Invasion In The Undertow // NIO Invasion of TSE Held Jaemus and Dubrillion

[Thaelius]

Location // Bridge, HMIS Chimera //
Allies // Aerarii Tithe Lily Kuhn Sith Imperial Fleeters and Pilots //
Enemies // Hiram Voss Cheapshot NIO Fleeters and Pilots //

Thaelius exhaled loudly as he seated himself in the command chairmof the Chimera, rolling his eyes at the holographic representation of the battle his Battle group had entered. It was unfolding quickly, too quickly for his liking.

"Commodore, signal the fleet. Intercept that New Imperial Task Force. Are are interdictors active?"

The Commodore shook her head at the last statement before returning to her station. "Very well, all ships, prepare for combat. Fullmpowee to the engines. Prepare to fire the Fusion Accelerator Cannon". It was just preparation however, for the battle had yet to commence.

Spoiler: Fleet

• 1x Belldux Class Star Battlecruiser
• 2x Autarch Class Sige Breaker
• 2x Marr II Class Star Destoyers
• 2x Intercessor Class Star Destoyers

Superiority Force "Oath of Allegiance"

• 1x Arbiter Class Heavy Battlecruiser
  • HMIS "Oath of Allegiance" (Superiority Force Flagship)
• 1x Autarch Class Siege Breaker
  • HMIS Crimson Sword
• 2x Marr II Class Star Destroyers
• 4x Athena Class Shield Frigates

Superiority Force "Benevolent Crusader"

• 2x Marr II Class Star Destroyer
  • HMIS Hyperion
  • HMIS Crusader (Superiority Force Flagship)
• 2x Incapacitator Class Interdictor Cruiser
• 6x Athena Class Athena Frigates

Active Fighters (Several Squadrons)

TSE TIE/SF
TSE Scorpio Class Droid Starfighter
TSE TIE Fighter
TSE TIE Demolisher
TSE TIE/K

 

[Stilicho Drumarch]

Objective: Aid the 501st
Allies: NIO // Agrippa
Enemies: TSE // Ruek Tast ​

Salvor drifted in and out, of consciousness and with the tide. He could hear and feel the water splash on the back of his helmet as it washed over him. He could hear the battle raging around him. He could hear it better sometimes, but it was mostly as dark and hazy as the water he had his face in. He knew his leg had taken the hit but something, whether it was adrenaline or the approaching release of death, made him not even feel it. His helmet hadn’t given into the water yet, as it buzzed with static as a message came through. "Hellhound-Two... Death Knell... requesting back tzz Gladius Vanguard tz. Rep.... Requestzzz back up... Gladius Vanguard One - shields.... malfunction...!" Sal heard the butchered message, but processing it in his current state was difficult.

He felt a single sharp pain near his wound, and then firm hands grabbing him under each arm. He could feel himself being dragged through the water and then being sat down against something. He felt the cool night air touch his face as his helmet was pulled off and he was shaken back into consciousness. Two troopers in red squatted down next to him.

"Sir, can you hear me?!" the one to Sal's left yelled over the now even louder drumming of the Sith Imperial guns. "I got some bacta into you but there's not much else I can do! We're at the downed gunship!"

"Lyssman right?!" Sal recognized the man as one of the few medics in the chapter, "What the hell is going on?!"

"Yes, Sir! Gladius Company called the sergeant, said you weren't responding. They're dug in on the beachhead but they need new shields! The S-Imps karked 'em! We got enough cover from the Mandos to get some guys up there, but it's a slaughter!

The Mandalorians. Right. He'd seen them in the briefings, giving his chapter the unfriendly looks they were certainly due. Sal hadn't been on Mandalore, but many of his friends had. Mandalore had been the last straw for many in the Empire, so it was fitting that the warrior people joined the rebels.

The other soldier chimed in with desperation in his voice. "But Sir, we can't spare those shields! We're already losing too many people!"

Sal looked at the dissenting soldier in his visor. "Our mission is to help the 501st! There's jack we can do without them, so get them our shields!"

The soldier said nothing in return, simply standing and beginning to run towards the rest of the chapter. As soon as he moved from the cover of the gunship, a sizzling thud sounded out as a blaster bolt made contact with his head. The man fell back, lifeless, into the tide. Sal hung his head as Lyssman continued to examine his wound. Now they had to contend with snipers. The enemy was not pulling any punches.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Lyssman was one of the few, and by far the best, medics in the Death Knells. Unfortunately there was little he could've done for the archon's wound, not while they were in the water. So, he did what he could elsewhere. He trudged through the shin-deep water with a handful of other soldiers in red, all of them carrying as many portable squad shields as they could. The 3rd were now sitting ducks, pinned under sniper fire with no protection. But the archon was right: if the vanguard of the 501st fell now, this battle would be as good as over.

They stopped behind every piece of cover they could find. Debris, barricades, rock formations. Anything to hide the noticeable crimson hue of their armor, at least until they met with the vanguard. The snipers that had been attacking them back at the gunship had seemingly lost interest, but the constant barrage of artillery and heavy gunfire never stopped. An enemy gun tore straight through one of Lyssman's detail, killing the man almost instantly. Those who could carry more would collected the bloodied shield generators from the fallen and stick them in bags or on belts. Where ever they had space to carry them and still hold a rifle.

When the soldiers reached the front, it was like another world. The hastily dug trenches of their allies were stained red with their own blood. The fighting here was the worst. The first actual S-Imp soldiers Lyssman had seen were engaged with the 501st. It was almost a pleasant change from the blaster bolts flying out of the dark when he had first arrived. He made the last stretch from the water to the sand and dived into the trench with the couple of soldiers that had lived through their trek. He dropped a shield and activated it, watching the bubble form around them.

"Who the hell is in charge here?!" he yelled to no one in particular, hoping someone would've seen his arrival. Blaster bolts pounded the shield around them. Just outside the shield was a stormtrooper of the 501st sunk low in the sand, his weapon appearing to be jammed. Lyssman grabbed the man's arm and pulled him into the bubble. "Find someone in charge, and tell them we brought a half dozen shield generators. It's not much but it's all we have." the stormtrooper sat there, most likely with a surprised look under his helmet.

"Go!"

 

[Cheapshot]

---

---

Post #2

---

//Objective 1:// Battle of the Shipwrecks//​

//Location://Dubrillion Orbit - Just Outside the Debris Shoal Zone (DSZ)//​

//Accompaniment://81st New Imperial Fighter Group "Fel's Revenge"//​

//Unit:// Destroyers Flight, 204th New Imperial Starfighter Fighter Squadron “Darkstar”​

//NIO Pilots:// Jalter Volff , Arten Jinn ​

//Allied GA Pilots:// Maynard Treicolt , Olen Halcorr , Loske Treicolt ​

//Starfighter:// TIE/VX Vanguard

---

//Controlled Fleeter NPC:// Fleet Admiral Osiv Vularen (I am also RPing for Fleeting)​

//Controlled NPC Fleet:// Force Superiority “Dictator”, First New Imperial Crusader Fleet [First Crusader]​

//NIO Fleeters:// Tyrell Paxxus , Marlon Sularen , Del Lovruc​

//Allied GA Fleeters:// Mordred B'Haran ​

//Enemies:// Sith-Imperial Armada Fleeters and Pilots // Nica Dakkar, Thaelius Lily Kuhn

---

​

“Contact,” called out Destroyer 2, before divulging additional contextualizing data.​

“Hi-C, Flux 9,” said the Twi’lek marking the intensity of the hyperspace fluctuation readings on her TIE’s Hyperwave Signal Interceptor, or HSI, spoken phonetically as Hi-C by some pilots. Flux 9, was a reading of hyperspace efflux level 9 - highest level of discharge from exiting hyperspace. Whoever it was, wasn’t interested in concealing their entry into the DSZ from a hyperspace exit.​

She continued, “On Six, Seven klicks, Angels 3…” Whoever it was, was right behind them, ‘on their six, and was seven kilometers back at an altitude of 3 kilometers above their position - up with the angels as the code said.​

Cheapshot remained quiet, she listened to the contact details. She waited for IFF to determine whether she would have to call for her flight to break and move for dogfighting. But, just as Cheapshot was about to make the call Destroyer 2 revealed the true identity of the contacts.​

“Target Visual, 4 X-chicks, moving in our position,” Destroyer 2 confirmed. They were Alliance X-wings, X-chicks as the brevity nicknamed them. “IFF Twin Suns, looks like the Alliance just showed up.”​

Cheapshot nodded and eased her fingers from the attack buttons on her control yoke. She smiled and flicked the comms line to a pre-agreed-upon encrypted channel just for join-operations between Alliance and NIO fighter pilots.​

"Destroyer One, Darkstar Leader, this is Twin Suns Leader, hope I'm not too late to the party," Olen’s voice rattled over the comms in Cheapshot’s ear.​

“Well, well,” Cheapshot snickered back, “If it isn’t the cavalry.”​

“Negative Twin Suns Leader, you’re just on time,” Cheapshot said, “Chatter Squawk on this channel and let’s see if we can find you GA boys something to shoot at.”​

“Destroyer 3 what’s your status?” Cheapshot switched to comms with the flight element of 3 and 4 who were out ahead.​

“No tally, no joy,” Destroyer 3 replied, “Just more garbage.”​

“....Scratch that!” ​

[Music]

Spoiler

​

Cheapshot tensed up in her cockpit, was this it? She leaned over a bit trying to catch an eye visual of what might be called in. Destroyer 3’s tone was alert and sharp. And he didn’t play things cool like Cheapshot did. When he spotted something, it usually meant something bad and coming in hot. Cheapshot jabbed out a finger quickly from its grip on her control stick, punching some commands into her sensors to boost their scans. She switched into full active scans.​

“Tally, Bandits-5, S-IMPS, Angels 1, Devils 3, 4, 5,” said Destroyer 3, “....Origin, Long-Neck, ten klicks, on twelve.”​

Five Sith-Imperial starfighters had been marked, coming in from a kilometer above, and 3, 4, 5 kilometers below, or fromDevil’s vector. And to top it all off they were being deployed from a “long-neck”, an NIO designation code for Nubelan design starships. The Sith-Imperial Armada had brought out an anti-starfighter class Nubelan and had disgorged its squadron to meet them. Cheapshot’s face was decorated with a malicious grin as she inputted commands to forward energy to her engines and moved her TIE into attack position.​

“Destroyer 3, 4, buster to bandits and bait them,” Cheapshot commanded her other flight element. “Swoop them in and we’ll catch them at odd angles behind debris, copy?”​

“Roger that Destroyer 1,” Destroyer 3 said.​

The element of 3 and 4 exploded forward and dove into the Sith starfighter swarm, jinking and weaving, pulling the attention of the Sith towards them. They then separated to split the group a part as they chased 3 and 4 around debris in weaving bends and dives. Meanwhile, Cheapshot, contacted her wingmate, Destroyer 2 and called to her, “We take out the S-IMPs chasing 3 and then we regroup and take out those on 4. Grab Bombers Flight and throw them the location of that long-neck!” ( Jalter Volff Arten Jinn )​

“Copy,” said Destroyer 2 and together the two TIE’s swooped up in a sharp incline, rising above the game of cat and mouse that 3 and 4 were conducting.​

They rose in a pair and when they reached a certain altitude they punched their after-burners and plummeted in a sudden dive. Acceleration forces hammered them into their seats and the visage of the crimson laser bolts of Sith fighters came rushing towards them as Cheapshot intercepted the engagement between 3, 4 and the Sith. The Artemis class targeting computer engaged it’s Tri-Tracker Target Acquisition and Tracking (TAT) systems.​

The three layered targeting systems of the TAT caught the first Sith fighter with its primary sensor and provided a positive lock-on. The second sensor acquired it’s trajectory and the position, speed and maneuvering with the data fed into the Countermeasures Compensation Computer (C3). The C3 compensated for any maneuvers and countermeasures providing a clean and deadly accurate target lock. The G-003 modified Rapid-Fire Heavy Laser Cannons were in turn primed for attack. The G-003 modification allowed Cheapshot to forward power from her engines, just as she levelled off, to her guns so that their power output was comparable to the output of a Star Destroyer's turbolaser hardpoint.​

Her fingers poised over the buttons, she waited for the audio cue in her helmet. When it beeped the full target lock-on, Cheapshot snapped her thumbs down and blasted a salvo of bright green bolts of heavy laser rounds that shattered the Sith Fighter’s fuselage with the first round and then separated a solar panel with the next three. The fighter spun out and then burst into a fireball. When the kill was confirmed by the TAT, Cheapshot quickly reached for her throttle and returned power to her engines so that she could punch it into gear. She zoomed past the fiery debris of the downed fighter and banked hard right diving around a chunk of debris, just as Destroyer 2 came in diving next to pick off another fighter.​

“Splash 2-Bandits,” Destroyer 2 said, “Destroyer 3, on your six.”​

Destroyer 3, sighing relief, “Schitt that was close.”​

Cheapshot, “Not done, yet, on me.”​

“This is where the fun begins.”​

Destroyer 4 had the worst of the baiting, he had 3 on his tail. Cheapshot was known for her daring maneuvers and often enjoyed playing deadly games with her flight. If it wasn’t for the fact that they were game and more importantly, skilled enough to keep up, they would have complained to their command long ago. They had heard stories from their Squadron leader Kardev Byrric about the Pirate Raids Cheapshot used to launch back in her pre-NIO days. She and her crew flew through asteroid belts and skirted Ion Storms to surprise freighters. That’s how she got her name. She never went for one-on-one nose-to-nose duels. She always came from nowhere, and always aimed for the easiest shot - the cheapshot.​

The trio of her and 2 and 3 now swung around a cluster of junk that was once the bridge of an NIO vessel and accelerated to catch up with Destroyer 4. The trio separated and like before intercepted the pursuing Sith at angles from their blindspots behind the eyeball fuselages. One by one, they each destroyed their target and regrouped with Destroyer 4. But, before congratulations could be rewarded, new targets came up ( Nica Dakkar ). This time from a different ship which was moving in from a larger contingent of Sith warships ( Thaelius ).​

“Going to need those bomber boys for this one,” said Destroyer 3.​

Cheapshot agreed, “Tell our Alliance flyboys we got a S-IMP fleet moving in.” ( Olen Halcorr )

---

​

 

[Strain]

Beach Head "Hoth"
11 FS BN
501st Legion

Irveric Tavlar Agrippa Ruek Tast Zsuzsa Ingrid L'lerim Del Lovruc Junda Lunafreya Solidor Salvor Thul Ravraa Vyshraal Warchief Waddles Aerith Castiella

Forward observers were reporting in. During the frantic seconds that followed two more of his crew had fallen, helmets blown clean off by a sniper. Strain viewed the plateau through his optics, checking every valley and draw. The sniper was soon to have them pinned if something was not done. Then his seasoned eyes spotted a flash, a tiny glint of light where light should not be.

A scope?

He cast about on the beach, scanning the litany of charred corpses for any sort of long gun. He found one, an Scout Troopers rifle waterlogged lodged in the soft muddy sand.

"Sarge, they are calling for a repeat!"

"Then light them the feth up CPL!"

He lunged into the sand, avoiding another bolt as his corporal went down, pierced clear through by a blazing emerald lance. He might have screamed if the plasma hadn't seared and cauterized his lungs shut. Strain did the mental math. They were down twenty five percent of manning. Their sister squads had lost two mortar platforms.

And this damn sniper was still out there.

"Team two, continuous fire. Don't stop until I say! Team one ditch your platform, deploy earthworks, double-time!"

"Hang!"

...

"Fire!"

​

The mortars boomed with the sound of thunder over and over. Strain scooped up the long rifle, C Clamping it to the side of a huge piece of wrecked gunship. His sight picture stable, he waited for the enemy to shoot again.

A beam sizzled just near his pauldron, curling back paint and plastoid alike.

"Gotcha!"

His breath halted, finger squeezed. The trigger took the gentle pressure until it released its own crimson spear of death.

Strain watched with satisfaction as the sniper was silence, taking the round right through his forehead.

"Lucky shot Sarge!"

"Shut the hell up Private, keep digging! FASTER!"

Another few rounds impacted the beach. He opened his data pad crouched down behind a mortar and did the math. They were being bracketed, fire walked slowly into their position. Meanwhile they were pounding the plateau with ten, twenty, thirty high explosive rounds in quick succession.

"We're off target! RTO get me the closest unit to the top. I need an EXACT position for those AA emplacements. IF we don't get a gun run on those enemy arty crews, this whole op is a slaughter! Get a SNIPER team down here. We need additional cover!"

"Aye Sarge."

He glanced around. The Lt was dead.

He rolled his eyes in his helmet as the RTO bellowed through TAC Channel.

"All Units, All Units this 11FSB, I need an EXACT COORDINATE for AA Emplacements! Say again, exact coordinates for AA emplacements."​

 

[Warchief Waddles]

// JUGGERNAUT//
// LOCATION // Beachhead - Hoth
// OBJECTIVE // Take the Platuea
// ALLIES // Ra Vizsla | Darth Argentum | @NIO | Sons Of Mandalore | GA
// ENEMIES // TSE | TSE Allies
// THEME // Sinking Into Flames

Spoiler: Equipment

Infantry Armor
Rotary Blaster Cannon
Disruptor Carbine
Hybrid Pistol
Vibrosword
Concord Brawn
Mandalorian Shockgaunts
Indomitable Vambraces

---

---

Stepping out onto the beach, Isaiah could feel the sand giving way beneath his feet. He could hear the cries of excitement, the cries of fear, and of adrenaline. Having once been a Jedi there was nothing more that Isaiah hated than war. The needless loss of life. As a previous devotee of the light he’d been ignorant to believe peace could be prevalent within the galaxy. That there was any true way to change things without fighting for it. Whether it be fighting in a senate chamber, from the deck of a Star Destroyer, or with your boots on the ground. To bring about the change you wished you would have to fight for it.

On one side of the Mandalorian stood the one that he despised, one who’d forced Isaiah to turn his back on the Mandalorian’s at one time. Ra Vizsla, the one who had his kind incarcerated and stripped of the force. Isaiah remembered his time among the camp, the pain of being betrayed by those who were supposed to be his family. The pain had torn at him, ate at him. Still a part of the warrior told him to turn his gun on the other Mandalorian and take his life just as he’d done Isaiah’s. Yet no longer were they enemies but allies.

Coming behind Isaiah was something else he hated, perhaps more so than even Ra. A Sith. Casting a glance over his shoulder to the Muun that towered over even Isaiah, the Mandalorian looked down to the crimson blade. The weapon he’d been taught to despise, that was wielded by his once enemies. But much the same as Ra they were an ally, perhaps one of convenience but still outside the bounds of Isaiah’s retaliation.

“Just don’t get in the way. Wouldn’t want you to catch a bolt to the back.” Isaiah commented to the Muun. "Same goes for you Ra."

Caught between two individuals he hated Isaiah resigned himself to this fate. Reaching down, the warrior seized the rotary cannon at his feet. With a grunt the man held the weapon in his grasp stepping out and fully onto the beach. Singing a song of death the cannon opened up, fashioning a hell of its own.

Crimson darts shot over the heads of Mandalorians and Stormtroopers as they rushed for the plateau, Isaiah’s shoulders rocking back as he fought the recoil of the weapon. Hundreds of bolts went downfield slamming into the Sith ranks, keeping them pinned down allowing his allies to push forward.

 

[DK-03]

// Operation Storm Surge
// Tactical Target: Hoth planet
// Accompaniment: None
// NIO Allies: None
// TSE Enemies: Taun-tauns

The taun-taun in the distance was squatted, defecating into the snow while it maintained eye contact with the Darktrooper. It actually lasted a lot longer than you might think, as both participants stood idle and keeping watch of the other. The wind howled. The pilot shivered. The blank landscape of the planet Hoth whirred in the backdrop, as DK-03 admired the deposition of the only other life form out here with him and the pilot. Eventually, the taun-taun stood up, kicking snow over it's droppings and running off into the distance.

"That was impressive," the pilot remarked, playing a sologame of Sabacc in the ship.

"That taun-taun will freeze before it reaches the first marker."

"THEN I'LL SEE YOU IN HELL," DK-03 exclaimed.

".....what?"

"Nothing," the Darktrooper looked away, sitting down in the snow and making a large ball. "You wouldn't understand."

"They're not coming, DK. We're on the exact opposite side of Galaxy."

"Maybe, but what if we're right, and they're wrong?"

"DK, please. It's cold, can we just please go?"

"Just a little longer."

The pilot returned to his game of Sabacc, sighing reluctantly.

 

[Ravraa Vyshraal]

​

Location: TARGET BEACH HOTH
Task: Battle for Dubrillion - Storm Surge
RP Partners: Dorn-2 PCs, Open Zsuzsa Aerith Castiella
Faction: New Imperial Order
Narrative NPCs: Dorn-2
Ammo Count: 13/15 (3/3)
---

Ravraa was far from a religious man, the folk tales of his home world never had properly connected where they should have, and in the larger scheme of things, he swore that the machinations of the universe were far too complex for even an esoteric being of all consuming power to master. Even the Force, something he worked painfully close with, something that slung itself time and time again directly into his face, wasn't an all answering ideal. He knew that it's wielders could shift the tones and waves of time and space, but that hardly made them Gods, it makes them witches, warlocks, sorcerers, nothing special. A blaster did much the same thing, in the eyes of Ravraa.

This hardly seemed to matter much when he finally brought his father's "varmint" rifle from his back, a hand batting the sleeve from his shoulder to get a more free flowing grip on the otherwise unwieldy firearm. He wasn't religious, he believed in not Hell nor Heaven, there was no grand scheme to the hellfire and blood, simply reality. And that Earth shattering reality that lay on the otherside of the bulkhead, on the otherside of the door of the gunship, was booming. Screaming. He had brought them here, his squad, he had drug Dorn-2 here. He had brought Zsuzsa and Aerith here as their first official assignments under his command, and he, at the end of the day, had decided the exactness of their flightpath and landing location. It stood to reason, whatever happened when that door slid open and greeted them with the flaming arms of red hot bolts, would be fair to place on his shoulders. He was freezing up, he felt it, even as the ship eventually came to settle on the beach, as the drum-drum-drum of small blaster fire began to batter at the door, knocking and begging for entry, just oh so willing to greet the new occupants of the Dorn-2's gunship Aurelianum. As if they were close family friends excited to see whoever could have purchased the home that they had come to know so well. If it wasn't for the Bith's pilot insistence on repainting the vessel after every flight, the layers of Huttese grafitti would have been surely torn free from the miasma of blaster rounds. Drum-drum-drum.

Ravraa brought a magazine from his belt, hands fumbling with the container for a moment as he balanced the rife's stock against the side of his waist. Turning it slightly as he brought the mag home, slapping it roughly as it entered the Helravn, before calmly turning the barrel guard to his other hand. Operating the charging bolt with a satisfying snap-lock. He took a gentle sigh, if just for himself.

The new bionically inclined individual slamming her fist into the roof, brought the man quickly out of his stupor, nearly falling forward to the door. Clunking the top of his helmet off of the roof as he stumbled forward before being able to whip around to see what in the Stars had just happened. There was Aerith. And there was a newly minted dent in the roof of the vessel. There was a smile across Ravraa's face. These new kids were going to kill him, weren't they. The Chiss seemed to be less... talkative at the moment, maybe she would warm to the squads atmosphere. Maybe not. Ravraa had really, only just met her not days before she was assigned here. Hopefully, she could shoot well enough. He had his hopes.

"Yes, yes, very funny, haha, pilot scared of heights," G'hecran would chitter out over the coms, his heavily accented voice sounding more appropriate for a Hutt lord than a Bith pilot. "get moving before they get a big boom locked on us, yea yea? Ohta su marvalic plesodoro!"

<"Drop doors, weapons free!"> Ravraa would shout out the order.

By the Gods, he wished he didn't.

The moment that those doors dared to begin to creek open, steadily and slowly, the sheer volume of fire that was being thrown at the landing crafts was instantly visable. The entire internals of the gunship began to light up like a Nar Shaddaa rave club. Harsh flashes of crimson over and over as the rounds battered against the hull, and a few of them, daring to peak into the vessel and explode behind the soldiers inside, sending sparks as they made impact. Haupont, and the squad she would be directing, were levied at the extreme right of the door, with Thavimar being the furthermost left of any of them. He caught a round into the shoulder as the door creaked to completion, with the rest of the rounds bounding here and there and across the sands on the leadup. For what it was, the round should have disabled the man, but Ravraa watched as the man took the shot, his armor sparking and cindering, reached up, slammed his fist against his shoulder twice before bringing his E-Web Rifle to bear and start returning suppressing fire blinding at the flash sources as he stormed from the vessel.

<"Up the beach!"> Ravraa yelled, boots slamming forward out of the gunship into the bleakness of the scene before him. Rows and rows of gunships, pouring troops onto an endless stretch up to fortified position, with the only real examples of cover being fallen debris from the battle above and artillery holes in the sandmake. Ravraa's slugthrower was leveled, and a round was fired in the direction of one of the more vitriolic streams of blaster fire on the horizon. Once again, the shakes of the old rifle daring to nearly dislocate his shoulder. The bolts settled after the second round, though that hardly mattered against the titanic symphony that the S-IMPS were leveling against them. Mellfols took a running start, skittering past Ravraa as she let a squad shield loose from her hip, skittering against the shield before the device exploded outwards an iridescent energy shield that quickly began to fade underneath the attention it gained. For the moment, the squad could use it to rush forward without immediate worry of losing life.

Dead sprinting through the squad shield, Ravraa threw himself to the sand, rolling for a moment, crawling then quick, as he found himself nestled into a still warm shell-hole. It's brethren growing throughout the battlefield with distant beats of gunnery platforms. He gave desperate waves to the squad to come set up near him, if just for the moment.

<"Nomad-Actual to Dorn-2 ( Ravraa Vyshraal | Zsuzsa | Aerith Castiella ) , I need a hit on this AT emplacement grid mark 22387, transmit back when the path is clear."> Waylon patched through to Brambles and his retinue, one of the closer immediately recognizable units at the onset of the storm.

For a moment, Ravraa wasn't sure if his comms were malfunctioning, or if he simply was catching another squads chatter, but the command came through, as clear as it could. Grid locations were patched through, and their holomaps began to generate autopaths to the emplacement.

<"'Ight,"> Ravraa began, screaming over the hail of blasterfire, transmitting to his squad. <"Nomad-Actual needs us to go a-blastin' an AT emplacement. Zsuzsa, Aerith, you two with me. Mellfols, focus on securin' the beach!">

In the distance, G'hecran would bring the gunship roaring to life, twisting as it went to leave the battlefield. While normally he would focus on simply getting the hell out of the combat zone, he did make a promise. Rotating the gunship at the hostile lines, G'hecran leaned himself into the trigger controls. While he received no immediate feedback besides a slight shake, an array of Carbonite missiles would go screaming from the sides of the gunship, exploding throughout the general plattering of Sith-Imperial lines, gaining the gunship several dummy rockets fired in his direction.

That was his queue to bug out...

 

[Mordred B'Haran]

Objective 1 - Battle of the Shipwrecks
Arriving from Hyperspace, Distant Dubrillion Orbit
ANV Never To Yield - Liberty Kai type Star Cruiser
Commander, Combined Task Force Bright Arrow
​

---

Allies: Tyrell Paxxus | Marlon Sularen | Del Lovruc | Hiram Voss | Jalter Volff | Arten Jinn | Maynard Treicolt | Olen Halcorr | Loske Treicolt

Enemies: Nica Dakkar | Aerarii Tithe | Melia Siari ​

---

​

Combined Task Force 'Bright Arrow'

21st Carrier Division - Carrier Strike Group 21 Escort Group 211 Attack Squadron 212 35th Battle Division 36th Battle Division Escort Group 171 Escort Carrier Squadron 172 Attack Squadron 173 Strikecraft

• 
  
  • ANV Intrepid, Endurance II-class Fleet Carrier
  • ANV Stalwart, Endurance II-class Fleet Carrier
  • ANV Escutcheon, Defender II-class Assault Carrier
• 
  
  • ANV Partisan, Liberator II-class Cruiser
  • 3 x Avalon-class Corvette
  • 2 x Negotiator-class Light Cruiser
  • 1 x Sacheen II-class Escort Frigate
  • 2 x MCv110 Mon Calamari Corvette
• 
  
  • ANV Tyrena, Correl-class Destroyer
  • 5 x Warrior II-class Gunships
• 
  
  • ANV Never To Yield, MC81k Liberty Kai-class Star Cruiser
  • ANV Voice of Remembrance, Nebula II-class Star Destroyer
  • ANV Binding of Arms, Leviathan-class Star Destroyer
• 
  
  • ANV All Under Sky, Strident-class Star Defender
  • ANV Sunrise & Silver Glass, Majestic II-class Heavy Cruiser
  • 2 x MC140c Scythe-class Battle Cruiser
• 
  
  • ANV Deliverance, Liberator II-class Cruiser
  • 1 x Sacheen II-class Escort Frigate
  • 1 x EF96 Nebulon-A Escort Frigate
  • 2 x Vandal-class Corvette
  • 3 x MCv110 Mon Calamari Corvette
• 
  
  • 2 x CR-37 FarStar Escort Carrier
• 
  
  • 3 x Cutlass-class Assault Frigates
  • 4 x Warrior II-class Gunships
• 
  
  • Defender II Starfighters
  • X-Wings
  • A-Wings
  • E-Wings
  • B-Wings
  • Y-Wings

It was like reverting into some apocalyptic hellscape, rather than into reality as one expected. But sure enough, there was the blue jewel of Dubrillion off in teh far distance, visible only because the ships computer knew where to look and had zoomed in on the presumed destination automatically. So not hell, at least not one beyond that which man had created. Trust the Sith and Imperials to make even a good fight a karking nightmare.

"Deploy en echelon, escorts in the mix." The besalisk growled. "Starfighter pickets out in front, keep everyone else back for now, I'm not about to rush into this mess for the sake of some Imperials."

There were murmurs and whispers throughout CIC, some in agreement, others, people who'd been fighting in this civil war for a while now, in frustration. Mordred turned towards the loudest voice he could. "I'll be damned if I'm risking the lives under my command because these New Imperials couldn't crack this rock. We're here to fight alongside them, not die in their place."

The whispering ceased after that, at least.

BatDiv 35 led, in a wide delta, with escorts filling the space in between the destroyers and packs of strikecraft making up the wings and the forward screen. BatDiv 36 followed, in largely the same formation, but with most of the dedicated attack ships filling the gap between the two groups of destroyers. The carrier division came up last, with support ships nestled between the fleet carriers and half a dozen squadrons of fighters forming the rearguard. It wasn't a formation that he would be able to maintain, but by effectively deploying in column he had plenty of room to adapt.

The debris field loomed in front of them, a chaotic mess of twisted hulks and blasted rock. It had quickly become clear that proper fighting was unlikely to happen until they were stuck in the mess, with little room to try and get better angles and a lot of opportunity for starfighters to have a ball on sluggish capital ships restricted in their ability to maneuver. It was not something he was willing to commit to, at least not yet. He shifted the display, tried to get a better idea for where the allied and enemy forces were, and where the fighting, clearly evident by the flashes off in the distance and energy resonance on sensor, was actually happening.

A burst of comms came back, relayed via picket from a few of the advance units of starfighters that had arrived before the main force. Sabre Squadron was one of them, Twin Suns another. The flagship took the data, passed it to the other ships in company, and Mordred passed orders via holo-command for Attack Squadrons 212 and 173 to proceed into the shoal zone and support attacks on Sith Capital ships. He hoped Loske Treicolt and Olen Halcorr got the message, or at least didn't jump too hard when a pack of Warrior Gunships and several squadrons of bombers showed up to back them up. A dozen squadrons, mostly fighters and interceptors from the light carriers, would fly as backup support. Those clear decks could then be configured to provide support and rearming for returning strike packages, while the Endurance's and other full size carriers handled casualties and maintenance.

And Wing Command had not been idle either. A good quarter of the strikecraft complement of the CTF was in the process of arming and launching. The first group, headed towards Saber Squadron's last reported position and joining formation with TacRon 212, was designated Strike Package Aurek. The second, headed towards the Twin Suns with TacRon 173, was Strike Package Besh. Two more, Cherek and Dorn, consisted entirely of strikecraft, a mix of strike fighters and interceptors and some handfuls of sub-corvette gunships. They were to head straight down the middle, on a diversionary flight if necessary, to draw the attention of the Sith fighters, or engage targets of opportunity, whichever came up first.

The final part of the plan lay with the larger ships. Orders were passed for all vessels that possessed long-range artillery to be ready to fire on targets as they appeared. The density of the DSZ meant that engagement windows were limited, so cuing by strike craft would be essential. There were a few ways it could go from there. Best case was the Alliance had vastly superior command and control and would be able to direct effective artillery fire from a distance, while using their superiority in strikecraft and escorts to force things into a close-range fight against the Sith within the DSZ. That would be a nice tactical victory, but it depended on the enemy just... letting it happen. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility, maybe the NIO had managed to take out most of the Sith leadership in the first two waves and now things were in disarray.

But somehow Mordred guessed they wouldn't be so lucky. What he hoped for was that the harassing fire would draw the Sith into advancing, where their larger ships would be at a something of a disadvantage against the GADF destroyers and cruisers. The idea was to force the hand of the enemy fleet, and take control of the battlefield.

For now there were too many unknowns. Mordred checked his dispersion one last time and then sat back down in the command chair. He was content to let things play out for the moment.

 

[Commander Larkin]

Tags: Lucien Dooku | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Trajan Fett
​

As the transport sped through the air, the rattling of the bolts put Larkin in almost a trance-like state. There was a part of him that had not yet fully recovered from the events of Muunilinst. He could still hear the screams of his brothers. The explosions still haunted his mind. His vision began to blur as the thoughts began to dwell on the events of that battle. This continued for a decent amount of time before one of the troopers beside him gave him a nudge.

"You good Commander? You look a little pale."

Larkin snapped back to reality and let out a slight huff. "Y..teah. I'm fine trooper. Keep focused on the mission at hand." No sooner had he finished saying that then Lucien Dooku began to address the troops. Following the costly victory at Muunilinst, Luc would have had every reason to remove Larkin from his command. Any other CO might have done just that. But whatever his reason may be, Luc kept Larkin around and for that, he was forever in the man's debt. He was determined that this mission, no matter the risk, was not going to be the disaster that the other one had been.

Luc had finished speaking just as he jumped out of the transport, turning to the men of the 173rd "You heard him! For the Empire!" With that, Larkin jumped out of the transport and activated his jetpack, falling in formation behind Luc who was already wielding his lightsaber by this point. Larkin pulled his dual blaster pistols from their holsters firing off a few shots, dodging those that flew his way in return. As blaster bolts whizzed by his head, he did all he could to ignore the flashbacks to Muunilinst.

This was going to be a long mission.

 

[Heca Foliou]

Location: Dubrillion; BYSS Beach
Allies: The Sith Empire
Enemies: The New Imperial Order | Bernard | Bastard
Objective: Terrorize

This wasn't her Empire as the one she belonged to was many parsecs away from Dubrillion and the rest of the Sith Empire's territor, in the Unknown Regions. An Empire operated by the famous (or infamous on the person’s perspective) Matsu Xiangu , Heca’s mentor, on the exotic planet of Maena; a world exploited to fulfill their pleasures and desires with too much corruption and blood in their entrepreneurial endeavors. It was small when compared to the wonders such as the very own Sith Empire or their enemies of the reborn Alliance and the defectors of the New Imperial Order. But the benefits came of not having a limelight focused on you and being so discreet that the likes of the Jedi have not yet heard of Maena.

Truly blissful.

But why worry with a world such as Dubrillion? It’s natural resources such as the rich abundance of kolto which proved it beyond value. It was an important resource for Maena and received it at an economical price thanks to the relationship between the Spider and the Sith Emperor, @Darth Carnifex. Should the Empire fail to secure Dubrillion from a New-Imperial victory, it would also be costly for Matsu’s operations on Maena. So out of good faith between Matsu and the Empire, Heca came to represent her Master on her behalf; this would also be a test for the Sith Knight and to prove to her Master her training in the woman has paid off and not a failed investment.

And how exciting this theater of war was taking place, right in the middle of the night.

T͖̮̜̭̤͟h͚̗͖̮̙͕͕e̩͞ ̴n͔̝̱̙̳͔͎i̖͡g͍͇̥̥̩̫͕hṱ͘ͅ ̝͍͇̱i̧̫̭̦͕s̫̦̙ ̶y͝o̠u͙̭ṉ̞̠̹g͕ an̵̰̲d̙̻͈̭̖͚ ͠fṳ̝̦̞́l͓ḻ̵̻̟͚̙̠̟ o͠f͓̻͓̺͓̬ ̷̦̱̖̺̦͔t̯͕̮͖͙e̞r̬̮͖r̛̥̦̮o͏͖͚͓r͕̣̯̲̞͠s̙̘̪̮​

Brave, but foolish for the Jedi and their allies, the Imperial Knights, to conduct this operation under the dead of the day. They should have stayed under the guidance of the day and light, for they will know and understand their errors in combating in the dark and night. The Sith would have the company of a simple squad of Imperial Legionnaires as tools for her own use. They were just cannon fodder to her disposal.

“All of you will follow my lead, I’ll lead us to any Jedi I can sense and you will follow my orders.”

Like dogs they obeyed without question. All of them wore their typical attire when in combat, armor forged from the unending fires of the Empire. Heca, however, wore an elegant dress as she abhorred any solid plates as they rendered her mobility, but she did take measures for her safety as the only protection the black sewn dress had armorweaved incorporated into it. Along with that baffleweave and shadowsilk were used, perfect for her usage and ideal in how she fought in battles like this.

Like a ghoul slipping through the night in hunt for prey.

 

[Ellie Mors]

​

Location: Dunes of Byss Beachhead
Objective: Live a little longer
Allies: The Sith Empire
Enemies: New Imperial Order | Spencer Varanin
Equipment: Two Shoto Sabers
Theme: Willing to Die

The shackles of fate had been cast aside, the links that had bound her broken during her descent upon Borosk, and though her final hours dwindled ever closer, still the Sith Lord walked with the pride of one that had never accepted personal defeat. Gone were the serpentine creatures of the Yuuzhan Vong, in fact there was little semblance of similarity between the woman that strode over the sandy dunes to the woman that had been aboard the destroyer above Borosk such a short time ago. Scaled flesh had been melted away from the bone, features that could have been interpreted as exotic wiped from the slate that was her form, and she walked like a ruined corpse that seemed mere moments from collapse. A corpse kept moving through sheer determination and will, stitched together by her hatred and fear.

​

Each step she took was measured, each drawn breath planned, for every fiber of her being was now focused on the singular effort to keep herself held together, to stay alive long enough to expend her final moments to spite their New Imperial adversaries. She approached the shoreline some distance from the rest of the Empire, removed from the initial push led by the bulk of the New Imperial Order, but not so far as to find herself secluded by circumstance. A wide berth was given to the Sith Lord, not out of fear or respect, but for each soldier that raised a rifle, every would-be assassin that lifted a blade to run her through, found themselves robbed of their breath, fatigue setting quickly in their bodies as their lives were drained from them to sustain the woman for just a little longer.

Detached from her fate, to have died before Dubrillion, the woman that had nearly lost herself in flow walking before Borosk knew not who her foe would be, nor the nature of her death - only that death would come, and that her enemy would find her here on the beachhead. To have reached out in the force, to witness her presence in the ebb and flow of its all-encompassing waters, would be to stare deep into a darkness that sunk down forever, like a singularity hellbent on consuming everything nearby.

She did not have long to wait, for even as the twin short sabers she held ignited in a crimson glow her ruinous gaze caught sight of Spencer Varanin and knew that the force had sent its answer for her defiance.

"Let us end this."

 

[Ra Vizsla]

COMMANDER VIZSLA

// IRON_FURNACE // IN SUPPORT OF // NIO DROP
// GARRISON //: Mandalorian | 403rd Stormtrooper Battalion
// OBJECTIVE //: HOTH Beach
// ALLIES | NIO | SONS OF MANDALORE | Warchief Waddles | GA
// ENEMIES | TSE

Ra noticed the quip of the hotheaded brute, Warchief Waddles .

He didn't offer rebuttal.

The former Mand'alor spoke equally well with his actions.

The 403rd Stormtrooper Legion cut a bladed swath through the beach, following Ra in tow - despite his massive frame, the figure of Ra was brilliantly dextrous. Like a tidal wave, the 403rd crashed past the Muun Darth Argentum , their Manda'oade commander leaping over the defensive emplacements of the first line of Sith Troopers. Artillery blasts rocked the beachhead as the Imperial Legion began to establish a foothold around the crash site, with tendrils of crimson striking out and etching forth a larger radius. The beachfront emanated, the circumference expanding, as the 403rd legion continued to fight for every inch, every foot, every meter.

Sprays of sand erupted over the Stormtroopers as Ra threw his arm forward, motioning.

FORWARD.

Artillery blasts destroyed footholds, Sith Troopers erupted from their defensive positions to engage in melee.

FORWARD.

The darkblade emanated in his hand as the Black Sky basilisk screeched overhead, Ra pushing.

FORWARD.

There would be no retreat, no surrender.

They were fighting for their lives.

Where Ra excelled best.

 

[Jalter Volff]

Location: Dubrillion Orbit
Objective: Battle of the Shipwrecks
Allies: NIO Cheapshot Arten Jinn | GA Loske Treicolt Olen Halcorr Maynard Treicolt Mordred B'Haran and other fleeters
Enemies: Nica Dakkar Thaelius Thaelius Lily Kuhn and other fleeters
Ship: TIE/HB Bruiser
Forces: x7 TIE/HB Bruiser x4 TIE/OTx Outlander

Jalter looked down at his onboard flight computer as his HUD notified him off new contacts. "Sir we-" one of the pilots spoke into comms but Jalter cut him off. "I see them crater. Slipstream ( Arten Jinn ) take 3 bombers and 2 outlanders out and engage that longneck. I'll head with the rest and begin engaging the Sith Fleet ( Thaelius )." Jalter said accelerating with his bombers. "Once you finish up with the corvette link back up with us." he said before changing frequencies. Splitting up wasn't always the best move but both targets needed to be neutralised. "Destroyer 1. I'm splitting up my lads. Slipstream is heading to Devils to deal with that long neck while I'm moving to engage the fleet that's just jumped in. Might call in the Alliance lads to give me a hand." he said as Crater, Boxer and Bombshell formed up on him.

Jalter checked his onboard computer, 8 Sith fighters were on a course for his bombers. A few were caught out by Jalters escorts while the rest began their attack run, darting towards Jalter to intercept him and his bombers. "Bomber Flight 1 load brilliant missiles and charge up laser cannons. Weapons free." As he spoke Jalter's targeting computer sent a notification to his hud "TARGET LOCKED". Jalter grinned and squeezed the missile bay trigger firing off 2 missiles. "Brawler 3-1, times two Brilliant missiles away" he said as they zipped through space, the first narrowly missing but the second slamming into the cockpit the Sith fighter. Another Sith fighter attempted to engage Jalter, with the bomber pilot getting 4 good hits on the sithspawn's fuselage with his heavy laser cannons. The ship had made it past him and was right on Jalter's tail. "Think you got me eh?" he said to himself before rerouting all shield power to the rear of the TIE Bruiser and stalling the ship, smashing right into the interceptor completely destroying it and reducing Jalter's shields down to 35%.

Jalter heard Crater chuckle "Finally caught on eh old man?" Jalter was 9 years older than the kid, 28 to be exact. While most wouldn't consider 28 to be old signing up to fly a TIE was essentially removing the prospect of reaching old age. Deep down Jalter knew most of his squadron, including himself, would end their career in a fiery death, he had already lost two pilots over Borosk. It was something he tried his best to not think about. "Clear comms 2nd lieutenant." he said with a grin, pulling rank was one of the 'old mans' favourite past times and good way to forget about his inevitable death.

Jalter's flight of 6 fighters began engaging the Sith fighters alongside Jalter. Crater had managed to nail one with his laser cannons and was firing off a missile at another. Bombshell had been hit a few times by one of the Sith interceptors and had deployed his Jen'dosta System. "Got a bandit on my tail. Deploying countermeasures but need someone to get him off me." he spoke into squadron comms. In an instant Boxer replied "10-4, Boxer 3-5 engaging." She cut her thrusters, allowing Bombshell and the Sith fighter pass her before re-engaging her thrusters and beginning her pursuit. Boxer closed in on the two before flying up and turning sharply towards the enemy interceptor. She fired off a few shots, establishing how much she would need to lead her shots before squeezing on the trigger hard and ripping the interceptor to pieces. "You owe me a beer Bombshell." she said into comms as she flew through the debris of the interceptor which bounced off her deflector shields.

"Alright fall in, we've had our fun but now it's time to focus on our objective." Jalter said before switching comms to the alliance pilots. "Twin suns ( Olen Halcorr ) this is Brawler 3-1. We're going to make our attack run on one of their Marr II Star destroyers. Don't want to overwork Cheaps so I'm wondering if you got a few lads to escort us in while we make our run." he said before checking over the ordnance the bombers had. Jalter figured the best course of action was for two of the bombers to use their electro-proton bombs to bring their shields down while the other two gave them a nice little payload of plasma bombs. If they had the time they could even fire off a few concussion missiles. The only thing they'd need was a reliable escort.

 

[Olen Halcorr]

Objective 1 - Battle of the Shipwrecks
Location: Debris Shoal Zone, Dubrillion Orbit, Myto Sector
Unit: Twin Suns Squadron

Spoiler: Music

Battle of Hoth Theme

Allies
GA: Maynard Treicolt Loske Treicolt and Fleeters
NIO: Arten Jinn Cheapshot Jalter Volff and Fleeters
Enemies
Lily Kuhn Nica Dakkar Jihun Kim and Fleeters

Eight needed his help, that was his first priority. He brought up his display once more, deciding that he was going to follow them and get his squadron mate out of that sticky situation. Just as he was about to move to intercept, his scopes went off to show that multiple marks were heading the way of he and his wingmen. More trouble? He took a look behind him and did an IFF and was relieved to see that these new fighters weren't Sith Interceptors but Alliance ships, they had support now. He gave a two fingered salute as an allied fighter pulled up beside his X-Wing and he noticed their Alliance insignias and gave himself the luxury of a grin.

Brining himself back to the task at had, he quickly pulled up, escorted by the allied fighters to go and save his friend. He descended below a smaller chunk and blasted his way through another. Checking his scopes, he gunned the throttle and sped through the field jinking away before pulling back into a snaproll, he soon came across the situation. Twin Suns Eight was in dire straits, his hand wavered towards the button that would switch his weapons setting to his torps but pulled away, noting that his torpedo might lock on to anyone of the larger pieces of debris in the Shoal Zone.

"Eight, pull a koiogran turn and I'll give the Sithie a corellian slip."

"Copy lead, moving to play fleethund."

He slowed a little on the approach as his compatriot went into a loop roll and as he expected the Interceptor stayed on, that was when he jumped into action. He punched his throttle up to 85 percent and pushed down sharply, making a wide turn, he needed to time this. He watched his chronometer intently as the two came in. The tension was palpable in the cockpit as he moved into position, grabbing the stick with a gloved hand. Eight klicks. Seven klicks. Six klicks. Five. Four. Three. Two, he pulled up, coming nose up to meet the front of the interceptor and he hit the button on the dot of two klicks, blasting the Interceptor. The two had been so close that the resulting explosion kept his frontal shields occupied as he flew through the debris.

"Thanks for the save boss."

"Any time Eight, on me, let's go get the others."

"Roger that, sir."

"Twin suns this is Brawler 3-1. We're going to make our attack run on one of their Marr II Star destroyers. Don't want to overwork Cheaps so I'm wondering if you got a few lads to escort us in while we make our run."

He pressed the comms button on his right panel to switch to the allied frequency and recognised the message. "Acknowledged Brawler 3-1 ( Jalter Volff ), I see em on my scanners, form up at.." He took a quick glance at his display to try and gauge where would be most appropriate to meet up. "Form up at holding sector five, we should be able to meet you there to intercept." He gave a deep breath and hoped that he'd be able to rally his pilots to get there in time.

"Any Twin Suns, meet up with me and Eight at holding sector five, we're protecting Bomber Flight on their run of one of those S-IMP Star Destroyers." He relayed the command and was quite relieved to hear some responses come in through the comms.

"See you there Commander." Came a growling response from his Shistavenen pilot.

"On my way, lead." A heavily accented warbled voice came through.

He used his display to plot a course to the holding sector that he'd suggested, hoping that he wasn't going to be overwhelmed on his way there. Decreasing his reactor output and throttle, he made a long bank towards the large husk that was the largest part of the DSZ. It floated in space, lifeless, right now it was hard to believe that it had once been full of hundreds of crew members and fleet officers. It was even a little saddening. Then the bleeps from his troublesome astromech started up and were naturally translated <"I'd love to stay and sight-see but you've got two marks at point two and point five so.."> He knew that this route couldn't have been perfect. He was just going to have to delay for a bit.

He flicked onto the allied frequency once again, "Brawler 3-1, might be a little late to the party." He told him hurriedly as he looked behind him to see an Interceptor behind him and one trying to give him the corellian slip, heading straight for him. This was a very bad situation. <"This is the one time I think we might not make it to the celebrations."> He shook his head. "Shut up Dewback, if you help me now, you can get an oil bath later at the droid spa." That shut his astromech up as he returned reactor output to full power. Snaprolling away from being narrowly sandwiched. He grabbed his throttle bar desperately pushing it up to 95 percent and hurtling away as they were now both on him.

"Alright Eight, we got two marks, let's try an under split, I'm fleethund this time." He chuckled after the last part.

"I like that plan."

"Knew you would, Eight."

He watched as Twin Suns Eight pulled up to his aft before pulling away to start the plan. He made a wide bank, straight into the flight path of the enemy. He was relying on Twin Suns Eight now, while he mostly trusted him, most pilots that he'd known that had done the under split had died trying. The scary thing was that there was no guarantee he wouldn't end up like them. Knowing that this plan would most likely end in disaster, he thought up a new one. He checked his display once more, holding sector five wasn't too far away from the large husk...

"Amendment to the plan, Eight, vector round that extra large chunk of ship, I'll bottleneck the enemy in the circular part and you surprise them and nab them, go now."

Knowing they'd need to be almost perfectly synchronised to do this, he waited until Eight started to move before gunning the throttle up to 100 and zooming towards the hunk,the enemy took potshots, mostly overshooting the mark, but the ones that did hit were mostly rebuffed by his shields. Entering the circular part, it was like a world frozen in time. He could still see the control panels, some still active, a grim reminder of the fate of the crew. The end was soon visible as he shot out of the hunk, seeing an explosion. Eight had done it. He pulled back the stick and came up to the rear of the Interceptor, opening fire and blasting the sith ship out of space.

He grinned to himself, but it soon turned to a grimace as he got no confirmation from his temporary wingman.

"Eight, Eight, report in!" Taking a look behind him, he didn't see the second Interceptor. <"Eight's gone.. he crashed into the second Interceptor.. I'm sorry."> He shook his head, clearly in denial. "No.. that's not possible, he could still be alive, I won't leave him!" He wanted some hope and reassurance that his friend was still alive but he was quickly shut down. <"He's gone."> It wasn't meant to go this way.

He'd failed.. Eight had died under his watch and the most horrible thing was that he was powerless to do anything. "He's gone because of me.. I could have stopped him, that plan was, I-" He stopped himself, feeling his stomach churn with guilt. He zoomed off to meet his allies at the holding sector, knowing that he'd caused the demise of someone who'd saved his.

 

[Aerarii Tithe]

Location: Bridge, HIMS Venality, approaching the Debris Shoal Zone
Objective: I - Battle of the Shipwrecks
Kit: Skystas Rieve iv Tave Daboti Dvasi | Sith-Imperial Military Uniform
Investment: Boram Predor
Assets: Nica Dakkar | Lily Kuhn | Thaelius | TSE
Liabilities: Cheapshot | Arten Jinn | Jalter Volff | Hiram Voss | Olen Halcorr | Maynard Treicolt | Loske Treicolt | Mordred B'Haran | NIO
Post: II

---

31st Blockade Group Venality, Preventor II-class Interdictor Battlecruiser Provocation, Tormentor-class Star Destroyer Temerarious, Audax-class Cruiser Spoliate, Harrower-class Cruiser Arbalest, Longbow-class Heavy Artillery Cruiser Pavise, Athena-class Shield Frigate Accrual, Usury-class Treasury Ship Lucid, Vigil II-class Corvette Trance, Vigil II-class Corvette Daze, Vigil II-class Corvette 208 Dominance-class Fighters 80 Tuk'ata-class Interceptors 32 Jurgoran-class Bombers 16 Banshee-class Shadow Droids 12 Chariot-class Missile Boats

The approaching enemy fleet slowed its approach before coming to a stop several thousand kilometres away. Their New Imperial opponents launched their fighter contingent and formed a protective screen, but showed no intention of coming any closer.

Intelligence reports began flooding in as the third New Imperial wave pushed forward. Stealthcraft spotters identified the unique markings of the 81st Fighter Ground, lead by the deadly Cheapshot , and a flight of bombers whose ion signatures were a high probability match to Arten Jinn and Jalter Volff . He was told that their heavily armed and armoured fighters and bombers would make short work of the Blockade Group’s shields if they come into their sights. An Escort Force of corvettes, suspected to be commanded by Hiram Voss , pushed forward into the Debris Shoal Zone.

The tactical holo lit up with a frenzy of activity as Galactic Alliance reinforcements arrived. CTF Bright Arrow and its admiral Mordred B'Haran had been spotted marshalling on the edge of Sith-Imperial space. Intel had been hoped that they were passing through - unfortunately, that assumption looked to be incorrect. The distinctive X-Wings of Sabre Squadron and Twin Suns squadron, which included such renowned pilots as Olen Halcorr , Maynard Treicolt and Loske Treicolt , dropped out near their New Imperial allies before darting into combat.

Trierarch Komo returned to Tithe’s side. “Sir, new orders from the Admirallis,” she announced. Tithe could feel a sinking feeling forming in his stomach - what were the chances that the orders would be to retreat to safety? “We’re to move into the Debris Shoal Zone and reinforce the Third Pursuit Force.” The Moff cast his eyes over the tactical holo. That would take the Blockade Group right into the heart of the battle, and straight into the path of the NIO’s latest offensive.

“Then who will cover this hyperlane? We can’t possibly abandon our post!” By ‘post’, Tithe, of course, meant the safety afforded by their position so far from the conflict.


“Sub-Fleet Nern is en route, they’ll be here shortly,” the Trierarch explained. “Should I give the order to approach Dubrillion from the far side, using the planet to screen ourselves from the main NIO fleet?”


At least she had given Tithe the chance to save face - he didn’t need to plan an approach or consider the strategic advantages of his next move, he only had to agree. “Yes yes, alright then, make it so.”


As they closed on the DSZ, updates streamed through from the Sith-Imperial forces. Chimera fleet led by Navarch Princeps Thaelius was closing to engage an NIO task force. “Chimea, this is Venality,” the Moff announced over the secure battle comm, doing his best to keep his nervous stammering under control. “We’re… moving into the debris field. We can hold here and cover your flank if you would prefer..?” Tithe heard Komo curse under her breath at his attempt to avoid going into conflict.

The Blockade Group continued to advance, keeping Durbillion between themselves and the NIO fleet as they approached. Once that was no longer an option, the Sith-Imperial cruisers swung past the planet and used its gravitational pull to hurry their advance. Within the DSZ, an inceptor wing under the command of Auspex Nica Dakkar reported it was preparing to meet the NIO advance. “Auspex Dakkar, Moff Tithe. I have fighters, interceptors, and all manner of death-dealing machines at my disposal, should a situation the direst present itself.”

By now the Blockade Group was coming up on the edge of the debris field. The Pavise, with it’s overpowered shields, moved to the front of the formation while the rest of the vessels formed a tight linear formation behind it. The Shield Frigate ploughed into the floating and rapidly shifting maze of destroyed hulls and starfighters, it’s shields disintegrating anything that came into contact with them. Gunners on the trialling cruisers opened fire with their turbolasers, targeting any hazard that swung in behind the Pavise. Fighters hung close to their home ships, spotting and calling out dangerous debris at it approached.

The tactical holo updated to track Lily Kuhn in her advanced spherecraft. Tithe was pleased to see the young diplomat in the field - she had all but single-handedly led the restoration efforts on Ord Tiddell. “Teta Actual, this is Venality. I’m told the frigates that accompany us are most adept at anti-fighter combat.”

 

[Ezra D. Tavlar]

A L I V E [ N I G H T M A R E ]
OBJECTIVE - TAKE THE PLATEAU... I GUESS
​

---

---

Ezra hated confrontation.

His disdain for confrontation-- for violence in general -- was a trait which, at times like these, probably contributed heavily to the detriment of his well-being. Normally this trait wouldn't have the far-reaching consequences of endangering his self and livelihood, but in the wake of the New Imperial Order's invasion of Dubrillion and Jaemus, his live-and-let-live attitude, combined with a general lack of awareness, had landed the three time Employee-of-the-month in deep shit, for lack of a better way to put it. And if ever there was a time to lodge a complaint against the second largest contractee of the Core Maintenance Workers' Association, there wasn't a better time than the present.

Ezra was simply doing his job; cleaning stuff, organizing things, fixing things- the usual things that came with being a maintenance worker. Plenty of times he'd found himself on contract with the Order, and on more than a few of those occasions had came the danger pay which was associated with being sent near a combat zone. He expected to be near the battle for Dubrillion, that much was certain, but what he didn't expect was to somehow end up pressed into the war effort, no thanks to a serious case of bad luck and his own failure to see what the hell was going.

After performing a series of final cleaning and maintenance checks on a squadron of Imperial Heavy Air Transports, Ezra was keen on enjoying a relaxing stint of baseboard cleaning once he'd finished spot-checking the last one in the group. Unfortunately for him, wearing headphones during the imminent moments of an invasion had left him unaware of the large group of Mandalorians and Stormtroopers entering the aforementioned transport. Unable to bring himself to ask the hulking, intimidating warriors to clear a hole for him to leave, the blonde-haired Tavlar would instead be privy to a front-row seat to the invasion of Dubrillion.

If only he told them to let him through sooner.

-​

Quiet, he remained, as the time for regrets was far past arriving as the transport descended onto the world, cutting through the air on its course towards the 'Beachhead Hoth' that he kept hearing about from the others. Luckily for him, none of the Mandalorians or Stormtroopers around him had even bothered to notice the somewhat meek Janitor off in the corner of the transport. Standing there with awkward intent, Ezra held onto his broom and dustpan with an emotionless gaze. Darting his eyes between the men around him, he pondered for a moment as to just what the hell he was to expect once their transport had hit the ground.

Something like--

'Hey, pilot guy, mind giving me a lift back to the ship? Totally not the right dude for this kind of thing, y'know?'

Ideally that was the move, but once more his stint of terrible luck came a-callin', the rear of the hull shaking violently from what he could only assume was not turbulence. The visible smoke billowing from that direction would confirm that they were hit, and so did the sudden descent that brought their transport at a steep decline towards the ground. The last defining thing he could hear over the sound of alarms ringing in his ears was the voice of the hulking Mandalorian not that far from him yelling out

“BRACE! BRAAACEEE!”

Ezra held onto his broom and dustpan for dear life, even as he strapped himself into an open seat quicker than he'd ever moved in his life.

"Fuck me."

-​

The vessel skidded and skipped across the sand before it lost its full momentum and was brought to a halt. He was lucky to have got his harness strapped on him in time, and also for that hulking Mandalorian who ripped off the shuttle door like the monster he appeared to be. Bodies spilled outside the shuttle, one by one, until Ezra was the only one left sans the pair of pilots up in the cockpit. "...I guess this means no ride back?" He'd call out to the almost motionless pilots sitting in the cockpit. Silence filled the void.

....An awkward silence.

"Ok."

Unstrapping himself out of the seat, he wandered over to the cockpit and confirmed that the two N-IMP pilots weren't dead-dead, just pretty effed up. Reaching towards the left-seated one's thigh, he casually pulled away the velcro on his holster, yeeting the man's pistol and shoving it into his waistband. "...I'll just be borrowing this." He commented, patting the now squirming, groaning pilot on the shoulder.

He hated confrontation, but he wasn't fucking stupid.

Stepping out of the shuttle, Ezra was presented with what could only be described as absolute madness in a nutshell. Bolts of tibanna lit up the night sky, explosive shells rattled the beach, and anti-aircraft guns dotted the night sky with brilliant displays of flak. Even though he wasn't a soldier, it didn't take a genius to figure out that remaining at his current location was probably the quickest way to end up turned into spaghetti by a stray artillery shell.

He jogged ahead of the shuttle and joined in with a posse of armored warriors who were putting the smack down on the S-IMP's up on the plateau ahead. Caught between one massive hulking dude with a big-ass sword [ Ra Vizsla ] , some tall alien dude with a big-ass head [ Darth Argentum ], and a monster of a brute with a big-ass rotary cannon, Ezra stood there with his trusty broom and dustpan cradled in one hand, and a blaster pistol now removed from his waistband with the other.

He aimed the pistol forwards -- at nothing in particular, if he was being honest -- and let out a few shots in the general direction that rotary-cannon man [ Warchief Waddles ] was firing at. Turning towards the Mandalorian, Ezra raised his eyebrows and gave the man a lazy half-smile.

"Sup dude."

He'd say, grey jumpsuit, orange vest, broom and dustpan, pistol and all. Sure, he stuck out, but at least it was relatively safe next to these weird, heavily armed dudes.

 

[Ruek Tast]

Allies: TSE | Open
Combatants: NIO | Irveric Tavlar Salvor Thul | Strain
(For sake of brevity, tagged persons can skip to ON GROUND)​

IN TRANSPORT
"Heh, we picked up the resident shaman," one of the troopers mocked under his helmet, "Got a blessing for us with all that hoo-doo?" his gloved hand threw a loose gesture toward Ruek.

She was silent, allowing the impassive stare of her helmet to be her reply.

"Tck, thought not. You superstitious types... What good does it do ya? We're all biting dust tonight. Why I bet--"

"Zip it. Get ready," a gruff voice interrupted the legionnaire. It was the platoon commander, a man who had no name to Ruek except the rank on his shoulder. He double-checked the contents of his bandolier as he spoke, "We land in 10. Magreed, take your men and reinforce those at the beach. Du'bost, focus fire on those leaving the drop ships at the eastern point. You three," he pointed to the small clique of snipers, "Take point on the high ground. Focus fire on those shields. Break 'em up. The rest of you, with me."

They all nodded in acknowledgment with a "yes sir" uttered here and there. They splinted off into their assigned teams and waited, each little club dealing with the internal notions of doom their own way.

Some joked.

Some waited in silence.

Others tilted up their helmets and slapped blue squares on their skin. Stims.

Ruek stood and waited, holding the hanging strap of the transport with one hand and cradling her rifle in the other. Across from her a legionnaire stood with shoulders drooped and the grip on their carbine steadily wilting.

"Ey runt, look alive for Sith's sake. Should I hand 'em a stim?"

The legionnaire perked to glance at the voice that spoke. The black helmet shook left to right and the carbine was held in both hands. As soon as the other's attention turned however the soldier looked back down to nervously shift the position of their boots. Light warped across the helmet as their visor turned towards Ruek.

No.

A quick glance to the others to make sure there wasn't too much staring. They inched closer. The commander issued the five minute drop warning.

Don't.

With a nervous bob of the helmet the legionnaire spoke, "H-hey, are you...some kind of priest, right?"

Dammit.

Red lenses whirred softly as she scrutinized the legionnaire. Elevated heartbeat. Accelerated breathing. The soldier was nervous. They sounded young. Their armor was pristine. Fresh from academy. Ruek shook her head; she was no priest.

"...ah," Light footfalls had begun to take the rookie back to their corner before they spun on heel, "It's just ya know, I don't know what's gonna happen. I dunno what's after this..." They didn't mean after the battle.

With a voice cut with desperation they pushed closer, "What do you believe? If your ticket gets punched what kind of place will you go after?"

It wasn't what she wanted. Talking. This soldier had five minutes before touchdown and they wanted to talk about the afterlife. Wasn't dying for their Empire enough to assuage their fear?

Ruek thumbed the charms hanging from the stock of her rifle. The runt's earnestness was at least appreciated, the young soldier seeking some kind of reassurance before stepping into a sand-filled grave. They didn't seek to judge or to be judged, they just needed something to cushion the blow.

"My soul could disassemble and feed the galaxy. It may remain whole and wander the universe. It may be given another vessel and breathe again. All of these are possible. None of these are certain," she paused. She could feel the eyes behind the soldier's helmet searching the face of her own. After a short breath she continued, "But what matters is that I do not die in vain. I give my all for what I choose to believe is right, even until the end. Die now or die later, pursue excellence in your duties."

The soldier glanced away. The low light of the transport flashed to red. Two minutes till drop.

"I know I'm bein' a pest but even if you ain't a priest--" Their voice caught, the helmet's modulator giving a staticky choke, "Can't you...?" Ruek grabbed the soldier's arm and pulled them away, turning both of their backs to the larger group.

"You are a soldier of the Emperor and a symbol of the indomitable will borne by true Imperials. Act like it. Through service to your fellow man is your soul redeemed."

Ruek's hand searched a container on her belt before finding a stick of white, oily pigment. Stepping around the soldier's front she drew a primitive abstraction of a Muunyak head on the belly of their armor. Her speech was hushed, the harsh tones of the language producing little more than hisses and sharp twists of the tongue,

"Na sis tutsatsa diâ midwan tuti datar ridasi iw zûtadijsatsa…"

Once finished she stood straight again to stare down the soldier, "Do not waste this." She placed the cap back on the pigment and stepped past the rookie.

"Thirty seconds to drop!"


ON GROUND
Salvor Thul
Sand washed over their heads as enemy artillery pounded the soil beyond the beach. And while heavy gunners and swift soldiers tackled the swelling surge on shore the three little snipers snuck along the ridgelines of Hoth beach. In the cover of thick foliage the Imperial vipers coiled themselves and waited to hurl their hot venom. The other two gave no rhyme nor reason for their targets, too focused on creating a bodycount than being the chisel needed to chip away at the enemy.

Ruek didn't follow blind chance. She chose her prey by instinct. Each shot was savored for its precision of execution, for serving as the plasma scalpel to remove the cancer spreading across the beach. Bodies collapsed like puppets cut from a string with each patient pull of the trigger.

Moonlight and blaster fire reflected off the gear of the enemy creating a dizzying mix of split second silhouettes and full color snapshots. Yet the most eye catching of all were the red suits of armor which trailed out from a crashed transport.

Sith troopers.

Traitors. Sons of heretics.

An edge of a red helmet came around the transport. As quickly as the dome appeared did the trooper's soul depart from their body. Ruek counted the seconds before lining another shot. This Sith trooper was lucky, for an overzealous sandtrooper four meters closer in sight bolted upright to issue a command. His barking orders died into a garble as his throat took the shot.

Fate protects you this time.

Amidst the swarm of blood-soaked tide she regained visual. Into a trench they had slipped, those red betrayers of name and nation. They were conversing, that much she could tell. Arm movements just over the line, a few blaster waves. She wouldn't take those wounding shots. This battle was won with finality, not mercy.

Not yet.

An enemy bolt lanced through another sniper two clicks away. His soul left him as his last breath shuddered over comms.

Just a few more seconds.

Patience.

Another trooper, a 501st from his markings. She saw a glimpse of the red arm that had held him. He raced forward in urgent stride, desperate to fulfill orders for the treasonous hoard that had thirst for revenge.

Revenge for blessings given to them. Ungrateful legion.

Bodies filled the trench, an unavoidable hazard as the trooper stepped on his fallen kin. It elevated him. It damned him. She pulled the trigger and his body joined his comrades in sleep.

-

Strain
Another bolt came forward from the cluster and struck the soil close to her position. So it wasn't a lucky shot that took out the other. Someone was targeting the snakes in the grass. It would be their mistake.

Ruek slid down from her position and brought her rifle close. She made quick work of the scope, removing it from the rifle and fastening it to her belt.

Mechanical whirs purred from the red-tint lenses of her helmet as they swapped from night vision, x-ray, infrared, ultraviolet, then back to night. She muttered an invocation under her breath, an attempt to pull the vision from predators she had slain before and made into her meal.

She had set the sights upon the general direction of the previous shot, her lenses zooming out in order to see the entirety of the zone.

Be greedy, ki diwsia.

 

[Darth Argentum]

Operation Storm Surge: Hoth Beach
Allies: Ra Vizsla Warchief Waddles Ezra D. Tavlar & NIO/GA
Enemies: TSE

The hulking Isaiah Priest's open dislike for him amused the Muun. Such a naive point of view to take. This man didn't understand the fact that honour was the for the dead. But his sense of honour wasn't purely Mandalorian.

His forefathers had worked alongside the Sith as readily as any other beings. They understood that the point of taking any risk was to win. You always shored up your bets. Sometimes that meant new allies.

There was his connection to the Force to consider. It wasn't untrained but it still held a raw quality to it. Who'd trained him and why had it ended? And there too was a certain tension between Ra Vizsla and Priest. What had occurred between them?

Those were questions for another day. Today, there was a battle to fight and future allies to win. And he needed to stay alive for that to happen. Presently, an oddity happened.

A lanky human male emerged from the shuttle. He carried a broom and dustpan. Maro blinked in confusion as he studied the human. Why was there a janitor here?

No matter, he either has a death wish or is to stupid to know the danger he's in.

The Muun followed behind the Mandalorian warriors' wake with senses attuned to the omnipresent danger. His weapon hummed as he held it near to his body. Errant blaster bolts were slapped aside or sometimes returned to sender with deadly effect.

Just then a pair of Sith legionaries emerged to his right. They raised their rifles seeking to end him but he concluded their foolish notions of killing him. With a snarl he thrust out a hand and sent them flying back on the end of a terrible concussive wave. The Force blast would rupture their vital organs ensuring death.

He whirled back to face the front and now his ire was truly raised. The roar of battle washed over him. Any being so stupid as to challenge him would meet a similar fate....

 

[Hiram Voss]

Location: DSZ Perimeter, NIV Carnivore
Command: Force Escort ‘Pride’, Ad Hoc Formation ‘Spear’
Allies: Cheapshot | Loske Treicolt | Mordred B'Haran | Jalter Volff | Olen Halcorr | Maynard Treicolt
Enemies: Thaelius | Aerarii Tithe
Targeted Vessel: HIMS Chimera.
Objective: Operation Harpoon

​

Spoiler: Ad Hoc Battle Formation 'Spear'

Squadron One:

• 9x Caçadore-class Assault Corvette [x]​

Squadron Two:

• 14x Gurkha-Class Attack Corvettes [x]

Squadron Three:

• 18x Warrior-II Class Corvettes [x]
• 14x Vandal-Class Corvettes [x]

Remnant of Escort Force 'Pride'

• 2x Stalwart-Class Carrier [x]
• 2x Valiant-Class 'Star Destroyer' [x]
• 4x Nebulon-A Class Frigate [x]
• 6x Warrior-II Class Corvettes [x]

Strikecraft

• 16x TIE Outlander Squaadrons [x]
• 10x TIE Slasher Squadrons [x]
• 6x TIE Bruiser Squadrons [x]

Hiram eyed the assembled captains projected onto the table. All of whom mirrored his own stance. Rigid and standing to attention. “Attacks will commence in three waves,” Hiram informed his colleagues, “We will rush the Sith armada, and deliver a close range salvo, much like bombers and then use our superior speed and manoeuvring to get out of range of their heavy guns. Rinse and repeat until they are dead.” Hiram looked over the other captains and clicked his tongue, “I will lead the first attack group and mark targets for your crews via comms. It’s critical that once we have struck, we get out and ready for another run.” Hiram then allowed a small smile to purse his lips, “We’re going to be an unrelenting pain in their ass. By attrition we are going to kill these bastards. Questions?” None. The plan was simple. Hiram gave a slow nod, “Prepare your crews and be ready to depart on my mark.” One by one the captain’s disappeared into the ether, until Hiram stood alone before the holographic table.

Lieutenant Board then approached with a datapad in hand, “Captain,” Boars began, passing the pad to Voss. “We have some sensor telemetry from our fighters within the DSZ, regarding the Sith fleet size, capability and movements.” Hiram’s aged eyes squinted over the datapad. “Two formations are now in orbit and moving in on the edge of the DSZ sir. A heavier, larger formation,” he gestured to the larger, more conventionally menacing fleet, “And what seems to be a smaller escort group.” Hiram bit his lower lip and considered the data before returning the datapad to Boars. “What are you thinking sir?”

“The larger fleet made of primarily destroyers and battlecruisers would indicate a commander uninitiated for the battle I have planned, and one more prepared for a conventional slogging match between fellow battlecruisers.” Hiram mused, turning to approach his nominal command position of his chair at the centre of the bridge. “If we can take our some of those guns on the heavier hitters, we rob the Sith of their crutch,” Hiram continued as he took his seat on his metallic throne, “And then like the feeble old men they are, they collapse,” Hiram mused, “The smaller fleet I am sure will be a prize for admiral Vularen.” He added, “And this, Galactic Alliance,” The former First Imperial added with no end of disgust and bile aimed at them. Old wounds still ached. His gloved hand relieved the datapad from Boars’ “No. We will begin to approach on that vessel,” He gestured to the HIMS Chimera. “Given it’s prominence, it is more than likely the flagship of our principle opponent.” He then settled the datapad on an armrest and rested his back, “We'll put him under the pump lieutenant, and see how he reacts.”

“All commands to follow on approach vector two-two seven.” Hiram barked, “They are to follow our approach vector,” . While divided into squadrons, the formation of corvettes began to sprint into the debris field, and squadron one took the lead. Exclusively comprised of the new Caçadore-class corvettes and fitted with specialty engines which allowed for greater speed took the lead. Followed closely by the wave of Gurkha-class corvettes and then in the final wave, one comprised of a mix of Vandal and Warrior-class corvettes followed behind. Due to variance in speed, the corvettes swarmed in three very distinct phases of attack. Hiram sat in his chair, Boars beside him and his eyes transfixed as they passed by the dogfight and began to close the distance on the larger Sith fleet. The gargantuan titans the Sith Imperial navy fielded, dwarfing the New Imperial Order’s vessels in their shadow.

“Captain, what’re you thinking, regarding targets sir?” Lieutenant Boars inquired. The courage of Hiram’s earlier words having faded now. He was physically leaning against his superiors chair as his legs and bravery faded with the blood now drained from his face.

“Guns.” Voss cryptically mused in an almost bored tone. His eyes transfixed on the hull, before he found a target on the Chimera's underside, “Proceed to that sector of batteries.” Hiram gestured to one of the large shield leech batteries, surrounded by point defence cannons and smaller ordinance. “I want us there,” Hiram growled at the Helmsman, “To be able to engage the bastard at close range, he’s gonna get a taste of our mettle without any jammers or tools of his trade.” Voss added, licking his chops. The corvette pack closed in close to the battery and the nearby point defence lasers. “Prime the fire control mechanism, we have one chance at this!” Hiram grinned maniacally. The Carnivore sprinted ever closer. “Hold fire until we’re close. I want to see their personnel piss themselves before we send them to oblivion!” Voss snapped. He could see now, the viewports around the sector of guns and make out silhouettes of the Sith Imperial personnel inside, running through their drills. The Carnivore sprinted forward slightly and then slowed as it reached a pause. The Carnivore now stilled at point blank range. Hiram grinned maniacally as he gave the order. “Fire.”

With less than fifty meters between the Carnivore and the Chimera, squad one of Formation ‘Spear’ opened fire in one succinct barrage. A literal wave of missiles, torpedoes and blasts ignited from the vessels into the sector, bombarding the Sith Imperial vessel and attempting to overwhelm its defences in the concentrated sector. “Dive, dive, dive!” Hiram barked. The Carnivore began to change direction, and now moved to perform what could only be described as a dive, similar to a bomber. The corvettes changed direction, and then began to sink down and below the Chimera, doing their damndest to avoid its wrath. All the while, squadron two arrived, repeated. And then squadron three. All of whom followed the wild flight of the Caçadore’s.

 

[Orion Darkstar]

Location: Cliff of Rocks, Hoth Beach
Allies: TSE | Small Squad of 33rd Battalion (x4 Legionnaires)
Enemies: NIO Forces
Intent to Write With: Aerith Castiella

The gentle breeze lifted to the night sky, the moon reminding them they weren't fully alone in the dark. The light reflected off the crashing waves below, seeping in between all the jagged rocks at the base of the cliff they prepared on. Five men stood at the top, ready for the war that had already begun on the beaches to the side of them. Soon, they would all be a part of it, shooting their way through the attacking forces like a bulkhead formation, ready to tear any adversaries apart. They would be a beacon, a tool, a weapon. Anything, they would be anything the Empire needed them to be. It was their job, even more so their calling. The only sound that could be heard at the top of the cliff over the waves were metal clicks and shifting mechanisms made by the Legionnaires. The makeshift workbench was sprawling with guns, explosives and a semi-large case at the very end, clearly a sensitive tool of the Empire. Orion's attention turned toward the men, his eyes averting from the chaos that erupted in seconds on the beaches.

"Let's hope you do better than last time Cade," the Legionnaire said, his hand extending out toward the new recruit with a gun hanging from the strap.
"Better...." Cade's voice was almost a whisper. "Yeah, does it get easier?" he asked, finally grabbing the lengthy gun from his comrade.
"Never." Jin said, out of turn. "But...the killing, that's the easy part."
"Enough outta you three, we've got our detail, we stop them from advancing and give the rest of our guys a better shot." The voice slipped out from the darker side of the nightly shadows, a larger Legionnaire without his helmet, showing the one sign to tell him apart from the others, Horns. The Devaronian went by the name of Gex, his real name left behind on the thousands of battlefields before this one. "Cade, let's see some good shots. Jin, you back up our commander for the night."
"What about me?" flow asked. The Mk. III armor reflected back at the moon with a painted black canvas.
"Flow, you're with me." Gex said, his face tuning to a brutish grin as he stepped toward the ledge after grabbing his weapons and helmet.
"You got it sir!" all three said, baring their weapons and waiting for the lone figure, Orion Darkstar to give the order.

Their banter was useless, he thought as he acknowledged all of them with a nod. It was enough to tell them everything they needed to know. Like birds perched at the highest peak of a tree, without fear: they jumped leaving Jin and Orion behind. They knew what they had to do for the greater good of the Empire. Defending the Refinery on Hoth was a huge task, key points that made up strategic economic relief to other worlds that were under their influence. It had to be maintained and kept within the Empire's grasp. Orion wouldn't falter. He looked down at the Legionnaire Jin.

"You ready?" Orion asked, making sure he didn't jump without his detailed backup.
"Yes, Mr. Darkstar...I mean commander."
"Let's go."

Orion could feel the pressure of the darkside, tugging at him like a silk cloth. He wanted to embrace it, but instead felt the metal embrace of another form of destructive power. An assault rifle. Gex had given it to him on purpose, fully knowing how dirty it would get on the beach. They were good men, through and through. Orion knew he was a different breed from them. He would much rather be doing research or finding new samples to toy around with for the greater improvements of his own creations or future ones. Either way, he didn't wish for war, he ended them. Orion had been through so many bouts that the very core of his soul was tainted with blood of victory and defeat, some memories were deeper than others. Holding the gun only reminded him how quickly something could take a life. Just as quickly as he could call on the force. Still, the front half of his mask shifted into view as it snapped into place, his helmet hissing before he jumped off the cliff and down into the hellish war. Jin followed, his heart skipping a beat before finally reaching the ground safely, propulsion jets lifting him and easing the landing.

Orion tucked himself behind a large redwood trump, the bark stretching to the other side of him. Bolts of blue and red slipped by him, sparks generated from the impact against the stone behind them. It was clear to him now as his helmet sprung to life, the HUD locking onto a small group of invaders. The stock of the rifle pressed against his shoulder, his head tucking inward toward the scope. The bright reticle popped with a green scanner, the night vision locking in on his first target. his breathing remained steady. His finger caressed the trigger softly, his breath abruptly stopping. An exhale and a tighter pull fling the bolt forward like a crimson spear of justice.

These heretics would die. ​

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