The Hounds of War

[Silas]

Stars adrift all around them, with their path never ending they moved on; the only sure thing about this galaxy. Never at an end, they drove this universe like one might drive the hounds of war. Like tonight he brought a figurehead to this war, to this battle, and with it a purpose locked behind the cold corpse of a machine. Faster than those pinpricks of light they pushed these steely traps, as the cogs moved towards an end which could only lead towards one demise, and another exaltation. Words were not enough to describe the magnificence of this place, but with all the majesty these points of hope amongst the black, they held a deadly grace. Like a ticking time bomb they held in their grace for the moment when they would capture all in their expansion. Thus was the way of the Sith; their aggression would stop for none.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” The man spoke into the microphone which he clung onto.

Was this but a dream? Everything around him slowed to a crawl, the people which looked at him, the whites of their eyes emblazed with passion; with fear. Each breath was laboured, his mind was perturbed by the anticipation which had burrowed into him. This was but the beginning, and yet his palms dripped with palms, while the beating of his heart blotted out the noise around him; even to the hum of his own voice. To be the leader of these people, he must have courage, yet here he stumbled over a few words. Over sentences he’d memorised long ago on this journey. Apprehensions ran high, for there could be no other word for it, no other way to describe the sensation which ripped through him.

“Tonight, we shall face an enemy,” Thus his speech began, coolly he looked about the people around him who had barely stopped their work. Each face was filled with something different, with hopes, with aspirations, and all of them could see the worry which clung to him. Fear wasn’t tangible, but it might be felt on this ship tonight, for what he had seen was graven. “Some of you will die. I do not ask this of you, but I guarantee it.”

Someone lesser than him might have not been able to admit it, but there were greater goals than perfection at work here. Tonight they would not be playing games with petty frivolous intentions, but they would clash in hate for a fallen nation. One which all right might lay decrepit upon the ashes of the past, their life once again fettered upon the hinges of the Force. Caught between two tidal waves, these hands of the Sith were here to fight a war which one could see, one they could taste, and tonight an omen hung in their air. It nipped at the tails of their hounds, and hung a sombre silence over all these people who hurried through the corridors.

Tonight they would face hell.

“Not by your hands alone will this war be won, but death will not be in vain. It shall usher a new age, one which puts to death a lie,” The admiral preached to his subjects, their lives in his hands now. With every word he could taste confidence which grew in him, like it should be there. A life of ambitions, of determination would not be ended tonight. It would not be destroyed by these people, “Tonight we silence the voice of a tyranny which has thrived for far too long. Thousands of years ago the Galactic republic told us that they would listen to the voice of the people. That they would operate under the needs of those people.”

A shiver ran down his spine as he said these thing, but not for a second did he doubt his own word, for they were as true as the setting sun. They could find no fallacy, but something else caused his mind to wonder.

“Amidst all their talk of diplomacy how dare we go against their rule. How dare we go against their voice,” Anger seethed from his pours where sweat had once been. Almost a roar echoed from his throat as he made himself heard to those under him. The pounding of his heart was like the cacophony of a horrendous serenade, “Tonight we will show them the voice of the people. They will hear it all across the galaxy, and even their Jedi will be helpless to stop it.”

A leer danced upon his face, while one hand clasped firmly on the side of the table in front of him. Visions of the Republic’s fall danced in front of his eyes, which no longer could revel in the world around him, but were fixed upon this idea. So with one last vigorous breath he demanded, “Tonight, they shall wallow in their own blood, and call for their saviour, but there shall be no response.”

With his speech done, he placed the commlink upon its home with a click. Adrenaline raced through his blood like a plague, while his eyes roved over the map of their playing field. Their plan was set in stone, it had no fault he could see, but deep in him worry washed over him like an oil, palpable and cruel. Like a shadow on the edges of his vision the enemy lurked, roved in silence its territory, yet they waited. In the fringes of the galaxy such as this there was a certain feel of emptiness amongst the blackness, a certain lack of hope which brought him a hunger.

“….Admiral? Admiral!” The voice broke him of his daze, as he looked over towards his XO, an older man who seemed all washed out. The little outburst had been more than he had expected to be honest.

A step away from the table which presented a map for him brought a unstable grace to his legs, like he’d never been on the shifting of a ship before. Still, they were but a moment from their catch, and he would not stop at this as he carefully responded, “Yes, Vern.”

The unceremonious name which he addressed him by was not of insult, but a camaraderie which they had developed over the years. They could be called friends, and while now they were commanders, it made little difference. As he crossed the threshold to where the other man stood, his feet made a calm clatter along the durasteel under him. A small shake vibrated with each of those footfalls, and as he came up to the man, just slightly shorter than him, he was offered a quick salute.

“Admiral, it is about time, we should prepare the strike team,” The old man told him in a strained voice, he had begun to get too old for this. It was those who were too old who knew the workings of these ships best, though, and therefore he could remain for just a little longer.

For a second Asher just looked out into the void of space, as those flecks of light continued their dance. Apathetically he asked, “Have you ever doubted your decisions, even for a second?”

An unexpected laugh came from the other man as he responded, “Aye, every day, sir. We do the best we can, and that’s all you can hope for.”

Slowly he licked his lips, a slight taste on them before he told him, “For their sake, I hope you’re right.” With a thoughtful glance he looked out to those around him, the children who worked towards their stars, and the officers who thought they were on the high ground. “Prep the fighters, and the strike team. Well hit the ground running.”

In seconds they would drop out of hyperspace, and for just a fraction of a second they would have total surprise, so in that moment he would hit them with all the force he could muster. Alls fair in two things, and it was unlucky for the Republic to pick such a horrible fight to loose so fatally. With his green eyes full of fury he watched for the moment, for that second when all would break loose, and he would release his hell upon them. For tonight he would be the victor. Tonight he would walk away in glory.

Then it all came at once, the slow of those lines in the space. As they slowed so did time as he could feel each furious beat of his heart smash into his rib cage. Eyes roved over the people around them, the fear in some of their faces, their mouths full of words barely spoken yet. Life was taken step at a time as the image of a ship appeared in front of him, as the Shadow’s Leer was brought to a halt. Arcane images danced upon his head as he imaged the surprise on the other man’s face, but even he could not move fast enough. With one scream he would his voice upon them. With one breath he could bring them death, and so he did.

“Fire!” His command rung through the command bridge. As the command bridge came alive, he knew he had awaken the hornets nest. Tonight the beast was let loose.

[Kuhblam]

Galactic Republic Admiral Kota Atreides had always been charismatic but quiet in the most dire of times. The stress of leading such a major ship into naval battles time and time again had slowly taken it's toll on the Admiral, and a thick yet neat, pearly white beard had slowly consumed the lower portions of his weathered face. Dark brown eyes served to round the broad, defined features of his face, and an aura of experience that radiated from his persona has since created an air of reliability about him. It was in this formidable appearance that Kota's bridge crew, as well as the entirety of his some seven-thousand man crew, exhumed confidence and hope in. For them, he was a symbol of the democracy and the goodness that the Republic stood for, even if all it's corruptness.

He wore the stark red uniform of a Republic Fleet Admiral, although this time he had no accompanying capital ships. No; he was headed for Druckenwell to help escort a returning Chancellor, where an address by the Her Excellency was taking place under the safe protection of a Jedi contingent. Around him, the bridge crew went about their usual business, carrying out various diagnostics and the like while security personnel stood as attentive as ever in white uniforms with blaster rifles slung over their broad shoulders. Yawning, Kota stood up to stretch a pain-riddled back as he turned to his navigation officer, Lieutenant Lowell. A short man with stout, muscular features, he had Kota's navigations officer since their dual transfer to the Hand of the Revenant at his request. Kota had since turned to rely on Lowell for his continuous crazed maneuvers in battle.

"Lowell, give me a time estimate with that hyperspace NAV solution on when we leave this forsaken planet's orbit. I want us in the Mid Rim ASAP."

His voice was crisp and ripe with years of military expertise, and everyone on the bridge could tell his annoyance at being delayed in getting out of the system.

"I'm sorry, sir, but it seems Dorin is having trouble trying to talk with the navigational system. The techs down on Deck 35-D are also having trouble trying to fix the problem down at the main CPU."

Dorin was the ship's A.I. Essentially the talking portion of the Hand's main computer, he was programmed with a somewhat witty masculine programming regimen and had been personally installed a few years ago by the ship's head tech, Chief Indicium. He looked around for her before quickly pulling out a com-link and raising her from somewhere aboard the ship.

"Chief, get down to 35-D and get to work with Dorin. Find out what's going on with our NAV system being all haywire and whatnot.

Scratching his eyebrow and realizing there would be even more ridiculous delays, he stood up before moving the clear panel view-ports at the very front of the bridge. His gaze admired a beautiful array of stars as he stood with his hands clasped behind his back in a typical bridge officer position. It was a classic pose, one which had been re-done time and time over in an age strife with continuous warfare, both conventional and unconventional. Sweat adorned his brow somewhat; tugging at his collar, he turned away to walk back towards his command chair when a bridge officer manning his post suddenly started yelling the Admiral's name.

"Admiral! Admiral!"

His voice was filled with nervousness and sudden surprise as his eyes nearly burned out staring into a view screen. An enormous ship had appeared into view as the Hand maintained a slow course speed directly into it's distant front. Turbolasers were already beginning to charge and fire at Kota's ship as he suddenly realized they had been ambushed, as if the enemy ship had been waiting for them this entire time. Kota didn't even need to reply to the officer's frantic words as his eyes squinted and his mind automatically switched into a battle mind-set. That ship was huge; although it was about the same length as his own, it was massively larger and thicker and probably had more a lot more armor. Kota almost automatically identified the type of ship; it was a Malice-Class, typical of Sith dreadnoughts. Although it didn't have the five big heavy particle cannon turrets that the Hand had, it made up for it with a crap load more turbo-lasers plus other armament, as well as dozens of fighter squadrons. Kota had fought one at Muunilist; they were big and could take a heavy amount of punishment. He wondered, briefly of course, if it could be...

"Ensign Richter, get me an IFF tag on that ship and look for it in the database with any older ones."

Could it be?

"It's a Malice-Class Dreadnought, sir... it... it matches the tag we gave to the Shadow's Leer at Muunilist."

It is!

Kota's face turned into a grin mixed with the surprise he had felt mere seconds earlier; this was the same ship he had nearly destroyed and crippled permanently not a year back with a Republic fleet at Muunilist! Better yet, if it was the same ship, then the same, loud-mouthed commander full of bravado would be in charge of the ambush he had sprung on Kota.

Asher. Asher McRae. Well hello, old friend.

He relished the thought of taking another shot at the man who had demanded his surrender before and paid for it dearly. Even in his own age, Kota still had the energy to hold grudges; this would be no cake-walk for Asher. He had made a grave error in not knowing the identity of the ship he was attacking. Quickly, Kota relieved himself of some much-needed nostalgia as he began to bark orders to his bridge crew. There was no time to discern how a ship of that size had made it's way into sensor range without being caught; no, after the battle he could figure out how he had been duped.

"Evasive maneuvers! Ensign Hekata, put the entire ship on red alert! Lieutenant Lowell, plot two emergency projection courses; I want a randomized hyperspace trajectory and a collision course for that dreadnought calculated ASAP! I want us on heading four-five seven; take us right over the top of that bastard! Chief Incidium, get that NAV system working properly now!"

The entire bridge was filled with strained activity as he turned to Lieutenant Corb, a talented officer charged with firing solutions.

"Lieutenant Corb, get me a firing solution for our two fore-ventral and aft-dorsal heavy particle cannons; I want our fores knocking out those shields right on top of that cruiser and then the aft to blow a nice little chunk out of it's midsection when we pass overheard and correct our course for another run."

Lieutenant Corb nodded frantically as he struggled to quickly begin his task amidst a frenzy of yelling as another Ensign, this one named Church, started yelling for Kota, who turned to face him. It was almost impossible for anyone to hear anything amidst the surprise quickly taking hold of the bridge crew.

"Contact, contact! Twenty-seconds, turbo-laser barrage incoming!"

Kota braced himself for several seconds as a heavy barrage of turbolaser fire rocked the ship, knocking the strength of the shields down as the Hand grew steadily closer to the Shadow's Leer rather move away from it like any other junior commander might have done. Kota was almost thrown free as a heavy hit knocked numerous junior officers from their seats as they scrambled to get back to their stations. His voice was hoarse as he barked orders once again.

"Damage report! Damage report!"

"Shields down 20%!"

He turned to the young officer, a nervous young woman in her twenties. Making sure he appeared absolutely calm, it was important to Kota that he maintain a serene composure for the sake of the crew even when acting the part of a commander at battle.

"Re-route power away from dorsal shielding and prop up fore and ventral shields! We'll be on top of them before they can correct their heading!"

Sweat started to drench his uniform as he stared at a view-screen giving a good picture of the opposing dreadnought. Turning to his executive officer, Captain Mort, he motioned him closer before speaking.

"Keep the ship security on high alert as well as our interceptors in case of a boarding attempt. And ready a strike-team; we'll launch a crew as we go right over top of them."

As the Captain nodded and strode away briskly as the ships exchanged turbo-laser fire lopsidedly in favor of the Sith, Kota couldn't help but feel an aura of confidence over-take his mind.

Today will be a day long-remembered. It will see the end the Shadow's Leer and soon Asher MacRae.

[Kella]

"Chief, get down to 35-D and get to work with Dorin. Find out what's going on with our NAV system being all haywire and whatnot.”

The words cut through Acer’s focus like a vicious slap across the face. Her carefully crafted train of thought, derailed by one insensitive order.

“With all due respect,” she bit, her frustration obvious, “I am of much more use here on the bridge. The modern miracle of com-links and all.”

Acer didn’t follow anyone blindly, least of all people she was quickly losing respect for. She’d only been serving under this man two weeks, and already it was beginning to grate on her. She didn’t demand much -- only that an Admiral recognize that she had forgotten more about a ship’s technology than he had learned in his lifetime. She needed space to do what she did -- because, all else be damned, she was one of the best.

She continued under her breath. “I busted my ass to earn a position on the bridge, and I sure as hell ain’t leavin’ now.”

Acer tugged her left cuff straight, a motion of habit. Her entire uniform was in perfect order, from the undiluted blue of its fabric, to the polished metal stars on her square-cut shoulders, to the silver braid on the hem. Her blond hair was pulled back into a tight, slick bun. Grey had begun to inch from her scalp, but Acer -- unlike most women -- made no effort to die the strands. She had earned each and every one of those grays, and she wore them with as much pride as the medals on her chest.

She had fought her way to the top of the ladder, tooth and nail (nails that were now polished, and cut short and even). Her eyes were blue, but no stunning shade -- they had a dusty, greyish quality to them. Her gaze was sharp -- sharp as her straight, short nose. A woman of age, and character.

She’d earned the right to sit in her chair the hard way. Through grit, and determination, and discipline. She accepted nothing less than complete perfection from herself and everyone else.

That is why being interrupted irked her so. She had an obsessive care to detail, the sort that had to triple-check to make sure every one and zero was in order. This is what made her so good at her job. This is what made her in-disposable, which is why she was permitted to lash her tongue at the Admiral.

Back to the Nav system. It did not take long before Acer was buried in the computer read-outs, watching impossibly complicated feedback flicker across her screen. She had pinned the problem to the fact that Dorin’s requests for information from the Nav system were being pinged back several times before being accepted, which clogged the system with extra information, and triggered Dorin’s request for data to time out.

There had to be a bug in a line of coding.

“Status reports,” she hissed over the com. She was waiting for four reports, four others she had tasked -- aside from herself -- to resolve this anomaly.

“Nominal,” came the first.

“Nominal,” again.

“Nominal,” a third time, each sounding more disappointed than the last. It was like having a mysterious ailment but every test came back ‘Negative’.

A pause.

“I think I’ve found an anomoly.”

“You think?” demanded Acer.

“I have. Pinging you the location matrix.”

Acer pulled the incoming data up on her screen. There it was, there was the problem.

“Well I’ll be damned,” she said to herself, then broadcast; “The request time-out was causing the CPU to loop it’s commands. We’ve just hit two birds with one stone.”

Problem diagnosed, Acer quickly sent the new data to her code specialist. She watched him re-arrange the broken commands in real-time. Done.

Acer could almost feel the Nav system roar back to life as it processed all the back-logged information.

“Status report?” she demanded, not daring to breathe.

“All systems nominal,” returned the crackling voice.

Acer breathed again. All the tension in her muscles diffused. “Good work,” she replied. “Keep on your toes.”

That was the difference between her and this infernal Admiral. There was a difference between tension, and nerves. Tension was the body preparing for something to go wrong, poised for a second strike. It was preparedness, diffused only by the knowledge that it was unneeded.

These nerves, the disgusting sweat that sullied his Admiral’s uniform, that was a crime. If he wasn’t confident in his crew, in his ship, then why should anyone else be? Hm? In fact, she could probably run this ship better than him -- if not because of technical knowledge, then in sure unwavering confidence. The fear needed to be of one’s own failing, not of the enemy. The legion of people under her command ran like a tight, synchronized machine. They didn’t have to like her.

Sure, people liked this Admiral, but that did not make one a great leader, or did it indicate that one was. Speaking of which.

“Nav systems back online,” she announced, almost immediately after he’d complained. My, my, my did he sound riled up. He’d looked at that one young girl, the one Acer had assigned to monitoring shield levels, like he wanted to inspire some sort of confidence in her. But then he’d practically screamed about re-routing the shield power. Or, perhaps, he was just a dirty old man.

Acer moved on with a mental shrug. In many ways, Acer was a computer herself. She’d taken the information of the Sith ship without missing a beat. Another step in her stride. Expect the unexpected. It was no more traumatic to her than learning the coffee bar was out of sugar. Take the new input, calculate a new approach, execute. Simple, simple, simple.

Acer shifted the scheme of data on her screen. She double-checked the shields. Power was cycling as expected, the twenty-percent default slowly working its way back up. Currently at eighty-six percent. She eyed the power levels. Shouldn’t be too much longer...

Ah, there it went. She grinned. Residential power had just been redirected to shields and guns. Things like the galley ovens, the recreation room lights, and even the flushing toilets in some parts of the ship. She’d just recently appointed a Bimm to this particular job, and so far, he was doing well. She had made a good decision. Of course she had. She always did.

Acer eyed the data on the incoming ship. Sith thought they were bigger and badder, didn’t they? She’d show them, yes she would, with her team’s perfect execution, and her own iron-clad leadership.

Before putting her whole focus into monitering the Ship’s systems, she indulged one last fantasy. Herself, standing at the head of the bridge, arms clasped behind her, perfect calm on her face, even the slightest grin, as she said, almost too quiet to be heard, “Up and over, gentlemen. We’ll go up and over, and then we’ll gut the bastards like a Shark guts a fish.”

Yes, she thought. Yes, I’d make a very good admiral.

And with that, Acer Indicium, whose deadly sin had always been pride, let the ones and the zeros pull her deep within.

[Kella]

James Byrd sighed, and scraped his knife across his plate. The barely-touched meal plopped into the receptacle, and James put his plate and utensils in the bin, somewhere around the thirtieth to do so, and far from the last.

He wasn’t doing so because he wasn’t hungry, nor because he considered his palette too good for the swill the cook called food. As it were, he was still quite hungry, and because of that, hardly picky. This mattered little, as five minutes ago, all maintenance personnel had been informed that they had exactly ten minutes before the ship came out of hyperspace and engaged a Republic Vessel in close combat.

Ten minutes notice. The higher-ups had probably known for at least twelve hours, but who cared about maintenance? I mean, really, how long did it take for them to toss aside their beers and get off their lazy rears? Nevermention the fact that those men and women had spouses, and families, and the ability to think sentient-ly, and maybe, you know, they wanted a chance to properly say their prayers before risking their lives in the gear-houses and reactor-cores.

But nah, they were just maintenance, weren’t they?

James shook his head. Those sorts of thoughts didn’t make what he did any easier. He ran a hand through thick brown hair, cut short on the sides and longer on the top, but growing a bit disheveled. He was caucausian, tall, with a broad build, and muscle to reflect his laborious job. Straight jaw, straight nose, brown eyes, brown hair. Engine grease stained his hands and forearms as always. He looked like a respectable, rural man, which he was. Though, it seemed as if the Sith meant to change that, throwing him into this war and putting the dark circles under his eyes.

He wasn’t here because he wanted to be. He was here because he ‘wanted’ to be. The Sith had given him a choice, sure. A choice between enlisting, or watching each and every one of his assets frozen, and his wife and two children hassled by the soldiers.

He didn’t want anything to do with politics and war. His planet had been on the fringes. He couldn’t remember rightly if it had been a part of the Republic, or just friendly to it, but they’d been left to their own business. James’s love had been machines -- building them and fixing them. He had no desire to work in a space-port, lucrative though it might be. He’d had his own little shop in the town he called home. It was one of those places where everyone knew everyone. It’s where he’d met his wife, and courted her with his various little constructs and robots. How shy he’d been. Thought of her brought a smile to his face, as cast some of the cynical thoughts away.

His son and his daughter, twins. Nattan loved nothing more than sitting in his father’s shop, and building things and asking questions. Halma, his little may-flower, was the most amazing artist. Her pictures and sculptures, even at age seven, amazed James like nothing else. Howe humbled he was by them, and how honored to be their father.

The Sith had given him no way out, no promise of escape. He had leave sometimes, but that was easily cancelled by the fleet’s next whim. That’s not why he still did his job here, every day, day in and day out, though he hated the Sith for it.

He did his job because he wasn’t the only one. Wasn’t the only one who ‘wanted’ to be here. They were a quiet group, a secret group of glances and sighs, but they knew each other. Found each other. The silent dissenters. Men James considered closer than family were here as well, from his same town.

He had a responsibility to them, beyond the Sith. If one slip-up, one mistake on his part let them die, James wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

That was why James had ended his meal without complaining, walked down the metal halls without a sound, and was now standing in the maintenance deployment area with sixty other men, expressionless.

He wasn’t here because he ‘wanted’ to be. He was here because he had to be.

The call had come nine minutes ago.

On a chain at his neck hung three things. His wedding band, a copper penny, and a small metal butterfly. He touched each to his lips, and said a silent prayer.

And then he steeled his nerves and waited to be called.

[kozeph]

Laughter echoed through the almost empty mess hall of the Hand of the Revenant. Blue squadron was sitting inside the mess hall, chip-chatting, pulling each others legs, and three of them playing a friendly match of Pazaack. The squadron had time to spare so, they simply hanged with each other. Seventeen pilots they were, all good men and women in service of the republic.

"Then she said to me, I rather Kiss a Wookiee!" all the crew exploded into laughter again. Corporal Dum a cocky yet talent pilot was talking about his last adventure while on shore leave in Aldeeran.

"Any woman would rather kiss a wookiee than you, dear" Said a female Sullustan, and also a pilot in the same squadron as Dum. She laughed again and the rest did so, as they saw the Corporal get a little red in the hears.

Blue squadron, was a mix of many talented and very different pilots, who flew for the republic using the well known F/A-47 "Venom" strike fighters. Although most of the squad experience was with dealing with pirates and such, so it was obvious none had seen real action in their life times. Well all except one, Zer Prazi the acting commander for Blue squadron, a Duros who had been and survive in countless conflicts across the galaxy. The Duros had a large scar running across his face, a reminder of the crash landing he survived near Kessel.

"And now my friend you will do my dry cleaning for a week" Smiled one of the pilots who was playing pazaak. as he showed that he had a perfect 21.

"Oh Scr...." a alarm went off.

The squadron remained silent... waiting for something to happen, all frozen in their place. The Ship shook and strained from a barrage of attacks.

"What tha.." Corporal Dum complained, just as Zer open his com link to the bridge "This is commander Prazi. What's going on?" he asked in a strained voice, he already knew what was happening, his veteran feelings told him... the Sith where behind this. "We are under attack... a Sith ship is attacking the Revenant" came the voice of a woman from the other side of the speaker.

"All hands to the hangar... we got sith to kill!" the Veteran pilot yelled at his squad, who were already scrambling out of the mess hall. They were all already in their jump suits, since they were on "duty"

The seventeen pilots run toward the hangar, who was already exploding in movement and action. Zer sprinted to his starfighter and got in, while the cop pit was open he asked the tech that was nearby "Are we good to go?" the man just made silent OK sign and walked away to deal with other duties. Prazi then closed his cod pit and put on his helmet, and open communication with his squadron.

"This is blue leader too blue squadron, you all set to fly?

"This is Blue two, all systems green and to go"

"Blue three here, ready for take off"

"Blue five here... got a slight malfunction in my targeting system but all systems green" complained Corporal Dum. Every other pilot report in, Blue squadron was ready.

"This is Blue leader to bridge, we are ready... awaiting the green light for take off" The duros had to gulp some saliva, his throat was dry...

[Jace]

He was nervous. Nervous didn't happen often for Ensign Kraul Dreiner. The man may have only been thirty but he had been in more battles than he cared to remember. There had been times when he sure he was dead, and the fear of those instances had long since been forgotten. He had almost expected to die every time they went out, and wasn't exactly sure why he was slightly disappointed when he didn't. It could have been that he didn't have anything to go back home to, nothing left for him outside the Navy.

He was nervous. Admiral MacRae was a fearsome man and talented tactician. Krual only had to serve with the man for a short time to realize that. It was for this reason that the Ensign was nervous, the Admiral seemed to be acting quite strangely. There was something in his eyes that unnerved Kraul. Something in his voice that disconcerted him. He would never doubt his CO but such a radical change was prone to cause a differing view.

He was nervous. They were hunting down a Republic ship, but Kraul didn't know which one. The Admiral had been quite vague about what exactly they were doing. As the man in charge of the Shadow's Leer Combat Information Center(CIC), vague in his world equated to death. His job was to relay what was going on in the battlefield so the admiral could make informed decisions. The numbers were part of his job, the ship's survival depended on it. Thus it came as no surprise that someone has serious as him had found himself in this position. There was no room for lighthearted antics and mistakes.

He was nervous as the ship exited hyperspace. There before him was a rather large Republic ship. He remained unmoving for seconds as he looked at the large ship on the screen. Kraul quickly removed his surprise as his fingers were a blur, along with those who also worked in the Leer's CIC. The information poured in as Kraul and his comrades gathered information, ran it through databases and were rewarded with more specific details.

"Admiral, Republic Respite class Dreadnaught" There was a pause as more information came in "Its the Hand of the Revenant, sir"

Of course the Admiral didn't really care who it was specifically, he opened fire none the less. His decisiveness and the sudden battle had removed whatever anxiety he had been feeling moments before. Kraul was suddenly back in his element, working furiously to gather all the necessary data.

"Sir confirmed hits, I estimate their shields are down twenty percent" reported Kraul.

The Republic dreadnaught didn't seem to be making any move to avoid them though. They were making their way towards the Leer, an unusual move but could possibly be effective. Another Ensign was rapidly calculating their trajectory as Kraul worked on firing solutions which would be the most effective.

"Admiral, it looks like they are trying to get above us" responded Kraul as the trajectory information came in. He had relayed all the necessary information at this point, all that was left was for the admiral to make his move. No doubt this battle would not be something that ended easily or prettily.

[Mara]

Another mission sanctioned by the new Chancellor had led Captain Crianth and the rest of her team to be stationed aboard the Hand of Revenant for the current time. It was merely acting as transport for them as they were army, not navy. Being cooped up on a large ship like this was not the Gotal's idea of well-spent time. But her men were enjoying a bit of time off before they reached their destination. Part of the team that was going down to Druckenwell.

For the most part, she had decided to just leave them alone. Not because she was an uncaring leader--her monotone voice seemed to portray that--but all the beings and electronic equipment, all the electromagnetism aboard was driving her insane with her sensitive horns. Nariss Crianth, nicknamed Risk because of a few missions she had run in her lifetime, kept herself sequestered in her cabin as much as she could, trying to drown out everything so she could concentrate on even mundane tasks. Not to mention preparing for the mission to escort the Chancellor.

And so her squad--eight humans, two Rodians, a Duros and an Anx--were off relaxing or doing whatever males did, as all her men were indeed that, males of their species. Her reputation and her species had allowed her to command them with ease, and they didn't mind at all, most of the time forgetting she was a female. And she remained away from them, trying to push away all the electrical pulses, organic and inorganic, running through the large ship, along with any emotions she was sensing from nearby beings, as her species were natural empaths.

A bit of an enigma of a Gotal, Nariss had left her home planet to join the Republic military, something most Gotals would shudder at. Having to deal with all that electromagnetism in highly populated areas could make havoc with one's horns. But she pressed on, wanting to do what she could to help the Republic. Plus, with her sensing abilities, she could track prey at large distances, just by sensing their electronic signature. Many Gotals used this to become bounty hunters, but the captain preferred to use her natural skills for the betterment of society, not the degradation of it.

She also had had to overcome the hump of her empathic nature. Gotals rarely ever spoke to each other, having already discerned with their horns what the other's meaning was. Nariss could not do that with non-Gotals, and it took her many years to be able to figure out how emotions ran with other species; a few misinterpretations leading to a few unfortunate incidents. Now, though, she was a stellar example of her species out in the galaxy, and a stellar example of a military captain. She was not a harsh leader but still had a hard hand with her men, her orders finding extra meaning behind her emotionless voice. Something they seemed to appreciate, as it added to her no-nonsense character.

Captain Nariss Crianth was slowly paging through her datapad in her temporary quarters, trying her hardest to focus on the task at hand, when she felt it. Perhaps not a much as those up on the bridge, but there was a definite vibration, a change in the electromagnetic spectrum that was a part of the ship as a whole. Not wanting to believe what she knew innately had happened, she drew her eyes back to her work, only to be startled again. And again. With a groan and a sigh she threw the datapad on her cot and got to her feet. She wasn't going to just sit around here not knowing any of the details. All her instincts told her they were under attack, though her good sense told her that she should find out for sure before coming to conclusions. This was supposed to be unoccupied space, for kriff's sake.

Quickly she ran her hands over her uniform, pressing it back into perfect shape before she pressed open her room door and headed briskly down the hall looking for anyone who knew what was going on. The Gotal was halfway to the bridge, after a couple rides in a couple turbolifts, when she finally pulled a young ensign aside who was in the midst of hurrying by. Breathlessly the young Bith told her what was going on, confirming her suspicious instincts. Nariss continued on her way to the bridge, thumbing her comlink as she went, ideas coming together in her tactical mind.

"Team, go green. Mission go. Crianth out." The message went through to all 12 members of her squad, preparing them for readiness for any situation. They needed no more details. The brevity of her orders would set them in motion; the emotionless tone would make them hurry. This could just turn into an all-out firefight between the two capital ships, but perhaps she and her team could help turn the tide. If the Admiral would see her way.

Finally the last 'lift opened its doors, and she was at the bridge level. She slowed her pace into a purposeful walk as she strode with confidence towards the man in Admiral's whites. Nariss Crianth wasn't nicknamed 'Risk' for nothing. The Gotal would do whatever she could to win. Even go captain to admiral. Even walk through a crowded area with emotions running high and wild, electronic equipment making her head buzz. Even with all that, she maintained her focus on the ultimate goal.

Two meters from his back she stopped and clicked her booted heels together and saluted. "Admiral, sir. I respectfully requests a moment of your time." She took a breath to compose herself, not worrying about the fact that perhaps he had never spent much time with Gotals, and that her voice would be void of any emotion. Hopefully her words and her stance would alert him to the seriousness of why she was there, making up for any lack of tone. "I've been apprised of the situation. Sir, this could go on endlessly. My men and I are prepared. Let us on that Sith piece of junk, and we'll disable it from the inside. Sir." The captain knew this gamble, this risk, had to pay off. Her mind couldn't fathom any other option. The admiral had to use all his cards, hadn't he? No one ever won battles playing by the rules.

[Kuhblam]

Taking a brief moment from issuing commands to the various members of his bridge crew, the Admiral quietly pressed a series of keys on his command chair bringing up 3D holographic schematics of a Malice-Class Dreadnought interlaced in transparent light-blue grid lines whilst detailing structural weak points and other useful data gathered from experiences at Sernpidal, Dantooine, and other initial naval battles in the Republic-Sith war. Amidst the chaos, Kota had to admit that his adversary's ship had been built admirably; what the Malice-Class lacked in maneuverability and excess-ed in target size, it made up for in superb structural support and unnecessary extra armament.

His head cocking to the side, Kota listened to a control officer as he mentioned Zer Prazi trying to hail the Admiral on one of the Hand's many secure com-channels specifically reserved for contact with the Bridge.

"Patch him through, Lieutenant."

The young dark-haired human male nodded quickly as the ship rocked again and effortlessly punched several flat keys at his bridge console. Milliseconds later, a holographic figure of the veteran Duros fighter pilot appeared in his flight jumpsuit, cradling a helmet in one gloved hand with pilots and snubnose fighters in the background behind him. Overtime, Kota had come to respect the Duros' ability behind the controls of a starfighter, and the alien had come to be a valuable aspect to his ship. Another plus was that he actually had combat experience; of the ship's few squadrons, most only had firsthand accounts of fighting pirate corsairs, which had been the Hand's duty before being requisitioned for Chancellor's Naaden's transport back to Coruscant.

Granted, Kota hadn't even issued an order for fighters to scramble as there was no need for them yet, but apparently Zer had made a good call getting his men set up; the bridge was full of reports flooding in of the Shadow's Leer launching its superior numbers of snubnose fighters.

"This is Blue Leader to bridge, we are ready... awaiting the green light for take off."

"You have the green light, Blue Leader. Green and Gold Squadrons, fall in behind Blue Squadron for initial dust off. Blue Leader, maintain a defensive perimeter around the ship; I don't want our starfighter capacity getting diminished by lucky turbolaser clips... good luck, Prazi. Lieutenant Holyfield, take over for launch control. Atreides out."

Signing off and letting the Lieutenant take over, Kota was about to issue more commands as the Hand prepared to over-take it's opponent and fire downwards before the blastdoors to the bridge hissed open and a tall Gotal female in a special operations uniform entered briskly, passing both accompanying door guards and approaching Kota's command chair. Her heels clicking together with a sharp chink, Kota instantly knew it to be Captain Nariss Crianth.

"Admiral, sir. I respectfully requests a moment of your time."

"Granted, Captain."

"I've been apprised of the situation. Sir, this could go on endlessly. My men and I are prepared. Let us on that Sith piece of junk, and we'll disable it from the inside. Sir."

Kota didn't immediately reply. The idea was enticing, but Kota cared for his men, be they temporary or permanent. He had made decisions like these a dime a dozen before, but Kota always hated such decisions. He was receptive to the idea, however, and made a mental note in the future to bar any future mid-naval turbolaser exchange boarding actions. The probability of a small, slow-moving boarding torpedo or shuttle being incinerated by turbolaser or flak cannon crossfire would be massive when the Hand of the Revenant over-took her enemy soon. Still, Kota knew that, regardless of the particle cannon turrets, he couldn't match fire-power of that magnitude. A prolonged exchange of broadsides would leave his ship a charred, floating hulk in the darkness of space.

"Captain, I cannot guarantee proper extraction in the event you board that ship. Regardless, get your team prepped and set for boarding. I'm going to hammer those shields in minutes, more-over seconds... Captain, be weary. I'm not sure what's on that ship, and I can't guarantee you'll even get on it."

[kozeph]

(Am kicking this back to life D<)

Speed

Speed and coordination where vital in a naval engagement, which ever ship moved faster, reacted faster and could handle each of its components faster would nearly out of every and any engagement would come up as victorious. Commander Zer Prazi knew this well, better than most in fact. That was why even before Admiral Kota, or the bridge gave the order for the fighters to scramble Prazi had made the call to have his squad ready for immediate take off.

Zer finished checking in with the bridge when a holographic image of the admiral came to view.


"You have the green light, Blue Leader. Green and Gold Squadrons, fall in behind Blue Squadron for initial dust off. Blue Leader, maintain a defensive perimeter around the ship; I don't want our starfighter capacity getting diminished by lucky turbolaser clips... good luck, Prazi. Lieutenant Holyfield, take over for launch control. Atreides out."

The duros nodded and gave a salute before logging off and being patched through back to bridge command.

"Roger" he said after the green light was given and Zer Prazi "Viper" engine roared to life and it took off.

"Squadrons on me, Take formation B-Six" He said to all open channels of both his squad and the newly assigned Green and gold squadron.

"Stay out of the crossfire between the Hand of the Revenant and the enemy cruiser, I want no heroics for now" He stated gruffly his order, everyone acknowledged the veteran command and the comm chatter fell quiet. With the exception of blue five and blue eight.

"Cut the chatter blue five" Prazi order was absolute and now everything was as it should be.

The sleek vipers flew out of the hanger, followed by a compliment of six bombers from gold squad and ten other vipers from green squad... which was filled with completely fresh people from the academies.

The Duros veteran pilot shook his head and tensed up after exiting from the safety of the hangar. This is where the young and inexperienced pilots would say that the fun was about to begin.

How wrong they where... This was when the nightmare began for any veteran pilot.

For now the swarm of fighters remained near the hand keeping clear of the line of fire of both the giant monsters.