A Somber Homecoming (Silver Jedi Order)

[Valkren Calderon]

​

Location: Voss, Airfield.​

Current Objective: Regroup.​

Total Missing in Action: Unknown​

Total Casualties: Unknown​

User Vital Status: Wounded​

​

Colonel Valkren Calderon squinted as light flooded the loading bay of one of the Silver Jedi's transport ships that had just touched down to Voss. The sun light beamed against his face as the bay's ramp slowly lowered down towards the ground beneath them. His body ached beneath his battered armor, exhaustion from the fighting finally taking place of the adrenaline. As the ramp connected with the airstrip below the ship, a mix of soldiers and Silver Jedi personnel filed down the ramp. Most looked battered as well and tired.

The young ranger began his descent after letting the light bathe him for a moment. With his weapon in his right hand, and his helmet in the other, he followed along with the others. His armor torn in several sections, revealing areas of exposed skin beneath the underlayer, singed and cut by the work of blaster bolts. Calderon straightened his posture to get a better look over the crowds that began to form due to transports dropping off more groups. He began to push his way past the mix of specialized fighters and Jedi, moving to a group of Radama Raiders he spotted, his own unit of veteran fighters. His pace quickened to a jog to close the gap between himself and his team mates, and he was relieved to see most of the members of first team.

Both Specialist Lowder and Lieutenant were sitting on the same crate, leaning back with their weapons and helmets in their laps, too exhausted to begin the process of stripping their armor and checking their gear. Valkren simply nodded to them, before turning back to the crowds to scan for any other familiar faces.

"We're missing five, sir." Harris spoke up, just barely loud enough for Valkren to hear over the commotion.

Valkren cursed under his breath. In the previous firefight at the Garrison on Mirial, they had lost one of their team leaders, Forrestor, to an enemy marksman. But after their hasty retreat many of his men were separated from the main element. There were many variables to what could have happened to them.

Valkren prayed for the best.

"Send out a message on our channel, see if anyone getting off of other transports got lost in the crowd. I'll check in with the medics and see if they picked up anyone else."

"Copy, sir."

Valkren moved out into the crowd after dropping his weapon and helmet to the side, heading for any medical unit that managed to remain together. The pain and anger of his loss still stung, his fists clenched as he maneuvered his way through the crowd.

Kark, where was the Grandmaster?

​

 

[Valae Heavenshield]

The Grandmaster stood at the edge of the airfield, her woolen robe billowed about her ankles. Like a mother that had sent her sons and daughters off to war, she stood wringing her hands in anxious anticipation of their return home. News of the Silver Order’s forces withdrawal from Mirial had reached Valae in her office, and she had fled the confines of the Temple at the first sign of their approach. She had confidence in her people, and though the liberation of Mirial had not gone as planned… she was still very proud of everyone. They were far more courageous and brave than she could ever hope to be. It was a shame that the Mirialans would not see liberation this day. Deep down, she knew that whatever remained of their movement for freedom had likely been subdued with the Sith.

Her eyes focused on the sky above, watching as transports broke through the clouds and began to settle on solid ground. As the number of wounded quickly became apparent, the Grandmaster’s heart sank.

Had she done right?

Valae felt a surge of anxiety – her mind flooded with thoughts of those closest to her. Were they all safe? But for the moment, her personal relationships had to be set aside. “Mobilize the medical teams, quickly!” She called over her shoulder. Almost immediately, the medical personnel and triage droids went to work. The medical ward had been prepped, the team of healers and doctors were standing by, ready to receive wounded. Clutching the front of her robe, she did spare a thought for [member="Jake Daniels"]. It was the first time that she had sent him away on his own. She would find him in the crowd – she sensed that he was near.

As she took a step forward, she felt a hand catch her shoulder. Turning slowly, she found the rather sullen face of one of her advisors. There was something about the woman’s face that carried a deep sadness, and there was the feeling that she was holding something on the tip of her tongue… words that she did not wish to speak.

“Grandmaster Kitra,” Her aid started, gently pulling Valae away from the crowd. “I have… news of General Yune.”

Valae’s eyes grew wide, and she swallowed hard.

“Our intelligence has reported that she perished while fighting on Mirial.”

The Grandmaster stood silent for a moment, stunned by shock and disbelief. No, this couldn’t be… For a moment, the smiling face of Arisa Yune was visible. It hit her hard, just like a punch to the gut. [member="Arisa Yune"] was one of her closest friends; the two were like kin – like sisters. This was a reality that she desperately did not want to face.

“Has it been confirmed?” She asked sadly, eyes welling with tears.

“The nature of the blast… she would not have been able to survive, Ma’am.”

Turning away, she let the tears flow for a moment, followed by a few quiet sobs. Her advisor knew to give her space in this moment, but remained nearby. Valae’s hand rose to her mouth, and she stifled a cry that threatened to escape. She needed to be strong now. Wiping her eyes on her sleeves, she glanced over her shoulder. There were others that needed to hear this news first – Valkren and Yuroic came to mind immediately. Her heart ached. In between shaking breaths, she managed to utter an order to her advisor.

“Please locate Colonel [member="Valkren Calderon"],” She said, trying to sound calm… but it was a thin act.

 

[Viathae Qarmast]

Viathae was not around for this invasion, nor really mostly any invasion. She had actually been trying to prepare the New Mandalorian government and writing up several drafts and forums for the newly established Constitutional Monarchy. The aspects of democracy was more important to her than the affairs of the Silvers, causing her to miss much of the fighting... which possibly costed her many civilians she could of saved.

She heard the sound of crying when she came through into the room. Oh... oh fuck...

Hearing over the report of Master Yune's death, Viathae took off her helmet and had the most dreaded face that she had ever made in her life. She looked down and placed her hand on her face in stress. No... not her. It can't be. It just can't be. She gave a grave dire sigh from this new information that had been filled in. The blood that boiled within Viathae's veins were growing. It was as if a whole new monster was being born from this anger that was building up. Her friend, mentor and companion... gone... perished... She was so foolish! She could of been there and saved Master Yune, but no. She had to let her own arrogance get ahead of her, and continue on her way to help her people rather than those who mattered to her. She glanced over at Grandmaster Kirta who was probably in great pain. She felt it. The Mandalorian came close to the Grandmaster and glanced at her. She didn't uttered a word, and just glanced away for a moment, and ahead.

 

[WelshPsych]

Yuroic was a mess. Mirial had cost him his right forearm and shattered his legs. The pain was high but Yuroic didn't groan or acknowledge the pain. His hurt was deeper, darker. His mind was broken. They had failed to save Mirial. He put his body on the line to save people and now he heard they were returning with nothing to show for it. Yuroic was questioning everything he believed.

Once they landed, medics swarmed out to the wounded, several healers worked on his legs and arm. He ignored them for the most part. They then prepped to give him a cybernetic arm. His eyes flashed darkly at them. "No! I don't deserve that. Leave it as a useless stump!" He growled. He hated what he had become. A symbol of weakness and deformity. He was a shell of his former self.

There had to be more. More he could learn. More he could use to fight the Sith. But what could old teachings tell him about new threats such as the cyborg he faced. It was a devastating force of destruction. Yuroic would never be stronger or think faster than it would. He was flawed in organic ways it was not. How could he have won..?

Grabbing a stick, he used it as a crutch to walk away from the masses. He couldn't be around people. Not any more.

 

[Sky'ito Yumi]

Darkness, images here and there, it was chaotic, flashes of light and other pictures running though her head before finally blacking out. Sukai did not know how much time had passed of where she was only that some how, one way or another she had wound up on bored a SJO drop ship, hooked up to medical equipment, and bleeding profusely from several stab wounds, one large injury to the chest, the other across her neck.

Spoiler

Breathing was hard and difficult, a respirator being used to keep her airways open, each breath being painful, raspy. The world span around as Sukai regained conciseness, the sound of people moaning, crying, both in pain and sadness. Had they lost, what was the fallout, how many had they lost, and what would this mean for the Order, "whe- *cough* where am I". "Take is easy, no talking, you have multiple sharp trauma laceration on vital parts of your body, we need to get you to med station right now".

"Med station, but if they find out... oh no", she tried to speak again but could not find the strength wheeled her away to a medical station to be treated, 'this is not going to end well, at lest I am alive'. While being pushed away her eyes wander to those passing by, some she recognized other where new, most injured on way or another, a sight that many would become sick at.

 

[Jsc]

She had come. Quietly. Patiently. Indeed, even if you had not been at Mirial the call for aid had gone out. So it was written. So it was done. Jessica would be there to accept those that had returned.

Yet. Jessica did not doubt. She did not curse this day. Because she was beyond it. Doubt had no place in her heart. Her focus. Her gaze. These things had long ago past far beyond the trials of Sith Lords, and loss, and national conquest. Now. Now she saw only the present through the eyes of The Force. She saw men. And women. And the greatest, brightest nation of hope that had ever graced the stars. She saw Jedi Knights who had fulfilled their oaths. She saw pilots who had done the impossible. She saw the crimson blood that had filled the cup of sacrifice and held it aloof to the throne of the God's and said, "Here I am. Send me."

She saw heroes.

So. She had come. Jessica would be there to accept those that had returned. Never doubting. Always faithful. Because life. Life will find a way.

 

[Jake Daniels]

No one spoke. There really wasn’t much to say. The liberation of a people had failed. The people the Silver Jedi had failed, and fail they did, would continue to suffer under a darks shroud. Their lives would forever hang in limbo as they struggled to survive day to day. The illusion of safety that the Sith propaganda machine was already spewing out held little fact. The only facet of truth their news network managed to let slip was that the galaxy now knew the Silver Jedi believed in a just war. How everything ended? Jake didn’t know. He had been blacking in and out since he had been stabbed by the Sith he in turn killed.

He’d been rushed from the battle field by the light infantry men sent to work with him. He’d been taken aboard and LAAT and sent into orbit for immediate treatment. The Knight had been removed from the fight. Though what fight had Jake actually participated in. The one on the transport heading back to Voss? It sure wasn’t one on the ground. Instead of leading a charge against the Sith in the capitol, the Knight had allowed fear to take hold. He had removed himself. He had pulled himself back in fear of letting his dark passenger out. What could have changed had he the backbone to rush head long into a fight? Could he have done more to help change the tide of battle? Yes, yes he could have.

As his wheelchair was pushed through the crowd returning to the temple, the Knight held a hand over his abdomen. The wound was still fresh and raw. His eyes showed every sign of tiredness. He hadn’t slept. Not even during the operation. Upon arriving, the light infantry unit had been escorting him. Punching a surgeon who tried to put him under was viewed as a less than admirable reaction to someone wanting to help. As a result, Jake was assigned guards. Not to protect him. To protect others from him. His tensions were high. Everyone’s were.

They were taking him to [member="Valae Kitra"]. He needed to speak to her. To tell her of his failures. To simply let it out. Yet when the Knight caught sight of her, Jake raised a hand. The escort brought his wheelchair to a stop. She was in pain. He felt it as if it were his own. Should he approach or shouldn’t he? When he saw her begin to give what appeared to be orders, Daniels knew this wasn’t the time. They’d talk later.

“Change of plans.” Jake said.

“Sir?” The infantryman pushing Jake asked.

Daniels didn’t immediately respond. His eyes went from face to exhausted face. He was no empath. He didn’t have the skills of a Counselor or Healer yet having touched the darkside. Having been driven by emotion for so many years; the Knight knew what hung on the air. Pain. Despair. Even some regret. Some wondered was what they had done the right thing? He could see it in their eyes. It was then that Jake took the full brunt of the blame.

He had been a Sith. He had used the darkness. Instead of joining in on planning the attack, he resided to working on the outside. The Silver Jedi had not lost this battle. He lost this battle. Because of him they failed. Had he done more and not welcomed cowardice into his heart something might have changed, anything really. When the first of the covered bodies were removed from the transports, Jake’s heart shattered.

So many dead. So many more injured. It was his fault.

“Take me someplace else.” Jake replied. “Anywhere else.”

With that order, the escort rolled Jake away.

 

[NT-6922]

Natassia was in no mood for calm thinking. All she had been doing for the last hours looked a lot more like preparation for a coming battle. Sharpening her knives, providing maintenance to her weapons, and, most importantly, preparing her connections for Project: GRIZZLY. It was nothing more than a dream back in the Empire days, but now that she was a renegade, she could always try and play her cards right to get the super-weapon. She wasn't the most skilled engineer, but the tank's concept was fairly straightforward. A fortress rolling n greasing threads, armed with superior firepower and one of the greatest armor plating the world had to offer.

She was done with non-lethal takedowns. She'd keep her peacekeeping armor in case she ever had to perform crowd control or beat up somebody, but she was already working on far more drastic things. The Sith had given her purpose once more; she was a killing machine, and if going down that path once more would cause her destruction, so be it. She was already living on borrowed time, and so she might as well make it count.

And so there was the stormtrooper, ignoring the crowd around her, her back pressed against one of the drop ships, sitting on a crate. Opening up her small laptop, she started scrolling through her list; all these smugglers, informants, soldiers who owed her one. Looking left and right, she launched a call to and old friend when she was sure nobody was listening.

"Who's this?" called the voice at the other end of the line, obviously awoken from a good night's sleep.

Right. Forgot the time difference.

"Sierra One."

There was a long silence on the line, and she half-expected him to cut the call and block her. Or maybe he was launching a tracking program to try and pinpoint her location - not that she cared.

"You're on everyone's chitlist in the Empire, commander."

A smile crept back on her face. Back in her glory days, she led many operations against the rebels, fought the Jedi on several fronts, killed their puppets and their rebels. And now here she was, on Voss, the one planet where they had established themselves. Life had a strange sense of irony.

"I know. But I need you to repay that favor you owe me - I'm sure you're glad you don't have all that shrapnel in your brain."

"I'll see what I can do, but once we're done, you and I are even. What do you need?"

"Get me the frame of a Vindicator and have it dropped off at these coordinates."

The call ended soon thereafter, and the soldier was satisfied. The next time the Sith would point their face in Jedi space, they would taste the full might of the GRIZZLY.

 

[Jessica Med-Beq]

To the extent that she trusted the people lower down the chain of command, for Mirial to end in a Pyrrhic defeat could only mean one thing. She returned as swiftly to Voss as she could, and returned to an endless stream of medvac craft. Something went horribly awry in orbit. But even an equally Pyrrhic victory would have required medvac. And yet, the various AARs from Mirial talked about something called Waves of Darkness, and Wall of Light after that. Perhaps someone else should have been deploying on Tartarus, but someone had to deploy on Tartarus: the threat the Contingency posed was too big for us not to take action. It was one or the other: I couldn't personally deal with two threats at once, and I picked the one I thought at the time was the larger threat, but the sort of force capable of making stuff going awry to one battlegroup in orbit will assuredly tie up a large portion of the Sith fleet. On top of that, it was Pyrrhic. So, while we lost on Mirial, we made them pay a high price for victory, she thought, while she arrives in front of another soldier that was sustaining a blaster burn. She thus began to attempt stiumlating that patient's healing using Force-healing... while understanding that suffering was everywhere.

 

[Zark San Tekka]

​

Alliance Pathfinder Camp
Army of Light Airfield
Voss, Tion Cluster

The way the men under Vice Admiral Zark's command joked and laughed around their campsite fires, you wouldn't think that they had just walked out of a nightmare beyond reckoning in the face of military defeat. But between the special forces and outback irregulars, the Alliance strike team was composed of career soldiers all. This was not the first Sith Empire with which they had done battle, and in the aftermath of campaigns on worlds like Castameer, Atrisia, and Mustafar, a bombed out zombie infested landscape was almost mundane by comparison.

And yet the atmosphere was not altogether a joyful one, some of their boisterous nature muted out of respect for both their fallen and wounded comrades, as well as out of respect for the nearby Silver Jedi and Antarian Ranger forces who had suffered considerably more grievous losses. Zark's force recon expedition had landed just in time to assist with the fighting retreat and evacuation. Scattered throughout the capital, some of his men had ended up catching rides on Silver transports, while the few U-Wings that had made it through both landing attempts to pick them back up had taken on a few Antarians.

With Grandmaster Yune's apparent death, the Army of Light command structure had been thrown into brief disarray, and much of the initial coordination between the two armies had taken place through troopers relaying the Alliance's presence up to uncertain commanders. But eventually the Admiral had managed to negotiate temporary safe harbor for his task force behind the Silver defense network, to exchange personnel, treat his wounded, and conduct essential repairs before burning back towards Sullust.

"This is starting to get old, you know!" a voice called out from behind him, and as Zark turned around he looked up and saw Commander Bashir, the polar Mon Calamari executive officer of his command ship, the star carrier Hereafter, "If you want to join the Army, you should ask High Command about a transfer!"

"But then who'd be crazy enough to place you in command of a starship?" the Jedi Knight fired back, shrugging and laughing as the Mon Cal saluted him, "Nice to see you, Commander."

"Likewise, sir!" Bashir shouted as Zark returned the salute, making his stumbling way down the ridge and farther away from the U-Wing transport in the near distance, "We just pulled into orbit. All capitals accounted for, Admiral, but several will need half a day at least before they can cross the Hydian. Casualty reports are still collating, but considering the circumstances, not to mention the pounding we took covering your escape from orbit...call it luck or fate, but something was looking out for us, sir."

"With me," the Admiral glanced around and gestured his subordinate to follow, leading the Mon Cal farther away from the troopers, "The surface...it was bad, Bashir. Worse than we could have imagined. We were only down there a few hours, and I still lost some exceptionally trained fighting men. We knew Zambrano was gathering fanatics to his lunatic cause, but the scope of this...I'm not sure its something we were truly prepared for."

"How should we proceed?" the commander asked, trying not to show the fear in his eyes.

"You said it'd take half a day for repairs, see if you can cut that closer to six hours," glancing back at the Pathfinder camp, Zark lit a cigarra with shaking fingers, "Give the men two hours notice before we ferry them back into orbit, they've earned that much at least. Once I've paid my respects to our hosts, I'll comm you for pickup."

"Aye, sir!"

 

[Stephanie Swail]

VOSS
Silver Jedi Temple

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MZhE_a_A0zU&index=54&list=PL2F1CD7ACE08942C1

Stephanie sat in a daze as her Ranger gunship touched down, the Commander stepping out beside her to give her men their orders. Help the wounded. Lock down the temple and ensure nothing followed them back to Voss.

The Jedi had been forced to pull back from Mirial as the Sith unleashed a relentless wave of darkness over the city and the planet as a whole. Many lives were lost, and they stood their ground. The Mirial people who were lucky to be evacuated and not lost to the flesh-eating virus were now refugees to be cared and relocated by the Jedi.

It wasn't a loss, but it wasn't a triumph over the dark forces as they had hoped.

Slipping off the side of the transport, the Padawan started to walk, dragging her dirty Hapan gowns, blood smeared and gore-stained dress and face, looking worn out and defeated, away to the temple. She was in a daze until the Commander grabbed her shoulder.

"Stephanie. You did your best, and you helped save - "

"Europa. Where is she. The girl you detained."

"She's out of it for now. Sedated beyond normal measure and she will be taken away in isolation until we can help her. It won't be easy, but we will try. A number of others like her have been detained, and hopefully we can save them."

Stephanie nodded, swallowed and looked at the ground.

"Thank you for saving my life. I am sorry I let you down, I let you all down," she faught back the tears and shook her head, "I'm so sorry...!"

The Commander pulled her in for a tight embrace, and she looked out at the airfield where the ships were touching down.

"Stop right there. This is not the end. We did our best. We will get through this. You hear me? I've seen heroes fall and rise back up again. The Silvers will get through this, and will emerge stronger than ever as a beacon of hope for the galaxy."

The sight of body bags being unloaded from a large aircraft was a familiar sight for the Commander. She inhaled slowly, letting Stephanie cry into her shoulder.

"It'll be ok."

 

[Cassius Droma]

Three. Three - that was how many verdant A-wing fighters snapped out of hyperspace and began the slow descent down to Voss alongside the transports. Officially, they were on escort duty… but everyone knew it wasn’t necessary. No one was coming after them. Comms were eerily quiet as everyone came through the atmosphere and headed for the landing pads below. The only spoken words were to request landing pads and to confirm them once relayed. Even then, the utterances were short, and soft-spoken. No banter, no joking around.

No hope.

Green Leader – Cassius Droma – had faced loss and hardship before, as a patrol pilot in the Outer Rim. This was different, though. Not only was the sheer scale of their loss staggering, but Cassius could feel it in the air now, since he was a trained Jedi. Before, he’d just considered it empathy. But now that he could touch the currents of emotions all around him, it was hard not to get swept away. As the landscape of Voss came into view, Cassius briefly closed his eyes, trying his best to turn himself off to the swirling pain around him.

He wasn’t very effective.

What was left of Green Squadron got clearance for a landing pad that was much smaller than originally intended. Their return pad was meant to accommodate a whole squad – twelve fighters, but that was seemingly too optimistic. Instead, it had been turned into an emergency triage center and Green Squadron was assigned to a pad that had been meant for a larger transport that had been destroyed.

Cassius touched down, a deep sigh escaping him. Flicking a few switches, he turned off the engines, the power, and the comms. He sat there, in silence, blankly staring at the black screen on his center console. It was as if his mind still couldn’t process what had happened. He was crashing from his adrenaline high, that was for sure. The typical gusto of a flyboy was replaced with dead eyes and a somber frown. Taking off his gloves, he reached into his flight suit and pulled out the amulet that Grandmaster Kitra had given him, watching as the light danced inside of the crystal. He was going to need it.

His canopy hissed as it opened, and Cassius reluctantly clambered out, his boots hitting the ground for the first time in hours. Only then did he realize just how weak his legs were, like an Alderaanian gelatin. He leaned against the hull of the A-wing in order to steady himself, wrenching his helmet from his head as he did so.

The remaining two members of Green Squadron, Nine and Twelve, were just as distraught as he was, if not more so. Cassius told them to go get checked out by the medical teams, for physical and psychological evaluations. They bid him farewell and headed off, not knowing it might be the last time they saw their superior.

Jaw hardening and eyes squinting, Cassius turned his head to look out across the rest of the starfighter squadrons and medical transports that had landed, the afternoon sun illuminating him in golden hues. From just a short look, he could tell that he was lucky. He didn’t have a scratch on him.

Not physically, at least.

 

[Valkren Calderon]

Calderon's armored body pushed and shoved his way through the crowds, careful to avoid brushing into wounded and medical teams toting body bags and stretchers alike along. His mind was a mess with thoughts.

In the end he knew that every single man and woman of every race here had at least a thread of guilt in the back of their minds, feeling as if they could have done more in the wake of everything to change the tide of the liberation attempts. In truth, that guilt felt like chains dragging from his shoulders.

If he could have led his rangers better, and coordinated with the other team leaders, they could have easily taken their objective at the garrison and kept moving forward to other objectives and to allies that needed assistance.

Suddenly, he was stopped as a hand reached out and grabbed him by the arm. There was a flash of hope inside of him, hoping that the figure he turned to would be one of his allies. The hope wavered slightly at the sight of Grandmaster Kitra's assistant, however that meant that Valae was close by. Valkren turned on his heels to follow after the assistant after being waved over a different direction.

The 'chains' about his shoulders seemed to get heavier with each passing moment, becoming witness to the atrocities of combat beyond his team's own firefight. A scene of a young padawan crying into the shoulder of what seemed to be another officer directed his gaze back ahead.

His people were hurting.

After further maneuvering through the commotion, Valk caught sight of the Grandmaster. The look on her face said it all, she was hurting as well.. He figured, against all protocol, he'd leave out the details of their own casualties and missing for the sake of her. As he grew closer he'd straighten his posture once more, attempting not to display his exhaustion. Difficult, to say the least.

"Grandmaster Kitra..It's good to see you." He stated.

[member="Valae Kitra"]

 

[Jairdain]

One of the few people returning from Mirial that was almost unharmed, Jairdain had done what she could to aid the medics on the way home. The only thing the knight had was a splitting headache from slamming into a building. Not being on the same transport of [member="Yuroic Xeraic"], she did not know of his injuries or his condition. When she exited her transport though, she felt him hurting, in mental pain and just wanted to run and help him.

He had helped her along with so many others in her own recovery. Making the choice to follow her heart and her love, Jairdain went to be with him. It may not always be right, but for once she did what she wanted. There were people that knew she had returned and was fine. Not hiding herself, she fell in behind Yuroic and slowly walked to catch with him.

Keeping silent, all she could do right now was be there for him. Until he was ready to accept help, he would hold her out. Jairdain knew this, but wanted to be there for him regardless. She did not feel he wanted company, but knew he couldn't be alone right now. Not when he was at what she felt was his worst. Not the same person he had met three years ago, Jairdain would now be his strength when he was weak.

 

[Jsc]

Organization was key.

Jessica was assigned a partner, Bran Hildrada, and given the task of moving cargo, finding cargo, and keeping an eye out for stragglers. It was just a mere logistics job. The Navy had already counted it's loses. It was the civilian and independent sectors that were still struggling. The inevitability of supply, demand, those in need, and a battle lost. The cry for supply, aid, and ammunition was never ending. Even if on a computer screen back at the capital it all just looked like numbers. Somebody still had to get it there.

"Ready to go?" Jess called over to Bran.

"Yeah. Let's go."

Together the pair climbed aboard the small freight ship and primed the engines. Their cargo bay already full of loose and tagged supplies. Stuff that just needed to get from one place to the other. Delivery men. Nothing more.

"I'm Jess." She smiled.

"Bran. Can we go now? I'm... Well. I don't like to stick around for farewells."

Jessica nodded to the hesitation in his voice and pushed against the controls. Time to go, I guess. They didn't have to talk.

"Time to Caspian City?"

Bran looked down at his scope, "Twelve minutes direct. Plus traffic."

Jess smiled and hit the thrusters. Thinking quietly to herself as they hit the skylanes,

"No rest for the weary. Caspian City here we come."

 

[Dusaro Dresari]

Dusaro was no stranger to loss on the battlefield. No stranger to being carried off it for that matter, as was the case here. By the time the toxins in his system the Sith had finally hit him with wore off, the battles tides were firmly decided and they had to retreat. Thanks to how badly his legs were busted up from his own explosives, along with a shattergun round to his left leg, he could barely walk on his own. That was ignoring the three inch deep long cut in his leff side from the Sith's blade. Had he been human, bleed out alone would have killed him. Luckily for Dusaro, he was not human.

For most of the trip back he was under from sedatives to keep him under while his wounds were treated. The brief moments he faded back in, he would see the hard expressions of the squad he had deployed with. But they were missing someone. He didn't need to focus hard to feel the cold emotions rolling off of them at this defeat. Dusaro could only clench his fist in response before his vision faded back to black.

He was roused by the feeling of the transport hitting the ground at Voss. Eyes popping open, Dusaro looked around as the Medic prepared to apply more sedatives. "Oi... no need." Dusaro said with a weak voice but strong tone, lightly shaking his head. He could tell that his body had stopped the bleeding plenty enough. Oh it hurt like kark, but there were people who needed it more then he did. The medic hesitated for a moment but nodded, taking the sedatives elsewhere. With the medic gone, Dusaro looked down his body. He could feel where his legs had taken the brunt of the explosive force, his ankles were especially screwed up. Luckily enough for him they were not completely busted.

Slowly turning his head to the left, he saw the second in command of his ground group. "How... Our soldiers, how bad was it?" Dusaro didn't need to be told they loss. He knew that. But how bad was it... That he didn't know. As it turned out, it was close. A phyyric victory for the Sith in essence. "Hah... That close huh." Dusaro said, looking up to the ceiling with a light smile that seemed almost empty. Not every battle could be won, he knew that. Dus had already experienced that. But it was a bitter pill to swallow no matter what. Looking slowly around the LAAT as people prepared to disembark, he looked over to a young, teenager Mirilan who had a 10mm battle rifle of the Silver Jedi Regulars in his lap. Words could not describe the empty look within his eyes. As Dusaro got moved out of the LAAT on a stretcher, the kid ended up walking right beside him.

"Hey. Hey you. Kid." Dusaro called out, the young Mirialn slowly turning his head to him in a silent question. "It ain't over yet." Dusaro said with a forceful gaze. It made no sense to the kid, he could tell. They had lost after all. The kid had lost his parents. Dusaro didn't need the kid to tell him that, he knew that look. Because he had lost his own to war before. There was a certain hollowness to it that no other loss could compare to in a person's eyes. "How can it not be over.. We lost. Everything" Came a weak voice from the young teenage kid who was now on the border of tears. "Yeah. You did. But it ain't over. Only the dead get that luxury kiddo. when your alive, the only choice is forward. Never forget it." The young man looked at him for several long moments as though surprised by Dusaro's forceful words which even even as injured as he was still rang with life. He gave the young kid a final parting wave before being carried off to the medical center care unit.

Left to his own thoughts, he thought about the battle. How things had gone wrong, why they had gone wrong and ultimately how he had failed his job. If he had not been down, how might he have turned things around. Dusaro was not immune to those thoughts, not when he was alone in a hospital bed, injured and thinking on the grim reality that was before the Silver Jedi. Heavy thoughts always weighed on the minds of the defeated, but after this string of defeats... That was even more so the case for him.

[member="Joshua DragonsFlame"]

 

[Valae Heavenshield]

Numb with grief, she stood rooted to the spot. Glancing blankly through the crowd, she spotted [member="Jake Daniels"] in a wheelchair. He was injured. Valae’s heart sank even further, if that was possible. How very much she wanted to run to him, but her boots felt heavy. Reaching across the distance between them, her presence would brush against his through the force – a brief but comforting reassurance that they would be together again soon. But for the moment, duty called.

Taking her eyes away from the scene, she noticed that [member="Viathae Qarmast"] nearby. Valae guessed that she had overheard the terrible news, judging by the young woman’s expression. And of course, she could feel the pain – it was one she shared. Finally willing her feet to move, she approached the Mandalorian woman and placed a hand upon her shoulder for a moment before she walked past.

As she waited for the Colonel, she let her glassy gaze shift skyward once more.

Was Arisa at peace now? They had always said not to grieve for those that had passed, for they had found their true place within the Force. But was it really that simple? In this moment, the sadness made it difficult to comprehend. The sound of footsteps approaching made Valae jump to try and collect herself, and she wiped her face hastily with the back of her hand. The familiar armored form of [member="Valkren Calderon"] was standing before her now. Though she could see hints of fatigue, he stood as tall and strong as he ever did.

“It is good to see you again too, Colonel” She said, smiling faintly. “I only wish the circumstances were better.”

Gently, she began to draw the Colonel away. This was going to be hard. Arisa herself had introduced Valae to Colonel Calderon, and the three of them had become fast friends. She understood that Valkren’s friendship with Arisa went back quite a long time. And as she looked up at the man, the corners of her mouth quivered.

“I… I’m not sure how to say this,” She started, clearly upset. “I’m having a hard time believing it myself--” Valae was starting to ramble, the formal nature of her station dropped away in the presence of her friend. “I received a report…” A breath shook her shoulders. “Arisa was caught in some kind of explosion.”

She pressed a hand against her lips for a moment.

“She… didn’t make it.” Her eyes turned up sadly, “I’m so sorry.”

 

[WelshPsych]

His anger, his pain, it was becoming an overwhelming well that was drowning him. Yuroic felt Jairdain's presence but it didn't give him to pleasure that it would normally. He felt empty, hollow. Clutching his crutch so tightly, cracks formed on it until it shattered in his hand. His legs gave way and fell to the ground. Glaring out to the other wounded, a medic came rushing to him. Yuroic used the Force and pushed them back, harder than he intended, his anger controlling his Force ability.

Glaring at Jairdain. "I was not ready. No one was ready. The Sith are more dangerous than we realised." He growled as he had flashbacks of his duel, the monster creatures of undead mess. "I lost my arm! My lightsabers! My strength! We were outmatched!"

His thoughts raced to why he wasn't ready. Arisa. She didn't prepare him enough. She was meant to be his teacher. He never learnt of Sith creating undead monsters, cyborgs using the Force and made of Phrik. Where was she? She needed to see what her lack of teachings did to him. See what he suffered through ignorance. He could not cope with his emotions. Spiralling out of control. His voice raised louder and louder.

"Where is she?! Where is Arisa?! How were we meant to fight cyborgs made of Phrik with armour of it to?! I lost my ARM! THEY MADE MONSTERS OF THE UNDEAD! HOW WERE WE MEANT TO FIGHT THEM! HOW WILL WE FIGHT THEM IF THEY INVADE WITH UNDEAD MONSTERS AND CYBORGS UNPHASED BY LIGHTSABERS?! WHERE IS ARISA?! SHE FAILED ME!" Yuroic was screaming by the end. His pain was so deep, he didn't care that people were staring. He was crawling to Valae. His legs still too sore to walk on. His right arm's stump on show so that everyone could see what he suffered on Mirial.

[member="Jairdain"] | [member="Valae Kitra"]

 

[Kaiza Pawaro]

Jedi never gave into despair – but what was she to do when she lost her master, her family, her homeworld, all at once? And so Kaiza cried and cried, unable to stop.

Naturally, she had attempted to stay on Mirial, even as the order to retreat rang through her helmet. Rejecting it and leaving the Jedi would have been the easiest thing in the universe, no dilemma at all. She was ready to join the resistance and help them in surviving the cruel tyranny and fighting back, anything to be a thorn in the regime’s side. Kaiza was no stranger to Mirial’s wilderness and mountains – she would have succeeded, especially with that righteous fire burning in her heart. Mirial deserved freedom – after years of silence and fear, its children deserved to live without the executioner’s axe poised above their heads. Despite joining the Silver Jedi Order three years ago, there was no doubt Kaiza still placed the needs of her people and biological family above those of the Jedi Order – when those she held dear were threatened, the Jedi Code was a small price to pay.

And yet here she was, loaded in a transport and headed back to Voss like so many others. Not a voluntary decision on Kaiza’s part. Feeling her master perish in a nuclear armageddon unleashed by the desperate Sith forces, the shock proved too much to allow her to continue fighting. Her memory of that moment was hazy – Kaiza remembered someone dragging her away, already completely emotionally burned out and panicking. Attachments truly were dangerous and she learned the hard way. Now, sitting in the transport, curled in a ball, the infinite weight of it all finally crushed the last remains of the girl’s composure and left an emotional wreck.

She had failed everyone. Arisa Yune was dead, Mirial a wasteland due to the Sith policy of scorched earth, and her parents? It hurt too much to think.

Hot tears continued to roll down her tattooed cheeks, making this pretty sound when they hit the phrik plates of her armour. The armoured suit would eventually have to be removed, but right now, the Padawan did not want to do anything at all, lacking will to show even the tiniest bit of initiative. Even leaving the transport and joining her fellow Jedi in helping the wounded presented an unsolvable problem. She no longer cared; her entire world’s been shattered, and thus she eventually cried herself to sleep, briefly escaping the harsh reality that was far worse than her worst nightmares.

 

[Jessica Med-Beq]

"Keep this bacta patch on for the next three days" Jessica told the patient after the role of Force-healing in curing the blaster burn was over.

She knew well enough that using Force-healing is not the end of the story when using the Force to cure battle injuries, but not only did the Temple on Voss house injured from the attack on Mirial, they also housed the wounded from Tartarus that couldn't be treated on Eredenn Prime. Of course, when she heard [member="Yuroic Xeraic"] scream about undead, monsters, cyborgs unfazed by lightsabers, all that she could do was to send a telepathic message to him: You were just unlucky. Zombies are no big deal, and these cyborgs unfazed by lightsabers represent the elite of the elite and hence cannot be everywhere at once, she thought, while making sure that Yuroic and [member="Jairdain"] could both receive that telepathic message. Another of the patients recognized her, by virtue of having fought in the Rift campaign, and she told not only him, but another group of patients, the harsh, uncomfortable truth about her lack of involvement on Mirial, and how her choices might have impacted the outcome:

"I let you down: I made the wrong choice. You could always say, I couldn't be everywhere at once, I should have let someone else lead the siege of the Machine on Tartarus... To the extent I believed the main weaknesses of the Sith to be C2, or space combat doctrine, to the extent I trusted Arisa to take the point on Mirial, she let us down, too..." Jessica announced in front of the patients, crying.

"General, it appears that Arisa is... dead" the Rift veteran informed her.

"Dead? Did she die fighting one of those cyborgs unfazed by lightsabers, a zombified one even? Most troubling if such was the case: last I heard about how the Sith Empire treated Force-using cyborgs, that's about special forces. Said cyborgs are the elite of the elite and cannot be everywhere at once"

"Because we gave hell to the garrisons and whatever reinforcements they came in tow, while we took heavy losses, their losses are heavy, too. Our defeat was Pyrrhic"

What she knew about Sith doctrines was most troubling: scorched-earth, sparse vehicles, infantry-wave attacks, and not engaging enemy fleets without having at least one of the firepower or squadron advantages, and often Sith commanders are reluctant to fight without having both. Then just how much 1) meterage and 2) squadrons did each side have? Kushibah, Ord Radama showed how weak their naval C2 is, how lacking competent command-level personnel was a liability. From what I could tell, from the AARs, four of the seven known Sith battlecruisers were deployed, with nearly 50 km between them, and over 90 squadrons. Outnumbered nearly 3 to 1, that was the sign of just how much firepower they needed to chase away 18 km, she thought, while realizing that one battlegroup is often understood to be in the 10-15 km range.