Flames of the Rubicon
ARC #1 - Flames of the Rubicon
OBJECTIVE 2 | THE SECOND BATTLE OF BASTION
Tags: OPEN
Kyra Nex and the remnants of her squad hunkered down amid the debris-strewn streets of Ravelin, their bodies pressed against the cool, shattered remnants of what had once been a grand municipal building. The echoes of war were all around them, each explosion a reminder of the relentless Imperial assault. Above, the sky was a chaotic dance of dogfights, with starfighters weaving and dodging in deadly aerial combat.
Suddenly, the high-pitched scream of TIE's engines crescendoed ominously close. "Down!" Saber roared, just as the sleek, ominous shape of a TIE swooped low, its laser cannons blazing. The ground around Kyra erupted, sending shards of concrete and duracrete flying as the fighter strafed their position. The squad flattened themselves against the ground, the fighter's engines whining menacingly as it passed, only to loop around for another run.
As the TIE fighter prepared to make another pass, an explosion from an anti-aircraft battery above them lit the sky. The TIE veered off, smoke trailing from one wing. The respite was momentary, however, as enemy infantry, emboldened by the aerial assault, began to advance, their blasters lighting up the dimming light of day.
"We're sitting ducks out here!" Pvt. Gabriel "Ghost" Johnson shouted over the din.
"We move on my mark!" Saber responded, peering around the corner of their makeshift cover. He counted down, "Three, two, one—mark!"
Kyra was the first on her feet, sprinting from cover to cover, her flamethrower held tight against her side. The squad dashed across the street, blaster bolts hissing past them, striking the ferrocrete and leaving molten scars in their wake. They dove behind an overturned speeder, the vehicle's cold metal a scant protection against the incoming fire.
Taking a deep breath, Kyra peeked over the edge of the speeder, assessing their situation. The enemy had them pinned, a squad of Imperial conscripts advancing behind a barrage of blaster fire, moving with mechanical precision. She could see the fear in the younger faces behind their helmets; they were soldiers, yes, but unwilling participants thrust into the furnace of war.
"This ends now!" she growled, setting her resolve. With a fierce cry, she stood, unleashing a torrent of flames towards the enemy. The bright, searing line of fire cut through the dim battlefield, creating a wall of heat and light. The conscripts scattered, their formation broken, but one, braver or more foolish than the rest, charged through the inferno.
Kyra's flamethrower sputtered empty at just the wrong moment. The conscript, a young man no older than nineteen, his uniform scorched and smoking, came at her with a wild, desperate swing of his vibroblade. Kyra dodged back, her own combat training kicking in. She drew her sidearm, but the conscript was too quick, closing the distance.
The combat was brutal and intimate. Kyra blocked a vicious thrust, grabbing the conscript's wrist and twisting hard. There was a sickening crack, but the young man didn't scream, only gritted his teeth and swung with his other hand, catching Kyra off-guard with a punch to her helmet.
Stars burst in her vision, but she retaliated with a knee to his midsection, hearing the air whoosh out of him. They grappled, each seeking to overpower the other in the mud and blood of the street. Kyra felt the sting of another blade slice along her arm, the pain sharp and hot. With a roar, she head-butted the conscript, his helmet crashing against hers.
Dazed, the young man stumbled back, his vibroblade dropping to the ground with a clatter. Kyra didn't hesitate; she lunged forward, tackling him to the ground. They rolled, each punch and block a testament to their desperation. Finally, Kyra managed to pin him down, her hands around his throat, squeezing with all the fury and fear that the war had instilled in her.
The conscript's eyes, wide with terror and pleading, met hers. In another life, they might have been friends, maybe even allies. But here, in the muck and gore of Ravelin's streets, they were only enemies. With a final, remorseful squeeze, the life faded from his eyes, and he lay still.
Kyra stood slowly, her breaths heavy, her uniform stained with the evidence of their struggle. She looked down at the young man, no sorrow to be found, only the hardened mask of a soldier at war.
"Squad, move up!" Saber's voice brought her back to reality. They had to keep moving, had to survive. Kyra picked up her flamethrower, checking the canisters before slinging it back over her shoulder.
