Third Scene

Between the hazel gas giant below them and the vastness of space around them, the squadron of chasseurs beeline through a myriad of spacial debris. The squadron leader, confederate major Pepin Pamplona, reaches for his blue flak jacket and turns a dial on it.

“Raptor Leader to mother ship,” Pepin said, eyes trained on the pathfinder display. Knowing the danger ahead of them, Pepin turns the dial once more. There is no point risking exposing the mothership’s position, the fast battleship Thessalonica, Pepin thought’s keep him hesitant on proceeding. He reverts the dial’s position.

When the major feels they are in within striking distance of the enemy imperial cruiser, yet still undetected, the major contacts the captain of his subordinate craft; Alexios. Without skipping a beat, Pepin tells him: “deploy signal jammers. We’re going hit the cruiser with all we got and circle back in an helix formation to the Thessalonic. Group up on me after it’s over and I’ll restore comms when the coast is clear.”

Although Pepin could not see, Alexios cleared his throat once the message was received. It was risky and this was maybe the one fear these two men found themselves grappled with presently: “let’s not end up like our cruel namesake,” was the only thought that Alexios uttered. They knew the danger, yet the two of them must dutifully carry out their mission.

The two-man squadron were a good distance from one another until Pepin pulled back his chasseur to match Alexios so Pepin could get a last-minute glimpse of his partner---close enough to give thumbs-up and salute as each pulled away. There was no time for hesitation let alone consideration to pull back before they were truly detected. The imperial cruiser they encountered would’ve picked them up by now and scouted out the confederate mother ship, thus leading to a escalation of a skirmish generating needless bloodshed.

For Pepin and Alexios at this crucial moment, the idea could be the opposite but neither were feeling bold enough to gamble on a mere theory. It’s now or never.

Pepin and Alexios move in cautiously. Beads of sweat racing against time. Each man sighing and focusing intently, Pepin in particular trying to relax his steel grip on the flight stick.

Pepin takes the inititive. He squeezes on the flight stick’s trigger. Moments later, Pepin’s visor is splashed with streaks of flamboyant light dancing across his visor.

Pepin shifts in the confines of his cockpit to glance back for a quick visual confirmation. By what Pepin could suffice, he and Alexios were able to dispatch some of the turrets with relative ease. resulting in the instant incineration of at least a dozen gunnery personnel.

To Pepin’s relief, amongst the sporadic and careful hits on the cruiser was a direct hit on the enemy vessel’s long-range antenna. For a mere second the major relaxes in his seat, but is swept into alertness when battery fire gets dangerously close after Pepin had dived away.

Alexios, however, was nowhere to be seen. The sorrow bottles up within Pepin and he exercises all the energy he had left to avoid slamming the console of his fighter craft. Pepin grits his teeth, turning the dial on his blue vest and clearing his throat to speak: “Raptor Leader to mother ship Thassalonica, sending my coordinates after a surgical strike on enemy cruiser... grid Q-one-zero-four.”

At first, nothing. Then a crackle as Pepin recieves the transmission. “Loud and clear,” the transmitter said in a somewhat uneasy glitchy voice. “Status of Raptor two?”

Although the mother ship personnel could not see his reaction, Pepin shakes his head, his bleak smile turns grim. “Missing in action,” Pepin said. Inwardly, however, he and the mother ship share the same sentiment that Raptor Two captain Alexios was likely dead, nothing less than atoms remained of him now. A double promotion and a empty gravestone is what awaited him back home.

Pepin only had a moment’s time to dwell on the matter as the Thessalonica emerges from behind a sheet of asteroids to recover the smaller vessel. After disembarking from the silver single-seat chasseur, Pepin is approached by commodore Li. To Pepin’s surprise and Li’s contempt, the latter had in tow a entourage of young starry-eyed chasseur pilots; Most of them female. Although Cao paid no mind to his posse because they were likely following him to the chasseur major. The man in question could only offer a meekly smile after taking off his mask and helmet.

Then the Thessalonica is ordered by its commander Cao Menge to pursue the imperial cruiser.

The imperial cruiser known as the Khandax suffered some substantial damage to its hull, but remains functioning otherwise despite the loss of a few ammo compartments and several lives as a result of tetiary explosioins.

and some ammo compartments resulting in tertiary explosions, its engines remained at full power. However, its reduced firepower and lack of communication meant the Khandax crew are stranded deep in rebel territory. Deon Rubinfield, the commander of the cruiser and by extension the crew, was faced with a scathing dilemma. Make a forlorn stand or give up the sector.

Shortly before the scheduled meeting with his staff, Deon imagined for a moment how he would appear before his superiors, and he couldn’t help but feel the weight of the verdict they would impose on him, in absentia or otherwise.

Cowardice before the rebel enemy. What would become of his family? The guilt they would live with for their whole lives?

As the thunderous cackle of asymmetrical firepower erupted between the Thessalonica and the imperial cruiser Khandax erupt like whips of thunder, Rubenfield, in a vain attempt at humility, convened a war council at the eve of the firefight with his top staff.

“Well, gentlemen, I give you a ultimatum to the crew,” Deon said, the glimmer of his glasses shielding his concerned expression. “Death to uphold imperium honor and our emperor, or face a life of dishonor or perhaps even exile among your former peers? That is to say if the rebels take quarter.”

Logically, it would make sense, and Deon would hope that the staff would be in universal agreement to agree on surrender. Deon’s family, and he would imagine for many of the crew as well, would likely face life scrutinized by their actions today at this hour.

However, there is always that maverick upstart within the ranks and the offciers who wish for brave ambition against the jaws of defeat. That was one such officer, a ensign by the name of Odo stands abruptly in his chair.

“We’ve been cramped in this death box for half a year with no action to speak of,” Odo gives a glance of the room, in particular the younger lietueants like himself. “Total surrender would be dishonor, a chance for us to let our fury out after being cramped up in this metla box for so long! If we are to retreat we should fight until there is