Engines of Heaven: Wing and a Prayer

Posted on Fri Oct 10th, 2025 @ 10:54pm by Thane & Bomoor Thort
Edited on on Sat Oct 11th, 2025 @ 10:52pm

2,374 words; about a 12 minute read

Chapter: Additional Stories
Location: Boundary of the Nea Glarist Blockade, Yutani System, High Promise Sector, Mid Rim
Timeline: After "Coming Storm"

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This post takes place in 1,213 ABY, around four years before Thane and Bomoor encountered the Cult of Axion on Nar Shaddaa, during their earliest years as Jedi Knights.

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"You are my blades and blasters, my weapons for battle—with you I shatter planets, with you I destroy empires."

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The stars twisted with sudden force as the trio of Jedi Starhoppers burst from the hangar of the Great Manifest, their sleek frames catching the golden wash of starlight before plunging into the dark. Their engines flared brightly, vectoring hard towards the blockade line - where the mismatched flotilla of Glarist vessels stood waiting, a jagged line of rust and zeolotry.

Thane gripped the yoke of his Starhopper, fingers twitching along the throttle. "Star-Two," he muttered, using one of the exclusive Jedi callsigns operated by the Third Republic and Judicial forces, "weapons armed." His eyes narrrowed as the view of the opposing vessels swelled in his canopy. He could spy old GalactaWerks cutters, decommissioned Republic corvettes, and a large number of repurposed Conflict-era Outer Rim Alliance destroyers and fighters - ugly ships now dedicated to an uglier cause.

"Poor formation, reflective of poor doctrine," Master Dunrar spoke softly across their shared intercom, although his voice crackled with intensity and a notable tinge of sadness. The Neimoidian clearly took no pleasure in the scenario, in spite of his fabled talents in the cockpit. "They will seek to swarm us. Be ready to burn through - cut a way for our fighter wings to follow".

Several fighter squadrons of Xesh-Wings and manned Mynock fighters were launching behind them, and the Star Defender was angled for a direct penetrative assault, being the largest and best-armed vessel across both factions.

"They're broadcasting hymns," Thane said in a low tone, partly disturbed and partly annoyed, his voice trailing the static filtered chanting that was being broadcast on a general frequency, but before he or the others could add any further comment, flak blossomed ahead for the first time. Artificial blooms of light tore across the expanse - the blockade had awoken.

To Thane's right, the system's sun glinted briefly as the chrome hull of Bomoor's Starhopper dipped under his own and, reappeared on the other side as he performed a corkscrew movement around him. The identifiable Ithorian silhouette could be seen, although his face was hard to make out.

"The battle cry of zealots," Bomoor's thrumming voice came through on the comms derisively, "The Force is all we need to listen to."

Ahead of them, one of the corvettes began to adjust its position, coming between them and the planet. Moving with it, like flies buzzing around a beast of the savanna, the smaller ships spaced out, creating even more of a blockade against their assaulting force.

"What do you think the firing range is on one of those old corvettes is?" the Ithorian's voice broke through again, "If we can engage the fighters before it starts firing, we can use their own ships as cover."

A trio of Glarist starfighters broke formation ahead, knifing through the black with sputtering engines and mismatched hull plating - scavenged from different eras, hastily retrofitted for a cause they likely barely understood. Their weapons were hot, but their approach was erratic. One peeled off in a sharp roll, juking wildly through the flak, only to disintegrate a second later in a burst of concentrated plasma from Thane’s forward cannons.

He exhaled slowly, jaw tight, hand firm on the throttle.

"Star-Two confirmed kill," he said, the words clipped and professional, though his voice betrayed no satisfaction. "More coming." Something felt like it sunk with him; his opponent had been likely no wiser or more combat-attuned than a young farmhand, but was now no more.

Across the comm, Master Dunrar’s voice remained calm and analytical. "Maintain speed. Precision over volume. These are not trained pilots. Their fear will outweigh their fanaticism once their line begins to buckle."

But even as he spoke, the space ahead erupted into chaos. The Glarist blockade had begun to shift, like a living thing shedding its skin, peeling back just enough to swallow them whole. Small transports jutted from the flanks of a captured and ageing former Judicial cruiser, joined by a quartet of heavily modified haulers that bore the scars of old GalactaWerks livery beneath layers of flaking red paint. From their hulls, smaller fighters launched, cheap and disposable.

Static-laced hymnals continued to pour across all channels, growing in volume - an overwhelming chorus of overlapping declarations of faith, garbled sermons, and guttural chanting. Thane grimaced, and wished he had the patience and time to interfere with whatever device allowed them to broadcast this way.

"That’s not a signal," he hissed, switching to a narrower frequency. "It’s noise warfare. Sound saturation. They’re trying to drown us in meaninglessness!" For a brief moment, he considered that it was not as unfamiliar to him as his comment originally suggested.

"Faith unmoored from wisdom rots," Dunrar replied with uncharacteristic Neimoidian bluntness, his soft manner perhaps shifting to reflect the demand of battle.

A blast rocked Thane's Starhopper’s flank as an enemy fighter made a reckless pass, scoring a glancing hit across the stabiliser fin. Thane compensated instantly, rolling beneath the attacker, and catching it in his sights.

His hand hesitated - just briefly. The ship was barely holding together, no shielding, the pilot clumsy; no military background, no coordination... But it bore the Glarist sigil.

He fired.

The ship burst apart like a thrown glass, spinning its charred pieces into the void.

"Master," he said a moment later, voice low, "I don't think these are even conscripts. They’re volunteers. Civilians in fighters."

There was a pause, broken only by the hollow wailing of the broadcasts on the open broadcast.

Bomoor's voice answered low, "It's not your fault Thane. They've been radicalised..."

His voice trailed off into the static.

Dunrar's silence spoke volumes.

When the intercom finally flared again, it was a different voice — crisp, officious, rattled. It was one of the tactical chiefs aboard the Great Manifest. A heavy Corellian accent spoke.

"All Jedi call-signs, be advised - two rebel haulers are charging directly at our port flank, likely intending to ram. Interceptors en route. Manifest will deploy flak banks and drop shielding in localised sectors for penetration attempts. Time your run. I say again: time your run."

Dunrar spoke immediately. "Star-Wings, tighten your wedge. On my mark, we cut through the flank gap."

"Copy, Star-Leader," the Ithorian's voice came through more confidently now and Thane could see his bronze vessel slowing and settling beside his own.

"Copy, Star-Leader," Thane said, already keying in the vector.

Below and to port, the chaos of fleet engagement reached its crescendo. The Great Manifest loosed a full broadside against a Glarist corvette, its twin cannons flaring bright as shields overloaded and its hull erupted. The vessel cracked open along its central axis, spilling frozen atmosphere and flailing bodies into the black.

As if in response, the Glarist flagship - a ramshackle fusion of an old Wampa-class Company escort and two vertically-welded cargo bays — opened up with its primary weapon, a mismatched mass driver rigged with repulsorlift boosters. A Judicial corvette took the brunt of the hit, shearing in half mid-turn.

"All units," Admiral Broolf-Swial barked across the Judicial channel, "now or never! Manifest opening corridor in twenty seconds. Mark your runs!"

With coordinated grace, the three Jedi starfighters accelerated into formation, Thane shifting slightly to cover the lower vector as a dozen Republic Xesh-Wings fell into their wake. They threaded through the expanding chaos, past spinning debris, through flickering shield lines, dodging panicked blaster fire from the erratic haulers.

Thane adjusted his heading as another hymnal-laced transmission tried to override the comms, which he utterly failed to block, either mentally or with his own equipment. But ahead, the main hauler finally emerged into clear view — scorched, venting, and still somehow moving. Its prow bore the burning symbol of the Nea Glarist heresy; it was an inversion of the ancient symbol of the Supreme Chancellor of the First Republic, shaped like a 'T' in the classical High Galactic alphabet, bereft of any additional iconography or dressing.

The vessel was turning.

"Star-Leader," Thane said sharply, "hauler’s shifting course — adjusting trajectory toward the Manifest’s dorsal spine."

Dunrar’s voice was stone. "They’re going to ram the bridge."

"That's not just a ram, it's a suicide run!" Bomoor's voice was tense, even over the comms, "They're sending themselves to die. We can't let them collide with the bridge; we have to force them off course, now!"

“Agreed,” Dunrar said, his voice suddenly stripped of all ceremony. “Ideas, Knights—quickly.”

Thane’s eyes swept the scanner. The hauler’s heat signature was flaring hard, its nose locking on to the Great Manifest’s bridge. “If we take the port engine array offline, it’ll yaw - maybe spin. That’s our chance. "

"I'm on it!" Bomoor's voice came through garbled but clearly frantic as he had already engaged his thrusters and was speeding off towards the port of the encroaching vessel to enact his fellow Knight's hasty plan. His chrome fighter was quickly targeted by the laser cannons on the hauler and Bomoor reacted quickly, hugging the hull of the ship to shield himself as he shot onwards.

Dunrar exhaled through his flattened nose. “He’s too close. Follow his line, Star-Two. Target the thrusters, nothing vital.”

Thane acknowledged, rolling to keep pace.

The hauler filled their view like a falling moon, vast and rust-streaked, a cathedral of iron. Its outer plating was already rippling with stress fractures from the drive overburn. Flak fire traced their path; the void flashed all colours as laser fire filled the space.

“Steady…” Dunrar murmured. His ship dropped beneath the hauler’s port flank, Thane flanking opposite. The Master’s tone sharpened. “Now.”

Twin bursts of green light crossed the dark. Their combined fire tore through the hauler’s thruster cone in a bloom of vapourised alloy. The enormous vessel bucked sideways, its nose pitching wide of the Manifest’s gleaming bridge. The admiral’s flagship slipped past by a miracle’s breadth.

“Direct hit,” Thane breathed, relief flooding through him. “It’s turning!”

Before anyone could celebrate, the hauler’s ruptured drive went critical. A chain of detonations roared down its flank fire flooding outward. The shockwave struck Bomoor’s position full-on.

“Bomoor!”

Thane’s heart lurched as the other Jedi's fighter vanished into the blast plume. He caught a glimpse of it a heartbeat later, tumbling out of the inferno, trailing sparks and smoke.

An agonising moment of comms silence passed as Thane and Dunrar saw only the plume of flames and rounded smoke only sustained in the vacuum of space by the oxygen now escaping from the ruptured vessel.

Then, like a floating ember, Bomoor's ship came drifting out of the fiery mass: thrusters dead, lights dark. Only the faint hymn of the radicals remained.

The fighter drifted lifelessly away from the now-defanged hauler, away from the combat zone and towards the blockade surrounding the planet below.

Suddenly, the hymn began to waver as the comm line chattered: Bomoor's low voice breaking through.

"...ne! I ...st p...wer," his voice was choppy, "I ca...'t re...gage."

“Hold on!” Thane shouted, already rolling beneath the dying hauler, trying to line up beside him.

Dunrar’s voice cut across the comms. “Knight Thane - break clear! He’s too near the debris field!”

Thane hesitated, eyes flicking between the falling wreck and the fading blip on his scope. I can reach him, he insisted to himself.

“You can’t,” Dunrar barked, as if he heard Thane's thoughts aloud. “Not this pass.”

The Jedi Master’s ship suddenly jolted, enemy fire raking his tail. A knot of Glarist interceptors had surged from the hauler’s shadow, screaming toward them. Laser fire streaked past, forcing Dunrar into a tight barrel roll that pulled him away from the descent path.

“Fighters on me!” he reported, sharp and focused. “I’ll draw them out. Thane, stay with him. Guide him down if you can!”

“Understood, Master,” Thane replied through gritted teeth, his blue eyes scanning the readouts almost manically.

Below, the shattered hauler began to break apart, its flaming hull pieces tumbling into the planet’s thin upper cloud layer. Among them, Bomoor’s damaged Starhopper spun helplessly, its thrusters sputtering.

“Bomoor," Thane spoke up, voice cracking through static. “You’re caught in the fall. Can you find any control at all?”

Bomoor’s comm was silent now, only the steady wail of alarms spilling across the channel.

Dunrar’s ship looped far above, hounded by streaks of red light as the Glarists gave chase, pulling him out of sight. His last attempt at a transmission was lost to interference, and then he was gone. Thane was alone with the burning trail descending toward Ord Yutani, gaze locked upon Bomoor and his vessel.

The clouds below swelled like an ocean. The hauler was disintegrating, casting long ribbons of flame that looked almost holy. And in their midst, Bomoor’s glimmering ship fell - fragile, beautiful, and dying.

Thane pushed the throttle, dove after him, and the stars gave way to daylight.

TBC

 

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