[h2]Sharlin Vande Tanne[/h2]

Sharlin sat in the Phantom's cockpit listening to Lucia's briefing - silently, intently. A frown flickered across her brow at their orders. Too vague, too much left to discretion. She was well aware that Lancers made their own decisions in battle, didn't need to be micromanaged - but still, one could err too far in that direction. A little coordination might do a world of good. 

She knew her own role, anyway. The Phantom wasn't built to charge into the fray. There were others who could do that job far better. Baron Wilhelm, for example - he'd be champing at the bit to prove himself still capable. Or Marcellus, who'd do whatever he was told. A useful tool. Even the Prince's pet, Dvalin, in her souped-up Leonard... if she could keep her thirst for glory in check. 

Sharlin had studied their personnel files as assiduously as she would those of any foe. Imperial Intelligence kept highly comprehensive records of all Lancers, and particularly those who operated close to power. Prince Cassian, for all he might seek to avoid its responsibilities, was a nexus of power. One who must not be threatened, or coerced, or manipulated to the detriment of the Empire. Imperial Intelligence, of course, held itself scrupulously neutral in the power struggles around the Court and the Throne. Its final loyalty lay in the Empire itself, rather than anyone within its Byzantine hierarchy.

They were something of a motley assortment, as Lances are wont to be. Yet even so, their ACs were a force to be reckoned with - and if wielded wisely, more than enough to deal with what they faced here. 

Sharlin held out a hand wordlessly, and her ever-efficient crew chief Gunpreet - a stocky, dusky-skinned native of the Kytherea system - placed her helmet in it. 

"All systems green, mum," Gunpreet murmured. "Loadout?"

Sharlin pulled the helmet on, wrinkling her nose at the blast of pressurised oxygen as it sealed shut and mated with her flight suit's life support system. "All range direct fire," she replied. "Beam gun, gauss carbine, sabre." That would cover the three major range bands, albeit at the cost of indirect fire and anti-ship capability. But again, the Lance had others for such tasks.

"Aye aye, mum," came the reply, shockingly loud in Sharlin's ear now that they had switched to intercom. The senior non-com's fingers danced over a datapad. "Initiating loading now. Ready for launch in seven minutes thirty seconds... mark."

Sharlin nodded. The two of them had an understanding. Pleasantries were superfluous, the single mumbled honorific their only concession to propriety. They'd dispense with it too if that wouldn't set a bad example for the enlisted personnel. It still served a function - discipline, hierarchy - so it stayed. 

Sharlin ran her fingers over the Phantom's controls, running through her preflight checklist as she toggled her comms over to all-Lance. 

"Vande Tanne," she said curtly. "Phantom will echelon forward to maintain sensor coverage over the area of operations and designate targets for indirect fire."