Here's to You
Another slain, another to replace. Irveric had seen nearly a decade of service now, likely just below six months of that spent on leave while the staunch remainder had been spent on the field or in further training. His entire tenure had been a cruel twist of irony. Though he wasn't pressed into service kicking and screaming he was wholly intent on completing his mandated tenure before resigning to return to his career in Ord Thoden developing armor plating and shield systems for planetary defense platforms. Here he was now, a career trooper.
Folende was a peculiar environment, though shades similar to the previous deployments Tavlar had embarked on. It was strange almost, a decade of warfighting and yet his detachment had yet to participate in anything truly glorious. Never any planetary scale engagement over a vital junction of the Galactic map which determined the fate of the Empire, scribed for generations following. Nor even a battle of fierce, close quarters scrapping with Beskar clad Mandalorian warriors. No, instead it was rebellions, terrorist cells and petty separatists. Jobs that needed to be done, but once they were, no one would care and it'd be onto the next.
A forced insurrection saw the otherwise peaceful and compliant regime who oversaw the planet's agri production supplanted with a military junta made up of angered clone militiamen who saw Imperial quotas and tithes to be less than reasonable and evidently more than negotiable. And so like many many revolutions like it, the farmers abandoned the agri tool for the blaster, embargoing any offworld shipment and shackling any Imperial administrator they could get their hands on. And so queue, Imperial boots.
Again, for one reason or another, likely the far too valuable agri production, great scale bombardment was foregoed for direct infantry deployment. Major in the Imperial Armed forces Irveric was tasked with leading a parceled regiment of troopers to siege and hold a sizeable settlement. The approach was easy enough, the Major able to maneuver and directly take charge of his armored spearhead to destroy the outer defenses and surround the city it wasn't without great cost, far too many of his vehicles knocked out by mines and rocket launchers his task was also made even far more difficult once command higher than him issued a deadline for the city's surrender. Seven solar cycles, a week was all he was given to assault and take the city. Though reinforcements to bolster his initial offensive capability was denied, replacements were due arrival.
The fresh convoy of Claymore Repulsor tanks filled to the brim with Imperial Legionaries arrived to the command post set in an outcropping within the city's outskirts, the crimson Imperial banner sitting dead in the wind, draped over the front of the compound the regimental command had established itself. Immediately after they'd set foot outside of the transport aft of the grav tanks, green and pristine troopers would be met with the grizzled faces and battered plasteel of their newfound comrades, each of the ones present, be they on sentry or relief had their visor cleared from their gaze, probably about nine for every ten with some form of cigarra tucked between their lips as artillery barrages and the cracking volleys of blaster fire sounded out in the 'distance'. Only a token few welcomed the present Leftenent Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt with a salute or a stand at attention. If it wasn't clear now, it would be soon enough that the fighting was harder than Imperial command had originally wagered, likely giving them the same speech relayed to Irveric and his host.
Folende was a peculiar environment, though shades similar to the previous deployments Tavlar had embarked on. It was strange almost, a decade of warfighting and yet his detachment had yet to participate in anything truly glorious. Never any planetary scale engagement over a vital junction of the Galactic map which determined the fate of the Empire, scribed for generations following. Nor even a battle of fierce, close quarters scrapping with Beskar clad Mandalorian warriors. No, instead it was rebellions, terrorist cells and petty separatists. Jobs that needed to be done, but once they were, no one would care and it'd be onto the next.
A forced insurrection saw the otherwise peaceful and compliant regime who oversaw the planet's agri production supplanted with a military junta made up of angered clone militiamen who saw Imperial quotas and tithes to be less than reasonable and evidently more than negotiable. And so like many many revolutions like it, the farmers abandoned the agri tool for the blaster, embargoing any offworld shipment and shackling any Imperial administrator they could get their hands on. And so queue, Imperial boots.
Again, for one reason or another, likely the far too valuable agri production, great scale bombardment was foregoed for direct infantry deployment. Major in the Imperial Armed forces Irveric was tasked with leading a parceled regiment of troopers to siege and hold a sizeable settlement. The approach was easy enough, the Major able to maneuver and directly take charge of his armored spearhead to destroy the outer defenses and surround the city it wasn't without great cost, far too many of his vehicles knocked out by mines and rocket launchers his task was also made even far more difficult once command higher than him issued a deadline for the city's surrender. Seven solar cycles, a week was all he was given to assault and take the city. Though reinforcements to bolster his initial offensive capability was denied, replacements were due arrival.
The fresh convoy of Claymore Repulsor tanks filled to the brim with Imperial Legionaries arrived to the command post set in an outcropping within the city's outskirts, the crimson Imperial banner sitting dead in the wind, draped over the front of the compound the regimental command had established itself. Immediately after they'd set foot outside of the transport aft of the grav tanks, green and pristine troopers would be met with the grizzled faces and battered plasteel of their newfound comrades, each of the ones present, be they on sentry or relief had their visor cleared from their gaze, probably about nine for every ten with some form of cigarra tucked between their lips as artillery barrages and the cracking volleys of blaster fire sounded out in the 'distance'. Only a token few welcomed the present Leftenent Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt with a salute or a stand at attention. If it wasn't clear now, it would be soon enough that the fighting was harder than Imperial command had originally wagered, likely giving them the same speech relayed to Irveric and his host.