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Ha ha ha ha ha...
 Graphic Designer
Join Date: Apr 2006
Location: Right behind you.
Age: 35
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Quote:
Originally Posted by shelter
Unfortunately not. Most of my poetry never reaches any longer than 30 lines. My longest piece is an extremely weird poem I wrote on the spur of the moment for Miyazaki's masterpiece of an anime Princess Mononoke, which I lamely titled Ballad of the Wolf Rider. Like all writers, I cringe when I re-read it because I wonder: "what the hell was I thinking when I wrote that??"
Short poems - yes. They work better for me  |
That was a "short" poem? Wow. I really liked it, even though I didn't understand it. I don't have a head for abstract stuff like that, but it was beautifully written nonetheless. ...Okay, this is embarrassing, but can someone explain it to me? I've re-read it a few times, but I've never been good at deciphering poetry...  
Anyway, I'm hoping this thread might still live on. I'll post another story I'm writing. It's a Star Wars fanfic. I hope it's okay. In any case, read the first chapter and find out! (I have four chapters finished so far, working on a fifth... slowly...  )
Well, here it is. It is my fanfic, entitled STAR WARS: ACE SQUADRON.
Foreword:
This is loosely based upon some of the events surrounding the movies and video games. Some people who have played the game "Rogue Squadron" may even recognize a line here and there. Those familiar with the X-Wing series of novels may see a similarity in writing style (though nowhere near that level) and characters. A lot of characters are my own creations, but a few are real Rogues and Aces. I believe their squad designations are accurate - I scrounged through countless novels to try and confirm them, but I may be wrong. I did my best to remain true to cannon, but that's harder than it sounds, given the sheer immensity of the Star Wars Universe.
Spoiler for Ace Squadron: Chapter One:
Lieutenant Arvel Crynyd banked hard to port. The two TIE Interceptors, also called squints in Rebel Alliance pilot parlance for their compressed profiles, stayed hot on his tail. To anyone who had never seen the fighter before, it might have looked comical with its ball-shaped cockpit and un-aerodynamic hexagonal wings that were canted inwards. The wings also had slits cut out of the forward edges that provided both visibility and a fearsome, dagger-shaped appearance. They were both faster and more maneuverable than the standard TIE design.
This guy’s good, he thought. In the vacuum of space, Arvel could not hear the TIE’s screaming engines, but he knew they were there. He goosed the throttle of his A-wing’s Novaldex J-77 “Event Horizon” engines up to their maximum speed capabilities, which, for the A-wing, were considerable. To his right, Ace Three, a woman named Caila Portath, matched his maneuver and speed in near-perfect unison. He keyed his comm system to Ace Squadron’s operational frequency.
“Three, break starboard. I’ll lead him on. You take care of his wingman. These guys are good, but we’re better.” And faster, he added to himself. The A-wing was the fastest ship in either the Rebel Alliance or the Empire. The wedge-shaped ships could attain speeds of over 1300 kph, and were extremely maneuverable. However, Arvel knew that its speed was not without a price. The A-wing’s controls were notoriously sensitive, and few pilots could handle the craft at top speeds without extensive training. Additionally, because the A-wing’s speed was so critical to its performance, all “frivolities” had been removed in order to improve performance of the engines. That meant a lot of the heavier armor plating found on other heavy assault starfighters such as the Y-wing or B-wing were gone, with only minimal armor and somewhat weak energy shields left to preserve the pilot.
“I copy, Four. But make it quick. I see another flight of TIEs inbound at point oh-seven. Three out.”
“Right, got it. This shouldn’t take long, but we should jam their comlinks and sensors. Use your avionics to jam all frequencies except the one we’re using. Ace Four out.”
The A-wing also lacked an astromech droid, which on the X-wing and Y-wing boosted flight performance by assisting the pilot with in-flight repairs and flight adjustments. A-wing pilots were trained to be self-sufficient. A lot of these weaknesses, in the minds of their pilots, were compensated by the A-wing’s blistering speeds, high maneuverability, and powerful avionics, like the power-jamming system that could blind enemy targets’ sensors prior to a “hit’n’hype” attack the A-wings were famous for. Having twelve concussion missiles in addition to twin lasers helped as well.
Arvel’s tailgater lined up for a shot at his port fuselage, but Arvel jinked to the right before he could take his shot. He then followed into a steep dive that took him slightly below the planet’s plane of revolution, and Arvel had a short moment to admire the sheer beauty of the Taloraan system, whose red, pink and orange atmosphere as similar to Bespin’s atmosphere, where Tibanna gas was produced as well. Too bad the Empire owns it, he thought. There was no solid ground on Taloraan, just like any gas giant. If you fell, you fell until you starved, suffocated, or were crushed by the atmospheric pressure. Arvel got to concentrating on shaking the TIE off of his tail.
It was unfortunate the A-wing didn’t have much shield power, as it was the traditional advantage the Alliance’s starfighters had over the Empire’s TIEs. It makes head-to-head almost as suicidal for us as it is for them, he admitted grimly. Guess that means we’ll just have to be that much better. He hit his thrusters, which lent him a miniscule amount of additional speed.
The Interceptor that was quickly falling behind in wake of Arvel’s speed increase, for it started to randomly spray green laser-fire in his direction. That’s an odd tactic. He thought the TIE pilot would have opted to sacrifice laser power in lieu of extra speed. His rear shield nearly buckled and he diverted a little power from the engines to reinforce them, cutting down his speed by five percent. That stupid tactic might actually work. He knew it was only a matter of time until a stray laser blast turned him into slag. He figured that this was a good time to pull a crazy maneuver. He glanced at his HUD and saw that Three had already eliminated her target. That was good; the other TIEs were getting closer.
He cut his speed to fifty-percent and hauled back on the A-wing’s controls, getting slammed back into his pilot seat from centrifugal forces that his inertial compensator could not counteract in time. Feeling the ship vibrate from the effort, he switched over to concussion missiles and acquired his target. The HUD went from green to yellow to red, and Arvel pulled the trigger before the TIE pilot had a chance to fully respond. The squint swerved sharply, trying to avoid the concussion missile, but it was too late. The concussion missile’s proximity sensors had tagged the squint and detonated in a rapidly expanding sphere of burning gas that consumed the hapless Interceptor. It emerged smoking and tumbled off into space.
“Three, form up on me. We’re heading for that other flight of squints. I’m calling in the rest of the squadron, too.” Three acknowledged with two clicks over her comlink. He sent the signal to the rest of Ace Squadron, who were waiting on the edge of the system. Rogue Squadron was there, too, led by the legendary Commander Luke Skywalker, the young farm boy from Tatooine who destroyed the Death Star at Yavin. According to what he had heard, Skywalker was also trying to rebuild the Jedi Order. Good luck with that, he mused. He had no doubt that Skywalker was a competent, no brilliant, pilot, but rebuilding the Jedi Order was a massive undertaking.
As fate would have it, Commander Skywalker was in command of this little raid to Taloraan, where the local Imperial Moff, Moff Seerdon, was tightening his grip on Rebel activities. An Imperial defector, Kason Moor, was now a Rogue, and had supplied valuable information to the Alliance cause, naming numerous targets the Rogues then proceeded to eliminate, though not without losses. Targets they had hit hard were places like Kile II, where the Rogues annihilated an Imperial garrison and airbase. From what Arvel had heard, Wedge Antilles had gone down on that mission and was captured by Imperials, and the Rogues had gone on a little jaunt to Kessel to get him back.
The Rogues get suicidal missions almost daily. This must be quite the milk run for them, he thought, though he knew that probably wasn’t true. An entire half-wing of TIEs was expected to be thrown at them, three squadrons, or thirty-six ships. Thankfully at least three of them were supposedly standard TIE starfighters, called eyeballs for their wide and open profiles. Though that could change. For all we know, Moff Seerdon could have an entire wing at his disposal.
“Four, those TIEs are imminent. We’d better get ready. Sensors suggest they’re dupes and eyeballs, standard Imperial formation, four eyeballs in front, four dupes in back.” TIE starfighters were called eyeballs for their round and open profiles, while TIE Bombers, the Empire’s heavily armed and armored bomber, were called dupes for their sluggish speed and maneuvering. They had tremendous payloads however, and were feared by many a capital ship captain. However, they, and all other slower craft, were widely reviled by A-wing pilots, a discourteous gesture that was discouraged by the leaders of the Rebel Alliance.
“Acknowledged, Three. I’m on the leader.” He aligned himself straight once more relative to Taloraan. “So, Three, think you can handle the dupes, or shall I take them?” he teased. “They’ll be all over us in one minute like drool on a Hutt, so make a decision quick.”
She snorted derisively. “Ha, ha. Very funny. I think I can take the dupes, Four. But don’t you think we should wait for the rest of the Aces?”
“Nah. We can vape these nerf-herders before the rest of the squadron even gets here.”
Just then, ten other A-wings of Ace Squadron and an A-wing squadron that must have been Rogue Squadron seemingly materialized in system. The Nebulon-B frigate Deliverance appeared a few seconds later, along with four Gallofree medium transports, transports that look more like big, white Ithorian pillbugs. The thin, almost skeletal-looking Nebulon-B frigate well disguised the fact that it could house up to twenty-four starfighters in its main bay. This particular Nebulon-B frigate also sported an advanced medical bay, while not as sophisticated or extensive as the Redemption’s facilities, was most effective. Caila chuckled, prompting Arvel to smile. “So much for your little glory-hogging scheme.” He could almost see her grinning.
“Ah, well, in that case, the lead eyeball is mine, Aces. There are three other eyeballs and a couple of dupes out here you’re welcome to pick up if you like. Ace Four to Ace Lead, Rogue Lead, I’m heading in.” Several clicks from his squad mates’ comms answered him. He first switched all power to forward shields then accelerated to top speed, blistering toward the unprepared and outgunned TIEs. Three was hot on his tail, blaster cannons blazing, linked in single-fire mode. Arvel dodged returning fire from the double flight of TIEs and retorted with a dual-linked blast of his own. It caught his target on the top off its starboard solar array, but only punched a small hole through it and did little damage. The TIE flew on, seemingly unaffected. His next shot was no so survivable, however. It sheared off the pylon that attached the starboard solar array to the ball shaped cockpit and the remaining pieces of what was once a TIE fighter flew off into space.
Arvel cringed, pitying the poor pilot that was trapped aboard his flying coffin. He didn’t have time to dwell on this, however, as a quartet of shots splashed across his forward shields, buckling them and rocking the A-wing. Several dark carbon scoring marks now covered the front of his A-wing. That almost killed me! Lucky thing that I had all shields forward!
He checked his systems monitor. His avionics and short range sensors were in the red. Without his short range sensors, it would be very difficult to get targeting locks on fast moving targets with his concussion missiles. “Blast!”
“What was that, Four? I didn’t copy,” Three said lightly.
“Uh, nothing. Just some interference on the comlink. I took damage on that last pass there. My short range sensors are out, and so are my avionics, but for the most part I’m still in one piece. I’m flying half-blind, though.”
He swerved around the group of TIEs flying in tight formation, pumping as much power as he could from his lasers into recharging his shields. As he evened them out, he switched his controls over to concussion missiles. With his sensors out, he wouldn’t be able to get good locks, but he could aim by line of sight. That might work, he thought. He knew the eyeballs wouldn’t follow because they were escorting the bombers. Three’s probably harassing them a bit for me. I did always like her.
He heard the voice of Ace Leader, a man named Garth Channon, a veteran of Oovo IV and a native of Eriadu, also the home planet of the late Grand Moff Tarkin. He defected years ago after the Ghorman Massacre, where Tarkin (a governor back then) had landed a Victory-class Star Destroyer on a group of peacefully protesting students. He quickly became an A-wing ace, later being made a captain in command of Ace Squadron. “Three, Four, we’re inbound. Get out of there. Rogue Squad can take care of the rest.”
He pulled up, snapping the fighter through a quick U-turn, and then jetting back toward Ace Squadron. “As ordered, Lead.” He didn’t like it, but orders were orders. It was just as well, with his targeting system on the fritz. He could use this opportunity to see how the Rogues operated. He switched his comm system over to monitor the general comm traffic between the Alliance fighters.
“This is Commander Skywalker. Hobbie, go for the bombers. Wedge, with me. We’re going after their escort TIEs. Kason, you’re in command of Two Flight. Janson, Three Flight.”
“Aw, c’mon Commander, why do you get all the fun?” Janson said mournfully in his ever-youthful voice.
“Because, unlike you, he’s not likely to get himself blown up and EV,” Hobbie retorted, sounding bored. “Then we’d have to get a shuttle to retrieve you, and then the bacta—”
“Hey, it’s not my fault we’re flying A-wings for this mission. I’m used to hardier fighters, like Y-wings. Not to mention the gross lack of firepower in this outfit. The controls for this fighter are really touchy and jittery. Not to mention the incredible lack of armor and shields. Ugh, it’s like flying a TIE at the Academy all over again—”
“Cut the chatter,” Wedge interjected. “Keep comm chat to a minimum, you two.” The other two pilots muttered their compliance.
Arvel watched with great interest as he saw how the flight of A-wings took the remaining seven TIEs apart piecemeal, much faster than he thought they were capable of doing. They are, as much as I hate to admit it, excellent pilots. Maybe even better than we are… He immediately felt guilty for some reason, like he was betraying his squadmates by thinking as much.
Obviously a few others in Ace Squadron noted their apparent skill as a coordinated fighting force, because Caila piped up with a teasing remark. “Not bad. Definitely better than those flying relics that you guys usually pilot. X-wings should be put in a museum somewhere.”
“Hey, I resent that,” Janson replied indignantly. You should show a little respect. After all, the X-wing is the—”
“—fighter that killed the Death Star. We know,” Interrupted Ace Six, Yngdras Kuo’jasneeay, the edgy Nikto pilot of Ace Squadron. “Yeah, well, if we had had A-wings at the Battle of Yavin, we would have been in and out, no problem.” Arvel winced inwardly. It was one thing to brag about the capabilities of one’s starfighter, but quite another to mock the sacrifices of such a renowned squadron, especially one that suffered obscene losses in order to save the Alliance from the Death Star. Yngdras could be that way sometimes, explaining his close friendship with the likewise taciturn Varg Koshak, a Shistavanen wolfman from Uvena Prime, who was Ace Seven and Yngdras’ wingman. Thankfully, Ace Leader intervened.
“Can it, Six. The rest of you, save your petty bickering for when we’re at the cantina. That’s an order.” Arvel sighed with relief. He didn’t want there to be any friction between the two squadrons, especially when they would have to be working closely with the Rogues throughout this operation. Raid, really. It’s no more than another hit-and-secure operation. He hated waiting for the sluggish transports, in particular all of the tedious and simultaneously stressful escorting that accompanied them.
Arvel cleared his throat and clicked the comlink. “So, Commander Skywalker, what do we do next? We were able to jam their communications, but when they don’t report in, whoever is base commander is going to get… er, suspicious, to say the least.”
“I copy you, Ace Four. For now, we’ll head back to the Deliverance to get a little rest before we go in to take Taloraan. The Alliance could only afford to send two squadrons to stop Moff Seerdon from destroying our Tibanna gas tanks that we have stored on remote platforms, which are also used for civilian storage. Seerdon decided to just destroy all of them, so we’re not just doing this for ourselves; we’re going in there to stop a gross injustice against all.”
Last edited by Spectacular_Insanity; 2009-03-21 at 02:56.
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