“You have the ball, Hellfire Six.”

In the cockpit of his TIE Fighter, Cael Bathala gave the guidance controls a minute twitch. His eyes were on the amber bead of light that wobbled in the centre of the starfighters tactical display screen, providing him with the assurance that he had the correct vector for landing inside of the Kalidor.

At that moment in time, he could think of nothing more he wanted to do than get back to the boat. For the past three hours, the Gold Flight of Hellfire Squadron had been attempting to run tactical drills in the space surrounding the Strike-class cruiser. Attempting was the key word. About the only thing they'd done right was foul up, and generate a lot of work for the knuckle-draggers by playing space bumper-cars.

There was a ba-dump as the TIE's landing gear hit the deck, whilst control gave the go-ahead for Hellfire Seven, Kistra Dubreas, to follow Bathala in. She was just landing as her flightmate's climbed out of their cockpits, sweat beaded on Cael's brow – from the tight fitting flight helmet, if nothing else. They had six hours of downtime to look forward to, whilst Red and Blue Flights tried to improve on their poor performance.