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B A S T A R D NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
BATTLE GROUP 'HYDRA' 173rd LEGION | FIFTH COMPANY | TAKA GROUP
CSILLA Armour | Rifle | Pistol | Sohei | Hammer | Grenades
Company Strength: 180/200
The blackness of space possessed a foreboding that was undeniable. Coupled with trekking through Chiss Space, a region renowned for difficult traversals. They hadn't gone so far last time, the Redoubt was a preliminary incursion that would be able to foretell the strength of the Ascendancy. But if the world outside the viewport was anything to go by, the Chiss had plenty of friends.
The potential issues it had for the future were not lost on him.
Provided he survived, he was sure there'd be plenty of time to ruminate.
The dropship rumbled as it maneuvered its way through the gathering wreckage in orbit. The Star Destroyer that had transported them arrived at the rear of the New Imperial forces. In similar fashion as the past, the forces of Nirauan did not spearhead naval engagements, and thus their resources were of higher importance. The likes of those that supported COMPNOR and Tavlar could die as willfully as they liked, though the latter left a slight bitterness in his mouth.
<<"Prepare for deployment.">> Grang said when he saw Silas step from the cockpit and descend into the troop compartment. With nothing but an upwards nod as acknowledgement, Silas pulled the gravity hammer from its place on the wall.
The countdown was short, and as the racing ship burst into one of many hangars, in its wake were numerous others that carried the Myrmidons of Taka Group. Skidding across the hangar bay floor until it came to a stop, the ramp flew open and the metal clad black ops unit stepped out.
<<"First through Three with me,">> he reminded. <<"The rest of you, you have your orders.">>
Cultist or armoured soldier, it made no difference to the Myrmidons as Silas carved a path through the Space Station. As if a herald of death, he made no hesitations on his journey, that is, until he reached the antechamber that'd lead to the observation deck. The obsidian of the troopers outside was not unlike their own, and Silas knew that this 'Brotherhood of the Maw' was no simple marauding force.
It was then that his instinctual suppression of his force sensitivity was released. The first of the First Legion was thrown into the nearest clump of their comrades as the miniaturized platoon leapt into the fray. Armed with gravity hammers, not unlike the one Silas carried, along with vibroswords. Supported with jetpacks, it didn't take long for the calm and silent hallway to transform into a mess of tibanna and burning flesh. And in the confusion, Silas led a cadre of his men into the doorway.
From left to right his gravity hammer swung. The guards on either side crumpled as their bodies shattered beneath the repulsor tech. <<"Take them,">> he said, without so much as a glance as they engaged with the Praetorians and Frumentarii that idled within the room. Towards the rear, by the viewports, Silas could see the two figures.
Location: Trenches/Local Landing Zone Interactions: TBD Allies: Chiss and Allies Enemies: Invaders
The sound of a particular weapon went off, and it wasn't an ordinary weapon. Another, distinctly different from the common weapons that blazed over head. Perhaps Ziroka wasn't keen on all the particular kinds of weapons that existed in the galaxy, but she could tell the difference between a soldiers standard-issue rifle, and a heavy weapons rifle. She peaked up, very gently as she looked around, only to realize two NIO machine gunners had stopped firing. Now their weapons fire was distinct. If you didn't have a rotary cannon firing anymore near you, you'd know. "Sniper! Keep down!," she yelled. Her squad continued to take her orders clearly, though they still had to try and keep enemy combatants away from the shuttles. If they got to the shuttles, that means they would have already breached the artillery line.
As she hunkered back down, she noticed a fight ensuing down beyond the couple trenches below her and her squad. It looked like a Jedi fighting a soldier of the Maw, and the Maw soldier was giving the Jedi a run for their money. The Jedi were here too? Ziroka had to wonder if they truly cared about Csilla, or merely just wanted them into the fold. "Goocutii," Ziroka chirped up over the comms, "check out the trenches below, tell me if there's a clear route down there or if they are infested!" The squadmate agreed, but as they stood up, still leaning against the trench, a stray laser bolt overhead caught him. Ziroka didn't realize it until another squadmate called over the comms, alerting that Goocutii was shot. She cursed in whispers and gritted teeth, before giving the command to another one of her squadmates. She couldn't keep losing soldiers, not like this... And where were her parents? Feth! Come on CIC, get them over here... Two men down.
Starlin noticed the doppelgangers. He noticed them disappear into runes as well. Amidst the confusion, he stopped breathing fire on the cocoon and looked around, ready to fight. His backside was hit by the spray of blue paint while the real Tegan laughed from inside the elevator.
“Teleporting, huh? I thought that was Laertia Io’s trick.” Tegan had actually phased through the floor, but Starlin didn’t know that. His own ability to phase had never really improved. He could do it if he had to, but it was very difficult, not to mention uncomfortable.
Her laughter grated on him. Annoyed, he raised his lightsaber in preparation to attack her—and froze.
Somewhere nearby, a whole lot of people had just been obliterated.
A gasp escaped him. Did the laser just fire? Was Csilla gone? Had they failed?
The pain of sensing so much death gave way to rage. Starlin’s Light sputtered out like a candle in the wind. He was furious, but he also knew that he would be no match for Tegan. Not compared to Syd, anyway. The kids needed saving. They might be all that was left of Csilla.
The gravity in the room shifted, making his limbs feel heavy. He staggered over to the door closest to the hangar Tegan had indicated. “Syd,” he gasped, fighting to get enough air into his lungs and leaning against the door for support. “I’ll take care… of the kids.”
Pulling out his shoto, he used both it and his saber to cut through the door. The gravity was now decreasing rapidly. Weightless, Starlin barely managed to finish cutting the hole in time, then pushed outward with the Force to remove the wedge of metal. Tegan’s chaos spell shoved him backwards instead, and he floated across the room, bumping into the opposite wall.
His anger gave him focus. He kicked off with singular intent, diving toward the door, and pushed it outward with his fists just in time for the next shift in gravity. He fell on top of the fallen debris, his armor protecting him from the molten edges, and stepped out of the room, headed for the refugee ship.
The doors screeched open into the blackened hall, following the ‘feeling’ the gnawing light that hummed faintly upon the sea of dread that lingered within the ‘Mercy’. His hand reached for his blade and slowly drew it from it’s sheath as the plasma filament edge screamed to life igniting in a crimson stream along the blade.
He had felt this presence before but he knew not where or what it meant. He only knew he did not enjoy the feeling, it felt blinding, poisonous even amidst the dark. His hand reached for his small light attached to his chest, igniting the flashlight to aid his vision.
“Jedi.”
Walking in the opposite direction as him appeared to be a man approaching the strange mechanized form of Jayda Vanator
, at first he was half-tempted to throw a fragmentation grenade to rid both there now until he realized quickly that it was an ally, a Jedi hunter.
Kryll’s free hand drew his holstered holdout blaster and took aim, his finger wrapped around the trigger as he tried to get a clean shot in the dark. Frankly though, he didn’t care if it hit his ally, such was the way of the Brotherhood at most times. If it meant killing a Jedi, so be it.
Pulling the trigger, he fired a volley in the direction of Aaran Tafo
, hoping to end the Jedi here and now before he could become a problem. The marauder lieutenant hissed out a battle cry as he rushed down the hall blindly firing with his hand tightly gripped around his blade in preparation for close combat.
Not knowing they were facing the Mongrel's forces at the time, an AFV had crested the rise too far for it's own good, unwittingly becoming prey to a PLX-1 missile launcher from a formerly concealed position. Erskine was given a short window to order a general halt for the Brigade's hill-covered ascent, to order the Fighting First to flank wide at the base of their concealing hill to cover the expected approach, and to track the expected shift in the launcher's next position; Barran realized he realistically only had time enough to make two of those orders, and that only one of those orders could be considered a safety-action. However, problems like these were very easily dissembled and solved by the likes of Barran on a regular combat basis, so the Brigadier-General's next course of action would be ascertained almost immediately, laying itself out like a set-piece in Lord Erskine's mind as he snatched up the comm-link receiver to make his two finalized decisions.
'All vehicles! This is Barran! Stay below the horizon, we have suspected mobile missile-launchers on the ridge's southwestern face! Cataphracts and Scout-AFVs flank on flat ground, both flanks - and keep your smoothbores aimed for the top of the ridge! We can only make slight visual, but there's some seriously wild chit goin' on up there. Hartanians are making a skirmishing-escape around them, so check your fire when you engage! No code-blues today, or any other day for that matter.... Get your vehicles in place, your eagerness to fight is most certainly required this time around! Blue-Heart Alpha out!'
Like a shot, the entire formation stopped in the center, alighting from their vehicles near the top of the Blue-Hearts' rolling hillside's long, horizon-skirting summit as the Northern-Galidraani support-contingent sprung into action. Sliding the Sloane-door open, the Lord-Commander stepped out with Murdoch's rifle shouldered and hand-signalled for Deaney to grab the spare and follow him to the horizon, drinking from his hipflask and handing it to Murdoch before stepping out with right-eye firmly looking into the SA-35's scope. When the hilltop had been reached on foot, Barran and Deaney would kneel for steadier shots if the need were to arise, but mostly to keep an eye on the hostilities as they played out around them and in the distance alike; the Brigadier-General would spot the trail of smoke that came from the missile that destroyed the first Blue-Heart AFV in the battle so far, knowing the crew inside would be dead as he traced the smoke to it's origin-point.
'Launcher's definitely mobile, but it seems t'be the only one from what I can make out anyways.... Spotted anything unusual yet?'
Briefly glancing in Deaney's direction to check for hand-signals, the movement at head-level enticed the Lord-Commander to bring it from his left periphery to the central point of the view, seeing the Corporal's head shaking in answer. Seeing this, Barran instantly returned to joining Deaney's search for something to focus their fire on, something to time the right attack-formation against; eager as his subordinates this time, the Brigadier-General had been waiting what had felt like an age to get back into action again, so having the latest deployment so soon would not be taken for granted for his latest combat outing. Even though the risks were at their peak, seeing everything moving around him felt more right than anything else in that moment, and Lord Erskine was almost trembling at the prospect of engaging in it properly at the first chance that presented itself.
Barran's Ideal Battlefield IV
If it had not been for the onslaught of support fire on the ridgetop on one side, and the clear punch-throughs of blaster fire from the base of the ridge on the other side, less-educated eyes would believe the ridge to have been given up too easily. The Blue-Hearts were also given enough confidence by the barrage of smoothbore, slug and blaster pressure from the Fighting First and Barran's own riflemen to crest their snowy rise; peaking their turrets over, adjusting the barrels and sights to make up for the remaining metres of incline the hill offered them, Gowrie's specific sustained-fire order would be prompt and punctual in it's execution as the Black Bears of Hartanian steadily maintained promising fire-and-maneuvre mobility in their approach towards the Commonwealth lines.
<"Gowrie to Blue-Heart Alpha! You seein' wh-">
'-Seen, but as far as the line is concerned, shift - nothing out o' place! Understood? Plenty room for the friendlies t'fit through the gaps in oor line o'er there. Let the Fighting-First do what they do best, an' keep yer eye on whatever beasts are screamin' bloody-murder up there. Ah need them ID'd so we can find out if we can destabilize them or neutralize them properly, pinning them down clearly only works to a certain extent. Barran out!'
Erskine would find reprieve before long, as Bennett's contingent were making timely work of their attempt to link up with their Blue-Heart allies, and the Northern-Galidraani vehicles guarding the other side were reversing and covering their retreat with extreme prejudice; in this process, the Fighting-First's cataphracts on the other side would be well covered in their stationary bombardment of the ridgetop, making their stationary defence of the last Hartanians to slip through all the safer to commit to, though only until the last of the tanks and AFVs on the other side had slipped behind the Blue-Hearts' snowy rise in the south. The riflemen and accompanying combat engineers (holding their part of the defensive line with blasters of their own) would be the last in Barran's contingent to join the retreat, standing their ground on the wide rise until the Black Bears were all loaded onto and taken elsewhere in the AFVs and the allocated Goliaths' modest passenger-space.
None of the soldiers who remained in the cold would mind the fact their AFV-transports would be moving other soldiers to safety, as every Blue-Heart, Tuath, Carrack and Archaisian who remained in the ice-cold weather were happier being away from the assumed ill-fated vehicles of the operation, letting the warnings in their minds take precedence with near-superstitious adherence. Foreshadowing that none of the windswept soldiers among them could've predicted, so all would continue setting to their positions in their attempt to cover an aggressive-postured retreat, completely unaware of the moment that their misfortunes would reveal themselves to be blessings in disguise.
Lowering the barrel of his rifle before handing it to Corporal Deaney, the Brigadier-General would hand-signal point his subordinate back to the ACV as he said,'Black-Bear Bravo rides with us, allowing his 2IC aboard also.', as the man in question became visible behind him. Walking with a Woad's swagger, it was obvious that the Hartanian stock wasn't far removed from that of their allies from Galidraan 3, and obvious to none more than Erskine as he turned to greet the approaching Major he'd been eager to meet since hearing about Bennett through the Blue-Heart rumour mill. Eager to join the fight against the Sith, Hall had stated his intent loud and clear along with his confirmed-legitimate Woad ancestry, and such a will to join ranks with an embattled diaspora (and to join that of the Free-State specifically) of any New Imperial sort would always be looked upon kindly by Lord Erskine's kinsmen and countrymen alike.
'A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Major Hall. But it would seem that time is against us, so follow me and we'll get you someplace safer than this. Being out in the open is hell out here, but those trenchlines to the west might be more to your liking, eh? Let's move!'
Barran's Ideal Battlefield V
The extraction was easy enough, as the Goliaths packed enough power in their engines to take on the load of towed Hartanian ordnance while the AFVs and ACVs would retain the Black Bears' manpower as passengers, all whilst Barran's infantry elements spread out and made use of their thermal sights in the latest wave of blizzards, covering the tactical retreat as well as the snow itself was. Having foreshadowed better luck in their grumblings, the riflemen, engineers and Scope-callsigns from the Blue-Hearts' talented Quartermasters were all quite ready to embrace the cold properly, and without any vehicular intervals to interrupt the latest of their acclimatization processes.
A few of the spare AFVs remained behind to offer heavier-hitting support if the need arose, but the vehicles would allow the infantry to maintain a safe, obscured distance away from their four-AFV showing; a simple, yet effective showing of smaller troop-actions for Gowrie to offer a defensive line that covered Barran's safe approach to FN-999's tenchline defenses, a showing that could've slowed the advance of any contingent who were ill-equipped to spot where each shot in the snow would come from. Retreating slowly, as according to the orders of the Lord-Commander, the SA-35 would prove it's place among the greatest rifles ever wielded by Galidraani shooters, picking off platoons of units trying to sneak through the snow as they were, settling into the Snow as Lord Erskine would as the transport-action moved on to reach the southern entry-slope to the altitudinous defences of their nearest allies.
'Barran to Nines! Looking a little swamped there, but you'll need to hold your fire to the south! We're rolling in hot, but we're considering the folks up top in any case. Stand by for further sitreps! Blue-Heart Alpha out!'
Understanding the severity of the situation on arrival, seeing the swarming winged fiends harassing the lines to the north, and the wretches climbing the eastern cliff-face and making their way up the south-face of the fortified mountain had given Lord Erskine all the reason he needed to act immediately. the AFVs would light up the cliff face as they traversed around the base of it to tackle the lesser, south-facing incline to safety. The tracks and chained-tyres of the roving ordnance would go on to make quick work of the rabble who held ground from above, as stationary targets had proven all too easy after the range-days on Bastion, and the Goliath repulsorlift tanks were proving too intense with their secondary-fire from the turrets' top-loaded LMGs. All the Brigadier-General needed was the right amount of thrust to reach the NIO-trenchlines, as his path to the top was almost completely cleared before the Saga had even cleared the southern edge of the snowdrift their supporting-fire created from the western crevasse-cliff.
Once the Blue-Hearts had fought their way through to safety at the top, their Lord-Commander would set to work immediately; surveying the multi-layered trench defences for himself, and taking the 409th Regiment's artillery array into account, Barran would find his means to augment FN-999's strategy almost straight away. Starting with the Hartanians, Erskine would make a point of leaving a few playing-pieces with the other Galidraanis on site; from Major Bennett Hall's contingent to Major-General Willan Tal's, any soul who would've been better-served protecting their leader's firstborn above all things on Csilla were to join in the protection of the existing mountaintop trenchlines, and to build a couple of their own near the top of the south-facing slope. All ten MLVs would be left behind to deal with the airborne menaces, along with five Predator launch-platforms (complete with their payload supply) in a bid to keep the most-expensive, and most-vulnerable ordnance in a place where they'd be far from surprise attacks that would wreck a fortune's worth of combat-innovation.
'Barran to 1st-Leftenant Kaun! Make your way towards the Saga's blip, sitting exactly south of your current position. Heard a lot about you from your father, and anyone who would continue in such a father's footsteps is someone I very much want to meet. Blue-Heart Alpha out!'
Barran's Ideal Battlefield VI
'Demon One! This Brigadier-General Barran! Rank means nothing here, though. This is a plea, lad. Protect the future, the legacy of Tal's Galidraan.... Keep Lady Enedina from harm as long as you can, I intend to return. Enjoy the toys I left for the lads in the trenches. The Blue-Hearts will be back before ya know it! Blue-Heart Alpha out!'
Rolling out with a slightly skimmed-down, simplified force that consisted mostly of tanks and AFVs, it wouldn't take long for the terrain-proficient vehicles to carve through snow, ice and rock with ease on their eastward return to the ridge, the same position they'd struggled to suppress before. Knowing they had no reallocation-passengers or expensive ordnance to worry about, the Free-State forces deployed with Brigadier-General Barran could move back out towards the Mongrel's ridgetop defences more freely, and Lord Erskine could speak more freely with the prodigal daughter of his famous friend. What started as appreciation for Commoner Colonel Ulrand's achievements in bareknuckle-boxing, mechanized combat and his keen ability as an MMA-coach, then became a discussion on her perennial-challenger's near-flawless takedown defence as the two-brigade column continued to drive away from the contested mountaintop defences behind them.
However, these conversational pleasantries would be cut short; the scout-AFVs and riflemen under Gowrie's direction had reported a powerfully hot flash of light behind them, and their thermal-sights had all been rendered temporarily-useless, and at a time when the column needed their moving momentum to crest the nearest mountain-pass successfully. Shortly after the flash that disabled the thermal scopes, a rumble beneath the snow-packed ice beneath them had approached rapidly from the east, cracking the ground behind their contingent until it reached the base of the mountain they were climbing and rose to catch the snow beneath the tracks and the wheels of the Blue-Hearts' and Fighting First's vehicles, avalanching everything from underneath the snow they were ably finding perfect grip on just moments before.
By the time all the commotion and sensory hell had drawn to a close, all of the Blue-Hearts were at the base of the mountain and all the Fighting First were driving away from the calamity at the top, splitting the armoured Galidraani contingent in two as the officers on duty kicked into action with peak urgency. Lifting himself up from the roof, the Brigadier-General grumbled as he used his former seat (dangling down overhead, still bolted into the floor above) as a means to pull himself up as he exclaimed,'Well, wasn't that just the rudest thing ever? Karking hell, it's like they always make sure to injure my lower-back early on in the fight! Every - karking - time, man!'
<"Gowrie to Blue-Heart Alpha! What in the blue kark was that? My ACV's been doing flips it wasn't designed to do, an' it's side-oan because o' whoever, or whatever the kark that madness was!">
'Ah haven't the foggiest, Gowrie!', Lord Erskine responded, turning round to check on the status of both the Saga's crew and of Leftenant Kaun, only to find everyone already ducking their heads before alighting from it. The only one not nursing pains was Alais herself, completely unfazed as she helped Corporal Deaney limp his way out into Csilla's biting-cold climate, seemingly just as curious as the men where as to what the real damage was. Turning back to the static-inflicted map-holographics and studying them as they dangled upside down, Barran scratched his beard before concluding,'But the Fighting First are leaving wae me t'find oot, an' Ulrand's firstborn will be joining us. So get back up-and-running, the Blue-Hearts are under your temporary-control until I return to relieve you. Go take that ridge, or find out who hauds it s'well. Blue-Heart Alpha out!'
It could have happened at any time, to anyone, and it'd nearly happened to her. There was distance between them, much more than the literal stretch of snow that separated them, and there was still a heavy degree of resentment hanging in Elle's heart for what had propelled them so far from each other in the first place - but care was there, too, and even the part of her that wanted to move on with life still wanted that, at the very least, to stay. Fear couldn't grip her, not anymore, but worry still seeped through at the edges of her face.
Too soon the gap had been closed, the force flowing through her had always seen to that, and very quickly she realized she didn't know what to say. Stoicism had gripped her, robbed her of the youth she'd enjoyed as an acolyte, and what would have come naturally before - the bubbly, vivacious, streams of thoughts that would go long into the night - simply weren't there anymore. Ruby-red lips parts, slightly, as if she made a move to speak, but for a moment nothing came. "You fell." She said with a blank stare, breaking her silence with the obvious accident she'd watched happen just moments before. She swallowed, uncertain how to follow her own train of thought - she had much she wanted to say and no desire to speak simultaneously.
"We shouldn't talk, it isn't safe here - on Csilla." She explained. More thoughts raced through her mind, which broke through the pensive look she'd been wearing in a look of uncertainty. "You aren't here with them, are you?" Elle asked after a pause, the grip on her lightsaber tightening slightly. Left out of the loop, the question was probably telling - outside of the rumblings of what big news she heard when wandering into public places, Elle knew little of what had happened since she'd vanished. Green eyes swept over her, cautious, before she shook her head.
The disappearance of the Chiss flottilla surprised and shocked Gallius. He was busy protecting the Resolution's hull and making sure the escape pods were taken care of, too much to pay attention to the rest of the battlefield. Of course the Commodore had noticed the arrival of the Chancellor's personnal flagship, and understood the pirates were going to board it. It didn't matter. The Alliance could protect its own battlecruisers, even if they failed to protect their wounded ones. He tried to coordinate the efforts of the First Order, New Imperial Order and other sparse elements, evacuating whatever civilian they could, and trying to reach the Mercy.
The twelve ships were forming an effective line of defence against the barbarians' assaults, shielding the Pride of Anaxes, the Noga and whatever corvettes the Alliance Anaxsi had brought. Leading the fleet, the Pride of the Emperor was directing its fire to the nearby Maw ships, using its powerful armament to disable or destroy the weaker vessels, and damaging the cruisers that passed by.
"Status report on the Resolution's escape pods. We have to keep moving, and deploy our forces. It's time the barbarians taste the Anaxsi steel. Have the First Anaxsi Free Bigade ready to deploy, accompanied by the Pride of Anaxes. They will reinforce Lieutenant-Legion Commander FN-999 and his troops. We also have to prepare empty tanks for the Galidraan Irregulars of Tyrell Lockhart fighting nearby. Make sure sufficient tanks have been loaded, then deploy them..."
Gallius's orders were a stream of constant talks, never ceasing to adjust to the situation. He held an absolute vigilance over the battlefield, ready to move and engage any Maw fighter cocky enough to challenge the might of a whole imperial fleet. Once the Resolution's crew was safe, Gallius prepared his next order, and was about to take his fleet out of the fight to support the First Order when the whole perspective of the battle changed.
The battle plan was built on the supposition that the Mercy would not fire until a good amount of time, charging its weapon. It would allow the defenders to break the line of defence surrounding the superweapon, before destroying it by any mean necessary. With the arrival of the First Order and Galactic Alliance dreadnoughts, it would be an easy task to win, considering the New Imperial Order was on its way too. But now...
Gallius watched in horror as the Mercy annihilated the Chiss vessels, in a red stream of fire and destruction. It was terrifying, but Gallius just felt an immense anger grow as he watched the civilians being massacred. And with the urge to avenge the fallen came the understanding of what all of this meant. The superweapon was operationnal. It could target anything, and sweep the battlefield at a good speed. The strange notion of cover needed to be established at Csilla, even in orbit. The defenders needed to take cover. The Commodore rushed to the holocom and broadcasted as large as possible.
"To every and all vessel of the New Imperial Order, Galactic Alliance, First Order and Chiss Ascendancy, this is Commodore Gallius Orcana speaking. The superweapon is operationnal. We all need to take cover before we are targeted by its destructive beam. Merging with the Maw fleet is the only way to neutralise the effects of the station. We have to engage their fleet. Out."
There wasn't much to tell more. Storming so close to the Mercy would deter it to fire, at the risk of annihilating its own fleet, and it would mean the defenders would be a step closer to destroying it. The battle had turned in the favor of Csilla. By firing that early, the Maw had unveiled its capacity, and it would only encourage the defenders to try and destroy it. The Azure Hammer Command regrouped, and prepared to charge. Gallius targeted a massive SSD, almost a living ship.
"We will bring this down. Contact the First Order. We need the Allegiant General support on this matter. Also make sure the Pride of Anaxes escorts the brigade at ground level and protects it from air attacks."
And with these words, twelve ships threw themselves into the enemy fleet, bound to destroy the flagship.
The shuttles flew through the debris and already the tension rose. They all knew why they were there, and what was their mission.
The 409th needs reinforcements. The TodHusars are going to jump on their trenches and reinforce them. You are tasked to hold the eastern flank, make junction with the Galidraani Irrgulars. From there, wait until the 501th RCC can reach you. Then, you will lead the counter-attack towards the Maw walkers, destroy them, and hold back the trenches.
General Bigeard's words echoed in the mind of the hardened Captain. The situation was clear, the mission was presented simply. But neither the General nor the Captain ignored the tough fight it was going to be. However, they had their orders, and had to comply to them. The Captain and his men would jump, reinforce the trench, lead the counter-attack, come back and hold as long as necessary.
The shuttle accelerated when it entered the atmosphere. The red light reflected on each black helm, the sound of the rapid flight through the frozen skies of Csilla silently deafening the soldiers. Soon enough, the shuttle would reach the jump height, and there, the TodHusars would have to exit the comfort of the craft, and face the battle themselves. After three to five minutes of fall, they would land and begin to fight immediately.
But the Maw wasn't going to let the things go as smoothly. Anti-aircraft fire erupted in the air, and a shuttle fell. The Captain's own craft took evasive maneuver, spiraling and dodging the projectiles. The jump would be tough, not much like the one planned. But it was never as planned. These sort of things happened so often it had become an habit. Jerec grabbed the door leading to the white and pure sky and said the mythical words of every paratrooper.
"Passing through that door, paratrooper remember..."
And he jumped.
The TodHusars followed, jumping in packs of ten, aiming for their deployment zone. Yularen could see his company was pretty well grouped, and was heading towards the intended drop zone. This was looking good. The wind was trying to hurl itself in Jerec's sleeves and ears, the snow falling was drawing an elaborate tapestry, the AA cannons added their black fumes to the beauty of the scene. This was why Jerec had enlisted : to see worlds from the sky, to feel their atmosphere.
While the TodHusars had been dropped high, it took them three minutes and fifty seconds to land and regroup. Yularen drawed his gun, and led his men through the rubbles, taking cover in a trench. The insertion was good, the Maw had surely noticed two regiments jumping out of nowhere directly on the trenches, the situation was as planned. Everything was in order ! Gathering his soldiers around him, the Captain began assembling a fighting force, relieving the Stormtroopers of the 409th. The objective was to seek the Galidraani, but with the confusion of the battlefield, Jerec would have a tough time surviving. He ordered his troops to walk eastwards, then rose on a pile of sandbags to make a tactical idea of the situation.
It was a catastrophe. The Maw was coming in waves, their soldiers darkening the ground. The hordes were overrunning the first line of trench. A swear made its way through his tightly closed jaw. And then he reacted. The TodHusars had a mission, the General Bigeard counted on them. They would hold and counter-attack.
Captain Jerec Yularen of the TodHusars joined the speartip of his company, and ordered to stand and fight. They were the first line, now.
The massive carriers flew undisturbed through the skies of Csilla. Estienne was watching the deployment of the TodHusars, and from what he saw, the drop operation was as tough as usual. It had become a joke among the Anaxsi ranks, the TodHusars jesting the tankers about their safe insertion, and the 501ers laughing about the habit the TodHusars had of never standing the ground, always on the move. The friendly rivalry was one of the many traits Estienne loved during his service.
Eventually, the carriers landed, unloading a regiment of heavy tanks, 2Cs and B1s assembling to storm the trenches. The 409th needed reinforcements, and the 501th RCC would give them exactly that. From what Estienne understood, the trench had been subject to an intensive assault that ruined much of the defensive work. The Stormtroopers were forced to fall back and dig while the Anaxsi paratroopers were relieving them.
The Lieutenant was now a kilometre away from the battlefield, ready to charge into battle aboard his massive 2C. The hulking vehicle was leading a platoon of heavy tanks, although dwarfed by the four meters high Command Tank he commanded. These monsters were Brutus Holt's creation, ready to destroy the Maw's hordes, and would make any sane enemy fold before their swift advance. However, the barbarians fought there were not sane at all.
This was going to pose a problem, Estienne thought, as the tanks began their steady march towards the trenches. If the cultists weren't able of realising what was falling on them, the brave charge will be a drop of blood in an ocean of fanatism. They needed to be percussive and destructive. They were there to crush the savages, and they would do so.
At 750 meters from the trenches, the Lieutenant prepared his orders. The first targets were in sight. The Stormtroopers had effecively fell back, rebuilding their trenches while the TodHusars now held the first line, two regiments ready to hold the pressure of an entire army. The tanks accelerated, and at combat speed began to open fire on the indistinct mass of the horde. The mass-driver cannons reaped the horde, obliterating dozens of cultist with every salvo.
On the east side of the formation, a company was directed to a pile of rubble held by irregulars. The tanks offered by Anaxes to Galidraan were arrived, ready to kill the dark enemies they were fighting. On the west side, the companies began their pincer maneuver, avoiding the trenches and charging into the mass of the Maw's forces. The center formation charged through the trenches, followed by the paratroopers. The orders were precise : destroy the walkers and fall back. Such was the intention of Estienne, who designated one of the monsters, and opened fire, followed by his platoon.
The hallway would meet only mild resistance - the First Legion were, after all, the chosen elite of the 501st historically and only made all the more elite by Vader's own choosing. Despite the 800 year gap from their heritage, they were the highly enhanced corps of the Emperor's own; but despite their armor, their weapons, their augmentations, and their training they would not sustain themselves against the harsh blitzkrieg of the Myrmidons numbers. That was, at least, until they entered the room with the many.
As the hammer would swing to either side and crush the guards, the Myrmidons would witness more than their fair share of Praetorians, First Legion, and the occasional Frumentarii agent - but among all the dangers they faced, it was the Praetorians that would be the most difficult. The Worm's personal protectors, each of them were chosen for their martial prowess and dedication to the Grand Plan - nigh legendary Sith, and the Myrmidon had chosen to face them in the confines of a space station. Lightsabers snapped to life, bathing the room in a blood red shade as the the Worm turned to face the intruders.
"Cease.", the Worm said, as those force sensitive around them would feel the supernova like presence of his person. Both a void in the Force, and a beacon of its strength - the Worm was a titan among titans, and the empty eyes of his masks seemed like weapons in themselves as the unseen attention danced across those who had entered.
The Praetorians had not moved when he had given the command - one or two deflecting short shots that hit them, another two choosing the more intimidating effect of tanking the shots to their abdomen as a sign of their conviction to the Sith'ari. Grimaces were on each of their faces, and where the Worm's eyes were empty voids - the Praetorians offered nothing but golden daggers and snarls that looked more akin to a rabid beast than a man. Each was deep within the Dark Side; nigh on a mystery in itself why they could contain themselves in the face of such glorious combat.
"You've great skill with that hammer, my child.", the Worm offered - shots ringing in the hallway as a larger cadre of the First Legion began to attempt to push back into the area. The Worm's commands were too far for them to hear, so the fighting would continue regardless - but for the moment in the observation, the Myrmidons had the initiative.
"Skill with arms.", a whisper ripped through the air just behind him.
"Weak of mind.", a child sneered from the other side - but there would be none if he were to look for their presence. Only the shadows that danced in the Worm's presence.
"Perhaps you would like to test your metal. Other Space Kaiden
- would you give the uninitiated a glimpse at what he lacks?", the Worm said without drawing his attention away from the intruders. His figure was tall, five masks of electrum, and robes that hung loose and bulging over unseen humps. Three meters of height, and all of it looking down upon the Myrmidons.
The Black Bears trudged through the trenches to the reserve lines, and then eastward towards the spot of the crevasse, approaching the shadow of the cliffs. A straight climb of almost 100 meters may have been feasible were it not for the weather and especially the Maw. Luckily the shortcut was believed to make it easier. The crevasse wasn’t a gentle incline, but at least it wasn’t straight up.
Bennett marched at the rear of the line, while LC Doyle took up the front. The men and women of the 5th Regiment were too cold and tired to talk, and Ben wondered if they had the energy to make the required climb. When it came down to it though, it wasn’t really a matter of whether they could, but a matter of them having to. The alternative to climbing the ridge was an enemy flank attack that they wouldn’t recover from.
As they reached the staging area for the climb, Bennett picked up his pace and moved to the front to discuss the plan with Alistair. Before Bennett could speak to him, the LC abruptly laid out what was happening.
“Ben! I’ve been called to the back line again. The Brigadier-General and I will both be in contact over comms. I’m sorry my friend, but this opp is all you.” “Understood. I’ve already got orders from Barran for when we get to the top. Anything else?” “Good man. We’ll need to give supporting fire to Barran’s forward lines, then you’ll meet up with him. We’re counting on you.”
With the pace that the battle demanded of him, Doyle turned, called a few troops to his side, and marched towards the command trenches. Hall himself turned to the supply of climbing gear that the Black Bears were outfitting themselves with.
When they were ready to make the climb, they shuffled into formation at the base of the crevasse. It would be a tight fit for the regiment. They’d be going up in ten lines in order to maximize space and minimize losses if one fell. They all prayed it wouldn’t come to that. Even the collapse of a single column of climbers would cause more death than this was worth.
Bennett’s comms pinged again just before they began their ascent.
“Copy that Commander. Twenty minutes boys! That’s all we’ve got to get to the top!”
The Black Bears gave off the best cheer they could given the circumstances, and they began climbing. The required ordinance to assist the brigadier-general weighed them down considerably, but all of the Black bears had been trained in condition just like this. Most if not all of their fathers and grandfathers, including Hall’s own, had tamed Hartania. What they hadn’t prepared for were the bugs.
About half way up the climb, the insectoid clicking and whirring had gone from concerning to terrifying. The open sky above them was shadowed not by a swarm of tiny insects, but by a handful of giant ones. The branchlurkers descended with a hungry ferocity into the crevice, already quite narrow with the lines of ascending troopers. Every man who could reach his side arm fired wildly at them, defending their cables from being severed.
Even in the freezing cold sweat dripped from Ben’s face, being caught in his greying beard. He fumbled for his pistol and unloaded it on the bug nearest to him. The thing seemed to shirk any and all blaster fire from the Hartanians.
One of the branchlurkers swiped it’s razored claws across a line of climbers, severing their cables and sending them falling to the bottom. Bennett threw his pistol down and scrambled for his commlink.
“Get them off us! Fire everything you can!” he called to the soldiers below, the ones still working on closing the opening of the crevice.
A comms operator from below responded shakily. “But Sir, if we do we might hit your men!” “And if you don’t, these things will tear us apart!” he screamed into the commlink.
There was no answer, and seconds later on order was given below to draw the attention of the bugs with heavy blaster fire.
Hall watched them descend towards the bottom, and as he gazed down he caught the glimpse of his fallen comrades. He wiped the sweat from his brow and ordered the ascent to continue. It did so in a struggling silence.
When the Black Bears finally pulled themselves out on top of the snowy ridge, they heard the blast that signalled the crevice had been closed, and with it were hopefully those savage beasts.
Bennett motioned for a pair of macrobinoculars from one of his men and surveyed the distance. It appeared no more Brotherhood forces were approaching on the ridge, most likely because they were engaged with Barran’s unit below.
Bennett messaged Doyle with news of their casualties, but he received no immediate reply. He turned to one of his engineers for a logistical update next.
“How many launchers did we lose?”
“Three, Sir. Though we should still have enough to cover the Brigadier-General.” “Good. Let’s get them fired, and then let’s get the hell out of here.”
The Black Bears moved ahead and set up their rocket launchers on the edge of the ridge overlooking the battle. Smoke obscured much of the killing fields, but not enough that Hall couldn’t see the apocalyptic no man’s land below. What little snow was left was pockmarked with craters and corpses. Directly below them were the armoured Blue-Hearts.
The rangers of Hartania fired what ordinance they retained into the advancing enemy lines, making sure that every last rocket would feel like hell raining down on the Crazies.
When they were done, the climbing gear was re-equipped and the rappel began. It would be vastly easier than the climb, and the rattled men would receive the gift of a somewhat warmer AFV to deliver them wherever they were needed next.
They rappelled down the cliff face behind the Blue Hearts, then quickly caught up to them and climbed aboard the convoy. Hall and Roberts marched up to Barran’s vehicle and were ushered inside. He shook the snow from his hat before entering, then placed it on his lap.
'A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Major Hall. But it would seem that time is against us, so follow me and we'll get you someplace safer than this. Being out in the open is hell out here, but those trenchlines to the west might be more to your liking, eh? Let's move!'
“We appreciate the ride, Lord Barran. Take us to wherever you need us and we'll make those Crazy bastards pay for taking our boys on the way up the ridge.”
The Mongrel had seen battle on a dozen worlds now, and in the void between them. He had killed members of two dozen species and more, men and women, young and old. He had fought elite soldiers and massacred unarmed civilians. In all that time, he had learned the rules of violence, the immutable constants that governed the lives of warriors. He was living one of them out right then: the simple truth that, in any fight that lasted long enough, all of the tactics and subtleties were eventually exhausted. The fancy moves and special equipment ceased to matter; instead, the battle became a grinding slugfest, a face-to-face struggle measuring nothing less than each contestant's will to survive at any cost.
Kaleleon
rushed him again, just as the marauder had predicted; the Jedi had the upper hand, even without his weapon, and he would be able to keep it so long as he stayed on the offensive. In spite of his injuries he was fast, and closed the distance between them in what seemed only a handful of steps. Then they were pushing and straining against each other, gazes locked, two wounded, desperate men struggling for the gun. Their boots slid in the mud and slush at the bottom of the trench as they grappled, each knowing that he was finished if the other got off a clean shot. Kaleleon's left hand was locked around the tiny blaster's barrel, a death grip, an iron vice of determination.
The Jedi's other hand flew in at the side of The Mongrel's head, a right hook designed to daze him and force him to let go. But it was the right arm that Kaleleon had landed on in his fall into the trench, and the punch was slower and sloppier than it would have been at the start of the confrontation; The Mongrel wondered whether his foe's arm was broken, and only adrenaline was letting the Jedi strike with it. The marauder ducked the blow, trying to get the Jedi to slam his fist into the wall of frozen earth behind him; that would certainly give him a painful jolt, especially if there was a fracture. It might even take that arm out of the fight.
It was only then that The Mongrel realized there might be another reason the Jedi was slowing down; a burn wound to his abdomen, a little circular char on his jumpsuit. The marauder had seen his second shot go wide, vaporizing some of the trampled snow, and had assumed his first had similarly missed his fast-moving foe. But he'd been wrong. Beneath his mask, he smiled through cracked and bleeding lips. He'd actually managed to tag a Jedi with a gun.
Injuries were accumulating for both of them now, and their duel was becoming a contest of adrenaline and discipline. Whoever had both of those give out first would certainly lose... and they were both being sorely tested.
There was little time for feelings of hope or triumph, or even to think. Kaleleon was single-mindedly focusing on the gun, grabbing at The Mongrel's wrist and forearm, trying to drag the weapon down and into his control. Repeated kicks to the marauder's shins made him hiss in pain, distracting him and loosening his hold. If he lost the blaster, he was dead... unless he managed something else first. Feeling his grip slipping, The Mongrel pulled the trigger over and over. Heat raced close to both of their faces as blaster bolts flew wildly, chipping off chunks of frozen trench wall or flying off into the sky. Mentally, The Mongrel counted down the little gun's ammunition capacity.
Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One...
At that moment, a crimson beam cut across the sky, and a loud cheer went up from the Bloodsworn holding the top of the ridge. The Mongrel looked up, gasping in religious ecstasy as Mercy proved its might. He squeezed his eyes shut, ready for the world to end... but it did not. It dawned on him an instant later: the weapon had been fired in space, no doubt ripping apart the assembled enemy fleets in preparation for its full-power firing upon Csilla. He would live a little longer, long enough to finish this duel and earn glory before the Three Avatars. Unfortunately, his moment of distraction had cost him... and the little holdout blaster finally slipped from his grasp.
He had almost depleted its ammunition. There was one shot left.
His only hope was to make sure that Kaleleon didn't get the chance to use it; otherwise he'd get a nice little hole drilled through his head at point blank. Taking advantage of how close the two men were to each other, their arms still locked together, The Mongrel reared back... and aimed a headbutt at the Jedi, trying to slam his very solid forehead into Kaleleon's very breakable nose. He followed it up with a right-handed punch of his own, his fist still wrapped around the hilt of the Jedi's lightsaber; the durasteel cylinder would add weight to his strike, if he managed to land it. At least the inactive weapon would be a little useful that way.
With his left arm, the one that had been holding the gun, The Mongrel now held on to his foe for dear life. He had to keep the Jedi's gun arm bent and trapped between the two of them, so that his opponent couldn't point and shoot. If Kaleleon managed to throw him off and put distance between them, he was dead. So the marauder kept trying to wail on the Jedi with the lightsaber-clutching hand, even as he reached a foot back to brace himself against the wall of the trench. He pushed off hard, trying to drag Kaleleon down to the ground. If he could manage to get both of them to land in a heap at the trench's muck-filled bottom, maybe he could retake the blaster.
Above the trench and the brawling men, the Bloodsworn cheered again; they had taken down one of DECEASED Erskine Barran
's vehicles with their PLX-1 launchers when it had dared to peek over the ridgeline. But their triumph was short-lived; separated from the main force assaulting the forward trench, they could see that they were desperately outnumbered by the NIO forces moving to encircle them. With their plot to infiltrate the supply trench foiled, their only purpose now was to sell their lives dearly and distract from the primary attack for as long as possible. They reserved no ammunition, wildly firing their slugthrowers and missile launchers at anyone they even glimpsed.
Every one of them was a zealot, devoted and unafraid. They would greet death with open arms, and they would drag as many as they could down with them. The Branchlurkers Major Bennett Hall had faced had been fierce... but the enemy he would now face had all the same ferocity, if a few less teeth, coupled with savage cunning and a lust for martyrdom.
The energy broiling within the trenches, owing to the fervor of crazed marauders, insane Moon Children, savage Vorn-Strunga, and suicidally loyal, yet firmly disciplined strandcasts soldiers, surged to a climax as the Mercy fired its massive, stellarly godlike superlaser, cutting a scythe through the Alliance corvette formations in an awe-inspiring display that was visible even from the depths of the trenches. Prayers chanted in ur-Kittât spilled forth from the lips of the devout, dedicated to various powerful Sith Warlords or the Dark itself, expressing corrupt, satanic adulation at the privilege of bearing witness to such a divine expression of power. One raider clawed his eyes out, before wrapping a bandage around his orbital bone and charging out of the trenches along with a group of Moon Children and marauders, intent upon meeting his death in punishment for daring to lay his imperfect mortal eyes upon such a divine sight. Had she been less disciplined, 626 might have done something similar. Nevertheless, her fanaticism and faith was just as strong, if not more so, the pain wrought by the lacerations on her skin acting as a Dark focus that willed her ever forward.
As the Vorn-Strunga and the Moon Children charged, 626 set her anti-material rifle up in position overlooking the trenches. Then, the sniper stared down her sights, taking in the charging figures of the marauders as they threw themselves at the Imperial and Chiss defensive lines. Breath was held in her lungs as she set her index finger over the trigger. In spite of the frantic pace of the battle, she was calm and patient in searching for targets, looking to cut down officers and other VIP personnel over enlisted soldiers, though any shot that forced heads down would mean precious more time for the marauders to close the distance.
While 626 was a skilled and accurate markswoman, her talents were just that. In the chaos of the fighting, her already mediocre ability to effectively identify VIP targets would likely be further hindered. In truth, under these conditions, she could only make educated guesses and pray to her Eternal Father that they were correct.
Regardless, 626 knew that she could hit any target that was unfortunate enough to be in her sights.
Now, in her sights were Chiss commandos (Ziroka
). Her finger hovered over the trigger for a few moments, but upon seeing targets, she did not hesitate in taking her shots. One large caliber slug, aimed to strike a Chiss soldier in the head, was fired off from her weapon with a single squeeze of the trigger, a large, powerful boom sounding out as the rifle kicked back. Then, came another immediately after she settled the recoil, aimed to strike a second commando in the chest. As expected, her weapon clicked empty. Slamming in a fresh magazine before pulling the bolt handle, a deep breath escaped from her lips as she scanned across the horizon, keeping her eyes on the enemy positions in anticipation of a reaction and perhaps more commandos for her to dispatch.
Location: Csilla, low Orbit/ Surface
Objectives: Save as many Lives as possible.
Allies: GA/CIS/Defenders
Tags: Albrecht F. HerlockTeica Giraan
Korum heard the reply and docked, helping the wounded to the medical staff aboard the Anaxes. A few had died on the way here, but enough had made it for him to consider it a success. He began walking into his ship when he felt a dread grip the fleets around him followed by a wave of death and sorrow. A light filled the hangar bay from the explosions of several ships being torn apart by a shot from the Mercy. No one made it out alive.
Korum was furious, not thinking straight, and now wanted to make the brotherhood bleed. He had half of a plan, and was going to see it through with, or without help. He walked to the Intercom panel in the Anaxes Hangar and after a brief moment of trying to figure out how it worked. he sent a message to the bridge. "This is the Captain of the Noga. Ive got ...an Idea that might keep those ...monsters busy for a bit. But, do you think you could spare one of your mechanics, two space suits, a grappling hook, and could you to be ready to take out a destroyers shields." He waited by the panel for a response, his anger only growing.
High-power projectiles tore into and along the edges of the front trench, the surrounding snow thawing. Previously mildly cold troopers found themselves sweating, keeping their helmets on only to reduce the risk of falling as some of their comrades had to the work of a distant, skilled sniper. The overheating troopers rushed to their canteens, draining their supplies faster than expected. Still, a far greater concern quite literally loomed overhead.
The massive repurposed industrial droids of the Maw marched on, dwarfing even the war beasts whose advance had been blocked by the recently finished Dig. To the increased panic of the lieutenant legion commander, the machines were undeterred by artillery fire that seemed to leave little more than dents in their heavy armor. At their current rate of advance, their massive feet would be crushing the command bunker in mere minutes. Perhaps he, still freshly minted as a lieutenant legion commander, truly was unfit for grand strategy.
Yet just as despair threatened to destroy the wavering resolve of the lieutenant legion commander, he was reminded of his greatest asset. His allies.
'Barran to Nines! Looking a little swamped there, but you'll need to hold your fire to the south! We're rolling in hot, but we're considering the folks up top in any case. Stand by for further sitreps! Blue-Heart Alpha out!'
Surely enough, a fresh artillery unit came rushing in from behind the triple trench line, greatly bolstering the strength of FN-999's own artillery command. Perhaps the HARPS could not penetrate the shells of the industrial droid behemoths, but the untested APVs and MLVs provided by Blue-Heart could turn the tide of the battle.
[All allied artillery, this is Lieutenant Legion Commander FN-999. Load armor-piercing shells and concentrate all fire on the heavy Maw walkers before they oveerrun the front trench. All allied troopers in the trenches, prepare to evacuate to nearby bunkers if one of the feet of the walkers or the scrap of any fallen walker lands near you.]
The combined artillery unit, now nearly thirty strong, aimed upwards at the head and downwards at the relatively thin bottom legs of the massive droids. Loading armor-piercing shells or their plasma equivalents, they opened fire at the frontmost two droids in an immense flurry of steel soaring at over the speed of sound. Even the four rightmost HARPs joined in, the crevasse sealed and the threat of the war beasts on the right flank eliminated.
"Nines, it's for you." stated one of his lieutenants.
"Very well, maintain current orders while I pick this up." replied FN-999.
[Commander Nines, Lord Halketh wishes to see you. He has something to discuss.]
[Let him know that he can come over to the bunker, its entrance code is 4971. In the meantime, also let him know that we can speak through our current comms connection. My Lord, what is it you wish to discuss? Time is of the essence.]
While FN-999 focused on regaining his momentum with the backing of powerful allied detachments, an unusual development occurred on the left fourth of the front trench.
A platoon of troopers had just finished repairs on one of the machine gun nests in the area when a single vaguely humanoid figure descended from atop the head from one of the droids dozens of meters above. Yet despite the drop, they appeared to be in perfect health. Even more disturbingly, the figure let out a barbaric cry before charging with suicidal passion towards the front.
"We heard her, let's blast away this 'Dark' before it infects our lines." replied the platoon commander in a somewhat mocking manner, as to inspire confidence in his troops in the face of the fearless barbarian.
The platoon hastily moved to fill the machine gun nest and the surrounding trenches, three dozen battle rifles and five EW-ALE machine guns pointed at the charging figure.
"Open fire!"
In an instant, nearly one hundred shots of supercharged plasma were thrown at the Maw elite.
Alone in the deserted non-commissioned officer's mess hall of the ship, Juliana Alderdice sat cross-legged on one of the dining tables, immersing herself in the Force. This had not been her problem since joining the First Imperial Knights -- she was able to sense the Force and to grasp it. The sensation of the Force was, she understood, somewhat different for everyone. For Juliana it was a like being in a cool stream: invigorating, energizing, refreshing. It was harnessing the Force that was difficult for her, using it to perform external tasks like telekinesis and telepathy.
It was frustrating, and though she had been making improvements, it still did not come naturally to her. Physically, she was all a First Imperial Knight could hope to be: disciplined, toned, agile. A natural athlete, she had adapted to the physical demands of Knighthood well. But advancement had eluded her as time and time again her struggle with the mental requirements had tripped her up.
Once she was within her element, immersed in the Force, feeling that connection to everything all around them, she opened her eyes. On the opposite end of the table, the plate off of which she had eaten her breakfast sat, freshly washed and dried. Juliana could feel it. She visualized it rising from the table, serene and effortless, but frustratingly this didn't translate into movement. It didn't work like that for her.
She reached out a hand; this sometimes helped her to manipulate physical objects. The plate twitched up at one edge, rising a little. The sound of stainless steel scraping against stainless steel whispered her failure. She grunted with exertion and frustration, clasping her hand into a fist. The plate finally rose off the table. It was shaky, to be sure, but it was up at least. That was... something.
The plate maneuvered through the air towards the next table. It was going well -- comparatively, at least, and --
A klaxon blared, announcing the imminence of the ship's reversion to realspace.
The plate clattered to the floor with calamitous crash. Juliana bit back a curse and unfolded herself, moving to climb off the table. She picked up the plate and took it to the storage cabinet, stowing it before she lifted her comlink to her lips. "Master Gannan, it's Juliana. I'm on my way. Do you need anything from the barracks -- uh, berths? I need to grab my pack on the way down."
As soon as word had come through to engage the enemy, the CSD Altagak started to burn ion engines toward the enemy fleets. While only a single Star Destroyer, it was suicide to get too close, so Mitth'al'eruod ensured to remain at enough of a distance to avoid earning the ire of too many enemy vessels, but close enough to encourage attention from some of them. As it was, the CSD Altagak started to move around Csilla as a whole, as it approached the massing Maw fleet.
There were communications from all sides in the sector, as frequencies were used by Imperials, Alliances and all sorts. The Chiss comm network picked up on a number of communications, some specifically aimed toward the Ascendancy. Though, Mitth'al'eruod's attention was suddenly grabbed as his Third Sight took over his mind, and he went into a momentary deep meditation; his second-in-command, another Chiss in an officer's uniform, saw the slackness to the young Captain and immediately stepped in, as she began to continue the orders previously presented.
"Bring about, continue to launch missiles into the Maw fleet," She said, red eyes glanced to Mitth'al'eruod with concern. "Be ready for emergency microjump, should we get too much enemy vessel response. Until then, continue to bombard them from range until another opportunity presents itself - or the Captain orders otherwise."
Meanwhile, Mitth'al'eruod couldn't help but be dragged through the vision in his mind. He saw thousands of Chiss, relief and safety on their faces evident, before a bright light consumed them suddenly and they simply... ceased to exist. The Captain was brought back to the bridge, as he growled and held his forehead in some discomfort. The Chiss had been in a transport of some kind, so that could have meant--
"Are there any transports with Chiss aboard?" Mitth'al'eruod called out suddenly, as his eyes snapped open and he looked to the sensor crews. "Any vessels leaving Csilla with escapees from the battle?"
"Y-yes, sir, there are a number of them--"
"Open communications, warn them to divert, now!" The young Captain shouted as he stood from his command chair and stared through the viewport. He couldn't see the transports, not exactly, but he could see the battle over the presence of Csilla and knew the vessels were likely in that direction. "Hurry, now!"
"On it, sir!" The communications crew began frantically opening channels and scanning from the sensor data. "We have some transports on frequency, warning them to--"
"Captain, power readings from the battle station - it's powered up!"
"Too late..." Mitth'al'eruod grimaced as he watched the station across the space, on the other side of the Chiss planet. It began to glow with power, from the lower firing array, then a beam sliced through a number of allied vessels and transports. "Curse it. Curse them."
As the distant explosions and flashes of light showed through the viewports, Mitth'al'eruod focused against the feedback of Third Sight, as he felt those deaths a second time. His attention being spread between command and visions was not helping either side, as he struggled to find a middle ground that allowed him to be effective at both.
"Activate the cloaking device. It's time to prepare for something a little more... impactful in this battle."
Orders were relayed, and within minutes the Chiss Star Destroyer began to shimmer and flicker, before its entirely was rendered invisible and it disappeared completely from view and sensors. With the undoubtedly advanced technologies owned by the the Chiss, it would be difficult for the vessel to be picked up, without requiring some dedicated sensory effort...
In keeping with doctrine a handful of the old Shadow-class recon corvettes arrived first, above and below the plane of the primary elliptic to avoid obvious cronau radiation flares. They scanned the immediate vicinity, confirmed the lack of any hostile presence, and activated their pocket gravity well projectors are predetermined locations. The second wave was several full-sized interdictors, pulled out of hyperspace with minimal fuss and no serious equipment casualties, who subsequently activated their full-scale interdiction emitters.
Minutes later an unmistakable energy surge marked the arrival of the 15th Battlegroup, in neat formation, weapons and shields at the ready, as if they hadn't just been tearing through unreality at many thousands of times the speed of light. If anyone on Csilla had been watching (which given the current situation, probably not) they might have seen echoes of Thrawn, the genius Chiss commander who had pioneered the technique of using gravity well projectors to conduct precision hyperspace movements.
Despite the lack of audience, Vice Admiral Rahm Barkai was fairly pleased with himself. Complex maneuvers of large groups of ships was no easy feat, and considering the suddenness with which the Battlegroup had assembled and prepared for war, it spoke volumes for the readiness of his crew and his officers. A good thing too, given the initial reports they'd gotten of the scale of the battle they had just jumped in to, they'd need it.
"All commanders, keep ships in formation and maintain a steady advance towards Csilla." They had arrived well enough away from the main battle currently raging over the beleaguered planet, and Rahm had no desire to get close without seeing what the situation was. It wasn't strictly what the rendezvous orders from the Allegient General had been, but rarely was erring on the side of caution a mistake, so he'd found.
Reconnaissance and scout craft broke off from their attending flagships and spread out in a wide arc. It was a complex operation, conducted simultaneously across nearly every possible sensor spectrum. Squadrons of Prowler EW Fighters scanned known frequencies, hunting for potentially concealed fire control systems, locking down and tracking weapon systems, feeding the data back to Kerunos Patrol Vessels who subsequently forwarded it to the large-scale combat direction systems on board the capital ships. 849A and Nebulon II Frigates were more obvious and proactive, sending sensor pings out into space and processing the results of their large-scale patrol arrays. And of course the aforementioned Shadow's, those venerable but proven designs, did their best to generate an accurate picture of the system as quietly as possible.
This was a comparatively new doctrine. Domination by Information, and it was the First Order's own Grand Admiral Cyrus Tregessar who had written the book on how to master it, and ingrained it as the battlefield standard for all First Order ships. Even now, many years after the Ssi-Ruuvi onslaught had driven the polity to its knees, that doctrine persisted. Time to put it into practice. Again.
The 83rd Escort Flotilla was arrayed in front in a broad line. Over 30 vessels (mostly corvettes and Lancer II frigates) and two dozen squadrons led by a single Makhaira-class Strike Cruiser designed to act as a screen for the rest of the Battlegroup. Rahm's own 14th Battle Division followed, five of the heavily refitted and modernized Imperial Star Destroyers Block IX in a neat wedge, with the flagship 'Defiant' at the point. The right wing consisted of the 112th Pursuit Division, fast frigates and medium cruisers, with the made up of an array of smaller tougher ships all hastily assigned as the 294th Escort Flotilla. The 9th Battle Division took the rear. A lone Desolator-class Battlecruiser, a valuable relic from before the collapse, held the flag of Rear Admiral Fitz-Warren, deputy commander of the fleet. That single ship had as much firepower as almost the entire rest of the Battlegroup combined.
It was also a hell of a target. Rahm preferred destroyers anyway.
Bits and pieces of data filtered back, and the picture began to resolve. A massive debris field extended away from the planet itself. It was horrifying devastation, mostly civlian vessels of Chiss make, but also large numbers of vessels that were quickly identified as Galactic Alliance designs, both warships and transports. The source of this destruction was clear, the huge superweapon spacestation that orbited the Chiss planet, surrounded by a large fleet that could only be the Maw Armada. Rahm pulled up the databanks on what appeared to be the most common destroyer design present, and grimaced. Information was slim, the First Order had never fought with the Brotherhood before, and isolation, often a benefit, was no boon when it came to sharing information.
'Learn by doing.' Horrible way to fight a war.
He tried to piece together a timeline. Evidently the Galactic Alliance had arrived first with a significant force and attempted to conduct a mass evacuation of the planet. Judging by the debris field, they had failed. The First Order and NIO fleets had arrived later, and were arraying to engage the Maw Armada at close range, presumably because...
His gaze flashed back to the display, and to where the giant superlaser hovered, glaring not at the planet it threatened to destroy but at the assembling fleets here to confront it.
Oh.
Without letting the sudden flare of panic alter his voice or manner, Rahm keyed a general communication circuit to the fleet. "15th Battlegroup, all ships sound action stations and disperse. Prepare for immediate contact. Maintain loose formation and watch the Maw Battlestation for energy surges. I repeat, maintain loose formation and be ready to conduct emergency evasive maneuvers." He slumped in his chair and waited to be consumed by an enormous red flare of violence.
It didn't happen.
So perhaps it couldn't rapid fire. That was good to know, one more point for the databanks.
"Comms, now that we have a moment please inform the Allegient General we have arrived and are entering the battlespace."
Bendak himself was not looked on by the other Knights of Ren as equal. While he remained one of the old order, the same order as Kyrel Ren rose from. To the next generation, he would seem more as an outcast. Despite serving Kyrel to the Siege of Mustafar. Rather than stay aboard the Station, the remaining Knights followed with Sinh who Bendak could tell carried a sense of disgust around the other Ren. As if trying to gain the favor of Kyrel. All the Knights were, for they looked upon his vision with a sort of divine worship. Following him more than the actual Heathen Priests. What better way for Sinh to gain the Master's prestige than by taking the Night Vulture to engage those that dared to board the battle station. This did not mean that Bendak was allowed to come, board, in fact just by the sheer body language it was best that Bendac was the Knight that remained aboard to guard those that had entered.
Through the crimson-colored halls, the dark warrior stalked. The masked barbarians of the Maw, with the primitive and twisted tech of jagged spears, blades, blasters even. Cried out war chants, and stalked the same halls. Doing whatever it took to protect the battle station from those that had any bright ideas. Bendak himself, felt the call of the light on board. It was as if it was fireflies that had roamed the endless abyss. And as a predator of the Dark, perhaps to gain the better hand over the likes of Sinh, as the rivalry was something that was encouraged by Kyrel, but never fully allowed to break the Ren, as while operating together, strife was key to strength.
Slowly emerging through what few hanger bays there was. Bendak covered in dark robes and a similar helmet. Followed the source of the light side aura that projected outwards, for he had been biding his time until an opponent arrived. Perhaps seeking revenge for how his life was ruined on that hell hole of a world. Now he would finally get to return the favor with the corpse of a Jedi laid bare at his feet. His walk started to increase in pace, eager to meet whoever it was that had got on board this time. A slight smirk came to his lips, as he sensed the death rising in the Force. No doubt the weapon was saying hello with it's first shot. Many had faded into the Force as a result which brought satisfaction that even his Master could feel it.
As his Master had witnessed, the prophecy would soon take place. Rushing through to the opening of the hanger bays, left sparsely unguarded now a Jedi ship had landed, the ramp opening. His saber activating, the crimson blade crackled, the blade unstable similar to his Master's own blade or that of Kylo Ren. Made a scorching sound as it was at his side. Looking out, and saying with excitement. "At last.. A fight I've waited for all my life.."
Location: On board of the Pride of Anaxes, low orbit of Csilla Fleet: Task Force 58 (flagship: X101 Pride of Anaxes, escort frigates X102 Audacious and X103 Courageous, fleet carrier CV-1 Foudroyant) Objective 4: Stop the ennemy fleet with the help of the Noga Allies: CIS, Eternal Empire, First Order, Galactic Aliiance:Jedi Order, New Imperial Order, Chiss Ascendency and Independents. Ennemies: Brotherhood of the Maw, Kainate, Sith Eternal, Warlords of the Sith and Independents. Post theme: N/A Tag:Korum Krov
| Teica Giraan
| Constantine Oliva
| Gallius Orcana Legend:Comm out, comm in, crew, ship's intercom
"Sir, I'm picking three vesels coming out of hyperspace" announced the Ops Officer
"Sir incoming transmission"
"Let me hear that."
"Pride of Anaxes, this is fleet carrier Foudroyant, identification number CV-1. Our ship is ready to integrate your task force with the escort frigates Audacious and Courageous. Foudryant, over."
"Foudryant, this Pride of Anaxes. I declare Task Force 58 operationnal and under the command of Captain Herlock, commanding the Pride of Anaxes. Our intent is to provide atmospherical support to the ground forces. Foudroyant is to get into atmosphere with the Courageous and to launch her starfighters. Escort frigate Audacious will stay with me. Pride of Anaxes, over."
As the orders were given, the newly built Foudroyant headed towards Csilla's atmosphere, escorted by the Courageous.
"Sir this is medical team. We have the wounded in our care at the medbay."
"Roger."
Then another transmission on the intercom came directly to his console.
"This is the Captain of the Noga. Ive got ...an Idea that might keep those ...monsters busy for a bit. But, do you think you could spare one of your mechanics, two space suits, a grappling hook, and could you to be ready to take out a destroyers shields."
"Captain, this is Albrecht Herlock, commanding thePride of Anaxes. I'll send a mechanic and the equipment needed to the hangar bay. My ship will be ready to deal with the ennemy destroyer with the help of the escort frigate Audacious, identification number X102. I don't know what is your idea, but after what I saw coming from the Brotherhood, I might like it. Herlock over."
"Chief Engineer, send a man from the engine control room to the hangar with two space suits and a grappling hook."
FIRST ORDER FLEET
OBJECTIVE III: DUEL OF THE FATES
The hyperspace travel to the battle was a tense time. It was everywhere. Tension. From his quarters, Brec Gannan worked at keeping the atmosphere of the vessel from overpowering his sense of preparedness. The Force could do much, it could enact change on incredible scale, but it needed a clear vassal to do that. So, with practiced precision, the Sentinel began to work into his armor and weaponry; it was a focusing mechanism for Brec, one that he had learned to use before battle years in the making.
A process.
Calm, precise, effective.
Armorweave combat suit, armor plating, gauntlets, boots, gloves. All were gathered from the nearby table and placed across Brec's person. His attention was focused inward, there was no real point in gleaning the feelings of others right now, not with tensions so high. Still, the Imperial Knight could feel others of his group throughout the area, each preparing in their own way, and he sent waves of calm from his own state of mind toward them. It was an odd sensation, channeling that calm focus, especially since Brec's past typically involved... not that, when it came to his Force use and power. Being an ex-Knight of Ren had been a real point of contention for the young man's life, many felt he was untrustworthy, or worse, and there had definitely been some bias toward him from sentients.
Not everyone, of course.
When ready, Brec started to walk from the quarters, into the hallway and toward the turbolifts. It would be a number of minutes before he arrived at the designated hangar, though. Apparently a small group would be leaving the Star Destroyer and using a cloaking-capable transport to weave through the battle and reach the military station that had a superlaser. It was going to be a hell of a ride, not to mention the fight on the station itself was going to be a whole other monster...
Brec's commlink beeped.
Juliana, was one example of a sentient who didn't treat Brec differently for past circumstances beyond his control. It wasn't like he had created the Order of Ren. As such, her voice sounded from Brec's commlink, as he double checked some straps of his armor, while moving. He let out a slow exhale, as more waves of tension from the crew washed over him, and activated the comm in response. "Still with that master stuff? I'm all sorted, nearing the hangar bay now," Brec said in response, as he waited in the turbolift, watching as the levels flew by rapidly. "I'm about to arrive. See you there, Jules."
The turbolift slowed to a stop, then opened into another passageway. Brec began to walk through the corridors, this way and that, as he dodged stormtroopers and other crew, before finally arriving at the hangar bay. He stepped through the blast doors, looked at the transport, nodded to himself, before he scanned for anyone else present who had been assigned to the infiltration mission...
Location: Mercy Battle Station
Objective: 3
Enemies: Enemy Boarding Party, Atlas Drake
Allies: Brotherhood of the Maw
Equipment: Jagged Spear, Short Blade, Poison Gas, Blaster Pistol.
It didn't take long for Adaz to find prey worthy of the mad Chiss warrior. He had wandered the halls for some time now. Hopped up on Hallucinogens and all you could hear was the laughter that echoed every now and then. Something in the toxins themselves had ravaged much of the logical parts of his mind. Sending him into a cackling and violent mess all the same. When he did find his prey, it was on a bridge surrounded by an area that was a dark abyss below.
Aiming to go for what looked like the leader. The long jagged Spear instead pierced into the flesh of one of the crewmen that was with him. The man screamed and gargled on his own blood, the blade piercing right through him. The blood coating the blade itself. As Adaz watched with glee through his glowing eyes. "Yes!! The blood feeds my blade!!!" He said with such excitement in his tone, lifting the blade upwards, the man slowly starting to sink down through it, not much screaming was done after that. With the spear raised up, the bodyweight slowly starting to go down. With one motion, the crew member flew off the spear, and onto the chasm below. Adaz kept up the laughter watching as the body went into nothingness. "Down, down, down into the dark you go hahaha hahaha"
Looking ahead was what looked to be his target. Nothing special but a man who had seen such a heinous sight right before his very eyes. Screaming at the Chiss berserker before raising his gun to fire. "Aw we have such a spoilsport here... That was some really funny chit... Down down down you go.." He repeated, even as the man would fire his blaster, Adaz was then covered in poisonous gases that had started to come out of his back. He had always been strapped with the toxins, for while they added a trippy and lethal effect. They were his drug of choice for on and off the battlefield. He was like a demon with glowing eyes lost within the smoke.
The toxic cloud starting to move via the ventilation towards what was the leader of the party. Adaz switched from his spear, onto the ancient blaster pistol he carried. Red blasts zipped through the smoke towards the captain, while Adaz seemed to pump more of the stuff into his system. Becoming enveloped around the dark chasm. "Down down into the dark you go... Trophies for the all-powerful masters." The ramblings continued as did the hail of red blaster bolts through the cloud of gas all around the bridge. It was clear that this man was not prepared for the old dangers of the Nihil.
Aspect of Passion
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Other Space Kaiden
