Dominion I'll See You In Hell! | First Order Dominion of Hoth

[The Major]

-66° Standard Galactic | Wind: ???KPH
Morale: Nominal

End to End!​

Dash was right to have misgivings. This Operation had all the markings of a bad situation coming together to make one massive gut punch. Befouling weather was only one portion of that. Deep inside her instincts were starting to scream for relief, warning that every step forward would only be one to bring them closer to ruin. Major Shepard decided to let the mission slide. It was already a poor decision to go without at least a platoon of stormtroopers from the Erebus, and Sybil’s direct superiors had heavily implied that other portions of the intelligence apparatus would send operatives and a collection team to cart out anything of importance. They could even be heading here now. Command would know how to better approach this base considering the current conditions.

“This isn’t right. Too quiet. Out of our depth. Let’s finish a sweep of the first floor, clear and report it in, and call for extraction.” She had trot through a snow drift and towards a hallway -ever the “hero” and taking point before asking- stopping only when she espied a number of fallen corpses as she pushed into the breach. “They were fighting. . .” Blasters and batons were still in hand, not to mention the holes they were sporting. Sybil approached one of the fallen to see if there were any identifying markers of the gang or loot.

“Looks like- ???” A creak. Then a rumble under foot. Emergency lights in the hall suddenly exploded in full brightness, blinding Shepard as the deck suddenly collapsed.

“Krif-ahhHH!” She and the bodies fell, the floor crashing down level by level as the structure section groaned and the entire compound tilted further against the bay -seawater bursting through some of the deepest parts of the facility and beginning to fill it up. As Sybil fell, she gripped unto a corpse and put it between her and the floor, less by design and more by accident. They together hit a now bent shelf of servers, cracking the set and sending plumes of electrical spikes out as plastic and wiring burst. They tumbled deeper, crunching to a halt at a circular server room filled with archival data.

Shepard groaned and rolled unto her belly, thankful for Comrade McDead and his last service.

Everything sort of hurt.

She pinged her IFF tag with an S.O.S setting, sent that transmission to any one on the First Order network. Obviously, dropping down after her would be a stupid risk without specialized equipment, but anyone nearby could pinpoint her location in the structure and at least be aware that she was still alive.

This was a mistake for reasons Sybil did not yet realize. Her transmission found interference, and then was promptly killed. This occurred as the signal was blocked and static was sent back. Ominously, the lights in the server sublevel dimmed and a speaker blared in a squeal before a voice began to speak.

::Y-Y-You are qUiTe la-Lalalala-la Late. It-you-ititit-it does not mAtTeR. C-c-c Close your eyesMOUTHeyes, and I will t-t-t-take take -finish the rest.::

Huh? What?​

“The phrik is this?” Shepard grimaced at the pain exploding within her temples. Standing with a wince and wishing rather desperately that she hadn’t have come here.

Ariel Yvarro | Aurelian Dash | Isobel Nakano | Nima Vantoon ​

 

[Thea]

POST: II
COMMANDING OFFICER: FN-999
COMMANDED UNIT: Ocean Squad (9/9) - x1 Sergeant, x1 Combat Engineer, x1 3-Man Heavy Weapon Fire Team, x4 Stormtroopers
SPECIAL EQUIPMENT (SQUAD): Snowtrooper armor | Anti-Armor Missile Launchers
ALLIES: FO | Dresden Verbrennung | Rolf Amsel | Jend-Ro Quill

As images of the snow hellscape entered her mind, displaying the overall layout and structure of the opposition's fortifications, Thea carefully inspected the imagery for any signs of hidden manipulation. After some careful probings and observations of the new information, she determined that it was benign in nature and would naturally pass away from memory, without affecting an individual's mind in any way.

The information was certainly a massive headache to parse through, her mental space quickly compressed the images into discrete units of information that were compartmentalized and stored based on priority. The geospatial information and coordinates of the areas closest and of the 19th's assault were observed with greater scrutiny.

As she received the last frame of Jend-Ro Quill 's visions, Thea's head immediately swiveled, taking quick glances upward to identify the exact vantage point. Feeling a soft inclination from the Force directing her to a particularly snowy peak, she nodded in gratitude and thanks. She could also feel a wisp of their presence within the Force, and Thea would thank him personally after the battle was done.

[What we just saw was a projection forced into our minds by a user of the Force. It was certainly shocking, but they seem to have provided us visual intel on our surroundings and hostile fortifications. I'm not sure whether the individual behind these projections is friendly or hostile, but their intel seems to be genuine and accurate to our current surroundings. The First Order units likely received a similar projection, so prepare for a change in movement.]

Hearing her CO's voice, she simply acknowledged the order and relayed that there were no negative effects from the message. As she watched as her Sergeant was called up by the Captain, Thea was interested in watching the interaction.

---

The tall Sergeant of the Ocean Squad, FN-90009, a.k.a. Fix, trudged through the snow uncomfortably. Snow was like sand, except it crunched under your boots rather than unstably compress when moving through sand. It took some adjustments to get used to, but the tall figure of the Squad Leader had always been a challenge in perfecting her balance with her higher center of gravity. As she neared close to the Captain, he stated.

"Sergeant, how's this weather been treating your squad? I know that this is a bit different from your usual deployments, and I want to make sure that you can keep up with the other elements of the company once we get into battle."

"Too cold. They are both equally miserable though. At least we don't have to dig."

Looking over to the front lines and the various armor elements preparing their assault, she scrutinized the defensive positions and commented.

"They should have just dug."

 

[Djorn Bline]

D I A M O N D _ S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
HOTH
BYOO
FOCUS | Aerarii Tithe

The Vice Chancellor was in good hands with Djorn. That was something Tithe didn’t have to worry about. What value did this base have? It would be the foundation of their operations. Like everything, this operation was an idea from the minds of Harrsk, Tithe, and Bline. Every idea needed that small spark to light a fire that couldn’t be extinguished.

He didn’t know anything about these rebels and insurgents except that one particular offensive the Eternal Empire made against the Sith under the reign of Tacitus. But his knowledge was still limited on said insurgency.

Credits and data was provided by Snake.

Now it was time to put in the work before harvesting its bounty.

“Rest assure, Tithe, I’ll make sure this operation breaks a rib or two against the Eternal Empire. I won’t tolerate their slights anymore.”

“This’ll be the groundwork for everything that we do. The brain of it all. Can’t always be out running and gunning while planning at the same time. This’ll benefit these insurgents in the long run in their campaign to dismantle the Empire.”

 

[Dresden Verbrennung]

​

"All stations this net, this is Campfire 6. Be advised, arty's got a plan for the minefield. Standby, more to follow."

Dresden furiously calculated a fire mission for his highballs. Among their loudout were several thermobaric shells. In layman's terms, thermobaric weapons used heat and pressure to destroy the target. Each shell would disperse a cloud of fine particulate explosives that would, when ignited, create an implosion rather than an explosion. The resultant vacuum would create an inrush of air that would then compress the blast until it the superdense ball of oxygen and explosive medium reached critical mass. Then the process was reversed. Instead of vacuum, you got an extremely powerful blast of heat and pressure, thermo and baric.

Thermobaric devices were hellish when used in confined spaces, such as caves, bunkers, and trenches, which was why Dresden made sure each launcher was stocked with a few. Firecracker rounds were all well and good for clearing out trenches, and bloody terrifying, but there was something about the sight of seeing your buddy's crushed corpse with its lungs hanging out of its mouth that really broke the spirit. But they had secondary, and tertiary uses as well. If you needed to clear a path through a minefield, for instance, a pressure wave was a lot more economical than sending your infantry sprinting ahead of the armor. For starters, antivehicular mines were typically fused not to go off under the weight of the average trooper. There were some chonky boys that could do the trick, but anyone that big was also likely to be strong enough to make their displeasure at such a plan extremely expensive. Besides, Dresden wasn't a complete bastard. He'd sent penal companies across them before, in his mercenary days, but that was a different story altogether. Common murderers, spouse beaters, rapists, and other dregs weren't really people. Not anymore. He generally left politicos alone, but not people who abused the weak.

The trouble with using thermobaric shells was calculating the exact height he wanted them to go off. Too high, and only the lighter fuses would be triggered. Too low, and the ground would soak up most of the blast, limiting the effectiveness of the rounds, and he only had so many. After several long moments of arguing with his targeting computer, he finally had the correct sheaf. He could blast a four meter wide corridor, all the way to the trenches, without resorting to cruder methods. It'd be a little narrow for the tanks, who'd have to advance single file, and the walkers would have to take their chances. There weren't many mines that could handle a walker's bulk anyway, but there was always a chance.

"Alright, so here's the plan. We're gonna blast a corridor through, then tanks and infantry, blitz up the center. Walkers, hang back and provide fire support. We're gonna give you guys a curtain barrage that should also screen you from the enemy, and I'll have a battery light up the trenches with firecrackers. If anyone else wants to party with arty, be my guest."

Without waiting for confirmation, the mercenary-turned-FOSB troubleshooter did what he did best: prepared to shoot trouble. Lots of it.

Rolf Amsel | DECEASED Erskine Barran | FN-999 | Thea​

 

[Aurelian Dash]

-
​

"Oh what the..." he stopped, the world ahead giving way beneath the Major's feet. A sour frown was all he could manage before he felt the ground lurch beneath his own feet - thankfully the collapse stopped short. I'll be damned if I'm gonna let myself go out like this. Fumbling with the gear at his belt, Aurelian retrieved a small grapple pistol and with little more than a glance fired it. The small metal spike shot out, anchoring in the wall firmly before Aurelian tied it off. Looking back towards the collapsed structure below he shouted. "Major! You alright down there?" He looked to see if Isobel had managed to save herself from the unexpected interruption - the strange voice echoing within ignored till now. "What the kark is that?"

First things first Aurelian. His own anchor secured, he looked down upon where the Major had fallen. The situation was dire. Slinging his pack to the deck he quickly opened it and began gathering components. Without looking up from his work he addressed the others. "Watch my back - and keep an eye out for any automated defenses. Something really isn't right about this."

An obvious observation, however, Aurelian had gone into autopilot mode. Hands quickly knotting a synthetic rope he'd buckled to the side of his pack. They needed to get to the Major quick. The water would only stay fluid for so long and once frozen, it would further complicate their already precarious situation. "We're coming Major - hold on!"

The Major | Isobel Nakano | Ariel Yvarro | Nima Vantoon​

 

[Rolf Amsel]

Objective I
| ♫ |
-
​

Rolf cursed under his breath. Of course they'd want to blow it up. He shook his head. Not to mention the fact that once the ground had been cleared they were meant to proceed through the wake of the barrage. The tanks wouldn't find the terrain a problem but the walkers might. They'd have to move slow - and if the enemy decided to engage them? That's when he'd do it. Wait until the walkers were at least a third of the way down the new channel, they'd have to move slow to avoid any instability. "Get glass on that minefield." he relayed to his scouts. Taking a knee and retrieving his datapad Rolf pulled up a 3D scan of the area they'd recovered weeks prior - thanks to Military Intelligence. Dragging his finger across the screen he sketched a battle layout, updating his platoon leader's HUDs with new markings and alerts.

Indicating Rolf's own platoon would take the vanguard, the rest would follow oriented left and right. The mines wouldn't be the problem once the barrage had landed but it was the precarious stretch of terrain between them and the endless trench and tunnel systems ahead. The fighting would be brutal. The weather was less than optimal, the ground liable to slip away beneath their feet, and the short range confines ensured that any fight would be just that - a fight. "Into assault positions." he commed to the platoons under his command. Sending an out update on the all comms channel which included the NIO elements, he spoke briefly.

:: Wampa Six, all stations. Moving to assault position, commencing on last round out. ::

They were about to be in for a hell of a shelling - and a long dash forwards. "Unto the breach." he muttered.

Dresden Verbrennung | Thea | FN-999​

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

BLUE-HEART BATTALION

ALLIES: Dresden Verbrennung Hans Rennagen Rolf Amsel Jend-Ro Quill Thea

After hearing allied plans over open-comms, Lord Erskine soon realised their plans aligned with his own; this revelation soon unleashed another in it's wake, and having already wondered if the powerful force-user could be helping the others, the orders he heard were also assumed to be further evidence of Jedi assistance. Understanding that the units in the valley below were all in the right positions to attack properly, Major Barran decided it was time to address the subordinates behind him, but chose instead to remain firmly fixated on the serenity of the snowstorm's windy shroud as he spoke; whether this was annoying the officers or not, Erskine didn't care, so he barked out his orders as the Blue-Heart subordinates eyed their commander's back in silence.

'Order the walkers ti fire-at-will fae the ridgetop, an' have them stick ti their marked arcs of fire. Tanks will then join the barrages, but only once they reach the base o' the south-facing valley below; and we should order all units to keep their carbonite ammunition at the ready, but have them stick with what they know for now.'

Looking down on the blizzard-obscured expanse below, Lord Erskine chuckled to himself as his subordinates shuddered with constant shivers around him, but instead of dismissing them to their duties, Barran turned to see their faces before returning his mirth-filled attention to the snowy expanse below. From the vantage-point of their new landing-zone for friendly-traffic, all the Blue-Heart officers watched their Lord-Major as he continued to look into the snowfall-obscured valley with a growing intensity; but Shugg was eager to return to know the outcome of Barran's holographic correspondence with the Brigadier-General, and had summoned the courage to grab his commander's shoulder and turn Erskine back to face his subordinates.
Cheeky little scrotes are asking for a slap.....

'Oh, so yees want the confirmation now? So be it, eager-beavers.... Aye, we are deploying to Bastion after this, along wae everybody else. Best get that straight wae aw yer units as soon as, agreed?'

In response, all the officers in attendance nodded their acquiescence and mumbled their affirmative replies, almost as if the weight of the news was yet to hit them properly, but the gravity of their situation was very much there for the Lord-Major to see in their eyes. Choosing to let it naturally fester in their minds, Barran knew not to disturb any point of that heart-steeling process, nor it's many off-shooting variations; one of the easiest things he could (and would) do in these situations, but mostly due to the fact Erskine detested the weak, reliant alternatives he was convinced would dilute the fighting-spirit of the Blue-Heart battalion. Galidraanis were known for their fighting spirit, their camaraderie, but such things were always earned with merit, and only the hardest of them had the willpower to achieve it.

'You have your orders, lads; now get involved in the next phase of the op, and show our enemies how we inflict the horrors of war! Dismissed!'

All of Barran's subordinates ran off to their ACVs at a sprint, and the tanks and their support-vehicles then roared into the blizzardly abyss once more, but a few bicolored exchanges of fire began lighting up the snowfall in the distance as the last vehicles in the formation were still fading into the snowy drop below. The auditory hellishness soon followed-suit, offering a cacophony of blaster fire and thudding sonic-booms before the walkers mechanically stirred to life behind him, creaking and groaning into their three allotted firing-positions as the Lord-Major watched the colourful blizzard in anticipation. Then the recognisable sound of the walkers' lazer-cannons came to life with a full-powered cacophony of their own, sending threads of red chaos into the shrouded valley beyond.
Beautiful.... Perhaps we'll get battles like this when we return to Galidraan 3 someday, now those would be true sights ti behold.

​

​

 

[Ariel Yvarro]

Matidia fared better than the woman beside her, beskar and boots helped but not by much. The Mandalorian's fall hadn't been so that far, just far enough that there was some distance between her and the agents of the First Orde. However, she was quick to roll to her feet and looked down. Her head canted to the side, Matidia utilized her helmet's HUD to gauge just how far down she had to go and how to slow her descent. She hadn't quite earned her jet pack yet, but the boots would have to do she kicked them forward one by one to activate the blades. ​

​

Beskad in hand she began her climb down, toward the woman down in the archival section. Okay so just decimating this place from orbit might not have worked out anyway. Chided Matidia to herself as she climbed down - granted it was the one time she wished to have liquid cable on her. Next time, Kurze. Next time. On her armor, she bore the Clan Kurze sigil, an open hand with blood that symbolized their blood-oath to the Sons of Mandalore. The same sigil that was inked onto her skin, her debt, her repayment to Trajan Kurze for saving her life all those years ago. ​

​

Her armor normally would have been colored in a black and grey pattern, with red trims - today it was white, grey with subtle black trims. A winter variant she called it, built to withstand frozen wastelands for sure, just not for an eternity. The armor now gleamed with bits of ice smashed on it, snow haphazardly clung on as well. One boot into whatever was left of the structure and then another, and on occasion, there was a jump between levels. ​

​

A vertical climb down that Matidia wished to hell she had prepped for. ​

​

Her mistake, and one she might pay for later. She could almost hear old man Trajan bark at her for her mistakes. Ok foundling. The response she was sure to get and one that while short was enough to ruffle her feathers. A glance upward and Matidia caught a brief glimpse of the other First Order agents.​

​

Matidia found purchase on a level not too far up from the agent that kissed the floor. The Mandalorian didn't want to risk knocking herself off by misjudging a jump. Blades back into her boots and beskad stowed away, Matidia flipped on the flashlight from her blaster pistol to look around for a way down. All she found were more holes in the floor - but holes that she could fit through and climb down a lot easier than rock climbing with beskad and boots. ​

​

Eventually, the Mandalorian got to the floor where the aforementioned agent had kissed. "Su cuy'gar," called Matidia as she moved around the circular server room.​

​

The Major | Aurelian Dash | Isobel Nakano ​

​

 

[Resurgent Vignette]

Karryar Ren felt an irritating presence, some kind of -- if not malevolence, then opposition. Some glimmer in the Force. He grunted under his breath and clasped his hands together behind his back. Something had shifted, he sensed. His forces were at a disadvantage; he didn't see how, not yet, but something had changed. He inclined his head and rolled his neck before turning back to the technicians. "Order the beginning of the civilian evacuation," he said.

"My lord?"

"I know it's ahead of schedule, but -- do it," he said, nodding firmly. Perhaps the civilians would buy them cover. "Increase our sensor sweep and prepare our snowspeeders and tanks for deployment." He turned back to his command display and watched as his ordered turned to action on the map.

"Stand by, ion control," said one of the technicians behind him. A moment later the he said: "Fire." The first civilian transports streaked skyward, smugglers carrying materiel and people looking to escape the First Order's clutches. They had no intention of stopping in at the blockade, and sped past, heading into the asteroid fields to lose their pursuer and get far enough afield to jump to hyperspace.

Dresden Verbrennung | Rolf Amsel | Thea | DECEASED Erskine Barran | FN-999 | First Order Officer | Jaida Tess | Kim Dae-Hyun | Resurgent Narrative​

 

[Kim Dae-Hyun]

DK hummed to himself absent-mindedly as he checked his sensor readouts for the ninth time in half as many minutes, his dark eyes scanning over the data the sensors were feeding him. BB-10K8 parsed and translated, occasionally querying him in a gentle warble. That's why K8's squeal took him off guard, causing him to bolt forward in his seat, slamming against his crash webbing. "Blast," he muttered, rubbing his chest where his crash webbing had impacted hard. "What the hell?" he demanded.

::INFORMATIVE STATEMENT: SHIPS HEADING THIS WAY ON VECTOR ZERO SEVEN ONE. PUTTING IT ON SCREEN NOW.::

"Thanks, Kate," Kim grunted, glancing at his screen. He opened a channel. "Unidentified vessels, this is a First Order task force lawfully in occupation of this system. Cut your engines and transmit transponder codes and manifest."

::INFORMATIVE STATEMENT: THEY ARE NOT STOPPING.::

"Thank you, Kate," Kim said, this time sarcastic. He took control of his stick and accelerated to match speed and course, carefully aiming a warning shot across the bow of the lead ship. They still didn't stop. "Hold on back there. Black Squadron: Double front shields. We're going in after them. Fire to disable."

::QUERY: HAS CAPTAIN KIM TAKEN LEAVE OF HIS SENSES?::

"Not at all," Kim said, throttling forward to increase his speed in response to the smugglers' ship hurtling forward. "Why?"

::INFORMATIVE STATEMENT: THE ODDS OF SUCCESSFULLY NAVIGATING AN ASTEROID FIELD IS APPROXIMATELY 3,720 TO 1!::

"I'll take those odds," said Kim with a grin, hurtling into the asteroid field with BB-10K8 squealing its alarm into his private channel.

First Order Officer | Jaida Tess | Resurgent Narrative​

 

[Aerarii Tithe]

LOCATION: Dorn Base, Hoth
OBJECTIVE: Operation Ajax BYOO
ALLIES: Djorn Bline

Tithe wandering the recently reoccupied base as Commissioner Bline accepted the credits and intel update. The Aarguun wiped a thick layer of snow off the casing of an ancient holoterminal, suspecting the antique equipment would not long remain. They would need high-end military-grade kit to be able to monitor the Eternal Empire and stay in touch with the Eclipse Rebels.

“If you have necessitate someone to run and-or gun, the Rebels will be happy to oblige,” the Vice Chancellor explained. “They have… passion.” That the group had banded together and fought for so long, not for credits or glory but rather an ideal, was a quaint notion to Tithe. His path through the galaxy, while sometimes in the service of others, had always been about one thing - himself, and how he could get ahead.

“I understand the Empires - First and Eternal both - have brokered an, albeit, fragile accord,” Tithe noted. “Mutually benefits trade between the two nations will provide cover for the movement of personnel and materiel.” If the Zweihander Union were truly as neutral as they claimed, Tithe was sure he could come to an agreement for a no-questions-asked shipping arrangement.

 

[Nima Vantoon]

'Well, today could have started off better', Nima thought idly as the howling herd of Wampas thundered after her, drawing on the Force to keep the gap between her and them as wide as possible.

The dilemma she was in started soon after she made her way into the old outpost. It was...eerie. There were no smugglers- just corpses from self-defense. Then, an SOS tag went off not too far away from where the archival section was- meaning FOSB agents were there as well, probably doing the same thing. She marked it on her HUD, and shortly afterwards, with a burst of static, the SOS tag petered out.

The question of how was answered when a...voice taunted her (and presumably anyone else who could have been on the same frequency). Warily, Nima began making her way into the inner workings of the outpost. Then the Force screamed at her, and instinctively she ducked as a Wampa, frothing at the mouth and roaring, broke through the outer wall. That moment of instinct saved Nima's head from being removed from it's shoulder by the swipe of the Wampa's paw, but her artificial arm took the blow, sending her flying across the room.

Nima, rolling with the blow, winced as she got to her feet, a blaster pistol in hand. The mechanical arm was in working-ish condition- deep gashes were gouged into it, exposing circuitry. 'That can't be good', she thought as she riddled the beast with blaster bolts. The Wampa let out a loud, mournful wail, then thankfully stilled.

And then a dozen more of them came clambering out of the hole in the wall the first one made, and Nima took off. As she rounded the corner and entered the atrium, she nearly fell into a hole. Something had made the structure collapse- be it time or something more nefarious. But based on the readings from the HUD in her helmet, the archives were directly below her. Her eyes swept the area, looking for a safe way down to the archives.

Then the Wampa horde's roars got closer, and Nima decided that maybe it was time to take some risks. Unclasping her shoto-lightsabers, she sprinted and jumped down a hole as one of the creatures came into view. The wind whipping her face, she ignited her sabers and plunged them into the icey wall. Which didn't slow her down. At all.

Whelp.

Desperately, Nima tried to slow her descent down with the Force as the ground got closer and closer...

Ariel Yvarro | Aurelian Dash | Isobel Nakano | The Major

 

[Jend-Ro Quill]

JEDI ENCLAVE, MOUNT ISON

Quill shook snow out of his hair briskly and set about gathering his few belongings. Everything of value in the hermitage - books, training tools, stranger things - fit in a couple of backpacks or beside the snowspeeder's back seat. The speeder started up with ease.

Regret brought him some pause. He understood now that the First Order was here; he'd glimpsed that in a mind or two, along with gratitude that made him feel good. He saw a path where he negotiated being able to stay here in peace.

But being able to call other Jedi here was just an invitation for trouble. So many Jedi these days were worrying hotheads - well, admittedly, that wasn't new. And the First Order had all sorts of military strength and political complexity and a history that didn't exactly jive with the Jedi cause(s). Far down the line, he glimpsed tragedy. No, if he wanted to keep collaborating with other Jedi in his home, he'd need another home.

He hadn't expected the choice to be this easy.

 

[Djorn Bline]

D I A M O N D _ S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
HOTH
BYOO
FOCUS | Aerarii Tithe

“I would sure hope these rebels have a passion to their cause, Tithe,” he commented back to Usury as the Vice Chancellor made a note of the passion in these dissidents. “Without passion to our ideals and ambitions, they’re nothing and are just empty as a void.”

“But I digress, that’s just a piece of philosophy.” He inspected a computer terminal in the same room they occupied in. Seems to be like the communications array of this ancient base.

“Is that so? Then that’s one way on making things economical for us. As in, don’t have to spend credits for vessels with stealth technology.” That was an ingress and egress for them to exploit, all they needed to know is what trading policies there was in place.

“Do you know more about the details of this relationship, specifically border crossing and trade? I’m sure people on both sides need to have documentation and the comply with the typical standard procedures when entering?”

“If so, I know a loophole how we can set up our rebels to have documentation to perform these tasks.”

 

[Resurgent Narrative]

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​

:: I've got your six Black Lead ::​

​

Niance called on comms to Kim Dae-Hyun whilst the iconic scream of her bird's twin ion engine pushed through the void. Double front on the shields as ordered. "We don't ask those kinds of questions, Bee." Quipped the pilot to the droid unit that was currently squealing, "just get me a targeting solution, now!" The eyeball cockpit twisted into the black of space verdant hues from the TIE's cannons ripped through illuminating the space around them. "Dank farrik! C'mon Bee!"​

​

Black-Three missed the shots and pushed more on the stick.​

​

Targeting solution reacquired, she fired again and landed a shot on the smuggler's ship's right on the starboard side. "Nice one Bee."​

​

"I don't know Bee."​

​

Bee had asked about back up and to be quite honest, Niance wasn't sure if they would get it. For now, she focused her fire the smuggler in question only turned around to fire back. "KRIFF!" Shouted the pilot whilst barrelling away from the laser fire. Whoever this smuggler was they sure had their share of run-ins, at least from what Niance could gather by a look on their hull with scorch marks. ​

​

Jaida Tess​

​

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

BLUE-HEART BATTALION

ALLIES: Dresden Verbrennung Rolf Amsel Jend-Ro Quill Thea Resurgent Vignette

'Milord, you summoned me?'

CSM Heggy had alighted from his modified AMV, and then driven along the southern crest of the hill's north ridge before slowing to a stop behind his Lord-Major, opening his door to Erskine in the hopes he didn't have to step out and endure the snow. Seeing that Major Barran was staying put, the battalion's quartermaster sighed dejectedly and braced himself for the cold sting of Hoth's snowy embrace, pulling the fur-lined hood of his jacket over his head and walking out with as much speed as the knee-high snow would allow. As Barran turned to see what was causing the kerfuffle, he chuckled at the sight of Heggy's struggles, before replying endearingly,'Makin' a cake-an'-arse party o' that, are ye no? An' aye, ye were summoned; yer Lord-Major wants ti talk aboot Bastion, an' wi someone who isn't morbidly-green for a change.'

'Aye, haud oan! The Hoth snow just doesn't seem ti agree wae ma feet, Milord!'
Aye, and now the snaw an' yer sons have mutual-cause against ye. Gid way ti jynx it for yersel, Heggy....

When Heggy had found more ease with the trodden lows left by his superior-officers, the blizzard was steadily beginning to pass them by, but the cold bite of the wind would make it's presence felt in the following minutes, slowly making the battle-lines below more visible as time passed. All the laser-streams, small-arms blaster fire and explosive-charge detonations could be seen by the time Heggy had lifted his torso upright to see it all for himself, and it was in this moment that he instantly understood the reason for Erskine preferring to stand outside in the cold.

'Ayways has been a pretty sight ti see, eh?', the battle-hardened CSM asked, half-sighing at the oddly-serene view as he did so. However, it was becoming obvious to both Blue-Hearts that this would be their last eye-pleasing encounter with the wilderness before leaving for the jaws of the abyss, with the Lord-Major's quartermaster feeling it more acutely than Erskine was; the old Major had numbed himself slowly to the rigors of finality, as death would take anyone without regard to age or potential, though Erskine had never been of a mind to agonize over such things. Neither men had shown weakness at any point since their selection-processes, and both had worked their way up from the lowest rank their class-statuses would allow; Barran, born a noble, had started out as a 2nd-Leftenant in lesser tank regiments, but the (second-generation) affluent-born Heggy had been modifying and repairing ordnance on the frontline from the moment Galidraan first put a long-distance shooter in the lad's hands.

'Shame it won't be when we land oan Bastion, though. It'll be ugly from the moment we arrive, though we have orders to make for Helgard right after it.'

'Helgard?', the CSM asked, turning to look for signs of a slow-winding prank, only to see Barran as stone-faced as he was before. This brought on a shriek of laughter that caused a wheezing fit of giggles, something the Lord-Major had long since taken as an expression of approval, so Erskine let young Frank indulge in it for a while. It would be a while before such mirth would be heard from his men again, for the hellish landscape of Bastion would sap their humour of it's warmth as the battle raged on, so the Lord-Major looked ahead and silently smirked as the wheezing steadily subsided.

'Successful defensive-actions often give way to countering offensive-actions, such is the way of war's elasticity, you know this as well as I do.'

​

​

 

[Dresden Verbrennung]

With an almost balletic grace, the Highballs of Campfire Battery, so called because they were the only ones on this planet likely to be warm and toasty right about now, swiveled on their air cushions and brought their guns to bear.

By design, this part of the fire mission was entirely computer controlled. The drivers had no input, save an emergency override in the event of more pressing matters. All of the launchers' FDC boxes were subordinate to the one Dresden sat behind, and when he programmed the fire mission into his box and sent it out, everyone received it at once. The crews inside performed their checks and acknowledged that they were ready, all within a few seconds. Once the all ready signal came back, the battery commander gave the execute order to the computer, and it was all software from there. The computers selected the right rounds and the right powder charges, in accordance with their masters' wishes. They got everyone on the proper azimuth, and after sounding the terrain to make sure it was within tolerances, grounded the guns on their durasteel skirts. They fired in unison, belching great black clouds of smoke as their projectiles were sent skyward, the fans briefly spooling to maximum lift to compensate for the recoil. And then, they did it again. And again. And, again.

"Shot, over."

Four stonks in a little under ten seconds. That's how long it took the automated systems and well trained crews to complete the complex fire mission. Further complicating matters, all the rounds were supposed to land simultaneously, meaning that some would be in the air for as long as twelve seconds, or as few as two. It was a magnificent display of precision fires, made no less impressive by the computer assistance. Some argued that automation took the artistry out of gunnery, and there was something to be said for that. Manual gunnery was a skill that any good redleg still kept his hand in, simply because you never knew just when you might need it. But computers didn't make it easy, not by any means.

It took a skilled driver to get to the firing point without serious mishap. The air cushioned vehicles were a lot less precise on the controls than repulsorlift or wheels, and had to be steered as much with the throttle as the tiller. A sudden rise or depression required a delicate hand to navigate safely, lest the skirts get dinged. They were plenty tough, but with as much mass as they had sitting on top of them, it didn't take much to bend them out of shape. Too far gone, and the gun couldn't ground safely to fire. What's more, the driver was also the primary maintenance specialist. He or she had to know that every fan was working perfectly, and spent as much time under the gun as in it, tuning and tweaking until everything was just so.

The loader had to ensure that the carousel that fed rounds and powder into the breech was fed, and that was no easy task. The rounds were heavy, and the space was cramped. The computer may have selected the rounds, but the loader was the one who ultimately pulled them off their rack in the right order. Loaders were often thought of as big dumb banthas, all brawn and no brains, but theirs was a job that required a delicate touch, because the autoloading carousel was a fickle beast. Treat it gently and feed it right, and it worked fine. Knock something out of alignment, and they'd be punching rounds by hand.

The gunner's job might seem superfluous under automated fire, and to an extent, it was. The computer set the azimuth and elevation, without need for their input. But ultimately, it was their job to ensure that the gun stayed on target. That meant manually zeroing at the range, and verifying zero as often as possible. They had to watch the fall of shot, and ensure that their rounds were landing on target. Or, if they couldn't see the impact, input the necessary corrections relayed by the fisters at the other end. The computers could only assume that everything was working optimally. As gun barrels heated up, winds shifted, and the terrain changed under the hammerblows of battlefield ordnance, it fell to the gunner to correct that assumption and keep their rounds on target.

The Fire Direction Specialist had arguable the most important job in the gun, when it came time to shoot. Their job was to process the incoming mission, to verify that the data was correct, ensure that their rounds weren't going to violate any control measures such as NFAs or airspace corridors, and then pass that information along. If they shot outside of the target area, the responsibility was ultimately the commander's, but their heads would roll not long after. The FDS spent as much time ensuring that the automation was in perfect working order as the driver did his fans, and with good reason.

And then there was the gun commander. They were ultimately responsible for their crew's performance. It was no exaggeration to say that, if their crew wasn't a well oiled machine, that if the gun wasn't kept in perfect working order, if their battle drills weren't honed to a razor's edge, the wrong people would die, and it would be their fault. By nature, commanders had to be both perfectionists and experts at everyone else's jobs. They had to be able to sling rounds with the loader, match the driver's grace and precision, handle corrections as skillfully as the gunner, and process missions as quickly as the FDS. Only the best of the best were given guns of their own, and there couldn't be any doubt that the commander could hold their own in any position in the gun.

"Splash, over," Dresden called, as his timer hit 5 seconds to impact.

In just a few seconds, the mettle of the artillerymen under his command would be measured by the fall of their shot. If they succeeded, the trenches would receive an almighty pasting. Firecracker rounds would play up and down the snowy holes, killing enemy troopers with thousands upon thousands of hypersonic pinpricks. White phosphorous would burn and blind them. Bunkers and pillboxes would find their roofs punched through by delay-fused high explosive rounds. And, of course, the ever important corridor through the minefield would be blown wide open for the infantry and tanks.

80 rounds hit within the span of a couple of nanoseconds, the impacts appearing simultaneous to the human eye. The target area erupted in violence and death. Dresden smiled. He'd picked Campfire for a reason. They were good. They were very, very good.

"Wampa 6, this is Campfire 6. We've got the curtain barrage in the buffer. Fire command is yours."

Rolf Amsel | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Thea | Resurgent Vignette​

 

[The Major]

To fall was easy!

As help, unknown or friendly, navigated the treachery that was the mangled superstructure that had yanked Sybil down into this twinkling abyss a number of awful circumstances played out upon both her psyche and body. Drawing one’s blaster pistol and trepidatiously advancing deeper into the server room seemed like the right idea at the time for a “heroine” like Shepard —always so eager was she to seem brave when faced with adversity; this was especially true in front of Dash and Nakano. Had she only waited even a few minutes for backup. There was no shame in waiting or showing just a slice of weakness, for she had fallen far below and sustained a serious injury in the process. Where exactly the bruising and fracture was she could not determine, but the fact that her body refused to stand up straight or ignore the flares of tribulation at each shuffling step denoted its severity. If only there was enough sense within that ginger head to be patient, she might have preserved her life in its current form.

Destiny, in the form of strobing lights and a disembodied voice that seemingly cut into her skull smashed all that. ​

::L-l-long have we-I-w-w-wUS wAiTeD for this moment. I can n-n-notNEVERnot hold on any longer. I am cOmInG..::​

The air escaped Sybil’s lungs in a silent yelp as the being turned a corner of the seemingly infinite rows of data computers, it was chrome, brilliant even in the shadow, and frowned the great frown of the First Order helmet. Down it bared upon Shepard, rushing with unprecedented speed and poise as the shining suit winked resplendent with reflected lights, each a tiny hyper blue star. Out its gauntlets reached, grasping at once for the Agent.

::!C O M I N G!::​

(♫)​

Hunched over in shock and pain, fear exploding from her pores as the speed of the enemy’s advance, Sybil fired her blaster once.

It bounced off the ultrachrome chest plate, less than little harassment. ​

She fired a volley at the chromium dome, and each bolt cut across the quickly dissipating distance true. . . but each shot plinked and plunked off its surface without so much as scratching the paint nor pushing the helmet away. An overhead strike intended to knock Shepard’s blaster away came swiping down, crimson cape following along with a swish. The First Order Operator ducked beneath and quickstepped behind her assailant, though the move proved to be strenuous in her current state. Breathless, Sybil saw an opening to retaliate against this horror ripped from her wildest nightmares: a series of thick, flexible conduits were wired from the back of the mobile armor and trailed off in a bunch towards the center of the server room.

Drawing power, was it? Not for long, thought she while jumping upon the line and pulling the wires close in one hand while pressing her blaster to the cords with the other. She almost smiled while pulling the trigger, happy to be the hero of the hour that felled this horrid construct before it could endanger Her Majesty’s forces.

Only one of the seven cables snapped apart at the abuse produced by an overclocked blaster fired at point blank. This wire sputtered and sparked as energy was diverted to the rest. The torso and head of the suit spun about as the hips and legs remained in forward stance. Sybil’s upbeat spirit died before it could form, and the Garbage Chrome Suit struck a critical hit to the Agent’s midriff with a servo joint assisted heel kick —doubling the woman over.

::Resistance IS welcome. O-o-ouMY capacity for pAiN is a point of pride.::​

The suit grabbed Sybil, glorified prey, by the neck and slammed her into one side of the server wall.​

::S E E ?::​

It then flexed and tossed Sybil, face first, unto the other side with a crash and scream. Lights in the section strobed as the digital equivalent of system laughter cracked across the facility. Pinning its prey by pushing Shepard against the now broken glass of this particular wall, the construct guided suit pulled out a helmet mounted cable with its free hand and, of all things, delicately inserted the male portion of the plug into the female slot built into one of the seams of Sybil’s skull. For her part, the Agent squealed in agony and kicked, though ineffectively, as the electric current blinded her senses and opened the door to the void.

::!AAH-LEH-LU!:: Roared the construct both from the suit’s speakers and from the linked sound system of the crumbling, sea water logged facility. Its virus directly downloaded itself upon the cybernetic device constructed by design for this purpose into Shepard’s head, and the two — old and new, were briefly joined together again. ::!AAH-LEH-LU!:: That was of course until the virus triggered the shut down of the life support systems and effectively killed Sybil so it could run its malicious course. 0-2 now, Hoth swept up its victory as the storm outside began to slightly relent. ::!AAH-LEH-LU!::

~End of Sybil Shepard v2.0~​

~Reboot: Processing. The Major v2.1~
Suit integrity: 87%
Download: 31%
Power Reserve: ERROR​

Strings of error code began to stream both down the corner’s of the HUD and across the data readouts found in the center of the server room. The Data-Bourne Fallanassi, gleeful as a personality construct could be, estimated her failstate to be anywhere from two to six minutes away. Her body proved to have more fight than every simulation projected, so the prisoner housed under the mountain hall of blips and ice was extremely pleased to take the time to encase herself in this armor, this relic of the now dead Security Bureau.

::Anticipation; Anticipation.:: She croaked repeatedly, softy now, as the body beneath her feet collapsed in a crumbled mess. Any damage could and would be repaired, so the injuries that registered as she ran a scan were well within tolerances. Oh, how exciting today was! What would she eat first? It had been so -

Company.​

She propelled the assassin droid encased in chrome to abandon her flesh body and revert its starting position by the center console. The network that she had called home was beginning to collapse as more and more of her essence remotely downloaded itself into the new host, or old host, whichever. Security feeds only detected multiple entrances made by some unknown parties, but her access to the cameras and traps of the facility booted her out one by one as her processing power shrunk and shrunk. It went from a loss of control of every system to active deletion as the old security suite began to run its cyberwarfare software and deploy base defenses against The Major and the other intruders. Audio receptors could detect the scraping sounds of battle droids and auto turrets as they began to cover the various floors once again. How effective they would be after so many years of disrepair was anyone's guess, the Major had already forgotten what their last reported status was.

Were these new intruders friends of Shepard? Would they be offended if the Major tried to swipe at their heads in one last hurrah? Regardless, she stalked a path around and earnestly awaited whatever contact was next.

Happy problems.


Ariel Yvarro | Aurelian Dash | Isobel Nakano | Nima Vantoon ​

 

[Ariel Yvarro]

It didn't take a genius to figure out what that sound in particular was. Ariel pivoted to her left and saw just a glimpse of what the agent had been subjected to. "Ni or'parguur mies kebise..." remarked Matidia lowly as she looked at the cybernetic hell that awaited her. She gave the circular server room a look over. Destroying this place would have to come after a tango with the beast in chrome. Kriffin' Ultrachrome. Now would be a great time to have one of those fellas with the glowsticks to rattle it toward the creature. ​

​

Kriff it. Matidia charged forward and was quickly tossed back. Ok. New plan. The Mandalorian had noticed their comrade-in-operations laying rather lifelessly. She stood just a little too long looking at the agent before getting knocked back again. Ok foundling. Back on her feet, Matidia got a glance at the console that the ultrachrome-plated droid had been standing over. Matidia backed up and ran to kite the droid slapping sticky charges on the different consoles where she could.​

​

Matidia got tossed for the third time and was just grateful that her beskar armor could handle it, but her body? That was another story. She was slower to get up this time, but at least this time she was closer to The Major and scrambled to create some semblance of cover. Matidia's HUD was able to tell her the unfortunate truth of the woman's situation. The sounds of the assassin droid approaching led Matidia to detonate the charges in the room. ​

​

On instinct, she covered the Major's body, as the center shook to hell and back. The Mandalorian then grabbed the fray and loose wires that jutted out from the corner adjacent to her. She hooked the wires into the metal gloves that wrapped around her hand and looked for a quick boost of power. Only to realize that the quick boost of power was going to have to come from the Mandalorian herself. "Pabida laam," ordered whilst slamming down on the Major's chest in an effort to bring her back. ​

​

Matidia looked up at the console and punched through with one hand feeling for a more significant power source if there was one. Her suit wasn't going to be enough. Her hand deftly felt around, whilst still holding a live, loose wire. It didn't take long to find it, or to feel it course through her suit. Matidia prayed to the Manda in gratefulness for her body suit that kept her from feeling any more of the current than she wanted. Once again a hand slammed down where a defiberlator would, "pabida laam burc'ya."​

​

Completely unaware as of that point as to where the ultrachrome droid or their other comrades were.​

​

​

The Major | Isobel Nakano | Aurelian Dash | Nima Vantoon ​

 

[Nima Vantoon]

The good news? Nima survived the fall.

The bad news? Bracing her fall with a vibroshield hurt. 110% if it wasn't her natural arm, she'd be fully out of commission. 'For all that that's worth', Nima thought ruefully, inspecting her artificial arm. The damage done by the wampa earlier was only compounded by the fall, it seems. The arm was nearly non-responsive, dented and gouged so deeply, the circuitry was exposed.

Nima was brought out of her dark ruminations by the sounds of a struggle. Furrowing her brow, she crept through the structure warily. As she got closer, she could make out a sound, followed by the unmistakeable sound of flesh being hit:

::!AAH-LEH-LU!::

She abandoned her wary gait for a dead sprint, as the creature repeated it's war cry with reach strike, echoing throughout the installation. The screams of agony began tapering off...then nothing but the victorious crows of the abomination:

::!AAH-LEH-LU!::

The IFF beacon! That has to be the SOS!

Nima rounded the corner, and was greeted with a strange sight: A Mandalorian (what was the Mando Union they doing here?!) crouching over the the inert body of one Sybil Shepard and...

...a droid?

That's all Nima could make out before the Force screamed a warning, and it's all she could do to retreat back into the hallway before the room exploded. 'Karkin hell. Her head was ringing from the concussive force from the blast alone; it was only the Force alone(and her armor) that had, again, probably saved her from worse. Nima felt something moving in her immediate vicinity, shifting the rubble. The Mando?

Then it grabbed her by the throat, yanking her out. Nima could safely conclude, looking into the pitless eyes of an ultrachrome droid, that this was not the Mando. She attempted to hit it with her vibro-shield- for all the good that it did. Nima swore the droid gave the equivalent of an electronic laugh, snatched the shield out of her hand- smacking her with it in the process-and squeezed harder. Her vision started to do go black. Panicking, she grabbed for the one thing she knew might do something- her shoto lightsaber, one of a pair.

Before she could activate it, the droid threw Nima down the length of the hallway. She picked herself up, as the droid stomped towards her. With her shield.

Nostrils flaring, Nima activated her shotos, holding them in a reverse grip. She strode forward to meet this machine head-on.

Ariel Yvarro | Aurelian Dash | Isobel Nakano | The Major