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"The Vagabond" Heavy Patrol Cruiser sought to veer off to the starboard, yet from the bridge of the vessel, the crew could already make out flashes of ambient light coming from the NIV Reckoning.
“Detecting massive energy readings, Captain!” Ticia C'Heri announced from his station. The Cathar Surveillance Officer responsible for keeping watch over friendly and enemy craft turned back to look to the Captain and her second, Gene and Loni both with a sense of dread; “She’s about to fire!”.
Gene Whayeson didn’t bother to reply, instead turning to activate ship-wide comm’s; “All Hands, brace for impact!” she near shouted in urgency.
Tine Henders swore to himself, desperately trying to get the Vagabond clear of the line of fire, yet as the Assault Cruiser had arrived at the head of the Alliance Fleet alongside a few other allied vessels, he knew their chances and his face paled at the realization. “It’s too late Captain” he said aloud, already speaking with grave defeat in his voice, his words wavering as he felt death knocking at their door.
“Abandon Shi-” the Captain shouted once more down the comm’s, but it was far too late. A bright flash of energy lit up the bridge, mere seconds before the superweapons laser tore straight through the Vagabond.
There was no distinguishable explosion from the vessel, the superweapons fire tore across the field of battle as the Assault Cruiser broke apart, disintegrated by the shear power of the Imperial Armada.
Aboard the “Scientia” Class Shuttle Caedyn’s stomach lurched as if the ground had been pulled out from beneath him. He turned to stare back towards the stern of the shuttle, eyes widened as he felt the loss of thousands of lives, some of which he had been very close to.
“The Vagabond is gone…” He spoke in awe. The Vessel had been a formidable craft, capable of significant firepower and he had ventured across the Galaxy with her crew time and time again, getting to know them and feeling as though it had been a home away from home. So many had perished so suddenly that it rocked Caedyn with a sudden sense of weakness, he leaned against the hull of the shuttle as they continued towards the NIV Reckoning.
The Jedi Knight looked back towards the cockpit where Caltin Vanagor
and another continued to pilot the vessel, from where he stood in the transport bay, he could see the looming flagship growing ever larger as they closed in on her bridge. Closing his eyes, he sought to steel himself and distance his mind from his emotions, to find his sense of focus once more.
“Brace!” Master Vanagor shouted, and there was little time to do so. The Shuttle hit the floor of the NIV Reckonning’s Hangar with true force, rocking Caedyn where he stood and forcing him to stumble back against the wall of the smaller craft. Caltin was first out of the shuttle, and Caedyn turned to throw the compartment door aside, reaching for his lightsaber before launching himself with the aid of the Force, to somersault through the air as blaster fire zipped passed him in response to their arrival.
Landing into a forced roll in order to absorb as much of the impact as he could, his lightsaber ignited as he rose to his feet and ran to position himself on Master Vanagor’s left flank, raising his guard and seeking to deflect the blaster fire away from the rest of the strike team still disembarking from the shuttle.
Caedyn Arenais and the Scientia Shuttle Team land in the Hangar of the Imperial Flagship, and the Jedi Knight begins to fend off the Imperial Troopers present in the Hangar.
They made good progress. Through the snow and intense wind, through Alliance marines. Enyo slew, Garnet covered her, assailing their opposition with mental attacks that disorientated and confused. And sometimes made their blaster shots go right through their comrades instead of her companion. Mechanical precision paved their way, snow crunching beneath them.
The cold was biting. But Enyo didn't feel it. With each step, they got closer and closer to the presence, the Shard guiding her through the blizzard, even as the great disturbance rumbled in the sky. Ilum itself seemed to tremble."One of our vessels has been destroyed. I estimate the superweapon has fired on the fleets," Garnet surmised analytically. "The organics are contending with forces they haven't mastered."
"Yes. We must accelerate our plans," Enyo reflected thoughtfully, picking up the pace.
And so she walked out of the curtain of white that was the blizzard, armour coated in snow, having found her quarry. The colour of her suit blended in with the terrain. Behind her helmet's faceplate, cold, mechanical eyes fell upon the Jedi. A Togruta female, evidently strong in the Force. Her kind were known to be a martial species. A young human lad, presumably a Padawan, hastening away through a hole. Enyo paid him no mind. Not that she had moral qualms about it, but she didn't, as a rule, find fulfillment in personally beating on people weaker than her. It was a common Sith thing to do, but then Sith were weak. "See to our operation. You can issue commands in my absence," she communicated to Garnet purely electronically. Quite a bit of trust...but then the only being who could truly understand the cyborg brain tank was a sentient crystal stuck in a robot.
The two Jedi would sense an unmistakeable dark side presence radiating from the heavily armoured cyborg...but not the one typical of a Sith. If a Sith was a raging - and generally immature - whirlwind, an unrestrained wild fire, she was an icy glacier. Feet firmly planted on the ground, purple crossguard lightsabre held in her dominant hand and angled in a defensive position, she fixated her gaze on the Togruta.
And she activated a mechanism inside her off-hand's gauntlet, firing the concealed wrist ion paddle beamer. Ion paddle beamers ignored armour and shields. They could also not be blocked by lightsabres. Limbs struck by them suffered paralysis. She aimed for the woman's leg, hoping to paralyse or numb her.
War. At long last. Since the end of the Third Imperial Civil War, the Admiral had wondered who would fall under the might of the Empire. The Maw was a mere distraction, and once the politicians had decided it was best to abandon the Chiss to their fate, the barbarians had left the Imperials alone for the most part. And Gallius had been deprived of combat, forced to sit on Yinchorr as the Tion Republic fell to the blows of a determined Empire. The kind of Empire he joined to kill the Sith.
Why did he join the rebellion in the first place? In the dizzy state he seemed to be put in perpetually, he vaguely recalled his contempt for the Sith. Or their incompetence? It wasn't clear. Or perhaps he had just wanted to betray all along and found someone who could protect him in the being of the New Imperial Order. Yes. Perhaps that was it. There was no ideology behind what he had done. He was a killer, he relished in spilling blood. And the Sith did not provide enough... blood.
A dark shiver made its way through the shoulders of Orcana. The ever-hungry voices had tormented him for long, now, starved as they were from the blood they required. They had tried to get him to rebel and suddenly turn his guns against his own ships. But he was still strong-willed enough to resist such an impulse. He couldn't say the same of the impulse that led him to send one of his nerve-racking subordinates down the shaft, toward a trash compactor. The screams had made their way to his personal collection, and the working efficiency of the bridge had slightly improved.
And now... He was waiting patiently, as he knew blood would come at long last. He tried to keep the leash on his voices for as long as possible, but could not wait forever. He knew the fleet there had to be coordinated like clockwork, and his part to play was extremely important. Hence he had to wait, and endure, as something in the back of his mind was scraping his spine with sharp claws.
"Come on, Korvan! It's not that difficult to have a prototype weapon work!", he fumed, as the call for a jump into hyperspace was making itself awaited.
Then it came. And as if an invisible hand had suddenly moved all the vessels of the fleet together, the ships Gallius had taken in battle with him prepared for a tight jump, ready to surge in Alliance space with scalpel accuracy. How the fleet would maintain a coherent formation was still to be seen, but the Admiral wasn't against taking risks and had decided to pass over security restrictions of space between vessels in a formation, in order to avoid his fleet to be too dispersed.
The armada jumped, and for a moment, Gallius did not see anything, and the observation panes of the secondary bridge, which he preferred to use, took their time to readjust. It was a modest-looking bridge, but it was far more secure, buried deep under the hull of his own ship, the Pride of the Emperor; the best men of his crew were located here, rather than on the primary bridge, which served more of a complimentary role, along the meat-shield role Gallius had assigned it.
The trip through hyperspace was very brief, as his fleet sat just on the other side of the border. And even though there were no interdictors in Korvan's fleet, the Admiral was confident he could take his fleet through this jump.
As the vessels began their exit, suddenly appearing on the right flank of the Imperial Armada, the officer noticed something had been offset in his calculations, as it was commonly the case when dealing with hyperspatial matters. In that case, a corvette had strayed from her trajectory, and was now sitting directly on the path of one of the Onager IIs Gallius had brought. In what became a massive explosion, Orcana was forced to watch a good portion of his assets disappear, alongside his only Golan Ribbon tanker, which he had brought to refuel the ships in need. He gritted his teeth at the sight of such a loss. Three ships without firing a single bolt, what a record!
The rest of the fleet moved into position, however, and quickly, Gallius began to draw emplacements for his artillery pieces, where they could microjump and open fire. Even though the Onager II Star Destroyer had become quite a popular ship in the last months, no one had used it properly, in Gallius's mind. It was he who had directed the tests and commandeered the first prototypes, along with tailoring the proper doctrine to use when a fleet was composed of Onager-IIs. He was going to show these incompetents how a rapier of mass destruction was supposed to work.
"All ships, full speed ahead! The superiority lines are going to perform a scythe stroke toward the Alliance flank, and the interception lines will provide anti-fighter coverage! Have the Onagers prepare for microjump and select their target!"
Gallius began spitting orders out, as he used to, and his fleet moved along.
"Sir! There seems to be a lead group of four Pellaeon IIIs, making up the highest rank of our priority list. Do we target them?", an Ensign said coldly, while handing the Admiral a report with a list of selected targets.
"Very well, that will do. Use prepositioned marks and forward them to the various droid brains aboard the Onagers. They are to target a ship, jump, open fire, jump away behind our lines and start over. Use the elliptical plane correctly to do so. We can't exactly lose another ship like the ones we lost already. Is that clear? Then, get me Korvan. I need to...'
Gallius paused as he saw a name appear on the target list. Was he there? Almost at his mercy? It seemed too ideal to be true. His target, the one man in this entire galaxy he had been ordered to hunt down and capture, just before his ships?
"Belay the scythe stroke. We are going through the debris field."
Orcana's fleet jumps out of hyperspace on the Imperial Armada's right flank;
A misplaced corvette provoke a collision with a refueler ship and one Onager;
The remaining ships split up: the Tormentor, Pride of the Emperor, Iron Dawn, the Pellaeon IVs and Escoltas go through the debris field to give chase to Constantine Oliva
; the Onager IIs prepare to jump above the elliptical plane to target Pa'Kar Sang's Pellaeon IIIs;
The jump had been a little tenuous, and he tried to keep his footing on the snow as he landed. Looking back up he was greeted by the sight of a number of bulky-looking Stormtroopers with strange helmets and markings on their armour which was painted jet black with stripes, instead of the usually sterile white colour. But it made no difference to him, they were troopers nonetheless. Then, a figure ran out toward them. Varen hesitated, a bewildered expression painting his face as the young Gabriel Pryce
dashed out brazenly. On closer inspection, he seemed to remember him, it was the kid from the gala on Coruscant.
"What-?!" One of the troopers stumbled back, Gabe took the opportunity and dashed forward, his blade swinging for the neck of the stumbling trooper. The trooper screamed and jerked wildly, dropping his blaster and falling to the snow.
"Hey- Is that a training lightsaber?!" One of the other troopers asked in mocking disbelief.
"Dank farrik! Nice one kid!" Varen's latent curiosity eventually turned to worry as he realised that he should probably go help them out. Just as he was about to step forward, he felt that familiar, almost rising feeling that he had at the gala. The troopers, who seemed too shocked to attempt to do anything, afforded him some time to explore this. He reached his hand out, letting the Force take control as he now felt it all around him. The lines, no, the faults that ran through the troopers like trenches or canyons. Like cracks in a broken viewport. He began to notice things that one might not have even thought about.
The dent in the lead stormtroopers helmet, the tiny almost negligible marks on one of the troopers heavy weapons that told him it was likely about to overheat soon. They all connected. Fit together like some giant jigsaw puzzle. It all made sense. "Gabriel.." His voice seemed to echo around, sounding almost muffled to him, like he was underwater as he focused his perception on those cracks. "Move around them, they can't catch you." He said, twirling his lightsaber to create a blade wall as he jumped straight towards one that was blocking their way forward, sending a sharp cut in the dent of his armour which proved to be the trooper's downfall as they crumpled to the floor lifeless.
The high however was not set to last. Just as he was about to hit out at another stormtrooper, he felt a sharp pain in his nose as he was tossed to the ground. Everything came back to normal, the noises of war engulfing him once again and his ears ringing. He placed a finger on the top of his lip and a scarlet red blotch covered his finger. Stumbling back up, he thanked the Force that he had still kept a hold of his lightsaber. Varen raised it in a defensive stance. But this... it was obstacle. They needed to get out of here. Pushing out with the Force, he sent a group of troopers flying, holding the cave wall for support.
"Gabriel!" He cried. "Let's get out of here!" Gesturing to the passage that had just been created. He went over and practically grabbed Gabriel, pulling him along. "We're not too far from the mining operation," he mentioned as he dashed. The adrenaline still pumping in his veins, he moved Gabriel behind him, trying to protect him as he put his emerald blade out in front of him. He hoped there was less fighting where they were going, but not too far beyond where they were Aschwin Vethres lurked and waited, ready for battle.
This was exactly how things ought to be going. When the din of battle roared its loudest was when the Jedi should take the forefront. They were symbols of peace, and of stewardship. But what good was a symbol if it never became more than that?
He'd felt a mix of emotions about it before. Back when they'd been aiding the efforts on Tython. He'd felt good then, too, but then the fighting had followed them there against all odds. That was just the way of the galaxy, it seemed. Conflict brewed and hatred bubbled, and it all spilled over into endless warfare. The cycle of revenge. Every army was comprised of just warriors, each of them an avenger of some cause, or some person, or some idea.
At some point it had to stop. He didn't know when that time would come, or who would bring it about, but it had to be true. For the sake of the galaxy it had to be true.
Aleksandr Stirsea wasn't the man that would end the cycle of vengeance. But he would be damned if he didn't try to be.
This battle was the culmination of two galactic superpowers that didn't know the scale of lost life they could inflict on each other. Or perhaps, knew the scale all too well, and didn't care. So it was on Ilum, the icy stronghold of the New Jedi Order, where the Galactic Alliance and the Empire clashed. And it was on Ilum where Aleks found himself in the thick of a warzone, diving into an Imperial trench to save the life of his Jedi Master.
Cale Gunderson
was being pinned down by laser fire. A heavy weapons ordinance was raining hot death on his position. If it weren't for his skill with a lightsaber, he would no doubt be dead by now. And if it weren't for Aleksandr's skill with a lightsaber, he wouldn't be able to do what he was about to now.
From the Imperials exposed flank he came charging into the weapons crew. A pair of stormtroopers turned to intercept him, their standard issue laser rifles aimed to make him a corpse. With a deft swing Aleks batted two laser blasts away, then adjusted to knock away a third and forth. With the gap of distance closed, he plunged his ignited blue blade into the trooper on the left, then swung around to disarm the one on the right. Literally. He let the unarmed trooper scramble away through the snow, not willing to chase down an adversary that had turned his back on him. The remaining munitions loaders however… they were still fair game. He pointed his plasma blade at the men still firing upon his Master. They didn't move to surrender, which meant another fight.
He was glad to give them what they asked for.
With a flurry of lightsaber blows he struck down the men reinforcing the entrenched position. One by one they fell, their blasters proving ineffective against the combined offense and defense of a lightsaber. Afterwards he stepped up from the trench, looking down on Cale and their platoon.
"That quick enough for ya'?" He called back over the screams and shouts of battle.
The only sound within the ears of Aschwin was the drill behind him moving into the cavern wall and the slow walking sound of machinery unloading crystals into the containers to be sent above the chasm to the surface command post then transported into shuttles to the Imperial Fleet in orbit. A slight buzz of his communication device brought his attention away from watching the tunnel for just a brief moment. Grabbing the device as Colonel O'ren came into view. "I'm busy down here, Colonel." Aschwin said with some annoyance at having been interrupted. "Sorry Commander Vethres, we have engaged with forces topside but are suffering heavy losses. The 1st Alliance Vanguard is smashing through our lines in an attempt to take control of the extraction point" The Colonel said within the command post overlooking the holographic map as the 293rd was currently engaged in a pitch battle with the 1st Alliance Vanguard sweeping through the mining operations from the north. "If the Alliance Vanguard manages to break through our lines than our forces near the drill will be compromised from an attack from above as well as the force heading our way down below." Aschwin said bluntly towards him. Then he would have to defend from both directions in order to stop them from reaching the drill and that was unfavorable to both of them. "That much is confirmed, we shoul...." The Colonel attempted to say until the communication between them was disconnected from one another.
"Colonel?, Colonel!!" Aschwin said into the communication device trying to reconnect but failing. "Send a scout force to figure out what has happened topside. Go!!!" He said turning around to some of the 293rd around him as they rushed up the ladder work to scout the area. A few minutes went by as the Imperial Knight awaited their report and finally got some answers. "The Entire Command Post? has been destroyed by Imperial debris." Aschwin said in a little bit of shock. "Affirmative Sir, the entire command post has been wiped out. There are no survivors among the rubble" Sergeant Voight said from behind his helmet moving to the side of the Imperial Knight. "Then we have little choice but to defend this drill to the last man. Issue Protocol 999 of the Imperial Handbook." Aschwin said with a firm tone, gesturing his hand to send them away from him.
Commander Peck and his force would no doubt arrive soon to surround the Jedi Strike Team coming through the icy tunnels. His gaze returned to the main tunnel entrance as two jedi (Gabriel Pryce
and Varen Ardos) moved into the light flooding in from the room of the cave. They were not close enough to the heavy repeater cannons nor the 293rd's Defensive Line near his current position. Putting his transmissions device away and pressing the button on his lightsaber.
The small hum of the blade glowed into existence and shined on the cave floor. Walking closer to the front near to them until he was only about 15 meters away. Watching the green blade from the jedi lightsaber point in his direction. He moved into Form II's opening stance and soon afterward moved to the Makaashi salute as a respectful gesture towards both of his opponents.
"They sent a child and a fugitive at that to disable the drill. How foolish." Aschwin said after recognizing Varen Ardos in a mocking tone to edge them on to strike first. He wasn't going to make the first move as a tactical choice.
Objective I Allies: GA, Aleksandr Stirsea Enemies: Faceless Imps until suitable dance partner presents themselves.
_________________________________________________________
He knocked another bolt away, and another, crimson streaks soaring back across the line and into packed ice and fighting men. The Stormtroopers unlucky enough to catch on of the deflected bolts died instantly when the superheated beams connected with them. Then the firing stopped, and the gun went silent.
"Is that quick enough for you?" The Knight mimicked his student mockingly under his breath, dry annoyance masking the pride he felt.There was no time to stop now though, no matter how much dreaded this part, they had to finish it.
"Move, now! Sweep the trench!" Cale barked out the orders like he'd never stopped giving them, and led the soldiers over the gap and into the trench. One trooper spun to shoot, Cale split his chest before he could, then took the man next to him. Instinct and intiuiton guided his movements, each call of the force answered with a smooth pivot, deflection, and counter. Another, then another, one lost his rifle and went for a knife, his momentary courage dying when Cale ran him through. They weren't going to surrender, they didn't even try.
A trooper wrestled one of their men to the ground, only to be torn free by an invisible vicegrip and slammed against the wall of the trench, left to fall into unconsciousness as he slumped over in the cold. Hate was not the Jedi way, but Cale hated this, hated that there was no other way now that the politicians and their fleeting nations had made up their mind, hated that he was good at it.
"Secure the wounded, bind then treat, watch for knives." He instructed the masked platoon who looked to the Jedi from behind mirrored goggles, answering with simple nods as the trench fell quiet, a momentary refuge from the chaos all around. Cale sighed, thumbed the ignition on his saber, and placed the hilt on his side. He didn't look too long at the bodies, dwelling didn't help anyone. Instead, he found Aleks, and his hand found the smokes he'd been trying to give up.
"Next time, a little less showing off, yeah?" Cale asked rhetorically as he pulled down the balaclava from the bridge of his nose, lifted his goggles, and placed the lit stimstick between his lips. One long drag and an exhale later, he knew there was no point delaying now. "Y'know I was gonna knight you after Tython, if you'd ever thought to stop whining."
It was as blunt a way to approach the topic as any, but he didn't know any other way. Cale dug into his pocket and remembered how he'd snatched smokes from Aleksandr's lips as a boy, the former street urchin almost as familiar with smokes and blasters by thirteen as he'd been with the Jedi Code at that age. It'd seemed so wrong, and it was, but Aleks wasn't some street-wise orphan in need of saving anymore, was he? The kid was fighting for what mattered, Cale could oblige him a shared vice.
"Not gonna bother with the semantics, we've got a war to win. Congrats kid." He extended out his hand and offered Aleksandr one of the smokes, a half smirk on the aging Jedi's face. Cale wasn't going to say the words, he didn't need to, Aleks knew. There wasn't anything left for Cale to teach him, not that he couldn't learn on his own. He didn't hide it then, for once, Cale gave a proud smile to Aleksandr Stirsea, Jedi Knight.
Deep in her soul, Margo knew this operation was more than what it was advertised to be, yet she had not expected this... The elite soldiers of SCAR emerged from the shadows, with Hal dramatically sharpening his vibroblade against his vambrace as they did so. The supersoldier’s black-hued mask covered her features, and just as well that it did - the expression lining her face was of pure, unadulterated...
Disbelief.
Unlike some of the others, Stalker had never served alongside the fabled Jedi. Most of her deployments prior to joining SCAR were amongst her Death Trooper unit, and at most were in situations wherein members of their unit were embedded within regular stormtrooper fireteams. Her experience had been similar within SCAR, with the exception of the occasional run-in with a member of the Imperial Knights.
Be that as it may, as was the case with countless trillions of sentients throughout the galaxy; she had heard stories. Stories of guardians of both peace and justice in the galaxy; of those who denied self in favor of others. Even as the daughter of a humble farmer, the Sith Empire had not been so successful to stifle tales of the heroics of legendary Jedi. Her father had tucked her into bed with stories detailing the adventures of Jolee Bindo in the days of the Old Republic, or of Luke Skywalker and his underdog tale of restoring balance to the galaxy; and redeeming his own father Darth Vader in the process.
Those stories alongside countless others had given her hope for a better future even as her family toiled under the yoke of the Sith. The patriots of the New Imperial Order movement had taken that place as she grew of age, and up until now she had hardly spared a thought as to the heroes of her childhood...
...only for those memories to come crashing down here, and now; even as the barrel of her particle rifle pointed at the group of padawans before her. Her lensed eyes focused on them - on the sheer youth in their face. If she had to guess, many of them were likely not much older than fourteen or fifteen. ‘This has to be a bloody mistake...’ she thought to herself. But before she could say anything, Hal’s words had answered any lingering doubt in her mind.
Her helmet tilted fractionally in his direction, with Margo hardly believing what she was hearing. Sure, technically, these were Jedi, but...
But they were kids! This wasn’t a battlefield where they were asking for trouble. This... this looked like a damned field trip.
‘Good soldiers follow orders.’ She could hear the voice of her old instructor even as Reaper’s own words echoed through the cavern with murderous intent.
Margo wanted to protest; wanted to say something to stop this before they crossed the point of no return. This wasn’t war. No... this felt like murder. Just as she was about to say- no, shout as much to the others, something inside of her seemed to... take over. She felt a... calmness begin to prevail over her, as well as a focus that caused her feelings of reservation to recede into the background. Rather than her own mental voice screaming in protest, all she could hear were the same words being spoken by her instructor.
‘Good soldiers follow orders.’
Rather than young teenagers and borderline children, these padawans began to seem more...
More like a threat that needed to be ‘taken care of’.
The voice inside of her that was kicking and screaming, hoping against all hope to warn her off began to grow quieter... and quieter...
Quieter...
Now, all she could see was her father’s face, gazing down at her as she took in a strained breath from her respirator several years ago. She was plunged into a tank of some fluid, a dull pain racking her body as the doctors had... done things.
Things to make her stronger, and more lethal.
Things to make her a Death Trooper.
“Copy that.” she heard herself say. It felt odd, but less so as it had before. In the span of moments between their arrival and the opening shots loosed by Reaper, Margo had seemed to suppress whatever misgivings had befallen her mere moments prior. Instead, her eyes lensed eyes craned over to form of a young male padawan, standing alongside a slightly older female padawan.
Wordlessly, the SCAR trooper snapped her rifle square against them both, and unleashed with a series of three round bursts - high intensity particle rounds surging toward them in quick succession, and with deadly precision.
From embers, to an inferno. Even on a world carved from ice and coated in snow. The frozen and eternal winter wints blew in from the vast, endless trench as the hot exhaust flew in and melted away at the caverns. The same ones the Padawan and his peers had become ensnared within, with Imperials on all sides. Corin remembered those words, everyone comes back, and with members of the infamous SCAR squadron encircling them all... the mortality rate plummeted, like a stone in a lake with such little chance of retrieval. Cut off, alone, this was to be their stand.
" Jem Fossk
!" His voice cut out over the sounds of the blaster bolts deflected by his blue-bladed saber with his head forced to pivot over his shoulder for no more than second several times, "Come on! You can do this!"
Corin failed to understand it, whatever it was. He remembered all her experience in combat from before, from the moment she thrust that blade into his side and sent his once considerably smaller frame off of a shattered skyscraper, off towards an abyss. It was there, like muscle memory, and yet she was a trapped insider her own mind. All she needed was a shove, and that was all Corin could offer. Forced to re-engage the Imperial with the sudden and sharp increase in accurate, speedy fire.
He circled about the best one could, content to continue the effort to block as many bolts as Corin could manage. Some could maybe take their leave out from behind him, to rush back to the surface, to find the masters and inform them of their new Imperial foes. If he died, so be it, it was a better death than a needle infested arm with a face in the gutter.
Jem kneeled frozen, eyes wide and reflecting the chaos as imperials bared over them in a surprise attack. Her peers jolted to life, defending each other with multicolored sabers snapping to life. She wasn't cleared for this. Jem remained locked on the ground, afraid that her own fragile recovery could all shatter with one step off the planned path. That fear was all the darkness needed to seep in. Darth Solipsis
's voice bit sharply into her head
Daughter. The darkness implored, offering strength to the cowed girl in the corner.
" Jem Fossk
!" His voice cut out over the sounds of the blaster bolts deflected by his blue-bladed saber with his head forced to pivot over his shoulder for no more than second several times, "Come on! You can do this!"
Fitful eyes caught Corin's; the confidence in the look he gave her cutting through it all. She shoved the darkness away and stood.
It's a choice, she breathed, the words practically leaving her lips in an inaudible whisper as she took to her feet. "It's a choice," she whispered again, pulling out the blue saber of a once fallen jedi and lighting it too. The darkness's hold clawed at her mind.
"It's a choice." She uttered to no one, stepping in front of the youngest of faces and taking a deep breath. She dodged** several blasts and managed to survey the situation.
"...We're too outnumbered." And if they waited any longer, their exit would be cut off as well. Her eyes darted towards the round drill path they had emerged from. "We need to go back," she told those around her. She stepped forward and blocked the way, buying a jedi or two the chance to retreat into them behind her back.
"Varen!" he shouted in surprise as the other Padawan slid onto the snow. What in the blazes was he doing here? He hadn't been here when they landed had he? Did that mean other Jedi were here too? He reached out in the Force, letting his feelings ride the tide of the Force and- There. He felt her. "Osie," he muttered. The distraction was short-lived though.
"Gabriel.." His voice seemed to echo around, sounding almost muffled to him, like he was underwater as he focused his perception on those cracks. "Move around them, they can't catch you."
The words were soft, but in the Force it felt like a command. His booted feet moved through the snow, the Force guiding his movement as he danced around the blaster bolts and swings of the strange troopers. His blade connected with the back of a knee, sending a shock up one of the trooper's bodies. He screamed and fell to his knees.
"Lights out," Gabe said smugly before bringing his blade around in a vicious swing that would have taken the trooper's head off at the nose if it was a live saber. Instead, the man was flung from the ground, sending a cloud of snow into the air as his legs swung up from under him and he landed with a thud on his back. Suddenly the other troopers went flying and he was following Varen back down the tunnel.
"Oh, Fark," he muttered as he took in their situation. An Imperial Knight and a squad of those strange troopers. All he could do was raise his blade to a defensive, ready position.
Judah’s senses were going into overload. First, was Caltin Vanagor
really going to ram the shuttle in order to make an opening for the troops which were with them?
“Brace!” he certainly seemed to be doing exactly that.
Second, the surge of energy which happened previous blew the ship they came from out of the battle. It blew everything out of the battle. All that stood between the planet and the superweapon were the few surviving ships and shuttles which were certainly no match for the massive artillery of the space station.
Judah heard the words come from Caedyn Arenais, the Vagabond was gone. There would be no time to mourn the loss before the ship rammed into the hangar bay. A quick moment of eye contact with his brother in arms and a firm nod would be the only communication offered. Twin sabers ignited as soon as the shuttle doors open, and Judah leaped into the air into a group of waiting imperial combatants.
While others deflected blaster bolt’s Judah’s role was clear. He was a shadow. There would be no avoiding detection on the camera feed in the hangar bay, but once the room was quiet, cleared of the enemy, he would find the shadows that could mask him. While the battle around them waged on, Judah would use the chaos to his advantage.
Decisive movement of his twin blades made quick work of the group he had descended upon. It would be up to the others to dispatch the rest of the enemies before moving on. Judah needed to “disappear” as soon as possible in order to give them an advantage. He would strike from the dark, unseen and undetected.
In what time he had before anyone else would arrive, Judah used the force to suppress his aura, making it as small as possible. Stealth would be next. Judah needed to make himself as “invisible” as he possibly could.
BORN OF BRIGHT STARSI: SURVIVING FORMER ALLIES - PART 2
FOB: Reverence, Western Kyber Mountains, The Hallowed Scar, Ilum (Spring of 877 ABY)
~=Who... who are you? You sound like one of my mentors... what do mean by "not alone"? Am I disloyal for thinking this is evil?=~
~=No, of course not. Not even maybe, an' certainly not as part of Dooku's court, it only means you don't align with the current ruler - an' in this matter specifically, you are not alone. Also, yes; its that mentor you haven't met in person yet, as I am not the primary tutor in this regard.... Being more specific, I'm Michael Barran, last surviving son of the fool who dragged us here.=~
He felt warmth and security almost pulsating from the Force-Signature in the distance, almost immediately confirmed to be Aoki Mira from the moment she answered, and though she was articulating verbally to project her thoughts more easily through the snow, there were no doubts it was Raina's Padawan projecting clearly through an overlap in the voice within. But as soon as the answer had been given, Barran would be relieved in the merit of his own honesty, as Aoki's silence would have otherwise concerned him if it had not have been for the pulse of self-actualisation, resonating brightly in the response he was sensing with newfound contentment instead. The Wanderer was confident in the Wunderkind's will to survive, and even in the moments when the unexpected arrival of another strong Force-Signature threatened to side-track good progress, Mira's soul would emanate an effective confidence of her own in turn, bringing an appreciative smirk to the fore as Lord Michael calmly carefully refrained from further interrupting her focus.
Promising.... Shame I can't be there to see the fight though.
Pondering to himself, Barran was reminded of his time with the Atrisians, recalling it as the most peaceful summer he ever spent away from the troubles of his life back home, needed most desperately in a time when he was spilling the blood of Sith-loyalist Goidels on the cold-stone cobbles of Preston city. A small coastal-mountain community of weavers, sea-trawlers, and their oldest export, swordsmen, all supremely welcoming on account of Lord Michael's knowledge and love for deep-sea fishing, and of his keen eye for swordsmanship a short while later. Much like his experience was with the Krieg-born Mandalorian clans, the sleepy Atrisian villages of Tsurumi and Yufu provided to be quite the life-affirming escape for the young Wanderer in his formative years.
Moments he wouldn't have traded for anything, especially not in remembering what was learned from old Taro's lessons in bladework and philosophy alike, with all the old Sohei master's lessons and discussions of the likes Lord Michael knew he'd be worse off without; all serving to interweave with the skillset and personal morality of the Wanderer in the following years and decades, and perhaps for the rest of his life, though none could ever guess when that would occur for one with a surname like,"Barran".
<"Any station any station! This is Charlie Three-Two! we're cut off from the rest of our element and taking heavy fire from all directions! Charlie Three-Four is immobilized! We're at grid: Zero! Six! Five! One! Five! Niner! I repeat! -">
Left with no other option but to deal with concerns of a more-urgent nature, the Lord-Colonel was drawn away from the young Imperial Knight's predicament to see what was transpiring a little closer to the lake, and in seeing the added pressure of the ambush itself finally taking effect, Barran knew the Highland Brotherhood's real fight had only just begun. The expected arrival of the 222nd was surely to lend credence to the fact they'd be up against sizeable opposition from the moment the first shots were fired, even if the famed GADF vanguard were still waiting for their chance to strike out at the tank column by then. There was enough aggression to respond to, enough,"Attack", with which justifications could be given to counter, but there had to be more to this, there had to be more shock-and-awe waiting beyond the horizon - and especially so on a planet protected by an obscenely well-funded opposing army.
<"We're surrounded! ALLIANCE TROOPS ARE CLOSING IN ON US! WE NEED INFANTRY SUPPORT!">
<"Charlie Three Two, Bravo-8 Patrol is on-station. Be advised, multiple contacts moving along southern ridgeline. Moving to intercept.">
More Imperials had joined the fight, and contrary to Lord Michael's predictions, an effective squad was on the scene before any Highlanders could get down to rescue to crew of the armoured-patrol's recon tank, and with more sensed to be closing in on the Tellan's north bank in swift responses of their own, Barran could only hope this wasn't leading to a larger, more destructive ambush than the first. Wicked were the winds that greeted their arrival, and much the same being said for the snowfall in their FOB's construction-phase, unleashing freezing-cold hatred on Goidels of the likes they thought they knew before - when in previous years those same snows fell more kindly on the heads of those who fought to defend it before.
We should have left the dead to rest in peace, father....
For we, the short-lived mortal souls of this Universe, no longer deserve to walk on Ilum's surface.
Since that fateful night in 865 ABY, the family and friends who remained to Lord Michael by then would have no clue that the Wanderer himself would take the family-chronicler role more seriously as a result of Blue-Heart Brigade's toughest ever battle; hostilities so fierce that none on either side of the struggle would dare gaze on Ilum after the fact, and especially not the Goidelic element of the Galidraani Imperial State, suffering much and more to put an end to the Maw's occupation at the time. A victory so costly for the Blue-Hearts that the Wanderer could easily remember what was lost, and who was lost in the process, always constantly reminding Lord Michael of the cost of Pyrrhic glory; deploying with 220 Goliath repulsorlift tanks, only to prevail in the end with fewer than 45 of those Goliaths still operational, infamous and legendary all in the same fight - in a typical Barran-esque fashion the Druid could neither escape nor ignore if he tried.
You desecrate the eternal resting-place of your kinsmen here - your brethren.
And yet, of all the things that seemed wrong to briefly cast aside on Ilum, the Pellaeonist Woad chose wisely to compartmentalise all that grief, anger and disappointment for the sake of his subordinates, and especially so with the knife's edge their lives were dancing on at the time. Though fortunately for Lord Michael, the right units were finally converging to provide some protection for the beleaguered Cataphract crewmen, and in the process, the much-needed coordination between them would quickly alleviate a few of the Wanderer's concerns at the very least. At least in the Druid's ground-battle, he knew the brave could still acquit their own actions with valour and honourable distinction, and as all was transpiring in the west, he could rest well with the guarantee that the Highland Brotherhood's bonds of fellowship had not yet failed the Galaxy in their own fight with the GADF.
<"Bravo Eight, Charlie Three Two! you're a sight for sore eyes! We're trying to hold them back but they're everywhere!">
<"Basel-8-1 to Charlie Three Two, we have secured southern flank.">
<"Guardian One sounding off as your cover from the north. You're clear to move for now, fellas.... Though not for long on our end sadly, but we'll deal with that on our own initiative - so just focus on getting back to FOB: Reverence, bais. Tunnel-focus time!">
Wherever McKidd's positions were, it sounded like the Highlanders' Bravo-contingent were providing cover from a distant vantage-point, and knowing what his best guardsman was like, Barran quickly surmised that a good deal of elevation would be added to the distance the young Guard-Captain was working with. And though it also sounded like further opposition was expected to push eastward from the northwest, Lord Michael knew Sir Jon was speaking confidently enough to know his subordinate's contingent had more than enough advantages in the firing-positions they had picked in their quick counteroffensive.
<"Barran to Guardian One! If you need any assistance at all, get in touch with McBain.... Anything at all, even a danger-close. But I'm hoping it doesn't come to that, McKidd.">
<"That makes two of us, Milord. But duly noted either way.... Could've been worse - could've been another Carlac. Guardian One out!">
Auteme was whisked quickly to the situation room when the fighting started. A dozen large screens dominated the far side of the room, specialists and analysts scurrying about, doing their work. Every few minutes someone would come up to her and deliver a short report, with some new piece of information. She'd been collecting information for the past hour. Yet, she still had no idea what was going on.
Her personal advisors had given their opinions, but as the battle had gone on, they'd fallen quiet. She knew from experience that one could feel the shifts and changes in a battle on the ground; observing from so far away, she felt a distinct lack of perspective on what was going on. No longer could she run off to the front, look for a solution; she was Chancellor of the Galactic Alliance. And she was frustrated.
The only thing she felt was the pettiness of it all. A strike on Ilum, a world far from the Empire, important almost solely to the Jedi, and yet they forced so much onto the world. In the middle of their war against the Brotherhood, right as the tide turned, another layer of betrayal. Tion was one thing -- a significant thing -- but this was a step beyond a step too far.
Hardening in her mind was the idea that they could never truly co-exist. Alliance, Empire, Brotherhood -- in time, there would only be one. For the good of the galaxy, it'd be the Alliance. She would make it so.
When the Director of the Strategic Intelligence Agency, alongside the relevant Senators, finally arrived, her patience was already running thin. "Director," her voice cut through all the noise, the note of anger unmistakable, "deliver your report. Quickly."
An explosion sent a few flametroopers further down the line spiraling into the air, and a few more fortunate ones- well, there wasn't much, if anything left of them.
The trench network was now a bloody hand-to-hand fight, with sections of the Trench, and the surrounding foxholes and supplementary positions overtaken, or being fought in grueling close quarters combat. Sid had no choice but to push forward, sliding as bolts came screeching overhead, sending him face-first into the slush below.
He was glad that his armor was insulated and sealed- otherwise fighting wet and cold would be a nightmare. Other than of course, this hellish landscape that was once a pristine view.
War had turned the beautiful into ugly, the pristine into hellish, and the innocent into the guilty. It was a fire that was all-consuming, all raging.
And with that being said- hell had come to his position. Sid scrambled to his feet, clutching tightly the carbine that he was graciously given by the Empire. He had to fight, he had to defend his position. A Sergeant grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him down as a volley of chaingun fire came at them.
"Son, we have got to push the enemy back! We have to push them out of this trenchline, do you understand!"
All Sid could do was nod. His mouth was dry and he felt like throwing up.
"Get over that god damn trench!"
Shotgun in hand, the Sergeant was the first to leap over, jumping into an enemy foxhole, annihilating one Galactic Alliance Marine caught unaware, and another with the stock of his shotgun. Sid was breathing heavy, jumping over the trenches to assault the enemy, his carbine tucked into his hip as he ran quickly, his left hand pumping to propel himself forward.
He ran to an overran foxhole, catching one Marine unaware with a shot to the chest, and the other he fell into- engaging in another hand to hand fight. The Marine grabbed his rifle, throwing it from his hands, and wrapped his arms around his thighs, sending them both tumbling to the ground.
Elbows, hands, both of them threw at each other wildly. The Marine gained the upper hand, wrapping his hands around Sid's neck, pushing his bodyweight on top of him. He felt the powerlessness for a moment, reaching up- eyes. Go for the eyes. Clawing, scratching, he found purchase under the man's helmet, and shoved him off of him. The Marine had a fairly large combat knife, which he went for- and so did Sid. Pushing the Marine against the wall of the foxhole, he shoved his face into the melting permafrost.
Both of them breathed heavily and raggedly, before the Marine kicked Sid hard in the chest, sending him flying back across the foxhole. He was on him again, cursing him in his native tongue of Huttese, and Sid could only hold onto his wrist, watching the knife come closer and closer to his neck. He turned his body rapidly, letting the knife shoot down over his shoulder, before he rolled the man onto his back, grasping at the knife. He smashed the man's hand in the mush, blaster bolts scorching over his head. The half-inch of water and slush the flamethrowers left was enough, right? He grabbed the man's head- and turned it. And turned it. Until it was face down in the mush.
And he pushed. He pushed. He swatted away his hands, kicking the knife away when the Marine went for it. And he held his face down, screaming against him as he did the same.
He eventually went still.
Eventually.
Sid picked up his rifle, barely breathing due to his exhaustion, and lay against the wall of the foxhole while the battle raged on around him. Shotgun blasts indicated the Sergeant that pulled him from his safe position was still alive, and they were conducting a counterattack as brutal on the Marines as the Marines were on them.
No shortness of tenacity on either side- the question being, would the counterattack be enough to stop the resolve of the Marines?
The rumbling had come in low, a soft shaking hardly noticeable against the rhythm of battle outside Boram's viewport.
Hardly a concern to the Moff as he took another sip from the glass in his clutches. Hanging near the rear of the battlefield, the Veroleem forces that had been sent were a token force at best, sent to represent loyalty to the Empire more than power. Boram himself had deigned to play a part in this battle, but he wasn't patriotic enough to risk his life on the front lines.
No he would spend his time in the rear, comforted in his delights and knowledge that his daughter would take care of his experiments on Veroleem.
His comfort waned, however, as the light emitting from the Empire's new toy grew in intensity beyond what their forces had been told to estimate. For only a moment, the shaking paused, a moment's peace before the laser passed from the superweapon into the Alliance forces that dot themselves amongst the stars. The volume of the blast seemed enough to threaten the integrity of the ship itself, even if they were lucky enough to be spared the fate of some of the less fortunate Imperial forces that found themselves a bit too ambitious in proximity to the laser.
"Brace!" Vice Admiral Nerraw shout before his hands wrapped themselves tightly to the console in front of him, attempting to refocus those among them that were transfixed by the spectacle in front of them.
Those less quick witted among them found themselves thrown to the floor of the ship as the tremor reached their location, a violent gust of energy smashing itself into the breast of the starship, Imperator.
The grip of Annolus Veroleem Red had flung itself from the Moff's hand as his other gripped tight to the armrest of his seat, thin lips curling into a sneer as his old bones rattled. Neat hair settled messily across a stern look as Boram turned to the man to his right, his face conveying the message his lips didn't need to parse.
With a silent gesture, Captain Etan walked silently outward towards the bridge to join the Vice Admiral. As the members of the crew who had lost their stance began to find footing once more, the silence of the bridge slowly made way for various emergency signals. Those that in the blast range that had found themselves fortunate enough not to be immediately incinerated.
"Prioritize assisting damaged vessels," The captain chimed in on behalf of his superior. "Leave the fighting to the ships in the front."
There was little sense in risking what limited manpower Moff Predor had in his grip since the dissolution of the Warlord system, there would be those that craved glory above all. If they wanted to risk their lives for the cause then all the better. All that mattered to Boram was his work continuing uninterrupted back on Veroleem. If his assistance would find any appreciation among the distraught then all the better.
"Alderaan's Ghosts! What Happened here?!?" Ari exclaimed over her communications as the Blackwolf exited Hyperspace, followed by the 16 fighters that were following her into battle. Ari narrowly dodged a flying piece of debris as she received the battle reports of what had happened in the theater of war so far. "One Onager did all of this? We can't allow that ship to fire again." Flipping a switch, she felt the entire X-wing jolt as the S-foils locked themselves into attack position, allowing the fighter to bring all of its weapons systems to bear on any poor sod that crossed her today.
"Nemesis, this is lead. This isn't any time for slacking. Screen Sentinel until they reach the target, stick to your assigned bombers, don't let a single one get taken out. Sentinel Squadron, split into flights with mixed weapons and dive below that cap's plane of battle. Wait for crosshair to make your attack run." With that, she pushed her throttle to as fast as she could go without breaking stealth and began her flight towards the enemy fleet, keeping an eye on her tac display, watching as the K-wings began to split up into their two flights, diving below the plane of battle of the Reckoning and avoiding enemy fighters - their ion cannons and the X-wings escorting them ready to chew up any TIEs that threatened their attack.
Ari could hear some rather angry beeps from her headset and read the words on the screen, ones she wish her XO hadn't taught the overprotective little astromech that had been her companion for so long. "YES Keeper, I'm keeping track of that onager's line of fire. Fine, put it on the display if you think it's so important!" Pulling up on her joystick, Ari climbed the X-wing high above the plane of battle, just enough to avoid the Onager if it fired again, before rolling and entering a shallow dive towards her target. Come here you cheeky fether. I'm going to show you how New Alderaanians fight.
Wolfram had been here so long that ear-splitting blasts from Alliance armour and air cover felt like dull noise from some other war. Now this, this was what it meant to be soldier. Freezing in some forceforsaken trench in the middle of nowhere while the enemy sent death from every direction. Death from above. Death from the formless, impeccable ice beneath them. Death from all around them. Torrent Company had been exchanging fire with Alliance troops for a couple of hours that had felt like an eternity. These high-energy intense moments were punctuated by moments of mind-numbing boredom. Some of the men had taken to playing sabaac using grenades and explosives as playing pieces. Any moment they might get bombarded again. If they were going to survive this battle they were going to have to get out of the encirclement.
He had been considering nodding off when the com crackled through from the General. He scrambled up like a man possessed and moved over to the com operator. <"Receieved General, I'll begin softening up their line and making a way out for us. Torrent 1-1 out."> It was almost as if the transmission has awaken something in him. He turned to the Company Executive Officer, a young, but capable Lieutenant who had proven himself during the bout on Panatha. "Get the troops ready, we're moving." He said, rising and moving across the unit's position, trying to make sure everything was stabe. Wolfram scurried back over to the radio operator.
"Relay this to all platoons, tell them to get ready to move. I want mortar and rockets now!"
"Yes, sir."
Under the blue-striped helmet a smile emerged as he could almost feel the blasts from rocket launchers and mortars pound the Alliance lines. It was a good moment to take the chance, and Triko mentally commended the General for ordering it now. Alliance troops likely hadn't been expecting such a rapid offensive from their position but it was happening now. Moving up and down the line, troops began to start priming their weapons. Coming round the left side, he moved out of the way of a trooper who was arming a warhead launcher. "I want emplacements all along the line, we're gonna make this a heavy but steady movement. On my order, we start moving toward the lines supported by mortar fire and the emplacements." It was good day to be an Imperial, he thought to himself, clutching a SFR-58 Bozdugan rifle and marching back off to where he had been.
Loading another powerpack, he watched as the level on the side of the rifle went completely red and he clutched it to his chest. He stood with the radio operator and the rest of A Platoon. He had taken personal command of the unit after their leader was gunned down during a reconnaissance mission. It was time to get revenge. "Relay the order, advance, now! All or nothing." Perhaps this wouldn't go well, perhaps.. perhaps this advance would all be in vain and they wouldn't make it out of the encirclement. Triko didn't have time to ponder on uncertainties after the fact. He was marching, no running now, sending off a burst of fire, watching an Alliance soldier crumble as he dived into the prone position, the battlefield now a multicoloured haze of green, red and blue bolts as Imperial mortar fire sent snow shooting miles high into the air.
Crawling over to the long-suffering radio operator, he practically grabbed the mouthpiece and started speaking. "General! This is Torrent 1-1, we have begun an advance to break the encirclement, I repeat we have begun an advance."
His argent lightsaber cut at the chest of an Alliance soldier, not cleaving him but slicing through bones, tissue, and the soldier’s heart. Enough to have him fall lifeless to the earth. The last soldier of his squad which fell to Simon’s lightsaber along with his detachment of Stormtroopers under his command. He had no remorse or second thoughts of returning to this planet as a marauder. Once he had come here as a learner, a student to the Jedi Order. Creating his first lightsaber, before destroying it to assume the role as an Imperial Knight and leave behind the Jedi.
Now he returned as a conqueror.
The Alliance dared to intervene in Imperial affairs on New Alderaan, and now they would face retribution. Tons and tons of kyber crystals extracted by the minute, only wanting more for themselves and to insult the Alliance. Soon the day of reckoning would come for the Jedi and their democracy.
Suddenly he felt something familiar…a presence he hadn’t felt in a long time. Cocking his head where that aura was emitting while glaring with his eyes.
Ah…how unfortunate.
Perhaps it would’ve been better to reunite with her, under better circumstances. Her aura was no different than from the last time they were together; however, Simon’s had changed to more cold and heavy. The past, however, would not dissuade him from his mission and newfound ideals. If she were to interfere with his objective, then she was his enemy.
“With me,” ordering his men as he walked towards where Zhea was in the caverns.
"Fair enough, I guess." Amani sighed. It never was that easy, no matter how many times she tried it. People were just too stubborn, she supposed. Herself included.
"For what it's worth, we could always both get what we want." She'd gladly step out of the room if it meant this woman would leave the console be. But Amani smirked amusedly, knowing full well that wouldn't amount to any more than a half-joke.
The agent reached for their holster, telegraphing as much for the sake of threatening, rather than going straight for the kill. Amani could appreciate that, if nothing else. She expected no quarter from these Imperial types. At least one of them had something bordering on a conscience.
But it would take more than good manners to keep Amani from her goal. She stood still, peering at the woman across from her with indiscernible intent, when the fingers of her left hand flexed. With the Force, the Jedi intended to yank the blaster right out of its holster and toward herself, in hopes of disarming Zoraya before the fight could even start.
Present Order of Battle 224x Squadrons of Howling Harriers move to attack the United Enclave Fleet, starting with their frigates.
74x Squadrons of Strike Eagles go to escort the above, both in a special circular formation (see post).
10x Voland Class Submarines (cloaked), disengage, regroup, and move to launch a stealth torpedo attack on the rear of the Mandalorian flagship Vhipirheim, targeting its shields, solar ion cannons, and engines in that order, aided by a very lax initial GA response to their presence and it sending all of its screening vessels forward to brawl with Korvan's.
Rest of forces held in reserve.
Aculia moves to engage the United Enclave detachment per Korvan's orders, moves 2/3 strike groups to the left flank to deal with it, keeps one in reserve near the center of Korvan's forces and a little bit to the right Submarines which were not really hunted by the GA move there as well to set up an ambush on the relatively undefended and vulnerable flagship from behind. Strikecraft are targeting the Mando light screening vessels (Frigates/Cruisers) at the front
Captain Severin, for all his faults as a pudgy, balding, middle-aged naval officer of low birth, made up for his physical shortcomings and unremarkable origin through a commendable sense of punctuality and dedication learned over decades as a junior officer for various naval powers throughout the galaxy. Thus it was that he constantly fed his Admiral both relevant incoming tactical data, while also ensuring she had a steady supply of fresh sugar biscuits to consume from the ship’s galley. He was ignorant of the ways of the Force, but he could tell the combined strain Aculia’s battle meditation along with coordinating her forces was taking on her, and the last thing he wanted was for her to get light-headed from burning so many calories doing so.
“Sir, Grand Moff Korvan requests we deal with the Mandalorian Enclave strikeforce on the last flank.” He reported dutifully, carefully cleaning the plate around his commander meditating on the floor and replacing it with even more biscuits. Aculia, for her part, absentmindedly picked up yet another one, giving him a barely perceptible nod.
At least this is something good to come out of this battle. We will get to see how well our friendly galactic ‘neighbors’ fight.
Aculia was of the small but growing minority in the Elysium military that saw the Mandalorian Enclave as a potential existential threat to the Outer Rim Empire, whatever Rex Valhoun
might have to say about things. They were rather close to the Empire’s borders and were known for their warlike nature, something that made those who were advocates of defensive imperialism extremely wary of the other space “nation”. Although the Mandalorians had largely deigned to ignore them for now, that could change at any moment, and this battle would provide crucial tactical data on them in the event they ever sought to expand their ambitions toward Elysian space.
“Begin to-”
Before she could even finish her sentence, a mighty, scintillating pulse erupted from the center of the Grand Moff’s fleet, flaring through Korvan’s own forces and into the central clustered Alliance forces on the battlefield, leaving a trail of terror and devastation behind it as it shot off into the stars beyond. Aculia could feel the chill tidal wave of death through the Force slam through her metaphysical “body”, and for a moment it even took her out of her own meditation.
Sacrificing his own men too…
“Spast…” Severin muttered darkly, her XO taking in the devastation as ships from both the Imperial and Alliance sides began to burn up, some debris even deorbiting and falling through to the planet.
“Status on our submarines!” Aculia snapped. They had, bless the Force, been a fair distance away from the center of the Alliance formation thanks to their stealth torpedoes, and been scattering away from it relatively quickly after their surprise attack on Pa'Kar Sang and Liedran Kathause
's screening ships to begin the battle, but she needed confirmation if they were okay.
“Contacting through secure wide beam…” Severin replied, sweat beginning to run down his forehead as the transmission was beamed out. “Nominal, I repeat, all submarines nominal, although it was a tight miss for some. It looks like the Alliance fleets opted to simply tank our torpedoes with their screening vessels and focus on Korvan before the…weapon…fired instead of hunting us down. They seem largely home free. Damage from our initial attack is still being analyzed, although it may be limited due to the quick overlap with the superlaser being fired.”
Aculia breathed a quick sigh of relief, and made a mental note to never, under any circumstances, place her forces in front of the Empire’s own in the future. If they could see their own men as so casually sacrificial, who knows what they were willing to do to their own mercenaries.
“Order them to continue concealing themselves with their stealth fields-no engaging the enemy there for now-and take a wide berth around the center Alliance formation either below, above, or to the sides toward the back of the Enclave fleet. They have decided to send their screening ships forward into the fray against Korvan, opening themselves up to a perfect ambush by us. Order them to load their heavy Voron stealth torpedoes and launch a full attack against their enemy flagship from behind it-we will cripple their shields, those deadly solar ion cannons, and hopefully kill their engines to provide some relief to our ‘allies’ here.”
She paused for a moment, taking a long swig of tea to relieve a bit of her own stress and lightheadedness. Sometimes, she wished her old mentor Grand Shepherd Burtch
was in command instead of having whatever kind of religious sabbatical and/or breakdown he had suddenly decided to have in his older years. Command was stressful.
“Pull in our rightmost strike group a bit to sector 246, they will serve as our reserve and reorient our other two to face the Enclave fleet, keeping our carriers back in standoff range and deploying our strikecraft in the Volandian Circle. Wipe out their frigates harassing Korvan’s screen first as our top priority target-they pose the most danger to our strikecraft. Then wipe out their cruisers. We outnumber them in strikecraft handily, with proper maneuvering and coordination, we’ll show these Mandos what a bad idea it would be to look toward Elysian territory!”
She paused, then continued focusing on bolstering the will and mental acuity of her soldiers with her battle meditation, despite the waves of chill death reverberating through the Force. A veritable massive swarm of fighters consisting of a forward vanguard of Strike Eagles would slap away whatever pitiful amount of strikecraft their Mandalorian opponent could muster, followed by a legion of Howling Harriers armed with heavy and medium proton torpedoes. As they struck off towards the Enclave fleet, they began to arrange themselves in what she and her pilots had called the Volandian Circle for maximum efficiency, survivability, and continuous attack.
The basic premise of the circle had been developed at the Battle of Tython to maximize the efficiency of large numbers of strikecraft and prevent them from getting clogged up or in too tight a formation to effectively dodge enemy flak fire. A “circle”, or, really, more like an elliptical shape would be formed, the first part leading towards the enemy forces where the strikes would begin, the squadrons arrayed in relatively loose formations to reduce flak fire going up, at a lateral elevation, and below the enemy formation to strike them from whatever the most vulnerable, then returning towards their carriers to rearm and repair. They would then be replaced by the next elements of the circle in a continuous attack while they did so, and then rejoin the circle once they had reloaded their munitions.
Aculia offered a slight prayer to whatever deity might be listening that this combined pincer attack would disorient the Mandalorians, and that not too many of her own men died to do so.
—----------------------------------- Time Dilation/Fluidity to move things forward at a decent pace, lmk if you want me to edit this a bit! Just moving things forward-----------------------
Some time after giving her orders, the first waves of her Strike Eagles and Howling Harriers began to open their attack runs on the Mandalorian Fleet, the Strike Eagles moving in to clear any errant Alliance strikecraft with the nimble Howling Harriers moving in to bomb their frigates first with their heavy and medium proton torpedoes.
Having completed their retreat from the central Alliance formation relatively unscathed due to not being considered a priority, the Voland Class Submarines moved a decent distance behind the Enclave fleet, although closer than they had been to other fleet thanks to them pulling their screening vessels forward and away from their capital ships. The large and comparatively slow enemy flagship, the Vhipirheim, was their target, and a great one at that as it held back behind its two Star Destroyers and Interdictor cruiser, shielding them. As a result, the submarines had an essentially ideal firing situation for their Voron torpedoes-not really being hunted, no screening vessels to deal with or handle first as they had been sent forward and being able to get into a relatively close range due to the that, and their target being a huge, hulking ship.
Soon, the heavy Voron torpedoes were fired, and the launch was silent as they engaged their cloaking devices the moment they exited their mothership’s own cloaking, much like their smaller cousins the Orels. They would glide gently, extremely hard to detect at this stage thanks to their Eternal Empire cloaking technology which muffled all sound and hid them from most sensors, towards their arming distance-at which point they would turn off their cloaking, engage their anti-point defense shielding, and engage their massive rockets. They would be quite readily detectable then due to their large thermal plumes at this point-but given the situation, would already be close to the enemy to begin with. This would give the Mandalorians very little time to try to shoot them down as they aimed to first to cripple the flagship's shields, then its solar ion cannons, and if any torpedoes remained after this, hopefully inflict some damage to its engines as well to keep it dead in the water.
By this time, much like before, the submarines would begin to scatter in various directions, altering their courses and headings to help avoid return battery fire, much easier to do when one’s target was a large and comparatively lumbering ship as well. They would make the Mandalorians pay for their overaggressiveness.
The Mando laughed at her declaration, the sound like quaking earth and grinding rocks. It reverberated in the icy cavern, rumbling the icicles above.
The echoes were just dying down when he lurched towards her, huge but slow, gradually gaining momentum, vibro-axes bared menacingly. The ground shuddered and cracked beneath his massive feet with each lumbering step. It was like standing in front of a charging bull rancor. He could crush her, easily, if he got his hands on her.
Her hearts pulsed faster. Adrenaline coursed through her veins and her blood sang. The Force was a river and she was a petal, riding its current. She crouched low, angling her blade to the side-
!
His jetpack roared and he rapidly close the distance between them, arms winding for a pair of powerful blows. He swung one axe into the ground, kicking up a spray of ice as if to blind her, but with the Force as her ally, she didn't need her eyes to see- she certainly didn't need them to feel. Instincts blaring, she lunged leftward, sticking close to his side- his other axe smashed through the chunk of ice she'd been standing on, shattering it to bits and pieces. Freakish strength to match his freakish size. Excellent.
The shards of ice were still flying when she flared her whining jet boots and shot towards the Mando's flank, blade still held to her side, angled to carve a searing line into the back of his knee.
Caltin Vanagor
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Domina Prime
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Judah Lesan
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Koda Fett
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Varm Nul
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Ignacious Korvan
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