Forge-Hell 3V – Tactical Launchpad, Day of First Sky Patrol
A pale haze shimmered over the mountain peaks as twin suns rose. The Tactical Launchpad thrummed with energy. Six Shriek-Hawk interceptors crouched like coiled beasts, hulls glinting dark chrome beneath the scaffolding. Their ion engines pulsed in a low-frequency hum that made the deck plates vibrate underfoot.
Dren stood at the observation platform overlooking the hangar. Below, the first pilots of Clan Vheyla — dubbed the Iron Talons — made final preparations. At their head stood Verda Saek, helmet under one arm, expression stone-set.
"They're ready," Sira said at his side, adjusting the uplink controls. "Comms, targeting, transponders all green. No one else on the planet has aerospace units in the sky yet… we think."
Dren didn't reply. He didn't need to. His eyes were already on the horizon.
The sky was theirs now.
Liftoff
At 0900 standard, the Shriek-Hawks launched.
One by one, the interceptors roared from the runway, kicking up gouts of dust and flame. The air filled with the screaming echo of ion engines as they streaked toward the upper atmosphere. Within moments, their contrails vanished into the blue.
From inside her cockpit, Verda's voice crackled through the command channel.
"Iron Talon One to Forge-Hell. We are airborne and ascending to patrol altitude. Systems nominal. Formation tight."
"Acknowledged," Sira replied. "Maintain cohesion. Begin sky-grid sweep across sectors C7 through F3. Report anomalies immediately."
Dren watched them disappear into the upper sky. His fists clenched tight behind his back.
Let this sky remember the taste of Mandalorian fire.
Upper Atmosphere – Patrol Phase
The Shriek-Hawks flew in a wedge across the upper stratosphere, sensors scanning thermal and magnetic signatures. It was mostly clear — a vast blue canvas touched by faint solar flares and drifting clouds of ash kicked up by volcanic zones below.
Then the ping came.
Verda's HUD lit up with a pulsing red glyph.
[Unidentified Object – High Velocity]Class: Recon DroneTrajectory: Descending from Low OrbitSpeed: Mach 4+Signature: Non-native
"Iron Talons," Verda said, voice low, "we've got an intruder. Bearing 11.2 by 037. Fast-moving. Cloaked on standard scanbands until just now. This isn't weather junk."
"Iron Talon Four to Lead — visual confirmed. It's not Kaminoan. Too angular. Droid tech?"
"Could be. Doesn't matter. It's entering our sky."
Verda toggled open the engagement channel. "Forge-Hell, this is Iron Talon One. We have contact with a foreign aerospace drone — possibly stealth class. Permission to intercept?"
"Intercept confirmed," came Dren's voice. "Do not let it leave our sky intact."
Skirmish in the Blue
The six Shriek-Hawks arced downward, engines flaring. The intruder — a sleek, angular drone with adaptive plating and multiple sensor arrays — dove for the atmosphere, clearly attempting to test Mandalorian airspace or scan planetary infrastructure.
It noticed them too late.
Verda's targeting computer locked on. "Iron Talons, spread and flank. I'll take lead."
The sky exploded with light as the interceptors engaged.
The drone dodged hard, firing back with a turret-mounted energy bolt — one of the Talons took a glancing hit and spiraled away, smoke trailing. But Verda was already ahead of it, diving into a roll, cutting her engines for a second, then reigniting them to slingshot past the drone's blind spot.
"Talon Two, right sweep! Pin it!"
Laser fire blazed across the stratosphere. The drone jinked left — right into Verda's crosshairs.
"Got you," she whispered — and fired.
The concussion bolts slammed into the drone's side. It erupted into spiraling flame, tumbling toward the lower atmosphere like a dying star.
Cheers echoed through the comms, but Verda remained focused.
"Forge-Hell, target down. We have debris falling over sector D4. Scramble recovery. We'll maintain air watch."
Aftermath and Discovery
Back on the surface, recovery teams tracked the wreckage to a cratered valley east of the mountain base. The drone's twisted chassis was still warm, fused circuitry sparking inside.
The system scanned the debris:
[Recovered Wreckage: Unknown Faction]Material: Duranium Alloy, Neutronium WeaveMarkings: NonePower Core: Self-destruct incomplete — data partially salvaged
Sira examined the recovered black box. "It wasn't Kaminoan. It wasn't Trandoshan. This tech's cleaner… more efficient. Droid design, maybe… but too advanced for any of the known Lords."
"Then we have another player," Dren said grimly. "One that hasn't shown their hand yet."
He turned back to the Tactical Tower, eyes sweeping the sky above.
"They know we're here. Let's make sure they remember."