Nearly three weeks had passed since the Galactic Alliance made planetfall. The City of New Adasta had become a charnel house, as the 7th Mechanized and the 104th Battalion ground themselves to a halt against the onslaught of the Sith Imperial war machine. What should’ve been a clean sweep through the City was suddenly turned into a hellish slog through the worst of conditions. Coupled with the seemingly endless bombardment from the orbiting installations and the Legions of Graug sprouting from newly revealed holes in the ground, the Alliance was forced into a bitter stalemate.
What made matters worse, there were non-combatants in play. The civilian populace of New Adasta had taken shelter during the initial stages of the battle and likely would have remained within the relative safety of their underground modules. However, ever since the bombardment started and the Graug took to the field, their safety was in jeopardy. If the orbital laserfire didn’t destroy their bunkers, their occupants were massacred by those supposed to protect them. The Graug didn’t care about their actions’ morality, nor the consequences that would arise from their butchery.
All they wanted was to revel in the orgy of violence and bloodshed.
The stalemate lasted for several days, as the orbital bombardment pinned down any significant advances that either side could make. That gridlock only ended when a stray round from an installation took out the transmission tower affixed to the Orbital Defence Command Centre, which silenced the countless weapon platforms fixated on the City. With that orbital hindrance nullified, the survivors of the 7th and the 104th capitalized on their absence. Within a matter of hours, the Alliance managed to break the stalemate and drive back what remained of the Sith Imperial garrison and forced the Graug to withdraw.
Even though the stalemate was broken and the City was eventually taken - Greater events unfolded elsewhere. The Alliance may have won the Battle for New Adasta, but they nearly lost the War for the Stygian Caldera. Thus, as evil’s might began to regain its momentum, the brave defenders of the Alliance dug in - fortifying themselves around crucial structures within the City’s sundered boundary. Their numbers weren’t enough to hold off the renewed onslaught of Sith Imperial soldiers. But, that dour thought didn’t take precedent in their thoughts - for they knew this would be it.
As they were deep within the heart of the Enemy-controlled territory, who knew how long it would be until the rest of Battlegroup Kenobi broke through? That was to say if their reinforcements arrived at all.
Nevertheless, the Alliance - nay - the 7th Mechanized whispered their motto and steeled themselves for the battle to come. Until the end.
Sergeant Kolm Harper shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It had been nearly three hours since they reached the City’s sundered curtain wall, and the eerie silence was unnerving. Almost two weeks ago, what lay before him was engulfed in the relentless fury of combat. Countless Soldiers from either side made their mark on the planet’s surface, etching their passing into the very earth. Kolm saw the ruins of the various battery emplacements stitching the landscape. The smoke from their destruction long had faded away. Beside their metallic corpses, the Sergeant also saw several Fighter Tanks - bored through by the ferocity of the barrage they were pitted against. It was a proverbial graveyard, covered by a blanket of settling ash.
“Sir,” one of his nearby subordinates said, drawing the Alliance marine’s focus away from the perturbing sight. “We’ve almost finished our sweep of this sector. Trooper Desmond reports that he’s seen nothing but broken bodies and sundered tanks for the last Kilometre. Parker got spooked by some Vine Cats passing through the wreckage, but there hasn’t been any sign of the Sith Empire here.” Kolm nodded in response before swivelling his visor back towards the proverbial graveyard. “Very good,” he replied, with his voice seemingly becoming distant. It was clear to the nearby Trooper that his Sergeant was moved by the gruesome sight arrayed before him, and not in a good way.
Kolm had lost a few friends in the initial assault. They were attached to another Walker Detachment within the Regiment and were gunned down by one of the City’s defensive batteries as they approached the City walls. There was nothing that could’ve been done. Even the Prosecutor’s orbital strikes that softened up the battlefield couldn’t have destroyed every battery, let alone punched through the curtain wall. They had problems of their own to contend with and were utterly confident that the Ground Forces would’ve been able to combat those stationary threats with relative ease. This was War, and losses were expected. But, no matter how hard they tried to drill that into one’s mind during their basic training, they were still sentient beings who idolized life.
The Sergeant shook his head then. It would’ve been disrespectful to his fallen brothers and sisters if he had given into grief. The man needed to be strong in mind and body if they were to succeed in their mission. The past was a dangerous mistress, as one could be consumed by doubt and the unfettered potential of what could’ve been. Thus, Kolm did what he could to bury the events that transpired before. When the battle was done, and should the man see it through the bitter end, he would have time to mourn his comrades’ losses. But, as the Marine Sergeant wasn’t dead yet, nor had any plans of joining his friends anytime soon, Kolm cleared his thoughts with a heavy, sorrowful sigh.
His assignment was to scout the perimetre of the City and locate any traces of Sith Imperial opposition. While they had taken the Capital, the rest of Ziost was still within the clutches of their enemies - which meant that an attack could come from any vector. As the City of New Adasta was situated atop a rocky crag amidst the ashen tundra, the Alliance Forces were given a commanding view of their surroundings. However, only so much could be seen from the People’s Tower, a massive structure at the City’s heart dominated the dust-choked horizon. Some sightlines were obscured and needed to be investigated thoroughly - lest the defenders retake their Capital by surprise.
The outskirts of the City were but one of these obscured sightlines. There were far too many shadows for Command’s liking. So, Sergeant Kolm, alongside several Recon Detachments, were sent out into the City to decrease the proverbial fog-of-war. As they were outfitted with some of the fastest Walkers in the Alliance’s armoury, should any opposition be found - these Marine Outriders would be able to withdraw towards more secure sections of the City swiftly. They’d also report their movements by going through their respective chains of command and help their Officers build an accurate depiction of the unfolding battle. For information was power in warfare. The more that the Alliance had - the better their chances were at claiming Victory at the end of the day.
So, with his mind cleared and refocused, Sergeant Kolm took out a pair of Quadnocular’s and looked towards the dust-choked horizon. The Sith Empire would undoubtedly muster a counter-attack soon. It was a certainty that couldn’t be denied in any fashion, as the Sith were wholly possessive of what they believed to be theirs. They couldn’t let one of their City’s remain in enemy-hands, whilst they sought to push forward with their ideals of peace and prosperity through their vision of order. It would become a stain on their beliefs that would tarnish the entire institution and likely expedite its downfall. For who would willingly accept Imperialist ideals when the Empire butchers its citizens and couldn’t defend - or even retake one of their own City’s?
Thus, all that remained was to determine from where they’d make their push.
A partially-muffled series of explosions erupted from a nearby structure as the placed charges detonated. Captain Rafan Cardas watched with perverse glee as the building collapsed in the most dramatic of fashions. Every detonator was placed on critical supports within the building's layout, which controlled its descent. While it did little to stop the cloud of dust and debris from spreading into nearby side-streets, those timed charges ensured that collateral damage was kept to a minimum. Although the Sith cared very little about collateral, the Alliance wasn't interested in stooping down to their enemy's level. But, the Captain was also ordered to secure the City by any reasonable means.
That meant a few buildings needed to be sacrificed to see those orders met with a measure of success. Thankfully, the Non-combatants and Civilians were long gone by the time the first building fell. They were either extracted from their underground shelters and moved to the Starport in the City's Central District or were already dead. Nothing could be done for the fallen but to mark their gravesites and hope that they could return after Ziost was liberated. But, with every building that the Alliance Sapper's brought down, there was a chance that the surviving populace could live on to see their families given the proper burials, per their customs and wishes.
Every collapsed structure became a bulwark against the coming darkness. With the City's layout becoming more and more like a labyrinth, any enemy Ground Forces would be hard-pressed to navigate through the City with any ease. Naturally, only the critical junctions were left unmolested, as it favoured the defending Alliance Marines. With their focus narrowed down and concentrated, New Adasta could be held by a much smaller garrison. The advantage of terrain would be theirs to exploit against any attacking force and left their enemy guessing what would happen next. The enemy would be led into a series of successive ambushes, where the Alliance would seek to whittle down the Sith's numerical advantages and destroy their resolve.
Should the already grim situation take a turn for the worst, there were almost a dozen contingencies that could be brought into play.
One of these aforementioned possibilities revolved around the safe, tactical withdrawal of the Alliance Marines as they fell back to the Central District and the relative safety it offered. They would use the altered landscape to their advantage as they leapfrogged from one fortified position to another. Those withdrawing units would, in turn, be supported by the remaining Fighter Tanks that the 7th Mechanized Regiment had at their disposal. Their ability to fire unhindered whilst navigating backwards was paramount to this contingency's success. It would also limit the number of casualties they'd likely sustain in the coming conflict. But, a fighting withdrawal wasn't the only portion of their array of planned contingencies.
With several buildings having been knocked down, others remained standing nearby. Should a junction become overrun by the Sith, the Alliance would activate their trap card and blow the remaining supports - toppling that building on their given ground. The Alliance Marines hoped that this would dramatically thin the herd, as New Adasta herself buried her would-be saviours beneath metric tonnes of rubble. Not only would the enemy's numbers be significantly reduced, but their in-roads into the City itself would be restricted as well. It would be a desperate act to ensure that the Emptied City was held against all odds and that precious seconds were stolen - in the hopes of coming reinforcements.
Another contingency was the activation of various minefields. They were proximity-based detonators that would be remotely given life only once the Alliance had withdrawn from a sector. Such weapons were indiscriminate, and it was ill-advised to activate an unseen minefield whilst friendly forces were still within range of the detonators. But, these extreme measures would steal the time the Marines needed to entrench themselves within a successive line of defence. While their enemy was blowing themselves to smithereens, what remained of the 7th and the 104th would be reloading and readying themselves to do battle once again.
Rafan wished that he could take credit for several of the contingency plans. But, greater minds than his had devised those fall-back plans. The Captain wasn't suited for the complexities of grand strategy, as his focus was situated on the successful execution of his orders. He did his job well, and those that served under him reflected that aspect in the grandest of ways. They were excellent soldiers and even better engineers. Without his subordinates, it was likely that Captain Cardas would've been labelled as a failure in the eyes of the Regimental Commander and reassigned elsewhere.
Thus, as the dust began to settle, the Captain ordered his Engineers to the next Sector. There, the Troopers that Rafan cherished would repeat the process of bringing down buildings to slow the enemy's advance towards the Central District. It would only be a matter of time before their Siegecraft specialization was put to the test. Still, the Captain was confident in their abilities. The only way the Sith could reach the People's Tower, circumnavigating the labyrinth, was to approach by air - but even they knew it would've been a suicide run. With the City built into the surface of a rocky crag, few vectors went unseen - even more-so when the aerial vectors were brought into play.
The re-wired defensive batteries and the 7th's own emplacements would see to the demise of any aerial advance. At least, whilst the power held out and munitions were in decent supply. For if those factors were taken out of the equation... Who knew what tragedies would occur within the proverbial heart of New Adasta? Captain Rafan shivered at the thought. The 7th Regiment, and their allies within the City Limits, had to do all it could to survive so that reinforcements could arrive. It was the only way that they would make it home in one piece, rather than being left out to rot beneath an alien sun.
As the first of their Company’s transports began to move, Rafan shook himself free from the thought. Such notions of mortality were cancerous to morale. He needed to believe that, lest his mind fell prey to despair. Once embraced by such darkness, it was only a matter of time before the barrel of a blaster started to look tasty...
Lieutenant Sola Horne’s grip tightened around her service weapon. She hated the feeling of anxiety that built beneath her breast seconds before a combat drop. The woman wasn’t fond of the cramped spaces, let alone the potential of being consumed by a plasmatic fireball should the Gunship come under fire. But, that uneasiness was something she dealt with her entire life, and sadly, it was something that would never get any easier as time moved on. Even during her training as a Marine Officer, Sola couldn’t shake the sensation when it was triggered. But, despite the partially-crippling tightness in her chest, the woman soldiered on to the best of her abilities.
This time, however, the trigger was different. She wasn’t anxious because of the tight corridors, let alone the dangerous potential future that awaited every Alliance marine. No, this time around, it was the mission that gave the woman anxiety. When the Alliance broke through the New Adasta’s defensive ring-wall, the incredible dangers the Marines faced were amplified beyond all reason. Firstly, they encountered a renewed Sith presence in the form of swarming Graug, stalking forth from the shadows or clawing their way up to the surface through partially concealed holes. Secondly, the City was besieged by countless orbital weapons platforms that bombarded the facility.
Just by those two facets alone, it’s a wonder only her anxiety was triggered. No one could’ve prepared the Marines for the sight of the wanton slaughter, let alone anticipate where and when these weaponized satellites would strike. One wrong turn, and you’d either be turned into food from the ravenous creatures or vaporized by an automated weapon’s system. That wasn’t even mentioning the chance of running into the Sith-Imperial Garrison, but they were admittedly less frightening than the two aforementioned dangers. At least with the Sith-Imperial Soldier - you got what you expected. There was nothing special about them in any capacity, as they were like the Marines in many respects. Simply two-sides of the same coin.
Thankfully, through blind luck, the weaponized platforms struck their own transceiver - making it nearly impossible to transmit any further targeting data. Through their unrestricted nature, they destroyed the very thing that bound themselves together and gave them purpose. If only the same could’ve been said about the Graug, Sola mused. The Graug were another problem in their entirety. They proved to be considerably more difficult than their Sith-Imperial counterparts and were all but capable of resisting their conventional weaponry. Blasters, let alone the more dangerous Particle-beam variants, had little effect on their hardened, reptilian flesh.
The Marines had to utilize the maximum settings on their weapons to do any damage without calling in armoured support. There was no better feeling than watching a group of Graug Warriors storm into the fray, believing themselves to have already won. Only to have them showcase their abject horror as once-conventional weapons began blasting apart their Brood-mates with relative ease.
As the Alliance adapted their tactics and weaponry to fight these Sithspawn, it wasn’t long after that the Graug were driven out of the City. Some of these monsters even led the Marine Hunting Party’s to their holes, the very methods in which they evaded detection from the orbital sensor sweeps before the assault began. When those details were relayed to Regimental Command, the Major and General Treicolt agreed that it would be in the Alliance’s best interest to seal those holes with whatever munitions they could spare. With most of the high-explosive arms being regulated to the various emplacements and mechanized units, those Hunting Party’s were given something interesting instead.
The high-explosive nature of the regulated munitions would’ve likely destabilized the sturdy foundations of New Adasta, triggering a catastrophe in the process. Thus, the Marines were given a stockpile of Carbonite missiles to aid them in their mission. These warheads would not only seal off the entrances of whatever Graug-holes they could find but also reinforce the City’s foundations accordingly. Hardened carbonite would also prove difficult to penetrate in any conventional fashion, proving to be somewhat of an annoyance to any hostile forces seeking to utilize those tunnels again. But, as more and more tunnels were found - the Marine Hunting Party’s met increasing resistance from what Graug were found within.
That there were still Graug in the very tunnels they sought to close-up was enough to trigger Sola’s anxiety. She had seen what those creatures were capable of, and coupled with the possibility of having to venture down into a cramped space with those horrible things lurking nearby? Who’s nerves wouldn’t be shot or frayed. She had seen entire Gunships burst into flame at the hands of hostile forces. She even saw Demons spill forth from the jaws of the Netherworld itself. But, none of that turned her blood like fighting Sithspawn in confined spaces and in the dark. Sure, the Republic Engineering Headgear did what it could to filter through the spectrum to give her the ability to technically see in the darkness.
But, that merely changed the colour of things into something more frightening.
Sola swallowed hard as the Pilot spoke aloud. Their Gunship was coming up on another Graug hole. This time around, it was the biggest one that was seen - as it was likely blown open during the bombardment or served as a transit-pipe for larger abominations. While she couldn’t put her finger on the truth, the woman elected to close her eyes and breathe deeply. Her world narrowed to a point where all that mattered was she kept breathing rhythmically. Not only did it give her something to focus on, but it also stilled the raging tempest and conflicting tightness beneath her breast.
When the light above turned green and the blast doors retracted, Sola opened her eyes. She was somewhat refreshed, having been able to calm her nerves. While the doubts and fears still lingered within her thoughts, they weren’t given any priority. As they weren’t in the forefront of her mind, they’d eventually vanish - leaving the Lieutenant free from the poisonous embrace of her own personal demons. As the Gunship touched down, Sola began ordering her Troopers to disembark as quickly as they could. The less time they spent in the armed transport, the better off they’d be - as they’d accomplish their objective all the faster.
While one could fire a few Carbonite warheads from the safety of the Gunship’s troop compartment, there were only so many missiles that could be fired at once. The limitations on spacing and room required for reloading the warhead launchers were some of the factors that made it impractical. With their boots on the ground, however? Well, that made things considerably more straightforward. No additional calculations had to be made. It was merely a matter of pointing and pulling the trigger; the carbonite warheads would do the rest. Thus, as the platoon disembarked from their transport, they began encircling the hole and filling the ruptured crust with as many missiles as possible.
But, as the last of the warheads were ejected, Sola began to wonder - would it be enough to hold the enemy at bay if they decided to swarm through the tunnels once more?
“There’s little that can be done, Captain,” an Alliance Marine said, wiping the dirt and grime from their hands onto a soiled rag. “I can’t get this turret to work. The wiring’s shot, and we don’t have anything to replace it with. 3rd Company’s armour did a number on the structural plating and even fused a few of the circuit panels. Suppose we had the schematics and one of the Prosecutor's duplicators nearby. In that case, I might be able to get it fixed…” The man sighed then, heavily. “But this blasted hunk of junk isn’t worth anything more than its weight in scrap. We’d be better off salvaging what we need and putting the armour plates to good use.”
Captain Miona Kale squeezed the bridge of her nose between her index finger and thumb, hoping to relieve some of the tension building within her mind. They needed this turret back in service, as it covered a vital causeway that led out into the Labyrinth of New Adasta. Without it, if and when the 7th Mechanized withdrew along that avenue - there’d be considerably less firepower to support their withdrawal. Without that firepower, there was the potential for more lives to be lost. That was an unacceptable outcome.
“Look, Kham,” she replied with a weary smile. “We need something installed here to make sure our contingency plans work. If we can’t get this turret up and running, let’s see about replacing it with something that works. Suppose I go down to the base camp and pick up one of our rotary cannons and a generator. Do you think you could fashion a barbette - so one of our boys or girls doesn’t get taken out by an enemy sniper?”
The Marine Sergeant, named Vidarr Kham nodded, before slapping the plating of the sundered turret. “Yeah, that shouldn’t be too hard. I should be done gutting this baby by the time you get back. And, uh, Captain, before you go. You should help yourself to some ReCaf. Torken’s made a fresh batch. It ain’t the good stuff, but at least it’ll put some pep in your step.”
“Might even relieve that headache!” the Sergeant shouted, as Miona was already navigating away from the sundered gun turret. She didn’t look back as the man called out to her but rather acknowledged him with the back of her hand - thanking him with a simple wave. There was nothing more that she could’ve added to the conversation, nor did she wish to continue speaking for the time being. Every moment of silence that she could steal was a blessing, and that would’ve been spoiled if she bellowed her thanks in return. But, the Sergeant was right. Her head was pounding because she felt terrible, like an addict going through the initial phases of withdrawal.
Caffeine was addictive, after all. The ability to stimulate the body to work overtime was crucial, especially for soldiers in her line of work. One mistake could mean the death of an entire unit, as their fortifications failed them - or an explosive didn’t detonate when it was supposed to. She had to be alert, and ReCaf - or Re-Caffeinated Beverages - were the means in which she’d use to keep her edge. There was little to taste. The supplier saw fit to bleach all flavour out of the beverage to ensure the packages were sterilized. Still, the warmth and energy provided were all that really mattered. She’d need both in this ashen tundra, especially if this City was to be the site of her Regiment’s last stand.
When she finally reached Torken, the Captain could smell the synthetic flavours enriching the atmosphere. It was a welcome change from the scorched ozone that dominated the City before, or the palpable scent of rotting meat and drying, coppery blood.
“Sergeant Kham mentioned you might have some ReCaf for me,” Miona said as she slid down into the trench where Torken had made his temporary home. The Helmetless Duros stood beside a makeshift table, made from a pair of Sith-Imperial longblasters and two planks of dented armour plating stolen from a nearby ruined tank. Their gauntleted hands busied themselves with pouring the freshly brewed liquid into a metallic mug. Ensuring that the precision of his movements went undisturbed by the sudden arrival of his commanding officer.
The man took pleasure in the small things and pouring the precise volume of ReCaf into the container triggered his mind in the grandest ways. The simple things often give the most pleasure, the Duros often remarked. With beings like Jedi and Sith dominating the Galaxy and bending reality to suit their capricious whims - the simple things were the only thing left for mere mortals to control. When the precise measure was reached, Ran Torken carefully navigated the filled mug into the waiting hands of the Captain.
“Here you are, ma’am,” the Trooper said with a winning smile. “Less than One-hundred and twenty millilitres of rationed ReCaf brewed to perfection with what heating elements I could scrounge together during my break.”
Miona accepted the cup graciously and relished the warmth through her armoured gloves. “My thanks, Torken. If we make-”
“When we make it through this,” Torken interrupted. “I understand and accept your realist tendencies, ma’am, but I’d rather be the optimist and believe that we’ll make it through.”
The Captain nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Torken. Things haven’t been easy the last few days, and ever since we took the City - things are starting to look incredibly grim. New Adasta was nothing like Kway Teow. The Locals there wanted our help in freeing themselves from Sith-Imperial control. Here? We never got the chance before the Sith Empire started bombarding us from orbit.”
“Ma’am,” Torken began. “I’d wager that’s because they’re getting desperate. We’re seeing an ideological shift in the Sith Empire unfold before our very eyes. They’re being assailed on all sides with no-way-out. If we were nothing more than Fauna, and we were backed into a corner like the Sith Empire is - wouldn’t you resort to such desperate measures in the hopes of claiming victory?”
Miona nodded again as she brought the steaming mug to her lips. There was no discernable taste as the brewed liquid eclipsed her lips and bathed her tongue. But, the warming sensation it brought was wholly welcomed. “You’re right again, Torken. I suppose it’s a concept that I’m having a hard time grasping.” Torken nodded in return as his eyes drifted back towards the improvised table situated behind his armour-bound person. “That’s alright, Captain. I’ve been having difficulties grasping it too, but change is to be expected. Whatever they were doing wasn’t enough to hold back the tide, so they had to switch things up. If I were in their shoes, I’d likely be doing the same thing.”
“I suppose I would be too,” Miona reluctantly agreed as she took another hearty draw from the mug. “In the end, victory is all that matters, as the means justify the ends. Once the dead are buried and gone, they can alter history as they see fit - painting themselves in a better light for future generations.”
“I’m sorry, again, Torken,” the Captain stated seconds after those words left her mouth. She was getting distracted and totally forgot that she had to grab something for Sergeant Kham. The man was likely to be angry, but that was of little concern. Especially since the conversation with Trooper Torken, and the steaming cup of ReCaf, seemed to deal with the dull ache behind her eyes. “I’m not used to venting my problems or opinions to my subordinates, let alone those that have given me ReCaf.”
“It’s alright, Ma’am,” Torken replied with a warm smile. “People find it easy to talk to me, not only because I’m very precise, but because I listen and offer my own opinions in return. I suppose you could say that my Squad was right to give me the war-name of Shrink.”
Moina laughed then, nearly spitting out a mouthful of ReCaf in the process. “An apt name,” she commented as she choked down the remainder of the contents within her mug. “Now, thank you again for the ReCaf, but I gotta get moving. Sergeant Kham needs me to pick up a Chainblaster and a Generator to shore up the eastern approach.”
Taking the mug back from the Captain, Torken smiled once again. “Anytime, Captain. Safe travels.” She would’ve responded, but Captain Miona was already gone by the time the Duros finished issuing his farewell.
A gout of vital fluid spat outwards as Second Lieutenant Crik Tanou clamped down on the exposed artery. Little could’ve been done to save the leg, as some of the most basic infections began to take root. The flesh was starting to rot from the inside out, and there wasn’t any bacta that wasn’t already in use. The Marine couldn’t have waited any longer, so Crik was forced to amputate the man’s leg to save his life. There wasn’t any available Jedi around to make the process any easier, as they reportedly could’ve healed the man of his afflictions. They were busy elsewhere, likely tending to the Citizens of New Adasta situated within the Starport nearby.
It figures - the Medic thought to himself as he began sealing up the wound. When the Alliance needed the Jedi the most, they were anywhere but where they were needed most. Especially those that were gifted healers, as their skills and powers would’ve been incredibly handy right about now. They would’ve been able to get this entire wing of patients on their feet and back into fighting form. Instead, they believed that the Marines needed to take care of their own and assist the people of New Adasta. Clearly, that was the best course of action, especially when it was the lives of these brave men and women that were on the line. When the last of the Marines fell, who then would defend the Starport until reinforcements arrived?
It was unlikely that the Jedi would hold their ground against the Sith Empire in the face of such overwhelming odds. They’d be too busy and concerned with acquiring some measure of glory by sallying forth into battle - hunting down the Sith. While they likely believed that severing the snake’s head meant that the body withered and died, it wasn’t an instantaneous process. In the time it’d take a command structure to fall apart, the Sith-Imperial forces could quickly achieve their objective and reclaim the Starport. Especially if the entirety of the 7th Regiment and perhaps even the famed 104th were stuck in the newly-erected medical camp. Who knows what would happen then.
Would the Sith Empire slaughter the remaining citizenry in the hopes of covering up their heinous crimes? Would they brainwash their people into believing that their actions were justified? That the orbital cleansing was meant to kill both the Graug and the Alliance in one fell swoop? There were so many potential outcomes that it almost made the Marine Medic’s head spin. Thankfully, the man was able to push them all aside in favour of focusing on the task at hand. He was sealing up an amputated limb, after all. Had he been absentminded and unable to multitask, the clamp wouldn’t have held, and his patient would’ve expired from rampant blood loss.
So, as his mind refocused, Crik finished sealing up the wound. “There,” the Medic said, as he tucked the pressurized can of sealant back into his bloodied smock. “That should do it. Nurse? I want you to give him a mild stimulant and some painkillers if we’ve got any, then bring him over to the Cyberneticist - see that he’d fitted for a prosthetic. If it takes, that man should be back on the frontlines in a matter of days. He’ll just have to get used to the wait.”
“Yes, Lieutenant,” the Nurse replied, as she wheeled the gurney away and dragged a portion of the man’s vital fluids with her as she stepped. It was the furthest thing from sanitary, but there was little that could be done about it. There were no droids stationed nearby that could be tasked to clean-up the blood, let along any Orderlies with free time on their hands. Many of them were too busy helping out the Citizens of New Adasta, seeking to win over what could be recovered of the Population as they awaited evacuation. Something about generosity in the face of adversity and fighting back against the crumbling Empire’s propaganda machine. If the Jedi and the Alliance were such devils, why would they save us when our own Empire condemned us to death?
Crik understood the reasoning behind it, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. They took away precious supplies to help those who weren’t on the frontlines and defending their encampment. It had been nearly a week since he saw a fresh vat of bacta that didn’t need to be recycled! He never fathomed how disgusting those bacta tanks got after they were reprocessed dozens of times. It would’ve been better if they could get more from what warships were left in orbit, but they were busy trying to keep an evacuation corridor open. If they lost that corridor, well, then all hope of safely evacuating from the surface would’ve been lost. Whatever transports were launched would’ve been shot down by the Sith Empire as they reclaimed the heavens above Ziost. The Sith didn’t seem like the people who took chances with civilian transports leaving active military theatres, even if it meant killing their own people in the process.
Something about denying their enemies the chance to live and fight another day, the Medic thought.
His mind had gone to a dark place today, the man remarked. But who could blame him? He was on the frontlines of a conflict that the Alliance was so sure that it would win. They dealt a mighty blow to the Sith Empire, ousting their garrisons from Felucia and pushing Sith-Imperials forces out of the Korriban System. In the entire history of the Sith Empire, no interstellar superpower had managed such a feat. It was a little wonder why the Alliance was arrogant in their belief that victory was assured. Thus, when the Sith Empire switched tactics, becoming the animal backed into a corner, the Alliance wasn’t ready for the turn-about. And here they were, reaping the successes of their overconfidence.
Yes, they had managed to garner a small victory by laying claim to a majority of New Adasta and stopping the bombardment. But, that victory ended up as nothing more than hollow, as it cost the Alliance deeply. Who knew how many Soldiers were buried beneath the rubble or were dying in his own medical ward? Not to mention the shortages and the like. It would take a miracle and a few thousand litres of fresh synthbacta to brighten Crik’s spirits after bearing witness to the horrors of war.
Knowing that it was futile to rage against the coming darkness, the Medic let out a heavy sigh of frustration. He needed to clear his head before seeing his next patient. It would do that poor soldier little good if Crik’s mind was consumed by his rampant emotions. “Ironic,” the Medic remarked, with the edge of mirth framing his words. “I’m slowly turning into a blasted Jedi with all their no emotion, only peace mumbo-jumbo.” He shook his head then. Maybe if he started to think like them, they might give him the time of day and lend their aid to those in dire need of their services. It was an interesting notion to entertain, especially since Crik started to gain a reputation for having a relatively short temper and terrible bedside manner for an Alliance Medic.
Well, Crik mused, there was nothing to be achieved by standing around. It was time to get back to work. With that realization in mind, the Medic replaced the emptied canister of sealant with the last one from his stockpile and headed towards his next patient. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to saw off an entirely treatable limb due to medicinal shortages.
“I don’t know where your Husband is,” Milo said with a raised gauntlet. He was doing what he could to keep the woman before him at bay as she sought to grab hold of his breastplate in a desperate attempt to demand answers. “We’ve done our best to find every shelter mentioned in the Capitol Building’s database. There’s only so much we can do in an active warzone without recklessly endangering your lives or our own in the process. Please be patient, and we’ll be sure to keep you, and the others updated as to our progress.” The woman’s gnarled hands slowly sunk down to her sides as Milo’s words took root in her mind. He supposed that she came to the eventual realization that the man was right.
The Alliance couldn’t dig around the ruined portions of the City without throwing themselves into a dangerous position. Let alone one that would allow them to safely extract any survivors. The woman, much like everyone else that was concerned for the loved ones, would have to wait until the system was liberated from Sith control. This structure was quite literally the safest place for them to be in. They were situated within the City’s proverbial heart, nestled within the shadows of the People’s Tower, and protected on all sides by countless fortifications. They had nothing to worry about… at least when it came to weathering the storm. Milo couldn’t speak to the safety nor survival of the people these citizens inquired after.
Having overheard the Marine’s interactions with the woman, several other Citizens began to settle themselves down. Milo supposed that they, too, realized that there was little the Alliance could do in a situation such as this. He let out a small sigh of relief as those people turned their backs on him and returned to their designated areas. The man had gone through countless hours of training, be it live-fire or simulations. None of them prepared the Trooper for having to act as not only a Security Guard for hundreds, if not thousands of ‘enemy’ non-combatants but as a mediator as well. Let alone surviving a blasted bombardment from orbit whilst fighting through the streets of an embattled city, overrun by Sithspawn.
In his short career as an Alliance Marine, Milo experienced more than many mortals had across several lifetimes, all within a short period of time. If the man wanted, he could retire right here and now and have a chance to live out the rest of his days telling fanciful horror stories to his Grandchildren about his time in the Defence Force. But, while that was an admirable aspiration, that possible future implied that he survived the coming battle. It also made the assumption that his guilt over deserting his friends in their darkest hour didn’t drive away any potential romantic prospects. While it was pleasant to think about, such thoughts were nothing more than mere fantasy - which didn’t suit anyone in the end.
Milo ended up clearing his mind with a subtle shake of his head. There were better things to think of rather than abandoning those who he considered his second family. As his thoughts drifted elsewhere, the Alliance Marine gravitated towards one of the nearby aid stations. They were handing out some supplies to the locals that looked like they needed them. Those supplies ranged from emergency blankets to food and water. There was even a temporary medical tent situated somewhere nearby with a considerable amount of SynthBacta at their disposal, alongside several Medics from the 7th Regiment. None of those Soldiers were treating their wounded comrades, but Milo assumed it was just as well.
They were here to support these people as best as they could, and treating them beside the Invaders that despoiled their world wouldn’t win them any favours. Even with the Sith having bombarded their own people, these locals distrusted the Soldiers that extricated them from their would-be tombs. He couldn’t blame them, though. If it wasn’t for the Alliance seeking justice and retribution, these people wouldn’t have been gunned down by their own government - let alone subjected to living in such cramped squalor. It was a disheartening thing to think about, but such was the way of things, especially in wartime. Both sides of any conflict did abhorrent things in the hopes of claiming their vindication through victory.
Once the Trooper found himself beside the aid station, Milo offered his help and began handing out blankets to those in need. It wasn’t much, but the man believed that it would be a step towards shattering the demonized version of themselves that the Sith Empire utilized in their propaganda. Perhaps if they saw, with their own eyes - rather than those provided by the state - just how pleasant the Alliance and her Soldiers could be around, maybe they’d change their minds. It was doubtful, Milo mused, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t worth a try. After all, it wasn’t that long ago that the Trooper himself was taking foreign aid from another interstellar agency. So, there was at least a measure of understanding and familiarity at play here.
It was a shame that he couldn’t do more for these people. They had lost so much in the initial phases of the battle, and Milo wondered if they’d ever recover. Sure, the Alliance could help them begin again, but the Core Worlds were so far away, and it would’ve taken weeks to marshal any relief effort. That didn’t even consider the amount of time that the flotilla would have to navigate through the Stygian Caldera to avoid the fighting and not be boarded or scuttled by enemy warships. They had to make do with what they had on hand, and sadly - that wasn’t much by any measure. The Expeditionary Force spared what it could, but beyond that? Everything else had to be regulated to the defence effort. These people’s safety was paramount, but their lives would have to be put on hold until the planet was liberated.
Until then, Milo would follow through with his duties. He would do everything he could to safeguard these people and work alongside those that assisted the Alliance in their relief efforts. The man also hoped that he’d be able to coordinate with any incoming vessels that would evacuate the people from the Starport. Maybe then, he might be able to help negotiate for supplies to make their jobs easier - since the rations were starting to run thin. Everything else could wait an additional day or two, but when fearful people began to get hungry? Well, that’s when all hell would break loose. He, nor his various Commanders, would want that madness on their hands whilst fighting off a Sith Incursion.
With those thoughts in mind, Milo handed over another blanket with a warm smile. Who knew what the future held, but all he could do was hold onto what embers of hope still burned. In one way or another, everything would turn out for the best. Either the Alliance and their Allies would breakthrough, and relieve the forces trapped on the surface - or - they would die… raging defiantly against the coming darkness.
After Tycho lost his eye, the man began to see the world in a different light. He foolishly believed that he always saw the bigger picture, as both of his eyes drank in the details of whatever lay in front of him. Every possibility would be accounted for, and dozens of contingencies would be planned to overlap one another. Yet, the Sith Empire still managed to flip the table for all of his preparatory effort and left him scrambling to pick up the pieces. While it wasn’t his failure alone, the Major shouldered the burden. Because his troopers weren’t fast enough to make their objective that this disaster occurred, thousands of people were butchered for senseless reasons. Every delay that the Expeditionary Force faced meant that the orbital guns could still operate with impunity.
The death toll that came from such callous disregard of the conventions of warfare was astronomical. New Adasta was nearly sacrificed so that the Sith Empire could seemingly carry the day. That didn’t sit right with the Major, more so than the puckered emptiness of his eye socket. What made matters worse was that they refused to accept the consequences of putting their own City to the torch. The people who remained within the walls still believed that their Empire would save them from the demons of the Core. After everything they had been subjected to, despite being butchered by the Graug, they still wanted to be embraced by the Empire in some fashion or another. It was like watching an abused addict debase themselves for a fleeting moment of their uncaring master’s attention.
As the table was flipped, Tycho and what remained of the 7th Regiment and the 104th Battalion did what they could to right it. Through their efforts, the City was eventually taken, and the Sith Empire repulsed. But, it didn’t have the effect that either the General or the Major hoped for. While they had taken the Capital, the remaining Settlements refused to fall in line - believing that the massacre in New Adasta was nothing more than Alliance propaganda. The Empire wouldn’t callously abandon its own people to die, they said. Fake news, another City Administrator screeched before severing the link. These people were so damned messed up that they couldn’t believe nor accept the truth of the situation. No wonder the Sith Empire has managed to support itself on rotten foundations for so long.
The Major sighed heavily as his mind drifted away from such patriotic vitriol. It wouldn’t do him any favours to queen and moan about the past, as their actions were their own - and there was nothing he could do about it. His time would be better spent elsewhere, as who knew how long it would be until the Sith Empire made their move. The Alliance had to be ready for anything. To that end, Tycho booted up the sprawling holo-table before him and watched as his armoured figure was bathed in the soft, pulsating hues of digital sapphires. When the table finished its activation cycle, a topographic map of Ziost’s surface materialized - brightening the room with its etheric glow.
As the map rendered itself into reality, Tycho saw the IFF transponders of his units flickering into being - detailing what remained of his Regiment and where they were located. Their numbers were severely diminished, the Major thought to himself, as he gently caressed the table’s crystalline surface. He inhaled shakily at that moment before his armoured fingers tightened into a fist. Tycho needed to focus; there would be time enough to mourn their losses when the day was claimed for the Alliance. Thus, the Alderaanian pushed aside the growing sorrow and allowed the cold, analytical portions of his mind to take over.
“Sir,” a nearby Adjutant called out. “We’ve got reports from our Outriders beyond the City Walls.”
“Put it on the table,” Tycho replied, not wanting them to move away from their station or steal himself away from his. They nodded in acknowledgement and swiftly uploaded the details to the table. As the connection was established and the handshake completed, the data rendered itself upon the table - showcasing several Outrider squads and their movements. The Major was expecting something big but found his expectations deflated. There were no grand movements from the surface that could be seen, just small packs of Graug seeking to test their fortifications and waste their munitions. That meant if an attack was to happen, it’d be sudden - as the Sith would likely manifest out of thin air and begin their slaughter anew.
Tycho believed that he prepared for that eventuality. The mines stitched into the various roads leading towards the Central District could be remotely activated at a moment’s notice. If the Sith suddenly appeared from no-where and deposited their armies in the City Streets? Well, they would be in for quite the explosive surprise. That surprise would be further enhanced by the various Sniper Nests that were situated at the top of the People’s Tower. While it would’ve been much better to place them on the Outskirts of the City, the fact that there were roving Warbands of Graug out in the ashen tundra wouldn’t have bode well for any Snipers or their comrades.
Instead, the People’s Tower offered them not only the security of a well-fortified perimetre but a commanding view of the surrounding City. With their weapons in hand, they’d be able to pick off any Enemy Commanders as soon as they revealed themselves - hopefully sowing discord and disarray within the ranks of the Enemy. The Sith were fond of their Officers and Command Echelons, so it was only natural that they were marked as priority targets. Without their Commanders in play, a vast majority of the Sith-Imperial Forces would be stricken by confusion - unwilling to advance or engage the enemy without their Leaders.
Naturally, there would be select units prepared for such confusion and losses, but that mattered little. They would be too few and far between to make any meaningful strides.
From there, the reactive defence line would whittle down the enemy’s numbers. If they approached from the Outskirts, like the Sith had from before, they would be thrown into a brutal battle of attrition. Not only would they have to fight what remained of the Alliance Expeditionary Forces or their Jedi allies, but they’d have to fight the City itself, as dozens of buildings were rigged to blow. It was an adaptive and wholly destructive tactic, but as the Civilian populace remained within the Central District or the People’s Tower itself, there was little concern over collateral damage. The Alliance had to do what they must to safeguard the people until reinforcements arrived.
Thus, the Sith Empire’s advancing forces would’ve been presented with several paths towards the City’s centre. Depending on their route, they would either be greeted by entrenched Alliance Forces or the sight of several collapsing towers. The former would undoubtedly prove to be the most ideal inroad towards the Central District, as the latter would prove to be disastrous. Not only would they have to circumnavigate the newly erected barricade, but there was a chance that a significant portion of their forces could be buried under the tumbling debris. Trapped and dying was the worst way to go, and Tycho silently relished the thought of watching his enemies be crushed to death.
It was the very least they deserved for all the evils unleashed upon Alderaan and the Core Worlds thereafter. That wasn’t even considering the countless other genocides that the Sith Empire carried out. Like how they utilized scorched earth tactics in the Braxtant Run - seeking to deny the New Imperial Order the fruits of their Imperial heartland. But, those worlds weren’t as important as the systems he loved and knew. He lost friends and family when the Sith Empire ransacked the Core. Their atrocities elsewhere merely cemented the burning hatred that roared within his breast.
“Any news from the Graug Hunters?’ Tycho asked, letting his voice filter away into the darkness.
“Aye, sir. Lieutenant Horne’s platoon has checked in. They found a large tunnel that likely leads deep into the planet’s crust. They’re sealing it up with carbonite warheads now.”
The Major nodded. That was good. Ever since the Graug suddenly appeared, Tycho knew that there was a chance they’d use the same tunnels to re-enter the City under the Alliance’s nose. That was why he organized the Graug Hunters and authorized the use of Carbonite weaponry. While the Carbonite would’ve been more effective against the Bryn’adul, it was more than enough to act as an impromptu terraforming sealant. Not only would they reinforce the foundations of New Adasta, but they would effectively deny the Sithspawn their route into the City.
Ideally, they would have to carve out another set of tunnels or do what they could to burrow through the hardened carbonite. The latter would likely prove to be a fruitless endeavour, but the former? Well, that was prepared for too. Seismic sensors were deployed at key junctions throughout the City, which would be triggered by subsurface vibrations. An act that would allow the various rapid reaction forces of the Alliance to convergence on their enemies as they emerged from their tunnels. He only hoped that the 104th Battalion was ready to wreak havoc and let loose the dogs of war in response.
“What about the other platoons?” Tycho inquired.
“Uh, one moment, Sir.” There was a moment of silence as the Adjutant worked at their console, searching for the answer(s) their Commander sought. “They’ve all checked in as well and are returning to base. Whatever Holes they found, they’ve plugged with their carbonite munitions, and any stragglers were gunned down—minimal casualties. We lost one Trooper, and three more were injured. They should be right as rain after the Medics patch ‘em back up, though.”
The Major nodded. “Very well. See that the medical camps are informed we got incoming. I also want to see that Crik’s rotated off duty and gets some shut-eye. The man’s been working himself to the bone, and he’s no use to me exhausted.”
“Aye, sir,” the Adjutant acknowledged. It wasn’t long after their hushed whispers could be heard in the distance as they relayed the Major’s orders to their respective Officers. With that task issued, it was time to look elsewhere. Everyone was playing their parts to the best of their abilities, and it was up to him to ensure that everything proceeded smoothly. While Tycho was no stranger to the delegation of Command, the Alderaanian preferred to lead from the frontlines where the fighting was thickest. Yet, because of the situation they found themselves in - the very steed in which he rode to battle was otherwise engaged and unable to ferry him through the madness of war.
That Juggernaut was a potent troop transport. Heavily armed and armoured, with the ability to trample the enemy beneath their massive bulk. It was perfectly suited to aid in the evacuation efforts. The Juggernaut had enough capacity to carry a significant portion of non-combatants away from the frontlines. Not only would the Citizens of New Adasta be protected by the hardened armour plating, but they would be swiftly reunited with their families. A factor that was highly dependent on if they survived the bombardment. It wasn’t the most ideal use for his mechanical steed, but the vehicle vastly expedited the rolling evacuation and transfer of supplies throughout the fortified points.
So, Tycho swallowed his pride and desires to accept that he was needed here rather than out there. At least, for the time being. Who knew what would happen when the Sith Empire finally redoubled their efforts? Maybe, if he was lucky, Tycho would be able to command the defences from his prized Juggernaut. Or, if he wasn’t fortunate in the slightest, the super-heavy vehicle would be destroyed and what remained of his Regiment fell back to the Starport. At least with the entirety of his forces concentrated in a single area - there would be plenty of chances to command the Alliance from the front lines.
Shaking his head of such a grim and dark future, Tycho turned his attention towards the fortifications that encompassed the entirety of the Central District. Every report that he drew up with the touch of a finger detailed everything that his Combat Engineers installed. What Sith-Imperial emplacements survived the opening assault was converted over to serve the Alliance and their Marines. These defence guns would greatly benefit the fortifications as they were suited to anti-aerial operations, meaning that should the Sith Empire try to evade the labyrinth and the traps that were placed to stall their advance - they’d be brought down by their own guns.
There was something oddly poetic about that notion, so much so that Tycho smirked with perverse glee.
From there, the Sith-Imperial guns would be further fortified by a string of barricades, bunkers, converted pillboxes, and countless spools of monofilament razor wire. The standards of any static defensive line, as the Major put it. With those fortifications in place, the Alliance Marines would be able to engage their enemies without fear of considerable reprisal. For they would be situated at critical junctions, house overlapping fields of fire, and be faced towards an onrushing opponent. Those Marines could then gun down their foes with few casualties taken in return. That wasn’t even mentioning the various artillery pieces and armour situated behind cover, effectively making them ‘hull down.’ They, too, could then benefit from the defences that the Marines ensconced themselves within.
With both aspects of a static defence line, combined with a rapid reaction force - composed of armour, repulsorcraft, and speeder-mounted marines with power lances… the defences of New Adasta were as formidable as the 7th Regiment could make them. They had turned a ruined City into an interconnected barbican that held the potential of breaking even the most elite and battle-hardened of militaries. After all, such siegecraft was their specialty, and the 7th Regiment wouldn’t allow the Sith to reclaim their prize without a fight. These Stalwart Defenders would make the Sith Empire bleed for every inch they had taken and hold out until either reinforcements arrived - or fight until the last man stood in defiance.
It was their way. For the 7th Regiment was stubborn - despite the odds arrayed against them. Through sheer determination and grit, they would triumph over their enemy. Either through Victory or Death.
~-~*~-~
:// TL;DR? - Key Takeaway Points:
The 7th Mechanized Regiment and the 104th Battalion have taken New Adasta after nearly Three Weeks.
They've fortified the City and concentrated their defences around the Central District, which includes the People's Tower and the Starport. #LastStandScenario.
The Outer Defences of the City entail small skirmishing forces, with dozens of concealed remotely-triggered minefields and buildings rigged to blow. This effort was expedited by the careful use of explosives to detonate emptied buildings to reshape the City into a labyrinth of death.
The Inner Defences are more static, as they're composed of converted bunkers, pillboxes, hull-down armour and artillery pieces, spools of monofilament razor wire, anti-aerial batteries, etc.
The People's Tower plays host to several Sniper Nests. Due to the central location and height, these Snipers and their Spotters are given a commanding view of the battlefield.
