Operation Riptide - TNO assault on Kamino

[Joran Greth]

Joran Greth looked out into the hazy skys of Kamino. The constant rain and mist made seeing anything in the soup near impossible. The massive Evakmar slowly descended through the rainy atmosphere for Tipoca City. The Kaminoans had been more than excited when Greth had first approached them with the possibility of ordering a hundred thousand clones. Such an order must have been a rare occurrence on the rainy world. Greth knew the demand for clones was not as high as centuries ago. The Evakmar was large enough to carry the hundred thousand clones and had been allowed to enter the world safely bypassing the defense fleet above the world and its orbital defenses. The ship had been scanned by the Golan battle station as it approached but had found nothing. Once they touched down he was sure the security forces would want to search the massive ship. That was fine it would take them hours and they would never find the ships true purpose. The New Order was here to take possession of clones. That was what anyone looking at the ship would see. Greth had spent months working out the deal. The weeks after working out the true plan for his trip to Kamino.

"We have ben cleared to land Moff Greth." said the captain of the Evakmar assault ship. Greth nodded and watched the city appear out of the misty rain as the ship moved into landing position. The massive ship set down with a thud that shook the deck below Jorans feet. He turned and began to walk out of the command center and down to the lower hanger and the ramps which were now deploying.

"Captain, the ship is yours, I am going down to speak with our hosts." Said Greth as the captain sounded off with a "Yes Sir". The lift ride down the three hundred meters tot he lower hanger took a minute and the walk from there to the ramp took another five. The massive lower hanger of the vessel stretched out almost eight hundred meters in the distance awaiting the clones to be loaded. Greth reached the hanger and saw the group of Kaminoans at the bottom awaiting him. He grined for a moment thinking about what was about to happen. The idea of the pale long-necked aliens burning made pleased him. These creatures were unnatural, Not humanoid at all. IN his mind he envisioned killing off the race. Setting fire to their atmosphere and leaving it dye in ash and cinder. The thought passed and reality set in, he could not kill them. They were too useful, for The New Order to rise out of obscurity and take the outer rim as its own he would need the Kaminoans and their clones.

"Greetings Moff Greth, Welcome to Kamino." said one of the aliens as Greth stepped off the ramp and onto the platform. The wind and mist washed over him spritzing him with moist sea water. Below he could hear the waves slamming against the support pylons and the wash of water filling the void as the waved moved away.

"Thank you minister Ky. I trust you have my order complete and ready for delivery?" said Greth getting right o the point. He looked around at the city in the distance. Knowing what was coming he smiled and shook the Kaminoan's hand.

"Of course Moff Greth, Your Order is complete and ready for loading. It will take awhile , you understand. Moving a hundred thousand clones is a daunting endeavor. I see your payment has not cleared yet. I will need for you to finalize the payment and we can begin loading the clones on your vessel." said the Kaminoan Minister. Greth nodded then took the data pad from the man and entered in his access code. The payment cleared then began its work. The code had done more than access TNO's account. t had installed a packet spawner which would begin attacking the Kaminoans computer core. It was not anything noticeable at first. The Daemon program slowly constructed itself and waited for the trigger to be given.

"Shall we wait aboard my ship while the clones are loaded? I have a very nice vintage from alderran I have been saving for a special occasion. This seems to be such." asked Greth as he considered the next move. The four walked up the ramp and tot he lift. The ride was short as they had just went to the upper hanger area and the ready room which had been adapted into a meeting room.

"Please have a seat. Minister, I hope the drink is to your liking," said Greth as he motioned for the aids to give the Kaminoans their drinks. Each sat at the table nd waited for Joran to sit himself. It was standard political protocol for them to wait for the host to drink first. Greth took a sip from his glass and watched the other follow. Greth nodded to each and took another drink and typed in a set of commands into his wrist dta watch. The command simply red "GO"

 

[Wesley Vos]

Crammed in the tiny shielded compartment built within the bowls of the massive cargo ship, Captain Racen Selere of the Imperial Special Forces cursed. Because there was barely room for him to move without elbowing another trooper, he cursed quietly. A steady stream of curses, one after the other, with no real meaning other than to express his displeasure at this particular arrangement.

Forty-eight men and women were stuffed into a room barely large enough to hold half that comfortably. ​There's only enough material to shield one, Colonel Vos had said. Well, Selere thought, ​then cram your kriffing shebs in here with us, you shabuir!​ Selere wasn't Mandalorian, but their language was a useful one to know. Enough fine swear words to curse the entire Imperial high command and have some left over for the kriffing Republic, too.

The woman next to him - an Ensign Lomax, he believed - shifted slightly, creating a ripple effect that ran all the way around the room. ​Kriffing Colonel​, Selere thought. He himself tried shifting a bit, and his massive bulk created more of a stir than the slight girl had. His repeater knocked into somebody's helmet, and he heard a mutter over the comm. "Turn that bloody thing off, you kriffing or'dinii! No comms!"

A moment later, he heard an affirmative, "Done, sir, sorry, sir."

Selere shook his head. ​Kriffing di'kut​.

As the ship touched down, Selere thought back over the conversation he'd had with the Colonel before they left. The objectives here were simple, at least in theory. Get off the ship without being detected. Locate the control centers of at least one cloning facility. Secure as many as possible without detection. In particular, Selere was to lead his own Grey Squadron to securing Cloning Center CX-342, in particular the databank of genetic samples. Why, he wasn't told, and hadn't asked. But there was, apparently, something of particular interest to Colonel Vos there.

Time passed. Selere flicked over to a Kamino-standard clock on his HUD. 0930 hours. With another flick, he pulled up an internal playlist of songs from his native Kuat and selected a few calming ones. This many troopers packed into this close of a space tended to get him nervous.

Then the command flashed in the top center of his HUD. ​​Flashed in red, as though he wouldn't have seen it, as though he didn't have the years of training and experience to know to watch for it. ​GO.​ ​It was 1012 hours.

Flicking off the music, he opened his external mic. "Go time. You know your orders. Let's move."

***​

Getting off the ship was the easy part. The Kaminoans didn't have much in the way of security. A few gauntlet blades in some unsuspecting guards, and they were in the clear. Eleven others followed Selere towards his target, while the other three squads split off towards their own objectives. Red Squad had the central communications hub. Black had the security center. Green had another cloning site. Black-armored shapes fanned out and slipped over the edges of the platform, suspended by climbing equipment and grapplers. Gray squadron made their way rapidly along the smooth sides of the platform and buildings. Before long, they'd reached their destination. Selere pulled up a countdown timer on his HUD and sent a short burst message to the other squad commanders. 10:00.​ Then the timer began to count down.

 

[Joran Greth]

Joran Greth sat at the conference table with the Kaminoan delegations going over the finer points of their deal. 100,000 clones was not a small order and the Kaminoans wanted to emphasise this fact. The price tag was not important as Greth knew the money would be coming back to him. The Future relations with eh clone world was what the Kaminoans were concerned about. They wanted Greth to know that in the future they would need substantially more time to produce such a large order. Greth looked down at his chrono, then to a display of the line upon line of clone troopers now marching up the ramp into the ship.

"Moff Greth we appreciate your commerce and Hope that in the future you will understand the delay order fulfilment in delivery." said the Kaminoan minister. Greth nodded in affirmation that he understood what the man was saying then smiled. The thin grin cracked a bit as he contemplated what was about to happen. He felt it was time to let the cat out of the bag. He pressed a button on his chrono and the doors to the room burst open. Burgandy armor clad figures came through the doors pointing blasters at the Kaminoans surrounding the table which that all sit. The Imperial Marines took up position without a word and waited for the evitable reaction of the long-necked aliens. The Kaminoans were caught off guard and began looking around the room as the marines filled the room. The minister paused then looked at Greth with anger. He jumped up out of his seat and shouted at Joran, "What is the meaning of this Moff Greth." said the minister as two troopers grabbed his shoulders slamming him back into his seat.

"This is a hostile takeover Minister," said Greth as he took a sip of his tea.

[member="Wesley Vos"]

 

[Wesley Vos]

The timer on Selere's HUD ticked down.

3...2...1...0.

Flipping on his internal comm, he simply said, "Go."

To his left, Lieutenant Vin Ordin, designation Gray 3, put the final touches on the demolitions tape he'd been attaching to the cloning facility's outer wall. Sidling away, he ducked his head and gave a remote command. With a bright red flash, the tape burned through the outer and inner wall, dropping a sheet of durasteel to the floor some ten feet below.

Selere was the first through the opening, dropping with a thud as his armor absorbed most of the fall. Rolling to his feet, he brought his repeater up and scanned for threats. Most of what faced him was shocked scientists and cloners. As the rest of Gray Squad dropped to the floor around him, Selere flicked on his external mic and said, "Hands in the air. We'll be assuming control of this facility."

Moments later, the other eleven squad members had secured the entrances to the facility and, with some slight disappointment at the lack of a firefight, they settled in to hold the building until the Imperial fleet could arrive.

It was 1025.

 

[Ak'lya]

Kamino was under attack, and Strask could do nothing.

The Imperium would no longer listen to him, and now the viceroy had disappeared. The dream they had once had had vanished with Alexander. Wherever the man had gone, the Bothan hoped he never returned. He wouldn't be welcome.

Sighing, he limped off to his ship. He was leaving Zenith Prime. He had enough on his conscious, he couldn't take this. Not anymore.

It was time for this old spy to retire. Maybe he'd go run that company.

 

[Wesley Vos]

At the security center, Captain Rhytrian Thrahn paused as the message came over his HUD from Captain Selere. Taking a deep breath, he slipped his head slowly over the edge of the rooftop and glanced at the two guards below. Both were human - mercenaries, probably, or else from the Imperium. Sliding back silently, he made a sign for Black Three to join him.

Lieutenant Orron Berav, designated Black Three, was the unarmed combat specialist in the squad, and he was very good at what he did. They needed to eliminate and dispose of the guards without them getting off a warning. Pointing over the ledge, Thrahn indicated the guards, and Berav understood. Quickly, he dropped of the ledge, landing directly on the first guard and using the man's body to break his fall. As the man fell, limp and likely dead, Berav rolled to his feet and drove his fingers into the second guard's windpipe, the durable armor crushing the delicate throat even as the man was raising his comlink to his lips. That one also fell, choking and gasping until Berav stuck his gauntlet blade through the man's eye.

Black Four, 2nd Lieutenant Jallo Andar, was right behind Berav down the wall. In moments, demolition tape was attached to the door. When the rest of the squad was stacked, Thrahn gave the nod, and the door blew inwards. Thrahn and Captain Gar Tillian, his counterpart on the other side of the door, tossed flash grenades in on the heels of the explosion, just ahead of a diving Third Flight, commanded by Captain Jaa Pellis. Inside, blaster shots could be heard. As soon as the four troopers from Third Flight were inside, Thrahn followed.

And immediately took a blaster bolt to the chest. It didn't penetrate his armor, but it did send him stumbling to the side and into a security console. Behind him, Lieutenant Jakar, his wingman, laced the room with blaster fire, giving him time to stumble to his feet. By that time, the rest of the squadron had entered the building, and more than half the Kaminoan security forces were down. Within minutes, it was all over, the last guard having been subdued. The security of Tipoca City was in the hands of the New Order.

It was 1026.

 

[Wesley Vos]

At the communications center, Captain Nabatt Nyang received the command from Selere and didn't waste any time. The demolitions tape already in place, Nyang gave the order, and Lieutenant Kenth Cardin blew the roof.

Not the whole roof, of course, but a large enough chunk to send duracrete crashing down on those inside. Red Squadron formed around the edges of the hole and laced the room with blaster fire, killing anything that moved. The center was reduced to lifelessness in mere heartbeats.

Dropping down inside, Nyang surveyed the damage. Many of the consoles had been hit in the fire, which was just as well - they didn't want any messages going offworld, or even off-city, anytime soon. But it appeared that most of the wiring for in-city communications was still intact. Flipping on his helmet comm, Nyang said, "Four, jam all non-TNO frequencies. I don't want these centers talking to each other."

Lieutenant Jehuff Nerkin, designation Red Four, stepped forward quickly and began working. As good as Nerkin was, jamming communications wouldn't take long. Then they could be comms free, and Kamino would be theirs.

It was 1027.

 

[Joran Greth]

Joran Greth set across the table from the enraged Kominoan delegation smiling as they spoke to each other. They had reacted as expected to the news that The New Order was taking over their production facilities. Any race would react as such to a hostile takeover, Greth had planned for their reaction and knew what he had to sale would not be meet with accepting minds at first. But once the long necked aliens realized they had no choice they would come around.

An officer walked into the conference room and up to Joran He leaned over and whispered something in his ear the Kaminoans struggled to hear but could not. The man stood and walked out of the room leaving Greth with the same patient smile he had worn before he had entered. Greth took a drink from the glass before him and spoke, breaking the silence that had been going on since the messengers departure.

"Minister, I am sure you and your delegation are thirsty, please have a drink." Greth said motioning to an aide standing against the side wall. The Kaminoan leader scoffed at him with clear anger in his eyes. "And let you poison us, no thank you Moff Greth, we are fine." The man's response was rational, Greth considered how he would feel in the aliens situation. He nodded to the man to pour him a glass of the liquid and drank from it showing the alien it was indeed not poisonous. "I assure you Minister, I am not here to kill you or your people. My disagreement is with the Zenith Imperium installed security and command structure. You and your people are entirely safe. I am holding you here in an attempt to keep you safe. The forces of the imperium must be purged from the system and your world and we do not want you or your people hurt." said Greth setting the glass on the table and motioning for his aid to pour the aliens a glass of their own. The aliens sat quietly at first then relaxed and drank from their glasses.

"You are not in any harm here minister, If I wanted you dead I would have just killed you from above with an orbital bombardment when my fleet arrives. Believe it or not we are only attempting to shut down your facilities while we liberate your world from the Zenith Imperium's grip. We can not have them so close and give them such a tool as your clones. So please minister bear with me, I am sure we will have the situation cleared up in a few hours and you and your world can go back to producing your wares. OF course we will leave a security force here to make sure the Imperium's people do not try to retake the world." said Greth eyeing the aliens reaction to everything he was saying. The alien was silent again for what seemed like a full minute before he responded. "SO you are saying you will protect us from the people who are not protecting us from you." said the minister harshly. Greth took another sip from his glass and replied.

"Yes, exactly. I knew you would understand." said greth with a grin. He knew the man did not mean his words the way Greth was receiving them. It was the act of turning his words around to mean nothing other than understanding, the act of taking the harsh anger out of them that Greth knew might enrage the man. The Kaminoan minister huffed and slammed his hands on the desk. "I demand to be set free immediately, and for you and your people to leave my world!" said the alien loudly. The anger in him was swelling and Greth knew the next bit of news would burst what ever hope the man had for his world expelling The New Order.

"My aid just informed me of something I think you may want to know Minister, Before you make any harsh demands or accusations. It seems your Zenith Imperium has forsaken you. I have verifiable proof that the leader of the Imperium has fled Zenith Prime and Imperium space. Strask Ak'lya is gone minister, and he left the Imperium to ruin and you and your world open to attack from any pirate or criminal organization who would see profit in attacking you It is a dangerous place here int he outer rim minister, and We are going to bring order to it with or without your help. We will keep the fox out of your hen house. Once the imperium fleet above the world is dealt with, You and your people will be released. Until them please enjoy my hospitality." said Greth as the smile disappeared from his face and a stern flat lined expression replaced it.

 

[Lash]

On the edge of the Kamino system Lash and Bluesteel squadron sat with the combined forces of other assault forces sent by The New Order. The group had its orders and the chrono ticking down on the large display was nearing zero.

"Admiral, all elements have reported in. We are go for jump." said the jump officer now working to ready the ship to jump the short distance into the Kamino system. Lash nodded without a word and watched the chrono tick. the New IFW Victory-class was a modern marvel of design and construction. The most advanced ship Lash and his Chiss engineers had conceived to date. In the distance Lash looked out on anther ship much like the new Victory variant. The IFE Victory-class was the muscle of the group. It was newly launched and was more modern and advanced than any ship produced to date by any power in the galaxy. The ship was works of R and D art. The IFW Victory-class with its multiple bays and hangers and its massive armament was the perfect warship with a formidable mix of fighters, assault capabilities. and beat down the door firepower.

"Very well jump us in, Inform the other commanders we are go." said Lash. A moment later the ships of Blue Steal and the other New Order squadrons disappeared from space as they jumped to Kamino.

 

[Wesley Vos]

Captain Maximus Lomax saw the command pop up on his HUD and wasted no time. Pressing the detonator himself, he ducked as the door to the cloning complex blew inwards. "Go!" he yelled, and the eleven other members of Green Squadron poured into the facility, weapons ready.

Lomax was the last in. That was unusual for him, but the particular approach of this facility had made it necessary. There were only two walkways to the door, one a narrow catwalk around the facility, suspended above the waves, and one the direct entrance. His men had stacked up on the catwalk, and in order to be out of the blast radius he'd needed to be down the main walkway. As he entered, Captain Rissa Kraken, designation Green Five, saluted. "No resistance, sir," she said. "The scientists have been apprehended and are contained. No weapons detected."

Lomax frowned. ​No weapons​? he thought. That doesn't seem right.​ "Check them again, Captain," he ordered. "Look for anything that stinks of a bioweapon, too. Can't be too careful."

Kraken saluted, then about-faced and marched towards the captured cloners. Max shook his head. That one still has too much regular military in her​, he thought with some chagrin. Made sense, of course. Her father had been a high-ranking bureaucrat in the old Atrisian Empire. Had even claimed control of part of it at one point. And nobody had more of a stick up his rear than that guy did​, Lomax thought. Rissa had gotten some of that from her old man, but if she stuck around, she'd soon lose it.

His own history was less distinguished, but it had been enough to land him command of a squadron. He'd been a member of the Atrisian military as well, and had been in command of an infantry detachment on some Force-forsaken backwater world. He'd been given orders, suicidal orders, and he'd refused them to save the men in his detachment. They'd won the battle, but he'd deserted that day rather than face execution for disobeying orders. "Soldiers aren't supposed to question orders​,"​ he remembered hearing over the comm from his superior. "You aren't paid to think, just to obey!"

Well, he'd found a place now where he could think. Where his opinion counted, and his superior was willing to listen when the situation changed. And Colonel Wesley Vos had won his undying loyalty as a result.

Lomax waved his troops forward. They had to finish securing this facility before the fleet arrived. It was time to move.

It was 1031.

 

[Marcus Antonius]

The Clone Masters did not have any weapons. They were scientists. Creators. Not destroyers. In one room in particular, they were working on a special project. A testament to their skills and abilities. They carefully had gone into reconstructing the ancient genetic and neural structures needed. If this clone functioned properly, it would be a testament to the scope of tasks they could accomplish.

However, it was at this critical juncture, the Kommandos came storming in.

“Hands up! Hands up or I will shoot!” The Kommando barked as the Clone Masters jumped to. They looked at one another in confusion as to how these interlopers made it this far without there being so much as an alarm. One stepped forward as if to protest but balked when the blaster was aimed firmly at his head.

“I SAID UP!” The Kommando yelled louder this time. Begrudgingly, they all raised their hands and prepared themselves for what was to come. All except one who was busy working away still at his terminal by the cylinder.

“I said hands up! Away from the Cylinder!” The Kommando ordered as he approached the Master, his blaster firmly on him.

“I can’t! If I leave now the buffer shall collapse! There will be no way to reconstruct it!” The Clone Master pleaded as he busily worked on keeping the data stream intact. For his effort, he was rewarded a butt of a rifle that knocked him to the ground. The Kommando loomed over him.

“Last warning. You move for that console again I WILL shoot to kill.” The Kommando threatened. The Clone Master looked towards the tube as the creature within turned, almost invisible in the opaque liquid within.

It hung in the warm embrace of the goo, a mechanical womb, ignorant of what it was. Blind to everything outside by the gentle thrum of the machines around it. Blind even to itself. And in this ignorance it was left to do nothing but dream. Dreams of a Galaxy eight hundred years dead. Dreams of Palpatine and Vader. Dreams of Thrawn and Pellaeon. Dreams of an Empire. And most importantly of all, dreams of a Captain caught up in all of that.

Captain Marcus Antonius of the 37th Fleet. The commander of the ISD Brazen. It dreamt of how he had commanded that ship. The way he interacted with his staff, and how he led his crew in battle. It dreamt of great battles and how Antonius had guided his ship through them, in victory and defeat. It dreamt of systems and machines and how they all were used.

It dreamt it was this long dead man. It dreamt so long, and so vividly, it began to believe it.

Until suddenly the dreams stopped. It’s eyes shot open, and took in sight for the first time. There was nothing but a blur of light. It tried to breath, and all it got was a lung full of the goo. It tried to hack and cough but all that did was allow more of the goo in. The tube that once felt so warm, and inviting suddenly felt cramped and terrifying. It began to slam its hands against the side of the tank. It wanted to roar, and scream, but all that came out was a stifled gurgling.

Suddenly, its world turned a brilliant crimson and there was a horrible crashing noise. Everything swirled around it and it went crashing along with it. Out of the goo and into the air and on to the hard metal grates of the floor beyond its world. It lay there for a while, retching and coughing out what remained of the world it knew from its lungs. Then, with a rush, the air entered its lungs and it took its first true breath.

It looked up with its eyes for the first time and took in the room. The figures. And the trooper with a blaster aimed squarely at his head.

“What is it?” The Kommando asked the Clone Masters, trying to decide if it was something worth saving or putting out of its misery.

“A demonstration model.” The one Clone Master who had been working at the Tube answered sullenly, his pale face crestfallen from his failure. “We intended to show it to your leaders, Imperial, of what we could accomplish. We took an ancient genetic sample and mental image we had from centuries ago, at the start of the Galactic Civil War, and refurbished it.”

It had begun to stir, trying to move its limbs but finding itself unable to do so. It would have cursed its inability to move if not for its inability to talk as well. It could only stare around dumbly as the others talked of it like it was some landspeeder at the dealership. It would scream, but it could not find a way to do so. All that game out was a pained gurgling noise.

“Clone, what is your designation?” The Kommando ordered of the thing on the ground.

“M… M…” It managed to get through its lips, trying to form a word but being unable to do so.

“MARC-0038.” The Clone Master answered for it. “We were in the process of mapping its neural network when you interrupted us. Its mind may have been shattered like our tank in your blundering.”

The Trooper didn’t take well to being insulted and smacked the Clone Master again with his rifle for good measure. The Clone Master held its narrow jaw as a small stream of crimson blood tainted its otherwise perfectly pale skin. The Clone Master took things with a surprising stride. “We need to do some work on it to stabilize its condition. We are unarmed and no risk to you. Let us have the chance to salvage our work. Please.”

The Kommando stood for a moment. His helmet obstructing his facial expression.

“No funny business.” The Kommando growled, waving his rifle at them.

The Clone Master gathered up the debilitated clone and helped it towards one of the nearby table and went to work.

 

[Wesley Vos]

Captain Selere watched as the Kaminoan led the clone to a nearby table. His Kommandos had things well in hand, with Lieutenant Brin keeping careful watch on the clone and its master to ensure there would be no disruptions. By the entrance, Lieutenants vin Ordin and Croft knelt, weapons ready, prepared to defend and alert should any non-Imperials approach. Captain Long was at one of the nearby terminals, attempting to slice the system to get access to the clone database - once done, the information would be beamed via holotransciever to Colonel Vos. Lieutenant Pavan was treating minor injuries to some of the scientists and to Lieutenant Gracus, who had taken a blaster bolt to his armor from the only armed guard in the facility. It hadn't penetrated the energy-resistant Kommando suit, but the bruise it caused left Gracus gasping for breath.

On the other side of the facility, Lieutenants Finnall and Kimeln were attempting to repair a shattered comm transceiver, which had apparently been struck by a stray blaster bolt in the initial assault. The rest of the squad watched the prisoners or relaxed near the entrance, prepared to come to the sentries' aid if necessary. In all, the assault had been a resounding success. Now all they had to do was hold.

 

[Wesley Vos]

On board the Imperial Special Forces own Victory​-class Star Destroyer, designated VSD Tyrant​, the commander of the Imperial Special Forces, Colonel Wesley Vos, paced restlessly. The assault was supposed to have begun a half hour ago, 1030 Tipoca City time, and he had not yet received any communication from his squads. The entire Kommando unit was on the ground, each with a designated target, and he was worried, both for their success and their safety. The time it would take to train new Kommandos was not time he could afford. And Captain Selere was a friend. The commander of Gray Squadron had been given command of this mission, despite Captain Thrahn of Black being slightly senior, as Selere was simply better at ground ops. Thrahn had accepted with dignity, but Wes knew he chafed at being subordinate to someone he usually commanded. At least their missions were independent of one another. Hopefully tensions would ease over time.

The minutes ticked by, and still Wes waited for confirmation. Red Squadron was supposed to secure the communications facility and contact him once they had control of the city's (and therefore the planet's) communications network. And after they insured that Black Squadron had subdued and secured the security facility. Neither operation should have taken more than a few minutes, yet as it closed on an hour, Wes became visibly anxious. He snapped at several subordinates, a display of emotion he rarely if ever permitted himself, and his pacing grew quicker. Then, at 1121 Kaminoan time, the message flashed onto the holoscreen on the bridge.

TIPOCA COMMUNICATIONS SECURE. PREPARED FOR INVASION.

Wes smiled and turned to Senior Captain Typton, commander of the Tyrant ​and coordinator for the SS Fleet. "Captain, signal all vessels. Prepare for hyperspace. Set coordinates for Kamino."

As the message went out, the ISF fleet - fourteen capital ships in all - began aligning themselves along the ​Tyrant​'s path. Then, almost as one, the ships leaped forward, accelerating past lightspeed, headed towards the ocean world of Kamino and the beginning of a new Imperial era.

It was 1135.

 

[Marcus Antonius]

It howled as the Clone Master held it down, and tried to hook wires and tubes into it. It lashed as the pain and the prodding, but eventually the other scientists had him held down. With a whirring noise his limbs were lashed and he was held tight against the metal table.

“Can’t you stop that yelling?” The Kommando snarled at the noise and distraction that filled the room with distrust.

“Its mind is fragile. If we sedate it, we may not be able to return it to consciousness. It must stay awake and aware until we are done. Hopefully we may calm the storm of its mind and find it tether.” The Clone Master said, as he ran a hand over the clone’s head. Its eyes darted about the room.

The Clone Master then began demanding for certain equipment to be brought, and combinations of chemicals and medicines. They brought up a variety of screens and monitors. The swirling mess of dreams and nightmares in its mind rose to a fever pitch. The pain of the body and the chaos of the mind just tore at it.

“Mental network is distressed. Flashing of identity did not hold. Flashing of orders did not hold.” One the Clone Master’s servants said looking at one of the monitors. The neural net had been old and vulnerable. The sudden removal of the Clone put its mind into a spiral.

“Internal Organs at 95% development. Digestive tract not completely developed. Heart and lungs seem complete.” Another said. The digestive tract was one of the last things that were developed, the clone lived on nutrient paste until it was nearly ready to be deployed.

“I shall try to repair the neural network. It will not be what it was meant to be, it is tainted. But it may be worked to operation.” The Clone Master said as it probed the mind of the damaged creature writhing on the table.

The Human mind was a strange thing. One could build a complete clone, but without any thoughts or memories it would become a vegetable. One could try to program it entirely with what one needed but then one ended up with something not much better than a droid. A Human mind needed experience to draw off of to make the person and their decisions. One could try to create these artificially, but it was impossible to adequately capture the details.

It made the most sense to use an existent neural network then to create a clone. But the problem is with the complexity of a neural network that any sort of damage can be catastrophic. A slight tweak to different experiences could turn an able commander to a coward. Or worse, it could drive them completely insane.

To create a useful body was very easy. It was simple biology. But to make a function psyche? That was far more art than science.

And that Kommando had taken the vase of MARC-0038’s mind and shattered it against the wall.

The Clone Master tried to create a patchwork of what was left of the now damaged neural network on their computers as well as what had been implanted in its mind before the incident. The man’s strategic memories, the so called Primary Memories, had been implanted successfully. But his personal life, the Secondary Memories, were a muddled mess. These could be supplemented.

But the real problem had been that Command Flashing hadn’t even begun yet. This Clone would have none of the programmed safeties and orders into its subconscious. There would be no way to command this clone unless it wished to be commanded.

It was a nerve wracking proposition for a clone without properly constructed Secondary Memories to compel it. Especially a military model. There was no guarantee it wouldn’t go rogue. The thing in the life of their original template that had compelled them to live the life they lived may well be lost. The clone could even decide that he would want to become a musician. There would be no guarantees.

The best thing the Clone Master could do was shore up the psyche of the clone the best he could based on the original template’s profile. He would try his best to avoid specifics, to allow the plasticity of the mind to fill in the gaps with its previous experiences. A sense of a good childhood. A love of, but not obsession with, its parental figures. A general sense of dedication to order. Good feelings about fitness and exercise.

A delicate balancing act of stacking on memories and thoughts and impressions into the holes in its mind. To put enough to fill the hole, but not so much that the weight of it pulls the psyche down. To give the foundations of the officer it was programmed to be now that the other had been turned away.

And as he worked, the screaming began to soften. And eventually it stopped.

 

[Zark San Tekka]

0830.

Second Lieutenant Derru Allen was the last one out of the prefab barracks hastily constructed at the temporary staging ground high command had set up within striking distance of Kamino. The rain came down in buckets, a near constant on a planetoid that been selected with purely tactical concerns in mind, and their commanding officers had told them that the area of operations was also highly prone to such inclement weather patterns, so it was good for them to adjust.

Allen had not been distracted or slow to prepare, there was not much room for milling about under the command of Wesley Vos, but it seemed that morning everything had gone wrong at once. Although he fully expected harsh disciplinary action from Captain Lomax, it was preferable to the possible negligence charges he could face for failing to properly maintain his equipment.

Still fiddling with the particularly stubborn communications package as he double timed it towards the mustering point and awaiting cargo vessel, he did not see the other Kommando before he had almost walked right into the man.

“Excuse me,” he said curtly, activating his external comms as he looked up, “I’m in a hurry, Lieutenant…”

His voice trailed off as he glanced down at the words ‘ALLEN’ stenciled on the other man’s armor.

“I don’t-”

Two muffle cracking noises in quick succession cut him off. Allen looked down at the strange looking slugthrower that had appeared between them in the other Kommando’s hand, particularly fascinated by the attachment at the end of its barrel. Some sort of suppressor, he idly speculated, as he watched the blood began to drip from the seam in his armor plating.

“-understand….” he finished weakly, his voice barely a murmer.

“I’m sorry,” was the last thing Derru heard before the other Lieutenant Allen yanked back his helmet and shot him in the neck.


Months Ago.

“Cipher Zero, come in please.”

The voice in his head was electronically modulated, but the measured matter-of-fact delivery nonetheless felt comically out of place in the crowded city bazaar filled with a hundred different cries in Basic, not to mention the guttural tones of lesser languages. Then there was the acrid smell of recent blaster fire, and the shriller cries of alarm and panicked faces closer by.

“Cipher Zero, respond.”

“A little busy, Watcher Thirteen,” Zero whispered, shoving his way past two startled Ithorians and ignoring their indignant babble, “Stand by.”

The sea of sentients parted in front of him momentarily, and Zero was forced to duck behind a nearby vendor’s stall as his target fired off several more quick shots to fend off his pursuer, missing the mark but scoring a flesh wound on a nearby market browser. Anarchy took hold once more all around him as those close enough in earshot to hear the shots for what they were over the roar of the bazaar scattered.

“One of these days, Cipher Zero,” the voice persisted, just as calm as before, “You are going to have to reveal just how it is you can tell us apart.”

The target was getting away, and Zero began to fear for the first time that the man might elude him in such a crowd. By some providence, however, the cipher agent had managed to keep pace with him this far after being made. And just how had he managed that, he wondered not for the first time. They were reaching the edge of the bazaar, and duracrete buildings were beginning to line the pavement.

“An interrogation to look forward to, I’m sure,” he quipped at his handler, a wolfish grin slowly spreading across his face as he veered off behind one of the structures and began to climb with uncanny dexterity.

The dignitary gasped, picking himself up off the street as he recovered from essentially tackling a now extremely irate Toydarian. He fired several more shots behind him before his panic deepened as he realized he had lost sight of the tail. The young human sprinted several more blocks before veering left into a side street, hoping against hope that he had just gotten extremely lucky.

Hope slowly grew into confidence and then near certainty by the time he neared the end of the alley. The noise behind him registered dimly, but it was the feeling of knives exploding through the back of his leg into his kneecap and then radiating throughout the rest of his body like nothing he had ever felt before that caught his attention.

The scream was muffled as the target’s face struck the pavement, and Zero grinned once more as he stowed the suppressed slugthrower to make the slow climb down the fire escape from the building’s roof. Resetting the zoom factor on his ocular implants, he reactivated the comm package built into his ear canal.

“Zero here, apologies Thirteen,” he said, no longer bothering to lower his voice, “I take it you’re here for a status update?”

“Prescient as always, Cipher Zero,” came the response, and despite the technical reality Zero was fairly certain he could detect faint amusement in her (he was pretty sure Thirteen was a her) voice, “Well?”

“Target acquired,” he said, leaping the last few meters down to street level and producing his slugthrower once more, “Confirm parameters?”

“Code black operation confirmed. Execute.”

As Zero approached the moaning dignitary, still trying to crawl away on his hands and one good leg. Sensing the presence behind him, the man rolled over onto his back with a sharp cry of pain and stared daggers of hatred at Zero, obscured by the shadow of the building behind him and the twin suns above as he was.

“Gloria-” was all the wounded man managed before the muffled pops of the slugthrower echoed strangely off the alley walls, two shots to the chest and another in the head.

“Your Imperium’s days are numbered,” Zero said aloud to the still smoking corpse, but something about the word he had used bothered him. It was not a phrase he had ever known the Zenith to use before. In fact, it almost reminded him of something else entirely. Keying back on his comms, he found himself staring down at the body instead of starting right away for the extraction.

“Target out of play,” was all he said, still distracted.

“Excellent work, Cipher Zero,” the watcher replied, “Make way to extraction and prepare for immediate redeployment. Its down from Keeper himself, this one is priority omega.”

Omega, eh? Zero thought idly, trying to remember how many times an omega had come his way and not sure if he liked the coincidence.

“Cipher Zero, is something wrong? Dozens of reports streaming into local authorities of shots fired your vicinity, and our tracker reads you as stationary.”

“Moving, Thirteen,” he replied, shaken from his reverie, but before he did he noticed something that caught his eye.

Crouching down next to the dead dignitary, he activated his ocular implants once more and saw something in the ruined crater that had been the young man’s face. Using the suppressor of his sidearm to sift through some cartilage, his implants caught something that chilled him to his core.

“Cipher Zero to Thirteen,” he stammered into his comm as he ran out of the alley and towards extraction, “Come in, Thirteen.”

“This is Watcher Six, Thirteen is on another Cipher. Go ahead, Zero.”

“Confirming last transmission, orders direct from Keeper,” he said, struggling to keep his tone casual.

“One moment, Zero,” Six replied followed by a burst of static he was experienced enough to recognize as an exasperated sigh, “Confirming, priority omega. Please refrain from further nonessential communication, Watcher Six out.”

“Good,” Zero said, to no one in particular, “good.”

He had some questions for Keeper, starting with why the man he had just been ordered to execute had ocular implants and a comms package just like his. Why he had just killed another cipher agent.


1015.

The cargo ride in had been the easy part, discomfort notwithstanding. The space was too cramped and the stress levels were too high for any of the Kommandos around him to be too perceptive of their surroundings. Only concerned with their fellows in so much as they elbowed back and forth anytime they moved.

The moment Captain Selere had piped the order to begin through his stolen helmet was when Zero had to be careful. To hitch a ride in a soldier’s gear was one thing, but from the moment they touched the platform Zero had to move like them, fight like them, think like them. The Kommandos had the coordination only the nature of their service could provide, and he knew the clock was ticking not only in his heads up display but until they discovered the imposter in their midst.

The sea air was strong enough to penetrate his mask’s filter, and as his feet touched down on their ingress point and the crashing waves and alien spires finally came into view, Zero was reminded of the first time he had been to Kamino, those months ago. He fell in with Green Squad, making his way to both their and his objective, but in his mind Zero was somewhere else.

He remembered Tipoca City, and the last conversation he had had with Keeper.

 

[Lash]

Blue Steel Suadron feel out of hyperspace above Kamino with a blast of light, appearing the space once empty and void. At the head of the formation, the newly commissioned Harrower MK II class Battle carrier sat poised for battle. Flanking her the cruisers and frigates of blue steel readied for battle as in the distance the fleet of imperium warships moved to engage.

"Commander, we caught them off guard." said a Chiss officer from the tactical station.

"Very well, take us in slow." said Lash as he looked out into the distance and the Imperium ships now frantically moving to form up.

Lash could make out the massive star destroyer in the distance. The Imperial MK II-class was old but well maintained and was the most powerful ship in the IMperiums group. From the intel brief he had received from Moff Greth, the ship had even been updated and was far more powerful than the old class. Lash had commanded one of the MK III variants at Balmorra and was full aware of what a modified and updated Imperial Star Destroyer could be capable of. It was a ship Lash would not underestimate and one he would take extreme precautions with engaging.

"Tactical, plot solutions n all ships in the IMperiums formation. I want threat analysis and any information we can get on them from our sources" said Lash to an officer to his left.

He continued to study the ships in the distance. They were moving into a chevron left formation with the destroyer in a drop back position behind the chevron. a motley arrangement of ships lay between the Imperium destroyer and the forces of The New Order. Cruisers, frigates, and corvettes now moving into the defensive formation were frantically taking their positions awaiting the inevitable attack. Lash looked at the twenty odd ships making out the designs and classes he was familiar with and filing them in his mind. The Destroyer was the real threat but the smaller ships were not weak. Heavy cruisers made up the three-pronged tip of the chevron with medium and light cruiser flanking them. Frigates and corvettes were in the rear of the formation taking up defensive duties for the larger ships. Scanners were indicating the ships disgorging their fighter wings now and the Imperium's commanders finishing their preparations for battle.

"Sir, we have reached long range engagement range" said the tactical command officer from the tactical station.

Lash stood silent for a moment with his hands cupped at the small of his back considering the next series of moves. The Imperium's commanders had set up a make shift defensive screen for the larger ship but allowed it room to fire on the TNO formation. Lash waited a moment to see if his hunch was right. Seconds past as the ships of Blue Steel moved closed and well into long range weapon ranges yet no fire came.

"Commander have our bombardment cruiser open tire?" said Lash, a moment later the two bombardment cruisers of Blue Steel Squadron opened fire on the ships in the distance.

Green bolts of plasma shot off into the distance at the Imperium's formation rippling the shielding of the fore most of the formations ships. Still no fire was returned.
The ships in the distance now had begun to move and gain speed as they pushed forward to get into range to return fire.

"We have them, launch all wings and have them move to engage the oncoming fighters. Order all vesels with long range weapons to open fire and keep the pressure on thuse front cruisers. We need to open a clear line of fire to that destroyer" ordered Lash. in the distance, the ships of the Imperium's defense force moved ever closer striaght into the fire of the long guns of Blue steel.

 

[Wesley Vos]

"Fleet's in system."

Captain Nyang jerked his helmeted head around as Red Four gave the status report. Not that he needed to - the communication had come over the built-in helmet comm on the squadron frequency. But force of habit...

Shaking himself, he turned back to the terminal on which he'd been working. The blasted thing had fried from a near miss in the assault, and now short-range communications within the city were on the fritz. At least the helmet comms still worked. He touched two wires together and was resulted with sparks. The lights flickered. Kriff​, he thought, almost dropping the wires reflexively, though the strong alloy kept the electricity from touching his skin. "We've got to get this place back to functionality quickly, then. Do what you have to do," he replied over the internal comms. The Kaminoan communications workers, standing not three meters away, would have heard nothing. The wonders of technology​, Nyang thought, not for the first time.

Captain Myn Halcorr, designation Red Nine, nodded and left his own terminal. Stopping in front of the workers, he activated his external mic and said, "You are going to help us repair these systems."

The communications director lifted her nose and stared down it at the Kommando. "We are not authorized-"

And that was as far as she got before Halcorr's blaster cleared its holster and fired. The director's head snapped backwards on its long neck, a smoking hole through the center of its forehead, and she crumpled to the ground. Halcorr turned to the assistant director. "You are going to help us repair these systems," he said again. This time, the assistant director nodded and motioned his workers to assist the Imperials.

Under his helmet, Nyang grimaced. He hated killing outside of combat, but when not doing so meant possibly the success of his mission, or the lives of his brothers and sisters...well, he would do what was necessary. His expressionless helmet watched as another Kommando shouldered the director's corpse and carried it out the door, to be disposed of in the stormy waters far below. Shaking his head slightly, he turned back to his work. Have to get this station up and running​.

It was 1150.

​***​

Captains Racen Selere and Rhytrian Thrahn met up just outside the Kaminoan docking platform. Two Imperium shuttles sat empty, only two guards on each. Selere had sent several of his squad towards hangar control; as soon as they finished, the Kommandos would rush the platform and take the shuttles.

Thrahn nodded to his counterpart. "Yir slanar rat dajun?"

Selere smiled under his helmet. "Be buskra'amtu, vod. Kih'parjai ti ta'na'oaragr?"

Thrahn nodded once, then peeked around the corner at the shuttles. "Butu'atr copaanir mhi at slanar laam o'r mies surwearoe buyca? malyasa'yr va cuyir terkriva meh ctubadr kebise trattok'or dar'tome a'yaou mhi slana'pir be bu'nas'a aysulcar."

Selere shrugged, voice mild as he responded. "Nayc nilha, nayc kote."

Thrahn nodded. "Nayc nilha, nayc kote."

That was the unofficial motto of the Kommandos. No risk, no glory​.

The hangar lights flickered. Switching to the squad channel, Selere said, "Go!"

From all doors, blaster fire crossed the docking platform. The guards fell without a sound or protest, and Gray and Black Squadrons raced to secure the transports. Now it was just a matter of waiting for the final command.

It was 1159.

 

[Marcus Antonius]

It began not dream. It began to remember.

It began to become.

It remembered being taken from a homeworld to fight for the Empire. It remembered serving on the Chimera as an ensign during its fateful campaign. It remembered quickly working through the rapidly dwindling ranks of good officers during the collapse of the Imperial Remnant. It remembered the devastation as the Galaxy that had once been unified slowly tore itself apart.

It remembered being on the deck, the feel of the uniform, and the bustle of the bridge staff.

It remembered being Marcus Antonius.

And yet... it couldn’t. It could not remember a father’s face, or a mother’s smile. It could not remember siblings. It could not remember childhood friends. It could not remember a pass time. A favourite dish. A first kiss. Wife. Children.

It all felt like something just out of reach. Something just beyond it. Something there but just... not there.

It remembered being Marcus Antonius, but Marcus Antonius remembered those things. Marcus Antonius had some fondness for those things.

It was not Marcus Antonius. And yet it was.

“Its Neural Net is stabilising.” The Clone Master said with a sigh of relief, looking as the swirling mess of synapses on the one monitor began to form into a more orderly web. He looked over to the Kommando. “Its mind shall take time to structure itself and come to form. It shall take time.”

“How long?” The Kommando scowled, looking at the clone at the table. It had stopped yelling, but it was still twitching. His eyes rapidly moving behind now closed eyes. With the goo now cleared away, he got his first good look at the creature they pulled from the tanks.

It was a Human male. Tall by Human standards but not incredibly tall. Its head had yet to grow any hair, even its eyebrows were absent with just exposed flesh. A pale man, but he was unsure if that was by design or simply the point it had been in during the cloning process. It bore that distinctively stern face one associated with the old Empire, especially twisted into the grimace that had seemed to be painted on the clone since it fell from its tank.

The Clone Master and his scientists were still busy, trying to come up with solutions to the other problems an early birth from the cylinder brought. “I can not yet say.” The Clone Master informed the Kommando with a frown on its pale narrow face. “It depends on how long it takes to convince itself of its own existence.”

The Kommando scoffed at that. The Clone Master simply frowned. The Clone spasmed.

“Specifics on other damage?” The Clone Master inquired of his fellows.

“GI Tract will likely not properly digest. Liquid diet suggested. Possibly correctable with cybernetics.” The one said, tapping its chin while carefully reading a monitor. Another shook its head in response with a frown.

“No. No. Subject already likely to suffer from mental instability from improper cloning. Cybernetics would exacerbate the problem. Suggestion would be a regular supply of supplementary enzymes.” Another replied, eliciting a collection of nodding and muttered agreement.

“Muscular damage is minor.” A third said from his monitor. “Improper development. Easily correctable through working the muscles and an initial supply of muscle enhancers to the necessary area.”

As they began to talk, the Kommando noticed something he hadn’t before. He had just written off in his mind that they looked similar to him because they were Non-Humans. The strange, long necked species of Kamino looked all the same in his eyes. But this group looked exceptionally similar. They were almost all clones of one another. Which one was the original? Was the original even here? Or long dead? The thoughts filled his mind with dread, but the Cloned Clone Master and his brothers did not seem to pay heed.

“Other damage?” The Master asked.

“Lacerations and bruising from the destruction of the cylinder. Minor. Will heal on their own given time. Bacta deemed unnecessary.” The second responded confidently. “Other damages deemed within specification.”

“Very well.” The Clone Master responded. “Begin synthesis of required components and treatment plan. We will provide to the customer when we are finished. Assuming your company would have a desire for this unit?”

The Kommando did not reply. That decision was above his paygrade, or his concern. His only concern now was keeping a close eye on these non-Humans and to make sure they didn’t activate a hidden Clone Army.

 

[Leos Palle]

Tipoca City - 0930 Hours

A hunched figure walked the hall, wooden cane tapping against cold durasteel. Something was brewing on planet Kamino and the figure was aware of it. Cognizant of the Force in ways that had long sense been thought dead, the creature, a Nu-Cosian, had come to Kamino by happen stance many ages ago, and had stayed because it found menial labor appealing, and there was much of that to be done around the City.

The being was known as Paddasuk. It had quite the reputation of foresight in Tipoca city. Some considered it a mystic, capable of reading fortunes and futures. The association with the Force was minimal, most seeing it not as a trained Jedi or Sith, but as a being in tune with its surroundings. This was more or less accurate as Paddasuk was not trained in the ways of the Force, he simply had an understanding of it that most spent their lifetimes seeking. To him it was just a way of life, an openness to his surroundings. It was because of this that he'd determined it necessary to warn the local officials of the impending attack.

Unbeknownst to him, however, he'd failed to notice something that the Force had showed him. His singular focus on the impending attack had blinded him to more pressing matters. Chiefly, the presence of Cipher Four, having already infiltrated the facility disguised as a wealthy merchant seeking a personal clone of a lost love. Easy cover, and easy to believe. Money could, in fact, buy you happiness in their galaxy.

"Watcher Five to Cipher Four," a voice cracked in his ear piece.

"Cipher Four, go ahead."

The coast was clear as he made his way through the halls of the facility. Being an advance unit meant he could get a lay of the land before the troops arrived. An occular implant was busy mapping and tracking everything around him as he walked. These details would be subsequently relayed to the assault force by the Watchers.

"Priority Alpha target has been identified. A Nu-Cosian named Paddasuk. Only such creature in Tipoca City."

"Parameters?"

"Code Black approved."

"Copy. Cipher Four engaging parameters."

He reached inside of the robes he was wearing and checked the position of the silenced slugthrower within. Though technically bullets were traceable, he chose to use RIP ammo, which was designed to splinter on impact into several smaller pieces. These pieces would easily get mangled inside of the victim, making it nigh impossible to trace. As long as he was careful to pick up his casings, nobody would ever be able to determine who he was.

First glimpse of the target was down a long hall. The creature was moving slowly away from him at a waddling pace, heading in the direction of the central control. Raze didn't know that the creature had precog abilities, so he was unaware of what the being was actually attempting to do. All he knew was that he'd been given a high priority target, and that he was going to make good on it.

He approached from behind, his hand firmly gripping the pistol. The occular implant surveyed the hall as he neared, steps carefully chosen for quiet. He pinpointed the best spot for his assault based on the placement of the cameras, surveyed for any potential onlookers, and then depressed a button on a small electronic scrambler he carried. It would fuzz up all of the cameras, just so they couldn't place him as walking up on Paddasuk, even though they wouldn't have any footage of him actually committing the crime. That done, he strode forward, drew his weapon, and walked as if to pass the creature at a brisk pace.

"Pardon me."

As he passed, he tucked the pistol against his stomach, aimed directly at the creatures head, and fired two shots into its temple, creating a bloody mess of it. The shattering bullets did not escape the other side, so no blood spatter, or brain gunk on the walls. They were really clean bullets. The silencer deadened any noise. As Paddasuk fell to the floor dead, he continued onward, turned down another hall, and made his way back to his quarters, the pistol going back beneath his robes.

"Come in Five."

"Watcher Five, here. Status."

"Target eliminated. Transmitting occular implant data."

"Confirmed. Maintain station until further notice."
"Cipher Four copies. Maintaining station."

He clicked off the communications line and sat down to clean his gun. Outside the storm was raging. In a few short hours the invasion would begin and he would proceed to begin mopping up hard targets from within while the defensive forces focused on the invaders coming from without. He checked the chrono.

1159 Hours.

 

[Lash]

Green and red bolts filled the no mans land between the fleets of the Imperium and TNO. The forward elements of the TNO fleet had moved into standard weapons range leaving the long range elements behind to act as fire support and launch attack craft for the grinder that was the swirling dogfight between the two fleets.

"How long till out assault force arrives General" asked Lash of his militant commander. The man looked down and read the data on his screen.

"Sir, they will be in system within the hour. For now we have out own assault force avalible if needed." said the Chiss general. Lash looked out at the battle considering his next move. The ships in the distance wew formidable and while he had the force to put them down the task at had was not to destroy them but disable and capture them. The assault force would deploy its marines and assault troopers, once in system, to do this. For now, It was the job of Blue Steel to disable the ships.

"very well General, For now keep our forces on standby, We still have to get the ships defenses down or any assault we throw at them will be cut short." said Lash. He looked out at the big ship, the old Imperial-class destroyer would make a good addition to their ranks. At least after it is upgraded fo course. It would need alot of work to bring it up to the standards the TNO set on its warships. For now it would be dry docked in a slipway and rebuilt. Once it was done it would mark the birth of a new class of ship to carry the order and stability TNO offered the galaxy.