Skirmish at Gyndine

Even though this was an Imperial vessel, this was first and foremost the pilots' briefing centre and as such there was a slightly more relaxed atmosphere. Slightly, being the operative term, as when the vessel's CAG enterred, there was no option but to snap to. Wing Commander Ilan was not a tall man, nor a strong man, but he was a fighter's fighter, the grey hair at his temple denoting that he's seen more than his fair share of them. "At ease."

Contrary to his usual demeanor, Jonas is more serious and businesslike in the briefing room, though he still slouches a little in his seat when he resumes it. He bounces the ball of his foot up and down against the floor - he's antsy, and it shows. He's still the squadron rookie, and hasn't flown nearly as many sorties as his compatriots; every call to the briefing room meant another chance to prove himself.

"The objective today is Gyndine," Ilan's words serving almost as the magical wake-up for the holo-projector at one end of the room, the screen beginning to cycle through various reports and images of the planet and sector. "It's ours, so there will be no collateral damage and especially no damage to the shipyards. We'll be patrolling the outer reaches of the system, but more clearly we'll be testing the ability of the Avengers' hyperdrive and just what we can do in terms of long-range operations. You will be assigned a difficult route through the system's asteroid belt, keep your eyes sharp and your focus on the radar sharper." The Commander turns to Jonas, "This is Officer Alsten's first real mission." A few snickers heard there, and Jonas' wingmate clapping him on the back. "So, try not to do damage the multi-hundreds of thousands of credits machine you're in, alright Officer Alsten?"

Jonas slumps slightly in his chair, voicing a faint grumble of annoyance and glaring at the floor. Being the newbie, and being the butt of everyone's jokes, got old after a while. "Oof...Yes, sir," he mutters in reply. "But I don't think you have anything to worry about. I got into the squadron, didn't I? So I must have -some- talent."

"You've got qualifications, Alsten," the gruff voice of RAzor's squadron leader heard then. He is amused more than anything else. "Talent is what you get when you've put your qualifications on the line a couple times against Rebel scum that wants to blow you up. But you're not wasting the time I spent breaking you in."

Yes, it was a more relaxed atmosphere, pilots being pilots and all. "It is a major production centre and besides that, very close to the border. Rebel activity has been light of late, but those have been last words to too many good man. Any questions?"

"So basically all we're doing is a scouting slash training run?" the rookie pilot scoffs, his lips splitting into a broad, toothy grin. "Don't go easy on us on my account, boss. I can handle anything you throw."

"Don't jinx it now," Kairo says. In his time as Jonas' wingmate, he had revealed himself to be quite the superstitious man, even now the lucky medallion he wore showed through the gaps in his jacket's buttons. "What did I tell you? If you tempt fate, you get shot down."

The Wing Commander's nod provided was followed by a similar answer and with that, the briefing came to an end.

The transition back to real space was rather sudden, a nausea-inducing lurch that might have emptied one's stomach were they not trained. Especially given that a few centimeters of glass-like substance separated the squadron's pilots from the darkness of space. "Alsten, Fortune, take point, we'll spread out and cover more distance." The squadron leader's commands were as always to the point.

"Read ya loud and clear, boss," Jonas chirps enthusiastically. His grip on the flightstick is tight as he maneuvers his fighter into the standard formation he'd been drilled on many times before. He doesn't do anything daring - there was no point in showing off during something so routine, and even then, showing off let one's guard down, and letting your guard down often meant mistakes. Jonas wasn't about to make a mistake, not on this.

The patrol was as quiet as expected and when they exited from the dense cloud of asteroids and other debris, each pair of fighters was greeted with the only brightness being the extremely faint sun in the distance and countless stars. Or at least, that was the only sight until a series of brief flashes, signs of a hyperdrive trip coming to an end. "Contact!" Fortune yelled out into the comms, the two of them at the front of the squadron and so the first to see them. "What does that say on your radar, small enough to be fighters or lost freighters?"

Jonas narrows his eyes at the radar display and shakes his head - mostly out of habit. "Nah. I know freighters, and those are too small to be freighters. They're fighters, from the looks of it. Seven of ‘em."

"Combat formation," the squadron leader yelled into his comms, the squadron arranging itself into three flights, each one taking the Finger Four with the flight leader in lead position. "Alsten, keep your head cool." This was Fortune, the private comms between the two of them carrying his words only to his wingmate. "Remember your lesson and don't be a hero." Of course, there was very little un-heroic about streaming head on to meet what could only be the enemy. And a growing enemy at that as the original seven were joined by more to make a full squadron's worth.

Jonas breathes into his helmet comlink as he steels himself and moves into formation. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," he drones sarcastically back to Fortune. "I'll try to remember that if they start shooting at us." He glances at his radar again. "More fighters inbound. We got them identified yet?"

"X-wing," Fortune announces to the squadron, "Rebel scum," heard soon after although whether it was by the wingmate or even the Squadron Leader was unclear. Shortly, after, three flights face each other, the Rebels too having adopted the same formation, a common tactic for decades now. The flights had hundreds of klicks between one another, and as the first missile streaked from their flight lead towards his opposite, there was no longer a battle but three separate ones, a dozen even.

Almost as soon as he hears the word 'X-wing', Jonas breaks formation with his wingman once combat has begun. He pilots his Avenger in a wide path towards the edge of the Rebel squadron, his sights set on one of the end crafts. "Heh. You're -mine-!" he growls, bright green lasers erupting from his ship guns as he squeezes the firing trigger.

Ghost 7 swerves his fighter sharply to the left, and almost as quickly he banks back right, the salvo of laser fire evaded with some ease. The Zabrak within holds his fire until he has closed in on the enemy Tie, his breathing steady even as his finger presses down on the trigger. Three, four, five of the bolts are fire in quick succession before he begins raising his fighter's nose, preparing for when he would have to double-back once they passed each other.

Jonas pulls on his flight controls hard, banking his fighter into a sharp roll to the side. The field of stars outside is thrown into a dizzying spiral of white, and his cockpit is briefly illuminated by the red glow of the X-wing lasers he had just barely dodged. "Whew! Cutting it way too close there," he says to himself, easing out of the barrel roll and resuming pursuit of the X-wing. Once it's in view again, he squeezes the trigger once more, raining down a stream of emerald bolts, hoping that at least a few might score a hit.

Rocked, though he is by the received fire, his fighter bouncing from the impact, the Zabrak keeps calm. Were he to lose it, that would be his hide right there. "Damned robots.", his own title for the Imperials he faced. HE threw himself into a quick dive and evened out, beginning to climb up, his fighter now positioned diagonally underneath the Tie and closing in. For a brief moment, he had the Tie in his cross-sights, and again he fired.

Jonas attempts juke his fighter out of the path of fire but maneuvers far too late. He grunts and struggles to maintain control of his ship as it's rocked by the blasts. "Damn it. Not bad... but I'm not done yet!" He makes another pass at the X-wing, pulling upwards in a somersault so as to approach it from behind, firing again once the ship falls within his targeting reticule.

They're good enough to hit each other, but not so good as to be hit, perhaps this was why the Zabrak was Ghost 8, a position generally assigned to the rookie among his flight. The Zabrak does not bank left or right, although he does swing wildly, momentarily appearing in the Tie's targets before moving away. Suddenly, he pushes on the brakes, raising his fighter's nose sharply and killing all the power to his vessel. The sudden deceleration is enough to almost break his neck, as it is it was enough for him to have all the air expelled out of his lungs. And for a moment, he feared being knocked out. But that moment was brief, and as it happened, the X-wing was almost straight vertical as a column and hung almost motionless, and then its engines kicked in once he shook free of the Tie. He swung back after the TIE, and this time rather than use his lasers, one of the X-wing's launchers was fired up, the torpedo sent hurtling straight at the Tie.

The bold maneuver catches Jonas completely off-guard and he sails right past his opponent. Not a moment later, his fighter lurches and rumbles violently as the missile collides with him. His console beeps frantically and blinks red as warning lights flash at him - the proton torpedo had taken a good chunk out of his shields. For a few seconds he begins to hyperventilate, the panic setting in. He flies about in a wide circle, taking advantage of his craft's speed and sharp maneuvering to try and press the attack back on the Rebel pilot. Instead of lasers, this time he responds in kind, firing off a single concussion missile.

One by one, the Republican fighters begin to break contact, a heavy hail of fire sent forth to dissuade their opponents from following. And it was the same with the Zabrak, whatever instructions he received causing him to break away from the Tie and head off, a torpedo was dropped behind him, ready to be remotely activated, and it was clear enough on the radars of any nearby. But he could not help but activate system-wide comms, "A gift from Ghost 7, robot, I'll be seeing you again."

"Pull back, Alsten.", Fortune that, his wingmate's fighter pretty beat up considering, "It could be a trap, get back in formation."

Jonas hesitates to follow orders, trailing after his quarry for a few seconds before looping back around to rejoin his squad. "I copy. Forming up now."