The Rebel Faction

Of all the places in the galaxy to be sent, Helska! The planet was so, how to put it nicely… boring! Helska was similar to Hoth in many ways except for the fact that Hoth had history. Oh, when he, Phalanx Allger, chose to join the Empire he thought he would be in the Outer Core, fighting with rogue factions or the eternal enemy, the New Republic. He thought he’d see action on far away worlds in the Unknown Regions battling foes worse than the Yuuzhan Vong. But no, Phalanx Allger all twenty-one years was being sent out as a Flight Officer to the blasé fourth planet of the Helska System.

All being sent to Helska along with Phalanx was a lone Victory Class Star Destroyer outfitted with the customary two TIE Defender Squadrons. Even that, one 900-meter ship seemed like a lot for such a dull planet.

Maybe, pondered Phalanx, this planet is rich in ore. Why else would it be taken? He stopped musing quickly, remembering it was not his duty to question the Empire but rather to serve it unblinkingly.

“Swoops,” Phalanx’s wing mate and roommate aboard the Star Destroyer shouted to Phalanx inside the refresher unit. It took Phalanx barely a moment to register the fact that his imposed nickname in Wake Squadron was Swoops. It fit Phalanx well; it reminded Phalanx of his daring past and what he was trying to accomplish in the Empire. Phalanx walked out of the refresher, a towel draped around his waist, a bare chest above the towel.

“There you are Swoop. I thought you were gonna waste all the Destroyer’s hot H20.” Bop, Phalanx’s wing mate/roommate commented. Bop was a Third Tier Flight Lieutenant five kills away from being promoted to the next achievable rank. Bop had been part of Wake Squadron a full three tours so far. He’d seen the type of action Phalanx hoped to see.

“Get some clothes on Phalanx. I don’t want to be responsible for having you late to the briefing,” Bop tossed Phalanx a white Under Armor shirt with the Wake Squadron logo on it, a simple SquareMan.

Phalanx caught it, one handed. He pulled it over his damp hair, the Under Armor stretching to fit over Phalanx’s chest. Snapping to his body, the Under Armor trapped the residue water from Phalanx’s shower and turned it into temperature regulation—at this time heat since the Star Destroyer was kept at an energy efficient 55 degrees Fahrenheit.

Phalanx pulled on a pair of slacks, contrasting in color to his shirt. Through the belt loops, Phalanx slipped on his utility belt containing his identification card, his comm link, a hydrospanner, a standard issue Blaster and some spare power packs for the Blaster. He also slipped on a pair of white-soled tennis shoes. The laces were tied in that new “skateboard” fashion from Coruscant; the laces being looped back through the top hole so they looked untied but were really tied and quite easy to slip on and off.

Bop stopped walking and slid his access card through a reader. The door slid open with a hiss. “We’re here.” Bop let Phalanx walk into the briefing room first.

Phalanx saluted the Sergeant of Arms who returned the salute while taking Phalanx’s Blaster for the duration of the briefing. Phalanx shrugged, and began walking around the room greeting his squad mates informally before the meeting started.

“Allger, it’s good to see you again. I see you’ve been in the simulators quite often.” Wake Squadron’s Commander, Amad Ian neglected Phalanx’s Academy Salute; instead he opted for a more fatherly handshake. “Keep it up, Allger. Your scores are quite high up for a rookie. If there’s any opposition during Helska, I expect you to become an Ace.”

Ian smiled warmly, than turned away and took his place at the head of the round table that took up the majority of the briefing room. “Everybody, please find your seats. We have a lot to discuss.”

Gradually, the room’s occupants—fifteen in all—stopped their individual conversations and took their seats around the table in descending rank order. Sitting next to Ian was the squadron’s Executive Officer, a woman, Nora Downing. The two were complete opposites of each other in physical appearance and possibly mind set.

Ian cleared his throat, “Nice job Wakes. We can expect a nice shore leave on beautiful Helska once we secure the air.” This comment brought laughs through the small crowd. It was unanimous that Helska would be a bore.

“But this does not mean we will slack off. We practice like we play. And I want us practicing 100%.” Ian began his lecture, “Handouts of our schedule for the next week we are in hyperspace will be handed out at the end of this briefing. For the next four days, we have a rotating schedule of weight training, conditioning, simulators, classroom time, more conditioning, some more simulators, and finally we will have random simulator calls for some or all of you Wakes. We need to be prepared.”

Ian nodded his head, indicating he was through with speaking for now. Nora stood up from her chair and began pacing the briefing chamber as all hard-core militaries do. She had a laser pointer in her right hand, a datapad in the left.

“We will drop into the Helska system at point A,” a hologram of the Helska System sprouted up in the center of the table. The entrance point was glowing red. “We will then make short microjump to Point B, exactly 300 clicks outside the fourth planet’s orbit.” A dotted line connected the red dot for Point A with the new blue dot of Point B.

“Strap in Wakes. We’re going live in four.” Commander Amad Ian’s voice cackled to life over Wake Squadron’s communications frequency. Finally, it was time for the mission to begin. Phalanx strapped himself in, his crash webbing fitting tightly around his chest and waist. His mind teemed with anxiety for action.

“Wakes, we go live in three. Power up engines.” Nora Downing’s voice issued the new order. Phalanx flipped a switch, turned a few knobs, and pulled the manual ignition lever. With a roar, the TIE Defender’s engines roared to life in unison with the eleven other TIE Defenders in the hangar bay.

“Power up weapons systems. Live in two.” Ian’s voice came over the communications unit again. Phalanx flicked three switches with his gloved fingers: one for laser cannons, one for ION Cannons, and the final switch for the Concussion Missile Tubes.

“Power up shields. We’re green lighted in one.” Nora’s voice substituted Ian’s. Phalanx tapped his touch pad screen, adjusting his shield power units. He set his shields at 100%.

“Engage repo’s and queue in launch order.” Ian ordered. Phalanx nudged his repulser lifts on. His spacecraft shuddered as it broke the Star Destroyers artificial gravity and hovered just above the durasteel decks.

“Go!” Ian and Nora’s voices sounded in unison. Beneath his shiny black TIE pilot helmet, Phalanx smiled. Finally, he’d fly his first mission for the Empire. Phalanx was Wake 12, last in the squadron to leave the Star Destroyer’s berth. Phalanx waited has his comrades accelerated out of the bay, ION wash sending minimal damping into his shields.

Wake 11 shot out of the Star Destroyer’s underside. Phalanx pulled his yoke back and kicked his right pedal, sending his TIE Defender into the air and turning tightly to face the Magshield separating him from his unit. Phalanx eased a thumb button forward, causing his Twin ION Engines to thrust the craft forward into space.

“Form up Wakes, Wing T Plus.” The Commanding Officer ordered. Eleven double clicks followed. Phalanx eased his ship into his spot as the tailback I back. Phalanx took a look at his ship sensors. Just ten seconds into the mission, Wake Squadron was hundreds of meters away from the Victory Class Star Destroyer. The rush of speed far exceeded that of a Swoop bike.

Phalanx dialed his inertial compensator to a 110%. He still wasn’t fully adjusted to advanced flight maneuvers and didn’t feel like he was capable of keeping his stomach in evasive maneuvers—if the need occurred.

“Should we engage?” Phalanx’s question met dead air. A check at his sensors provided no information on the communications line. “They’ve jammed our communications systems,” Phalanx explained to himself.

Bop must have already picked up on this. He accelerated his starfighter to attack speed. Phalanx followed closely in suit, taking up wingman position slightly above Bop. Five and eleven had broken off marginally in similar form.

By now, the oval starfighters were within firing range of Three Flight. Here was the action Phalanx had privately hoped for… Phalanx sized up the opposition. Three flight was outnumber by a 5 to 1 ratio, a tough for ratio for the legendary enemy Rogue Squadron or even the great 181st.

The ovals opened hostilities first, sending salvos of ruby, emerald, and sapphire energy at Three Flight. The salvos came quick and in quantity. Luckily for Phalanx and Three Flight, the overlapping of shield energy from the TIE Defender’s easily shunted the attacks.

And as soon as the first salvo finished, Three Flight was past the enemy, turning tightly for another pass. Phalanx switched his laser settings to dual fire. Enemy coming back into view, Phalanx shot hastily aimed lasers at the cluster of fighters, causing them to break off into flight groups of four. Phalanx’s shots had skimmed one of the oval fighters. This fighter lagged behind its flight group.

Seeing this advantage, Phalanx dodged in and out of fire until he was ready for a heads up pass on the oval. He switched shields full front and sprayed dual laser blasts at the oval. One pair hit the fighter straight on, sending it into a plume of debris.

“no shields…” the brief message, sounding as if it came from 11, made it through the communications block. Checking down at his sensors, Phalanx saw all of Three Flight’s shields were in the green.

Another enemy fighter winked out on his screen, stirring Phalanx from his thinking. He noticed the blips of enemy red fighters blinking out rapidly and more friendly green replacing them: twelve new green blips to be exact. Phalanx looked out of his octagonal view port, seeing twelve TIE Defenders joining the fray.