Naga's surviving rats flee their sunk ship along with every space-capable vessel within 2 kilometers. There are mid-air collisions, spontaneous dogfights, and mass hysteria. The Vandals arc up out of Nar Shaddaa's orbit and set course for the Sword of Alderaan. Tol Grannick's safely aboard the Nubian yacht, the squadron's bloodied but unharmed, and Naga's criminal empire lies in burning ruins.

Mandall takes his time to line up Braxis properly, then pours a perfect stream of fire onto the mercenary. He lets out a whelp of triumph, but quickly calms down and switches the comms back to broadcast mode.

"Tick, tick, tick, tick - BOOM!"

---

Freude, schöner Götterfunken
Tochter aus Elysium,
Wir betreten feuertrunken,
Himmlische, dein Heiligtum!
Deine Zauber binden wieder
Was die Mode streng geteilt;
Alle Menschen werden Brüder,
Wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt.

---

Once up in orbit, Mandall switches the comms back to the team channel.

"You think they'll name the crater after us?"

At the blind spot in her Immelman, Dane wheels left rather than right. This has the unfortunate effect of putting Cat on his nose, rather than his tail. They trade flickering laser death, but only Dane's seem to reach their intended target.

As her shields wink out, Calsera corkscrews madly to avoid a collison with the larger Skipray, flashing an obscene gesture as they pass.

At least she managed so set him up for Mandall, who drops in behind the gunboat. His lasers shred Braxis' engines, removing that stain from the galaxy forever and bringing a smile to Cat's face.

Shifting all power to the engines, Cat streaks for orbit as the aging bulk freighter plows into the center of Naga's empire. Some of the minnows manage to escape, but no doubt the big fish are all fried. Once in orbit, Calsera pauses to watch the spectacle. However, once the Dragon's engines go nova, she shoots for hyperspace to avoid betting caught in the blast.

It will be nice to be back aboard the Sword again...

Safely in orbit and on his way back to the Sword, Ganet drafts a memorandum suggesting a "humanitarian intervention" of sorts by the Rebels. Good for hearts-and-minds appeals, plus you can establish a minor presence.

Quote:

Once up in orbit, Mandall switches the comms back to the team channel.

"You think they'll name the crater after us?"

"What? Like Vandal Dragon Abyss?" Calsera replies with a chuckle. "Sounds kind of like a new hologame..."

fanchergw wrote:

Quote:

Once up in orbit, Mandall switches the comms back to the team channel.

"You think they'll name the crater after us?"

"What? Like Vandal Dragon Abyss?" Calsera replies with a chuckle. "Sounds kind of like a new hologame..."

Ty nods to himself as he shuts down some of the cluster of computer screens that the Dragon's data had been displayed on, now all flashing "Signal Terminated". Idly, he muses, "With that kind of work, I suppose we really are a vandal squadron, after all. You think they'll let us paint a hutt on the ships now?"

The Vandals regroup with the Sword of Alderaan at a deep-space rendezvous point, where the battered vessels and their weary pilots finally set foot on friendly deckplates.

Tol Grannick, Lt. Maso's Besalisk spy, is extricated from Murdoch's maimed yacht and bustled into sickbay. The rest of the group endures several hours of debrief. The Sword's climate controls are on the fritz again, so it's too warm inside the cramped room, and everyone feels the urge to nod off. Lieutenant Maso seems to get more and more agitated as the debrief goes on and includes increasing levels of violence, wanton destruction, and disregard for anything approaching espionage. Finally, the recap of your most recent exploits is over. Captain Kolit stretches, obviously feeling the uncomfortable warmth as well, and concludes.

"Well, it looks like you accomplished your mission-"

"The hell they did!" Maso interrupts. "Sir... Your pilots... while I am impressed at the ingenuity they displayed in doing... whatever it was they ultimately did, this power vacuum they've created by destroying a city block is an unacceptable state of affairs. We have no intel, and thus no control over who or what will replace Naga's organization!"

Kolit gives Maso a look. It's hard to tell what kind of look, exactly, because all Mon Calamari seem to have the same expression, but Maso shuts up. "Step outside with me, Lieutenant."

There's a muffled conversation in the hallway. Calsera picks up bits and pieces, enough to know that Kolit isn't doesn't seem happy with Maso or the mission the Vandals were sent on. The Cathar pilot darts back to her seat as the door cycles once more and Captain Kolit reenters the briefing room.

"Perhaps Alliance Intelligence will think again before sending a broadsword to do the job of a blowdart. I'm logging your mission as a success. Naga and an unknown number of criminal underbosses are dead. Moff Dorn'll be looking for a new off-the-books supplier, you rescued Agent Grannick, and finally, you've brought to light an insurgency on Mygeeto that could use some much-needed Alliance support. I'll recommend, as per Ganet's advice, that the power vacuum on Nar Shaddaa be filled with Alliance personnel."

"Finally, I have news. Lieutenant Taban has been transferred back to Mon Calamari. Our very best are looking after him. He's out of his coma, but he has a rough ride ahead of him. Your ECM vessel, the Echo, has proven so successful in 12th Wing's training exercises that Alliance Command has commissioned the Tragen-class for limited production, slated for other ACAG wings and special units. On a more somber note, services for Shasna'hoj will begin at 1930 hours. There will be a small awards ceremony tomorrow morning. After that, it's business as usual. Now get your sweaty backsides out of here and get some rest. Dismissed."

Mandall endures the briefing with an increasing smile as he relates his exploits. He clearly enjoys antagonizing Maso, gleefully emphasizing his lack of subtlety all the way.

While Maso and Kolit are outside, Mandall turns to Calsera.

"That guy needs to learn the difference between special ops and espionage."

He listens to Kolit explain things, nodding a few times. He's got a ton of questions - When will Jorm be back? Can you get royalties for designing the entertainment system of the newest Alliance ECM vessel? And who the frak is going to command the Vandals now that they're down *another* officer? - but decides that answers can wait.

Now, it's time to get shitfaced and tell the newbies a couple of tall stories.

Calsera participates minimally in the debrief. She does, however, find the interplay between Maso and Kolit interesting. And Mandall's baiting of the Lt. is entertaining. Of course, as hot as it is in here, she's wishing she wasn't furred and that's distracting her.

The private discussion catches her attention, though. Slipping silently to the door, she listens in. Unfortunately, it's hard to hear and she doesn't get more than the jist of the conversation.

Mandall wrote:

"That guy needs to learn the difference between special ops and espionage."

"I suspect we do too," Calsera replies, gliding back into her seat.

The officers return and Kolit gives them a positive overall review. He also gives them the latest on their missing squadmates. Shasna'hoj's death is particularly sad; Calsera will be there for the service. At least she has time for a nap beforehand; there will be plenty of time for partying afterwards.

Ty sits back during the briefing and does what he does best, listens and remembers. He's excited by the fact that a craft he helped design and build will be being put into more regular construction, but the reminder of the pilots lost in the recent mission is troubling, bringing back memories of previous losses. He muses to himself that the guy kind of got caught in the crossfire of something he didn't want to be in. As the meeting wraps up, Ty goes off to grab some grub and a shower before the services.

"We come from all walks of life. We come from the fields, the cities, the Empire itself. You will find us everywhere injustice rears its head. Shasna’hoj was one of us - a warrior willing to lay down his life for freedom. Those of us who remain are richer for having known you. May the Force be with you."

"May the Force be with you." The assembled crewmen and pilots echo Captain Kolit's benediction. This being one of the rare times that there IS a body, Shasna’hoj is not relegated to the void; his body is packaged with full honors and is to be returned to his family on Corellia.

---

The night is spent in drunken revelry, deep sleep, quiet meditation, or combinations of several. The next morning your personal datapads remind you about the awards ceremony, as well as a change in course. The Sword is heading back to the Anoat system.

The awards ceremony is held on the flight deck, which is battened down while the carrier is in hyperspace transit. Several rows of orange jumpsuited crew and even more wearing the tan coveralls of techs, all smattered with non-standard touches, are lined up on deck waiting for the captain.

Eventually Kolit enters through the main blast doors, accompanied by two of his command staff. The ruddy Mon Cal looks over his crew and calls several names. One by one pilots step forward until there is a sizeable line in front of the captain.

"Bella Lorne," - that was Lucky's real name - "for heroism and courage above and beyond the call of duty, the Alliance presents you with the Corellian Cross." The redheaded Human female blushes as she receives the bronze ribbon.

"Dak Marco and Rog Mixon, it is the Alliance's pleasure to bestow upon you the Star of Alderaan for your three combat tours and the years of experience you have imparted to our ACAG pilots. In addition, Dak, this honor comes with a promotion to 2nd Lieutenant."

"Don't get cocky," Mixon taunts as Kolit moves past the 12th Wingers and on to 11th.

"11th Wing, for your never-tiring efforts to bring order to the galaxy in the face of constant danger, it is the Alliance's honor to bestow upon each of you the Corellian Cross."

Applause breaks out at this, which Kolit simply uses as an excuse to pass out the bronze medallions.

"For wounds received in the line of duty, the Antilles Star is hereby awarded to Mandall Daygon, Calsera, and unit MDK-911." Murdoch's award clamps onto his newly-polished frame with a click.

"Tynam Ridemis, judging by the Hutt painted on your helmet I see you've marked over 5 kills. This makes it official." Kolit pins a red ribbon adorned with a silver X-Wing onto Ty's uniform as nearby crew snicker at the Hutt kill-mark. "The Alliance officially recognizes Crewman Ridemis as an Ace."

"Ganet Hran of the house of Hran, for unmatched leadership in the face of adversity the Alliance awards you the Republic Nova. Job well done."

"You're lucky you weren't promoted," Dak hisses at Ganet, following his comment up with a smile.

"Finally, Mandall Daygon and Calsera. For exception bravery and skill in the cockpit, and for your heroic achievements out of it, the Alliance awards you both the Kalidor Crescent." Another round of applause, this time greater than the first. The golden, weighty medals settle around each pilot's neck. "Mandall Daygon, for your extraordinary service behind enemy lines, the Alliance is proud to bestow upon you the Kenobi Medallion." The chromium disk slots neatly into the center of Mandall's Crescent.

"About face!" spurts Kolit's X-O. All three wings of ACAGs turn to face the assembled crew.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to your your fellow pilots - heroes of the Alliance!"

Applause and cheering thunders through the flight deck. The John Williams music starts, and we fade to black.

*credits roll*

*fade in*

Mandall's quarters are turning into a frantic mess as he rummages through his locker; flight suits and other more, ahem, personal effects are already on the ground, and he's adding steadily more of them.

Well, figures it'd be here in the back.

Mandall grabs the bag, takes another look around the room and decides to clean up later. He grabs the Stormtrooper armor manequin from the corner, ties a blue flightsuit to it and loads it onto his back, then stumbles out, dragging another flightsuit with him through the door. Cursing up a storm, he kicks it back into the room and closes the door before it spills out again.

Carrying a full suit of armor on your back isn't as easy as he thought, and he has to heave it from bulkhead to bulkhead, occasionally nodding to passing crewmembers.

"Hey, Mandall."
"How's it going, Daygon?"
"You need help?"
"Why don't you use a trolley?"

...wait, that one makes sense. Mandall rolls his eyes - good idea, but he's almost at the elevator anyway. With a final effort, he gets his gear into the elevator, then rides down to the flight deck.

It's business as usual for "slow" days down there; some launches for CAP, some special ops shit (Hey, even if they're off-duty, somebody has to keep the Rebellion going), and a whole lot of stripping airframes for thorough repairs rather than the usual patchjobs. One of the grease monkeys spots him and walks up, with his best "Yes Sir!" smile.

"Hello, Sir," the deckhand says, flipping through his clipboard. "You're not scheduled for a flight, if I can trust this, but, you know, the comms are like, on the fritz - again. So, if you got those orders in writing, that'd be like, well, that'd be awesome, you know?"

Mandall ignores him and hauls his armor out of the elevator.

"Aw, that's a beaut. Where'd you get that? Uh, actually, what are you doing with that? Showing it to the crew? We're, you know, we're kinda busy..."

Mandall keeps ignoring him as he drags the manequin to an empty corner of the flight deck and sets it down.

"Can I see some auth, please?"

The deckhand is clearly torn between doing his job and not giving the ace pilot shit. It's not a good situation to be in for a young enlisted soldier, so Mandall decides to solve the problem; he digs into his pockets, grabs a credit chip and flicks it at the deckhand.

To his credit, the guy gets the hint.

After setting up the armor, Mandall unpacks his tools of the trade: a hacksaw, a rotary multi-tool, a hammer, lots and lots of masking tape, an airbrush, several canisters worth of paint, superglue and a whole lot of odds 'n ends from all over the galaxy. Then he gets to work.

A plastisteel replica of a Krayt Dragon skull (not to scale) from a street bazaar on Tattoine replaces one of the shoulder spaulders. The other spaulder soon bears the relief of Mandalorian "M" machined in somebody's spare time, but for the uninitiated, it might just as well be a 7. Mandall attaches a webbing belt bandolier style, adorning the portion near his hips with several claws from wild animals. He makes sure that the belt is securely attached, cutting slots into the armor's shoulder and hip areas to accomodate it.

A small crowd gathers as Mandall strips the armor panels from their black undersuit; he discards the "longjohns" onto a growing pile of spare parts and instead sets to test-fitting the armor components onto the flightsuit. Considering that they were both made to adhere flush to a humanoid his size, the fit is okay, if not stellar; Mandall begins to work out the kinks with the hammer and multi-tool. He also drills holes into the armor plates to make sure the fittings on the flightsuit can still be accessed. By now, the protective function of the armor is so vastly compromised that it's vestigal at best, but Mandall doesn't care about that, as long as people know where it came from. After making sure that everything fits together now, he takes the armor panels aside again and fixes them to the manequin with tape.

The painting begins.

Mandall's not a great artist by any stretch, so his concerns are simple: Make the armor match the flightsuit. Let the modifications pop out. Look cool. He gives the white panels a black basecoat, then lays down orange. He masks off a few stripes, then hits it with blue, getting a rather darker tone than the flightsuit. After tearing off the masking tape and some detail work on the edges, the armor has something that could almost be called dazzle camouflage - real simple like. He gives the skull a quick hit of pearl, making it pop out slightly more; the Mandalorian letter gets a red paintjob.

It's a good thing somebody invented fast-drying paint, otherwise the whole job would be a total mess.

Finally, Mandall assembles his work of art, permanently attaching the armor parts to the flightsuit, sprinkling it with more trinkets as he sees fit. His attention to detail pays off; most everything fits and looks good. He wrestles the manequin into the new armor suit, then packs up his tools and loads up again. As he heaves the whole kaboodle back to the elevator, he acknowledges the presence of the maintenance crew for the first time.

"See ya, guys."

*cuts to*

Ty muses over recent events as he juggles datapads and flimsies over food in the mess. Fortunately, most of the paperwork is being handled by superior officers, thanks to the loss/incapacitation of the current squadron CO; however, he still has several tasks that need doing. Besides the books of the temporary shipping company they established as cover, Ty is processing the expenses and (small) profits made during the mission, verifying that the numbers are in order and ready to be submitted to the vast wheels of buerocracy present in any formal organization, even the Alliance.

As his cup of caf sucumbs slowly to the forces of entropy, Ty continues working, thinking over the mission as he does so.

So much pain, so much distruction, he thinks. His Nubian values, or what's left of them after years on the slighlty shady side and (alternately) the right and wrongs ends of various weapons, lead him to be more than slightly appaled by the damage the Vandals had to cause to achieve their objectives.

If we hadn't done it, he rationalizes, they would have gone on, and our cover was blown. We had to do it that way, then, but the triteness of the line rings false, even in his own mind. This isn't the first time he's had this conversation with himself, but it's especielly difficult to conduct under the wieght of the innocents (or as close as they get on Nar Shadda, anyway) that suffered because of his actions. Sighing, Ty decides to knock off for the night, and grab something stronger to drink. He chuckles a bit to himself as he thinks, Heck, today I'm an ace. Might be able to get someone to buy for me.