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Years ago, the Imperial annexation of Dorin had been marred with a planetary conflict splitting the native Kel Dor into two opposing factions.; one grateful to the Imperial Knight's earlier intervention against the Cult of Sion on the planet and the other fearing a loss of independence and identity. After a surgical strike by COMPNOR's agents against the leaders of the Dorin Resistance, effectively decapitating the heads of the anti-Imperial faction, the civil war was concluded in favor of the Empire and Dorin folded into the iron grip of the Emperor's Order.
But after the daring Jedi raid on the Imperial Blacksite Barbarous, a site that came to be seen by the local resistance as the daunting edifice of Imperial rule, a fiery wave of hope washed over rebellious sentiments across the world stirring life to what lay dormant. Fearing more reinforcements are on their way to bolster the Imperial's hold of the planet, the new leaders of the Dorin Resistance are forced to act. The Dorin Uprising has begun.
Scene I - Hearts of Iron
Streets of Dor'shan, Dorin
A sect of the Baran Do has covertly pledged its allegiance to the resistance movement and falsely altered the meteorological forecast provided to the Imperial Command on the planet leaving the Imperials blind to a violent, upcoming storm. The tempest wrecks havoc across the unsuspecting garrison and its Imperial defenders and finds its use as an effective cover for the resistance to spring the insurrection under the raging veil of the storm.
With communications severely hampered by the storm, the Imperials must tap into more rudimental means and their inherent will for survival and defiance to liberate the capital city from the rebellious terror claiming parts of the city as fast as the tempest that rages on.
In the wake of the violent storm, the Moff Palace of Var Koon has been seized by the rebels and it has become the resistance's makeshift headquarters making it a necessary target for the Imperial forces to reclaim along with every inch of land the rebels have taken. The streets and alleys turn into battlefields as violent as the squall rampaging across the capital.
Scene II - Back in Control
Central Spaceport, Dorin
Gozanti-class freighters have been flying in and out of Dorin's spaceport en-masse over the last few weeks since the Jedi's raid, the Imperial Supply Fleet diligently working on providing essential logistics to both the local garrison and its influx of newly arrived reinforcements.
As a vital lifeline to the Imperial forces on the world, the Dorin Resistance stages a hard strike on the spaceport raiding a docked Gozanti-class freighter for its supplies. In the ensuing chaos, the rebels manage to wrestle control of the key spaceport and the freighter from the hands of the Empire and pledge to hold it to the last man.
With the insurrection ablaze across the capital city of Dor'shan, the Imperials must retake the spaceport by any means necessary if they are to stem the crushing tide of the uprising.
F I S T _ O F _ T H E _ E M P I R E
501st STORMTROOPER LEGION SPARK OF RESISTANCE HEARTS OF IRON
The irony did not escape him.
Holed up in a derelict building -- some housing project for Chiss refugees now abandoned after the Grand Moff Korvan's decree -- stuck to figure out how to wither both the natural and rebellious storm raging outside. Saul Vandron vividly recalled the uncountable times he'd found himself in such a position, beside the late Irveric Tavlar, as officers of the 501st within the Sith Empire tasked with crushing a system stirred to insurrection.
The Third Imperial Civil War had them swap places with those outside becoming insurgents against the Sith they had served. And now the cycle was complete.
Someone had once told him time was a flat circle.
It seems they were right.
The grizzled veteran scoffed.
But philosophy had never been much of Saul's strongest suites. A ricochet of a blaster bolt fired from outside made sure to remind him so.
"Still no luck with the comms?" he asked his second-in-command, half-black, half-orange helmet tilting at the younger officer.
"Tsk... nothing, General." Tycho sourly replied, smacking the wristpad in frustration. The white noise of static on the holoprojection flickered but nothing changed. He shut it off with a grunt. "Third platoon should've been back by now."
"Should've." Saul said, eyes narrowing at the violent storm cracking the very skies open beyond the hollow window frame.
"Think the rebels got them, Sir?"
"It's ripe for ambushes out there." guerilla fighting sought to use absolutely anything to their advantage; the weather included. Tycho knew it, his silence was understanding. With only two companies of the 501st deployed on the planet, losing a whole platoon was costly. The said platoon's lieutenant had been persistent on leaving out for patrol but Saul knew well his soldiers were not fit for prolonged periods of entrenchment. They were the Emperor's Fist, the finest of shock troopers, and to be the tip of the spear was their calling.
"Your orders, Sir?"
Years ago, Saul would've been in Tycho's shoes -- itching for the fight, yearning to be up in the face of their enemies and see their lives fade away from their entrapped in a stupor of dread. Fear, most of anything else, was the stormtroopers' prime weapon.
But now he had to fill in the shoes of Irveric and he always had been the wise one.
"We stay." he stated. "For now."
"Get me a report from the spotters. I want to know what and where our enemy is." Saul ordered. "Whatever Kel Dor bastard's at the helm outside is patient enough to let us rot here." the sporadic fire from beneath had been telling. If he could guess, there was a heavy planner commanding the rebels that had them pinned here.
To defeat an orthodox commander means to become unorthodox.
Across the room, another rebel fell dead. Carefully looking out from between two overturned tables, ISB Agent Sedna Pulsar gritted her teeth. She had come before the main imperial forces, assigned to scout the stormy planet on foot, despite the storm. It had been many hours, no communication with or to the outside. The last time she had spoken with central control, she had reported where the rebels had set up base - the palace. But since then, she had been trapped in a local diner to wait out a nasty burst of brutality from the storm. Of course, rebels had the same idea. Now she was trapped in the downstairs food prep area biding her time. The rebels had, so far, sent three of their own to test the waters of their opponent's skills. She had managed to kill the three, but knew fully well that more were likely to come.
She hissed, frustrated at her predicament. The storm was still howling outside, and inside she knew she would be outnumbered if they all came in at once. Luckily, the only entrance was a small door, meaning only one could enter at a time. Furthermore, everyone had no contact with the outside world. Unless more rebels heard gunshots from here, there would be no reinforcements for them.
Reloading her Bozdugan rifle for the oncoming brawl, the zeltron did everything she could to prepare. She adjusted her position, made sure to reload all weapons, and even grabbed a quick snack from the pantry. There was an upside to taking refuge in a restaurant!
She peered through from her makeshift cover, refusing to let her guard down. She could hear indistinct voices and movement outside. They were coming...
Jasper hadn't expected to be back at Dorin again, but the strike they had made on the Blacksite Barbarous to free Nida Perl
had set up a chain of events that pushed the world into open rebellion. As a strong believer in self-determinism, Jasper was all about helping a local population throw out their oppressors. With a rebel militia securing a crucial spaceport and an Imperial effort being mounted to retake the position, it seemed the perfect time for a taskforce to be sent behind enemy lines and help the local movement solidify their position.
He would be joined by two other Jedi, his good friend Iris and a newcomer, fellow padawan Nyla Ven. The op was straight forward. Get in, cause the imps problems, maybe secure some important intel, and vanish into the smoke. They were on the Lonestar 1, a freighter Jasper had secured from a band of pirates a while back, descending towards the spaceport. He much rather preferred flying his junker these days. Slower maybe, but the Lonestar was a tough ship, and unsuspecting when entering hostile territory. It would no doubt be assumed to be a civilian transport. Even if their arrival was chaotic, they'd still get to retain some of the element of surprise.
"Alright," Jasper shouted back from the cockpit, readjusting his headset. "We're just a few clicks out. Our landing zone should be secure, but expect things to heat up real soon."
The sky was lit up with blaster fire, which was a sight that Jasper had confusingly become more comfortable with these days. Maybe he had just become desensitized. They would attempt to move in as discretely as possible, but things would no doubt become messy. Just another day.
"I've got equipment in the back you all can grab," he added. "There should be a few EMP grenades in one of those boxes, and any tools I have lying around are fair game. Just... try not to lose anything custom made. Those things are hard to replicate."
Pretty soon, he had made his way down to the landing zone. A three Jedi strike team would be small enough to move quickly, Jasper thought. Just three. Definitely only three.
Karkosuchus thought to himself having retired from bounty hunting for a time to pursue a career as a gladiator within a local ring. He was here "unofficially" as a military supervisor to the Local Imperial Garrison but most of the time he was ransacking the food provisions for the troops which made him quite unpopular.
He had been informed that a Dorin Resistance Cell engaged in a hard strike on the Central Spaceport and managed to occupy it. Without the spaceport to supply the Imperial Military on the ground the world looked poise to win its independence. There was heavy fighting across the Capital City of Dor'shan so reaching the spaceport would take time but the credits weren't going to flow by him standing there.
Karkosuchus moved away from one of the few remaining untouched barracks. Bringing his concussion rifle forward in a two handed grip as a rebel moved to engage him. Although he was shortly blasted away by the concussive round into the building behind him. In a quite pitiful effort the rebel raised his pistol and shot the reptile in the chest but did very little against his iron shell armor which was designed to withstand a high amount of laser fire before cracking.
His large crocodile jaws clamped down upon the rebel's head and chomped in one clean stroke as blood gushed out into the street. Looking around as the Stormtroopers engaged with the Dorin Resistance in small battles. Karkosuchus didn't want to fight the small fry for much longer and instead leapt on top of a building. Powerful legs and his tail provided him perfect balance as he ran across the rooftops towards the Central Spaceport.
The diner had been the last spot she had wanted to find herself. Rushing between buildings in the hopes of making it to the next before the storm arose. Locals had drug her inside before the worst of it had struck, one grabbing her backpack as she passed by the door and pulling her inside.
She'd been thankful to be spared the worst of the storm but quickly realized her luck had been relatively poor considering.
The local rebels had been holed up with someone more than willing to shoot at them. Holed up in the kitchen below and taking out rebels as they passed through the door to smoke them out.
"I wouldn't-" The Zeltron spoke as another poked their head around the corner. At first she had been alarmed by the violence. The sudden drop of a body and the eerie silence that followed.
After three of them had tried to take on the one waiting in the kitchen she had stopped being surprised and was beginning to be annoyed at the belief the same tactics would work.
But they weren't listening, and the few remaining were getting nervous. She peered out into the storm, wondering if she would have a chance to escape to the next building before the kitchen defender got brave.
Nyla sat, cross-legged, in a spot on the floor of the Lonestar 1. There were seats, of course, but she found she preferred being close to the...ground? When meditating. Which, despite appearances, was what she had been doing. Scrolling through her datapad, passively observing the script and code scroll by, served an almost ritual purpose; she knew the contents perfectly, and such easily predictable patterns helped her center herself.
"Thank you, Jasper. Though I'm hoping things stay on the quieter side." She worked best when people weren't expecting her, after all. That said, people were rarely expecting an invisible jedi to steal their intel, so, she supposed, she had that on her side either way. And with that, the young woman went back to her meditation, patiently waiting for the ship to land.
At least until the Lonestar drew near to its destination, and the sensation hit her. Some tremor in the Force that stood out above the simple, desperate, nauseous din of battle.
Blood-slick duracrete. Gnashing tooth and rending claw. Breath scented with gore. Her breath caught in her throat. She was going to be sick. She couldn't -
She stopped. She breathed.
Inhale. Count to four. Exhale.
Nyla stood as the breath left her body, and she turned to face her companions, both of whom likely noted the slight, creeping hint of panic in the resident infiltrator's voice.
"Did...Did anyone else feel that, too, or have I finally gone mad?"
She was going on a mission. She was being a responsible Jedi.
And Zak? Zak was just supposed to sit on Coruscant, meditating or some chit. What even was he supposed to be meditating on? All the toilet paper she'd made him pick up? Which, while we're on the subject, if Jasper came back to find his room in the temple decorated in single-ply confetti... well, Zak was going to need an alibi.
No, he hadn't thought of one yet. Let's take one step at a time. For him to need an alibi, they'd have to be back on Coruscant and wherever this was, they'd been in hyperspace for long enough that Zak was pretty sure he was a fair distance away from needing an alibi. For that particular prank anyway.
In any event, Zak had his back turned for all of five minutes and Master Arani was running off on some damn fool idealistic crusade -- or whatever it was Jedi was doing -- and leaving him behind.
Or so she thought.
By the by, these old Corellian ships had lots of places to hide. Was Jasper smuggling? Because this was the kind of ship a smuggler would have.
With his headphones on, the music turned up, and a Switch in his hands, the boy had even been quiet for the ride. Which was unheard of. Don't anyone tell Master Arani about this or else she might actually figure out how to get Zak to at least imitate some semblance of acting civilized.
This would last until he needed to go to the refresher. Or someone came to grab one of these grenades he was laying on top of.
Liene wearing her Navy Imperial Uniform, reclined in a seat in the small conference room of an Imperial Frigate; she felt the brush of Annor's shoulder to her right. Liene's deep sapphires turned in her direction and offered a curt nod. Before them, on a raised dais standing beside a round hololithic table, stood a proud Imperial Commissioned Officer with the rank plague of a naval Commander on her tunic. Liene recognised her immediately; how couldn't she? Erin E-141 was a senior instructor of the Elite Program's Non-Commissioned Officer Course and mentored Liene.
Imperial Intelligence is a small community. "Seekers, this is a sensitive site exploitation mission and this is your objective." Erin began with her clipped educated Imperial accent. "Identity, disrupt and prevent the effective communication throughout the Rebels' command and control network." expanding the hololithic blueprint of the Palatial property. "The principal targets; The Moff Palace of Var Koon." Erin continued, gesturing to the gargantuan subterranean complex beneath the palace. "Is being used as the enemy's headquarters, according to available Human and Signal intelligence." Annor's foot began beating an impatient beat against the floor; Liene's eyes were drawn to her face and made an Elite sign that translated to 'you good?'. Annor nodded her head.
Erin paused and pushed a white button; she raises her white colourless iris' and studied the projections of the points of interest and terrain within a fifty-kilometre radius of the site. "There is currently a storm raging which is scrambling friendly and hostile communications; we're going to use that to our advantage and make a low-orbit covert insertion via drop-pod; this is the landing zone." A crimson square closed around what appeared to be a clearing two-hundred metres in diameter.
Annor shifts. "Any Intelligence on resistance, hostile force strength and composition?" Erin's eyes shot upward and locked onto Annor like a missile. Annor collapsed back into the moulded leather of her seat like a scolded child beneath the gaze of the very senior Elite commissioned officer. Annor might have been older than Erin, but the latter was unquestionably the superior leader. Liene leaned forward toward Erin, her lips pursed together; she was keen to hear what Erin had to say; this was important; training and technology translated into capability. Liene needed to know as much as Annor what capabilities their enemies fielded.
Erin brought up a hololithic projection of the average Dorin militiaman, and Liene was unimpressed. "It's a colossal uprising; you'll be going up against several regiments of Kel Dor militia. They have unimpressive equipment, but they have access to many man-portable anti-air and anti-tank capabilities. We suspect they are being supplied by the Galactic Alliance and Mandalorian Enclave." Annor smirked 'of course they are.' she thought to herself. Erin scowls beneath the visor of her Imperial Cap. "There is something more." Her voice was grim; she pressed another white button, bringing up a hololithic projection of a Jedi clasping a lit lightsabre in both hands. "The resistance you encounter might include some Jedi advisors; intelligence indicates they've been advising the Kel Dor militia; remember to take your lightsabres. Hopefully, you won't need them."
Liene's left hand fondled the Sith-Crossguard hanging from her Imperial Belt, seized during the war. Liene had been gifted this particular sword by a decorated and handsome Lord of an Imperial Knight who trained her in the art. The memory lightsabre training was sweet, distilled from moments of sweet adrenaline and calm, zen meditation. "Drop's in an hour, topographical maps and mission specs are being uploaded to your Rampart armour by the techies as we speak. Any questions?" Erin powered down the hololithic table and stood high, using both hands to straighten her cap. "Up and at them, ladies."
FN-999 thought the last gasps of rebellion had been swept from Dorin when he had personally executed the treasonous warden of Blacksite Barbarous, yet the resistance had only surged since then, information about the top-secret Blacksite’s breach apparently being leaked to the entire planet’s population. Almost the entire planet was engulfed in rebellion, with heavy fighting taking place in Dor'shan itself. Its subjugation would be the 501st Legion's responsibility.
The 908th were set to besiege the Central Spaceport.
While the fall of the spaceport to rebel forces had abruptly cut off supplies and reinforcements, nearly half of the 908th was already deployed on Dorin as they had attempted to stop the earlier Alliance infiltration. With several days of supplies remaining, morale remained high.
FN-999 would not fail again.
"Nines, we've successfully cordoned the spaceport." stated Lieutenant Colonel Bigfoot. "We're setting up anti-air defenses as we speak. Once they're up, the only way in and out of the spaceport will be through overwhelming Imperial force."
"Good." replied the Baron. "Is the breach company ready?"
"On your command." responded Bigfoot.
"Thank you." sincerely replied FN-999. "I'd like you to maintain the cordon from outside. I'll lead the breach company myself."
"Be careful out there." warned the lieutenant colonel. "Our scouts claim there are Jedi holed up in there."
"Not for long." concluded the Baron. "Good luck."
"You too, Baron."
The pair parted ways, and the Baron moved through the cordon towards the amassed breach company.
Within the formation stood two hundred of the 908th's finest soldiers. Two squads of the famous death troopers, eighteen squads of formidable shocktroopers, and another twenty squads of regular stormtroopers stood assembled in a 20 x 10 rectangle at the edge of the cordon, about half a kilometer away from the perimeter of the spaceport. Survivors of the earlier Blacksite raid and armed to the teeth, the company's morale was sky-high. As he approached the assembled troopers, they hastily presented themselves with a formal salute, swinging their assorted weapons to their sides.
"We will begin the breach any minute!" yelled the Baron. "I will give an order to surrender, but it is a mere formality. The rebels will likely refuse, and that is when we will act. On my order, we charge. Would the quartermaster please hand me the megaphone?"
A stormtrooper officer emerged from within the formation with a large loudspeaker, which he promptly transferred to the Baron.
"Turn on your noise mufflers." warned the Baron before engaging the powerful device.
[ATTENTION, REBEL FORCES! YOUR TIME IS UP. TEN THOUSAND ENTRENCHED STORMTROOPERS SURROUND YOU ON ALL SIDES, AND ANTI-AIR DEFENSES ARE SET UP TO SHOOT DOWN ANY REINFORCEMENTS. SURRENDER NOW, AND YOU WILL BE SPARED. REFUSE, AND WE WILL NOT HESITATE TO BREACH THE SPACEPORT AND KILL EVERY REBEL INSIDE. YOU HAVE TWO MINUTES TO RESPOND.]
Space, hyperspace, they were the few places that let her truly be at ease in the haze of colors around her. She could tune out the colors of the others, letting her sit in meditation. Relax, if only briefly. There was no doubt in her mind that once they landed things would kick right off. Probably before they even landed. They broke atmosphere, and already she could sense the colors below. Tense, fear, anger.
Iris opened her eyes, glancing towards Jasper. And smiled. Just a little one as she reached out to pat his shoulder and get up to head to the back. EMPs were probably going to be incredibly useful this time around.
"We got this."
Though she paused as a different shade of colors blurred through. Just for a moment, anyway. Her gaze shifted to the other. Not a Padawan she knew, though she recognized the emotion there. She frowned, closed her eyes all over again to try and piece what she meant together. She wasn't crazy, that much was certain. On a battlefield like this there would always be something to make someone woozy.
Not to that extent. It took only a second for her to find a color she didn't expect. And didn't want. Without a word she opened her eyes, frowned, and wandered back to her original destination.
And there he was. Laying atop grenades.
Grenades.
She raised a hand, pulling the headphones off his head with a pull of the Force. A conflict of emotions rushed through her right away. On one hand, she wanted to turn the ship around. Leave, now.
The other, she knew they couldn't. Literally couldn't. By the colors around them the Empire had already closed it's net. The fact they landed meant they were the last. Concern was the only emotion left.
"You stay by me at all times, until I tell you to run. Then you run. Find a place to hide. Understood?"
THE EMPIRE IMPERIAL SPECIAL FORCES
501st Legion Allies: Saul Vandron
| Liene E-230
Engaging: Open
The two Stormtroopers were already pressed against the wall at the side of an old building, having barely escaped. They were trying to avoid drawing detection and the harshness of the wind which ripped through the capital, when the pounding of footsteps against the splash of water grew closer. Isolated from their platoon, with no comms and with one of them injured, they couldn't run but they couldn't stay put either.
At their feet, she noticed a littering of shattered glass and looked up to confirm her suspicions of an open window above. Her companion's head lifted to observe what she was looking at and without the need for clarification he nodded in agreement, pulling his arm from around Katja's shoulders as she had been supporting his weight on account of his injured leg.
She jumped to grab the window ledge and pulling herself through the broken window with difficulty as the elements worked against her. Once inside, she immediately turned back and leaned out to offer her hand to her compatriot, assisting him up with even greater difficulty, especially as their desperation grew. Both landed on the floor behind them with a thud, followed by a brief moment of reprieve to collect themselves.
The room was eerily quiet compared to the howling winds outside but it was not silent and they couldn't be certain they were alone. Rising to her feet, she offered a hand to Einar to help him back to his feet. They were not out of the woods yet.
With one arm supporting the Corporal, her other hand remained on her blaster in anticipation as they advanced further into the building but she soon holstered the weapon upon seeing the familiar armour of their allies once turning a corner but it didn't provide quite the sense of relief they had been hoping for as the other troopers were equally stuck in a difficult position.
The two arriving troopers looked worse for wear, although Katja was unharmed. "We got separated from our platoon, sir." She informed the General. "They ambushed us and we barely escaped. I can't say how the others fared for certain but..." She began to explain.
"At least a dozen dead." Einar confirmed with a pained grunt as testament to the battle they had endured while he was assisted to the ground to rest against a wall.
"There were too many to save." She agreed.
The true number of casualties couldn't be known until communications were restored.
Their strength was their unity but they had been forced into isolation.
The Empire
Expansion Region | Dorin | Outskirts of Central Spaceport Primary Objective: Retake Spaceport Secondary Objective: Provide Armored Support To Friendly Infantry Elements Friendlies: The Empire | Keylee Linth
| FN-999 | Karkosuchus (?) | Open For More Hostiles: Insurrectionists | Galactic Alliance | Iris Arani
| Zak Dymo | Jasper Kai'el
| Nyla Ven
Open For More Directly Engaging: N/A | Open Gear:In Bio
Elements of the 181st Armored Division, 2nd Bn. 3rd Co. 3rd Pl. XT-62 MBTb ‘331’ | Charlie 3-1 | [Command Tank] XT-62 MBTb ‘332’ | Charlie 3-2 | Column Lead Tank XT-62 MBTb ‘333’ | Charlie 3-3 | [On Reserve] XT-62 MBTb ‘334’ | Charlie 3-4 | [On Reserve]
Elements of the 181st Armored Division, 2nd Bn. 5th Co. 4th Pl. XV-60a APC ‘541’ [Mech. Inf. Command Element] XV-60a APC ‘542’ XV-60a APC ‘543’ [On Reserve] XV-60a APC ‘544’ [On Reserve]
First deployment as a Tank Commander, and he was unfortunate enough to find himself in the worst possible combinations of disadvantages a tank crew could ever find themselves in; traversing in a densely urban terrain in an asymmetrical warfare environment, against a foe adopting the tactics and strategies of guerilla fighting with no telling what sort of threat waited for them behind the next corner.
And not to mention the raging storm above their heads; as much as that was a double edged sword, and the rebels themselves, at least in theory, had messy communications that also affected their operations in this damnable weather. The lack of long range communications meant they, the Imperials, had no way of requesting an artillery barrage, or contact a fast mover for close air support on the spot.
The infantry was using runners for that, to report back their findings to their superiors, as well as for requesting indirect fire support from friendly elements.
What a rudimentary, primitive form of communication between units that was; from an era far,faaar bygone.
With weary eyes behind his black tinted helmet visor, the young Tank Commander’s gaze scanned the urban terrain stretching before him from his cupola as the rain continued to shower him; the patter of the downpour over the sturdy, inflexible steel of their tanks were almost loud enough to completely drown out the thunderous grumbles of their engines, and the rumbling of their tracks against the road underneath them as the armored column continued its surge forward at a cruise convoy speed, enroute to the capital’s space port.
As much as the roads were secured by a previous unit that traversed them -namely by the brave men and women of the 908th that were currently laying siege to the rebels holding the space port- they could not forego exercising caution while they traversed the treacherous urban terrain; the young Sergeant was quick to grow tired. Tired of expecting a small rebel anti-tank team to pop up from the depths of some backstreet, or from a window from within one of the buildings that surrounded them all, in this duracrete jungle.
This had to be worse than being caught under an artillery barrage.
Though as much as his sharp senses did not warn him of a threat towards the lives of his comrades in arms or himself at the moment, the apprehensive, wholly unsettling suspense behind a possible ambush never ceased lingering; it was always there at the back of his mind.
<”Karkin’ rebels…”> he muttered to himself under his breath as he reached for his macrobinoculars hanging from his neck, but his tired voice would ring in their tank’s intercom.
<”Tell me about it,”> Kale, their Tank Driver, muttered back at him. <”I was promised we’d be taking the fight to the Maw when I signed up, not quelling insurrections in Bumkark-Nowhereville,”> the kid, no older than twenty galactic standard years, grumbled as he looked out his glasteel viewports with vigilance, his eyes on the road at all times.
<”Well ain’t that the truth,”> the TC muttered as he raised his binocs to his helmet visor; <”Mm-hmm..”> a concurring grunt belonging to their brawny Loader chimed in from the young Sergeant's left on the turret. The linkage of the heavy repeater, pintle mounted onto the rim of the Loader’s Hatch, metallically creaked as the man shifted the machine gun to a sector to his left. <”Wouldn’t you agree?”> the young Sergeant asked his second in command as he momentarily shifted his gaze from his binocs and down the Commander’s hatch, looking at his Tank Gunner; a recent addition to their crew, his replacement.
Not long after they casually conversed all the while remaining vigilant, they came across formations worth of humanoid silhouettes. They could barely make out what they resembled; as Stege brought the machine gun to bear to the front, aiming at the unknown contacts, the young Tank Commander chimed in. <”Friendly. Friendlies up front. Fingers off the trigger,”>
He could see the stormtroopers bearing the insignia of the 908th Legion with his binocs.
They had arrived.
Letting go of the macrobinoculars, the young man reached out for the pair of signal flags from his station inside the tank, and re-emerged out of his cupola once more. <”Never thought I’d use these,”> he muttered as he waved them in several patterns, facing the small column of vehicles behind them -numbering no more than four, '332' included- the young Tank Commander relayed they had arrived to the premise of the Space Port to the Command Tank, following just twenty five meters behind them, and the pair of APC’s trailing the former.
Receiving a set of gestures similar to his action, performed with a similar pair of signal flags from Lieutenant Löwe after he himself emerged from his cupola, the kid turned around to face forward, putting away the flags. <”Easy on the gas Kale we got infantry around us,”> he warned the driver as he himself looked out for infantry, immediately he’d warn him if they were close by.
<"I know I know, I can see 'em,"> the young man confirmed with a curt nod of his head, leaning even closer to the Driver's viewport in front of his helmet visor.
[ATTENTION, REBEL FORCES! YOUR TIME IS UP. TEN THOUSAND ENTRENCHED STORMTROOPERS SURROUND YOU ON ALL SIDES, AND ANTI-AIR DEFENSES ARE SET UP TO SHOOT DOWN ANY REINFORCEMENTS. SURRENDER NOW, AND YOU WILL BE SPARED. REFUSE, AND WE WILL NOT HESITATE TO BREACH THE SPACEPORT AND KILL EVERY REBEL INSIDE. YOU HAVE TWO MINUTES TO RESPOND.]
<”Alright. Stege, button up. Kale, slow down and halt. Engage siege mode,”> the young TC sharply ordered as the booming voice of The Baron reached his ears, enhanced greatly by the megaphone he held just an inch before his helmet annunciator. <”Copy that,”> At Hall’s command the brawny Loader disappeared into the tank, closing the hatch behind him.
Slowing down shortly after his order, not long after the pair of tanks engaged their siege mode at the rear formation of the scores of friendly infantry to their front, several dozen yards away from them.
Similarly coming to a halt, the mechanized infantry within the armored confines of the APC’s to their rear in the column disembarked, taking up defensive formations around the tanks to keep them secure from a very plausible ambush by the opposing force.
<”Gunner, dial into grid…”> he paused, taking a moment to refer to his holomap. Spreading it onto the rim of his Commander's Hatch, the kid began reading the coordinates of the Space Port. <”Six, Eight, Two. Niner, Zero, One.”> he relayed to Keylee. Waiting for her readback, he would confirm her readback only when her grid coordinates matched the one he gave her. <”Fire on my command, not before. Stege,”> he instructed as he tucked away the holomap to a pouch; he shifted his attention to the Loader over the intercom after instructing Keylee. <”Load High Explosive Incendiary after the first shot,”>
<”Roger that,”> Stege confirmed.
With a brief, satisfied nod of his head, the young man glanced over his shoulder at the command tank positioned to twenty five meters to his left on the road. Giving the Lieutenant a thumbs up, he informed the Platoon Commander they were ready to fire; Shifting his gaze from a 908th Stormtrooper that had climbed onto their tank -a runner- and at Hall, the young Lieutenant returned the young Sergeant's gesture with his own.
Sending away the trooper to the 908th's Commander after his acknowledging gesture to the Sergeant, Hall watched the trooper make his way through the rows of infantry at a brisk pace towards The Baron to notify his Commander, that they had armored elements available for supporting fire.
Then, the waiting began.
One way or the other, they would take the Space Port.
They had to. The opposite meant the friendly armored and mechanized elements deployed all across the planet and the capital -as well as the rest of the force that were dispatched to quell the insurrection- would be starved out of the ever depleting fuel, munitions, and reinforcements.
"Here on Dorin, the atmo will do most of the killing for you," Veino said, pausing as tanks rumbled through the streets below. He kept himself down on the floor of the building, the durasteel shutters pulled shut against the storm that shook the building. "Most Imperial troops are humans, so disable their breathing apparatuses and the helium will quickly suffocate them."
His voice was muffled and distorted by the rebreather in his helmet, filtering and adjusting the chemical components of the air he breathed, removing the excessive amounts of helium and increasing the oxygen levels to breathable levels.
"Hit barracks, mess halls, other places where they're not wearing armor," one of his companions, a grizzled Kel'dor who peered down the scope of the rifle to ensure it was clear. Veino nodded.
"Doesn't even need to kill them," he said after a moment. "Just needs to keep them on edge. Resistance movements are mental more than physical. Be ready to fight years." The words were bitter in his voice, even through the rebreather. "And expect to lose more than you win."
His small team stiffened at the words and he shrugged. "Lose all the battles you want and you can still win the war. Break their will to fight. Nobody has the money or the manpower to fight forever and unless the Empire deploys its entire military here, they will always be outnumbered. And between the Maw and Alliance, they can't afford that."
Veino pushed himself up on one elbow and cracked open the shutter. The wind blasted into the room like a thunderclap, almost drowning out the loudspeaker's proclamation rattling the air. Rain spattered across his visor, cloaking the world shades of gray. He adjusted his helmet, switching to infrared to look through the rain.
"Couple tanks, hot and bright," Veino commented, "And some more armored ones. Even more heat off them." The Kel'dor nodded.
"Priority targets?" Pla'ken, sliding the rocket magazine into the RPS. "Tanks?" Veino considered a moment and then shook his head.
"Transports. Leaves the tanks vulnerable." Veino dropped back down to the floor, taking in his small team. "Get everything packed up. We're not staying for more than one volley. We shoot and run."
The breaching company was just far too tempting a target, in more ways than one. A bunch of angry, well-equipped stormtroopers already smarting from their defeat at the black site, led by the same commander, assuming the intelligence he'd been gathering over the past few weeks was accurate. It was the same tactic too.
Mass numbers in an enclosed space. Attempts to physically block escape routes. Veino filed that away for later use. This commander was brave, relentless, even, but unimaginative. And in doing so, made perhaps some of his best, most highly motivated troops easy targets.
"They think they're in control," Veino continued, cracking his fingers in anticipation. "That's the entire basis of imperial-fascist psychological warfare. And they use huge displays of force to convince others that they're in control. Erode that image..." He let his voice trail off with a shrug.
"They will eventually retake the spaceport." His words were flat and to the point. "But that's not the point. They'll probably kill everyone inside or execute those they capture, but that becomes a rallying cry. Martyrs for the cause. Of course, they could siege them out, but it would make the Empire look weak. Break their image of control until the populace is convinced and rallies."
"Keep provoking them, you're saying." That was Kin'fell. The sniper.
"Essentially," Veino agreed. "With imperials, anything but servile obedience and belief in their superiority is a provocation so that it won't be hard. Graffiti. Ignoring them in shops, even delaying service. Outlaw broadcasts."
Governments weren't hard to break, at least locally. Autocratic ones even had a well-developed template of resistance that helped grind them to a halt. Dispersal. Sabotage. Passive resistance. Acts of resistance, especially after displays of authority. He'd spent the weeks since slipping out of the black site working with a small team of Dorin Resistance leaders. Training. Drills. Strategy. Logistics. Counter-intelligence especially. Communications. Codes. Encryptions.
He knew there would be a reprisal; there would have to be. The best he could do is make sure the resistance was ready to weather the storm. The Underground had survived the One Sith's hegemony of most of the galaxy before helping the original Galactic Alliance break the iron grip of the Sith.
Sith Empire. One Sith. The Galactic Empire. The First Order. Veino had fought them all. Outlived them all and done more than his share of breaking them. This Empire would just be next in line.
"I think they're ready," Veino said, coming up to his knees again and adjusting his visor to study the scene. "Rockets- on the transports. They're close enough for unguided. Grenades..." He pursed his lips, considering. The storm was too bad for any serious air support to get through until it was past. A few might slip through here and there, but Veino figured they were just as likely to crash as land anywhere. "Sonics and Class-A's."
That would wreak havoc on the packed formation, even through the storm. It'd be nice if he had a loudspeaker like the stormtrooper commander, but he would make do. He had already scrawled his message across the room's floor with the spray paint.
How many of your soldiers die because you look only at the enemies ahead of you and never the enemies behind?
Cryptic. Vague. Doubt-inducing. Start chipping at their will to fight. First, turning their emplacements against them. Now this.
But that was enough for that. Veino raised electrobinoculars to his eyes and studied the ranges. "Transports- 450 meters. Rockets on target. Grenade- max range, bearing zero-two-three."
It was technically beyond the range of the grenade launcher, but that was where Veino gave it an edge. The Jensaarai had developed the skill of ballistikinesis in centuries past, focusing their telekinetic abilities not on the size of thrown objects but on the number, and their precision. Grenades were excellent for such a skill set.
"On my mark-" Veino said slowly as the two Kel'dor took positions beside him, adjusting their sights. The others gathered their supplies and moved towards the door. The others with him would be ready to fire as well. Veino closed his eyes and inhaled, letting the Force flow through and around him. He reached out with his mind, feeling the energy pent up in the grenades, their presence a cold absence that he wove the Force in and around.
As Jasper set the Lonestar 1 down in a discrete location, he quickly ordered his BB unit Blip to take care of the vessel before stepping out to find a familiar face. A frown spread across his as he gazed at the Nautolan youth.
"Zak..." he sighed, almost sounding like an upset older brother. Jalen had very much helped him grow in this department. "On the grenades, man?"
A pang of guilt washed over him. Jasper hadn't stopped to check his cargo before they had departed. Now he had let a 13 year old find his way to an open warzone. This was great. Fantastic, even. Absolutely everything was falling apart. He half expected Iris to call the mission off and turn them around, yet she held. Jasper would have made the call to leave, but he was going to follow his friend's judgement.
"Listen up, kid," Jasper began with a frown. "I don't know if you've noticed yet, but we're sort of in a free-fire zone. I suggest you listen to everything Miss Arani says, or I'll personally drag you kicking and screaming back to Coruscant myself."
He sighed, picking up a large box next to the container of EMP grenades and hoisting it onto his mechanical shoulder.
"You're lucky you decided to hide in the crate you did," he added. "The other one had thermal detonators in it." Jasper turned to Nyla and Iris, keeping his cool in this admittedly less than desirable situation. "Got a couple hundred of them, figured I'd grab some for local efforts. I'm gonna touch base with the Kel Dor and get them these grenades, see if we can start coordinating our efforts."
Jasper paused, a feeling washing over him for only a brief moment. He felt a familiar presence, followed by the even more familiar sound of destruction.
F I S T _ O F _ T H E _ E M P I R E
501st STORMTROOPER LEGION SPARK OF RESISTANCE HEARTS OF IRON w/ Katja JavikLiene E-230
Engaging: Open
The bleak silence of the building, laden only with the howling of wind and striking of thunder from outside, was interrupted by a ruckus from the lower floor. 'Friendlies' echoed throughout the abandoned structure as the two soldiers of the third platoon were ushered toward the General's makeshift headquarters on the upper floor. The clicks of gun safety mechanisms heralded the battered troopers' arrival.
The 501st was itching for a scrap.
The duo's report matched with Saul and Tycho's earlier assumptions -- the platoon had been ambushed. Thirty and so good men and women slaughtered by the ill hand of terrorists. The General gestured for a nearby trooper, "Get this man to the medbay." he jerked his helmet at the injured corporal before tapping his wristpad to spawn a holo-map of the cty and their approximate location. A moving line simulated the lost third platoon's patrol route in the direction of Moff Var Koon's Office. "The storm should impair them as it does us but--"
"-but it doesn't line up -- how are they able to spring these ambushes despite the weather?" Tycho chimed in finishing the General's line of thought.
"Indeed." Saul said before turning to the special operator that had just arrived with the corporal, "Sergeant, can you pinpoint where--
A loud crash of glass shattering cut through his words and a howl of NCO commands erupted through the floors of the abandoned housing project. Steeled boots hurried back and forth as soldiers chattered in confusion and suspicion before the source of the upheaval was revealed to the General. A severely wounded Kel Dor, draped in tattered robes, with a quarterstaff in hand escorted by two stormtroopers whose guns were itching to aim at the man's back.
"General, my name... my name is Zasil Shu of the... Baran-Do." the Kel Dor introduced himself, his chest heaving through every other syllable. "We... we have been betrayed. A group of our Sages has turned coat to join forces with the insurgents guiding them through the tempest."
Treachery. Chaos' strongest weapon.
Before another word was uttered, another blaster bolt ricocheted inside the room forcing everyone inside to instinctively duck to cover. A hail of blaster fire followed in response as a stormtrooper violently in kind.
"HOLD!! Hold your fire, trooper, damn it! Save that ammo for when we actually need it." he barked, then stepped over to the nearby staircase to echo the same notion across the rest of the company, "You hear?!" a series of affirmatives resonated through the building before the platoon leaders pulled their units' ears and reigned them in. They were well aware of the logistical nightmare they were in at least until the 908th managed to reclaim the spaceport.
The 501st's patience was running out. They had to move.
And they would. Now that they had a clear target in mind and a plan circulating in Saul's mind.
"You can do the same, can't you, Sage? Navigate the storm..." the half-black, half-orange helmet turned to gaze at the Kel Dor. The question was rhetorical.
"Sir, he can barely walk--" Tycho remarked. The last thing they needed was to weaken the proverbial herd.
"I will walk. Crawl, if I have to, son, but I will not leave the fate of my world in the hands of those eager to unleash the gates of chaos upon their very own people." Zasil stated, burning fervor rejuvenating the Baran-Do Sage. His grip tightened around the quarterstaff holding him up on his two feet. "Our Order may not be militant, but I've learned a trick or two from my brethren who had joined the Knights of the Empire."
"Good." a slight smirk tugged Saul's lips beneath the menacing helmet. "Then it is settled. Tycho, rally the troops. We're going Sage hunting." there was a slight, barely visible twitch from Zasil Shu at the General's harsh words; to shed the blood of brothers was always a daunting task. Saul recalled well the agony of cutting down your former brothers in arms when Tavlar had risen up in arms against their former Sith overlords. The memories still haunted him but time and righteousness had unburdened their weight.
He was on the right side of history.
"Sergeant." he shifted his glare at the special operator, the one they called Spectre of SCAR Squadron. "You'll lead us to where the platoon was ambushed, it's our most recent trail on the rebels. Shu, you'll guide us through the tempest and sniff out the treacherous curs of your Order. One.. by one." the General ordered, threatening implications sipping through his voice.
Rika Hiro|COMPNOR|Dorin
Tags:// Looking for Sedna Pulsar
Rika had been here once before, in the arms of Hunter and her fellow agents looking for the rebel leadership on this godforsaken planet; only an intervention from Don Belkora
's ISB unit had allowed them to shoot their way out of the rebel-infested hellhole alive and untouched.
Now she was deployed again, ordered to reunite with any other operatives on the ground and work to undermine the rebel efforts once more and prevent Dorin from sliding further into the anarchic abyss. Stowed aboard a remarkable-looking cruiser delivering iced goods from Galidraan, the Atrisian slipped quietly away between the massed cargo and shadows, away from the prying eyes of both the public and any rebels on guard. Rika had done this routine a thousand times before, like clockwork and straight to the point; she'd arrive with some alias or bullsh*t story, and when that was impossible, she'd hide among ship cargo and slip away into the labyrinth of the urban horizon.
She crept through the alley; pistol stowed safely away in her belt in case of any threats as she did her work and looked for the Zeltron. Rika stopped just before a major street, quietly peering out from the corner as a bunch of rebel soldiers ran past in the direction of an otherwise nondescript building. Mere moments later, a blast of light fired from the roof and into the direction of Imperial fighter craft above, nearly outright downing a fighter craft as it made it's way over. Rika twisted away, hastily stamping in coordinates to a channel before connecting in a call to Imperial army command.
"This is special Agent Hiro over; enemy anti-air position is at coordinates 45, 34, 72, grid mark bravo over."
"Copy that over."
She promptly shut the call down and hurried down the alleyway again, bracing as a haunting, droning noise rang over the distance, followed by a missile striking the marked building and levelling everyone and anything inside.
THE EMPIRE IMPERIAL SPECIAL FORCES
501st Legion Allies: Saul Vandron
| Liene E-230
Engaging: Open
It pained her to explain the situation they had just returned from. When it became clear that they were being overwhelmed, they had been ordered to retreat to cover, only... not everyone made it that far. She couldn't help but feel guilty for escaping when the rest of the platoon perished but it was a slaughter and they stood no chance. As the two surviving troopers were near the back of the fray at the time, with the medic preventing the other from bleeding to death, they were afforded a precious few seconds to escape but it was only through the sewers that they were able to avoid detection - Not the most glamorous escape.
As they had told, they hadn't seen the extent of the decimation of their platoon. They had hoped that some might have managed to escape as they had but it was wishful thinking. The platoon had walked into a trap blind; they weren't supposed to get out.
Her gaze briefly flicked over to the trooper she had arrived with. It was at least some small comfort, if it could be called that, that she had made some difference. There were so many that she couldn't help but at least one person she could and with her knowledge of the attack, there was yet more that she could do to help.
The General didn't need to finish the question for her to understand what he was asking so she had already begun nodding before he was interrupted. She flinched at the sound of shattering glass and whipped round in anticipation of the rebels attacking while they were sitting ducks, but it soon became apparent that that wasn't the case. Her tension eased when after a few moments and her hand withdrew from the blaster at her hip that it had instinctively locked around.
"You don't need to be so jumpy. You're safe now." A nearby trooper told her with all the attitude of someone who hadn't been ambushed that day. She wasn't easily angered but the ignorance did serve to irritate her. She didn't berate him for it, instead offering a warning. "An attitude like that will get you killed." She told him, justifying her perhaps overzealous response.
Their attention turned to the Kel Dor that entered before both ducked in response to a stray blaster bolt. It was almost humorous. "You don't need to be so jumpy. You're safe now." She mimicked him.
The company was not in its usually foreboding state, cooped up in an abandoned building. They were getting trigger happy and they were itching to give the rebels hell. It seemed the Kel Dor, a self-proclaimed Sage of some non-descript association that she didn't recognise, could provide them with the opportunity to traverse the violent weather.
"Yes, sir." She replied to the directive with standard formality. It was a great responsibility but she was more than used to having responsibility placed on her shoulders.
She wanted nothing more than to just sit down and catch her breath for a moment but that was a luxury they couldn't afford, not while their men were out there fighting for their lives and not while her own platoon lay cold on the ground, under the boots of terrorists.
It was just as well that she was leading them to the last known location of the rebels with the assistance of the Sage. She probably had a higher tolerance for the liability of the injured than most but it was confounded by the itching desire to stay out of the storm and out of the open space outside.
There was no alternative.
"Looks like you're with me." She told the Kel Dor in response to the orders they had been given as she paused while passing the doorway. She didn't have any real authority over him, as she herself was only acting on command of the General, but she was thankful for it. In such a high stakes situation, she was glad that the responsibility of decision-making was not hers.
Captain Diana Blissex was beside herself with anger. Dorin wasn't a crucial world by any means. It was filled with an ugly people, Chiss slums, and silly monks who thought they could redirect the lightning from storms. Baran Do Sages they called themselves. Estranged Hermits she called them. They weren't Jedi though and the valiant service record of Admiral Var Koon and his relationship with the sages had kept the Imperial Knight Inquisitors away from them...For now.
It was a border world with the Alliance however, and with tensions as high as they were the Grand Moff should have made sure that their system fleets were in position over worlds like Dorin, worlds that made it on the map and worlds that could mean something to the misguided rebels and their Jedi interlopers. Now resources were being dragged from all corners of the Empire to quell this rebellion. The 501st, the 908th, both were elite units that should have been performing mop-up operations of the Chiss and Tion Cluster resistance forces. Yet here they were, fighting the Jedi and rebels. The Triumvirate was losing control. If it had been Rurik- Well, there was no point in thinking about that now.
For now, the administrator of Entralla and the acting captain would oversee the flawless transfer of troops, material, and vessels requested. She'd worked with the 501st before- Some of their number protected the Kuat-Entralla shipyards. But these 908th ruffians...Well they had a reputation for a reason. She watched from an observation deck on her star destroyer, datapad in hand having just checked off the last list of gozanti freighters. One should be coming shortly.
"Captain." Diana turned to face a frightened looking ensign.
"What is it?" The lad seemed to somehow stand up straighter and offered her another datapad. How many of these things did they have to carry? She already had three. She grimaced and took the pad.
"I-It seems that rebels have taken over the spaceport. Transport J-345 is uhm, its having some issues leaving the spaceport." Diana's eye twitched. More delays. Another rebel attack. She bit back a curse as she scanned the pad.
"Here, follow me," she said before unceremoniously dumping her three other datapads into the arms of the ensign. Her boots clicked down the hall as she mad her way to the bridge. She had brought with her two KDY Katana-class heavy cruisers and of course the gozantis had their own TIE escorts. She would ensure that not a single vessel left this system.
Karkosuchus certainly could tell that the Dorin Spaceport was vital to the Empire as an Entire Stormtrooper Legion (FN-999) was surrounding it along with a tank company (Hall Mannarra
) rolling through to support them moving forward. Moving along the last rooftop and making quite a leap onto the top of the spaceport making quite a thud along the wall. Withdrawing his Stouker Concussion Rifle from his holster and checking the ammunition inside. Along with making sure that his breathing mask was secured and wouldn't fall out due to the rather poisonous atmosphere of the planet.
Once confirming that he had enough for a few volleys, Karkosuchus would stalk along the edge before leaping down behind some boxes. His snout smelled the air to pick up the different scents of the individuals currently inside. There was a faint smell coming from Veino Garn
direction but they were far away from his current position nearer to the Gozanti-Class Freighter currently being looted and supplies being distributed to the Dorin Resistance.
While the Stormtrooper Legion had the Resistance distracted, He would slip behind enemy lines and disable key elements of the spaceport.
