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[Oni Storm]

March 22th 2581 0632 hrs
Nadir Jump point of Prospector's Paradise
Bridge of the SLS Basel

"We've lost the Dixie"

Commodore Striker heard the hollow words, and his heart sank, he knew that there would be loses, but so soon and for a pointless operation. He glared at the Admiral with a certain bit of hate. (This is why you use a pirate point you fool!) He tried in vain the calm his mind as the ships continued to close. "Alex, Tell the Royals to form up to our aft, they'll never make it to them in time." With a heavy heart and guilty conscious he turned to the displays again, the time to contact would be about 8 hours. (Damnit I swear this will end, if I have to slam this fraker into the Tauran Capital myself. This Will End..) "Major Ayers you have the bridge. Alex tell Colonel De and Major Nakashima to meet me in the ready room in twenty. Oh and get Master Sergeants Yamamoto and Bolden there as well, would you dear?" He looked one more out the window at the stars keeping pace, then turned and exited to the hallways and began a solemn march to the ready room.


March 22th 2581 0700 hrs
Flight Ops Ready Room aboard the SLS Basel

Some twenty minutes later inside the flight ops ready room Commodore Wolfe Striker stood before a long table as the four other gentlemen gathered round staring at the illuminated holo screen that marked the various ships pathways. One ship in particular was highlighted now that the engine class signatures were in. “Gentlemen, I have no great love for this War or this coming battle. We have already lost too many when the Dixie went down earlier and I want us to loose no more. This is an unrealistic dream I know. It is therefore that I bequest of you all to do what you can to minimize looses and recover our fleets strengths. Yamamoto your Royals are hereby charged with the protection and safety of this ships interior don't let me down.” He touched the highlighted enemy vessel and it expanded to a full schismatic, from the Star League archives, after another two pushes. “Now then Bolden, take your marines and get me that Aegis. Once she's secure we'll send in the crew and get her back into the fight on our terms.” Striker knew the Aegis class well as it was one of the primary designs they used to use to train second year cadets back at the Academy and his first assignment inside the Davion Exploratory Forces. “The limited crew quarters and space should serve your troops well as it's mostly close quarters and no room for any marines without severely compromising crew capacity and performance. Should be a little under two hundred to your hundred fifty. I think you handle it.” He looked at Bolden's vibroblade and couldn't help but feel for the crew, “Try to take as many as you can once they surrender. You'll lock em here in the mess hall understood? It's centralized but also also only has the two doors in this corridor for an in or out.” Striker pointed at the schematic. “Communications and Bridge are your first priority, then Engineering. Hopefully once the Bridge falls they'll all surrender. If not, make examples of random ranks. That'll show you mean business and don't care who falls that trys to stop you. Your ships will dock here and here.” He pointed the extender again. “This corridor leads straight to the Bridge once you pass this corner near the communications relay computers and decoders. The other is a bit more tricky as you'll be cutting and dropping through where they run the fiber optics and coolant tubes for maintenance. You'll have to either cut of blow your way through but you'll be right over the Bridge. Tell your boys to be careful though as that coolant could be dangerous under pressure if burst. I'd suggest your best blades and zero guys for it. If done right and with a bit of luck they'll never know what hit them til its too late.” He turned to Colonel De. “Peyton get those Viper boyz of yours tight, your providing escort and attack. I want all the comm towers down and communication offline. You got me? Try not to scratch her up too bad, just make sure all comm forms are out.” That left the small five foot nothing Major Nakashima with which to speak. Striker turned and motioned the man to his side. “The rest of you gentlemen are dismissed. I have something special to discuss with the Major here. Happy hunting and get me my prize.” He smiled wickedly as if a demon had possessed him grinning from ear to ear before a blank stare reappeared on his face and he turned back to Nakashima. “Now let us discuss those Stukas of yours.”


March 22th 2581 1300 hrs
Small Craft Hanger 2 aboard the SLS Basel

Master Seargent Bolden appeared before the gathered 13^th Royal Marine Guards of the SLS Basel. He was a tall well distinguished man with a small scar just below his chin and slightly off to one side of his neck. “Change of plans you Dawgs. The Commodore wants a prize! Suit up and be prepared for zero-G boarding. Heaven help those Tauran bastords why?” The gathered men yelled out in chorus “Because it's their unlucky day Sergeant!” Bolden smiled. “and why is that?” “Cause the 13^th is paying them a visit! Seargent!” “ D*mn Straight and what does that mean?!” The men began laughing and yelling in a fever like some defensive linemen ready to destroy all “Their luck just ran OUT..” With that the men broke and prepared for the assembly and redistribution amongst the robust battle taxis that would carry them to their respective targets. Bolden signaled over to Sergeant Christensen commander of 3^rd platoon. “John your boyz up for a special assignment? The Commodore said to grab the best blades and G-men I could find. So you're it, hope you're ready.” He then proceeded to go over the Bridge breaching plan for the maintenance shaft and assigned the team four det-cord lengths, one for each squad once they were in. the lengths being just long enough to open a entry hole for one man to jump down through or fire from.

March 22th 2581 1350 hrs
Battle Taxi #3
Launch Tube; Small craft Hanger 2 aboard the SLS Basel

The men and women of 3rd Platoon were packed and secured inside their restraints, many of them had been on operations before, but few had traveled like this. The Battle Taxis had each been cradled and loaded into a separate tube just slightly larger then the craft itself, turned onto ti's side with the now zero-G hanger and chambered like a bullet, as the tube closed with a "Teehisss". The entire craft was currently being held in place by some form of high magnetic energy. John knew this for a fact as his squad's only female trooper Maria Isles kept taking her helmet off and running her fingers through he hair to shock her fellow squad mates for the past twenty minutes. It did seem to help relieve the tension and anxiety as they waited and John couldn't tell which was more nerve wrecking her joking, the static electricity coursing around him or the fact that shuttle was also filled with fifty crewman that looked and smelt like they had each personally pissed or crapped themselves just for being here.

March 22th 2581 1400 hrs
Bridge SLS Basel

Six more meetings and countless hours had passed. Commodore Wolfe Striker had gone over the plans, re-ordered and re-organised again and again. He consulted his advisors Colonel Peyton De [Aerospace], Major James Ayers [Logistics], Major Parvin Montano [Command & Ship Tactics], and Captain Malika Adamu [Gunnery Crews Head] and went over the possible scenarios and tactics and now it all boiled down to this. He knew deep down though that it'd work. (After all it has to)

March 22th 2581 1410 hrs
Deep Space of Prospector's Paradise

As the fleets closed he gave the order and the two carriers slowed and banked hard falling back behind The Quixotes which where forming the center of the fleet. The Vigilants and Vincents forming up into an eight pointed star pattern around the Congress at it's center and letting loose their missile spread. The Bonaventures gathered around the Riga in their own four pointed star were ordered to hold their and concentrate on intercept fire to knock out any incoming missiles or small craft [Destroyers and Lower]
The Quixotes and Basel adding in a second missile spread of their own following quickly after the first.

[Note: All missiles spreads are aimed at the Concordts, the vile new ship pride symbol of the Taurans]
[each wave's 1st spread consists of 1 Killer Whale, 14 White Sharks, and 8 Barracudas]
[each wave's 2nd spread consists of 36 Killer Whales, 48 White Sharks, and 56 Barracudas]

March 22th 2581 1415-1420 hrs
Battle of Prospector's Paradise

As the fleets closed to within long range the fleet let out it's second wave of missiles and quickly tried to close into medium range for a third wave burst. However, this time as the streaks and plums burned across space they were joined and intertwined with four wings of fighters. The Basel dove sharply and to the left, as the missiles launched, bringing her aft into line between the Aegis and Winchester, then fired it's six specially equipped rail assisted launchers that ran along it's back like a spine extending into the second and third cargo hangers. The magnets picking up and carrying the small egg shells perfectly at an accelerated speed til they were thrown clear by the compressed air burst behind them, bellowing out into the void of space.

As the missiles and fighters streaked on, six ball like shells kicked in their thrusters and joined the volley and took up position with among their escort wings, only splintering off at the last few seconds as they closed in on their prospective targets. Four approaching the Aegis and the other two headed for the Winchester.

Edited by Oni Storm, 27 September 2012 - 01:50 PM.

[Thom Frankfurt]

[[Internet hiccuped on me and I lost this post, rewriting from memory. I hope it's as decent as the first one would have been.]]

Battle Taxi #3 attached to
Vulture Class Dropship, Blue Buzzard
Nadir Jump point of Prospector's Paradise
March 22th 2581 1350 hrs

Three plattoons of marines were aboard the battle taxi, waiting for the signal to begin their assault. Roughly one hundred marines continued to sit where they've been waiting for the past several hours bored out of their wits. Stale jokes that have already made their way twice around the fleet were retold. A couple of soliders passed time by playing cards with their neighbor. Several of the men jotted down letters to loved ones who most likely would never recieve them. While many cleaned and reasembled their weapons as more than a few honed their combat knives on worn whetstones. And a few offered prayers to whatever deity they believed hovered over them. Raymond wasn't doing any of those things.

"Dude is he...sleeping?" Jackson asked aloud while looking up from honing his blade.

"Yeah I think so." Lyle answered after looking sideways at the sargent and waving his hand before his face.

"God, I hate it when he does that shrimp, it creeps me the funk out." (take that filter!) Another marine, Richie Walton exlaimed.

"Well how long has he done that? Hey Mike, you've known sarge the longest, has he always done... that?" Jackson asked of a lance corpral a bit further down the line while pointing at the slumbering sargent with his knife.

"Actually no. He started doing that when we were on Spica putting down that rebellion a few years ago. The rebs would sneak into our firebases at night and slit peoples throats in their sleep. I'm guessing he learned how to sleep with them open. And I have to agree with Richie, that shrimp is creepy." The corpral replied.

Gong! The taxi's overhead speakers sounded indicating a message from the craft's pilot.

"Alright listen up marines, we're roughly ten minutes out from the edges of extreme range. I suggest you button up and get ready incase you've haven't yet. Things may get a bit 'bumpy' from here on in."

"A bit bumpy? Just what the H3ll does that mean?!" Blurted out some marine from the back.

"IT MEANS THE SHRIMP IS GONNA FLY, AND MEN ARE GONNA DIE!!" Roared out Raymond. REMEMBER LADIES, WE DIDN'T START THIS FIGHT, BUT BY GOD WE'RE GONNA FINISH IT!!! AND THAT END STARTS HERE, TODAY, NOW !" He stated matter of factly. "WHAT DO YOU SAY!?"

A bunch of cheering answered his question, and he beamed at 'his boys.'

[Listless Nomad]

March 22th 2581 1400 hrs
Battle of Prospector's Paradise

In black, emptiness of space, the two fleets racing towards one another appeared as nothing more than twinkling stars. Their main drive engines spewing enormous plasma trails behind them, each ship appeared almost serenely calm, like simple comets making their way slowly through the universe. Their exteriors, however, belied the feverish activity occurring within, as thousands of men and women raced head long into death.

Marshal of the Fleet Artem Tankian-Calderon smiled grimly as he observed the SLDF charging headlong towards him. His trap had been sprung, the enemy was divided, and now he would have his revenge. Dozens of times before, he had watched Star League ships crack and rupture beneath his guns. Every time he jumped into a system and watched as the planet burned beneath the heel of heel of oppression, it had only furthered his resolve. Operation Manticore had been sprung, and now he would watch as the vaunted 13th Fleet of the Star League Defense Force broke before him. Calmly, he turned to his fire control officer.

"Relay this message to all ships in the fleet. They are to take fire control coordination from the Hades. I want concentrated fire on a single ship. Lets send them a message."

Grimly, the fire control officer smiled and nodded. Finally they would have revenge.

March 22th 2581 1415 hrs
Battle of Prospector's Paradise

Arranged in a rough wall formation, the Taurian Warships aligned themselves bow on to the incoming SLDF ships, forming the smallest possible profile, while bringing their fore mounted weapons to bear. In a matter of seconds, targeting information and firing solutions were distributed to all ships in the fleet. In the silent void of space, the nose of each Concordat vessel was rapidly illuminated as the huge naval autocannons unleashed their deadly cargos. Being predominantly kinetic projectiles, their range was unlimited. Within the vast distances of space however, the odds of their target holding still and maintaining their projected trajectory was small. The shells themselves, are exceedingly difficult to detect however...

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March 22th 2581 1415 hrs
Battle of Prospector's Paradise
Taurian Sabre Fighter "Melissa"

Force Sergeant Dale McManus strained against his straps as he pushed his fighter ever faster into the void. Pure, unadulterated, hatred colored his eyes and swamped his thoughts, consuming him utterly. His small fighter was pushing itself to the limit. McManus glanced down at his mini holo display to see the rest of Rodeo Flight were pushing just as hard as he was. Slowly but surely, the tiny twinkling lights in the distance grew larger, SLDF were closing. Suddenly a new set of twinkling lights appeared, much smaller, and much faster. For a moment, McManus panicked. He knew he was going to die. He wanted to die. But he wanted to die knowing that he had made SLDF Royals pay for the lives of his friends. He did not want to be snuffed out silently but a capital missile fired at long range. Breathlessly, he called out to the other members of his flight.

"Vampire, Vampire, Vampire. I say again. Vampire, Vampire, Vampire. Capital missiles incoming." The voice of his flight commander came back, flat and emotionless.

"Maintain course."

Resolutely, McManus closed his eyes and waited for the end. Memories of his friends flashed before him, their smiling and laughing comforting. Calmly, he opened his eyes to watch as the flight of capital missiles passed above his flight, headed directly towards the main ships of the fleet.

Why would they fire anti fighter missiles at capital ships?

Bewildered, McManus was snapped back to attention by a small innocuous beep. His sensors had detected enemy fighters at the edge of sensor range. The fear fled his body, to be replaced once more by the seething hate. He would have his chance for revenge after all.

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March 22nd 2581 0632 Hours,
Location: Zenith Jump Point of Prospector's Paradise,
Bridge of the SLS Reliant


Captain Deborah Bainbridge was seething. The attack from behind had caught them completely off guard, and now they had already lost of their escorts. Captain Adams of the Dixie had been one of her good friends. As she watched the hulk of his former command twisting and burning, wracked by silent explosions, her anger was palpable. Through the viewscreen, she stood amazed as she watched the corvettes break from behind their cover, diving on two of the Pentagon Class dropships between her and the Dixie.

"FIRECONTROL!"

The officer spoke before she had finished the word. Everyone on board had known someone on the Dixie.

"PLOTTED!"

'Fire as she bears!"

Captain Bainbridge gripped the arms of her command chair as the ship rocked from every available gun firing in unison. The Savannah which had rolled and come underneath the Reliant unveiled her batteries as well, hoping to avenger her sister ship. Beams of coherent light, missile streaks, and flashes from naval guns filled the gap between the Taurians and the SLDF.

[RogueSpear]

March 22nd 2581 0633 Hours,
Location: Zenith Jump Point of Prospector's Paradise,
Bridge of the TCV Night Caller,

Colonel-Space Master Albert Snow wiped blood from his lip, snatching a handkerchief from a pocket and pressing it to the wound his teeth had made. The second hit had taken them straight in the nose, and he thanked the RWR craftsmen who'd forged the 'Caller, even as a crewman doused nearby flames with a small handheld extinguisher. "'Caller to Charybdis," He could feel the lisp from his swollen lip. "Our nose is nearly gone, after that hit we won't survive another. We'll be broadsiding on an arc from now. If we go, you have Terrible."
He glanced at the tangle of collapsed metal and plastic that still spewed sparks, liquids and smoke from where Lieutenant Shraplen and the helm controls had once been. "Auxiliary Helm, now that you have been brought online, be aware of the price of failure. Do not allow us to take another shot. Tactical Officer Diaz, if I have to remind you of your job description again, I will space you myself while auxiliary takes over. While Lieutenant Shraplen's demise was unpleasant for all of us, none of the rest of us felt the need to scream incoherently and cry like a babe! NOW WOULD YOU PLEASE DESTROY THAT DAMN PENTAGON!"
The still crying woman nodded stiffly and began plotting fire trajectories for the 'Caller's gunners as Snow began prowling round the bridge, almost like a caged animal. His magboots stomped hollowly, the metallic sucking noise louder even than the screech of torn metal every time the thrusters changed the ship's direction or orientation. He watched the strafing triangles of Yellow Flight fly through a hail of darts unscathed to begin blasting fire into the second Pentagon, gripping a handrail tightly as darts began leaving the marker of his own ship for the first. More of the angry yellow darts swirled around it, blinking white and red missiles being blocked by the point defence small lasers and machine guns forming a hazy orange shield of shots around the 'Caller's silver sigel [[How the hell do you spell that?]]. The Pinto's of Powerful finished their thatch weave, exploding into a stream of lancing burn white needles that flew into and through the crimson triangle labelled Savannah on three orthographic boards. Dammit Burroughs, kill it already!


March 22nd 2581 0635 Hours,
Location: Zenith Jump Point of Prospector's Paradise,
Bridge of the TCV Butterfly,

Burroughs felt his harness bite into him as the Butterfly entered the Kulbit, fingers drumming on his bannister as he sat watching the crimson dots of two enemy aerospace fighters blink out of existence. Corvettes were small, nimble craft, but more than large enough to obliterate an ASF that got too close on a strafing run with a sudden change of direction. "Tactical, I do not want my hull killing ASFs, get the conventional weapons into play, now."
"On it sir," Grunted Trask, sweat beading on his forehead as he tried to track the screen data and issue commands on his console. "We need our screens. Now."
Burroughs glanced at the blood orbs marking the two Pentagons, highlighted with as much data has been gathered on them. He watched the estimated integrity percentages moving south.
"Prep the cobra bays if they aren't already. Signals, relay to the fleet. I want fighters launching the instant those Pentagons burst."
His fingers continued drumming on the bronze balustrade, reaching a fever pitch as the Butterfly began to enter the broadside phase of the Knispel. If they were going to take any hurt, it'd be now, but the Savannah was still lashing out at the corvettes of Terrible...they might get lucky.
The holo on his left continued to flicker yellow and orange over portions of icons, crimson on the Night Caller's nose. He felt the insane urge to giggle. It was almost as if the Reliant was some schoolyard bully and had given her a bloody nose.
Never frighten a small man, he thought as Butterfly's port autocannons fired, he'll kill you.

Edited by RogueSpear, 28 September 2012 - 09:54 PM.

[Oni Storm]

March 22th 2581 1416 hrs
Battle of Prospector's Paradise

Bolts of blue and white cascaded quickly across the blanket of black spread out before them. (You know it's almost beautiful.. Too bad their beauty belies the true death and malice they hold) Captain Paula Perrie watched the beams lance out illuminating her loves ship the SLS Sparrowhawk, Congress class, as they passed harmlessly by and through their standing Chaos star or “eight pointed star” formation, as the Commodore called it. The extreme and long range fire being little more than posturing and a light show. (Stupid Men and their pehissing contests) Paula thought (Even here in the vastness of space they still have to whip it out and compare. Men!)



March 22th 2581 1421 hrs
Battle of Prospector's Paradise

“Captain! The Sparrowhawk's been hit! Multiple impacts!! levels three and five appear to be venting atmosphere. What the frak were those things?” Tactical officer Maria Fisher was new and the latest addition to the Quest and literally was fresh out of the Academy on Mars, and having never experienced much in the way of live Autocannon fire, but Paula didn't have time for schooling now. Now her beloved was under fire and there wasn't much time to come to the rescue. “Helm! Seventy degrees up angle. Get us between those bursts!” A look of dread filled the bridge and for most they knew exactly what this meant. (Lucky girl. Live and Love) Paula thought as she looked a Maria's confused face. “Maria! Get to the pods!! Now Girl!! Run!!” Paula turned to look out the port once more, the Sparrowhawk now looming big overhead.



March 22th 2581 1422 hrs
Battle of Prospector's Paradise

“Close shields. Give the order, Mr. Riley.” The stark older gentleman pressing into his sixties bowed his head and pressed the comm relay on his console. “Now hear this... Now hear this... All non essential personnel are to abandon ship, immediately... This is not a drill.. I repeat all non essential crew to life pods and shuttles.. Abandon ship.. Abandon ship...”



March 22th 2581 1425 hrs
Battle of Prospector's Paradise

In position now and being rocked by blast after blast as they tried valiantly to shield the Congress. The Quest had arrived in the nick of time to take on most of the rounds of AC shells that would have otherwise struck her love's ship, now some five hundred meters away. The first of the life pods were away, and at least there was some comfort that part of her crew would survive.



March 22th 2581 1429-1431 hrs
Battle of Prospector's Paradise

The quest lurched and spun turning the last of her right aft armor away, it's gutted remnants little more than the rest of the tin foil that was her right side. Paula wondered if the young Ensign Maria might be one of the survivors and if so what would be said of this day. As the aft took up the slack of oncoming fire Paula spoke “Lower blast visor. Ladies and Gentlemen it has been an honor and my privilege. I'm sorry... I failed you..” She pressed a hand to the polyprexaline veiwport staring out directly at the Sparrowhawk “I love you...” and as the last bits of the engine went she and her ship faded from existence in the multitude flashes of Death's lightning concerto.

.

Edited by Oni Storm, 29 September 2012 - 04:44 AM.

[Sparks Murphey]

March 22th 2581 1417 hrs
Battle of Prospector's Paradise

“Shieldbreaker Lead, from Voidwalker Control. Apocalypse Wing from the Basel report they have engaged light ASF defenses. Six Sabre-class fighters so far.”

“Control, Shieldbreaker Lead. Copy that, Apocalypse have engaged six Sabres,” Gary Kyle replied, before toggling the mic to wing comms.

“One-Seventeenth from Lead, Control have word there are six Sabres standing between us and the enemy fleet. Now, before you get too scared about those impossible odds,” he said wryly, “Don’t forget, we’ve got Sabres of our own. The fine men and women of the Eight-Eighty-Eighth Snowmen are some nimble little b*****ds, and when you add the heavy cannon of the Shieldbreakers, the Taurians had better have brought a rag to clean up the remains of their pilots.

“On a sober note, don’t get too cocky out there. Yes, we outnumber them, but I’d prefer to get us all home safe if we can. Don’t take risks you don’t need to, and maintain awareness of your flight and squadron. I don’t want to see any mavericks out there trying to single-handedly take on the whole TDF. Killing fighters won’t win this one on its own. We aren’t going to make a dent on a WarShip, but the boys and girls from the Blue Buzzard can turn one inside out. They hate walking, though, so our priority is keeping their taxis in one piece.”

And hopefully without losing any of our own, he thought, glancing out at Alexina’s Stuka. With any luck, some of the training had rubbed off and she’d survive this coming brawl.

“Alright, Greybeard, I’m handing tactical control of the Snowmen over to you. Pull forward five clicks ahead of the taxis and engage any fighters or missiles inbound, evade anything bigger than that,” Kyle said.

“Snitch, Greybeard, roger that. Five clicks ahead, engaging fighters and missiles, evading other,” came Lewis Bass’ reply.

“Skyknight and Shambler, form on my wing. Sleepless, I want you a hundred behind and below, Sugar and Spice, on Sleepless’ wing. Leave the lighter targets to the Snowmen, we’ll take the bigger fish that slip through.”

[guardian wolf]

March 22th 2581 1417 hrs
Battle of Prospector's Paradise

Connors pulled his Sparrowhawk into formation, he then called through the squadron comms.

"All Wings, check in," he was rewarded with the resulting comm chatter of his own wing checking in, and the other wing's commanders doing the same. When finished, Connors righted his craft as he spotted the Battle Taxis, their mission was to escort them. Attack, draw fire, whatever it took, those marines were going to need their help. He then yelled into the comms, as he spotted the enemy fighters.

"ALL WINGS STANDARD FORMATION, SAMURI UP FRONT, HAWKS ON THEIR ***, STUKAS, MOP 'EM UP,"

Connors brought his brought his Sparrowhawk into a direct intercept course, and set his throttle, as the Samurais took their positions just forward of his wing. Connors spoke calmly into his comms, as he watched the distance between his fighters, and the enemy’s closed.

“Hold….hold….hold… HOLD…….NOW, LETS GO SPARROWS”

He watched as the ruby beams filled the space in front of them, in both directions, and executed a roll to bring him above the formation, and hit his afterburners, causing him to skyrocket towards the enemy. Connors watched as his distance reading closed, and fired when the crosshairs burned red. Twin ruby medium lasers flashed out, followed by two small lasers. He spun into a barrel roll as the enemy fighters began to shoot past him. Pulling back on the stick, Connors aligned himself into a chasing position on a fighter and watched as two fighters, one enemy, the other a Sparrowhawk, smacked together. The fighter he was behind dodged to the right of the explosion, and Connors rolled to try and keep up. He proceeded to chase down the fighter, following as close as he could, when the fighter performed a zero G end over end flip. Connors watched as the fighter tumbled over him, and then righted itself, right on his six. He banked hard left, dodging the incoming laser fire, and then tried to weave in and out of the mess that was now a mixture of friendly and enemy fighters. He throttled to full, and that fighter kept right on his six, slowly closing the distance, getting into maximum lasers range. Connors broke left to dodge a fighter, and watched it explode as the enemy fighter pounded through it, and kept coming. Connors fought the stick as he executed a series of rolls and high G maneuvers through the debris, trying desperately to lose the SOB that was still there. He finally dived as a Samurai appeared in front of him, lasers blazing, catching the fighter unawares. Connors then maneuvered to look out on the fight, and it wasn't preferable. The Stukas had finally had gotten into position, and began pouring missiles, and laser fire into the fray, finally catching a lot of those elusive ********. That’s when Connors saw that the enemy’s own missile boats were about in range… of the Stukas. Oh ****. Connors turned and lit his afterburners, leading a charge into the enemy, which was now being followed by the Samurai he encountered earlier, and another Sparrow. Connors sped towards the enemy, and heard the master alarm, calling out a missile lock. He immediately took evasive maneuvers, going into a rolling scissor maneuver, which if worked, would land him right behind the enemy, and hopefully dodge their missiles. Hopefully. Connors fought the Gs hitting him as his suit squeezed the living daylights out of his legs, and his vision began to narrow. He didn’t dare let go of the stick, and gripped it with white knuckles. The missiles were tracking, due to hit him in, three, two, one. Connors waited for the impact that never came. They overshot, but were adjusting their course for another run. Connors hoped they ran out of fuel before they got that chance. He finished the scissor just below the formation of missile boats, and brought his crosshairs up to the center one. He was just inside optimum range, when they broke formation, sluggishly, but did, throwing his aim off. Connors easily adjusted behind the one he was tracking, and fired his lasers. They scored hits, but didn’t penetrate the armor. He was about to fire again when a missile smacked right into his tail fin. He spun wildly, and fought for control of the aircraft. He searched his control console, found the switch to jettison the fin, and pushed it up. The resulting pop was followed by another bright light, and shaking. Connors searched his sensors, but nothing showed damage, besides his missing tail fin. He brought his craft around and saw that it was obliterated by the missiles that had been tracking him. Connors brought his craft alongside the Samurai that had apparently been covering him, and then spoke through his comms.

“They gone?”

“Yes sir, the rest are breaking, we’re coming around to hunt down the rest of those damnable missile boats,”

“Losses,”

“We lost one of the Stukas, three Samurais, and two Sparrowhawks, oh, and your damaged sir,”

“Very funny, now form up, we still got to cover these Taxis,”

[Oni Storm]

“We lost one of the Stukas, three Samurais, and two Sparrowhawks, oh, and your damaged sir,”

“Very funny, now form up, we still got to cover these Taxis,”


March 22th 2581 1425 hrs
Battle of Prospector's Paradise

The two battle taxi's assigned to Apocalypse flight had come through the storm of missiles unscathed, but it had cost more than one pilot to achieve such, and the pilots of both taxis would be eternally grateful to those two. One Samurai six of the Hell Hound's squadron, the other the valiant Tara Murphy, the now deceased 29 year old XO of Apocalypse wing, who stayed in front and took every last thing the enemy had thrown at them til they broke. Then as if on cue his ship broke and shuttered and shattered apart in less than a few seconds after the now somewhat tranquil peace. The pilots plotted their courses, landing zones split between the two, one fore and the other aft.


March 22th 2581 1429 - 1431 hrs
Battle of Prospector's Paradise

The approach was far less dangerous as the ships closed from the rear keeping their profile in the wash of the Winchester's mighty engines. Breaking just scant seconds before colliding with the metal fins that extended out to channel the thrust. The interior rose ever so slightly but noticeably as both ships shock and tried disparately to stay the course. The trailing ship finally being force to break and try for a landing on the underbelly. "Battle Taxi nine one zero nine, we are in position. Mags away! We have contact. The seal is good. Closing to target now. We are clear. nine one zero nine out."


March 22th 2581 1431 - 1434 hrs
Battle of Prospector's Paradise

The lead taxi continued to skim along the hull of the Winchester headed towards it's assigned lock zone just behind the bridge, however their peaceful journey was cut short as a lone Killer Whale missile found it's mark striking hard in the left side. The ship lurched and was thrown off course from the resulting explosion barely able to right itself and keep from colliding with like a stone onto the larger craft. The pilot quickly cut on the port thrusters and kicked back into the roll, bringing the craft within inches of one of the main gun batteries in the ships right side. Fearing more artillery or a fighter closing in he thought it was as good a place as any and quickly activated the mag scant meters from the ship and began wheeling her in fast. "Taxi one zero one. Struck left side but we are still intact. LZ altered. Landing right side near broadside batteries one and two. Suspected fighters in area, be advised and get us that sky boyz! Disembarking in two, one zero one out."

Edited by Oni Storm, 03 October 2012 - 02:44 PM.

[Thom Frankfurt]

Battle Taxi #3 attached to
Vulture Class Dropship, Blue Buzzard
Nadir Jump point of Prospector's Paradise
March 22th 2581 1414 hrs

It was a subtle thing, a slight vibration felt through the magnetic boots of each marine that caused them to look up suddenly and stop doing whatever they were doing to kill the time as they awaited the oncoming battle. Looking about the troops and catching more than one eager look Raymond nodded grimly. The 'Buzzard's engines had fired up and the Vulture Class assault ship was now charging into the fight.

Undoing his harness Raymond stood and stormed off in the direction of the battletaxi's cockpit shaking hands or patting his fellow marine on the shoulder as he passed. Stooping low Raymond tugged at the release for the cockpit's hatch and with an evil shreek the metal door yawned open revealing two spacers at the taxi's controls. One was holding the mic for the 'cargo' compartment in a shaking fist, as the other listened in on his headset like it was the only thing that mattered in the universe.

"Marine's.. marines... attention, attention. We are preparing to launch, I repeat, we are preparing to launch... Secure yourself and prepare for launch." The co-pilot eyed Raymond as he spoke, but Raymond ignored the look. Instead he focused on the 'captain' of the taxi who nodded while clutching at the headset, perodiclly flipping toggels on the console before him.

"Alright, what happen?" Ray asked, crossing his arms across his chest. The cap looked up from the monitors on his console a look of annoyance on his face.

"You should be strapping in, ther-" Raymond cut him off. "Don't change the subject, how bad is it?!" Raymond roared and the spacer fell silent.

"We're getting clobbered out there." The taxi pilot shot back, fear dripping from his voice. The deck violently heaved up below them, at the Buzzard took a hit from something... The pilot went back to listen to his headset, the other glared the marine's way.

"You need to take a seat." He cautioned not too friendly, Raymond responded not too freindly. "And you need to shut up! Shhsh, like being straped to a chair will help when this thing gets gutted by a particle cannon." Grabbing a rung welded to the bulkhead in a white knuckled grip his only concession to the demands to sit.

"Get my boys in the fight. Now." Ray growled at the two spacers. The co-pilot looked back to his consoles, while the pilot looked his way.

"Alright chief." He threw a switch, and the small craft shot forward suddenly violently, and the sargent slammed into the bulkhead, as the small craft catapulted out into space. Ray quickly regained his composure as the co-pilot chuckled and mused.

"Warned ya" Raymonds response was to point as another battletaxi, number four and all 100 men aboard ceased to exist as the craft got skeward on a h3llish beam of manmade lightning.

"And I told ya." Raymond continued to point at where the craft was and looked in the direction that the beam came from, a destroyer by the looks of it.

"Land us on that b!tch and we'll make them pay for that!" He then smiled grimly as the spacer complied. Through the debris strewn space the taxi shot, swerving evasivly as brilliant colored lasers or the smokey contails of missiles shot by, fighters flew past ridiciously fast, chased by persuing fighters, and once a body bounced off the canopy of the battle taxi. The three men flinched reflexivly then looked at one another bewilderdly.

Ray then pushed himself off the bulk head and half walked half stumbled into the space where the marines sat concerned looking into the grim looking face of their sargent, fishing for an explanation.

"It's not going good out there. Looks like we're gonna have to show fleet how it's done...AGAIN!" A few of the marines chuckled, but Raymond's next comment silenced them

"WE'RE HEADING FOR A DESTROYER, LOLA CLASS I THINK. IT KILLED THE BOYS IN TAXI FOUR!! BOYS!! uh, and girls," He nodded in the direction of a fiery redhead who visibly shook with rage. "I'M A FIRM BELIEVER IN AN EYE FOR AN EYE, AND I KNOW SOME OF YOU ARE TOO. NOW LET'S GO TEACH THE BULLS WHAT THAT MEANS!!

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 05 October 2012 - 04:02 AM.

[Listless Nomad]

March 22nd 2581 0637 Hours,
Location: Zenith Jump Point of Prospector's Paradise,
Bridge of the SLS Savannah

Captain Macadams grunted as another cannon round impacted on the port side of his ship, an angry red splotch appearing on the holodisplay of his vessel marking where the damage occurred.

"Helm keep us rolling! I don't want them concentrating on one part of the ship!"

"Aye Sir!" The helmsman was straining against his restraints as the bridge rapidly spun round in a corkscrew motion.

From the outside, the Savannah appeared much like a spaceborn torpedo, her plasma drives leaving a corkscrew contrail behind it as it valiantly tried to fend off the attacking corvettes. Impact explosions dotted her hull, but none were able to sufficiently crack her armor, frustrating the corvette gunners, yet on they came. The Savannah returned fire at every opportunity, it's guns bleching fire and electric death at its pursuers. The nimble corvettes were difficult to target however, and the Savannah's rapid rolling was giving the gunners fits. Spying the tactical readout at his command station, Macadams smiled grimly and shouted his orders to the helmsman.

"Helm! New course bearing 020. Bring us straight up!"

"Aye sir!" was the reply as Macadams felt his weight shift downward. Still spiraling, the Savannah began to climb. Like a phoenix rising on a pillar of flame, she shot upward, drawing the corvettes with her and providing the Reliant with a perfect broadside profile. Macadams could only smile as he watched through the bridge viewport as the massive guns of their protector spat fire once more. Like a rippling flame down the side of the larger warship, every available gun was brought to bear in an attempt to save their smaller escort. In the distance, the Robinson's moved in slowly, unsure of how to proceed. It would not be long however before their guns were in range.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

March 22th 2581 1431 hrs
Battle of Prospector's Paradise
Bridge of the TCV Haydes Pastures

Artem Tankian-Calderon couldn't help but smile as the cheer rose from the bridge crew as they watched the distant explosion mark the demise of a SLDF warship. He stood with his legs shoulder width apart, arms folded across his chest, watching the tiny tracers of cannon rounds fly towards his distant foes. In the rapidly dwindling distance between the two fleets, tint flashes blinked in the blackness, each one signaling the death of another Aerospace fighter. Artem pushed the thought out of his mind. He couldn't dwell on the implications of sending some of his fighters to die. Their sacrifice was buying his fleet time to soften up the heavier ships and at the same time, distract the SLDF aerospace assets. The Taurians had waited to deploy their own Capital Class missiles until they were at medium range. Artem raised his hand to signal missile launch when he was thrown off balance suddenly.

"Damage Control..Conn. We've sustained a glancing autocannon strike. Minimal damage Marshal." Before he could respond, a brilliant flash through the viewscreen forced Artem to shield his eyes.

"Sensors! Report!"

The sensor officer glanced at his holodisplay before replying in a flat tone.

"It's the Spring sir. She's breaking up..."

Artem clenched and unclenched his fist subconsciously as the white corona began to fade into the blackness of space. In its place was the flaming wreckage of what was once the TCV Spring. The Prometheus was finally adding her long guns to the fray.

Edited by Listless Nomad, 05 October 2012 - 01:16 PM.

[guardian wolf]

March 22th 2581 1435 hrs
Battle of Prospector's Paradise


Connors brought his fighter around in formation, and then realized where they were. Oh holy ******* jesus christ’s balls. They were apparently right smack dab in the middle of the fleet, the Taurian Fleet. Connors slammed his fighter into a barrel roll as several bursts from point defense positions on several ships attempted to track him. He spoke into his comms quickly.

“Everyone break formation, get the **** back to the fleet, go evasive now,”

Several of the fighters responded immediately, forming wings, and proceeding to weave through the wreckage, for cover. The Stukas began to strafe targets as they went. Connors and another two Sparrows, formed into a small wing, and began to weave their way in and out of the sweet spots of the different Pinto classes. Connors broke left streaking just meters outside the ship’s hull, and watched as the enemy fire flew past him, in a dazzling, yet terrifying, light show of tracers, and lasers. He sighted his lasers downwards, so as to shoot while he dodged, as you never know, you might hit something critical. He pulled the trigger as he flew past a comms array on one of the Pintos, and his wingmen followed suit. The resulting explosion gave them a small amount of cover, and respite, from the enemy AA. He looked up to see a Stuka unloading its weapons into the bridge section of one of the Pintos, when several fighters moved in behind it. Connors immediately pulled up to assist. It was a group of three, all identical, and just as soon as he sighted them into his lasers, they broke formation. Connors then heard the master alarm, it was calling out the White Sharks headed right for him. Spotting the jutting out face of a damaged Pinto, Connors began to weave in and out of the wreckage, and noticed that he was definitely being follow by the fighters as well. Connors twitched noticeably when a piece of wreckage, with several bodies on it, flew right past his cockpit. The missiles continued to track, but, strangely, almost like…

They were being piloted. That changes things. Connors brought his fighter through the wreckage even further, and headed straight for a Pinto. The fighter now had pulled back, probably to see what the Sparrowhawk had in mind. Connors slammed the throttle, and watched the missile close the gap. He counted down in his head, and then, at the last second, pulled back on his stick, and killed the throttle. His fighter began to tumble as he fired a counter thrust at the right moment, and he watched the white missile fly right past him. He then righted his fighter and continued on his way, when the White Shark, unable to compensate, slammed right into the Pinto. The damage was superficial to be sure, but who knows, Connors didn’t stay to find out, as the friendly enemy fighter was now resuming pursuit. Connors threw his throttle into full, and began to weave back towards the fleet, and relative safety. That fighter though, was getting closer by the second, and soon, would be in firing range. Connors brought his fighter into a tight turn, and then reversed it, and the enemy fighter soon became a part of the deadly rolling scissor maneuver. Connors fought his craft, trying to get it to out turn the ******* that slowly was getting an edge on him. Connors rolled back into another turn, desperately trying to get the ASF into a firing position, when a piece of wreckage appeared in front of him. Connors barrel rolled his craft, spiraling up and over the wreckage, and the enemy fighter. Continuing the roll, Connors then brought his fighter so he was right in the other pilot’s blind spot, and closed the gap. Finally, he got within weapons range, and pulled his right trigger. Medium lasers lanced out, and smacked the right wing, causing one of the engines to flare. The fighter then jettisoned the engine, and Connors banked left, then back right, to avoid it. Now Connors was really closing the gap, bringing his small lasers into play, and he pulled both triggers this time. The quad of ruby beams lanced out and smacked the fighter, causing it go into a tumble out of control. The engine then flared, and the fighter smacked into a piece of wreckage, which then exploded. Connors then brought his fighter back up to speed to race back towards the fleet. When he looked around to get a visual on the other craft, he didn't see any, and whether that was due to them being engaged inside the fleet, or being dead, he wasn't sure. He brought his fighter around to see if he could find them, and then a lone Stuka appeared on his wing, badly damaged, and leaking fuel.
"Stuka, report,"
"They're gone sir, all of em, we couldn't outrun them fighters, and they just picked us apart,"
"Dammit, follow me, we need to get back to the fleet," he spoke slowly as he brought his fighter to a heading with the friendly fleet
"Sir, I ain't gonna make it,"
"What?"
"I'm leaking atmosphere sir, I'm, I'm sorry,"
Connors looked out his cockpit, and watched as the Stuka went on a collision course with the nearest Concordant, and then slammed into the bridge section. He shook noticeably as he piloted his lone Sparrowhawk back towards the fleet.

Edited by guardian wolf, 20 October 2012 - 08:24 AM.

[Oni Storm]

March 22th 2581 1440 hrs
Battle of Prospector's Paradise
Bridge of the SLS Basel

Commodore Wolfe Striker was frozen before the screen, absolutely mortified at the surmounting loses, each life was like a dagger to his heart and more importantly represented another mother, father, sister, brother, son or daughter of someone's that wouldn't be coming home. He felt the pain and loss of each and every one, but none more so right now then Apocalypse Wing.

He had known each member personally, Jordan Hernandez, whose daughter was about to turn six in two weeks. Warrant Officer Heather Jasiri whose wedding had been planned for next February fourteenth to coincide with Valentine's Day back on Terra, they had even rented a house on Honolulu for the celebrations and ceremony

The Lovatt twins, Erik and Liam, who were always so competitive with each other, ever since the day they arrived from the academy. Lieutenant Guy Kichida a man who would give you the shirt off his back, in the middle of the worse blizzard. His self sacrifice alone hit the Commodore very hard, as he heard his death screams when he rammed the Pinto's Bridge severely crippling that ship. No amount of posthumous medals could make up for the loss of a man like that from the Sphere.

Tara Murphy, Apocolypse Wing's XO and mother of two. How was he going to explain to two small children that their mommy was never coming home and how she gave up her life for them (No not really for them, but for some power hungry politicians that simply wanted more resources. That or for a man's vision of what society should become. Perhaps that would be the better option a Messiah type death. It wasn't right perhaps, but she deserved that pride for her children.)

He continued the list from the duty roster in his mind's eye. There was Lieutenant Bill Dunnage, a pilot that he had believed lost at once due to his addiction to drugs and alcohol a bout that very nearly cost the man his life and career. The Commodore himself spoke on his behalf for reinstatement after his two year rehabilitation (All that fight and now to be lost like this) He shook his head in solemn defiance. Lieutenant Wendall Anderson, a by the book college lieutenant when he first arrived, but who had turned into a damn fine pilot. (Also gone)

Captain Arvin Balance, leader of Apocalypse Wing. Died valiantly defending the taxi's and his wing-mates as they lumbered to target, having personally accounted for five kills himself, and another heavily damaged corvette. (I wonder how many of those marines will remember any of them?)

Nineteen total souls lost, each with a different story all their own, Ended now for what? How many more til this War was at an end?




March 22th 2581 1440 hrs
Battle of Prospector's Paradise
Hull of the TCV Summerville


The marines of Alpha Company of the Royal 31st had had a rough go of it. Upon landing and hitting the deck they had lost their XO Sergeant Stanley DiGloveni to electronics failure of his mag-boots, having jumped out and then been carried off into the vastness of space. There was a glimmer of hope that he may yet be rescued later, but the realities were less than finding a particular flower in a field full of daises and deep down they knew that would be his empty coffin's fate soon enough back on Terra. They lost another seven to a strafe run before one of the Stuka's flying cap took out the assailants. Then West and Merrigold to a faulty charge pack that exploded on contact sending both men trailing off end over end into the void, West leaving a red frozen blood droplet trail in his wake. That accident being the first tell tale sign that the Summerville was in serious trouble, the blast having breached a small teat in corridor six, one deck Aft and below of the bridge.

The bridge crew had it's own problem's right now however, as the Captain watched his blast shields being pried apart from the outside, and a bright gunmetal blue space hood peering through at him.

Command Sergeant Raymond Menichelli had already lost ten men, including his XO, this day and had decided their deaths wouldn't be in vain, nor did he plan to loose anymore. As he peered in on the bridge crew he caught the Captain square in the eye and motioned with a finger for him to come close. The blast shields were continuing to be pried away as the Command Sergeant scrawled on his tablet and pressed it up against the window to relay his intent to the ship's Captain in a series of those cue exchanges.

1. "There are charges set. If any crew try to leave the Bridge. You're All Dead!"

2. "We also have set charges on your engines and weapons bays"

3. "Evacuate Starboard Gun battery one now. You have 5 mins to comply"

4. "Surrender and bring her to X128 Y96 coordinates [well away of the battlefield] There to power down and prepare for boarding"

5. "We don't want to see anyone else hurt. You now have 3 minutes to comply"

6. "Power down your weapons and relay your surrender through all channels and means [surely they had some type of a visual clue. Like all lights on and weapons powered down of something. I mean there had / has to be something similar to a white flag]

Edited by Oni Storm, 18 October 2012 - 10:02 PM.

[Sparks Murphey]

Near the TCV Lo Pan
Nadir Jump point of Prospector's Paradise
March 22th 2581 1417 hrs

“Keep those taxis screened!”

Tagmaç swore as her Sabre rocketed past the expanding remains of Taxi #4. “What the h*** do you expect me to do against a destroyer, sir? Sneeze on it?”

“Cut the attitude, Cookie. Just focus on the fighters and prevent them from picking the rest of the taxis off.”

A Taurian heavy fighter, a Vulcan, shot past, and Tagmaç rolled her Sabre hard to chase it. Whoever was flying it either wasn’t aware of her or had seriously underestimated the tiny ASF’s ability to turn, because they made no attempt to lose her and continued on a straight heading towards Taxi #2. Tagmaç carefully floated the reticle over the tail of the heavy fighter...

...which jinked just as she mashed the trigger, the emerald beams of her lasers sliding off it’s armour and into space before she could correct.

“S***,” Tagmaç muttered to herself, as she saw a second Taurian diving at her from above. He must have spotted her and radioed her target. She rolled away, nipping dangerously close to the Lo Pan as first one fighter then the other turned to pursue. Her seat kicked her in the back and she glanced at the damage display; one of the Vulcans had got a lucky shot in and hit her with an AC/10 round. Another of those and she’d be in real trouble. She hit the afterburners and shot away from them, opening up the distance and giving her some breathing room.

Unfortunately, though Tagmaç was out of their range, she was also out of the fight now, and the two Vulcans were still between her and her enemies. She angled back around, starting an orbit around the swirling dogfight as she wondered how she’d slip past her pursuers. They still seemed committed to coming out to chase her, so she let them, gradually luring them further from the battle. As they came into cannon range again, Tagmaç darted sharply in towards them, cutting a zigzagging path across their field of fire. Something slammed into her hard as she made a turn, but then she was past them, rushing back into the combat.

Tagmaç picked out a new target, a rather battleworn Stuka that was limping away from the main fight, and started diving in towards it. As she did, she spared a half second to glance to her right, wondering what had hit her as she’d dodged the Vulcans. To her amazement, the right-side cockpit pane was fractured, a large gouge dug in the far side of the armoured glass where whatever the projectile was had hit. She wasn’t losing atmosphere yet, but she took a moment to spray the pane down with sealant just in case.

She turned back to her target, watching the range-finder tick down as she neared the range on her medium lasers. Suddenly, the Stuka blossomed silently with fire, shaking itself apart. Moments later, a second Stuka, this one in the colours of the Shieldbreakers, shot past.

“Yeah! Three kills baby!” came Alexina Bullock’s triumphant cry over the comm.

Oh, come on, the woman flies like a drunk cow and still gets my kills? Tagmaç thought bitterly.

“Snowmen, Control. Remnants of Apocalypse Wing now disengaging. Break from dogfight and escort them home.”

“Roger, Control,” she replied, as she turned her fighter towards the glyph representing Apocalypse Wing on her HUD.

[Thom Frankfurt]

Near the TCV Lo Pan
Nadir Jump point of Prospector's Paradise
March 22th 2581 1420 hrs
(been thinking about it and wouldn't space marines use laser weapons or weapons that would cause no recoil because of zero-g ops? Don't want to shoot my 12 gauge and set myself flying off wherever. Maybe use some hella strong mag boots?)

A faint vibration reverberated throughout the battle taxi as it fired off it's two magnetic grapples as it skimmed alongside the small Taurian destroyer. The atmosphere was serious inside the taxi as the grim faced marines made their way to their stations along the Taxi's 'Tug Adapter' with well rehearsed precision. Silently they waited in their positions as the strange machine sealed against one of the destroyer's airlocks with an evil hiss. But then instead of the protesting groan of the airlock being wrenched out of place, an awkward silence filled the air.

"Umm... Is it on?" Some belligerent voice shot out the question many where thinking?
"Go check." Raymond slapped one of his more techy troopers on the shoulder and the marine stomped off with the clank clank clank of grav boots. Ray then looked over his troops who nervously or anxiously twitched for the upcoming fight. But many shared his look of concern as well. Because for every second they stood there idle, Taurian marines were digging in, tossing up barricades, welding hatches shut, or setting up a nasty kill zone for his men once they got the hatch open.

"The damned things busted!" A shout came from the airlock.

Dammit! Raymond took a few steps into the cylinder.

"What do you mean busted?!" Raymond shouted back.

"I don't know, it's not getting any power. Look!" He stabbed away at the manual override button with a pointy finger.

"Funk it, blow it." Raymond ordered to the peach fuzzed marine who stood staring at the Sargent with a stupid shocked look on his peach fuzzed face.

"BLOW IT!" Raymond repeated before walking back to the amassed troops.

So much for everything being combat ready...

He summoned up his 'Big-Boy' voice once he made it to the onlooking troopers and addressed them.

"Stupid this is busted. We're blowing out way in, don't expect a warm welcome!"

"FIRE IN THE HOLE!!" Shouted from the entrance shortly before a muffled explosion sounded from the hatchway. Without order the soldiers immediately surged forward towards the breech like a wave of p!ssed off vengeful infantrymen.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dodging to the left Raymond threw himself heavily against the warped remains of the broken tug adapter as several laser blast shot inches past his head. Looking about it was a grim scene, the airlock was a bottleneck. And as the hundred marines charged forward they packed in upon themselves each vying for advancement through the smokey tunnel. Red laser beams shot through the haze impacting on the charging marines, dropping them dead and adding a tinge of seared flesh to the tunnel. Ray watched as his troopers lay low and dragged the wounded and dead back towards the mustering area. Chancing a look Ray saw a barricade that was hastily thrown together of tables and chairs with the odd footlocker added in. If one was to take a guess their taxi landed near a marines barracks or crew quarters. Too add to the direness of the Star League's situation, at least a squad of Tauran marines were posted behind the barrier armed with laser rifles and a crew operated heavy laser.

This ain't good. We stay here, we're all dead.

A brilliant red beam shot his way and he ducked his head back in the portal. Looking towards the nearest troops near him, guys from first platoon, laying low. He looked over their gear and saw the answer to all their problems, a heavy weapons specialist. And slung across his back a portable short range missile launcher. Raymond motioned to the jar head and he nearly slithered across the metal to the Sargent. He then motioned to the others near by then pointed at the concussion grenade dangling from his web belt. Then he caught the attention of a few others and nodded their way and patted his laser carbine and straight out pointed at the missile toting leatherneck and patted him on the missile launcher.

Nodding the Terran then pulled off the concussion grenade as the others readied themselves. Pulling the pin from the grenade, he silently he counted down 3,2,1. Springing up suddenly the marines attacked in force, chucking nades which erupted in blinding flashes and deafening pops and bangs. The Taurian's counter fire lessened and began coming in inaccurate as the tactical grenades did their job. The three riflemen Raymond motioned to earlier opened up like a firing squad, venting their frustrations upon the defender's in hateful green laser blast. One defender collapsed as a emerald beam lanced through his neck cauterizing as it went. Slow, too slow the shock trooper rose and hefting his missile launcher squeezing off a hastily aimed shot just as the ruby beam of the heavy laser cut through him like a scalpel dropping him in two pieces. His missile fell short of the barricade blowing a rent through the hallway's floor panels.
Raymond ducked back just in time to watch the two halves of solider slid apart and roughly half the other troopers who witnessed it retching uncontrollably.

"FUNK!!" With white hot anger fueling him he darted a hand out slapping at the still smoking launcher hitting the switch that would automatically chamber the second missile of the disposable launcher. He then gave the barrier a withering look, and then to the soldiers huddled amongst the carnage looking to him for orders, directions, helpful words, anything that would help at moment. He quickly rolled over grabbing a hold of the SRM launcher and rose to a knee firing as he rose at the hated Taurans.

"DIE MOTHERFUNKERS!!!"

Belching flame, the missile shrieked out of the tube. Hammering into the barrier the warhead erupted in a massive explosion throwing tables, chairs, footlockers, and even bodies as the makeshift breastworks ceased to be. Tossing the now empty launcher to the side, Ray turned to look to the marines at his back.

"WE'RE IN BUSINESS BOYS!!!"

With that the marines of the SLDF 13th division rose and unleashing a dreaded 'Rebel Yell' charged into the Lola Class Destroyer known as Lo Pan.

[RogueSpear]

March 22nd 2581 0644 Hours,
Location: Zenith Jump Point of Prospector's Paradise,

The copper and blood Pinto corvettes of Powerful squadron swung gracelessly through the cross of their Kulbit maneouvre, powerful thrusters knocking the rolling corvettes out the path of incoming projectiles. The beautiful opening petals of a particularly lethal flower described in military text books were absent here, the corvettes writhing through both the Savannah's return fire and fighter swarms from the larger SLDF vessels. Laser fire wreathed them, small calibre autocannons on the broadsides of the TCV Drakeand Falcon punching apart a squadron of Lightning fighters between the hurtling corvettes. Naval autocannon and barracuda missiles arced from Powerful's petals into the sides of the stricken Baron, explosions blossoming alongside it as it's fighters and point defence systems struggling valiantly to swat away the incoming fire.
The huge bulk of the SLS Valiant ponderously turned, trying to get a firing solution on Powerful, thwarted by the dual task of destroying Yellow and Green flights of Terrible squadron, the paired Pintos in each flight pounding shot after shot into the feared Pentagon class fighter killers. Machine gun fire sprayed out in their wake, broadside autocannon and aft barracudas tearing into the demon fighter squadrons that sought to intercept them, peppering their hulls with burns and craters. Green flight slew their Pentagon first, the Night Caller slicing naval and large laser fire into it's aft, carving away the armour protecting the engines. With terrifying accuracy both Light Naval Particle Projectile Cannons speared bolts of lightning into the unprotected dropship, creating a deadly minefield of torn and molten metal for the Star League fighters to attempt to fight through. More than one did not make it.
Naval PPC fire from the three Robinsons sporadically ripped through the engagement, forcing the TCVs Night Caller and Charybdis to split formation. Forced to take evasive actions to avoid the Robinson's fire, and wary of the class 30 naval autocannons they mounted, Green Flight was bracketed by the heavy guns of the Valiant. It's rear batteries shattered the space around them with naval laser, autocannon and PPC fire, but unable to score an accurate hit with anything but a few of it's Killer Whale missiles for fearing of hitting their own fighters. The Pinto's lack of a fighter screen was proving to be their saving grace against the SLDF heavy cruiser. The Star League fighter jocks growing bold as they strafed the Taurian vessels at point blank ranges, deftly dodging the majority of the return fire from the fleeing corvettes.
Yellow flight, free from interference from the Star League warships immediately surged forwards, pinning the retreating dropship between them. Their full broadsides of five AC/5s, two AC/20s and a single NAC/10 each tore apart the remaining armour of the spheroid dropship's upper section, turned towards them for a fighting retreat. As the Pentagon commander ordered it to reverse momentum to slide out behind the two WarShips, their aft batteries tore into the ravaged vessel. Bulkheads glowed red from small laser fire before being torn to molten ribbons by machine gun fire. Barracuda capital missiles plunged into the unprotected structure of the ship, setting off sympathetic internal ammo explosions from the stored LRMs. Yellow flight left nothing but a shattered metal asteroid behind as they moved to support their parent flight, already launching their own fighters.

Bridge of the TCV Butterfly

Burroughs gritted his teeth against the G force of the Butterfly's curve, punctuated irregularly by firing of the lateral thrusters to avoid the Savannah's return fire.
"Sir, the Pentagons are destroyed! Myrmidon and Challenger launching fighters." Trask spun in his seat to face the commodore, rapidly calling out the report.
Burroughs smiled tightly. Finally. "All ships, launch fighters! Vulcans on engage and intercept, Lucifers to-"
"Savannah reorientating!" Broke in Trask, once more hunched over his console. "She's turning for a course change..." The grimfaced tactical officer spared his CO a glance. "Presenting her broadide to the formation at large I think sir."
"Confirmed. All fighters," He continued, the communications software once more broadcasting his voice to all fighters in the combined Pinto squadrons and their motherships. "Lucifer fighters to make for those Lyonesses. Take them down and reform for further orders. Thunderbirds on dispersal, the biggest block of fighters they see, destroy or break it and repeat ad nauseum -"
"Update on the Savannah sir, she's firing straight at a 90 degree to previous vector. It'll take her into full line from the Robinsons and those survey ships." Growled Trask. "Sir, we can't chase her above the formation!"
Burroughs thumped his armrest angrily. "Dammit, take us up after her. Powerful! After the Savannah, I want her sunk!"

Powerful's flower collapsed, it's petals tightly spiralling up after the fleeing Baron, it's engines flaring as it hit it's maximum thrust of 3 gravities. The Butterfly had been on one of the two lower arcs, away from the SLDF convoy and separated from the Babylon. The TCV Drake streaked towards it, both corvettes moving to allow a clean shot past the Babylonand Falcon. They formed a makeshift 'fluid two' trail, naval laser and PPC fire tearing into the Savannah. Burroughs watched the white lines tracing fire between the corvettes and the dying destroyer in satisfaction on his tactical screens. Briefly, for nearly half a minute. Before icon marking the TCV Falcon was hit by a hail of red lines and dots and winked out of existence.

The lead Pinto in the trail, the Falconwas silhouetted before the guns of the Valiantas she launched fighters, the wrothful Star League cruiser waiting angrily before firing it's battery of heavy NPPCs and lasers, waiting for the two massive NAC/30 shells to arrive. One connected, the Falcon being oblivious to the fire, determined to destroy the Savannah. Alone, the single shell nearly destroyed the fragile corvette, obliterating it's armour and nearly breaking it in half. The energy weapons of the broadside broke it into miniscule fractions, sending wreckage tumbling away in pieces with their fury.

March 22nd 2581, 0644 Hours,
Location: Zenith Jump Point of Prospector's Paradise

Captain MacAdams grimaced as a piece of an SLDF fighter’s wing bounced off of the armored bridge glass as the Savannah continued her desperate climb above the SLDF formation. His risky gamble, leaving the aft quarter of the ship exposed to the pursuing corvettes worked better than he had hoped, with at least one enemy vessel disappearing under a hail of weapons fire from their larger protector. Above the formation, the helmsman began to roll the mighty craft onto her back, trying to bring her down in a hyperbolic arc, and allowing the starboard side guns of the Valiant to take another crack at the corvettes.

We just might make it through this after all...

March 22^nd, 2581, 0645 Hours,
Location: Zenith Jump Point of Prospector’s Paradise,
Bridge of the TCV Butterfly,

"The Valiant! Powerful! Evasive maneouvres!" Roared Burroughs. stricken by the realization. How did we forget about her?

The Pintos broke the trail, a second volley from the Valiant narrowly missing the Babylon. They continued to launch fighters, each Pinto carrying two six strong squadrons but only able to launch six craft at a time through two cobra bays in the bottom of the ship, firing along two armoured fins housing manoeuvring thrusters which also served to protect emerging craft. The vengeful ASFs immediately wreaked a bloody toll on the SLDF fighters, nearly sixty Vulcans, the iconic Rim World Republic craft backed up by two wings of eighteen Star League designs, Lucifer and Thunderbird heavy fighters. Caught in the devastation that ruined it's carrier, only one Vulcan from the newly formed Taurian Navy Squadron Rolling Thunderlaunching out of Falcon survived.

Commodore Malcolm Burroughs reformed his stricken squadron, ordering the Drakeand Babylonto reform as a staggered wedge, the tail elements above and below with Butterfly in the lead. "Snow! Take Terrible and draw the Valiant's fire. Try and concentrate your PPC fire, try and short that Avatar's systems. Only damn weakness the thing seems to have, try and trigger it. Powerful, let's finish this b*stard."

At the apex of its climb, the Savannahhung motionless for a moment, fighting against it's own momentum. That was more time than the corvettes needed. Initially scattered by the death of their comrade, they swarmed towards the ravaged destroyer, lancing their fore laser and NPPC batteries into her aft sections. The ship finally completed its arc, and began rocketing downward again, aiming to come down on the opposite side of the Valiant but it was too late. A NPPC bolt had found its way through a breach in the armor, and impacted the No.3 reactor in the engineering spaces of the Baron Class destroyer. The reactor shielding was instantly compromised, spewing superheated plasma into the compartment. The plasma instantly burned through the armor plating in a dozen places, and vented into the void and it's interior spaces. As the ship raced past the Valiant, many of it's crewmembers watched in stunned silence as the stricken ship died before them. The noble Baron was racked by explosions, it's remaining reactors giving way, batteries and power capacitors bursting, and ammo reserves cooking off. The engagement was long over by the time the Savannahfinally died.

Now alone, the Valiant prepared to go down fighting, taking as many of the annoying gnats with it as possible. Luckily for it however, the bulk of TF21 was now entering effective firing range, and the scattered lasers from the fleet were beginning to hit home. As the battle raged above, the burning hulk of the Savannah continued to burn and drift listlessly thorough the void.

The Savannah's crimson sigil blinked twice and turned dark, marking it as crippled. "Powerful, break off. Terrible, cover us. We're going to blast through to those Robinsons and use them as a shield. Once we're in amongst them, we'll cover your exodus. Once we're close in to them the transports will have to retire their naval weaponry or risk hitting each other if we play it right."

On the Night Caller, Colonel-Space Master Albert Snow winced as he risked a paired volley of LNPPC fire at the Valiantwith the Myrmidon, the angry bolts of artificial lightning striking the Avatar's aft sections. The huge craft simply wasn't able to take any manoeuvres to avoid fire from the four corvettes as they darted around it. There was no main axis of attack. With his screens in place, the 'Caller hadn't taken any more hits to the nose, not hard enough to matter at any rate. But he was about to lose them again.
"Aye Commodore. We'll cover you. But I have orders from 3rd Fleet for Black OmegaSquadron. They're ordered to disengage and join 3rd fleet. They'll need an escort. I'm sending the Steel Rats with them, they're trained specifically for this. I'd like to request the Falcon's fighters take over screening for us."
"One squadron to disengage.to support 3rd Fleet? What bullsh*t is this, Snow?"
Albert touched his burst lip, looking at the blood on his fingers. "Orders from the Protector himself. 'If the Star League seeks to conquer us we will not stand idly by and let it happen. We will scorch space itself around them.'Do you remember that speech Commodore? Black Omegais going to go scorch space."
There was silence on the line for several seconds, before finally, "See that they do. There's only five Lucifers from the Tiger Sharksand a single Vulcan from Rolling Thunder left of the Falcon's complement, but they'll screen you. When you move to the Robinsons, be prepared to buzz on through. Those survey ships are likely to try and drive in and force us out. You're going to be ready for them."