"Master Immarya," Thwaf said as the young private reached down to grab something next to his seat and pull it out and offer a rather rough looking bucket to the young padawan, "The sarge said you would need this." He finished, his voice almost brimmed with pride at having served his sergeant well.
Iona blinked once.. then twice, the corner of her lip twitched as if fighting between frowning and smiling. She was thankful for the bucket, truly, as she may need it especially if things got bumpy and the fact she was by the window, and so would see the universe moving around them, would do her no favors, but it irked her, to no end, that the sergeant would think she needed it. It hurt her pride, not as much as it did that he knew she would forget her own bucket that he had reminded her to bring. Sure, she could be overthinking it, could have just been a joke, and it was luck that she had forgotten hers, but the way the sergeant's shoulders bounced, well, she didn't need to be linked up to their comm system to her his laughter.
"Thank you, Private," Iona said through gritted teeth. It wasn't Thwaf's fault, he was like a kath puppy, eager to please and do a good job. She flashed the private a large smile that had him squirming in the chair, although she wasn't sure why, sure she thanked him, but it was nothing to get too excited for.
Iona closed her eyes and tried to pretend the transport didn't just take off, that they didn't just plunge outside the hull of the ship, that they weren't floating through space in an even smaller metal box that was filled with explosive, volatile weaponry and weren't going to be shot down before they could land. Yes, she was just going to pretend even as she clutched the bucket in her lap hard enough her knuckles turned white.
Iona was more happy then she should be when they landed in the combat zone. Their transport had not been fired at, either they lacked AA batteries or they hadn't kicked them on yet, and, most importantly, they made it safety, they were no longer in the void! The second the door swung open, Iona sprung out the door, her lightsaber flashed alive in her hand as she fell into the routine movements of blaster bolt deflection providing cover to Sergeant Warren's squad as they piled out the door, running to cover and providing their own fire towards the slavers to keep their heads down.
Her senses and reflexes were more then enough to block the small amount of fire the slavers were putting out even as she drew most of the fire, standing in the open as she was with a giant, green glowstick that screamed, 'Jedi! Shoot her first!' to everyone around. Her azure eyes looked around the room, it was a spacious port mean to bring in large freighters to load up with their 'product' and then ship it out to the processing centers, large pallets, empty and otherwise, littered the hanger. She could make out a few fingers huddled in the corner, the collars around their necks leaving nothing to the imagination of who they were. Four slavers, well, three now, she corrected, as one took a blaster bolt to the neck, half of it simply erased from existence leaving behind only the burnt outline of where it once there had been flesh.
Her lightsaber never stopped its brilliant dance even when her comms crackled to life in her ear, the sergeant's rough, voice, like two boulders being ground together, issued an order "Check your fire! Civs at two o'clock, fire and advance, stay behind the Jedi!"
Iona didn't need to have tactical acumen to know her place in this as, technically, she was outside of the chain of command. No one here could order her to do anything and vice-versa, but she was to push forward to close the distance and let the men behind her advance before the door out of the hanger, large as they were, became a choke-point. Another slaver fell from a trio of well placed bolts struck his armor, the placement of them superb and letting them weaken and then punch through the armored vest, the slaver had just enough time to look down at the hole in his chest in shock before his body toppled over as if a puppet with their strings cut.
The last two slavers, realizing they had no way of holding the location with so many soldiers piling out and half of their small unit already dead started to fall back but another fell the second he turned around, a dark orange bolt, a high powered one if she had to guess, punched through the back of his helmet, the glass visor shattering over the floor staining it in red and gray.
The last slaver stared at the body in stupefied amazement, crouched down in cover, and just like that, his morale shattered, he got up to sprint away, but Iona reached out and with a swift jerk of her hand, she pulled on his left leg, just enough to unbalance him. The slaver dropped his weapon, his arms flailing in the air as he tried to recover his balance and stop his forward momentum, but too late, he smashed into the metal wall, head first and crumpled to the ground. He was still alive, Iona could feel it, but he was out like a light.
The fight had only lasted a few moments in total, the overwhelming numbers and firepower difference making the battle decisive. Iona didn't need to be a tactical genius to know the slavers didn't know they were coming. The hanger was barely defended, the outer defenses, if any, were not activated, or, perhaps, they had been turned off from the inside. She hadn't read the mission debrief and may have dozed off with the Sergeant had gone over the initial mission specs, but it was too easy. This place probably had thousands of slaves, there had to be a company, if not more, of slavers running this place and likely forces outside on standby ready to reinforce the position should there be any trouble, maybe even true military or contract merc forces.
"Corporal, secure the civs and that scum," Sergeant Warren barked, "Alpha, with me, we have a job to do."
Weapon in hand, he proceeded to the doors, his troops fanned out surrounded them spaced far enough to ensure any grenades would not hit more then one, their blasters at the ready. Iona followed behind the sergeant, her lightsaber held up as they crossed the door into the compound... As she passed the slaver, she could sense he was waking, instincts telling him to play unconscious, with a powerful kick to the side of his head, she completed the illusion.
