Faction Range Day

[Tulan Kor]

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BASTION
RANGE 673​

It was about fifty Stormtroopers in the bleachers, plus a few COMPNOR assets and others.

Tulan was at the front, with a rarely seen invention- a dry-erase board. He was in his fatigues, sans armor, and his rifle across his chest. He wrote three letters on the board.

M O A.

"Someone tell me what this stands for."

He said, while setting his rifle on a stand on the table, next to the other infantry weapons presented on a table near him. They were the standard fair of the New Imperial Order systems- plus a box full of something for later... enemy weapons. Tulan had gone to great lengths to make sure that enemy weapon systems, as well as friendly allies (or at least, people that weren't trying to kill them) were obtained, as well as ammunition for them. A bit of a process- but with the galaxy constantly at war, battlefields were ripe to be scavenged for equipment.

A younger trooper raised his hand.

"Uh, Manual of Arms, sir?"

Tulan nodded at point at him, writing out the rest of the words next to their letters on the board.

"The difference between an Operator, and a frontline trooper is expected to do basic infantry tasks, or specific tasks given to them at any given time. An Operator, a Special Forces member, or an asset- however, can perform these tasks at any given moment, in any given condition, perfectly."

He stopped, capping the marker.

"I want you all to be assets, at the end of this- or take away something from this. Putting rounds, bolts, or whatever you shoot at someone- in someone, on someone, or near enough to kill them, is the difference between you going home and the other guy. To that end- today, we will be conducting several drills with several weapon systems in order to improve and enhance your performance with your given equipment. Do I have any questions before I get into the course of fire?"

 

[Joren Loft]

O P E R A T I V E
BASTION
Proximity: Tulan Kor

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Training is an essential asset to all team members.

Every team member must be trained constantly to maintain peak efficiency in the work environment.

Loft hadn't hit the range in several cycles. It was a common occurrence for him to show up and fire a couple of energy cells down range to keep his accuracy sharp. But other off-world duties called for him, and his record of attendance went stale. It wasn't until he had re-entered Bastion's atmosphere when he had heard about training exercise going down at the range for some stormtroopers who wanted the increase in skill. He wasted no time in getting involved.

Commander Kor had been a rumored legend. The shadowed demon on the battlefield was a crusader for the New Imperials. To meet him in person would be an honor to anyone. The rows of white armor sat in parallel rows on grey bleachers that elevated the men with each step. The whiteboard behind Kor was covered in different acronyms and phrases relative to battle, important for an Operator to know. And to his right, an arsenal of different weapons ranging from standard issue to unknown in origin.

Training in different weapon platforms, he thought to himself. Loft continued his trek towards the bleachers to catch the last of the informational section of the brief and the transition to the objective portion.

Do I have any questions before I get into the course of fire?"​

His hand raised in the air subconsciously. It was a natural reflex to ask questions, to lay everything on the table before the operation. It helped yield the greatest results.

"Just one, sir. Can I go first?"

He heard a chuckle before the area went silent again.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

POST 1
THE_KELLAS

GALIDRAANI FREE-STATE

BASTION
RANGE 675

Tulan Kor Arcturus Tal Joren Loft

<"Good idea, Gowrie. If we can help them find more ease in pushing forward like they did on Serenno, then I am all for it! You know what needs to be done, you know how much it needs drilling. Make it happen and give me the reports for the day, and have the shy-shooters on smoothbore-sniping practice as well. We need every single part of our Brigade ready to inflict damage in different stances, it's the only way we can whittle their superior numbers down to attack like we did before. See ye later on tonight, Blue-Heart high-command's getting together for it's first fieldcraft-speakeasy since last year. Blue-Heart Alpha out!">

'You heard 'im, boys! LET'S GET RANGE 675 KICKING LIVE AN' LOUD!!! QM'S AN' SHY-SHOOTERS TAKE THE TARGET-RANGES OAN THE FAR END!!! LET'S GO, LET'S GO!!!'

Lord Erskine would be leaving his Lord-Major in charge of training the men for this particular exercise, and whilst Gowrie would be within the sprawling urban and open-air complex that consisted of Range 675's extensive boundaries, Barran would be off to Range 673 to find Tulan Kor, the orchestrating chief-marshall of every occupied training-space on site. There were many and more reasons that the Lord-Commander wanted to meet with the new king of the NIO's spec-ops community, and much of it was to discuss the intricacies of knife-fighting CQC and assassination methodology, with a fair share more to discuss in the manner of infantry warfare in general; knowing what Kor had managed on Ziost in particular, and with the light-armaments he was issued, Lord Erskine couldn't help but wonder what kind of technical knowledge and insight the young man could impart, though he knew it would regardless positively impact how his Blue-Heart subordinates would fight in the future.
That Woad's strategic-doctrine evolves so quickly, but this time - he's on a whole 'nother level. Can't help but appreciate it, man.

Gowrie, knowing all this for himself before they'd even landed on a much-quieter Bastion than before, would be taking control of the efforts in training the replenished brigade to retain a standard they'd mostly learned under fire before, completely in his element without his Woad-born commander interfering with the process. This time around, he'd have them drilling everything over the process of waiting there for deployment orders; Barran agreed that they'd all benefit from staying on Bastion after the run of extremes that Tal's revolutionary forces had experienced by then, so it made perfect sense to start at the earliest opportunity, building their camps and facilities around each individual segment of each training-site they were all meant to be using throughout their stay.

'Milord, we should assign camp-building tasks while we still can. Give me forty of oor strongest, an' we'll have everything built behind oor ordnance by the end o' the day. Sun's barely up, so there's plenty time t'get that finished before we throw them back to their respective platoons. An' if we're lucky, perhaps we can get shower-facilities an' kitchens ready before that moon shows face again.'

Smiling in response, though it was expressed whilst dropping his chin and looking through his eyebrows at his Archaisian subordinate, Lord Aron replied,'Careful, Archaisian.', pausing as he drew nearer to hit his point home more effectively. Baring his white teeth again, Gowrie inhaled through his nostrils before continuing,'Woads would humour it to be polite, but a Tuath will always hold men to their promises.... Especially if one detects even the slightest o' falsehood's reek from his breath.', with a savagery almost too indicative of his Tuath-born heritage. To young Leftenant Fraller's relief, Lord-Major Gowrie would relent as he leaned back and turned away to watch the rising sun, disengaging from the lecture as he concluded,'Pick yer forty, an' nae mare. You have twelve hours exactly t'prove ah didn't just smell chite in the air, move it!'

'That's Commoner-Leftenant Fraller to you, and you better keep those teeth o' yours in control too. Lord or not, Brigade-Law would have me chin you for deviating from your usual self like that. Amend it all you want, I'd have you knocked back on your tail-bone multiple times before the doctrine-amendment passes, and I honestly would abuse it to make a point. We need more than aggression here, we need an absolute savage leading when the time comes, not the waster who'd test me so cheaply. Watch me, and if it turns out that I was right - then you either owe me a drink, or a free offer to test your chin publicly. I know you don't want the latter, so I'll just say for the record that I like a strong, oakey Woad-whiskey. See you soon, Milord.'
It's almost too easy, just a little push and they're stirred within moments. God, I love this brigade!
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[Tulan Kor]

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BASTION
RANGE 673​

DECEASED Erskine Barran l Joren Loft

The Demon didn't smile at the joke by the Operative.

Not that he could, not fully anymore. His scarred face prevented him from having a large range of emotions- the subtlest movements in his face were his mood. His eyes remained expressive as well.

And they were not fucking amused.

"We begin-"

He stopped, walking away from the table, to the crate holding enemy weapons. He crouched over it, kicking it over.

He pulled out one of the dozens of Judicator rifles they captured, and set the gas and charges on the table, letting the weapon rest.

"With the weapon that has killed more New Imperial Troopers in combat than Orbital Bombardments. This weapon is like the Sith. It hits hard, it's tough, and it can adapt to a variety of situations."

He picked it up, showing how hefty it was. He cleared the weapon, then let the soldiers pass it between themselves.

"We will begin the course of fire with the enemy weapon systems before we get to our own. I want you to understand the enemy's weapons before you understand your own."

He waited until everyone had a chance to hold the weapon, and then motioned for his assistant armorers to begin passing out the weapon systems, and get the troops on the firing line.

After donning his ear protection, Tulan was the first on the firing line after everyone had received the enemy's weapon, taking a knee and orientating the weapon downrage.

"This thing is particularly lethal-"

He stopped, firing a shot at a pop-up target. The targetry they were using were replacement plasteel targets on a machine. When was destroyed, the range tower cycled a new target.

The shot ripped the target in half, roughly the density of a human being.

"However, what you will notice is that it is particularly heavy, and unwieldy. Tower, time."

The tower held up a comically large digital clock, and a whistle was blown by the range staff. Tulan stood up, engaging the three targets. At Semi-automatic, the weapon system could only engage once every three seconds. He switched it back to burst, managing to hit the three new targets within four seconds, and lastly switching to full auto, managing to hit the three targets in roughly the same time.

He stopped, examining the handiwork, before turning, putting the weapon on safe.

"Now as you are firing this, I want you to repeat that drill- and then, while doing so, put yourself in the mindset of the Sith Infantryman, the Trooper, the Legionnaire holding this weapon. And I want you to understand how the enemy thinks, so that way-"

He stopped, looking around for a moment.

"You can kill him before he gets to you!"

 

[Kolson Vrask]

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Range day. Always good for a refresher. It was never a bad time to throw bolts down at projected targets that couldn’t fire back. As good as the depths of operation was, the thrill of the kill and the needs of the mission that all breathed purpose and flooded his veins with the pump of adrenaline, plinking shots with his comrades often proved just as good. He occupied the bleachers with the rest of his unit, the stormtroopers and COMPFORCE troopers all present.

"You shoot much before the service, growing up and that?" His close confidant, the Echani callsign 'Argent' inquired to Grunge in a hushed tone. They knew all too well the material which Kor was reprising twice over.

"Plenty, on Lothal. We lived out in the sticks, only went into the city every few months. Old man taught me and my brother how to shoot real young." Kolson 'Grunge' Vrask explained. To which the Echani nodded for a moment before offering up a faint smirk to the remark.

"Really? Because I had no f*cking idea, watching you shoot." Kolson offered up a faint smile in return. Classic banter.

"With those eyes you don't have much f*cking idea of anything." He retorted. His focus shifted back to Tulan Kor as he began to take hold of the captured enemy armament.

Once the Judicator reached him, Grunge worked from back to front of the weapons system, collapsing the stock in and out, working through the safety and fire select group, inspected the magazine port before feeling along the pistol grip and hand guard of the weapon. The work horse of the Sith Imperial legions. He'd probably taken more than his fair share of shots from one. He passed it onto Argent who conducted a similar procedure before carrying it down the line.

Then they began their own drills, setting out in firing lines Grunge took up his own clone of the Judicator he held moments ago, loading a fresh power cell into the port and pulling back the stock to fit the length of his arms. It was an odd, putrid feeling to hold the very weapon that gunned down many faces he'd seen through training, enlistment, all of it. But as Kor said, had to think like them to fight them.

He aimed down the sights, pressing the rifle into his shoulder with his left hand clamped around the hand guard as he comfortably took ahold of the pistol grip, the drill started, semi automatic and he threw the bolts down range. The weapon was more ergonomic than he'd intitally appraised, the accuracy and consistency of the weapon matching in line with how the Sith seemed to operate. Burst fire much of the same and then fully automatic. It was then his memories were siphoned back to the defense of Bastion, that characteristic rapid fire crack of each round matching in line to what he'd heard in a constant rhythm in the distance. Soon as his round of drills was over, he cleared the weapon and set it down in front of him. Silent.

Tulan Kor | Joren Loft | DECEASED Erskine Barran

 

[Arcturus Tal]

Arcturus took his time walking among the soldiers at the range. He hadn't spent much time around the NIO ground units since he had joined the fight against the Sith. Much of his time had been spent on the Prodigal Sun, scrambling to get the Galidraani fleet into better shape. Not long after, he found himself fighting above Ziost, and later Serenno. It felt like an eternity since he had set foot off of his ship. He took a moment to simply breathe in the air. It was the first time he had inhaled unprocessed air in months.

He was hesitant to leave his ship. There was always some level of anxiety that he experienced while away, as if he had an itch he couldn't scratch. He might have been born on the ground, but he was always meant for the stars. That being said, Quintus had reassured him that some time among the ground troops would be good for him.

Get to know the grounders, and let them get to know you. The more you understand how they operate both on and off the field, the better you'll serve them in a fight.

Arcturus had to admit, the man was right. It was time to get more acquainted with the soldiers he had supported from the stars.

He watched the different units while they proceeded with their drills, eyeing the way that they handled the weapons in front of them. From what he could see, it looked like they were handling Sith weaponry.

If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles...

Quintus' words echoed once again in the mind of Arcturus. He had learned much from his old friend in these past few months, and had found him to be a valuable asset. He was a proper soldier, and an even better officer. He also had much more experience than Arcturus, so the young commodore took every chance to learn from the man. That being said, there was always room to learn more.

There weren't many within the military that hadn't heard of Tulan Kor. The man had become quite the legend within the ranks of the NIO, showing incredible skill, wit, and courage on the field of battle. No doubt he would have valuable insight. Arcturus slowly found his was over to the range, quietly watching Tulan carry out his demonstration.

Indeed, there was always more to learn.

Tulan Kor DECEASED Erskine Barran Joren Loft Kolson Vrask​

 

[Tulan Kor]

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BASTION
RANGE 673​

DECEASED Erskine Barran l Joren Loft l Arcturus Tal l Kolson Vrask


Tulan policed the lines, adjusting the shooting stances and distributing techniques as he went. He stopped as soon as the cease fire was announced, walking forward after making sure the weapons were pointed to the ground.

"It's fairly easy to see why these weapons are effective. But- they come with costs. These weapons are not as maneuverable against our lighter, more mobile weapon systems. And, in the case of Ziost, I was able to exploit their lack of movement in an urban fight. Think of how unwieldy that thing would be moving room to room, how exhausted their Troopers must get simply clearing a building, or conducting an assault."

Tulan looked at the boxes, then ushered over one of the other Operators and Range Staff, gathering them for a quick huddle.

This caused a bit of discussion among the lines, and after a few moments, Tulan returned, walking over to one of the crates. Interestingly enough, it wasn't adorned with the markings of the NIO, but rather the Republic Remnants, and upon opening, he produced Demon Company's rifle- the RS16.

He ran his fingers over it, remembering it fondly for a moment, turning it inward.

It was the weapon, this specific one, that he used on ZIost.

"I was going to save this for last- but this is Demon Company's rifle. I want you all to get more familiar with the weapon systems laterally as much as I want you to get used to them on the other side of the line, however-"

He stopped, collecting himself.

Losing all the men he had still hurt.

"It pays to know the unit's at your disposal's strengths. This is the RS16, developed by the man himself, Setter Ryburn . He laid the foundation for how Demon Company, and now largely, the New Imperial Special Forces troops train, operate, and select recruits. This weapon is a reflection of that. It's modular, functional, hits like a sledgehammer, but-"

He raised both eyebrows, one of the few facial expressions he could manage to do.

"It has it's limitations. Rapid firing this thing will burn your hand. The caseless ammunition is good for what Demon Company and all the Spooky Boys and Girls in the New Imperial Order do, and this thing is quiet- quieter than most of the weapons any of you have ever fired in your lifetimes. And compared to the Sith Rifle, it's lighter, faster, and easier to maneuver."

He made sure each of the shooters received the weapon, and then reset the targets, and prepared to watch them execute the same drill- albeit this time, with one of the weapons that Tulan used personally to kill a fair- if not more than fair amount of troopers.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

POST 2
THE_STORMCHASER

GALIDRAANI FREE-STATE

BASTION
RANGE 674 (Vacant site)

Tulan Kor Arcturus Tal Joren Loft Kolson Vrask

Watching the sky to the east lighting up with activity as he gazed over the distance he had walked already, Lord Erskine was gladdened to see that his subordinates weren't wasting their time on the ranges so far; each and every survivor of the previous war campaign from among the ranks of Blue-Heart Brigade, all those haunted souls of the previous campaign's depleted husks were more eager than ever to be more effective in combat than they ever had been before, and the constant updates and changes to their training-curriculum between deployments would soon become a glorious testament to that. There would be something of a functioning camp and headquarters by the time the Lord-Commander returned from his visit with Tulan Kor, so he chose to leave them be for the rest of the day, knowing they were all in capable hands with the newly promoted Lord-Major Gowrie.
Get them back to standard, Aron. You seem set on this place for training, so show me what you can get out of them.

The distant echoing sounds of smoothbore shots, their live-ammunition impacts on target, and the accompanying marshalling-whistles that marked start and end points for the brigade's barrages (to improve the frequency of their -2km shots) would ring out into the dead outskirts of the city itself. Soon after, the distinct choir of LMG bursts would join the cacophony of shelling shots-and-impacts, indicating that all the Blue-Heart APCs on site were finally working in full-firing swing along with the Cataphracts. Taking this opportunity gifted to him from his quiet moment alone, Barran brought out an uncut Faslane cigar from within his coat's inside-pocket, then he brought out his Fairbairn to slice off the rounded top and bottom ends; Lord Erskine would only bring out his last Fortaner match when he finished making his cigar perfectly barrel-cut, and sheathed his dagger again, so the process of getting to light it felt like an age had passed in the process.

After the cigar had finally been lit properly, the last of the burning matchstick's flame was tossed away as the matchbox itself was placed atop a drinking-water fountain nearby, with the intent of leaving a little piece of Galidraan on Bastion, like he had with a little piece of himself the first time around. As the plumes of tobacco smoke went billowing into the air around him, the ghosts of his recent past began to seemingly materialize on both sides of the Lord-Commander's periphery, but his enjoyment of the home-planet cigar's taste had kept him from noticing it just yet; the Faslane was just too enjoyable, as the particular aftertaste was something Barran hadn't experienced in the best part of twenty years, and the memories it was bringing to the forefront of his mind were all just as sweet as the home-planet cigar itself, quite the contrast to the grief that was just moments away from besetting him on both sides.

'Perhaps one day I finally will be the one to conquer Westcape, the fate o' Faslane would always intertwine itself wae me an' mine own.', Lord Erskine muttered to himself under-breath, smirking with the realization that the exiled Blue-Hearts had been capable of achieving the Lord-Commander's personal quest since the Second Battle of Ziost. Almost chuckling to himself, Barran would shake his head with jesting disdain at not realizing this sooner, but in the process, the shadowy outline of a man roughly his own height was caught in his right peripheral corner had Erskine drawing his sword and slicing through the air instinctively. The spectres of those who'd died under his command had come out to dance in the early morning sun, taking full advantage of the fact they could appear at any time of the day around the Brigadier-General, and once again indicating that Erskine was the only one would be cursed by their visibly ghoulish manifestations, the only one who would see them at any given time.

Heggy, Jorie and even his firstborn son would show face and force Erskine to wheel around multiple times, pivoting to see who else would materialize next; but Barran, gradually growing desensitized to such things, would sheathe the basket-hilted Vibrosword and stand himself straight once again, only removing the cigar from his lips to flick the ash away and return it to it's former resting place as he began staring his wroth into the eyes of every shade around him. A small gathering for a man who gave his all to keep them alive before their time had come for all three of those manifesting before him, rippling like smoke in the wind as the ill-fated Laird of the Woads continued to smoke on his Faslane cigar from home with the deepest of rages burning in his wide-eyed glare, an expression that showed none of the weakness he'd exhibited when faced with the ghosts of his recent past before.

'They only came to watch, Thomas. This pair died on Bastion, an' you're the only one who hounds me everywhere I march. Best speak your mind now, son. It's the one and only time I will hear what my firstborn would say from beyond the grave, an' the one and only time I will give such words any credence. So, what does the first exiled Barran to make it home, Lord-Leftenant Thomas wish to say to the husk of what should've been his father to the bitter end in his stead?'
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