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The call to Spectre had rang through all of SCAR's comms. Losing a squadmate was nothing new in the Empire. But this call rang wrong somehow for the briefest of moments. Through all the shit engagements they have been through together and he had to go down in this one.
If Spectre was able to keep him in the land of the living, he would come back in a right foul mood.
Lily had nodded at her words. But before she entered the cavern where the Padawans were, she turned back to her comrade. <Spectre - he's got a mean right hook. Duck when he wakes up.> she had said, a slight smirk in her voice. But the underlying message would be clear to her comrade - bring him back.
She had then ducked into the cavern to face the digging Padawan.
With Streiter in hand, she was now looking down at the boy.
The boy went over into action immediately, a flurry of vehement strikes raining down on her. She brought the blade up to parry, but the kid kept driving her back with force. When her back hit the wall, she knew she was in trouble. Before she could recover another parry, his saber hacked into her already wounded shoulder once again.
But the kid didn't stop. The saber went up and came down again and in that moment, the Reaper, delirious from the burning pain, struck out that free hand in reflex to catch the blade as it came down. The crushgaunt held its own against the blade for that moment, giving her that split second to bring her helmeted head forward to headbutt him hard in the face before planting a boot on his chest and kicking him away.
Stepping away from the wall, she started to realise the damage in her shoulder - after the reflexive move, her arm was now completely useless as smoke still rose up from her shoulder where the saber had cut deep into it. "You're dead now." The voice behind the helmet was calm and haunting once more and it held the cold of death.
She marched toward him, glad that the helmet hid the sneer of pain on her face.
Objective 1
Allies: The Empire
Enemies: GA; Nida Perl
Equipment: Armor; Duster; Lightsaber; Old Sin Holding her by the neck Sarad loosened his grip to make it easier for Nida to speak though he maintained a strong enough hold that ensured she would slide free from his hand and fall back onto the ice and snow. Tilting his head he saw her mouth opening, he sensed that she was trying to tell him something but it all came out so slowly and then she told him. He hadn't known her name until now, perhaps she had told Sarad in an attempt to 'humanize' herself to him though in her current haze it would have been difficult to tell if she'd affected him at all.
Taking the lightsaber in his right hand Sarad would have clipped it back onto his utility belt inside the confines of the duster he wore. The Duster bore a few scorch marks itself, blackened in areas where the electricity Nida had unleashed and scoured over him....
"Nida Perl."
...he said, feeling her body weaken in his grasp and looking into her eyes could see the light in her pupils begin to dim. Death didn't await her but unconsciousness would take her soon....
"I'll remember your name."
....then she went limp and Sarad would have lowered her until her body was resting close to his, propped on her knees with his arm shifting around her shoulders.
The Din of battle waned in the background before blasterfire was heard again accompanied by explosions across a far off plateau causing Sarad to turn his head and look. Black smoke rose amidst the remnants of fiery devastation but in such chaos it was impossible to tell who was actually winning this grand confrontation. Sarad, at least had done his part just as he'd promised his employers.
Adjusting himself he would have eventually taken Nida Perl
in his grip again and ducking down would have thrown the Zeltron's limp body up and over his shoulder so that he could carry her a ways through the battlefield of Ilum. In time they would almost certainly sync with an Imperial Contingent and then it was just a matter of contacting Saul Vandron
at the battles end to see what he was willing to pay for this one.
This old man wasn't making any sense, and if Gabe was being honest with himself, he didn't have the energy to even try to understand the mental gymnastics of the old man in front of him. All he could do was grit his teeth and raise his lightsaber in defiance. Varen was counting on him. It was then he heard an unfamiliar voice and the tell-tale sound of a lightsaber coming to life. Gabe turned.
Sion.
He'd never met the boy, but he'd seen him walking in the halls with Osarla. Why did it have to be him? He didn't need or want his help. The distraction nearly cost him his life. He didn't even notice the Knight moving in for the kill. But before his short life could be ended there was a gust of wind as the Force blasted past him and another Jedi's blade paused the Knight's assault on the padawans. A Jedi master? She knew Varen, that much was obvious. Maybe his master? He didn't stick around to find out.
"C'mon Sion," he muttered. They had to get Varen to safety.
“No.” Osarla frowned deeply. She could feel the displeasure settling into the corners of her mouth. The machine warrior reduced the generation of learners to child soldiers. She’d thought for a moment she’d struck something, but then the woman reduced whatever understanding to an insult.
No, not an insult. A misunderstanding that Osarla could correct.
“They never go alone. They’re never meant to die.”
She opened her mouth to argue further but gasped instead. The same crunching sensation that had nigh-suffocated her from her braintail tingled around her torso. It felt like a tunnel that burrowed into her bones with speed and anger.
“Their masters are meant to be with them, to protect them.”
Through the intense crushing sensation, she hissed through her teeth and took one powerful step forward, dragging her numb foot along to close the distance to the woman. The snow left a trail of her struggle, but she powered through. In contention to the telekinetic grip around her body, she reinforced her internal strength through her connection to The Force. Amplified by the planet and her own unique mastery over Force Body.
It became as if her bones were of reinforced steel, rather than calcium.
Slowly, her strength fortified itself enough for her to draw her saber overhead and bring it down for a two handed hammer down on the machine that stood in her way of reuniting with her men and her students.
“I’m meant to be with them.” She snarled through the hungry sounds of her sabre. The conviction of her desire matched the delivery. Her voice fluctuated and pulsed through the threatening gush of emotion, and the truth of her failure was a raw sting in her throat. “I’m meant to protect them.”
One hand snapped out, through the collision of blades, at the loose wires sparking out the damaged arm —where Osarla had stabbed earlier, and some debris had damaged further — of the human replica droid, gathered them into a fist, and yanked them to the side to put her off balance. Or harm her wiring. She wasn’t really sure which would happen first. If either, at all.
“And I will do whatever it takes for you to understand and for them to know that I haven’t left them.” ALLIES | GA | NJO | | INDIRECT BUT SORT OF PROXIMITY AROUND THE CAVERNS AND DIG SITE| Zhea Nox
| Varen Ardos | Sion Lorray
| Gabriel Pryce
| Varen Ardos FOES | THE EMPIRE | Enyo Typhos
Cailen’s blade of energy crackled violently against the Cortosis-lined edge of Margo’s vibroblade, with the two straining against one another until the padawan, it would seem, found a source of inner fire and resolve that overpowered the pain inflicted from her punch into his side. She applied her muscles into the struggle, looking to overpower the physically weaker-looking boy in front of her.
But to her surprise, the young Jedi found the strength within him to not only inch her blade back, but to completely catch her off guard. His lightsaber blade surged forward, casting her blade off balance and singing the faceplate of her helmet. A deep burn marred the ocular lenses covering her eyes, causing her vision to be heavily impaired as she stumbled backward. It was half through the distorted vision, half through muscle memory that she just barely raised her sword to block the counter strike from her opponent. Without skipping a beat, she lunged her head forward, aiming the crown of her helmet into the bridge of Cailen’s nose - intent on preventing him from gaining the initiative and instead forcing him backward.
Whether the headbut disoriented him or not, the purpose of the maneuver was simply to throw him backward and buy her the few moments it would take for her to pull the helmet off of her head. Her golden-blonde hair was tied back into a bun, and her piercing blue eyes stared back at him. But there was no warmth in her eyes - no emotion. Not in the same way as the Jedi espoused distancing oneself from emotion.
No... these were the cold dead eyes of a killer.
She took in a deep breath and rushed forward, twisting her blade into an upward cut that if left unchecked, would disembowel him from side to side. Whether it was blocked or not, she would then use the momentum of the strike to carry her into a spin and duck low, allowing her leg to strike out and reach for his left heel. The intent was obvious, to force the Jedi onto his back, wherein she could finish him before the other apprentice attempted to rejoin the fight.
The Nagai turned, gray eyes on the other Padawan, as he regarded the other.
In his life, before the Jedi Order, Jand had never been put into such a situation - someone asking for help, showing trust and weakness. In his culture, one entered a duel and walked from a duel, and if they were so injured as to require help, then they had not truly won. To die after a combat was the same as dying during it.
Jand regarded the other...
Across the rocky floor, even as rumbles and cracks continued to be heard and appear, Jand saw his lightsaber handle. Discarded in the snow, where it had landed after being thrown at the Imperial. The Force was called, the weapon flew toward the Nagai's hand, and he began to walk back to Corin. The blue blade ignited, as Jand stood near his fellow injured - and potentially dying - Padawan, casting the immediate area into a similar hue...
"Good," Jand muttered, his gray eyes glanced to the weapon. "Still working."
With a press of the activator, the blade extinguished with a snap-hiss, and Jand placed it back onto the clip of his belt. His body was wracked with pain, his side had shrapnel that needed bleeding stemmed, and his shoulder was broken, among other cuts and bruises. Still, the pale Padawan was more mobile, and crouched down beside Corin as he exhaled from the effort--
"Hm?"
--from where he was, Jand saw something that caught his eye. A small beam of light, one that escaped from a minute crack in a small rock near the pair. It seemed to... call to Jand, as the Nagai reached out - with his functioning - arm and picked the small thing up between his fingers. He studied it, noted the small beam of white light grew brighter, but remained encased within the rocky exterior.
It felt warm to touch, it felt like it belonged.
Jand tucked it into a pouch.
"Stand now, Corin," Jand said with no chance for argument in his tone. He reached out and grabbed the other, under the arm, and hefted the Padawan to his feet. "You will survive this. Lean on me, if you require it, though be informed my other shoulder is broken."
So, as a pair, Jand assisted Corin from the tunnel.
The pistol shots went wide, while the Alliance soldier collapsed on top of him, blade in hand. Sid braced his forearms against hers, his right arm pushing against her body weight, and the violence she was trying to reciprocate to him.
His knife was in his right hand, which put him in a bind.
He rotated the knife, bracing his left hand against her body- and dropped the knife into his left.
Which, in their limited space, could only put the tip of the blade near her ribcage- his left hand shooting forward from below, her dagger getting dangerously close to his clavicle....
Kill. He had to kill her. The Alliance was weak, faltering. Backstabbers. Liars. They proclaimed about peace, but Sid had seen their peace. Built on sandcastles and the bones of millions. How many Alliance Marines died here- because of the Jedi? How many did they sacrifice in their infernal religious wars? Without the Sith, there would be no fall of the Republic, without the Sith, there would be no genocides, no planets breaking. But the Sith only existed because the Jedi, time after time, lacked the stomach to do what was necessary.
The Empire understood that truth. That peace, order, and stability required strength. It's why he wore this armor, and not hers. She thought him evil, and he did too- in a sense. She was evil in that she lacked the courage to commit acts of violence to achieve peace. The Alliance would never have peace or stability. They'd always remain in a cycle of violence.
The Empire wanted to break the cycle. No Gods, No Masters.
Like an implacable force of nature, the Jedi advanced, powering through the assault that had been unleashed on her chest, despite the considerable pain it must be inflicting. In a way, Enyo was delighted by this.
Weak foes were not worth her time. She left them to the Sith.
All around them, chaos and destruction raged on the surface, as the rain of steel descended upon them. The planet buckled and roared in pain and rage. The earth itself seemed to tremble. But the Cyborg remained calm. Focused on the moment.
And then the Jedi's cobalt blade descended upon her like a hammer, and Enyo's purple crossguard sabre - Endurance - rose to meet it. Their laser swords seared and cried, a terrible song of unyielding energy searing and seething with a great hiss. With effort, she withstood the collision, blade held in her strong metal hand.
But as their twin blades collided and locked, one of the Togruta giant's hands suddenly snaked from her hilt, executing a manoeuvre the Cyborg's calculations had not anticipated. There was a terrible hiss when she suddenly yanked her already damaged left arm with Force-empowered strength. Enyo would not be dislodged. But as the Jedi tore and pulled, wires were torn and skin ripped, and metal wrecked. As sparks flew, the smell of burnt electronics wafted into the air. All but useless, the off-arm twitched incessantly, hanging limply from her shoulder.
The Cyborg's electronic eyes flashed crimson. The Jedi had rendered her off-arm unusuable, but the fact that she'd removed one hand from her sabre also meant the pressure on Enyo had receded a bit, enabling her to push back against the blade. Taking advantage of her lightsabre's crossguards, she attempted to use its vent to slice into the Jedi's shoulder.
And raising her leg, she brought her mechanical foot crashing down upon the Jedi's numb foot, trying to stomp on it with crushing force. "A Padawan is like your child. You care for them...more than anything else?" There was no mockery in her tone. It was introspective, reflective.
His black-armoured hand reached for the stims on offer, held in one hand as the other made careless effort to inject them into himself. Each fluid, no matter what foul and off colour, entered his conditioned body. If someone wished to follow Leto in these tunnels, the trail of syringes left behind would lead them to him. Beneath the armour, it were as if his heart beat faster and his muscles twitched as sweat fell from his brow and forced him to tense. Leto was on more supplements than he ever cared to admit.
Juiced to oblivion.
The Imperial took off into a run, he thundered across the tunnel network towards the sound of combat. It was the thrum of a saber that earned his attention, all with what it caused next; cleaved into armour, seared the plastoid, maybe even flesh. Muted words sounded off in the distance, of little importance to the stormtrooper. He rounded the corner like a black blur, a view of Reaper in her march towards the Jedi processed within the blink of an eye and that's all the time he seemed to have before his action. Phantom entered from the side and launched in with a full-forced punch aimed for the cheek of the Jedi Padawan. He followed through with all his mass.
GENERAL RIDOR 222ND NOVA CORPS| 512TH LEGION | 312 ATTACK BATALLION ILUM | DRILL SITE | NORTH POINT MINING AREA
Hungry blue and purple blades growled and snapped against one another in a deadly, sizzling lock. Osarla felt the push against her blade, and the lightness that came with its release. She shifted then, pivoting to her good foot and letting the blade that slashed toward her shoulder whoosh past her breast while she brought up her sword to get inside the arc, and cut up at the hilt that went for her shoulder.
Worse came afterwords. A stomp with the weight of a planet crushed against the plating of the top of her foot and she snarled out her pain, yelling out through the question she barely heard.
All the numbness in her bad foot was replaced with white-hot pain. Pain that Osarla could barely think through with the gravity of the question.
Caring for a student more than anything else was the primary rationale she hadn’t accepted a student from The Order in a decade. Attachment and loyalty had always been difficult for her to separate. With the army, it was easier. Hierarchy, ranks, orders — it was all a shared, collected experience that soldiers respected. Nobody was in battle to learn or grow.
The Master and Student dynamic exposed vulnerabilities between two persons constantly. It was easy for overprotectiveness to find fertile ground to grow into attachment. It was dangerous.
And now she’d opened herself up to it twice.
First, with Gabriel Pryce. He was supposed to be her only student. Once his Force sensitivities had been discovered, his apprenticeship under her tutelage was as good as written in the stars.
Second, and not as predictably, with Sion. She’d found him, a sole survivor on Lao-Mon. Burnt, half-alive, but full of perseverance that she couldn’t abandon. When she’d brought him back to Coruscant with her, she couldn’t let him go.
“Yes.” She answered simply, forcing a crispness to her voice that she didn’t feel. “I shouldn’t feel that way.” She admitted, surprised that she was still talking. Now, her voice was tight — strung tautly between emotion and pain.
“But I do. More than anything.”
Could this machine even understand what Osarla was saying? Surely, there was some break through the cognitive dissonance — the woman had asked after all.
But did Osarla understand what she was saying? The gravity of this admission to a stranger?
Amani did as told, taking Iris at her word to make a swerve to the left. Sure enough, just around the bend was the second of the scattered padawans, "Jasper!" They called his name at the same time. Just seeing him was enough to make Amani feel a little more at ease. A little more confident that they weren't too late to save the rest. "The feeling's mutual."
The speeder slowed to a stop, and she dropped the back end of the crate as a makeshift ramp. If all goes well, she'd soon have a literal bin full of padawans piled into the vehicle. And then into her personal ship. That was going to be an interesting ride back home. "Hop in, you're not hurt are you?" Jasper didn't seem it, anyway. Iris would likely be able to handle whatever there might be. Once he was in, she took off again down the next tunnel, following Iris' instructions along the way.
Eventually her fellow healer's guidance looped them back around, closer to where they had started, though the route turned scenic thanks to a number of shifts and cave-ins from the earlier quakes. The speeder's lights shone onto a pair of jedi, these two more clearly injured. Amani's relief quickly turned into concern, "Corin! Jand!" She hadn't properly met the latter of them before, but she liked to keep herself in the know when it came to the class of padawans. The speeder slid to a halt in front of them, and once again the back end dropped down.
Amani got off to lend them both help. Corin seemed to be in particularly bad shape, "Shit… Come on. We're getting out of here. Iris! Can you manage?" She looked to the Keshian, brows furrowed, studying for a reaction. Once they were on board, Amani pulled at the necklace she was wearing and handed it to Iris, "Here- Wear this. It'll help you." She granted her use of the healing sapphire, a gift from Iris' own master. "You can do it." With a strained smile, Amani headed back for the front of the speeder, ready to take off once the all clear was given.
A literal bin of Padawan's alright. The moment they pulled up beside Corin and Jand Iris already hopped off, pointing right towards Jasper as she did. "Help Corin on! Jand, injuries, list them." She reached out to help Corin on. Of the two, Corin was way more obviously injured. But she had a feeling Jand wouldn't try to hide his injuries. She didn't even look back to Amani as she caught the crystal, looking over the older of the Padawan's.
And trying to focus on finding the others at the same time. She frowned for a moment, closing her eyes. Focusing instead on just feeling out the next. .. Nida. She pointed ahead.
"That way! Nida! She's- I think she's hurt!" Then back to Corin. With the crystal in hand she'd start to mend what wounds she could. Feel through the Force- Oh, snap. She blinked in surprise at how easy the sapphire seemed to make that. She grinned. Rather than just dull the pain, she started to actually mend the wounds. Pull the pain out while putting the bones back together. At least enough to let him move on his own.
Starting with the knife in his hand. That she pulled free, and almost immediately started to have his flesh reconnect.
"Sorry. .. That I wasn't there. I'm glad you're both okay."
It was that sudden shock, the one he needed. The Imperial blade torn free from his hand with his blood left to flail off into the cavern as their speeder raced through the tunnels, in search of an exit or other Padawans. Corin was left in the worst shape of his young life, only able to comprehend it once the wounds started to heal. He lay there, flat as one could in the space, and wheezed as the crystal seemed to mend all the wounds across him; from cuts to broken bones, even his breaths became more full.
"We'll be okay," he muttered through the pain with hardly opened eyes set to stare at the roof of the caves. His mouth twisted into an odd smile, something of a smirk even as his own blood remained evident across his teeth. "You should see the other guy." He laughed, only to splutter into a cough.
The wind, ice, it howled through the space. Many of the adjoining walkways had been bent or broken with the starship impact, and some of the structural integrity had been outright lost. Still, there was enough walk space for the pair of Padawans, as Jand continued to offer what support he could to Corin, even though the effort strained his burning - and bleeding - flank.
Then a vessel appeared.
From there, it was a blur of familiar faces, voices, and rushed movement. It seemed the Force had led the pair right, as both Jand and Corin were whisked onto the makeshift transport, and put under the care of Iris, Amani Serys and others. Once aboard, the Nagai watched as Iris began to attend to Corin, to which the pale Padawan slumped against the vessel hull and slid down to a seated position.
"I have a broken shoulder," Jand said when asked, as he glanced to the limb. The joint had started to swell and could be seen protruding from beneath the blood-soaked Jedi tunic he wore. "My right side has numerous pieces of shrapnel embedded in the flesh. I may have a fractured collarbone. I also have multiple lacerations and bruises across my torso. I may also have a concussion."
With a sigh, Jand eased his dark hair against the metal interior of the vessel.
He closed his eyes.
Iris saw to Corin first, which was understandable.
"The Imperial was defeated, that is all that matters," Jand said as he spoke, eyes still closed, as he held his left arm in place with his right hand. "I was unable to locate you after I fell into the chasm, as I was knocked unconscious for several minutes, and when I got back to Corin... you were gone."
With the group headed toward another of the Padawans, Nida, Jand exhaled and looked toward the other occupant - Jasper:
"If you can assist in bandaging my arm, I can provide defensive support when we touch down, if required."
"I'm not injured," Jasper informed Amani as he hopped on the speeder. "Not that I'm aware of anyways."
It wouldn't be him that needed the medical attention anyways. Corin and Jand seemed to be in pretty rough shape. Iris was quick to treat them after pointing out another padawan, Nida. He had gotten lucky that his battle hadn't gone anywhere. It almost made him feel guilty, in a way, like he hadn't really contributed anything to the battle.
"I lost track of Kai and Thalia down in the tunnels," Jasper informed them "I don't know where they are... but I think our friend is the big guy in the storm clouds. He called himself the Bendu or something like that. It's a long story."
Jasper turned to face the Nagai, a frown spreading across his face.
"I'll help, but don't provide support unless you absolutely have to," Jasper told the padawan. "I think the masters would rather you come back alive."
He turned, facing Amani. He was in the best shape, so it made sense for him to lead recovering Nida when they arrived at her location.
"I can take point in securing Nida," he told Amani. "Uh, anyone else here in good shape?"
It was a genuine question at this point. Jasper wasn't completely sure what Iris's condition was, and Corin and Jand were pretty roughed up. There was a good possibility that he was the only one unscathed. It wasn't ideal, but there were lives at stake. He would have to make it work.
His shots at least put the Mandalorian on the backfoot for the moment as she bobbed and weaved through the air to avoid his bolts. For a moment he thought he was done with her as she turned away… only to barrel towards him like a crazy person.
And then the missile came.
”Oh kri-” He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as he tried to run, only for the missile to fling him and a few others through the air like garbage. When he finally crashed into the ground, his helmet was gone and pain soared through every part of his body. His vision was blurry and his ears were ringing.
”Sir! You alright?!”
His golden eyes shifted to the man standing over him, unable to formulate any words for a moment as the battle continued to thump around him. He managed to sit up, his gaze finding that of the Mandalorian woman. His daze receded, and his thoughts returned as a scowl spread over his crimson features.
”Fall back!” He spoke up, letting one of his troopers help him to his feet. It only caused the pain to worsen, but the Pureblood forced through it as he turned around. ”Retreat! We’re losing ground!” He barked with a battered voice as he limped away, followed by his men as they covered the retreat. He felt a tremor through the Force, something big was coming. But even that wasn’t as important to him.
That Mandalorian just jumped a few rungs on his priority list…
Both body and face froze as she locked into a passionate kiss with the Jedi, a throwback to a past long withered that had suddenly bloomed again.
Shluk!
A clinch she had emerged from victorious.
The colors on his face drained away into a pale mask as the warmth faded from their lips and reemerged from his chest as the rest of his body began to mildly shiver. Cold sweat matting the raven locks of his hair ran rampant down Dagon's brow. Life escaped through his lips, counting the ticks before his last breath; memories of it all surged through his mind repetitively before they too faded away. Blue eyes drunken in a stupor gazed both at his former lover and the abyss that gazed back.
The blue saber extinguished with a hiss as Dagon Kaze dropped to his knees and collapsed on the ground in death's cold embrace.
Asken watched as another Star Destroyer moved in to flank them from the starboard side, the enemy’s plan falling perfectly into place. ”Intensify port and starboard shields, fire everything we got!” He ordered his men as the ship shuddered and groaned under the heavy firepower of the Imperial ships. But she held on. Asken had no doubts in the capability of his clan’s mothership. And as the solar ion cannons started to rotate, the perfect opportunity presented itself.
A massive chunk of debris collided with the Imperial Star Destroyer, dealing a heavy blow and allowing the Vhipirheim an opening to finish it off. ”Target the reactors of the flanking ships with the solar cannons, push every ounce of energy out of those guns!” He shouted, turning to look at the gunnery officers.
The two enormous guns turned to target the Triumph and Nirauan as power built up in them. The engines throttled, lights cut out, numerous cannons fell silent, and every power generator on the Mothership spooled up, all to deliver as much power to the two cannons as they could take. The ship lurched as two golden beams erupted with the intensity of a star, firing point blank at the two massive vessels beside the Vhipirheim with enough power to tear right through both ships.
The moment the devastating beams cut off, power returned to the ship as the overwhelming armament came to life once more. Ion cannons, torpedoes, mass driver cannons and turbolasers fired with no quarter. But in the distance, Asken saw one of their frigates, the Huntress, barrelling towards the superweapon.
:: Huntress to Whip, over! ::
Asken knew that voice well, and he knew that tone even better. Korso was hitting the spice again.
:: Vhipirheim to Huntress, what the hell are you doing?! ::
:: Huntress to Whip… hehe, watch us pull a Hail Manda on this bi- ::
The transmission cut off as several escape pods burst from the frigate, seconds before the vessel impacted the bow of the superweapon at full speed, a tremendous explosion tearing the frigate apart as it continued to crumble into the superstructure of the superweapon.
The success was short-lived, though, as numerous bombers moved in, along with the remaining corvettes in an attempt to take on the rear of the formation. But the Star Destroyers held on. The space around them were drowned in cannon fire as point defense turrets poured shots out to intercept the missiles and flyers. The Interdictor moved closer into their protective bubble, its own respectable defenses reaching out to deter the enemy.
Jos stood stalwart in the hangar as the two pirates engaged him. With ludicrous speed he ducked behind cover and returned fire with his hand cannon at the Mandalorian.
:: Divert control of the hangar to my vambrace. And all units, fall back. Get out of the hangar. :: He ordered as he moved again with his pistol hurling deadly plasma bolts at the two assailants. Something big was coming.
A few moments later, the Fury lurched violently as an Imperial corvette slammed into it, ripping several decks apart and sending everything in the ship flying for a good few seconds. In that moment, the Kel Dor made his move. He pressed a button on his vambrace as he clung to a railing, and soon the hangar doors opened to suck anything and everything out of the ship. Cargo, vehicles, everything flew up and out.
Just as a precaution, Jos reached out with the Force and attempted to grip the pirates and fling them out as well, before the hangar doors slid closed again…
Like an avalanche, her mechanical foot stomped the top of the Togruta's foot. She could feel the pain spiking inside the Jedi, and hear it in her loud snarl. The burning blue blade swept towards Enyo's hilt. The hilt in question was made of turadium, and could thus withstand a lightsabre strike or two, but not prolonged contact.
The Jedi's lightsabre impacted upon the hilt, sparks flying, then carried on towards Enyo's fingers. Being made of phrik and staging a quick withdrawal kept Enyo from having those shorn off, but one finger was mutilated, being cut at the tip. The Cyborg took a step back, blade held in a defensive posture to keep the Jedi at bay. Her expression was bland and emotionless.
But she remained standing rather than launch into a riposte. Her gaze swept over the Jedi...studying, assessing. Electronic eyes seemed to bore through her. "I see," she said blandly, as if they were not in a duel to the death, standing amidst debris and broken lives. As if the whole world was not coming apart all around them. But the planet's instability was something she was very aware of.
Vess' head tilted to the side. "You have sustained damage. This will be fixed. Initiate standby protocols. I will dispose of the organics."
Enyo had been partly successful, but clearly Archangel needed to work a bit more on keeping their creation leashed.
Dispassionately, Vess drew her blaster and aimed at Amara as she lay there helpless.
"Enyo, don't let her kill me! Please help me! I love you!" she pleaded. Through the chink in the durasteel vault she reached out with the Force. 'Please help me!'
"Command...," time seemed to slow, "overridden." There, she'd said it. Vess took aim with her blaster, and Enyo snapped. "No!" and she grabbed the HRD's arm, seizing it with her powerful grip. The shot went wide, and the HRD's arm was thrown from its sockets as Enyo quite literally ripped it off...and proceeded to beat the droid to death with it.
Caoimhe sighed. "Can we stop dancing around this now? I tried to kill you." "Yes." "Frak, I almost did." "Yes." "Is that all you bloody have to say." "There's nothing else to say. You were under Archangel's control. I know all too well how their...conditioning works. You broke free from it, our oppressors are destroyed, we've won." "It's that easy? You risked a lot...trying to save someone you don't know and who was about to murder you." "You're my sister. That is all that matters." "Not what I...expected. Thanks, I guess...sister."
For a moment there was a flicker of emotion across Enyo's face. "You're...important to me," she said a bit awkwardly, though she seemed earnest. "All my siblings are."
"I can understand why would you feel that way," she spoke finally. Only a scant few seconds had passed, but it might as well feel like an eternity. "I have siblings I care about. These nations that fight for dominance across the stars are but sandcastles, as anything built by organics, only the tides are real. You may go." Her lightsabre remained powered up...just in case.
Operation: Black Ice
The Empire
The Hallowed Scar, Ilum
Primary Objective: Destroy GADF Remnants On Their Last Landing Zone Friendlies: The Empire | Michael Barran
| Bex Tarring
| Orik Dakari Hostiles: Galactic Alliance | N/A Directly Engaging: Open Gear:In Bio
Elements of the 181st Armored Division, 2nd Battalion, 3rd Company, 3rd Platoon
The frozen earth shook akin to that of a violent earthquake as columns of snow and ice rose up into the skies with each strike of a Predator missile; the deafening, haunting howl of the munitions before striking their designated targets split the very gray skies above their heads. Yet again the frozen surface of the icy planet was torn asunder and thrown into the skies under the might of the Imperial artillery barrage. What was supposed to be tools of indirect fire, appeared to be terrifyingly accurate as the crew within the armored confines of their tank watched in silent awe of the destruction their support assets were capable of.
<”Karkin’ hell…”> the young Driver muttered to himself as he looked out of his driver’s viewport.
They had seen an artillery strike before, and not too long ago at that as well, but this time they were much closer to the target, and the terrain did nothing to interfere with their sightlines unlike the last time. At the forefront of their formation, their armored platoon assumed the vanguard for the assault; they had gotten first row seats to watch the fireworks.
Waiting for the artillery barrage to die down and come to an end, the young men waited as they observed, studied the terrain and the hell raining down upon the Alliance positions through viewports and gun sights alike. The perturbation within them, all too familiar to all of them now, and the question of ‘Is it going to be us instead of them, this time?’ served to be the harbinger of combat, growing ever more impendent with each Predator missile strike on an enemy target.
Although it was their opposition who had the odds against them this time, that did not mean their task was going to be an easy one. Hence the apprehension.
They were all curious about the answer to that question. Would the ever present, lingering Death claim them? If that was to be, then how? Would it all end quickly and painlessly at the sight of a brief muzzle flash of an enemy tank? Or would it be slower and more painful; engulfed in punishing flames; trapped within the armored confines of their tank?
Despite the morbid curiosity they carried in their minds, many chose that it would be better for such questions to remain unanswered as long as possible.
Whatever fate had in store for them, they would get to learn the answers to their questions for themselves in the coming moments as the all too familiar crackle of the radio station beside Kenth resounded in the fighting compartment in advance to a comlink transmission. The young Tank Commander reached for the headset hanging by the radio station, and raised it to the side of his helmet as he continued to look out his viewports, watching the artillery barrage.
<"Charlie Three-Four, this is McBain! Worry not, for the Empire endures - always! We've got your back, an' with your line spread well, first shots can be the first to double back to the rallying-point.... We see the Sabretooth markings, the 313th are aw'right with us, but we also know you've been taught to snipe wae yer smoothbores - so show us what yer made of an' try t'keep up!">
To say he was surprised at the trust placed into them and the reassuring, almost fatherly demeanor of callsign ‘Cairn Two’, McBain -something the young Sergeant was not at all used to see coming from his commanding officers- would have been quite the understatement. The man slightly turned to his right as he drew his left hand forth to flip a switch on the radio station; switching to ‘speakers’ the incoming comlink transmission could now be heard by every crew member in the tank.
Instilled with encouragement, the man had quickly wagered that the officer’s words had the chance to similarly encourage the rest of the crew in the fighting compartment. It wasn’t long after ‘Cairn Two’s transmission when callsign ‘Guardian One’ chimed in, raising them over the comms. The crew occasionally shot a glance at each other from underneath the obsidian black helmet visors as they listened to the transmissions in silence.
<"Charlie Three-Four, this is McKidd! I'm not joining the counteroffensive, but I can guarantee you our Gallowglass is right on every front.... Trust in the Highlanders, an' the Highlanders will trust in the 313th tankers! Guardian One out!">
The young Tank Commander pressed down on the push-to-talk key of the radio’s handset with his thumb just a moment before answering; he couldn’t help a smile emerge underneath the plastoid armored visage of his helmet. Their enthusiasm was highly contagious. <”Charlie Three-Two copies all. Will do, sir! We will make them regret challenging the might of the Empire! Charlie Three-Two out!”> the young man switched off the ‘speakers’ as he returned the handset to the radio station after his confirmation of his readiness. <”Well… That was something,”> Hall muttered to himself as he peered out his Gunner’s Sights onto the frozen wasteland stretching before them; the otherwise clean lily-white snow and the ice blue ground under the gray skies above, a sight what many would consider to be beautiful, were stained with wreckage that fell from the heavens, as columns of smoke wafted out of the hatches of burnt, destroyed, wholly decommissioned armored vehicles -their origin Alliance and Imperial alike- began polluting the sky.
Sort of old school, as well as attached to his old man’s watch -all he had left of him, aside from a bunch of photos- the young Tank Gunner pulled his armored visage away from the Gunner’s Sights before his eyes, and raised his left forearm to check the time.
One minute left.
One minute left before the armored maneuver forwards; one minute left before the artillery barrage came to a halt.
<”Loader ready! HEAT Loaded!”> similarly aware that they would be right in the thick of it in the coming moments, their Loader shouted over the intercom, reminding the Gun Breech of the dreaded L77A4 being loaded with a fin stabilized high explosive anti-tank shell. <”Gunner ready! HEAT, indexed!”> The young Tank Gunner, Hall, shouted in return as he looked down the gunner sights once more as he flipped a switch on the fire control system, feeding the fire control the characteristics of the HEAT shell, necessary for an accurate shot.
<”This is it,”> a mutter escaped the young Tank Driver’s helmet annunciator as he blankly stared out of the Driver’s Viewport with eyes widened, fearful of what awaited them. <”Kale?”> The Tank Commander spoke his name, beckoning the young Tank Driver to look at him from the viewport before his eyes. Shifting his glance, the young man looked up from over his right shoulder, looking at the Commander’s station right behind and above the Gunner’s. <”We’re all gonna make it out of this alive. Beer’s on me once we get home,”> the young Sergeant promised his men. With a nod of his head to the Sergeant, the young Tank Driver shifted his gaze back onto his viewport.
For what it's worth he tried his best as their brother-in-arms and as a Tank Commander to ensure their combat effectiveness in the coming moments. If one of them did not follow through with a command out of fear during the moment of truth… then they would share the same fate as those Alliance tank crewmen, whose tanks went up in flames.
The young crewmen retreated into silence once more as seconds passed in a pace what seemed to be near eternity, even though that was not the case in reality; the crackle of the radio station and the order to carry out the armored maneuver would mark the end of their waiting. The unmistakable voice of their platoon leader, Lieutenant Löwe, rang sharply on the comlink channels as the ground underneath their wide treads did not tremble so violently as before when the barrage was so unrelenting. <”ALL CALLSIGNS! COMMENCE ATTACK!”>
<"ALL MARKED UNITS - LOAD H.E.I. SHELLS!!!! CHECK ZONES, CHECK ZONES!!!! STAND BY.... AW'RIGHT, HERE WE GO!!!! WEAPONS FREE; FIRE, FIRE, FIRE!!!!">
<"ALL MARKED UNITS - READY TO FIRE AT WILL!!!! CARBONITE CAUTIONS NEGATED!!!! REASON: WEATHER ASSISTANCE!!!! STAND BY.... Okay, lads. Here's the difficult part.... I'll need you to unload ALL your H.E.I. shells, bug out as soon as that last shell is fired, form up wide at the Rallying-Point an' await further orders! Simple.... WEAPONS FREE; FIRE - AT - WILL!!!!">
At the LT’s command to attack, followed by further radio chatter confirming the command, the powerful multi fuel engine of their tank roared with a loud grumble as the young Tank Driver floored it; the tank lurched forward soon after. The ice and snow underneath the wide treads of the armored behemoth cracked and crumbled as the armored surge forwards began.
At the lead of the wedge formation and at the forefront, the Tank Gunner and the Commander were on high alert, scanning sectors at the best of their abilities; the large clouds of snow, kicked up into the air, served to conceal the enemy positions underneath it all. It was difficult to read back a proper battle damage assessment to determine the casualties inflicted upon the enemy in the wake of the artillery barrage, but as the elements of GADF returned fire, whatever remained alive and combat effective after the Imperial barrage, they could see their positions with the help of their blaster’s tracer fire.
<”Gunner! HEAT, infantry! Traverse right,”> at Kenth’s command, the turret swung with a mechanical whine towards the indicated sector. <”Steadyyy…Ooon!”> the massive gun halted over the intended target; a remnant of an Alliance platoon taking cover behind natural cover.
<”Identified!”>
<”Fire, fire high explosive incendiary!”>
<”On the way!”>
BOOM!
The gun breech rocked back violently as the shell darted out of the barrel; the sharp clatter of the spent shell rattled in the basket underneath the breech as it fell into it. <”Doubtful,”> the young Tank Commander reported back the sensing; although detonating right on target, he could not tell whether the enemy contacts were neutralized or not. Wanting to play it safe, the man ordered him to re-engage the target right after the shot. <”Re-engage!”> Not wasting a moment, Stege swiftly turned around and reached for an HEI shell from the ready rack.
It was around then as the gun breech metallically rattled the back of the young Tank Gunner’s head burned sharply; an odd sensation akin to what he had felt the first time they had taken contact roughly an hour ago; the ambush. At a hunch he had pulled Kenth back into the tank while he was turned out, looking for targets with a pair of macrobinoculars; and not long after that, they had taken contact almost immediately after that.
It was his innate sixth sense; the uncanny ability he possessed granted him to perceive impending danger to his lives or the lives of those he cared for. A useful ability to possess for any fighting man or woman alike.
But alas, the young lad’s innate ability was far from perfect. He felt the danger in his bones, but could not perceive the cause of it so he could neutralize the danger, and save himself and the others.
<”UUUUUP!”>
As soon as he heard the familiar shout of his brother-in-arms, the man pulled back the trigger on the gunner sticks in his hands; the dreaded L77A4 cannon let out an ear splitting roar as the tank continued its advance on the formation. <”Targeeet! Get to next one! Traverse leeeft!”> At relatively high speeds they moved unhindered by incoming enemy fire as they crossed the stretch of frozen wastes laid before them; the enemy’s return fire was sporadic at best. They more than likely hadn’t recovered from the initial shock of the Imperial artillery barrage. Just a few hundred more yards and after making sure the enemy was pushing, it would be high time to haul ass.
But fate had a different plan for them, for one man in particular amongst them.
At the corner of his eye the young lad saw a brief ball of flame jutting out a barrel, that of a Terenta Pattern tank. Not a second after he picked up the gun report of the enemy tank with his thermal vision device on his Gunner’s Sight, the the turret of their tank rattled violently as the sharp, ear splitting rending of metal could be heard easily from the interior; striking the turret’s frontal armor at the correct angle, the sabot round cut through the composite armor of the turret’s right cheek.
A deafeningly loud bang resounded in the interior, drowning out the clatter of the penetrating shell’s spalling briefly bouncing about inside the fighting compartment. The young lad recoiled on his seat at a natural reaction. Shooting a glance over his left shoulder, the kid looked back at Kenth as he let out a bloodcurdling, pained groan.
The Sergeant had collapsed onto his seat under the Commander’s Hatch, clutching with both hands where his left calf once used to be; blood sprayed between his fingers and onto the young lad’s helmet visor, staining the white of his helmet’s faceplate in blotches of red. The remnants of his lower left leg laid unmoving on the floor of the fighting compartment; the puddle of crimson red grew larger around the lobbed off limb with each passing moment.
<”CHIT! HE’S HIIIT!”> Stege shouted in terror as he put away the high explosive shell away before taking action to help his comrade. <”KARK! WHO!? HOW BAD!?”> the young Driver’s voice trilled with absolute dread, fearing for the worst. He couldn’t look away from the viewport to see the situation for himself; all he could do was to drive onwards, staying on the move. Stopping or getting immobilized was nothing short of a death sentence for a tank in the middle of an armored surge
Reaching for his IFAK, the man sharply raised a hand towards the Loader to stop him from helping him. Stege had to keep the gun fed at all cost.<”NO! Karkin’-”> his words were cut short as another shot from the enemy tank struck and shook the tank. The metal tore sharply in the wake of the sabot round striking the upper frontal plate of their tank, but Death had spared them this once; the round bounced off the armor harmlessly into the gray skies.
Firmly fastening a tourniquet a handbreadth above his torn left knee, the young man bought himself some time, but it was too late. He was already feeling lightheaded; his surroundings started to lack color; the colorfully blinking lights on the panels and the screens around him appeared black and white now. He was heavily panting, gasping for air. The waves of pain washing all over his body punched the air out of his lungs. It quickly became draining to breathe.
The tank’s turret swung around towards the enemy tank in the meantime as the young Tank Commander tried to stop the bleeding and stabilize himself. <”STEGE GET A SABOT IN THERE NOW!”> the young lad shouted while he lazed the enemy tank, ranging his target.
It wasn’t long after the Corporal’s commanding shout the Loader reported back to him with a shout of his own. <”SABOT UUUP!”> The moment his shout reached his ears the young lad pulled back the trigger hard; darting out, the sabot round penetrated the lower glacis of the tank’s frontal armor, finding its way into the auto-loading system under the turret, striking and detonating a shell after penetrating through its transmission.
The Terenta pattern tore in half in the resulting detonation as Hall scored himself another catastrophic kill on an enemy armored tank; the fuel and ammunition of the tank, all went up in flames in less than a second after the shot went through its armor.
<”Gunner, incendiary…”> Kenth mumbled, trying to pull himself back up and look for more targets to engage for his gunner, but after a moment’s struggle to get back up, he’d collapse back onto his seat. Staying awake, let alone speaking, grew difficult with the amount of blood loss he endured. <”SAVE YOUR ENERGY, MAN! SAVE YOUR ENERGY!”> The young lad pleaded as he swung the turret around, looking for targets on his own. <”YOU’RE GONNA BE OKAY, BROTHER! HANG IN THERE!”>
<”TARGET IDENTIFIED! HOSTILE INFANTRY! LOAD INCENDIARY!”> The young lad’s shout rang sharp over the comlink, his voice a bitter mixture of fear and burning rage and hatred for the enemy. They had gravely wounded one of their own.
They had to pay for what they’ve done!
<”KARKIN’ WORTHLESS PIECES OF CHITS!”> The brawny Loader cursed aloud as he reached for the incendiary shell he had put away, inserting the shell into the breech ferociously. <”UUUUP!”> The man moved twice as fast now; the deep anger and hatred Hall felt was collectively shared between each crew member now. The burning desire to kill mixed with the addictive rush of adrenaline of combat. <”BURN THEM! BURN THEM KARKEEERS!”> Kale cried out in vengeance, wanting nothing more to see them burn through his viewport
But neither their rage, nor the adrenaline coursing in their veins clouded their judgment enough to deviate from the battle plan they were all instructed to carry out, no matter the cost. Their Commander knocked unconscious from the blood loss, he would only receive medical treatment for his grievous injury after returning to the F.O.B Reverence.
With coaxial repeaters and main cannons alike, the advancing armored formation of the Imperials put the pressure on the remaining Alliance forces, smoked out of their position by artillery barrage. Upon making sure they would trail them after spending incendiary shell after incendiary shell as per their given orders, the formation would make a fighting tactical retreat, with the intention of drawing the enemy out of their position.
Cornered, boxed in, and hammered by artillery fire prior to the armored surge of the Imperial forces, they forced the hand of the remaining Alliance troops on the battered landing zone to funnel towards a killzone; if they chose to attempt at a breakthrough, springing the clever trap set up by the Imperials, the latter had prepared and planned for just that occasion. They would attempt at entirely encircling and destroying the hostile troops in the right, opportune moment.
Hal Vaiken
|
Margo Liaeris
|
Kriegan Tavlar
|
Katja Javik
|
Castor E-196
| Leto Karazyn | TE
Silas Westgard
|
Kara Jade
