Difference between revisions of "1834/TIE Breaker"

Latest revision as of 19:15, 19 March 2015

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
Welcome to Mining Station Zephyr! In spite of its name, it is not, in point of fact, a mining station. It is an extremely large starship. Well, no, that's not entirely true, either. It's a little bit of both, with just enough power and cloud to moon planetoids the size of Pluto, or a standard Earth moon. In other words, it's an extremely lucrative piece of machinery for whoever has the gall to get their hands on it. A planetary body that size can hold a staggering amount of raw ore and resources.

So it is that the Union has been making use of its automated processes, churning out ridiculous quantities of raw material.

Seems like the Confederacy's interested in this bounty of raw materials, too. These ores are the kinds of things that can be made into useful alloys for shipbuilding, like durasteel, and even stronger things.

Perhaps as a test of its defenses, there is, currently, a squadron of TIE Fighters harassing the station's outermost infrastructure. The agile little starfighters are shaped rather like a bowtie, with large ion engines and panels. Those large, funny-looking panels are handy solar collectors and head exchanges, but they also lend some measure of manoeuvrability to the little craft.

'Eyeballs,' the rebel pilots call them. It's an apt description. Set in the middle of those vertical panels is the round single-pilot cockpit, where each pilot controls their machine.

There are currently twelve TIE Fighters harassing the station, and the coordination they show is a cut above most Union reports of the ineptitude of Galactic Empire tactics. Most of the time, they rely on numbers; but there's only one twelve-starfighter squadron here.

Presuambly there is a capital ship nearby, but it must not have any interest in helping out; it's not on sight, or on radar, or detectable by any other sensor array.

In the meantime, those fighters are screaming over the station, and seem to be intent on doing light damage here and there to whatever equipment the Union's slapped on there – testing its defenses, most likely.

...Also, poking the Union with a stick, maybe.

Eryl Fairfax has posed:
Oh, of course, the ability to harvest resources is important, and must be defended no matter what. But, to Eryl, that is only his secondary reason for showing up to protect the station. His primary driving force? He has yet to visit space, and has always wanted to. And the Confederacy is going to have to get past him to take the thing that would let him do that at his leisure.

An airlock on the exterior of the station opens, and Eryl emerges! Not clad in his formal suit, but a spacesuit instead. It certainly paints him as an obvious target, pure white and bearing an emblem of a tree flanked by two shields on the breast. It's a tad more futuristic than 'modern' suits, with a more angled helmet and much thinner with a smaller backpack. Although, those might only be permissible due to the nature of who is wearing it.

Inside, Eryl is using the external cameras which grant him 360 degrees of vision to track the TIE Fighters, bouncing along the exterior of the station to chase them, taking advantage of the weaker gravity... and also trying to get used to it. He's trained for a lot of things, but ReGenesis never expected that he would need to fight in lower gravity.

He speaks into his radio in a firm tone. "Attention, fighters assaulting Mining Station Zephyr. This is Eryl Fairfax, diplomat for the ReGenesis Corporation. I am standing on the station exterior, ready to deflect your attack if I must. Please, retreat at once, or I will be forced to engage."

It seems laughable, a single man on foot taking down a dozen ships, but he speaks with such authority and confidence that it's hard to not take him seriously.

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
There are twelve ships and one Eyrl. This is either going to be laughably one-sided, or surprisingly even. Given the nature of Elite combat, it's probably going to be a tough call, but only if one of those starfighters has an Elite at the controls. Otherwise... yeah, it'll probably be one-sided. The life expectancy of a TIE Fighter pilot is usually pretty low, all things considered.

Three of the ships strafe the airlock where Eryl emerges, and they're firing their laser cannons, bright green strafes of energy peppering the hatch as their engines send them screaming by. Actually hitting him doesn't seem to be their intention, though; it's a warning shot, and if they happen to hit, great.

Perhaps, given his nature as a synthetic being, Eryl might be able to listen in on their tightband chatter.

[Black Three to Black Leader, I've got him in my sights.]

[Black Five, pull that fighter in and stick to formation.]

[Black Leader to Subgroup Four. Stay in formation and hold your fire. Approach on my command after Subgroup Three.] This one seems to be the woman's voice; tone precise, clipped, and absolutely cool under pressure. Whoever this woman is, she is a consummate professional. [Subgroup Three, prepare to open fire.]

Meanwhile, the TIEs break into three-fighter groups, each intending to harass their would-be resistor in strafing groups.

One squadron hangs back, though; the leader, perhaps, and two flunkies? Or one of the later squadrons? It's hard to say. Every single one of those tin cans looks exactly the same as the one before it.

The woman's voice sounds again over the channel, signal extremely grainy, but audible.

[This is TIE Squadron Leader. While I appreciate the generous offer, I have to say that I'm disinclined to acquiesce to your request. I have my orders: I'm afraid there are resources here that the Empire wants, and what the Empire wants, the Empire gets. Stand down, Mister Fairfax. Our weapons are primed, and if you do not stand down, we're ready to use them.]

Well, she doesn't sound particularly broken up about having to start shooting, anyway.

In fact, one of the TIEs takes a potshot as it swoops by, but apparently it's not her.

[Black Seven,] the woman snaps, [I said hold your fire. That is an order.]

[Sorry, ma'am.]

...He doesn't sound very sorry.

Eryl Fairfax has posed:
Eryls sees the ships coming to strafe him, and moves to avoid the deliberately wide shots. All the while, he's privately marvelling at the view. The stars, burning coldly in the sky with no air to make them twinkle like they seem to on Earth. Now if only these ships weren't swarming like flies to block the view.

His augmented brain is picking up the ship's radios, and is making an effort to crack any encryption they might have. While that happens, Eryl responds to the woman on the radio. "So be it. I do apologize for any damage I may do. I will be sure to aim for engines, so that pilots can have time to eject."

But then, a potshot lances out at him! He leaps to the side, drifting for a second before landing on his feet. Either the woman was trying to distract him, or they have a hotshot in the squadron. He tracks the ship with his eyes, head turning slightly to follow it...

Then points at it with his right index finger, arm outstretched. Responding to a signal from his brain, the suit opens up around the fingertip, exposing Eryl's mechanical arm to the vacuum of space for an instant. A small slug is fired from a hole at the index finger's tip, lancing through the vacuum of space to strike at the offending ship's engines!

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
The ships might be swarming, but at least they're fast; depending on the angle, some of them aren't more than a flicker of shadow over the face of the stars' cold light – a flash of solar panel here, or the gleam of durasteel alloy, there; the unmistakable cool blue of an ion engine afterburner or exhaust.

And, of course, the bright scores of laser fire criss-crossing the starry void.

Fortunately for Eryl, the encryption isn't strong. TIE Fighters, and their communications equipment, isn't particularly sophisticated. In fact, it's the kind of thing put together on a shoestring budget. They're the shock troop of the Empire, and they're mass produced on a scale that boggles the mind... which means that a number of costs are cut during their production.

Hell, these babies don't even have landing gear. That probably says a lot about the life expectancy of the pilots for an atmospheric operation.

Apparently the squadron leader is no rookie, though.

[Save your effort. Shoot the engines and you'll only put the pilots out of their misery faster.] The woman's response is cool and untroubled. [They won't have time to eject. Never mind that the only thing an ejected pilot has to look forward to out here is freezing to death, or asphyxiation. They get to take their pick.]

Meanwhile, a group of three TIE Fighters are screaming down to take another shot at Eyrl. It's the same one that had shot prematurely before, apparently Black Seven, and apparently he wants the glory of taking out the Union operative in the EVA suit for himself.

And suddenly oh god why is there a slug punching through the solar panels—

Black Seven goes up in a bloom of fire. Well, not really 'up,' in the vacuum of space. More like 'out.' The other two fighters nearby swerve to avoid his funeral pyre, but one of them snarls in the debris, and the sudden impact sends the TIE spinning distantly.

Black Eight isn't much more lucky. It explodes against the big, sturdy hull of Mining Station Zephyr, and the only sign that the starfighter ever existed is the new charred spot on Zephyr's metallic skin.

In the cockpit, Juno Eclipse sighs an exasperated, frustrated sigh. That's two out of twelve down, and two pilots who won't be going home today, all because the higher ups in the Empire saw her record, saw she wasn't occupied with Inquisitorial work, and wanted to perhaps earn some brownie points with Confederate command... if it's even that simple, which it probably isn't. Politics make her head hurt, and there's a reason why she doesn't bother with them.

[Black Nine, fall into formation with Subgroup Three. Subgroups Two and Three, on my mark—]

One flight of three TIEs swoops down, all three of them firing in concert to try and knock Eyrl off his current perch – only one of them actually shoots at him; the others are aiming for Zephyr's hull beneath his suit's feet to try and forcibly blast him off.

Eryl Fairfax has posed:
Eryl watches as the hotshot's ship is taken out, pulling one of its fellows down with it, smashing against the station. A pang of regret shoots through him. Two lives snuffed out in an instant, needlessly. Maybe if he had tried a different tact on the radio, maybe if he had chosen a different firing solution...

But then, his implants kick in, suppressing the rising tide of shame at his self-perceived failure. There will be time to ruminate later. Right now, the squad leader is speaking to him... was this a suicide mission he is fighting off? Original Face had scanned the ships as best it could, and they were... well, 'ramshackle' might be too kind a word.

"Please, stop this," he says. Not over the Multiversal radio, but through the ship radios. "That is two too many deaths today. Fall back." But, now three ships are coming at him, co-ordinating their shots to either kill him or knock him into the void.

Eryl isn't trained for this, but Original Face is already piecing together ideas. He seems to have the disadvantage in mobility, but the lower gravity can help him mitigate that. As they come towards him, he bends his knees and leaps, over the ships. One shot glances across his leg, tearing the suit... but the hole begins to knit itself together, only leaving him exposed for an instant.

As he starts to land behind the ships, he aims and fires... this time, aiming for the engines, hoping that they might slide to a somewhat safe stop.

Hopefully.

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
The TIE Fighters swarm and scream as they loop around, some of them moving into more advantageous positions to fire; some of them moving to cover their fellows. They always move in groups of three, where possible, although one of those is now a group of four because the third of the group lost his wingmen in one fell swoop. Shot. Whatever.

Point is, they're moving in groups, and that probably works to Eryl's advantage. These things are extremely agile, but they're also extremely shoddy workmanship, and doing things like smashing them into each other is all it seems to take to make them explode spectacularly.

Then again... they're TIE Fighters. It doesn't take much.

There's not much to see on the backside of a TIE Fighter except for engine exhaust from that round cockpit-slash-engine module, and the glint of light reflected from solar panels (the outside facing) and heat exchanges (the inside facing, with switchbacked conductors and transfers running the length of the panels).

Fortunately, that means there's a pretty easy spot to aim for.

Black Twelve takes an unfortunate shot to the engine that might have been meant to slow him down, but all it seems to do is patter off the hull, ricochet wide off the curve of it, punch a hole in a solar deflector, and send the TIE abruptly slewing sideways into both of his mates.

Black Ten and Eleven are snuffed out like candles; and the three of them, tangled together and miraculously not exploded just yet, are in turn sent slewing sideways into the hull of Mining Station Zephyr.

So much for not exploding. (They explode.)

The TIE Squadron is now down to six operational members plus its squadron leader, leaving seven TIE Fighters in total.

It all happens in the blink of an eye.

Her odds, Juno Eclipse thinks in the cockpit of the number one TIE Fighter, have been better. Never mind the frustration, indigniation, and guilt of having five of her wingmen destroyed because the Empire wanted something it could produce cheaply, and because one of them was too eager to shoot first and negotiate later.

Let this be a lesson, then! And what is that lesson? 'Never fly in a TIE Fighter if you aren't suicidal,' of course.

[Black Leader to Black Two through Six...] Her voice is still calm and professional and absolutely steady as she orders her squadron into new logistics, moving this starfighter there and patching that starfighter into a new subgroup; covering the now-gaping holes in the overall formation of the squadron as a whole.

The female squadron leader's voice is starting to sound just a touch harrowed as she progresses in her orders. Why doesn't she just give up? Well, if Eryl knows anything about the Empire in his database or through the Union's collective information, they're not really the sort of nice people who take kindly to giving up, even if it's a suicide mission.

Darth Vader is not a very nice man, you see. And Emperor Palpatine isn't any nicer. And while she's enraged and aggrieved by the losses today, Juno Eclipse is smart enough to know that if she calls this operation off, it's going to be her head on a pike as an example, no matter how well she flies the Rogue Shadow, or how useful she is to the Inquisition, or how sterling her record might otherwise be aside from multiversal matters—

Stop that, she tells herself, swinging her ship around and taking a shot – one rather half-hearted, at that – at Eryl.

[Black Nine, you are cleared to engage.] Her voice is calm once more, focused.

At the woman's direction, the lone TIE Fighter to outlive the latter half of Black Squadron's explosion banks around to take a shot at Eryl. Eryl's aiming and firing, in turn, manages to hit his engine, but this one doesn't ricochet off that smooth-curved hull. It punches right into the engines, which, as the other had been intended to do, causes them to simply cut out and die.

[Black Nine to Black Leader. I think the bastard hit my engines.] A man's voice, a bit on the young side, and somewhat panicked. [Orders, ma'am?]

[Black Leader to Black Nine. Stand by.]

Welp, not much else he can do, anyway.

Juno, meanwhile, brings her TIE Fighter around to fire directly on Eryl... or, more accurately, the hull beneath his feet. That one lone starfighter, out of all the others, seems reluctant to fire directly on the cyborg. Maybe he'll pick up on that; maybe he won't – after all, all those tin cans look the same...

Eryl Fairfax has posed:
Eryl grunts with satisfaction, something that might get picked up over the radio as the engines simply cut out, rather than exploding. Good. Now he has a safe target to aim at. But, that shot from the sole survivor of that crash actually manages to hit home, tearing a sizable hole in the torso of his suit. Again, it begins to sew itself back shut, but that amount of exposure on a still-biological part of him? He doesn't make a noise, but he's hurting.

He lands again, and speaks through the radio. "Black Nine, was it? If you manage to land safely, stay in the cockpit. You have my word that I'll see you out of here safely afterwards." But now, he is under fire once more. Through the sensors on the helmet, he can tell that the shots are going wide... far too wide to be accidental. Hm.

He scans the air once again, picking off a target, looking for the exhaust. When he has a clear shot, he fires with 'One Hand Clapping' once more at an engine... but he also seems to be avoiding shooting at Juno's ship.

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
Black Nine is busy cursing at his engines and struggling with non-responsive controls. Either he genuinely doesn't hear Eryl to respond to him, or he simply ignores him in favour of trying to get his TIE Fighter operational again. Sadly, it's a cheap piece of space-scrap, and it's not going anywhere any time soon.

Black Leader, however, is busy industriously trying to shoot at the places the cyborg happens to land. It's a tactic that ought to keep him stepping lightly.

[Black Leader to Black Squadron. Keep him moving. If we can destabilise his footing, we should be able to—]

Black Five bites the dust, more through happenstance than actual intention. Eryl's shot blows a corner of the solar panel off, and the sudden lack of resistance sends the starfighter spinning. It clips poor stationary Black Nine on its way past, and then it smacks into one of the sides of Zephyr's hull, blooming in a fireball.

Another one bites the (space) dust.

Inside the cockpit of the first Black Squadron TIE Fighter, Juno Eclipse smacks a gloved fist against the console, and snaps off a curse as the indicator light for Black Five winks out on her ship's console.

And then two more. Juno looks up in alarm.

[Black Four to Black Leader, my engines just cut out—]

[Black Six to Black Leader, what the hell's going on–]

Both of the TIE Fighters simply stop moving, drifting to a gentle halt.

Black Six bumps up against Black Nine, and the two are sent drifting, ever so gently, to bump up against Zephyr, tangled up like discarded children's toys.

[Black Nine to Black Leader, what the hell just happened to Four and Six?]

Four and Six don't respond. Apparently their craft aren't getting any power at all.

In her cockpit, Juno Eclipse sighs. Out of twelve, that's three last TIE Fighters operational. These things are horrible and if she had any sense of self-preservation she'd break off the engagement now.

Juno Eclipse is a sensible woman.

[Black Leader to Black Squadron. Break off. We're retreating. Four, Six, Nine, if you can hear me, we'll return for you... if the Union doesn't get hold of you first.]

She twists, turning helmeted head to the cyborg and his deadly little One Hand Clapping. One of the TIE Fighters yaws slightly to one side, so the cockpit faces Eryl directly.

[You win, at least for today. And you'd best hope that the Empire doesn't feel the need to come back here with a Class-II Star Destroyer or three.]

With that, the three remaining TIEs limp off towards home, or the nearest carrier, or wherever it is unexploded TIE Fighters go after an operation. Their ion trails stretch away, and they're soon lost to the inky void – the three exhausts blending into the stars, after a time.

Eryl Fairfax has posed:
Eryl watches aghast as his shot goes wide, clipping the panels rather than hitting the engine. The ship spins and crashes and his heart aches again before his implants jolt him back into the situation. Thankfully, it missed the fighter that landed, at least.

He turns his gaze heavenward once more... just in time to see two ships just come to a total stop. Did they just break down? This Empire clearly spared every expense on these things. Over the radio, he hears the leader give the retreat order, and his heart lifts. At least it's over.

As the leader tilts to face him directly, he meets her gaze from behind his one-way visor and says, "Oh, so they'll spend more money on shock-and-awe engines than on basic safety equipment on their fighters? Ma'am, I think you are on the wrong side here, from a pragmatic standpoint."

However, to show there are no hard feelings, he waves the ships off as they turn into glints in the distance. With a sigh, Eryl puts his hands on his hips and examines the three decommissioned fighters. Now... how to get their pilots inside?