Inferno One

Iden thumbed the safety catch on her TIE's control column. "Inferno One, weapons hot." Moments later, Del and Hask sounded off similar confirmations.

"Three, weapons hot." "Inferno Two - weapons hot."

Iden's laser-like focus shifted to the scrolling digits of the countdown displayed on her helmet's HUD. Any lingering thoughts about the crew of the assailed Impetuous had been long since pushed from her nascent reality. She was like a gamut-runner on the starting blocks. The unrelenting whine of her idling ion engine was punctuated only by the reassuring rhythm of her life-support assisted breaths.

It had all been carefully calculated. The exact second the Corvus dropped out of hyperspace, they'd erupt from the hangar like the fires of Mustafar. Full throttle. Their TIES would be in amongst the X-Wings before the Rebels had even realised that they’d entered the system. 

Not for the first time, the Rebel Alliance was about to get a taste of its own medicine. They weren’t the only ones who had mastered guerrilla starfighter tactics. Any rebel pilot out there who thought currently otherwise was about to have a rude awakening, bathed in the righteous green-fury of Imperial laserfire.

Adiana Canton’s usually gentle voice was replaced by an authoritative bark, that if Iden hadn’t known any better, could have come from Ysanne Isard herself. “Inferno, mark.” In the same heartbeat Iden checked that the countdown digits matched Canton’s declaration and shoved the throttle levers fully forward. She was thrown back into her seat, harnesses cutting into her shoulders, as the TIE fighter shot out into the black of the void, black-wings screaming an indomitable battlecry.

Their three TIEs sailed across the hull of the stricken corvette, hurtling past the bridge, the tips of their solar arrays close enough to scratch the paintwork. Iden thumbed the weapons release on her control column, and watched dot of the concussion missile’s warhead bury itself into the S-Foil of an X-Wing, before in a flash of light, it rendered the rebel starfighter into a cloud of twisted metal.

your legs.

you have struggled so long to carry the weight of this world on buckling knees... you fear what may happen if you drop it.

tagged by: @hiddenjedi

warfare and strategy

prideful and ambitious, your followers come to you for guidance and luck in battles they feel are too much for them. you embody the bravery and bloodlust of warfare and the battle intelligence for strategy and leadership. Your patience tends to thin around those who don’t respect you or question your intelligence and strength.

Your Result: Paladin. You’re an idealistic person who is not afraid to stand up for what you believe in. You’ve got strong opinions and you are fully prepared to back up those opinions with your fists, if necessary. Sometimes you might come on a bit strong, but you always have good intentions. You’re very determined and you don’t back down easily. You have a protective side and, ultimately, you’re just trying to make the world a better place.

Your Result: Oath of Redemption. Paladins who dedicate themselves to this oath believe that any person can be redeemed and that the path of benevolence and justice is one that anyone can walk. These paladins face evil creatures in the hope of turning them to the light, and the paladins slay them only when such a deed will clearly save other lives. Paladins who follow this path are known as redeemers. You’re a peaceful person and you try to avoid confrontation unless absolutely necessary. Some may see you as soft or too nice, but you know that forgiveness is more powerful than anger. You’re a patient person who is willing to give others the time and space they need when they need to work things through, though you know that some people are not worth your energy. You’re very aware of the harsh realities of the world but you’re an optimist at heart who likes to hope that one day people and things can change for the better.

Tagged by @arc-77​

"It's away! .... Negative, negative, it didn't go in, it just impacted on the surface."

The station shook as the torpedo careered into them. Iden gritted her teeth. She should have been out there with the others. She ran over to the viewport to assess the damage. The torpedo hadn't detonated. She could make out the conical shape of the warhead still intact, lodged into the twisted metal like a swollen zit.

Her hand was already on her commlink. "Permission to leave the Death Star?"

"For what purpose, pilot?"

Alderaan.

Although the truth was being downplayed, misdirected and covered up, Elena wasn’t one to be fooled, and she was aware what had happened, and who really was responsible. She may have hid it well, acting as if the events didn’t play through her mind each night, but the reminder was a sharp one that stung.

“The tide is certainly changing.” She finally replied. “I can’t say I’m too fond of the idea of entering another war on a galactic scale. The Clone Wars was more than enough bloodshed for the galaxy.”

“It won’t go that far.” Iden replied confidently. The Empire’s military might was unequalled, even if the Rebel Alliance trebled in size overnight, the Rebels would still be devastatingly outnumbered. There was no way in her mind that the Rebellion could survive an open war with Imperial forces. 

The destruction of the DS-1 Orbital Battle Station had been a harsh reminder to never underestimate an enemy, but Iden still felt that its loss was ultimately a failure by the Imperial brass. Had her father or Thrawn been in command of the station during the attack, she had no doubts that the events of Yavin would have played out very differently.

Tarkin, despite his tactical prowess, like Krennic before him, had been overcome by pride. That was what happened when you gave politicians stakes in military matters. It cost lives.

With the right people now in charge, the Alliance would either see the futility of it all and surrender quietly, or be summarily defeated.

There was a dry smirk to match Iden’s. There was appreciation for the humorous comment, but she found herself supressing the slight temptation to roll her eyes.

“Yes they seem to be quite intent on that. On the smaller vessels anyway, I can’t say the Justicia has had much of it ourselves. Something about picking on something their own size?”

“I’m sure that’s a part of the story.” Iden said with a nod, filing the Captain’s assessment at the back of her mind for later. “No-one wants to pick a fight with the big  Corellian ships.” She wondered how much of the Imperial Navy had yet to encounter the Rebel Alliance.

Pirates, smugglers, and even leftover Separatists from the Clone War hadn’t disappeared at the emergence of the rebel threat. She knew from her intelligence reports that the bulk of the Empire’s military might was still committed to maintaining peace and order in its own systems.

Nevertheless, the Alliance’s guerrilla starfighter tactics were being honed with each fledgling engagement. Despite their heavy losses in the months since the Battle of Scarif, and Yavin, the Alliance had proved remarkably adaptable. It wouldn’t be long before they were emboldened enough to attempt to fight the Imperial Navy on equal ground.

Inferno had of course, engaged more fearsome foes. Like Saw Gerrera’s partisans. Fanatically devoted and unquestionably competent veteran soldiers, who would resort to extreme and desperate tactics, even in the face of certain defeat. 

But the Alliance, was different. Even though they lacked the same brutality, the same raw prowess for combat as Saw’s fighters, the Alliance was organised. It was growing, and it was everywhere.

 “Enter.”

      As his missions kept him drifting between ships and bases as needed for years on end, Fordo had lacked a place to lay down his roots for much of the early Imperial era. The Ardent Resolve’s quarters lacked the privacy and space to even consider, and visits to his room on Coruscant were always short. 

     While Scarif may have been significant to his career and the closest thing he had to a permanent residence, he was simply not fond enough of the planet to consider it any more than a stepping stone. He left his quarters deliberately unchanged, and as a result, lost little in the way of possessions upon its destruction.

     The Impetuous coming into his command marked a new era in his life. Deciding, for the first time, that it was finally safe to allow himself to accumulate things, he set to work turning his mobile base of operations into something worth calling his home. And now, roughly six years on, the results were impressive.

    “Make yourself at home, Commander.”

     Far from the cold and impersonal design of a standard quarters, the room was hardly recognizable as such. Finely crafted wood and leather furnishings gave the quarters a cozy, rustic sort of theming, further enhanced by warm lighting. The Commodore, having doffed his armor and thrown some fatigue pants and boots over his bodysuit, stood perusing a liquor cabinet full of amber and orange liquids that almost seemed to glow in the dim light.

    “I hope you don’t mind the lack of formality, given the short notice of your arrival. Dress uniform takes longer to prepare and put on than powered armor  — funny how that is.” Selecting a pair of tumblers and a bottle from the cabinet, he poured one before looking back towards Iden for confirmation on the other. “Nabooian whiskey. Care for a glass?”

    Iden nodded gracefully to herself at his invitation to step inside, tapped the activation panel, and once the door was open, strode across the threshold with flawless posture. She waited motionlessly for the door to hiss close behind her before replying. “Why, thank you.”

    His quarters were furnished far more lavishly than she had anticipated, and perhaps even more than she had thought was permissible aboard a starship. It was a pleasant change from the gray Naval-Specification fittings she had grown too accustomed to.

      Her own quarters couldn’t have been anymore different. Though granted that was through necessity rather than personal inclination. It was challenging to operate a ship like The Corvus with a skeleton crew as they did. Five persons running a ship intended for a crew of dozens. Every item had brought on board had to be carefully considered, selected to fulfil its exact function and nothing more.

        She crossed her legs at the thighs as she fell into the welcoming embrace of the rich Corellian Leather of the settee. “Please. I arrived looking like something that had crawled out of a garbage masher, so, who am I to complain about  a lack of formality?” Her eyes examined the hue of Nubian vintage in the lowlight, and after making a best guess at the strength of the proffered alcohol, she smiled and nodded  her assent.

With the Justicia in the dock to receive its routine maintenance, Elena had used the moment to take a break from the constantly increasing reports and digital paperwork to watch the shipyard bustle about with its every day life. There was something peaceful about it, a peace disturbed the the approach of boots.

The footsteps approaching Elena pulled her back to attention. Returning the salute was instinctual now, and thankfully it hadn’t changed much after the Clone Wars.

“Ah, Commander Versio. Good to see you well.” She replied as she lowered her hand, letting a slight half smile appear on her face to warm up her professional tone. “Just in for some maintenance before continuing on. I imagine a similar story with yourself?”