08-20-2010, 09:27 PM
Well outside the normal patrols of the sector RBL normally covered, dropped a sleek, matte gray vessel from hyperspace, the four sets of engine nozzles flaring with a bright blue corona of energy. With a gentle, almost lazy turn, it came about the edges of the asteroid field, and, broadcasting the appropriate codes to the patrol fighters, came in on a vector to land in one of the large hanger bays at the RBL Station.
"Incoming freighter, this is RBL Station, transmit clearance codes before attempting landing. Acknowledge." A voice crisply instructed via the comm.
"RBL Station, this is Hawk One, requesting a landing at an available pad. Transmitting codes now." The ship continued to approach the station as codes were transmitted once more.
"Hawk One, you are cleared to land at bay 3. Please follow the guidance officer's instructions when you approach."
"Will do."
The ship slowly flew around the station onto its new vector, giving the crew aboard the structure a good view at it, if they happened to be looking outside at the moment. A rather long vessel, it had the classic lines of a CEC starship, with a stocky frame and powerful looking engines. It was well armed, with two heavy turrets, one top and bottom, and two other turrets in hard points near the engines. A large amount of armor flaring braced the cockpit, giving it an almost rakish profile as it slowed further still, and approached the indicated hanger bay. A guidance officer waved a pair of glow rods forward as the ship easily slipped into the hanger, and then deftly flew into position between a battered but very serviceable red winged TIE Bomber, and a TIE Interceptor. The ship rotated in place, facing away from the bulkhead before lowering a set of landing gear. With a hiss of thrusters and hydraulics, the ship touched down gently.
Movement could be seen within the cockpit briefly as someone, the pilot most likely, moved towards the rear of the ship. From the midpoint of the vessel, a pair of ramps lowered, and a short, stocky man stepped down them. Dressed in tan trousers, well worn pair of boots, and a tan over-gi over a green shirt, his short red hair slightly disheveled, stood the long lost Jedi pilot, Tank.
He looked around the place, stretching a bit as he did so, and feeling relief as his spine crackled a bit. "It's good to be back." He mused aloud, grinning slightly as he took in the scent of the hanger, of stale lubricants, air that was rapidly chilling even as the hanger doors closed once more.
The red head walked up to the TIE Bomber and patted it. "Now there's a warhorse if one ever saw one." His grin widened, imagining that Az was probably out in his other fighter, an Awing, giving new pilots a run for their credits. Turning back to his ship, he opened up a panel, and tapped on a recessed console, closing the ship back up before heading out to Aslan's for a long overdue mug of the big blue Wookiee's rooties.
Maybe not so much a bowl of stew though. It took him a week before he got the sudden hair growth under control.
"Incoming freighter, this is RBL Station, transmit clearance codes before attempting landing. Acknowledge." A voice crisply instructed via the comm.
"RBL Station, this is Hawk One, requesting a landing at an available pad. Transmitting codes now." The ship continued to approach the station as codes were transmitted once more.
"Hawk One, you are cleared to land at bay 3. Please follow the guidance officer's instructions when you approach."
"Will do."
The ship slowly flew around the station onto its new vector, giving the crew aboard the structure a good view at it, if they happened to be looking outside at the moment. A rather long vessel, it had the classic lines of a CEC starship, with a stocky frame and powerful looking engines. It was well armed, with two heavy turrets, one top and bottom, and two other turrets in hard points near the engines. A large amount of armor flaring braced the cockpit, giving it an almost rakish profile as it slowed further still, and approached the indicated hanger bay. A guidance officer waved a pair of glow rods forward as the ship easily slipped into the hanger, and then deftly flew into position between a battered but very serviceable red winged TIE Bomber, and a TIE Interceptor. The ship rotated in place, facing away from the bulkhead before lowering a set of landing gear. With a hiss of thrusters and hydraulics, the ship touched down gently.
Movement could be seen within the cockpit briefly as someone, the pilot most likely, moved towards the rear of the ship. From the midpoint of the vessel, a pair of ramps lowered, and a short, stocky man stepped down them. Dressed in tan trousers, well worn pair of boots, and a tan over-gi over a green shirt, his short red hair slightly disheveled, stood the long lost Jedi pilot, Tank.
He looked around the place, stretching a bit as he did so, and feeling relief as his spine crackled a bit. "It's good to be back." He mused aloud, grinning slightly as he took in the scent of the hanger, of stale lubricants, air that was rapidly chilling even as the hanger doors closed once more.
The red head walked up to the TIE Bomber and patted it. "Now there's a warhorse if one ever saw one." His grin widened, imagining that Az was probably out in his other fighter, an Awing, giving new pilots a run for their credits. Turning back to his ship, he opened up a panel, and tapped on a recessed console, closing the ship back up before heading out to Aslan's for a long overdue mug of the big blue Wookiee's rooties.
Maybe not so much a bowl of stew though. It took him a week before he got the sudden hair growth under control.
~§~
Tanker (tangk'er)n. 1. A dusty, crusty, grease-covered, dirty, sweaty, bright eyed, fuzzy faced, haircut-needing, beer-drinking, underrated, over-worked, underpaid, oversexed, little s%#* who can take a Tank and do more battlefield damage in ten minutes than a grunt squad can do all day.
Tanker (tangk'er)n. 1. A dusty, crusty, grease-covered, dirty, sweaty, bright eyed, fuzzy faced, haircut-needing, beer-drinking, underrated, over-worked, underpaid, oversexed, little s%#* who can take a Tank and do more battlefield damage in ten minutes than a grunt squad can do all day.