Announcement

Collapse
No announcement yet.

Phoenix: the Beginning

Collapse
X
 
  • Filter
  • Time
  • Show
Clear All
new posts

  • Phoenix: the Beginning

    Posted by Telan Desaria on 08-17-2002 02:04 AM:
    Phoenix: the Beginning

    Glory.

    Dignity.

    Honor.

    Distinction.

    All traits associated with the Empire of years past. Thosands of Star Destroyers and millions of supprt vessels, their paint new and their crews disciplined. Every one could snap into the pecison of an Academy cadet at the drop of a credit.

    The Empire, despite its splendor, ability, and genius, fell. As did all things of Greatness.

    However, like all things that are meant to be, the Empire did not die. The Empire could not die. It lived on in the hearts of those that had once worn the Imperil uniform, that had stood together under the Imperial Banner.

    And now they were going to rise to their place of command in the galaxy.

    It would be under the leadership of military and political geniuses, neither interfering in the other's ream of experience. The Empire would rise to it former stature, and cry havoc. And every dog of war would fly from its cage and follow its master until the day was done and ultimate victory achieved.

    Thus Grand Admiral Telan Desaria, one of the last of the original Twelve, was to lead their return to power.

    This could not be done, however, without money.

    * * *

    A black and blue shaded Corellian gunship arrived in the Kuat system, dozens if not hundreds of warships about. Many hundreds more were freightors bustling supplies from one enormous shipway to another.

    The gunship was dwarfed by the expansive collection of yards, docks, and shipways. It did, however, draw many eyes to its hull for the Imperial Crest was emblazed on either side. That was a sight not seen for many years. Last when every way was filed with the hull of a powerful Star Destroyer, soon to be launched and aid in ruling the galaxy.

    " Sir, we are approaching the vector."

    " Send the message."

    This is the Imperial Diplomatic Corps gunship Areana. We have prior requested an audience with Vallin Dayne, CEO of these yards.

    The transmission went into the collation center on Kuat, and then to the massive, city sized control complex on the planet below.

    Areana. You have been cleared to send down a shuttle and your representative.

    A moment later, a small, Imperial craft, smaller than the typical Lambda-class suttle infamous in its Imperial service, descended towards the planet.

    On the landing pad were two civilians in business suits. Behind them, another man who could only be a personal guard given his bearing and emotionless eyes.

    The ramp on the shuttle lowered, and two men stepped out, each in the full regalia of Imperial Fleet troopers. Their uniforms were perfect, their helmets shined and jackboots glistening. It was not because they knew an excellent reproductionist. The uniforms were real.

    Behind them stepped another, whose jackboots were even more polished, whose breeches were stark white, belt pristine, tunic immaculate, and hair cropped and centrally parted. The uniform could be rcognized by any man, woman, and child in the galaxy that could study history.

    An Imperial Grand Admiral had arrived.

    All three men were speachless as the officer and his two-man enterouge strodecloser to them.

    " Good day, sir. May we speak?"

    The head executive could only motion inside. He, nor anyone within eyesight, could believe their eyes.


    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Posted by Lasitus on 08-18-2002 02:21 AM:

    Lasitus was in one of millions of ships attempting to break through Coruscant's atmosphere and land. The simple yet eloquent Lambda was not slowed by the great concentration of traffic: Lasitus was a VIP.

    Coruscant was no longer under Imperial control. Still, respect had been maintained and no one was going to keep an Admiral in line for hours – he might become bitter. Though Coruscant’s defense was complete, an Admiral could do some crippling damage, should he have the incentive. Lasitus was not here on bad terms, though – he was here on a simple diplomatic mission.

    He’d broken through the relatively thin atmosphere. He could see all kinds of buildings and traffic under him moving about. His shuttle merged with the traffic and Lasitus peered out of a view port to glance at an angry Wookie throw something at a particularly poor driver. The driver, a young human accompanied by a driving instructor, looked as if he might throw up. Lasitus told the pilot of his shuttle to cut off the Wookie. The kid looked thankful enough, and Lasitus didn’t like aliens, especially hulking brutes like Wookies.

    Lasitus continued to watch the other traffic, commoners all, go about. The Lambda was considerably bigger than most traffic, and people gave it plenty of room. Not many people flew around in space worthy ships, and the Lambda was considered regal by most standards. Other traffic was right in their presumption that someone important was on board. Then, he saw it: the biggest building of the skyline that he could see, hazy and a great deal of kilometers off. Still, there was no mistake – it was the Bank of Coruscant.

    Lasitus just began to speak when the pilot turned around and beat him to it. “Should I contact them and get a landing pad, sir?” Lasitus nodded. “Bank of Coruscant, this is the Imperial shuttle Courier, requesting a landing pad.”

    “Alright, Courier, landing pad AC227 is open. We’ll greet you there.”

    The pilot gave his recognition and sped off to the exact location. He knew his stuff. As he set down the ship, Lasitus congratulated him on a smooth flight and a fine job. The man positively beamed as the ramp lowered and Lasitus walked down the ramp. As he went from the metal to a variant of permacrete, he glanced up to see a lowly bank employee shivering in the cold air. When his rank bars were visible, the man’s face was a perfect model of the teenager that happened to **** off a belligerent Wookie – ready to forfeit his lunch.

    He ran up to Lasitus, tripping all over himself. “W-Welcome, sir!” He was shaking. “Uhh, erm, please follow me into the building..”

    “I think I’ll do just fine on my own, thank you.”

    He stepped into the building and left the trembling man behind him.


    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Posted by Lasitus on 08-18-2002 12:25 PM:

    “Greetings, Admiral.” The well groomed man was not in the least fazed by Lasitus’ rank.

    “Director Planbor. Always a pleasure.”

    “To what do we owe your gracing us?”

    “The Empire is mobilizing, Director. Telan Desaria has stepped up to take command.” This opened the Bank Director’s eyes a little. “The Grand Admiral?” Lasitus nodded. “Well. You want funding, then.”

    “Right.”

    “We’ve always backed the Empire. You can depend on us.”

    “Thanks, Corzek.” Corzek Planbor was an old friend, and filthy rich. He spoke for the bank, though, and his donations would be well received. “I can give you twice what we gave last time. We’ve had sufficient time to recover.” He winked. Lasitus was taken aback. “Twice? You’re the most generous man I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet.”

    “It’s never lost money when we spend it on the Empire. I hold your ideals at heart, and so do a great many of my associates. Besides, we don’t have the means to build our own fleet.”

    “We’ll fight your wars, Corzek, and no mistake about it.”

    “I know, Lasitus. Er, I don’t mean to get ahead of myself, but we are having some troubles. It’s nothing big, but Security is lost in their ***** looking for the culprits. We were attacked by some pretty heavily armed guys. They had E-Webs and all sorts of heavy…”

    “I think I hear something, Corzek.”

    “Hmm? Well, I don’t…”

    “Corzek, get down!” The Director ducked a hair to slow and was hit in the back of the neck by a projectile the size of Lasitus’ fist. Blood gushed out of the back of his neck as Lasitus ran at the shattered transparasteel and leapt out at the heavy speeder. He barely reached it, and he promptly pulled himself up from a deadly hang onto his feet. The men were in awe. They wore masks like Darth Vader’s, the whole lot. Lasitus worried that he’d lost his friend to petty gang attacks.

    One of the three was right in front of him when he got onto the speeder. He grabbed him by the midsection and threw him off into the side of the Bank with a suplex-style throw. The other two glanced at his rank bars and at each other. Still, this was a man in peak condition, Admiral or not. One came at him with a vibroknuckler as the other scrambled to refill the power pack and gas of a T21 heavy rifle. Lasitus grabbed the approaching man by the wrist and twisted it about. The person gave a yelp and reached to grab his arm with the other. Lasitus pushed the vibroknuckler into the man’s broken arm and then threw him off the side of the speeder.

    It was now him and the survivor. The last person there was still bungling with the blaster. Lasitus grabbed it out of their hands and threw that over the side, too. As he moved up, he heard a definite female yelp. He didn’t break rhythm and continued to close the gap. When he got there he ripped the mask off her face rather roughly. Long hair fell down and she glared at him.

    “Why did you kill my friend?”

    “Good money.”

    “You don’t know what good money is, you idiot. Good money is legitimate, and above the million credit margin. He was about to give me six hundred billion credits.” She gasped. “You’re an Admiral. I saw your rank bars.”

    “Yeah, I’m an Admiral.”

    “How… attractive,” she said, slipping into ‘flirt mode’.

    “Where did you get those weapons?” He motioned at the projectile gun mounted near the back of the speeder.

    “Garqi,” she said without hesitation. “Got them from an installation there. It’s part of a huge black market ring.”

    “Thanks,” he said. He grinned slyly at her. She tossed her hair.

    “So are we going?”

    “Together?”

    “Yeah.”

    “No.” He slit her throat with vibroknucklers that he’d guardedly slipped off of the man’s hand as the man moved to fall nine klicks. He then flew the speeder to his shuttle. The pilot was taken aback but asked no questions. “Where to, sir?” Lasitus was already walking up the ramp. “Pilot, do you know where Garqi is?”

    “Well, not the coordinates, but I know the general area. I’ll look it up. Is that our destination?” Lasitus nodded and sat in one of the lavish chairs. He picked up a datapad and began typing a message.

    “Dear sirs and Madams, though I’m sure you’ve already received the news of your great director’s death, I thought you might not know the particulars. We were discussing a poss-“

    The Lambda lifted off and began making its way to Garqi.


    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Posted by Telan Desaria on 08-18-2002 01:17 PM:

    The lavishness of the Kuat Drive Yards Corporate Headquarters had not dwindled due to frequent galactic wars, alien threats, and ship-production stagnation. Plants that were worth millions alone adorned the walls and halls of the palatial building.

    Many men and women in well-tailored busniess suits strode about from one place to another, all with looks of great importance upon their faces.

    The launch pad entered the primary reception hall, a five story room with a massive oak desk ahead of the transparisteel doors. Separating them were over twenty feet of elegant-and rare-red carpeting. On either side of the receptionist, who undoubtedly received more in a week's salary than an Imperial Lieutenant, were two wide staircases curving back to corridor, whose roof was supported by ivory pillars. Along the walls were chiseled statues and paintings, between them a gold covering for frames and structural supports. The same gold covering ornately decorated the railing's banisters. Seeling this room culd purcahse one a Victory-class Star Destroyer.

    While taking in the scene, the Chief Exeutive Officer of Kuat Drive Yards approached, three other executives in his wake. He was an elder man, who had wthout doubt seen the greater glory of the Empire. Thus, he remembered the civilian greetings for a Grand Admiral.

    With great grace, he bowed low. " By your leave, my Lord."

    Desaria bowed in turn. " Please."

    " I am Torl Vallin, Chief Executive Officer and President of KDY. This is my Vice President in charge of Marketing, my Vice President in charge of production, and the Yards' Military Advisor, Malleriet Jorren."

    At this last name, the Grand Admiral cocked an eyebrow, in his most Thrawn-like activity off the battlefield. " Jorren. Commodore Malleriet Jorren, CXXI Planetary Assault Flotilla, assigned to the Aerin Sector Fleet."

    " Kind of you to remember."

    " How could I forget. You nearly beat me in wargames....if not for the ineptitude of your SEctor Fleet commander, you mostly like would have."

    The compliment did not go unnoticed by the other executives, who blustered that the lowly former Imperial would carry more clout than they, vice-captains of industry.

    Desaria noted their expressions, but ignored them.

    " May we speak, Mr. Vallin."

    The CEO nodded, and lead the group of two executives, former Military Officer, Imperial Fleet troopers, and Grand Admiral to his office, which outdid even the reception hall in extravangance.

    " To sell this would propel you even high on the galactic chain of worth," remarked the Grand Admiral, standing facing out a large transparisteel window that overlooked one of the private garrison bases on the planet itself. From visits to the yard in earlier days, he knew those men one marched in Imperial-issue jacboots, and stood united under the Imperial Banner.

    " I could not. I like it so."

    Desaria nodded, and turned, his hands clasped at the small of his back.

    " It has been over a decade since a warship from this yard was received by a waiting Imperial crew. It has been that long since our Crest was emblazoned on the system defense ships and installations. Tell me, without military grade planetary shielding, an entire network of heavy turbolasers, five Golan Defense Platforms, an entire squadron of Imperial warships posied over this facility, and the most expansie and lucrative contract in the history of the galaxy, how would Kuat have faired?"

    For that, the executives had no answer. Since the Imperial Fall, the turbolasers had been removed, only one Golan not destroyed, and the shield operational only on emergencies.

    " Without the Empire, we would not have the best stock in the galaxy, our as big a yard complex as we have, or our prosperous bank accounts. Is that what you wanted to hear?" chirped an annoyed marketing director.

    " Only the truth..." The executive was preparing to retort when Desaria cut him off. "...But since that is, yes."

    " You see, over a fifty year period, these yards produced 13,154 Imperial-class Star Destroyers, your sister yard at Fondor, 9,085, and another 6,533 in Military Shipyards. You control both Fondor and Kuat. As each Destroyer cost 15.4 billion, you have made more money in one year than the entire Trallit Sector.

    " Albeit on the Outer Rim and sparsely populated, that is still quite a feat.

    " Now, I ask you, are you willing to reap the profits of Empire again? Are you willing to be loyal citizens of the Empire? Are you willing to allow our defenses to bolster this barren, yet worthy place? Are you willing to watch our glorious battleships glide down those ways and into the ranks of the Imperial Navy once more! Are you willing to aid in the most righteous and dignified cause the Galaxy has ever known?! Are you willing to help the Empire rise again!!!"

    The Grand Admiral's voice had risen to a fevor pitch, his one-handed gesticulations enthralling his auience, even the former Imperial Commodore. For this was a subject he believed in, would die for....and kill for.

    His voice softened as quickly as it hightened. " Gentlemen, I am offering you a dual purpose. Build again what once you believed, and get enormously wealthy a second time."

    Desaria stopped speaking and waited.

    The old man rose from behind his desk, slowly and carefully, measuringevery word as it came to his mind, forming a coherent thought he had longed to say for many years.

    " In my charge is a chest owned by Admiral Darrin Piett, late commander of the SSD Executor. In it, are one million shares of the company's stock, purchased several years before Endor. In also are the dividends paid to shareholders over the years. And its interest.

    " From this I have drawn twice to aid the company, and replaced every minicred. He informed that should anything ever happen to him, it was to be turned for the Greater Good of the Empire.

    " You Admiral, fit that bill without guess or notion. I turn it over to you, with all the grace and thanks a man can give."

    Under the imperturbable mask a Grand Admiral had to wear, Desaria's brain was doing neuro-electric back flips. He had heard of Piett's treasure, and it had been estimated to be worth hundreds of billions:::five years before.

    " Mr. Vallin, I thank you on behalf of the Empire, and vow to return you to your former glory."

    " I am not finished, Admiral."

    Another eyebrow shot up.

    " Kuat has always supported the Empire, and shall continue to do so, this time not from behind the curtian of Time. When our Fleet rearmament programme is complete, our yards are Imperial once more."

    Desaria nodded, and later accepted the offer for tea.

    Grand Admiral Telan Desaria
    Commander of the Empire


    Do not dare act Contrite,
    for soon you shall see the Light....

    The Light of Imperial Might



    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Posted by Alexandar Drago on 09-10-2002 07:04 PM:

    Beep...Beep...Beep... Click.

    0445 hours, IST (Imperial Standard Time)

    A tall, thin, yet muscular male shut off the alarm clock. He had already been awake for the last 45 minutes, he only needed around 4 hours of sleep to function to his utmost abilities. He had been doing some light calestinics and now it was time to take a shower, before getting dressed and going to the dining hall.

    Warmth...

    The water passed over his body, loosening his tightened muscles. He had ran 3 miles, done 500 sit-ups and 275 push-ups before taking the shower and yet he was not breathing heavily, sweating profusely, or had his pulse racing. His cool demeanor shone through even when training his body. He was careful to make sure he cleaned every inch of his body and wash his thick, black hair. Neatness was incredibly important to him.

    Shutting the water off he stepped out of the shower and dried himself off with a terry cloth towel, made of the purest white, Garqian cotton. He wrapped the towel around his fit waist and looked into the mirror. He took out his primitave shaving equipment from the medicin cabinet. While most of the galaxy, used laser razors or chem-shave, the square-jawed man still used shaving soaps and a straight blade. The sound of hair being scraped off flesh, as he ran the blade quickly and smootly, over his well-defined cheek line. The blade never once bit the skin, showing the skill of the user. Once his face was smooth as a marble bust, he splashed some cool aftershave onto his face, to sterilize it.

    Placing the vibrobrush in his mouth, he soon cleaned his teeth, their alabaster tone shone brightly when he flashed them. Finally he placed some de-orderizing powder under his arms and walked back into his bedroom.

    As the 6'3" figure entered his quarters, there sat a neatly folded and recently pressed dress uniform. The crisp white a bright contrast to the darkness he kept his room in. Slowly he placed on each article of clothing, first his undergarments, then his navy blue socks. He then followed with his neatly creased white pants, leaving them unfastened so he could tuck in his navy tattoine silk shirt. Once he neatly tucked in his shirt, he placed a black belt around his waste, weaving it skillfully through the loops of his pants. Next he placed on his finely shined black dress shoes. Finally his white dress uniform jacket, decorated with platinum epaulettes, rank bars on the collar and decorations and medals of valor and honor over his left breast. Once he was fully dressed he walked to the mirror.

    On the stand there sat a brush, a comb, some gel and a spritz bottle of water, he ran his brush through his hair, undoing what few tangles and knots he had in his hair. After he brushed his hair he spritzed it with water. Next he squeezed a few ounces of gel into his right hand and rubbed both hands together, running them through his hair afterwards. After spreading the compound throught his rich black hair he ran his come through it, slicking it back neatly. When he was satisfied that he had managed his hair as he wished, he glanced into the mirror, his dark stormy green eyes flashed in the reflection. He had completed his dressing and grooming. Looking at the clock it read 0525 hours. Breakfast was served at approxiamtely 0600 hours.

    The sharply dressed man, then entered a living room. Walking to a lamp, he switched it on, it's soft white glow, shone off his uniform, on the lampstand there was a book entitled The Art of War. Picking it up he sat down in a highbacked leather chair and opened to a book mark and began to read. Page after page he read, 75 in all. He then marked his new page and rose to his feet and shut off the lamp.

    He did not glance at the clock, he knew that it was 0555 am and that it would take him exactly 4 minutes and 45 seconds to reach the officers dining quarters. As he exited his quarters, he turned and typed in a 4 digit code on the security panel. He then turned sharply on his heels and walked briskly, but patiently done the long dimly lit corridors.

    As he neared the end of the corridor, he approached a turbolift, entering it, he requested deck 8. Moments later the turbolift came to a halt and opened for him on deck 8. The well dressed man continued down the hall and turned a corner. A younger man in his service uniform stopped abruptly in front of him, snapping his frame to its fullest height and saluting, with out a word. The man in his dress whites, returned the salute without slowing. Finally he arrived at the officer's dining quarters, pressing in another 4-digit code, followed by a thumb print scan, the doors opened. It was exactly 0600 hours.

    "Admiral on the Deck," a deep, proud voice called out, crisply and all occupants of the room, stopped what they were doing and rose quickly into a formal military salute. There were 3 Captains, 12 Commandantes, the 4 Senior commanders and 4 Lt. Commanders. All-in-All the best and the brightest of the Admirals Attack Wing, if not the entire Imperial Navy.

    The well-groomed Admiral, looked out at their faces, some were old, Captain Maxim for example had served in the Imprerial Navy for 35 years. Some were young, Commander Lopez, she was only 26, she had graduated at the top of her class at academy, in tactical engagement. Most however were in their mid-to-late 30's and young by the common standards of their rank. This suited the Admiral, he himself was only 30, one of the youngest men ever promoted to a fleet command rank. Smiling at them he motioned down with his hands and the entire host of officers, excluding the Admiral, sat almost perfectly in sync.

    "Ladies and Gentlemen, I have called you all to the Fulmeris to inform you that we will be meeting up with leaving the Syran sector at 1600 hours today. Our new mission is to meet up with Admiral Lasitius main fleet at Garqi, by no later than tomorrow at 2200 hours. This means that all vessels must be prepped and ready for departure by 1745 hours today, any vessel not prepared or holding up the preperation of another ship, will have its commanding officers severely reprimanded, do I make myself clear?" As the Admiral spoke these words, not a soul took it's eyes off of him, he commanded their absolute attention, and they held him in awe. As he finished the question he gave a slight pause for response. All responed with a nod of their head in the affirmative. He continued; "Each ship captain is responsible for making sure their support ships receive their orders and are ready for departure. Captain Yzira, your ships will supply first, followed by your's Captain Fleege, then your's Captain Maxim. The Fulmenris will be the last ship to refuel and outfit. Once it is in position, the fleet will depart at maximum hyperspace for Garqi. Now breakfast will be served, I expect all of you to be back at your respective ships by no later than 0800 hours and for Yzira's ship to begin preperations by no later than 1000 hours, that gives each group 4 hours to dock and prepare. Are there any questions?"

    When the Admiral finished speaking, all replied; "No Admiral Drago, we understand fully."

    Admiral Drago smiled and sat down to be served his breakfast.










    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Posted by Alexandar Drago on 09-11-2002 08:56 AM:

    The Imperial Star Destroyer, dagger shaped emblem of the Empire's military might. Mobile military, base of operations, the ISD was a fighter carrier, a troop transport, and a devastating capital ship all in one. It's turbolaser turrets were capable of turning blowing enemy capital ships out of the sky or reducing dissident planets' cities to ash and rubble. These were the basis of the Emperor's power, but he was foolish, instead of taking the credits and ingenuity that it cost him to build not 1 but 2 Death Stars, he could have built thousands more ISD's, outfitting each with compliments of advanced fighters and the Rebel Alliance would have never stood a chance. Nothing in the galaxy could have withstood an armada of these magnificent warships. Now as it stood, the Rebel Alliance had won the war, restored the Republic and disgraced the empire. But their were those who remembered the glory of the Empire and the potential it had. The phoneix of imperial might would rise from the ashes and Rear Admiral Drago would make sure that nothing would stop it from taking it's rightful place at the head of the galaxy.

    1200 hours IST

    "Admiral Drago, the last ship of Captain Maxim's command has left the station and is ready, shall we begin docking procedures." the voice belonged to a short, stocky, Lieutenant, how beamed with pride at having been selected as the communications officer for Admiral Drago's flagship, the Fulmeris.

    "On screen Lt. Phelps." the Admiral replied confidently, for he had not other way to reply, he new that his officers would have their ships refueled, rearmed and restocked and prepped for Hyperspace by the given time. They could not fail, he was their commanding officer and would not allow it.

    On screen, Captain Maxim's ISD, War Cry, pulled away from the docking bay of space station Troy. Admiral Drago then turned towards his Lt. Phelps; "Order the Gunships to dock and make themselves ready first, Lt. Phelps." The young Lt. snapped a salute and began relaying the orders.

    Soon all ships had docked and prepared for the journey except for Admiral Drago's ship, the Fulmeris. It was now 1400 hours IST and it would take the ISD approxiamately 1 hour and 30 minutes to be refueled, restocked and rearmed for the journey. Admiral Drago, nodded to Commander Finnigan, his XO onboard this ship. "You have the bridge Commander, I will be in my office, contact me when preperations are complete."

    As he finished speaking he spun sharply on his heels and walked off the bridge into a side room, where his office was located. He entered the same 4-digit code that he had entered to enter for his quarters and applied his thumb and eyes for scan. The doors opened with a hiss and the tall sharply dressed admiral stepped into complete darkness, without bumping into anything of stepping cautiousless he walked directly to his desk and turned on the lights from a control panel located there. He walked around the desk and pulled back his chair, it was much like the one in his quarters except it had wheels. Sitting down he picked up a leather bound book, entitled The Prince. And began reading were he had left off.

    1540 hours IST

    A buzz came at the door, Admiral Drago rose and smoothed his uniform neatly to him once again. He opened it and Lt. Phelps was standing outside the door. Admiral Drago smiled, briefly, the eager young officer was nearly trembling in his prescense, standing a full attention with a salute.

    Returning the salute the Admiral spoke; "At ease Lt. you've done a fine job today. Now shall we return to the bridge?"

    "Y..Ye...Yess Sir." The Lt. replied, he then turned quickly and nearly sprinted back to his posistion on the deck, beaming with pride. The Admiral walked with a purpose to his posistion, Commander Finnigan saluted and moved to the second's chair.

    "Helmsman, move us into posisition." Cmmdr Finnigan ordered.

    The ISD moved gracefully away from the docks her massive engines glowing brightly in the night. As she approached the other ships she took a lead posisition. There they stood, the entire Blitzkrieg Attack Wing, with 4 ISD's holding the front.

    "Lt. Pheleps open a comm link to all vessels in the fleet." Admiral Drago spoke calmly.

    "Yes sir, whenever you are ready," The beaming Lt. replied.

    "Now here this. This is Rear Admiral Alexandar Drago, today is a great day. We will be one of the first Attack Wings, to join up with the main fleet of the reborn Imperial Navy. For the last 5 years, we have performed hit and run tactics against Rebel strongholds in the outer rim, we have re-established Imperial Space superiority in our sector and now we have been called to help bring the Empire back to the inner sphere of the galaxy. All vessels prepare for hyperspace, our destination is Garqi and Glory.

    As he finished speaking every vessel powered up their hyperdrives and engaged in a triumphant march towards Garqi.

    It was 1600 hours IST...
Working...
X