Baby Its Cold Outside (The Imperium Assault on Hoth)

[Joran Greth]

Grand Moff Greth stood at the podium looking out at the group of commanders gathered before him. The Imperium was young but hungry. It had seen the rise and fall of a dozen failed attempts at power. The group of assembled men and women were gathered in the massive planning room aboard the Evakmar-Mk III Assault Ship Repulse, going over final preparations before they arrived in system and began the assault. Joren looked out at the Imperials awaiting his final orders and deployment assignments. Beside Him Supreme Commander Decimus Meridius stood stern and silent as he was most of the time waiting for Joren to proceed. To his right Director Corsai did the same. The three had planned the raid and now was time to deliver their commands to the finest Imperial officers in the galaxy.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, It is the Triumvirate pleasure to have you all here with us to begin out maiden campaign against the pirate and rebel forces in the region. Our first objective is to secure the ancient battlecruiser reactor buried beneath the base on Hoth. We cannot allow unfriendly forces hold such a powerful power supply. In the wrong hands this could be used to kill many loyal Imperial Citizens. We cannot allow out people to fear for their safety in such a way. Our obligation to their security and well being it paramount and we can not waiver in the face of any obstacles which may hinder our making them feel safe and secure. Because of this fact we must secure this power source and eliminate any and all opposition on Hoth."

Greth paused then an image popped up on the holographic display in the center of the room.

"Objective 1 is to secure the underground hanger from enemy forces. We will be utilizing drop pods and dropping a small force of commandos and Storm Troopers in at the mouth of the hanger behind the enemy's main lines. Light walkers will be dropped in support of this force to aid in its capture. After dropping force 1 the Repulse will land at the edge of the Ice Basin and deploy forces to engage and destroy the Enemy force gathered there."

"Objective 2 is to destroy all enemy forces guarding the Ice Basin entrance to the base. Force two under the command of Supreme Commander Meridius as well as others here will land and move to secure the ice basin. We will be deploying heavy and light walkers with artillery support to assist the Supreme Commanders forces. We are not here to take prisoners, so give no quarter. A one hundred percent cleansing of the area will be necessary. We cannot have anyone getting off this block of ice and telling anyone what happened here. Because of this Grand Admiral Deschart will be arriving with us aboard his destroyer with an Interdictor cruiser as well to keep these vermin from escaping. His force will deal with any orbital forces may be present then move to assist us as needed from orbit."

Greth paused long enough or the hologram to change. He looked out at the Imperial men and women who had followed the three founders of the Imperium . They had trusted them to lead the Imperium to greatness and to secure peace for them and their families through order. They were now there looking upon the three Triunmvir with a fire in their eyes only Imperial pride could ignite. A fire that will spread over the criminals and lowlifes on Hoth and then over the whole of the galaxy. A fire that will cleanse the chaos and filth and restore the galaxy to its proper leadership.

"After Securing the Hanger Force one will proceed into the mountain and deep into the planet to where the Hyper Matter Reactor has been installed. Objective three is to find and secure this reactor so our Engineers can retrieve it and we can keep it out of the hands of our enemies. The Walkers and a small force will remain in the hanger to secure it from counter attack while the bulk of out commando forces infiltrate and finish the mission. are there any Questions?" Greth paused and waited for anyone to reply.

 

[Veris Tagge]

Veris Tagge Sat listening to the Grand Moff run down the objectives. He knew his role already. He would be supporting Supreme Commander Meridius at the basin with his heavy armor. He and his men would grind the rabble to bone and dust under their massive pounding feet. The Objective was clear and so was the mission. No one escapes, that was easy enough. The Moff stopped and ask for question, Veris had none, he know what was expected of him and what he was to do. He looked around at the room and waited for anyone to ask a question.

 

[Gaisa Theron]

Vinca listened to the overview, her helmet tucked under her arm, her hair swept back and secured out of her face so that she would not be impeded by the addition of the heated helmet that was a standard part of cold gear. Vinca hated the snow. She hated the cold. Maybe it was growing up on Empress Teta. Teta was warm and humid most of the time. Paradise for her, actually. She could find a bar, a good sandwich and a killer pair of boots all within a short walk of her apartment. It was better than Coruscant in her opinion as there was no silly politicians walking around and screwing everything up.

Just commerce and culture.

Beautiful.

She looked around but no one seemed to have an questions yet. She was sure that once they had reached the transport, they would be given more detailed instructions and then it would be time to go. Lord help the rebels, with her and the boys on the way, they were going to need it.

 

[Figure In White]

Mason, as the Imperium's new Grand Admiral, sat near the front of the room where he could have a clear and unobstructed view of the details. Needless to say, he was happy to have been welcomed into this group of Imperial holdouts. He felt much better not being under the control of the Republic, all things considered. He didn't despise the people who had formerly worked for him. They had done what they felt they must. It was a tactical move and they survived because of it. He just couldn't bring himself to work for the Republic.

The operation at Roche had left a very sour taste in his mouth and he wanted nothing more of it. So when he'd been contacted by an Imperium Operative, he'd accepted their offer. The Revenant was sent back to the unknown regions for retrofit based on what he'd learned at Roche, and now he sat in command of smaller forces, which he was alright with. The best part of it all? Only a few people could tell him how to be an Imperial, and that was as it should be.

The Hoth mission sounded simple enough, and he was prepared for it. He had no questions, so said nothing.

 

[Gulliver Foyle]

Gulliver sat back in his chair, legs crossed. The old soldier was hardly the picture of discipline and dignity that one would expect from a general, but then again, he hadn't asked to be one. The upstart Imperium was hard up for competent commanders and had discretely headhunted him, along with a few other of his old merc frenemies. To his knowledge, he was the only one to sign on. The pay had been right, and when they saw his resume, they had been eager to put him in charge of an entire army.

It was a little odd, working with Imperials. Though the Empire might change, the folks who chose to serve it never did. They tended to be uptight, respectable sorts. The old soldier was completely at odds with the rest of the brass, in his snow-patterned fatigues and body armor. He had forgone the usual plastoid in favor of ceramic strike plates. They were heavier, but they covered more, and were harder to burn through. They weren't quite as good against physical projectiles, but they'd stop a heavy rifle round, and that's all he really needed. His uniform was bereft of the usual badges and awards that most high ranking officers favored. That in and of itself was a statement. On his collars were pinned the subdued General's stars that denoted his position, and that was the extent of it.

The message was clear: he had earned the rank. Everyone was free to make up their own minds about his skills. He didn't need ribbons or badges to impress.

A slugthrower rifle hung by his right side from a single point sling, his right hand resting lightly on the butt stock. In his left hand was a polystyrene cup with a paper towel stuffed into the bottom. Every so often, he'd deposit a measure of brown saliva into it, a result of the wad of tobacco that puffed out his lower lip. Chewing tobacco was a common enough vice among soldiers who spent a great deal of time in the field. It calmed the nerves, and unlike cigarettes, wouldn't throw off light that would expose a position.

Gulliver listened intently to the briefing. He was in charge of the forces at Objective One, largely because of his experience with the drop pods. It seemed a bit overkill to send a general in on a mission like this, but the Imperium was eager to see its officers blooded, that way they could get an accurate read of their capabilities, rather than going off the puffed up frippery that made up the bulk of most Officer Evaluation Reports. The old soldier didn't mind. He would rather be in the field, freezing his ass off with the joes, than sitting behind a desk.

 

[Not Ordo]

The Supreme Commander stood silent and calm as was fitting his station. His hard eyes like polished stones scanned the faces and met every eye in turn. He had promised these people glory, order and peace and that was exactly what he intended to deliver. The Empire would be restored in the imperium and together the triumvirate would give people the order they desired.

His black gloves hung folded and tucked into his belt as he clasped his hands behind his back. His finely pressed grey uniform a picture of military bearing and pride, as were the tank bars over his left breast pocket. His salt and pepper hair was combed back and to the side slightly in an old fashioned way leaving him looking like a picturesque commander. He nodded slightly as objective two was described and he was declared as leading the team himself. He could of course delegate the mission elsewhere but that was not his way. He was a soldier long before he was a commander, he had worn the plastered whites in his youth, he had been a tank gunner and he remembered it clearly.

A small quirk of the corner of his mouth was the only sign of the pride he had in these men and women. They had banded together with confidence to see this dream become a reality and here on the brink of destiny they were ready.

He stepped forward slightly and learned close to Grand Moffs [member="Joran Greth"].

"Have the mobile command center dropped with my team." He whispered in his cool high galactic accent, "ETA 2 hours."

He stepped back and resumed his position of attention and began meeting eyes again this time with a small fatherly expression. Yes, these were the heart of the Imperium and this heart was strong.

[member="Gulliver Foyle"] [member="Mason Deschart"] [member="Vinca Jaffe"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

Virtually everyone was sitting. Vastor sat also. It seemed like the done thing.

It had been a good while since he'd run into an Imperial successor group that had a prayer. A group that wasn't someone's vanity project, like that fleet he'd flipped off near Aeten. Julius something? Self-styled Grand Admiral making transparent traps -- unimpressive. And sad to say, he was one of the more memorable ones. No, the age of petty empires had started when Viera Kisep rammed her Eclipse command ship into the Kuat shipyards during the Omni crisis, and that age had never really let up. The Atrisians had come closer than most, but their operational culture hadn't meshed well with a majority of those who nursed Imperial ideals and ambitions. As a result, Vastor had never bothered to sign on. The Fringe assault on Atrisia, and the Republic assault on O'reen, and the Jar'kai hypermatter bombing, had wound up validating his choice. But this place? This was a horse of a different colour.

 

[Jeron Verity]

A new hologram stuttered into view to the three leaders, [member="Decimus Meridius"] [member="Mason Deschart"] and [member="Joran Greth"] , and those who were present to see holograms would see it shutter in as well. "Supreme Commander, Grand Moff, Grand Admiral." Galven stated in his best uniform, giving the authentic Imperial salute. Their newest Moff to gain a seat in the Imperium's commanding council. "I know I'm just a Governor, sir, " he said, staring at the Supreme Commander, "But you know I can command, and you know I offer my services to this campaign. I am enroute just a little behind you. Just remember, you always have an extra fleet to support you no matter what. I'll cover everyones advance and take out anyone that tries to escape or is hiding around the planets orbit and asteroids."

He nodded to the leaders, his Gladiator-class and Vigil support vessels only a couple minutes behind the main fleet.

 

[Figure In White]

Once the meeting was concluded, and with the decision of whether Galven would be allowed to command ships in the hands of the Supreme Commander, Mason took his leave. The Evackmar was a good ship, but it was not a command ready vessel, and as such he was not willing to lead from it. They didn't have much in the way of command ships, and so he was relegated, once again, to the use of a Victory Mark II destroyer named Arbiter. It would do for now, but he was sorely missing The Revenant at this point.

The shuttle landed and he disembarked before heading to the bridge. The ships were all situated at a deep space staging point only a short jump away from Hoth itself. This was strategic. It allowed them to plan a course of action and then quickly enact it while keeping these rebel vermin from knowing that the attack was coming. Even long range picket ships, which these rebels did not have, would be hard pressed to find them.

At the bridge, he settled into his seat. Now was where he would really miss his ship and his crew. This crew was green, and had no experience working with him, which meant that he could not employ his usual tactics for command. He would have to resort to verbal commands, which could often be misinterpreted, and that was why he didn't like them. Though they worked fine for standard maneuvering, in a tight space, verbal commands were next to useless.

"All ahead full. All ships prepare for hyperspace."

"Aye, sir."

When everyone was ready, and all ships were moving, he gave the command and they made the jump. It only took a few minutes for them to reach their destination. As they reverted to real space, warning klaxons sounded and a few of the greener officers started to panic, yelling at each other. Mason didn't panic.

"Shields up, weapons charged. Launch all fighters. Have Captain Vastor maneuver the Interdictor aft and to our starboard so we can shield it. Move The Aratoss," a Kantos-class, "to our port to provide covering fire."

"Enemy ships bearing 0250. A bulwark and a couple of corvettes."

A bulwark. This could get interesting.

"All ahead full. Let's show them we mean business."

[member="Galven Solomon"] | [member="Adalric Vastor"] | [member="Decimus Meridius"] | [member="Gulliver Foyle"] | [member="Vinca Jaffe"] | [member="Veris Tagge"] | [member="Joran Greth"]

 

[Joran Greth]

[member="Mason Deschart"] [member="Galven Solomon"] [member="Adalric Vastor"] [member="Decimus Meridius"] [member="Gulliver Foyle"] [member="Vinca Jaffe"]

Greth stood next to Captain Meaith as the IAV Repulse burst into real space. The ships came out as close as they could to the world and the awaiting group of ships. IN the distance an ancient Bulwark Mk I-class battleship sat quietly and still not expecting this was the day it would be called into service to protect its pirate and rebel masters. The ship was formidable but Greth was positive the Grand Admiral was more then up to the task. He watched as the surprised beast shook to life and slowly began to turn to engage. A smile cracked the corner of his mouth. He loved the battle. His time in the military had been the best of his life. He longed to reach out with his weapons and face the beast in combat, but that was not his job here. He was not an Admiral now, At least not today, he was the Grand Moff which gave him the powers to command where, what, and how he wanted but today he had chose to command the assault force while the Supreme Commander lead the assault itself. His job was to land and support the troops and see they survived and got off the world safely. It was a job he would preform without flaw. This would be a glorious day for the Imperium. A rally cry for its members that will echo through out the galaxy until it was all brought to heal and the peaceful order of Imperial rule.

"Captain, Inform the Grand Admiral we will be moving into the planets atmospheres."

The captain nodded and walked to the communications station. Greth looked out at the battleship now bearing down on them in the distance. He knew if the ship got a bearing on them they would have to pause the assault and defend itself. This was not acceptable and Greth would not allow it.

"Helm, All ahead, flanking speed."

The ship jolted as the four massive engines of the Repulse blasted the ship off away from the Imperial fleet towards Hoth. The Evakmar was built to take massive amounts of punishment and speed into a planets atmosphere like a meteor hell bent on destruction. The course had been planned and the navigation commander knew his job. The ship shook as turblaser bolts struck out at it from the battleship. Its Advanced shielding absorbed the energy easily and the IAV Repulse continued to pick up speed nearing the ice ball that was Hoth. Fighters had now been launched from the world below as well as the ships in orbit. They smaller craft sped by the Repuls laying down laser fire and missile volley. The shields held back the torrent of fire from the fighters as the IAV Repulse neared the edge of Hoth's atmosphere. The ship slammed into the atmosphere like an asteroid meant to end the world. Immediately fire engulfed the ship shields darkening the light sensitive coating of the transperasteel view port. Seconds later the ship burst through the upper atmosphere and began to slow.

"Firing reentry thrusters!" shouted a man from the helm station. The ship shook as the retro thrusters ignited to life fighting the mass and inertia of the massive assault ship. The familiar sound of the massive repulsors came to life as they joined the thrusters in slowing the ships decent into the planets lower atmosphere. The fire surrounding the shields had abated and now the milky white landscape of Hoth was all that could be seen through he view port. The ship slowed gradually and the navigation's officer began to level out the ship now moving into position to begin the assault.

"Nearing zone one, altitude twenty thousand meters." sounded off the Helm officer as the ship had slowed to assault speeds and was not moving into position for the first part of the assault. Greth turned to eye the drop commander and nodded. The officer returned the nod and went to work.

"Prepare for drop in one minute!" shouted the drop commander. The ship continued to slow as the landscape flattened out and the massive hanger came into view. The IAV Repulse moved into position and as the drop clocked counted down to zero is stopped above the Hanger and the base below.

"Drop mission is a go!" said the Drop commander as the clock hit 0. The Evakmar assault ship shook as the massive troop and walked drop pods exploded and sped down towards the planet below.

 

[Gulliver Foyle]

Some people thought the worst part of a drop was the landing.

Gulliver disagreed.

Sure, the landings were rough. They couldn't put too much in the way of fancy intertial dampers on the pods, or anything else, really. The thermal bloom they gave off as they entered atmosphere already made them pretty spectacular targets, and the designers had been pretty keen to make sure they enemy had as few reasons to shoot at the pods as possible. So the landings tended to be violent affairs, and many a trooper had broken bones on impact. Gulliver remembered a particularly bad landing that had shattered his femur so hard it had gone through not only the skin of his thigh, but the armored plate that was supposed to protect it.

On the whole though, if you felt the landing, it was a sign that everything had gone right, more or less. If the retrorockets failed, you'd wouldn't even be aware of the impact that killed you. There was nothing the pods' occupants could do if something went wrong anyway, so the designers hadn't even bothered putting in alarms for that sort of thing. They figured it was best the troopers inside weren't aware of their impending doom.

No, the worst part of the drop for Gulliver was that initial disorientation that followed ejection from the ship, as gravity became microgravity. All of the sudden, up and down became meaningless, and his stomach always rebelled against the disorientation. If there was one unofficial rule followed on drop pods of nearly every nation, it was that no one wore a helmet until they hit atmo. The rookies were always eager to stick to the regulations, which almost always stated that the helmets were to stay on, and the more experienced troopers took great pleasure in removing them forcibly.

There were drugs, of course, that could help with the vertigo, but Gulliver never bothered. They might stop you from throwing up on the way down, but they tended to dull reflexes, which was a great way to get killed.

So as per usual, he hurled neatly into a bag, washed his mouth out with a swig of water (he would have preferred whiskey, but that wasn't appropriate for a General), and put a fresh dip in as they dropped towards the planet below.

The temperature inside the pod rose noticeably as the ablative coating struggled to bleed off as much of the heat from reentry as possible, but that was nothing new. After the initial bucking and the heat spike, the ride leveled out enough that he was able to catch a couple of minutes' worth of sleep before the all consuming noise of the rockets firing and the harsh impact of the pod striking the LZ woke him.

The old merc emerged from his pod to find the rest of the unit had already begun to disentangle themselves from the equipment. They were eager to unass the area before the walkers landed. The poor sods who had to ride in those things were always in a foul mood when they landed, and while they had more control over their descent than regular troopers, they weren't all that eager to dodge infantry and risk fouling up their own landings. The walkers were both heavy and expensive, which meant they had the right of way. No one would shed a tear over the idiot that wound up pasted beneath one of the gargantuan pods.

::Alright kiddies, form a perimeter around the LZ while we wait for the walkers. Go ahead and sound off by squad once you're up.::

The usual chorus of affirmatives squared off as officers and NCOs formed their men up in their designated areas. Now all they had to do was wait for the armor to land, and they'd be good to Charlie Mike towards the objective.


[member="Galven Solomon"] | [member="Adalric Vastor"] | [member="Decimus Meridius"] | [member="TK-781"] | [member="Vinca Jaffe"] | [member="Veris Tagge"] | [member="Joran Greth"]

 

[Veris Tagge]

The new drop pods for the AT-SE was a massive vehicle. It housed the giant walker in a prone squatted position and had its draw backs. On being the walkers shock absorbing legs were not in a position to absorb anything. The shock of the pod slamming into the surface of Hoth was both unpleasant and painful. On of his pilots let out a yelp of pain then recovered as Varis eyed him disapprovingly. The shell of the pod exploded outward opening up the Walker to the blinding white light that was reflecting off the snow of Hoth. In the distance the hanger stood longing for the punishment the three AT-SE were about to unleash upon it. Around him the smaller AT-ST walkers stood from their prone positions and began to exit their drop pods. Veris fired up the servos of the AT-SE and increased the hydraulic pressure into the pistons. The whirl of the gyros spinning up let Tagge know he could stand the walker up to its full thirty meter height. The walker popped and creaked loudly as its legs struggled to unfold and push the mass of the walker up. The giant bipeddal form of the AT-SE stood from its crouching position and stepped off the giant pad of the drop pod into the snow covers landscape that was Hoth.

Varis saw the red and green bolts of energy lance out at the Imperium forces now moving into position to assault the Hanger. The bolts struck the thick armor of the siege walker with no effect. The beast had thick skin and nothing short of a turbolaser would even scorch it. Tagge opened up the channel shared by the three siege walkers.

"Ok, lets move up to that hill to the left and hit the hanger with three volleys from the particle cannons then support the troops with blasters as they move in."

The feet of the walkers pounded the ground sending concussion waves out which sounded like thunder as they moved into position. The three giant war beasts made their way the hill top and braced there girth in preparation to fire the massive particle beam atop their hulls. Tagge grabbed the targeting scope and drug it in front of his face. HE looked through the scope and bracketed some small freighter which was sitting in the hanger.

"Target locked, Fire on my mark."

Tagge let a smile sneak onto his face as he imagined what it would be like on the other end of the particle cannons. He knew it would not matter much as the massive cannons would end anything remotely close to what ever it was targeting.

"FIre!"

Veris gave the order and the giant dorsal cannons built up a charge of energy as particles accelerated and began to collapse inside the plasma field. The with a jolt which shook the massive walker the cannons fired their contained particle bolt. across short flat area which lay in front of the hanger snow rippled and flew up into the air as the bolts struck out at their targets inside the hanger. A flash of plasma and fire erupted inside the hanger as the three bolts found their targets. The freighter Veris had targeted exploded into a torrent of fire that spread out over the hanger like a tidal wave. He targeted what looked like a fighter and sent out the second bolt of particles further engulfing the occupants of the hanger in plasma and fire. His third shot was simple sent into the middle of the now burning hanger. It found something and it exploded into a brilliant white and blue corona of energy then was gone. The nine particle bolts had laid waste to most of the vehicles in the hanger leaving only a few still operational. He was sure the death toll in the hanger was unimaginable as fire spread along the outside edged of the hanger burning fuel and flesh. Tagge opened a channel to the infantry commanders.

"Inform your people they are clear to advance."

[member="Gulliver Foyle"] [member="Galven Solomon"] [member="Adalric Vastor"] [member="Decimus Meridius"] [member="TK-781"] [member="Vinca Jaffe"]

 

[Not Ordo]

[member="Galven Solomon"] [member="Adalric Vastor"] [member="Gulliver Foyle"] [member="Mason Deschart"] [member="Vinca Jaffe"] [member="Veris Tagge"] [member="Joran Greth"]

"All hands prepare for deployment." the ship captain said as they began loading drop ships and pods for the artillery, mechanized infantry, and heavy Calvary. Men rushed by as the Supreme commander surprised his troops by walking to the command unit and climbing up the cargo ramp with the command team. Most government leaders, even military ones, usually stayed away from the shooting, but that was not his way.

He sat in the command seat and waited for the Repulse to do as he had instructed and deploy them half a kilometer back from the initial planning point and draw the rebels into a narrower point of the ice canyons near the base.

His stomach lurched as they broke the containment field and descended toward the planet below in a swarm of military precision and beautiful Imperium grey.

"Clear the landing." he said into his command chair's comlink. With that crews of TIE bombers speed forward with TIE escorts to soften the target of any anti-air emplacements.

The TIEs must have done well because with very little turbulence the landed in the drop zone and began forming a perimeter. That was the benefit of good training, it made a commanders job simple.

"General, form the men into squads with armor companies and move out." he said beginning his plan. "Prepare artillery and get us eyes on their base. Have a Calvary and mechanized infantry platoons fan out. We'll draw them in a pincer them."

And so it began.

 

[Jeron Verity]

[member="Decimus Meridius"] [member="Adalric Vastor"] [member="Gulliver Foyle"] [member="Mason Deschart"] [member="Vinca Jaffe"] [member="Veris Tagge"] [member="Joran Greth"]


"Escorts stay in position by me. All fighters prepped and ready?" He asked, a test of his soldiers, as it was announced they were moving into a combat zone and all troops and pilots needed to be ready by the time Galven would need them.

"All soldiers are ready for your command, Moff Galven."

Galven smiled as his tactical mind started to kick in, this was the most favorite thing he loved to do, even more than intercourse. "Approach the planet. Launch all shuttles and troops, send them down to the planet to secure safe zones and territory, if the Supreme Commander gives other orders, follow them! I need my fighters out of the hangars now, 12 to stay up here, support the Grand Admirals ship if enemy fighters get to close, the rest head down to the planet and serve support for infantry, take orders from any troopers requesting it. Just a little added extra support, this way no one has to stretch any."

Galven took a breath for a moment, "Send a message to the Supreme Commander... not an urgent message, this way he can get to it when he has the free time. Ask him if he has any specific orders for me. Otherwise I'll continue my plan of support."

 

[Figure In White]

The pod was a new one for him. He'd done a lot of things in his time, mostly in training, but this was new. Normally they'd be dropped in landing craft, AT-Whatever's dropped alongside them, and they'd go from there. Downside to that was that the landing craft were subsequently vulnerable to enemy fire, and a lot of them blew up. Relying on them was a hassle when you could just press a button and drop twenty or so troops to the surface in a single vessel without worrying about your pilots or the expensive ship you could lose.

The falling was quite the shocker to the system, but he found it thrilling. Almost as thrilling as having blaster fire whiz past your head. Almost. He'd rather have that any day, though. It was a lot of fun to wonder if you were going to live or die. At least it used to be when he was a regular Stormtrooper, taking orders from some a-hole who didn't know how to do his job. Those were the days.

When the pod landed with a thud, TK-781 was one of the first out of his seat, weapon at the ready. The A280C was a beautiful gun, and on missions like this one he preferred it. Capable of both close quarters and ranged, it made a fine choice in taking down rebels. The E-11 was a good weapon, but he really only carried it when he was on parade detail or was assigned to guard someone. He hoped to have less of those jobs now that he was part of the Imperium Marines.

The burgundy and gray clad trooper raced off with his platoon of men, they all moved into position at the forward perimeter as directed.

"Form up! Eyes front. 942 take right flank and 938 take left flank. Eyes forward, call out any targets that come across your scopes."

Once everyone was positioned, he initiated contact with the general. They were the only Marine group on this mission, and they'd show the Trooper pukes what it meant to be a Marine.

"Shatter in position, General."

[member="Gulliver Foyle"] | [member="Veris Tagge"] | [member="Decimus Meridius"] | [member="Galven Solomon"] | [member="Vinca Jaffe"]

 

[TK-2387]

[member="TK-781"]

In the same craft as TK-781 was a lone, black clad female soldier. She carried three blasters, one in her hands, one on her lower back, and a third on her leg. They were the T-21, E-11, and DH-17, respectively, and the armor was that of a Shadow Trooper. The woman, still a Private, thanks to her attitude towards incompetent superior officers in the past. Her designation was ST-2387, her name, Kara. But, she kept her true identity to herself, preferring her callsign, Patriot. When the pod crashes down, she is the second person out, T-21 charged and held at the hip as she sweeps the area of enemy contacts.

Situation: Normal warzone. Area... presumably clear of hostiles, nothing on thermals. Gotta find my commanding officer... TK-781. Forgot his rank.

Turning her covered head towards the troopers organizing themselves, she calls over to them in a distinctly feminine tone mixed with a unique accent, backpedaling to the commanding officer of this unit while she speaks with him.

"Orders, sir?"

 

[Gulliver Foyle]

Even from their relatively shielded position, Gulliver could feel the heat off the explosions as the walkers lit up the hangar. That made it a little less cold, if only for a few moments. It didn't take long for the bitter cold to leech away the heat though. Place like Hoth, nothing stayed hot for long. It wouldn't be long before the survivors of the initial barrage got their bearings and started fighting back. And as nice as it would be to sit their and dump fire from the walkers in there all day, they were supposed to take the place relatively intact.

The soldiers by now knew their jobs. The old merc didn't have to micromanage. Each squad had their preassigned routes, sectors of fire, so on and so forth, and they had run the mission so many times in the simulators that it was probably quite boring for some of the more experienced hands. They bounded towards the hangar, each squad moving under the cover of a barrage of fire from their neighbors. Up close it was chaotic and unpredictable, making it difficult for the enemy to draw a bead on them. From the bird's eye view afforded by the probe droid that hovered above the battle, it was like watching an old mechanical chronograph. Every motion had a purpose, regardless of how random it seemed.

Eventually the enemy did get enough warm bodies back in the hangar to start mounting a defense. It wasn't very effective, all things considered, but according to the overhead, it looked like one team was trying to get an E-web into position. It wouldn't have worked, but the fire team that was covering that sector had just taken a couple of casualties and hadn't quite recovered its momentum yet.

Gulliver sighed and raise his rifle. Unlike the troopers, most of whom were issued some variety of blaster, he carried an old bolt action slugthrower. One of the perks of being a general was no on could really tell him no when he decided to bring something out of his collection to the fight. In this case, the .303 caliber bolt action rifle had an effective range of over a kilometer, and whereas a more complicated weapon might have frozen solid, the simple and reliable action didn't give a damn how cold it was.

Through the massive scope, it was clear that the gun crew was only moments away from getting set up. A single E-web might not look like much on paper, but the idiots who thought the pen was mightier than the sword had clearly never met a crew served weapon. It would cut through the ranks like a red hot iron until someone brought it down, potentially arresting the momentum of the charge.

"We can't have that now, can we?"

The first enemy's helmeted head filled Gulliver's scope. He settled the crosshair over his eyepiece and squeezed the trigger.

The loud BOOM as the rifle sounded off caused a couple other members of the command team to jump, but Gulliver paid them no mind. He worked the bolt, sending an empty brass casing flipping end over end through the air. It landed in a snow bank driven up by one of the walkers and threw up a small puff of steam.

The general reacquired the E-web, and noted with satisfaction that the first target was down. The others were in the business of trying to drag him off the weapon. One of the fellows had turned profile to Gulliver, presenting his right side and a plethora of soft spots the armor didn't cover. The trooper took a bullet to the neck for his trouble.

The whole process took less than five seconds.

By this point, the battle controller had readjusted the adjacent fireteams to cover the gap missed left open by the team who had taken casualties, while ordering the team itself to gather its wounded and fall back. In some armies, they might have moved forward regardless of the wounded, but that was foolishness in Gulliver's eyes. If the mission allowed, letting the men care for their wounded was excellent for morale. It let them know that their superiors cared for more than just the mission. Many an Empire had tried to make its soldiers machines, blank faces and numbers with no identity. And then they wondered why they lost battle after battle against a bunch of ragtag rebels. Machines were stupid. Machines charged blindly ahead, regardless of the situation. Machines would follow orders, but they would do it stupidly, without taking initiative when the opportunity presented itself.

Gulliver didn't want machines, he wanted soldiers, and dammit, that's what he had.

Well, mostly.

"Shatter in position, General."

Someone, it seemed, had the bright idea to stick him with some jarheads.

Professionally, the old merc had no problem with Marines. They were good troops, by and large, reliable to walk into hell and come out the other side with nothing but a tan to show for it. In this case, however, they simply hadn't drilled with the regular troops, and as such hadn't been included in the assault. However, he did have something special for them. What was their company commander's name again? Ah, yes, [member="TK-781]. Apparently someone around here still preferred numbers to names.

[COLOR=#00ff00]::That's a good copy. You've got two mikes to catch your breath, then you're oscar mike.::[/COLOR]

The plan for the Marines was fairly simple: let the regular troops secure the hangar and soak up the worst of the damage. Once they had it mostly under control, the jarheads, still fresh, would charge down below and try to secure the primary. Gulliver had just given them their two minute warning.

By now the hangar was mostly secured anyway, save for a few individual pockets of resistance. Close quarters firefights were always a popular attraction in any battle. Surviving them took luck and balls the size of banthas more than any real skill, and while quite a few boys wouldn't be coming back home tonight, plenty more would be showing off the fresh scars on their armor where some lucky bad guy had almost punched their ticket to the Netherworld.

Gulliver missed those days.



[COLOR=rgb(127,127,127)][member="Galven Solomon"] | [member="Adalric Vastor"] | [member="Decimus Meridius"] | [member="TK-781"] | [member="Vinca Jaffe"] | [member="Veris Tagge"] | [member="Joran Greth"][/COLOR]

 

[TK-2387]

Instead of waiting for the marine's commander to answer her, she raised a finger to the comm piece installed into her helmet, directly contacting [member="Gulliver Foyle"] while she continued forward without the marines. Even though the military protocols for the Imperium were the same as the old Galactic Empire, all unit-based, large scale warfare, she was best alone or with some support to cover her rear. That, and she wasn't exactly attached to the marines, she just happened to be in their pod.

"Patriot, reporting in. Orders, sir?"

Normally, she would have been doing her own thing, but this wasn't some minor operation that she could complete alone. She highly expected that she would have to move with the marines, whether she wished it or not. If she had a squad of Shadow Troopers with her, however, this large scale infiltration force would not have been necessary, and a lot of time would have been saved. But, she was only a Sergeant, and didn't have authority like that. With a shrug, she slings the T-21 over her shoulder onto a magnetic plate on her back, sliding the E-11 off the back of her waist and priming it up.

Close quarters. Likely to be traps at different doors.

Moving to a closed door, she run her hand along the four edges where the door met with the wall for any booby traps. Seeing and feeling none, she listens closely to the door, hearing a few muffled voices in it. Turning about and waving over to [member="TK-781"], she aims her rifle at the door as she waits for someone to bring some breaching charges.

(( Post 1 of 10 for development of Kara's acquisition of her stealth field. ))

 

[Ryan]

A squadron of Imperial Drop Ships could be seen in the horizon. They flew over white battlefield of carnage and destruction, their landing zone already painted on their scanners close to the hangar and near the large drop pods. With in their holds was the stormtrooper company lead by Captain Hellsing. They were the second wave to this attack, bringing in fresh troopers, medical and other supplies to the front lines. As much as Hellsing would of loved to be in the vanguard of the original assault, he was a good soldier and a tactician. He knew the importance of reserve forces and what they meant to the tempo of battle.

His troopers knew the job at hand, they were to help secure the hangar and fend of any counter attack while a first platoon of the company will move in with the rest of the commandos to secure the reactor. More meat for the grinder, the life of a soldier. Hellsing would have it no other way. The morellian had spent most of his life in the military, this was all he knew.

The IDT shivered with turbulence and the combine efforts of the pilots from making the squat troop carries from being easy targets. Ron would look about, all his troops uniformed in the infamous white armor while he himself stood out like a sore thumb from the rest. He wore the new fancy reflective looking plates and a shoulder cape signifying his rank. Some said it made him more of a bolt magnet, but he cared not. The enemy can keep their sights train on him all they want, gave his lads better chance of survival.

Forward moment ceased and the IDTs thrusters engaged making a rapid decent to the ground but a smooth landing. The troop hatches on both sides would fling open, exposing them all to Hoth's harsh elements. Captain Hellsing was the first to exit out of the transport, the wind picking his shoulder cape up and stoically flapping the black cloth in his wake. He would calmly move towards the hangar, his troopers taking up separate wedge formations in their respective platoons and squads as they advanced forward.

Hellsing would comm General [member="Gulliver Foyle"] "General this Captain Hellsing! Tango company boots on the ground and moving in on the hangar! IDTs offloading supplies and are awaiting the wounded!"

 

[Not Ordo]

[member="Galven Solomon"] [member="Adalric Vastor"] [member="Gulliver Foyle"] [member="Mason Deschart"] [member="Vinca Jaffe"] [member="Veris Tagge"] [member="Joran Greth"]

"Tanks advance" he commanded from the small tactical display as he write need notes with a stylus on the touch screen.

"Sir they have a group of rebels on the canyon wall 2 klicks south by South West. They seem to be setting charges or a generator."

"Give me an artillery barage on their location. Send a team of patrol droids to check on them after direct hits are verified."

"Aye sir."

The man 's face offered little of the pleasure he had in an operation well executed but he was pleased with his men and women. These were the pride of the Empire and they were doing well.

"Form lines and send in a stormtrooper company. Advance on the base and cut it off. Tanks are weapons free but check your fire. Our men are in the base as well. "

"Yes Supreme Commander Meridius."