In all the hustle and bustle, Calsera has found a quite little corner and is engaging in one of her favorite passtimes: napping.

Quote:

Quote: from admiralducksauce on 11:47 am on Oct. 31, 2005
Lt. Toklor jogs over. "What do you need?"

"I need birds prepped and ready for flight ASAP. Crewman Taban (Jorm) will give you the specs and payloads."

Mandall laughs heartily as he nurses another ale, telling his latest story with - ahem - fueled enthusiasm.

"So I'm just about to sneak up on the guy, do it all quiet, and suddenly everything around me goes to shit. So I blow off the lock, grab the guy and we haul ass for the shuttle. And everything, I mean, everything, blows up around us. Fuel cells, a water tank, you name it. Blaster fire every-fuckin'-where.

And in all the commotion, those stormtroopers actually fire at mean old me! I mean, I ain't done nothing to them, so I figure 'Fuck you, cloneboys' and let my blaster do the talkin'. WHAM!, nailed one right square in the middle. Then the damn shuttle starts firing, and I swear those bolts are flying so close I'm getting my hair permed by the heat. So the farmer and me, we sprint for the shuttle door, and they're taking off, I mean, fuck them! I wasn't even sure they'd seen me!

I grab the farmer and push him forward, every bit of my body behind us, and we just sail into the shuttle with the ramp slamming closed behind us. No rest for the wicked, no Sire! I take exactly one breath and rush for the cockpit, grab the stick and wrestle the Lambda to the side, and WOOSH! I can just see the bolt flying where we were a second ago."

Finally, he takes another swag.

"That was fucking close."

Seeing Calsera about to take a nap, Eritram quickly closes in.

"Hey Cat! How about a drink. I'll pay."

Seeing Mandall hopelessly exaggerate Eritram is quick join in.

"While you were playing with those troopers, Cat and me, we put out the REAL heavy stuff.

I nailed a Walker through the hatch with a proton!", Eritram declares proudly.

Mandall grins.

"Ah, I was getting to that, honest!"

He claps Eritram on the back and shouts to the bartender.

"A drink for this man! A drink for the man who can scrape a mynock off a ship with a proton torpedo!"

Calsera stretches langorously. "Oh. Sure, why not?" She rises from her warm little nook and accompanies Eritram.

Entering, she listens to Mandall's tale, and quite the tale it is. It sounds almost plausible, she thinks to herself with a smile. She orders a drink and takes a seat as Eritram adds his part and collects his accolades. Calsera can't really blame him as it was an amazing shot.

"Indeed, it was the prettiest shot I've ever seen."

Aurelia smiles at the officer. "Thanks Sir, I'll send them on their way."

Heading back to the ship, she hands the family off to the two troopers sent down, giving the mother a reassuring hug, and slipping her a loaded credit chip. She wasn't using the money anyway...

She climbs up the side of the Dagger to start fussing over the minor mechanical failings that always crop up on a ship of her size, still pondering the possible design specs for "her" gunship.

"Thank you so much. You have... you have no idea what you've done for us," Rasa tells Aurelia as they're escorted off the deck. Her good deed done, she gets back to her machinery in time to stop a slightly too-industrious power droid from overloading a router in the Dagger.

Lt. Toklor gets the appropriate specs from Jorm and helps put the finishing touches on the next wing of spacecraft the Vandals will be taking out. The B-Wing's refueled, as is the Dagger. Arnae is presumably still in the light freighter, working on his novel no doubt.

Ganet and Jorm give their Y-Wing a once over; the X-Wing assigned to Mandall sits fueled and armed on its landing pad, though its pilot (as well as most of the pilots) are absent from the flight deck.

---

In 303A13, the corporal on drink duty is more than a little starstruck by the exploits of this crew of elite pilots. Unfortunately, the drinks and stories come to a quick close as the comlink interrupts the celebration.

"11th Wing, report to the flight deck. You launch in 5. Vandals to the flight deck - your birds are fueled."

"Damn. And just as we were getting to the good part," Cat says with a wink to the corporal before rising to leave.

Once in the bay, Calsera looks around and notes that the only ship not presently with a pilot appears to be the B-wing. Thus, she heads over and hops in the cockpit. Might as well get this baby going. Still, a little more speed might have been nice; she'll just have to make do...

Eritram is rudely interrupted by the continuation of their mission, when he realizes its time to choose a ship. He looks around noting the X-Wings, B-Wings and the lone B-Wing.

What do we have here, B-Wing without gunner? Last time worked out great with Calsera at the helm - gonna take that chance

He quickly heads for B-Wing and its free co-pilot seat.

"Hi, Cat, nice to fly with you again."

Mandall stumbles into the cockpit of an X-Wing, noting that it's the one he's been using a lot lately - and somebody's screwed with the seat.

You don't fuck with the seat.

He grumbles as he adjust the cockpit back to his personal needs and runs pre-flight, then switches the Comm to carrier operations frequency.

"This is Radio Mandall back on the aether. Don't switch the channel, ladies and gentlemen, we're going to kick it live with the latest in Correllian Comedy, and if you're already groaning now, hang on for our main event later when we blow the shit out of an Imperial Convoy. So smash the holos, tell your droids to shut the hell up and ride the ion storm with good ol' me. Now taking callers..."

"This is the patrician. Long time listener, first time caller, mostly because I haven't been listening on my own accord. We've got ourselves a fighter over here with tradition, history, and dust to match. Ready to fly."

Cat grins. "Ahh, looking to fly Calsera Air? Welcome aboard, sir. Find your seat, stow your luggage, and we'll be taking off shortly."

Calsera straps herself into the pilot's seat. Looks like her gunnery skills won't be needed once again.

Moments later, Mandall's voice comes over the radio. "Can you play something with a good beat that's easy to dance to?"

"We got turbolasers on the playlist, and I'm pretty sure you'll see a couple of Imps dance..."

Aurelia grins as she opens a topside hatch and gets back inside the Dagger

"Radio Free Mandall eh?...play something pretty...the hard stuff comes later."

She slides into the "co-pilot" seat of the Dagger and starts bringing up systems. "I swear, if they touched the lift couplings..."

The Rusty Dagger shows nothing but green lights (except for that one blinking red light that refused to shut off but wasn't reeeally a problem), launching into the void with the other snubfighters.

It's a short jaunt through the swirling blue vortex to Anoat. The mass shadows cast by the myriad asteroids prohibit a pinpoint jump, so Vandal Squadron forms up and flies in with only essential systems powered. The terrible ship-crushing monoliths of rock and ice are actually quite beautiful from a distance; morning frost scattered across a snowspeeder cockpit.

According to Jorm's information, the shuttle and whatever escort it might have should be exiting hyperspace in a few minutes.

There's something about hyperspace jumps that Calsera has never quite gotten over. They're beautiful and amazing, and yet slightly scary at the same time.

Dropping out of hyperspace, they see the asteroid field nearby. Based on the reports, they'll only have a few minutes to get situated and prepare for the ambush.

Since she has the slowest boat, Cat kicks in the thrusters immediately and heads for the nearest likely hiding spot. Of course, Dutch will pitch in with some unneeded orders, but they really don't have time to waste.

Jumping out of Hyperspace, Mandall wastes no time positioning his fighter in an intercept position. He's got the fastest set of wings, after all.

"Radio Free Mandall is now going offline, silent running and all. Don't worry, fellas, we won't be quiet for long. But if you really can't stand it, I'm gonna be treating myself to Alderaan Apokalyps's latest album in exactly thirty seconds. You can hum along in your head."

Dutch assessing the lay of the battlefield.

"Wait till the convoy passes the middle of our formation before opening fire. There's no telling how well the intel we got matches up with the real deal. They could have frigate piggybacking on them."

The brilliant swirls of Hyperspace resolve into distant stars and the planets of the Anoat system. Jorm checks his chronometer and compares it with the shipping manifests. We have time but not much. From the back seat of the Y-Wing he checks sensors and ships systems, making sure the old ship is ready for what awaits.

"Everything is green back here, Ganet. How does it look on your end?"

After listening to Dutch's transmission, Jorm simply sends two clicks over his comm as a silent acknowledgement.

"Ok, Ganet, ready or not we are rigging for silent running. Make sure you have your suit sealed; life support is a good place to draw power from," says Jorm with a smile as he begins streamlining the Y-Wing's sensor profile.