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.

“All right, let’s go,” Phalanx said. Bop hopped off his bed, his boots making a clicking sound. Phalanx extended his arm, palm facing outward, motioning for Bop to take the lead since he, Phalanx, still was not perfect in navigating the Star Destroyer’s many corridors.

“The briefing room for Wake Squadron actually isn’t that far away. It’s just a few grids over.” Bop turned his head to speak to Phalanx, “You know our Mess Hall, Recon Crash?” Phalanx nodded his head. “Well, our lil’ briefing chamber is right around the corner, almost in the Hangar Bays.”

The two dipped their heads as they passed through a not-quite-open blast door leading out of the Wake Squadron’s Quarter Area and into the common area shared between Wake Squadron and the other fighter squadron on board the Victory Class Star Destroyer.

The briefing Phalanx and Bop were about to attend was only for Wake Squadron. Closer to the real space reversion, a briefing for both the squadrons would be conducted by the Marshal—leader of the other squadron—for both squadrons. Even later down the line, a full ship briefing would be conducted for all parties involved in the take over of Helska.

Noise in the common room was much, much louder than in Wake Squadron’s Quarter Area. Mostly, members from Jaket (pronounced like jacket in this instance) Squadron) were in the common room currently. They shot pool at the table in the corner or they socialized over a few, non-alcoholic drinks. They examined the newcomers to the common room with a hawk’s eye, ready to pick apart any wrong move.

“Hey guys…” Phalanx spoke. The air of fighter jock disappeared from Phalanx as he crossed the room. He knew he had not matched the other squadron’s accomplishments, and he did not want to come off as some cocky arrogant jock from Bastion. None of the other squadron answered. They just stared, trying to find some flaw in Phalanx.

Bop stayed close to Phalanx’s side, as he quickened his stride. Bop knew Jaket Squadron was full of egotistical hotheads who hazed most of their new members. But Phalanx was not their member to haze. As commanding officer in the room, he knew the Jaket squad members would not attempt to fraternize or pick on the new Wake Squadron member.

Finally, they were past the threshold and into another short corridor. “Don’t mind those Jaket Squadrons… They think they are the best, but Wake Squadron could pound their asses any day in a straight up dog fight.” The experienced Flight Lieutenant spoke to the young Flight Officer.

“That would be fun,” Phalanx said while daydreaming of space battle. He had so much anticipation for the upcoming takeover, yet everything he heard from datapad readouts or from snide comments from Jaket Squadron, it would be a boring takeover. How Phalanx hoped everyone to be wrong.

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 commanded respect in the way you respect your father. Ian wore his hair in a gelled, but not gelled fashion. Ian’s face bore scars from bad teenage acne. His brown eyes completed his façade of a fatherly figure.

On the other hand, Nora Downing was pure military woman. She commanded respect in the way you respect your school principal. She wore her black hair tied back in a professional bun. Her slender face was smooth but boasted now beauty aside from the power-beauty. Her black eyes completed her façade of hard-nosed military lady.

Mentally, Ian believed in attacking the enemy or objective, like building a skyscraper: take out the foundations before worrying about anything else. Nora Downing believed in attacking hard and with as much force as possible. She didn’t pick apart the pieces; she attacked head on.

Both were great pilots who supplemented or complimented their squadron. Together, these two opposites created a balance in Wake Squadron. It would only be a matter of time before Wake Squadron’s leadership was promoted to the general rank.

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.

“At Point B, we will drop out of the Star Destroyer’s hangar bays along with Jaket squadron. We will form up in Wing T Plus Formation—6 up front, 4 in an I formation, 1 in the Slot Position and the Leader in the Wing Position.”

A new holo replaced the Helskan System. This one had twelve TIE Defenders in it, each labeled with the call name of the respective pilots. The formation looked like this on the hologram:
XXXXXX x
X
X
X
X

“We will accelerate immediately to reconnaissance speed. Once breaching the atmosphere, assuming we are in a code green, we will break off into the Mubble Wubble Formation.”
The formation transformed into this:

XXX X X
XxX XX X

“Got it?” None questioned Nora’s explanation thus far. “Ok, back to Helska.” The hologram changed back, this time to a close up of Helska that was constantly zooming closer as Nora spoke. “We’ll break atmosphere, in code green, and monitor visual and sensor readouts around the targeted landing area. Should any anomalies arise, we break off into flight groups and investigate. After the targeted landing area has been cleared for landing, we notify the Star Destroyer above and she drops her assault crew. We escort the ships down in pairs.

“Once all the assault ships have landed, we land and get a quick refueling, then takeoff again and scour the planet looking for any opposition. If all goes smoothly, we should be at Helska Base Camp three hours after initial takeoff.”

The hologram shut off and Nora passed out sheets of paper to each pilot. “Read over the most recent Intelligence Reports sent in through the Hypercomm before our next briefing. The reports go in-depth about Helskan wildlife. Plant and animal. Also, it reviews key geographic areas and weather patterns to watch out for when flying.

“That’s all I got to say. I think we’re,” Nora began bringing the meeting to a close.

“Actually, I’d like to remind you Wakes that we got Simulators in an hour. Be there.” Ian interrupted, then cut the meeting in his usual, informal way. The squadron left the briefing chamber to get some sleep before the next simulator runs. Phalanx, in particular, caught up on the latest HoloNet news.

“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.

“All looks good, Lead,” Wake 4, that’s Bop, chimed into Ian. His comment sparked off chatter of agreement.

“Cut the chatter Wakes,” ordered Nora.

“Bop, you look right. But we have a mission. Let’s not slack off. Take sensor readings from orbit for another thirty seconds.” Ian decided.

Phalanx examined his sensors. At first glance everything seemed normal, but closer examination revealed a high amount of Titanium-alumnoid on the far side of the planet.

“Hey, is anyone else getting substantially high readings on Titanium-alumnoid?” Phalanx asked nervously. It’d be quite embarrassing to be wrong, especially on the first mission.

“Hm… my readouts have it slightly above normal atmospheric amounts. Why don’t you and three flight check it out?” Ian masked his order with question. Eight clicks followed Ian’s order. Three flight broke off from the main pack of Wake Squadron.

Maybe, thought Phalanx, I am on to something…

The four fighters of Three Flight formed in a Diamond formation, Phalanx and Bop were at the sides while 5 and 11 took the front and back respectively. Phalanx, keeping an eye on his sensors, took the time to look at the planet that would soon be transformed by the Empire. The planet looked calm and pristine from this angle. Tall mountain chains, flat forests and vast blue oceans separated snowy-white continents on Helska.

“Over there; 2 o’clock.” Five’s--or it may have been 11’s voice? —came over the comm unit, distorted by static. Phalanx glanced over in the general direction and saw a small space platform and some small objects heading towards three flight.

“Three flight… together,” Bop’s voice came. Static destroyed the command. Phalanx guessed Bop was ordering to stay together, tight. Phalanx eased fighter in closer to the diamond formation.

The small ovals heading towards Three flight were visible in greater detail now. Phalanx pulled up a magnified image on his display unit. Those small ovals were looking more and more like a starfighter design.

“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.

“Jaket squadron to the rescue!” Another warbled transmission came through, this one from a cheering pilot of Jaket squadron. A red blip winked out again. Few oval fighters remained. Phalanx shot down another one, quickly as if the ships had no shields.

No more oval fighters flew. All had been destroyed to oblivion. Phalanx formed up beside his wing mate and the rest of Three Flight. The flight group settled into position behind Jaket Squadron.

“Jaket Squadron Gold here,” the communications embargo had ended, “We were on our patrol routes when Ian buzzed us and said you guys still hadn’t checked in. Wake squadron was halfway across the planet and would have never made it in time, so they asked us to check it out since we were on this side of the planet.

While Gold talked on behalf of Jaket Squadron, the 16 fighters neared the space platform. As they neared, Phalanx thought it looked similar to Xzior’s Skyhook. He thought he could make out weapons platforms tracking the ships out of firing range.

“So we got here and saved your butts. You owe us a couple rounds. Those fighters didn’t have any shields, nor were the pilots too skilled. I think they were droids. Let’s disable that space station before it fires on us.” Gold order his squadron and Three Flight which technically he was now in charge of.

Before the sixteen TIE Defenders reached the space station, another swarm of fighters, this time only a squadron launched from the station. These fighters did not look like those indiscreet oval ships, rather they looked oddly familiar… oddly familiar like mutated TIE Fighters.