RPlog:Unfortunate Escort

The backwater planet of Rennar IV is not particularly important, in the grand scheme of things, which is why it's a target of Gren Delede's search of lightly trafficked Imperial systems. He is flying a Z95a that has been made highly illegal, thanks to having it's transponder removed, as well as having all of the identifying numbers, and markers cleared from the hull. With a flicker, this starfighter exits hyperspace, and into real-space, coming out a long way from the planet, and the small collection of freighters, and light warships, which indicate a convoy.

"Keep an eye on those Imps, Shorty. I want to stay well out of their sensor range." But, it's entirely possible that a blip occured on their screens, upon his arrival. A flare of engines, and he heads a bit deeper into the system. A snort, as the pilot eyes his astromech's response..."Aye. This is why I paid to upgrade our scanners. Just keep recording, I want to know everything about this convoy that I can..." The Headhunter is traveling slow, still well outside of visual and scanner range of standard mil-spec ships.

It isn't every day that Liza does convoy escorting but today is one of those days, the 'mission' something she considers a cake-walk. The mission is one of the kind that has her about falling asleep in the seat of her borrowed fighter, eyes almost closed, her head bobbing as if she is about to do just that. It isn't until a beep comes up on her Interceptor's sensors that she becomes fully awake and, with a frown, she watches the reading for a few seconds before sighing. "Convoy, this is Delta 2. I am picking up a suspicious blip on my radar. I am going to take Delta 3 and take a closer look. You should be clear for rendevous so feel free to proceed." Snorting slightly, she turns her comm's to her wingman's frequency and begins to speak in an annoyed tone as she pulls her fighter to the coordinates the readings originated from. "Let's see who this is. Let's not engage unless it's necessary."

"A pair of squints?" Delede flicks a switch, and brings his shields up, and his single eye scanning the sensors. They are still well out of visual range, but that's not a problem for this ships' scanners. The throttle is pressed forward, and the flightstick is tugged to port, bringing the Z95a on an intercept course with the Imperial starfighters. A beep, and a rather nasty little text message from Shorty draws a laugh out of Gren. "Do I feel lucky? It's just a pair of Imps...who needs to feel lucky?" A shake of his head, and he flips the blast-shield on his helmet down, and at about half-throttle, he is cruising closer to scanner, and weapons range.

Liza hmmms softly as she sees the blip growing closer and then chuckles to the pilot of Delta 3 as she shakes her head. "You know, Delta 3, I think I'll be alright. Tell you what. You stay close by but do not engage. I think I want to try and take whomever this is on myself." She pushes the throttle forward slightly, the cocky grin slipping some as she begins to draw nearer to this unknown-and-possible adversary.

"Let's see if I can still keep up with military pilots." A slow smile, and Gren thumbs his weapons control to his dual-linked laser cannons. The throttle is thrust forward, and the enhanced speed of his starfighter becomes apparent as it tears through space, heading directly for Delta 2. The targeting reticle is placed just a bit in front of his target, and he leads it for a bare second, before he opens fire, a single burst of red laser fire burning toward the Interceptor. That's all of the identification or greeting that he needs to give the Imp.

The shot gets Liza to cuss up a storm, her words short, abrupt. "Delta 3, get in here. I can't do this alone and the scum got the first shot on me. I want you to come in high and tight and try to at least distract him enough to buy me some time." "Roger, Delta 2. I am inbound." As the fighter screams its way towards Delede, Molokai hurriedly works on trying to get her shields up. While she works with toggling switches and turning knobs, her wingman approaches the vector and fires after getting the other ship in his sights.

Gren flips his fighter into a barrel roll, attempting to evade the fire that comes from the either very lucky, or rather talented Interceptor pilot, Delta 3. He would prefer to finish off Delta 2, but after the ease with which he damaged it, he'd best concentrate on the better pilot. A flash as his shields disappear, and he ignores the screaming astromech. "Just get my shields back online, damnit. I'll worry about these Squints." A smile, and he straightens his flight path, and then banks hard to starboard, lining up a quick shot toward Delta 3.

Sighing, she looks at the sight of the explosion as her wingman's bested and Liza sighs as she finds herself alone and severely damaged. Logic dictates that she should bug out but she frowns as she just has to take one last shot at the unknown enemy before she tries to flee.

"This is too easy.." A sigh, as Gren snap-rolls to starboard, allowing Delta 2's laser fire to shoot past his cockpit, though the maneuver does take him through the expanding vapor cloud that was Delta 3. Behind the cockpit, SH0RTY keeps working on the shields, while Delede shoots toward the heavily damaged Interceptor, his laser cannons barking, and sending red death screaming toward Liza's TIE.

The ship rocks and shudders as the shields barely hold, making Molokai wince as an other shot hits the ship. "Damnit.." She sighs as she tries to manuver herself away from the enemy fighter while she once again struggles to get her shields up, her mind reeling from the excitement.

For the first time, the comms are activated, and a computer-scrambled voice comes over them, tight-beamed into the cockpit of Delta 2. "I don't care to kill rookies. Eject. Please." And, yes, Delede is assuming that his opponent is a rookie, thanks to the relative ease in which he is fighting her, thus far. "I'd like shields, sooner or later, Shorty. And, I'm not lying. I hate killing rookies." A whistle is all he gets in response. A glance at his scopes, checking to make sure that they are still well out of range of the convoy, and the rest of it's escorts. The Z95a maintains a firing position on the maneuvering Imperial, and Gren is kind enough to give her time to eject, should she choose, before he fires yet another burst of red death at her starfighter.

"Damn it.." is all the Sarian can say as she ejects, the pilot's seat breaking free from the cockpit just as the canopy is blown from the ship itself. She barely gets free from the disabled Interceptor just as it explodes, showering the vicinity with bits of hull and such, showering the area with shrapnel. The emergency becon begins to transmit its message as soon as it is turned on, transmitting Slush's coordinates...now for a VERY long wait.

"I'm glad she ejected, Shorts." A satisfied smile, and Delede pulls up and away from the ejected pilot, careful to avoid the pod, and the woman within. An open channel, though with limited range comes online, and he speaks..."You should consider transferring into transport flyin' kid. You'll live longer." A laugh, and the Headhunter burns away from the area, as a rescue attempt is clearly underway, now that her emergency beacon has told them their was a problem. She really should have called for help, from the rest of the Imperial ships. His words may have been cruel, but he waggles his fighter's wings, in a salute to the downed pilot. "Let's get home. We've got the scans that we came for. And, two more markers for our hull." A few seconds later, and the undamaged Headhunter punches into hyperspace.