Temporary Acommodation

[Malcolm Trippen]

[YT-2400 Transport Socorro]

"Welcome home," a kind voice whispered, his hand gently resting on Malcolm's shoulder. "Well, its home for the next two weeks, anyway."

Malcolm stared at the dagger-shaped hull of the ancient Victory-class Star Destroyer. "The Dark Angel is operating out of that piece of Imperial trash?" he asked, in disbelief.

"Yeah," the Commander nodded, "Unfortunately. Seraph too. Its the only thing they had availiable this close to the shipyards."

The pilot glanced to his left, at the floating spectacle that was Kuat's Shipyards. Kilometer after kilometer of scaffold and hull streatched off into the distance. Somewhere, out there, between the floating hulks of the NR Fleet's next generation, floated three very special construction projects - one Bothan Assault Cruiser, and two Ranger-class Gunships. "Do they really think we'll be ready to go in just two weeks?"

Commander Delso shrugged. "Seraph and Dark Angel are ready. But I know very little about starships. If the fleet people say they'll be ready..." he shrugged again, "Then I guess they'll be ready."

Malcolm shook his head and sighed, rolling his YT-2400 towards the triangular grey hulk of the VSD Firestorm. "First rule of long-range trading," he muttered. "Never expect fleeters to be on-time."

* * *

[Angel Nine, three days later]

"Flight Three, this is Nine. Sound off and pair off," Malcolm ordered, banking his fighter to starboard. A quick glance at his radar screen showed that Ten was floating off his port wing. "Keep tight," he instructed his Contruum-born wingman, gently easing the throttle forward. "This may just be a training sim, but I still want to win."

"So do we all, sir."

Despite the distortion put on the comm channel for security, Malcolm could still recognise the voice of Ellen Daal, aka Angel Eleven. She was flying exactly 0.2 klicks away, and precisely half that distance behind. These kids are flying like darned robots. Malcolm let out a slight sigh. The only way they're gonna stand a chance is if the Imperials are still training their pilots like robots.

Dark Angel Squadron had been part of the New Republic for a long time. Its formation was shrouded in legend, and often got exagerated. Simple facts, however, were that 27 very brave, and very skilled A-Wing pilots had made a name for themselves. The better half of those ended up in Dark Angel, with the rest backing them up as Seraph Squadron. Unfortunately, in the 8 years since that had happened, pilots tended to get shot at. Occasionally, they got killed. Dark Angel and Seraph Squadrons were running out of original members and, as the old addage went, "The Academy don't train them like they used to." Every once in a while, a true pilot found its way into Dark Angel. But every once in a while wasn't enough.

"TIEs inbound," Angel Twelve, a Twi'lek who's name Malcolm couldn't remember, half-shouted over the comm.

What have you decided to put us up against, Maxis? Maxis was Seraph Squadron's leader. He was one of the few people still here from the original Angel/Seraph roster. Most of the others were new faces. Since Malcolm had come back out of Starfighter retirement, he'd recognised seven pilots. Seven pilots, out of 24. Had Malcolm not been Corellian, he wouldn't have liked those odds.

Twelve red dots appeared on his screen. Basic symbols flashed up beside them. Looks like a Fed squadron...Punishers. Nothing we can't handle. His grip around the fighter's controls tightened. "Lets teach these Imps how to fly properly!"

With that, he punched his throttle to full, picked the nearest aimed towards it, and waited for the beep that would tell him he was in range.

[Malcolm Trippen]

[Angel Nine, yet another routine training sim]

"OK, Three Flight." Malcolm's voice had lost the usual happy tone that being back in an A-Wing cockpit gave him. Right now, his flight were sat in four simulators. The simulators were telling them that they were babysitting. There was only one thing that seemed like a more pointless assignment than babysitting. That was being in a simulator, babysitting. Malcolm let out a long, bored sigh. "Nine see's nothing."

"Ten see's nothing."

"Eleven see's nothing."

"Twelve is bored. And also see's nothing."

"I here ya, Twelve," Malcolm muttered softly. "Keep your eyes open anyway," he said so his Flight could hear. "These simulator packages are bound to get nasty."

He tried to reach for an itch in the center of his back, but couldn't reach. He sighed again. "I remember a mission I was on once. Me and my flight, same as this. A Star Destroyer jumped into the system and..." Malcolm stopped. His eyes grew wide. A giant red dot had just appeared on his scope. He stared at the point in space that corresponded. A Star Destroyer floated there. He gulped. "...and started dumping TIEs."

His throttle was at full in seconds, and he was headed straight for the SD. "Three Flight on me!" he yelled. "Diamond formation...stand by to break by pairs!" He reached out and flicked the comm channel over to Tac1. "All fighters, this is Angel Nine. We have TIEs inbound. Computer estimates thirty-six repeat three-six TIE Fighters. Mixed composition. Three flight is moving to engage..." He narrowed his eyes, and glared at the shimmering cloud of fighters. "We're gonna need back-up."

"Roger that, Angel Nine. This is Seraph One. We are moving to support you. Hold tight."

"Thanks Seraph." He switched to Tac3, the flight channel. This was the time for a speach. One of those speaches that would motivate his people. Damn I suck at this kind of thing, he muttered. Taking a deep breath, he said the only thing that came into his mind. "Lets give them hell."

* * *

[Angel Nine, a few minutes later]

The TIE juked all over his scope. The pilot was frantic, swerving to avoid Malcolm's weapons lock. But the more he waved his controls about, the more a pattern emerged. Malcolm knew where he was going next. And I can be ready.

Halling starboard on the stick, his A-Wing inverted, impailing the diving TIE on its crosshairs. Malcolm waited a few seconds for his guns to settle, as he feathered the rudder pedals, following the TIE's course. He squeezed the trigger gently. Two pairs of crimson laser bolts shot from his fighter, and flew into the craft. One of the shots sawed through one of the wing pylons. The other three pounded into the cockpit. It exploded, its spherical shape sending out a cloud of debris. Just like a mini Alderaan. The pilot slammed his left foot down, and pushed his fighter into a dive, back towards the fight.

Twelve green dots appeared on his scope. Malcolm grinned. Seraph Squadron had arrived. "You still there, Ten?" he called to his wingman.

"More or less, sir."

The pilot grinned more. "Just keep up a bit longer."

"Aye, sir." There was a pause. "May I just say something, sir?"

Malcolm frowned. "Ask away."

The grin in her voice was obvious. "You fly pretty well, bearing in mind you're using outdated software." Another pause. "Sir."

Malcolm growled. Outdated software? I'll show you... His fighter dove and flipped, continuing its roll into a port bank. He kept turning, the fighter coming through 180 degrees to head back the way it had come. A quick stamp on the rudder pedal brought the craft perpendicular to its line of flight, but still moving as it had seconds before. Malcolm cut back on the throttle, and let the fighter drift along. A TIE appeared in his line of sight. He fired. It exploded. He grinned.

Pulling back on the stick, and punching the throttle to full, his fighter rocketed upwards. It climbed rapidly, Starfighters zooming beneath it. He checked his scope. Ten was keeping up...but only just. A twinkle appeared in the pilot's eyes.

He cut the throttle again, and flipped his craft through 180 with the rudder pedals. As soon as it faced the other way, he slammed the throttle to full, and dove back downwards, missing his wingman by a matter of meters. Switching his weapons control over to missiles, he picked a fighter, and locked onto it. A chime filled the cockpit. He fired. The TIE disappeared in a flash of light. The noise in his ears faded just in time for Malcolm to catch the end of Ten's message...something along the lines of "I think I need to get some outdated software." Malcolm grinned broadly.

"You done playing games, Trip?"

"For now," Malcolm replied to his commander.

"Good. See if you can't give that Star Destroyer something to think about."

"Will do, sir." He flipped to Tac1 with one hand, swerving the fighter round to head for the SD with the other. "Seraph Squadron, this is Angel Nine. Arm your missiles, and form up on me. We're going to shoot them at the Star Destroyer. If you weren't sure, that's the large grey triangular thing out there. Can't miss it." He chuckled. "Same goes for you, Three Flight."

The Star Destroyer was still more than a klick away, but the A-Wings would eat up that distance in no time. He flicked over to fire his Missile launchers in tandem, and waited for the range-to-target counter on his screen to get low enough. It did. "All fighters, fire on my mark. Three. Two. One. Mark!"

* * *

[VSD Firestorm, Simulator room]

The simulator's canopy hissed open. Malcolm blinked at the sudden wave of light that struck him. Half-blind, he clambered out, and landed on the deck with a thud.

He looked around at the crowd of twenty-three pilots. The design of Dark Angel and Seraph Squadron's flight suits had been something of much debate. They had given up on the green A-Wing flight suits that the New Republic issued to A-Wing pilots. They wore what most would recognise as the orange flight suit of the X-Wing pilot. However, theirs were black. The white vest had been replaced with one of a very dark grey. The helmets were dark grey as well, in the same style as the A-Wing standard.

There was only one thing that distinguished the pilots, Angels and Seraphs, from each other. On each helmet, above the tinted visor, was a crest. It was a variation on the crest on most NR helmets. On twelve of the helmets, this crest was gold, and white wings reached out from either side. On the other eleven, the crest was merely outlined in gold, and the wings outlined in white. The center was filled in black.

It was the eleven that Malcolm headed towards for, like him, they were Dark Angels. And, as the motto for Dark Angel and Seraph Squadrons went, "Pilots of the Feather Live and Die Together". Malcolm sighed. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he was home.

[Redic Scott]

"Angel control, this is Kauti Shipyard command. We are informing you that your 2 Ranger Class Gunships are completed and all ready for duty."

In moments a comm came from the 2 approaching gunships, "This Range gunship Ask and Embla, reporting for duty. We have been allocated to your task force."

[Redic Scott]

"Halo Force, this is Kauti shipyard control. Your Bothan Cruiser is complete and awaiting orders. We recieved word that a Majestic is under way as well."