‘Bank right!’ Whiskey Squadron makes a run for it

Bake Travnor scanned the empty patch of space in front of him and looked at the sensors of his T-65 snubfighter. The screens showed no threats, but the leader of Whiskey Squadron didn’t trust them. He and his wingman, Glenn Sundowner, were flying old X-Wings and the electronics were as temperamental as a drunk Wampa.

“Whiskey Two, what do your sensors show?”

“Nothing, all clear,” Sundowner reported back.

The duo were returning to the Steamline Space Tavern after escorting a shuttle carrying the previous week’s band out of the dangerous space near the Aturi Cluster, the disputed area where the Tavern Wars raged. Whiskey Squadron flew for Lew the Hutt, the Steamline’s owner, and had to be wary of ships hired by Elmer, the  Argy’s Tavern boss and Lew’s rival.

Bake slowly rolled his head side to side, still hungover after finishing off the Steamline’s last bottle of Whyren’s Reserve Whiskey the night before with the band – a shoegaze rock trio from Scarif who easily matched the grizzled old pilot drink for drink.

“Aaah, incoming!” Sundowner shouted over the comm system. “I’m hit.”

Bake’s X-Wing shook violently as well as his rear shields took direct fire.  He spun his head around and saw several Tie Fighters closing fast.

“I knew these sensors were off,” he said to Sundowner. “Bank right and I’ll bank left. These are Argy’s ships and there are probably more. We’ll have to out fly and out run them. Good luck. Last one back to the Steamline buys the first round.”

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Captain Nym fights the Tavern Wars

The smugglers and rogues who frequent Argy’s space tavern just outsisde the Aturi Cluster are not an easily rattled bunch. Seeing as how disputes over who should pay for the next round often end in blaster fights the patrons, as a general rule, let slide many things that would frighten a herd of Bantha.

It was therefore notable that an uneasy pall remained over the joint as the dozens of regulars assessed what had just happened.

“Was that really him?” asked a nervous Gamorrean, clutching his pint so tightly his green fingers turned white.

“Yeah, that was Nym,” said his drinking partner, an older Wookie. “Elmer hired him on for the next few weeks to deliver his profits to the bank. The Tavern Wars are driving old Elmer crazy – and cutting into the geezer’s profits.”

Elmer watched Captain Nym, the legendary smuggler, exit his establishment and head to his spacraft, carrying credits from the last several nights of business at Argy’s.

“Drink up,” Elmer said, his bloodshot eyes bulging more maniacally than the regulars thought possible. “I need the money more than ever if you sorry lot want to still have this place open.”

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