differential that causes the fighter to wobble a little through its yaw as it accelerates to port speed and falls into formation behind Rogue One. "Roger, Rogue Leader. Maintaining starboard scans..." a standard pattern of conal sensor sweeps intended to provide a squadron with the fullest awareness of their environment. "...how's the fleet holding up? Anyone else in Regulator make it through?" A switch flipped in the cockpit sees the targeting computer arm extend, the boxy scope unit folding outward into Thel's vision. "Twenty two kilometres to target...estimate one minute, forty-three seconds to optimal firing range at present speed." Scans continue to be run, but Rogue One falls into position without preamble or any sign of suspicion. "You two are the first, and I suspect only, survivors I'm afraid." he tells them slowly, a tone of regret in his voice as it filters through the speakers in their cockpits. "By all accounts, it wasn't pretty. I'm just glad you two made it back safe." Falling quiet for a few moments as hands play over the controls, Corbet considers matters for a few moments. "How did you fellows make it out?" he inquires slowly, before turning his attention upon Regulator Seven. "Seven, the Flight Officer has reported in, but you haven't yet. Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?" he asks, his own Corellian accent shining through. Aboard Regulator 4, Warlord Korolov responds, "Got caught in the cross fire of a pair of those Lancers and chewed up." *Static* "I was able to use the shadow of an asteroid to avoid sensors"*Static* "Then drifted in the debris field of a Neb."*Static* "My R2 repaired." *Static* "Jumped out when Imperials." *Static* He continues to make micro adjustments keeping his fighter in line to fire when in range, his gaze flicking towards the chrono counter in the fighter's HUD. "Sorry, sir!" Thel replies over the open channel. The intonation growing rather more formal. "Flight officer Sulen, reporting in. Kinda forgot my manners back there...Reg 4's radio's been acting up. I...I know it doesn't look good, sir. Ducking out like that but they were tearing us apart. By the time those gunships showed up, it was all I could do not to fly right into something." There is a long silence after each man has spoken as Lance considers what has been reported. Finally, he nods slowly, unseen by the pair. "Very well, Flight Officers. We're glad to have you back, and we'll get you set up upon landing. Do wither of you have any injuries that need attending? I could radio for a medic to meet us in the hangar bay if necessary." Still do his hands play over his instruments, always adjusting the course they fly as the trio move steadily onwards towards the station. As the station starts to get closer, Flight Officer 'Jones' glances through the technical data for the shipyards, namely the shield generators meant to protect the station from just what the pair of fighters was here to do. Rather than turning on the targeting computer, the Sith Lord begins to channel the anger boiling up within him, how dare this Rebel scum come and interfere with His Empire. He grits his teeth, speaking over the encrypted Frequency, he barks out, "Range?" He flicks the selector switch on his weapons display to torpedoes and prepares to fire, relying on the force rather than firing up the targeting computer and giving away his intentions. "Twenty seconds to firing range..." Thel declares over the secured inter-cockpit comms, the targeting computer's range-finder rolling down the figures as its two vertical bars provide a graphical representation of the firing solution being calculated. "...fifteen seconds...ten...locking s-foils in attack position." the wing motors whirring noisily as the laser cannons spread to their signature four points and he drops the engines to one third speed, lining up a tail-end shot on Lance. Aboard Regulator 4, the Sith Lord lets the force guide his actions as he squeezes the trigger, causing a pair of proton torpedoes to fire. One finds its mark, blasting a hole in the shield generator emitter but not knocking it out, the second smashes into the hull of the station itself, exploding but not penetrating. The snapping of an X-Wing's XK9's is radically different from the hollow screams of Imperial TIE fighters. The vessel rolls right, red lasers streaking out as diametrically opposed cannons firing in quick two-shot bursts that flash by the cockpit, walking their fire through Lance's flight path, eyes removed from his target to briefly assess the damage done by Lord Venger's torpedoes. As Corbet leads them in from Rogue One, something doesn't seem quite right. He picks up the targeting computer active as the S-Foils begin to fold out, locking into attack formation mere instants before they loose a volley upon his aft quadrant. A curse splits his lips, and he's flipping over to the Rogue Squadron frequency even as those torpedoes impact with the station. "Rogues, be advised that the Regulators are impostors and are hostile. Form up!" Jinking to starboard does little except save him from a more dangerous hit, carbon scoring flaring to life on his uppermost port S-Foil as the laser blast does little beyond marring the paint job. Frowning, Corbet continues onward, throttling forward to pursue the X-Wing that has begun wreaking havoc on the shipyards. "Rogues, move to intercept and destroy!" Regulator 4 turns on it's targeting computer, taking aim at the shield generators once more, firing another pair of torpedoes, this time relying on combat senses to ensure that he has the right angle of attack for the warheads to hit their target. He calls back to the R2 Unit, give me full aft shields. Having been rocked by the clipping shot, Corbet is soon following after, his own S-Foils locking into attack position as he's throttling forward, swooping in after the lead Regulator. The Rogues are swiftly forming up and moving in to intercept, a pack of X's scarring the darkness of space. Using the targeting scanner, Corbet jukes and jinks after the lead craft, falling in on Regulator Four. A volley is loosed at the aft section of that starfighter before he's slamming on his rudder pedal, swinging his aft end about to sweep towards Regulator Seven. Waiting for his target to line up, Lance looses yet another volley, this one aimed to cut through the secondary fighter's hull, eyes only then glancing at the display to determine the fate of the lead craft. Regulator 4 fires off a pair of torpedoes both finding their mark, however only one does any real damage. His focus on the target does mean that he can't do anything but absorb the laser fire that tears apart his shield generators. He curses under his breath before cycling another pair of warheads, letting a pair of warheads lose while holding an action to dodge inbound laser fire. His fire ineffective, Thel's anger rises. Like a tidal current, the Dark Side exerts an unseen, inexorable pull. The throttle opens and his X-Wing accelerates to attack speed - let Vassily deal with the rebel himself! The targeting computer flashes, the shot zeroed in, firing solution resolved when something tugs at his senses. Imminent danger. A reflexive roll sees laser fire tear across his fuselage rather than into his exhausts and this alone spares his craft from being torn apart. A fiery explosion rocks the snubfighter, the first torpedo streaking harmlessly off into space, the other detonating just off his starboard side in a chain reaction. An incomprehensible word, a dialect truly ancient and alien slips Thel's lips as the astromech ejects the remaining payload from the ruined weapon, sparing the pilot their liability. He banks hard into the rebel's trajectory. "...I have you now." A satisfied grin etches its way onto Corbet's face as both his first volleys strike home, one dropping shields, the other doing significant damage to the torpedo launcher of the second craft. Watching as the second one veers towards him, the pilot dubbed 'Wildman' waits until the last moment to dodge, his R4 unit shrieking in his ear as a result. Rolling onto his port side and turning into a dive, the lasers manage once again to scorch his X-Wing, this time scant inches from his astromech. It lets out a string of bleeps and bloops, undoubtedly cursing the pilot as Corbet inverts and comes sweeping back around, ascending from below the first starfighter that has been devastating the shipyards, loosing another volley at his underside. Regulator 4 comes under more fire, the controls sparking as the laser energy ionizes his controls. He howls in rage as his astromech takes the brunt of the damage. He does not deviate from his objective, targeting the large fuel storage tanks that link the dry-docks. Nice flammable objects that can help do his job for him. He presses the trigger, firing another pair of torpedoes towards the space station, while trying to stay out of the gun sights of the Rogue X-Wing. Ineffectual fire once more rakes across Rogue One - the 'heavy' X-Wing shrugging off his cannon fire and Thel's rage only grows. "Insect..." he hisses beneath his breath. The targeting computer cast aside with the flick of a switch, a ripple in the Force becomes a wave that swells and surges forth toward the interfering fighter. His mind searches for the other, to know this enemy whose temerity marks him out like a brilliant beacon in the dark. It is that single minded hatred, the exclusion of all else that now guides his actions. A twist to overhead fire control lever locks the cannons into their heaviest quad-firing configuration. "...your feelings betray you..." he sneers, loosing from the lasers an avatar of his fury. Once again, Corbet's R4 unit is shrieking at him as he fails to shake that X-Wing on his tail, and this time Rogue Leader pays for it. Despite another jink in an attempt to evade, Thel's aim is spot on hitting a critical system of the ship. The barrage slams into his starfighter, rocking the small vessel and sending him bouncing off the inner sheets of the canopy, his head rebounding with the force. A shudder tells him that one of the systems is shut down, and as he pulls up the diagnostics he sees how bad it really is. Hyperdrive is completely disabled, and if he continues this fight he may be as well. But he had to hold them off from further damaging the spacedocks. Abandoning his pursuit of the fighter that has been targeting the shipyards - but not before firing off one more shot at his rear - Corbet sets his craft into a climb, cutting the throttle and sweeping his aft end out so that his nose is coming a bit more swiftly about to line up with the cockpit of the pursuing craft. The instant he has Thel's fighter in line of sight he's loosing a volley of laser fire, aimed to disorient if nothing else. A swell of satisfaction fill Aldus as he watches the engine of the rebel X-Wing erupt in a shower of sparks, fragments of burning metal blasted clear - the remnants of hypermatter relays and fuselage scattering into space and the red haze that'd guided his fire begins to clear. It is in that instance, he grows dimly aware of the threat to his own person. Like a familiar voice cutting through a crowd. A shrill cry of terror from the astromech sees it forcibly activate the ejection system. In the fractions of a second that see the nose of the fighter peel back under punishing cannon fire, armour melted away and frame fraying outward, canopy tears off - the moisture of the life-supported atmosphere freezes on contact with space - a white mist of icicles momentary solidified as explosives fire, blasting the pilot's chair clear of the craft before it is ripped apart in a wave of molten metal and burning fuel. Regulator 4 barrel rolls as the staccato of laser fire misses it. The Sith Lord dumps his final two torpedoes into the shipyard control tower, if he can't destroy the yards, he can at least cripple them enough to delay the Republic from being able to make use of them. The explosion of Regulator 7 causes the Sith to bank away, and come back around. It is hard to tell if he is more upset about his ship getting destroyed or the Imperial Lord getting shot down. One down, one to go. As the X-Wing that had been tailing him explodes into a fiery blast of molten metal and shrapnel, Corbet grins in grim victory, sweeping his own X-Wing about to aim at the last of the invaders. More explosions ripple along the shipyards, but not to devastating effect as they had likely hoped. "This is Rogue Leader. The pilot of Regulator Seven had ejected. Dispatch a shuttle immediately to retrieve the pilot. Moving to engage the last hostile." With orders issued, and the rest of Rogue Squadron getting perilously close, Lance noses his X-Wing towards the inbound X-Wing, loosing a volley of quad laserfire as he does so. Regulator 4's final torpedoes hit their mark but do not cause critical damage. The Sith howls in rage as he turns to find that pesky Rebel pilot and put him out of his misery. He is not quite fast enough as Rogue One catches him in a volley of fire that hits home. His astromech is the first to go as well as a pair of his engines. The christmas tree in his cockpit goes red as systems begin failing left and right, this ship isn't leaving this spot. He banks the vehicle around and uses what time he has left to attack Rogue One. He will take the X-Wing with him. Another volley of laserfire strikes home on the second X-Wing, and as it begins to shed armour and pieces like shrapnel, Corbet allows a satisfied grin to stretch over his lips. "Transport, make that two hosti....." Suddenly, Regulator Four is heading straight at him, and though he's swift to take evasive action, it is still not enough. The laserblast takes him in the S-Foil - a light hit for all accounts, but with the near-catastrophic hit he'd taken earlier that took out his hyperdrive, it is enough to send cracks rippling through the entirety of the vessel. Mini explosions begin to blossom forth, fire erupting from the fissures. A curse slips past his lips, and his astromech is swift to eject him from the fireball that is already beginning to blossom out of Rogue One, sending molten shrapnel in a brilliant explosion in all directions. Regulator 4 banks away from the exploding fighter, turning back towards the space dock, pushing the throttle to max. He quickly directs all power to the laser cannon power banks, to overload them. With a final motion he pushes the eject button, the canopy blasting away, before the seat ejects pushing him into space. Once free of the ship, he reaches out with the force, grabbing the fighter and guiding it towards the shipyard, aiming to hit something important. Regulator 4 slams into the control tower of the Sloan Dry-docks, doing with several proton torpedoes could not. It causes a cascade of explosions as the ships reactor and capacitors explode, tearing the structural integrity of the command and control for the space dock apart. The Sith Lord floats in his armor, the environmental mask keeping him alive for the time being. He inhales warmly as his rage has been spent, slowing his body, extending the time he can survive in space. Falling through space is a rather serene experience - a certain elegance exists to its cold, uncaring silence even while wildly spinning away from the explosion that used to be one's space ship. Retrothrusters fire the onboard computer calculating precise bursts of compressed air to counteract the rotational forces and slowly stabilise Aldus' orientation, if not his trajectory. As he watches the two X-wings exchange fire above him, both riddled with explosions as laser cannons pound and shred into one another's battered forms, the fiery explosion of Rogue one earns a sharp snort of satisfaction, a salve to wounded pride. In silence, he watches the burning trail of 'Regulator Four' streaking toward the central structure of the dry-docks and as bodies fly away amongst debris and venting oxygen burns away into space, Thel smiles a sardonic smile. "Well..." the headset comlinks crackling into life. "...here is another nice mess you have gotten us into, Vassily."
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