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Lyra leaned against her command console. Its displays had fizzed out through the comms jamming and all they had left was the updated displays from before the engagement began. Her elbows rested on the cold durasteel, but she couldn't feel it through the armor. It was the waiting that frustrated her. She was a warrior by training and by culture. Mandalorians fought with strategy, certainly, but they were all warriors, and excellent multitaskers. It was common for them to do both at the same time.
This was different. She was putting lives of others at risk while hers was, relatively speaking, far out of harm's way. The corvette was powered down for the moment, but if need be, they could go hot in thirty seconds and shields up five seconds after. Once the shields were up, nothing short of heavy field artillery was getting to her in its hull. Ground based weapons didn't have the power capacity to pierce a capital ship grade deflector shield.
A message crackled in through the comms and Lyra listened, putting together the sounds to get a sense of what was being said.
"Confirmed, Lieutenant. This is Overwatch-Six. Sending coordinates for detected hostile movement. Objective is unknown. Withhold engagement until their purpose discerned."
Another message rang on a different channel, from Captain Stazi. "Copy that, Dusk Actual. Porch light on and welcome-home basket getting warmed up. Observations of note?"
She could just make out their attached Jedi through the bridge's viewport. She too was getting restless, judging by the movement of her lekku. It was always good to have a Jedi around. A true Jedi, at that. They were all certain that those who had stayed were still true Jedi. Some viewed them with suspicion, but Lyra felt it a relief to have them. If there was a particularly tricky mission that her troops didn't have the skill or gear for, usually a Jedi could make it happen. That, and most of them could heal. Plus, there was something stirring about having a Jedi lead an assault. It just boosted the morale and elevated the events from the normal mudjumping of an infantryman's life to something grander and more heroic. Jedi made the impossible seem doable. And that was what they needed in this war.
She opened a channel to the Jedi, Cambira was her name, if Lyra remembered right. "Sensors are scrambled and comms jammed. You see anything through the Force about what's going on?"
The particle beams halted abruptly. Alkor made out the sounds of several voices, one of them clearly distressed. He increased the sensitivity on his aural amplifiers and picked out some choice vocabulary that clued him in on the nature of the dispute. Whoever had been shooting at him no longer was whether his grenade had been the cause or not.
He had to seize the opportunity to close the distance. The Stormtroopers were vividly aware of the Squib and @Cenric Manus now due to his verbose exclamation and subsequently, they switched their rifles to stun and refocused their fire in that direction. If the Squib were willing to break curfew and seek assistance from Rebel elements, they were as good as Rebels themselves in the mind of a band of First Imperial Stormtroopers. Dissent required discipline to stamp out.
"Kriff," Alkor muttered as he moved from his position behind cover. "Comms are down." It meant that they would have to make judgment calls for themselves rather than receive orders from on high, but he had some faith that the organized military of the First Order trained their men to function autonomously on their orders. "Remember, nonlethal takedowns only," he called over the short range transmitter, "I don't care if they're rebels or Squib. No casualties."
They moved to surround and pin down the man, as Alkor made for where [member="Yula Perl"] and [member="Elian Keyes"] were entangled. He noted the man was an Imperial, but his armor denoted the regalia of the Sith. Not unprecedented, of course- they had an agreement with the First Order. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary so he made no attempt to intervene, but what he did notice was the man pitifully entrapped by the contents of his grenade.
"Drop your weapon," he commanded in the brutal monotone created by his vocabulator. He stood behind [member="Zef Halo"] several paces with his rifle angled toward the man's spine. One wrong move and he would send a few overpenetrative rounds through the smuggler. "Hands where I can see them. You move only when I tell you to, or I unload the mag in your back. Your call."
Obviously, he hadn't recognized the man yet, and with his new beskar'gam and a mechanical voice, the feeling was likely mutual.
The strike team more or less went unimpeded through the Palace. There hadn't been another interaction with the Skor or the ORC presence. The team was sure to make sure they weren't overtly firing their weapons. The muted wubs of stun settings tended to sound quieter than the loud whines of their lethal cousins. So when the team closed in on the third floor, they could only assume that something was up.
I knew it was a trap, he thought to himself. But in this instance of being right it wasn't the sort of thing that you wanted to be right about. At this point, Omari had maneuvered himself to the front. His armour was able to be rendered invisible after all, so he was the best suited for the lead, even if in another life he would've been outranked by the Colonel.
"Hold. Movement." He said as he stood in the centre of the corridor. He heard the steps before he saw the steps that they belonged to, but it was a man moving down the hallway, pretty quickly too, and Omari's maser rifle raised instinctively. He had a gun. So why would he let himself be charged at? But it didn't seem the man saw him, or even recognized that he was there. But just behind him and around the corner was his team.
"Feth," he cursed. Outcomes raced through his mind. Who would live, who would die, and how he should proceed. But there were too many variables to take in to account. Instead, he let out a rushed, "Engaging," and the maser's bolt leapt in the general direction of the Grand Marshal's legs. He could at least stick to what he had earlier said and kept casualties low. Stun setting locked in, it packed a lesser punch, but was still prone to immobilize, like the Squib the Colonel had downed earlier.
Varas was so taken aback she could barely speak but when she did a mechanical chortle made its way out of her helmet.
“Chocolate. Definitely chocolate. The darker the better. Oh, but have you ever had a Tibanna Split?” The Knight looked to Marr, including her in the conversation. “Once we get out of here, we’ll have to go. It’s Bespin’s most famous ice cream dish.”
As Primat became distracted with his comms, Varas wondered about the odd topic of conversation. Flowers or chocolate were normally associated with a date or a prom or something to that effect. At least that’s what she knew from holo movies. What in the cosmos did it have to do with her?
Marr would lead them, but Varas’s muscles were as taught as a curled spring pulled to the limit at each end. Still she wanted to cry out to the girl to stop. They could all go back now to Bespin and have Tibanna Splits if they put their minds to it, right?
This is what happens when you father isn’t around, she thought bleakly. You would rather hang out with the Ren than fight with them. Thoughts of hot fudge and whipped cream still tugging at her mind, the Knight said: “Good idea. Marr. Marr?” The girl was distracted, probably the most focused out of the three of them. They would need to go soon, the three of them into the Palace to encounter either a diplomatic tableaux begun by the First Order or a cacophonous breakdown of civility.
Equipment| 2x Lightsabers (crimson), Standard Ren Armour (appearance) Stormtrooper Count|Seven; all alive Status| Determined
Primat couldn't help but smile under his helmet at the words that Varas spoke. Doing something like that with her, would be nice. No pressure from the First Order to get things done, no overbearing Kyrel watching over everyone. It would be a welcome breath of fresh air to the otherwise, at times, monotonousness life that was being part of the Knights of Ren. He was happy that his risk had paid off in asking her either flowers or chocolate, now he knew exactly what to get her. Though, their was an underlying issue now. For all he knew, Varas could not be suspicious as to Primat's intentions, which could throw his plans out of the window. However, the only thing he had planned thus far was getting her a gift, so maybe not. Though, Primat suspected that Varas had a sneaking suspicion that he was up to something, possibly knowing that it involved her in some way. Though, he hoped that she didn't know the latter part at the very least.
Now, however, Primat had a nagging question. He hadn't a clue as to what icecream tasted like, nor what it even was. On Tamora, it was more of rural living. Yes, their was technology on the planet which was equivalent to the rest of the galaxy, though their were no processing plants on Tamora, no outside exports, no foreign foods. Tamora wasn't so much rural, more of a more...'closed' world to the rest of the Galaxy. Being on the edge of known space, and it was just a peaceful world with no strategic value. After all, it had just been recently discovered. Primat was curious as to what this 'icecream' was, and how it even tasted. "So uhm...this is an awkward question. But, I have to be honest, on Tamora they didn't have any sort of food called 'Icecream.' I was curious as to what it was, if one of you could explain it." Primat felt a wave of awkwardness wash over him as the words left his mouth, he wasn't sure how both Marr and Varas would react to his question. Though, Varas did know a little about where he came from when they talked on Virgillia, so maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
Out of the fifteen stormtroopers who came with them to the ground, seven remained at the shuttle, guarding it. While the remaining eight stormtroopers followed close to the trio of Ren. The Ren themselves, weren't an army that could charge into a room, guns blazing. Despite how enticing that prospect might sound, they couldn't and wouldn't. They knew better than to do so. So, stormtroopers had accompanied them to the ground. The Ren had worked with the stormtrooper corps before, so they had an understanding about each other.
Primat followed close behind Marriskcal, with Varas to his right. They'd need to be in and out quick and with the King in hand. Though, Primat was still distracted. He didn't mean to be, though it was difficult for him to focus when Varas was near him. His hands felt tingly and his mouth felt dry our of nerves alone. Not a good feeling to have when you could get attacked at any moment. Though, Primat didn't want the feeling to go away any time soon. To try and distract himself, he pulled his signature lightsaber from his belt. clasping it tightly in his right hand as the trio walked along the wall, his sensors scanning outwards for any sign of enemy activity.
Location: Outside the space battle Objective: Save the whales Allies: [member="Dano Dil"] | [member="Jorus Merrill"] | [member="Jada Raxis"] | [member="Shia Kryze"] | [member="Griet van Vliet"] | @dax frye | @romie jade | [member="Silara Varis"] | [member="Kaine Australis"] | [member="Boda"] | [member="Mittens"] | [member="Mynock Dubrillion"] | whoever else I need to tag..
Enemies: [member="Kou'ha Escala"] | [member="Morro"] | [member="Karl Von Strauss"] | [member="Robogeber"] Gear: Blasters | Taozin Amulet | odds and ends of things in her back pack...grenades or two, nets. feathers, etc etc
What had started out as joyous was slowly becoming a horror show to. The pod of 12 that had arrived with her had attracted some of the females from the other groups and were performing some ritual dance of dips, dives and movements. But beyond that Rekha could see the battle she did not have the firepower the ships had.
She had no fleet, she had only her small freighter and a group of whales who were driven to......do their thing. But why weren't the others affected? Or had something else drawn their attention that prevented them from this natural occurrence.
Death of purgills she could see far off what looked like a group fighting and dying.
She was overwhelmed with responsibility she looked over to where her ship which was more about speed then weapons floated waiting for her to return. The beck and call would bring it to her.
What was she going to do.
Go.
She looked back all while she was thinking speaking out loud she didn't know if anyone or anything would hear her. "If I can produce the same some as the other males maybe I can lure more of the pods away from the battle. Hopefully not get my arse shot off" Yeah...ok...
She hit the return the Midnight Star fired up and headed towards her, she pushed off from the great beasts head, "You shouldn't stay here...its' not safe anymore..."
There is no choice for us....these are our grounds...live or die..
Rekha went through the hatch of the Midnight Star, pulling her gear of quickly she headed to the cockpit to put her plan in action
Location: Exit stage left, enter the main event
Objective: Make the First Order regret all of this
Allies: [member="Tiland Kortun"] because he's putting up with this madness, several other thugs and rebels
Enemies: Whomstever is still trying to enforce this curfew thing. Possibly [member="Azula Merr"] but all are welcome to try and murder the manic monk and his well-intentioned ally.
Vorhi considered Tiland's words. Counsel was important. "We can safe many lives doing search and rescue, but we can save a lot drawing the enemy's wrath as well. The ground forces are pulling their punches, they wanted to brand this conquest as a peaceful reclamation, not a slaughter worthy of their usual routine," he said with a nod. "I know it's not in your path to kill. But, well, we'll run the city. Make some noise," he said as walked over to the ugliest bike possible, a small hovering monstrosity. On it was etched hundreds of small phrases, in Force knew how many languages. The ones that coudl be translated readily in the languges Tilund knew included "this is where fire dances," "here I loved seven women," and somethign in Hutttesse about "rich man have many friends, poor spacers have better lovers, though." They weren't neat or lcean, They were scrawlings. Graffitti, even.
Vorhi smiled. "Room for two, but hang on tight, yeah?"
He hit another button on the mic, plugging it in to bike's sound system. A brief moment of feed back as he got on and revved.
"Look alive, Star Shine!" he intoned gestured for Tilund to get on as the blind idiot got onto a boat.
"Look alive, starshine
Force still flies in the sky
But the FO's won't quit
You're here with me: Uncle Alestrani
I'll be your hitlist, your back-fist, your archaeologist!
Pumpin' out the mystic-manic sounds
To keep you live
A new key for the old cage
Hyper-matter for the outer-age
Louder than the Force's reverb
And twice as shiny
This one's for all you fools and fethers
All you crash queens and spacer babies
Listen up!"
[youtube]https://youtu.be/egG7fiE89IU[/youtube]
The future is blasterproof!
The aftermath is secondary!
It's time to do it now and do it loud
ORC-boys
Make some noise!
Vorhi revved the engine and started running. Given that Tilund wouldn't participate in lethality, there was only one clean way to stop those walkers. And that was gonna involve some bulldancing. The City was a riot, and refugees had given way to thugs and maniacs. Swoopers, cone-men, grifters, and gunmen were all roaming the half-ruined city, looking to find the uniformed plasteel-covered fists who sought to impose law on it. Unfortunately, it was not going to be a simple job. And frankly, Vorhi aimed to make it harder. "IF WE AREN'T WILLINg TO KILL THE PILOTS, WE'LL HAVE TO HANDLE WALKERS A BIT MORE CLEVERLY!" Vorhi yelled at his partner in crime.
OOC:
Since y'all don't want to come to me, I'm bringing the party to you! who wants some of the dynamic duo?
The Pellaeon rocked as enemy fire began to engulf it. The Admonitor stood strong against the forces of disorder, but the rest of the Imperator Command was not faring well. While the flight of the purgills had been somewhat blunted by the Order's iron resolve, the smaller escorts fared no better beneath the brunt of the beasts. While some tried their best, and scrambled out of position to avoid being crushed, Grand Admiral Rausgeber watched in horror as escorts were wiped off the map. Destroyed by the oncoming beasts. This situation, the whole battle.... How? How had they been caught so woefully unprepared? The questions played into the droids mind, as its supercomputer seemed unable to contemplate the reality the droid was processing. But with each purgill death, came a sense of resolute resolve. The panic was over, and the enemy was perhaps yet to be overcome.
Still. As the purgills now withered beneath the fire of the First Order's combined naval might, Rausgeber breathed, proverbially of course, a sigh of relief. These casualties were by no means anticipated, or wanted. No madman ever would. But the situation seemingly now stabilised for the fleet. The crew of the Pellaeon, and by extension, the remainder of Imperator Command were shaken. Vessels still darted between the gargantuan beasts as they closed, causing as much damage as possible. "Grand Admiral!" The Sensor Officer barked, the Zabrak lieutenants face, glowing with a sheen of sweat, amplifying the violent gold of his pigment. "Twelve more contacts sir. Purgills arriving in sector three!" The droid snapped to attention. Reinforcements? A pod of the damned beasts entered onto the tactical display. The Grand Admiral could see they were on a chartered collision course. The man winced, and waited for impact. His optical sensor shut itself in anticipation. And the visual projection of his face closed his eyes.
But the deafening tear of metal unto flesh never occured. Instead, the sounds of confused, and flurried yelps, screams and of the Pellaeon's bridge crew. The sensor activated, in time to watch one of the beasts cross the vessels bows, merely meters before the viewport. A more sentimental commander may have felt the pangs of sentimentality. But for Carlyle, no such armistace for the beauty of the natural world existed. It was back to work. "Do not halt! Do not falter! Continue at your stations!" The Imperator furiously thundered, "We will hold and we will hold ourselves!" His attention turned to the Signals Officer, "Have the new beasts damaged any of our assets lieutenant?"
The lieutenants face shrivelled, "We're still experiencing jamming sir, something down there is blocking most frequencies." The Signals Officer mused, "Responses are sketchy, but we have received no reports of damage, despite their...." She paused, and frowned again, "Size and speed sir, it seems, for whatever reasons, they're disinterested." Curious. It struck the Grand Admiral as odd. But, it seemed today was one full of bizarre surprises, and this seemed to be yet another.
"Contacts sir in section seven sir!" The Sensor Officer barked, "We've just picked up some mass movements sir, moving from the flank of the purgill fleet." Carlyle glowered a little, what was this now? "Analysing sir, we're picking up a little interference." The Grand Admiral frowned, what could this be? His attentions again turned to the tactical display, and unto the work of his subordinates. They were performing well to say the least. Von Strauss held his own against the enemy. His beloved Morro was performing admirably. And perhaps most importantly, Battlegroup Nebula was in operation. The Grand Moff was still secure, albeit now taking fire from the fleet which was closing upon them. Carlyle approached the display, and activated it, before scanning its IFF tags.
A brief, fleeting smile. Not a smirk, but a smile passed upon pixelated lips. Therapy Command, had somehow survived the Galactic Alliance's demise, and yet continued to serve. Perhaps it was an omen of sorts. Cathul Thuku had managed to defeat Rausgeber once, in this very system. Under, what were, at least in a relative sense, similar circumstances. But towards the end of the war, as Thuku became more deranged, the Imperator had trounced the therapist again. And again. Perhaps this was a sign. Victory may perhaps yet be in store. As the last of the newcoming purgills cleared the fleet, the new contacts appeared on screen. "What on-!" The Grand Admiral exclaimed. One would have thought today may have not yielded any surprises. He was dead wrong however. Streaming towards him was a massed armada. One with a new squadron of Lovecraftian horrors accompanying it. The shear scale of the display was... tantalising. The same mystifying feeling came over the dead man, where had these beasts come from?
Then the great thundering came. Vessels who had survived the entirety of the purgill onslaught, found themselves entirely wiped out as chunks of fallen comrades were launched at them. A bitter and cruel irony for the senior corvette commanders and frigate officers who had served either with or beneath the martyrs who perished. It took a moment for the bastion-class missile defence systems to acknowledge, and the Admonitor took some flak, but its batteries. Engaged, and began to engage defensively, shattering debris as it was flung. "This situation, is untenable." The Grand Admiral snapped. An obvious proposition to those aboard.
Captain Evaline Brosse, the effective number two of the vessel, visibly scowled at her superior. The lithe Ison-born officer had been leaning over, examining the portside crew pit turned her attention to Rausgeber. "What would you have us do sir?" The Captain inquired, her voice had a sharp edge to it. "The new contacts are closing in, and quickly, and we have limited options." She snarkily mused. The droids mind wracked itself in thought. Trying to calculate a strategy. Anything. It soon became clear, that the super computer was not going to work. There was simply too much going on for it to accurately provide a strategy. Too many variables competing for relevance. It was like a mental headache.
So, for the first time in any battle situation. He disconnected. What was left, the mind of a embittered, dead, narcissist. A successful one, yes. But one, who ended up dead. Perhaps today, would be a day of reckless gambling, for both sides. "We press forward." Rausgeber decided coldly, "Order all commands to move, and begin to press forward to that fleet," He gestured to the holodisplay, and laid a pointed, leather clad finger, tentatively into the red dagger. The holographic manifestation of the ANS Excubitor. "We'll get as close as we can, engage Therapy Command at point blank range."
Brosse's subservient, albeit rebellious demeanour erupted into unadulterated rage. "Are you mad?!" Brosse snapped, "Admiral Rausgeber, we can't abandon our position-!" She was running through all her thoughts. Trying to collect herself. The blind blind outrage that had overcome the woman, inhibiting her. And perhaps she was right. To perform a proposed attack like that would be a gross lapse in the precedent of First Order doctrine. "At that close range we won't last long against that fleet!" She looked disgusted at the concept.
Carlyle remained a bastion of calm. His face not betraying his own struggle with the concept. "We'll last longer than we will against that fleet, and their beasts," He stoically lamented. The Dosuunian gestured to the blobs of tentacled mass which now were closing in, "And we might just take a few of them with us." The Grand Admiral replied. His tone flat, and cold. The bridge, which had been a maelstrom of chaos now reverted to an ordered silence. The bridge watching with interest as the two officers parried.
Brosse's face had turned a firey red in return. But she kept a stiff upper lip. Her jaw clenched. After a pause, she nodded. "As you wish, Grand Admiral." Her tone even, but it betrayed an underlying venom she held such a plan with. The Captain's head turned to the starboard crew pit, "You heard the man, get all vessels moving!" She growled, "I want to see movement on the double!"
"All commands, this is Pellaeon," The Signals Officer began, "Press forward, and engage contact, designate Therapy Command at point blank range." Carlyle turned to watch the viewport. His optical sensor watching as they now closed in on Therapy Command. The two rivals were now about to meet, at very close range. The Imperator watched as the escorts of his Command began streaking ahead as they got ready to go head first into the lions den.
First Order Sixth Fleet | Battlegroup Imperator | Imperator Command
IMPERATOR COMMAND
Name: FIV Pellaeon
Ship: Admonitor-Class Super Star Destroyer [X] Shields: 86% Hull: 98% Hangar: 5 Squadrons of TIE/SF III [X]| 5 Squads TIE Reign Bombers [X]
Firing At: ANS Ordnance Handler
Name: FIV Endeavour
Ship: Resurgent-Class Star Destroyer Shields: 81% Hull: 92% Hangar: 2 Squadrons TIE Heavy Interceptors | 5 Squadrons of TIE Crown | 3 Squadrons TIE Reign Bombers
Firing At: Purgill King
"Aye, Commodore." Roth strode away from the commander's chair and strode towards the hangar. That was where he belonged and even the thought of sitting in a starfighter added a bounce to his step. "Wild Knights, status report?"
"All fighters preppped and ready to go, Roth," the reply came back over his comms. "Yours is fueled and loaded. Preparing to launch as soon as we hit the interdiction envelope."
"Excellent." Roth ducked into his quarters and considered for a moment before stuffing the bottle of whiskey into a flight-suit pouch. "One bottle of my best whiskey to whoever scores the most confirmed kills."
A few chuckles fluttered through the private channel.
"Looks like you'll be drinking alone again, Roth!" A voice came back and Roth laugh as he pulled on the flight-suit, tucking the helmet under his arm. More jokes and camaraderie echoed through the squadron channel. Although, it was less of a squadron now and more of a wing. They had grown. Survivors of the New Jedi Order flocked to their beacon and they'd been able to train them up as pilots. Merge then into the Force meld so they all flew as one entity.
It was an exhilarating experience. One that other pilots could only dream of. It was a boon to always know the location and state of your wingmates, what they're doing next, and where they're going. Even with just a thought, one could tell the others when they were in trouble. They trusted each other. None of the traitors had managed to infiltrate the ranks. Roth's suspicion was that it was because they were too deeply bonded on the mental and emotional level to keep that kind of secret.
Roth wound his way through the corridors as everyone moved to battle stations. Only a handful of gunners. For the most part, they were fighter-techs, pilots, and comms specialists.
The rest of the squadron had already gathered in the hangar and they saluted Roth, casually of course, as he strode in.
"Alright, Knights," Roth said, leaning on a tool-cart. "We're not sure of the details regarding the tactical situation yet, but sounds like they've got two dreadnoughts and a whole bunch of other capital ships."
Murmurs of surprise and awe rippled through the assembled pilots.
"What's so valuable about Skor to warrant such a massive deployment?" One of them, a female Zabrak, asked. Roth simply shrugged.
"Couldn't tell you. Show of force, I guess. Make it look like they're too large to defeat. Not our problem though. Not initially."
"What's the plan?" A Nautolan asked.
"We kill their fighter and bomber escorts," Roth replied. The rest nodded. "We cripple them there. Sprites deploy first, we clear out the escorts. Dauntlesses deploy after and target the command bridges. Start whittling away their command structure. With their fighters and bombers down, it clears the way for other allied forces to concentrate on the big ships. Any questions?"
"Any guess on hostile fighter deployment?"
Roth shook his head. "Not yet. We'll have a clearer picture once we arrive, but FOs tend to be light on fighter deployments. Wouldn't expect an enormous amount." The Jensaarai waited a few moments for anyone else to speak up and then nodded.
"Right, get to your ships, and may the Force be with you." The crowd broke apart as they headed to their ships, while Roth lingered for a moment. Once he was sure they were ready, he headed over to his own fighter.
"Jax!" Roth called. "Any scratch on my baby today?"
The Sullustan looked up from where he was double checking some wiring and shook his head.
"Nope. More beautiful than you'll ever be." He set down the hydrospanner and wiped his greasy hands on a cloth. "Everything is good as it can be. Don't you be breaking my hard work now."
"Oh, I won't Jax, don't worry."
Roth jumped up onto the ladder and clambered up before settling himself in the cockpit. With a hiss, the viewport slid shut and the ship's engines roared to life. An announcement echoed through the hangar.
Reverting from hyperspace in ten...nine...eight...seven...
As the message continued, Roth buckled his helmet and rested both hands on the controls.
"Knights, initiating meld upon launch." The man took a deep breath and let himself sink into the Force. But he didn't just sink into the Force when he flew, he stepped out into it, so that his ship became his sense of body, and his squadron his sense of person.
The ship slowed suddenly as it dropped out of hyperspeed. Skor hung in the distance, a verdant sphere not much bigger than a sport's ball. "Squadron One, launch!" Roth activated the repulsors and guided the ship out of the hangar. It ejected itself into space, followed by the other eleven ships of the first squadron.
The sensors and scanners were alive with data, some of which included whales and krakens. That, he definitely did not expect, but it explained the traffic hold-up earlier. He could make out the FIrst Order fleet, apparently rushing at full speed towards Therapy Command. He squinted at the ships. They were big alright and he racked his brains for the First Order ships he had encountered before.
"Lock s-foils into attack position," Roth commented, pushing the throttle forward, "And accelerate to attack speed."
"Knight Actual," He added through a channel to the carrier, which was hanging back from the conflict. "Patch us into Allied comms. Get us in touch with the rest of the fleet."
"In process Knight One," a voice replied. "Patched into Therapy Command and Coalition fleets. Jamming in progress."
"Understood." Roth leaned over and changed the channel on his comm, listening to the garbled chatter. "Therapy Command, this is Knight One. Status on hostile snubs?" As he spoke, the twelve X-wings roared into the growing carnage.
Starchaser understood what was behind him. Sith. But they were not ones that had taken a back shot at them, no matter how much they could have. Adjusting to the Coalition life was trying, it was different than the Alliance. Less regimented, less focused, and less ‘burn it all’. The Dark Side was allowed here, sort of. And the Coalition did hold an alliance with the Confederacy. And this was a war. He didn’t want to worry on that Sith. He had other targets.
The rescue of his Chief of State. The pushing back of the First Order.
And showing the Coalition how a real military and fully trained Jedi fought.
Continuing on, he knew his allies were behind him, but the Jedi Master ignited his saber and leapt up to the palace. Reaching out in the Force, he was looking to locate anyone. [member="Julius Sedaire"] or [member="Dax Fyre"]. People he knew. People he could count on for being in the middle of the fight. Calling on the Force, he was bringing it to him, preparing to hurl a barrier in front of him and anyone who ambushed him as he entered palace. He slowed his pace, allowing his strike team to join him.
FO: [member="Azula Merr"], maybe, and perhaps [member="Durgan Ossk"] and [member="Sogash"] for NPCS, or maybe [member="Alkor Centaris"]
Objective: TBD
Location: A mad speeder ride
======================
"Indeed," Tiland agreed, "They are wary yet. Cautious. Not deploying their full strength." He had seen a full deployment assault from the First Order, on more than one occasion, and this was not it. No, this was a surprisingly weak landing considering their usual strategy. "We pull them away. There they can be disable separately."
Watching the other man climb onto the speeder bike and gesture for him to get on, Tiland felt the first feeling of misgiving. There was trusting the Force and then there was trusting yourself to a high-speed speeder chase driven by a mad man. Yet, he could see what Vorhi was aiming for, and there was wisdom in it. If you needed to outrun walker fire, it made the most sense to be on something very small and very, very fast. This thing fulfilled both of those admirably.
He swung himself up on the seat behind Vorhi and anchored himself as well as he could manage. In moments, not only was the speeder rocketing forward, but it was belching massively loud music that Vorhi was apparently improvising as he drove. It was surprisingly good, given the nature of its composing.
Tiland closed his eyes and reached out with the Force, seeking. There, he had located the walkers again. Something had happened, for their mental states had changed completely. Resistance filled the city, by the feel of it. Dozens of individuals or small bands of Squib and other assorted ne'er-do-wells had taken to the streets, the underground, and the roof-tops, peppering First Order forces with everything from tensor rifles, blasters, slugthrowers, disruptors, and terrifyingly improvised explosives.
As soon as they launched their salvo, the fighters turned to disappear, vanish into the city that they knew like the back of their hand. No, there would be no acceptance of the First Order's illegitimate occupation and military invasion. They had already come to Skor, more than once, in fact, and had been repulsed. Yet in their defeat, they had savaged the surface. A scar on the galaxy and something that was still mourned. No, the inhabitants knew the truth of the First Order now, and they would never succumb to it.
Location: Driving down town, way too fast, city passed as I flee on by
Objective: I won't miss you
Allies: [member="Tiland Kortun"] [member="Zef Halo"] and noted music critic [member="Yula Perl"]
Worthy Opponents: Common sense, some of the laws of physics [member="Azula Merr"] and [member="Alkor Centaris"]
Most of the alumni and Emeritus of Vorhi's alma mater were prone to mid-life crises, and thus would sympathize with the blind master's current course of action. While it was notably unorthodox to pick an older man instead of a young blonde, riding through a rough part of town on a vehicle that was clearly not safe was perfectly reasonable as far mid-life crises went. However, the giant walkers, piloted by enemy forces, with armed mercenaries fight local militias of squibs who had been sick of these people since the last time they blew the place to hell and back, that was one hell of a back drop. Unfortunately for those gathered, Vorhi had come to punch insufferable villains and translate inscrutable texts--and wouldn't you know it, he was running out of shanties to translate.
Vorhi wasn't insane enough to simply fly his back through the rubble on ememory, though. He wasn't that good. No, he was "eye-jacking" reachign out through the force, into the minds of other listeners, as the music flowed through the city, those whose hearts would beat to it, those who would hear the riotous music and hear hope, through their eyes, he could see the whole of the city. And, he found the exact sort of rubble he needed.
"HOLD ON!" He exhorted his former student as he hit the back-up power systems on the bike. While they could be used to turbocharge for long durations, they could also work like an injection system, giving you just enough boost to launch forward momentum, either for a jump, emergency steering, or a blast of speed. Jumping off a properly angled piece of rubble, you could get some truly impressive air time.
The operators of the front walker of the assault would see two men fly in front of their viewing window, Vorhi extending a clawed hand, attempting to scratch the glasteel with his metal gauntlets against it as he drove parallel to them. This would normally dislocate your shoulder at this speed but Force Body was a hell of a thing.
[youtube]https://youtu.be/AjCmgf8SxBA[/youtube]
Vorhi grinned as he continued to the market, landing on a rooftop and then "hopping" down to the street. "Think they saw us?"
Vorhi grinned as he continued to the market. "Think they saw us?"
Gear: 2 Blaster pistols, Shotgun (Slugs loaded, Scatter shot in pocket), Throat mic, Ear piece, Charm and good looks.
The comms were all static in the bunker. The relay must have been meeting with interference. Vaudin paced back and forth like a caged Nexu as the king and his small guard talked in their strange basic near the good storage. He didn't like this and the more he thought about [member="Joza Perl"] and Yula out there without him the more nervous he became. He knew they could handle themselves. It was one of the things he loved about the girls, but that weird Iktotchi bond to family worked over time when he wasn't too drunk to notice, 7 mos, 16 days, and 12 hours sober, ain't that a schutta.
He sat his shotgun against the wall and scratched the base of his right horn as he listened to broken up comms traffic. He could use the force buy he didn't know much aboit the Ren's capabilities and the idea of lighting a beacon for any forcie within miles was not high on his bucket list. Fourteen years as a senator and he hadn't once burned his identity, he wasn't about to out himself now unless he absolutely had to.
"We should negotiate." One of the guards said loud enough for Vaudin to hear.
"Negotiate?" Vaudin said as he turned to face them. "Wiyh the First Order? They want your world. They didn't come with a haggle price and offers. They came with a fleet and police actions. They didn't show up with dignitaries ready to bow, they came to see you on your knees and to take your chit. You want to run out waving your barter skills? Go ahead, the coalition isn't going to stop you from making your own choices, but when you get robbed for your troubles. We'll still be here, living free and ready to pull your backside from the chains they'll put you in. We didn't come here to own your planet, we came here to make sure you keep it and give you a fair price for what we buy. So, if you want to run out there, I'll take you myself, but don't say I didn't warn you."
He picked up his shotgun and went to the security panels to watch the cameras. His gut said to get to his ship and to get the king out of the city, but his gut always said to get to his ship. It was usually right.
The light of the local luminary reflected off the junk haloed world of Skor Two as his squadron were deployed in escort positions beside the Pellaeon. He tried the comms again and got nothing for his troubles. This was bad. Ships without comms were like bantha without legs, and he didn't feel like rolling in excrement just to get where he needed to go.
They were trained for nearly every occurrence. Hundreds of hours each month were dedicated to overcoming whatever may happen, he knew what he had to do. He just hoped the brass weren't as dumb as they always joked that they were.
He cut his running lights and then set the ship's onboard droid to flash the lights in standard First Order code to his squadron. The message was simple. *Respond to confirm code reception.*
He waited.
After a moment the droid displayed twelve confirmations. They were ready.
*10,000 meter spread. Set up relay formations. Flash code protocols. Signal command ship we're in position and ready to recieve orders.*
The squadron began moving and following his orders. It was good to have military precision in times of chaos. Order always haf a way of overcoming if it they stuck to training.
As they progressed, Rolf's communicator kicked up, a grainy transmission barely cutting through.
:: Large.. Organics... Adjacent. ::
This wasn't Rolf's first rodeo, communications blackout could only mean one thing. The Coalition had somehow managed to jam comms nearly as effectively as the Order had. That wasn't good for anyone, and while the First Order operated well with communications open there were plans and contingencies established for the loss of comms. It was an inconvenience, to be sure - but one Rolf was comfortable with. For a moment they took refuge in the chamber they were in, according to the spotty transmission there were foe in the room next door. Through a series of hand signals, Rolf motioned for one of the Death Troopers to rig the wall with a breaching charge. It was an entry charge, similar to the one he'd used to enter the building itself but much smaller. Interior walls were typically less reinforced.
Continuing, Rolf motioned for Omari to watch the door. On the way out it would only make sense for the specialist to be their point man. More obscure than the jet black armor that Rolf himself wore. Making his way to the window, Rolf searched for the perch their overwatch had taken up. Being careful to keep from framing himself in the window he crouched low, instead using the small light attached to his blaster to send a rapid light pulse message to "Bravo".
:: Breaching Wall. Trap Suspected. Lack of Resistance. ::
It was about that time that Romulus had begin speaking through their comm again. It was clear, likely due to their proximity but Rolf imagined had they been more than a room or two apart that words would have been minced. It seemed they were all in agreement. This time the Colonel replied over the comm.
:: I think we're all seeing the same tells gents. We're being funneled. ::
Rolf wasn't sure how he felt about it - and it didn't matter. The fact of the matter was, they needed to adjust. If they were being funneled it was highly likely that the King had already been moved, and if the king had been moved? It meant they would be dead in the water when they finally did arrive. In the matter of a couple seconds over a hundred different permutations of what the strike force could do moving forward ran through Omicron's mind. They couldn't stay on their current track, they needed something else.
:: Belay those charges. New objective. ::
He'd changed his tack, this had always been the backup. It was an unfortunate business but what else could you do? As he returned to the window to send another light pulse message to Bravo, he spoke to the rest of the squad.
:: Primary Objective Compromised. Proceeding with Secondary. Need Eyes on Generator Location. ::
:: Alright boys, we're changing course. We've got to find that shield generator and disable it. Maalraas, if you'd lead the way. ::
Just as Rolf was finishing up the light pulse message he heard a creak from above. The last few pulses sent, it took him just a moment too long to look upwards in an attempt to identify the source.
*WHAMMMMM*
Before the Colonel knew what was happening he felt his body slammed into the ground. A flash of blue fur and a gaping maw of canine teeth filled his visor. Hard impacts to the man's chest stole his breath as he scrambled backward in an attempt to throw off his attacker. *Where's my weapon..* a frantic thought as he felt his back press up against the wall just below the window. Rolf struggled to get his arm unpinned from between his attacker and the chest plate of his own armor before realizing - he didn't need to. Whatever weapon the Squib held must have been basic, the blade not finding purchase on the armor plates but the Colonel knew it wouldn't be long before his foe found the soft spots. FO-SF Mk I armor wasn't quite as protective as the standard fare, sacrificing coverage for mobility.
A flash of pain consumed the Colonel as he felt a line of fire trace its way up he left arm near the elbow. He fought through the crimson which threatened to block out his vision, a near silent hum igniting at his gauntlet. Pressed as close as the two were, there was little room for the squib to maneuver and even had their been it was unlikely there would have been time. In an instant the mono-molecular tip of the knuckle plate vibroblade found itself sheathed in flesh, fur, and blood. It must have caught the Squib off guard, for a moment later he rose - an almost glossed over expression evident upon its features. It only lasted for a moment.
Rolf hadn't even heard the shot. Whether a product of the overwhelming pain he felt across his left arm or the adrenaline coursing through his veins. *Exhilaration.* Rolf hadn't felt this way since... since before Mustafar? Was that right? A pang of guilt touched the edges of his mind, threatening to throw him down a rabbit hole of emotions and thoughts that had no place on the battlefield. Had he returned to duty too early? Was there something wrong with him? He'd cleared the physical and psych evaluations, so what...
Viscera. As if pulled back from the brink by an elastic band, Rolf's full attention gravitated to the amalgamation of blood, sinew, flesh now dropping to the floor in front of him. Glass was everywhere - Bravo had just earned himself a new title. *Archangel.* The immediate threat eliminated, Omicron checked his arm, happy to see that the bodysuit which consisted of the undermost layer of his armor had self sealed. A quick manipulation of his HUD controls sent a chemical cocktail rushing into his bloodstream to blot out the pain. Years ago he'd never have gone for it, but the auto-injectors had seen practical use in the field, who was he to deny results. Even so the voice in the back of his skull spoke unbidden. *At what cost?* Gritting his teeth, he spoke up as he rose, flashing a quick :: Thank You :: towards the perch where Bravo sat.
:: If you would. :: he said, speaking to Maalraas.
Retrieving his weapon from the floor, Omicron gave it a once over before tucking the stock of the weapon back into his shoulder, ready to follow their new point man back into the corridor. He hoped to have a true target via Bravo soon, until then they could work on exfiltrating the building - unless of course the generator was in the building. Careful to avoid the chamber Bravo had indicated held enemy presence, they proceeded. At least, until Maalraas' words rang in his ears.
"Hold. Movement." A curse followed as Omicron saw Maalraas raise his rifle - and fire. "Engaging."
They were in it now. Even as Rolf moved to provide backup for the specialist, a door along the side of the hall opened violently - no time to react. Dashing full speed forward the Colonel hit the door with a loud crash, his momentum slamming the door upon whatever creature had deemed to get the jump on the trooper once more. Rolf's hastily taken measure was rewarded with a canine yelp as the heavy door slammed on what looked like a hand, or a foot, Rolf couldn't really tell - but it was blue. Foot striking out, he heard a soft crack as the creature's bone broke. Shouldering the door again, he watched and grimaced inwardly as he saw the appendage bend at a completely unnatural angle followed by another cacophony of yelps. War wasn't pretty, battle less so and this? This was the Alpha getting the pack in line. Just like the Squib's bone - this world would break.
From his place behind cover Castiel growled. There, as if there wasn't another care in the world stood one of the Supreme Leader's own, a woman clad in attire more befitting an actress in one of those things cultured people attended back on Dosuun, what was it - a play? *Foolish girl.* For a brief moment as his eyes traced along the woman's form he thought he might have cared about her well being - until a nearby chunk of metal was near vaporized as the Graug fired their own weapons in retaliation. Castiel never claimed to be a saint.
To remain still was certain death, to move - only slightly less so. Given the choice between the two, Castiel chose the latter. One hand wielding his weapon, the other reaching for the nape of the Thrall's gear, Castiel forced himself up from behind cover and unloaded a sloppy barrage of fire towards the entrance of the warehouse. "When encountering an ambush, the best course of action is to counter assault. Fast. Hard. Sit still, and you die. Hesitate. You die." The words of Castiel's former Sergeant rang in his ears as he did exactly that. Step for step his blaster fired, emerald bolts fizzling through the air until they found their mark whether it be durasteel structure or hardened Graug flesh.
Left foot in front of right, right in front of left, Castiel advanced as did the men around him. Their weapons echoed his, a strange song of staccato discharges and clapping slugthrowers echoing against the near abandoned survey site. In retrospect Castiel fumed, it wasn't so abandoned.
"Push onward. Get your chit together kid." he snarled as he set down the Thrall behind cover.
With both hands on his weapon the Sergeant unleashed a much more concentrated blast one one of the largest Graug, watching with satisfaction as the hulking form began to whither under his men's concentrated fire.
Location: ANS Excubitor, Local space
Objective: Engage the First Order in orbit; keep the FO off the Squibs
Allies: [member="Silara Varis"] [member="Jorus Merrill"] [member="Mazik Stazi"] [member="Mittens"] [member="Boda"] [member="Rekha Kaarde"] [member="Kaine Australis"]
Enemies: [member="Karl Von Strauss"] [member="Cynthia Alucard"] [member="Morro"] [member="The Private"]
Directly engaging: [member="Kou'ha Escala"] [member="Robogeber"]
- BATTLE MEDITATION ACTIVATED -
"The Pellaeon turned towards us! We're hit!" the sensor technician screamed, in panic beyond whatever battle meditation could provide.
"The Ordnance Handler; she's lost!" the chief engineer also screamed, while the shield reading rapidly decreased under a heavy volley of fire. "Our shields can't take another volley!"
"Please: stop panicking! We are taking these hits so that our allies don't have to! While our enemies are so focused on us, we only need to hold the line long enough for other elements to strike unencumbered" she reminded the others. "The First Order may very well have taken the bait, but now that we bought the remaining purrgils and the kraken, and also our remaining allies, some time, they're in for some unpleasant surprises! Plus we will fight to defend the Squibs to the last!"
There was no going around that: even with sensor jamming, even with battle meditation messing somewhat with the enemy gunnery, there was no way the Ordnance Handler could have survived a SSD's firepower, even at the edge of standard turbolaser range. Much less at point-blank. Even with some of the CIC crew members panicking like crazy, at the number of hits sustained, she remained calm, the remains of the Ordnance Handler, and also those of other destroyed hostiles, such as the Scimitar, Jaguar, Lion, Cree were being accelerated towards the engines of the Pellaeon and, to a lesser extent, the Kali, as well as the Morrigan, with some of that also headed towards the enemy escorts as a result of their trajectories. Nevertheless, K-1 was destroyed a few moments later, and the cloud of debris it created was, this time around, headed towards the closest two battlecruisers, which were still at the edge of standard turbolaser range from the Excubitor. Some debris may have saved their friendlies by absorbing enemy fire, but there were still thousands of tons of debris left floating around at high speed. Plus the enemy had to be mindful of the pack of purrgils, as well as a 5km summa-verminoth on their aft quarter; any enemy firing at Therapy Command was one less enemy to harass these critters. Combined with the effects of battle meditation, these allowed to keep the damage much more limited than would otherwise be the case. Erratic firing caused the enemy to incur a lot of near-misses and also hitting targets they did not originally fire at. And now... unpleasant surprises are inbound! she thought, while realizing that the real culprit for the Ison Corridor engagement and, to a lesser extent, for Kaeshana, was no longer in service after Ison. And the others will soon realize just how dangerous it is to focus too much on one enemy fleet, as was the case on Skor. She had to wait until the cloud of debris has flown past the enemy to open fire again, and for good reason: not only there was a cooldown time for the initial panic to wear off, it could ensure that there would not be any dissipation effects due to debris.
"We're being hailed" the communications officer reported, while catching its breath after running around like a headless chicken.
"Patch them through, and also open a channel to our allies currently deployed"
"Therapy Command, this is Knight One. Status on hostile snubs?" [member="Roth Tillian"] hailed her.
"Another group of hostile snubs need to be cleared around the Pellaeon" Cathul told Roth, while patching the group led by [member="The Private"] onto their targeting computers. She then proceeded to give instructions to the remaining allies. "The enemy has taken the bait: now is the time to strike hard and fast. They won't see what hit them!" she told [member="Jorus Merrill"], [member="Silara Varis"], Strabo Australis ([member="Kaine Australis"]) and [member="Mittens"], on the now-open channels.
"We're overwhelmed: there's too many of them. Plus we won't last long against the brunt of the Sixth Fleet!" Tanith told the rest of the CIC crew.
"We'll last longer if our allies capitalize on this opportunity! We are keeping the First Order off the Squibs, we have to make every shot from this point onward count! And we may as well take a few of them with us! Fire at will, weapons free!"
In such a target-rich environment, she could not simply order repeat anymore; she had to wait until the cloud of debris has flown past. The variety of new contacts made it easy for gunners manning the myriad of weapons, including turbolasers, hypervelocity cannons of all calibers, ion cannons to open fire in a hailstorm at enemy corvettes and frigates tightly clustered between each other, making them liable to be hit by shrapnel and other debris if one or more of their neighbors get bits from their hulls torn off. For the most part, the fleet fired at corvettes and frigates, of which there were an abundance. The Skors and the Excubitor's long-ranged, heavy batteries were the lone holdouts, which fired at the Morrigan, with the Skors focusing on the underside and especially the area around the reactor dome, in hopes of penetrating it and causing the main reactor to explode. Yet, she knew that fighter losses were making it less and less of a good idea to keep fighters in a screen, especially since, at that rate, there may well come a point where there may be nothing left to screen for. Also, since Carlyle was so busy fighting the Needlers, she could concentrate the attack runs on Kou'ha's group while the enemy escorts were fired at.
"The pilots are growing restless" a squadron leader acknowledged, while under the effects of battle meditation.
"Fighters, prepare for an attack run; if you sustain hull damage, prepare to ram onto the nearest enemy ship! Bombers, set course for the nearest capital ship, drop the full payload and return for rearmament!"
"Roger, roger"
At this point of the fight, fighters would be much less useful if kept to a screening duty. The enemy has thus kicked the proverbial hornet nest, with the consequences that ensue, namely that there would be dozens of squadrons conducting bombing runs with their bomblet generators set at full power, attacking a variety of enemy ships and dropping those plasma bomblets onto them. However, the 200m blast radius of full-power bomblets forced the fighters to keep some distance from their targets while the bomblets were being dropped, mostly on their targets' aft quarter. Inevitably, some of the fighters would get hit en route and then proceed to shunt nearly all their power to the bomblet generator while on a collision course for a corvette or a frigate. In those instances, the craft would explode on contact, against the hull of a corvette or frigate, or maybe a cruiser. Most of the bombers, each of which were laden with thirty-four unguided Mk3 Deathball proton bombs, were split in three groups, flying in loose formation thanks to the wide, 400m blast radius of the bombs themselves, were on approach vectors towards the Kali, Morrigan and Pellaeon respectively. Thus there were over three hundred such bombs each flying towards those aforementioned ships, accelerated by the gravity wells trained at their reactor domes, so the incoming hailstorm of those humongous bombs, individually detonating with the power of four proton bombs, would be, in fact, threatening the enemy to endure a large number of equally large explosions. A similar stratagem was used against other ships, such as the Evalach and Svalinn, and the Centurion and Exactor, but with much fewer bombers, with all survivors promptly returning to ship to get rearmed after their payloads are dropped and flying under inertia towards their intended targets.
Kept ECCM up
Kept battle meditation up
Kept the gravity wells centered on the reactor domes of FO ships (2x each on the Kali and Morrigan, 1x on the Pellaeon)
Opened fire at the enemy escorts
Had the Skors and the Excubitor's long-ranged weapons fire at the Morrigan's reactor dome from long range
Had the Excubitor's standard-ranged weapons fire at the escorts on the flanks
Deployed all fighter squadrons in attack runs; some of the fighters are crashing, with fully-charged bomblet generators, onto enemy escorts
Had all bomber squadrons drop the inertia-guided payload, mostly on approach vectors to the Kali, Morrigan and Pellaeon, but also on enemy cruisers and destroyers
Capital ships:
ANS Excubitor (Procurator-XI-class heavy battlecruiser) | Shields: 35% | Hull: 100% | Firing at: FIV Morrigan (long-range only) frigates (standard-range) ANS Ordnance Handler (C-9982-class heavy frigate) | Shields: 0% | Hull: 0% | Firing at: N/A
ANS Refueling Technician (C-9982-class heavy frigate) | Shields: 45% | Hull: 100% | Firing at: frigates, starfighters
ANS Damage Controller (C-9982-class heavy frigate) | Shields: 30% | Hull: 100% | Firing at: frigates, starfighters
ANS Third Variable (C-9982-class heavy frigate) | Shields: 50% | Hull: 100% | Firing at: frigates, starfighters
ANS Causal Claim (C-9982-class heavy frigate) | Shields: 0% | Hull: 70% | Firing at: frigates, starfighters
ANS Double-Counting (C-9982-class heavy frigate) | Shields: 20% | Hull: 100% | Firing at: frigates, starfighters
ANS Skor (Skor-II-class monitor frigate) | Shields: 60% | Hull: 100% | Firing at: FIV Morrigan, starfighters
ANS Polis Massa (Skor-II-class monitor frigate) | Shields: 70% | Hull: 100% | Firing at: FIV Morrigan, starfighters
ANS Positive KITA (Skor-II-class monitor frigate) | Shields: 80% | Hull: 100% | Firing at: FIV Morrigan, starfighters
ANS Negative KITA (Skor-II-class monitor frigate) | Shields: 70% | Hull: 100% | Firing at: FIV Morrigan, starighters
ANS Job Engorgement (Skor-II-class monitor frigate) | Shields: 80% | Hull: 100% | Firing at: FIV Morrigan, starfighters
Standard flash code returned the Colonel's gratitude for the quick save, one that occurred almost on reflex. From his position, Wrynn was afforded both a calculated lay of the immediate area of the facility, and the ability to provide cover for his allies from on high. He did some quick math- two shots, seventeen rounds. Fifteen left.
He was used to smaller magazines than that, albeit weapons with much higher range and stopping power. The suggestion of a DMR over a higher caliber rifle came from [member="Rolf Amsel"], who rationalized that the quarters were tighter and distance from the target would be smaller overall. A weapon with a more rapid rate of fire would be better in that scenario. Wrynn was thankful he'd heeded the advice.
The comms were spotty at best, but the group had time to reevaluate their directive in the relative silence it afforded them. He dropped from his position to ground level with only a small amount of exertion. Several moments passed before he lifted his light and flashed a message back to the Colonel.
Acknowledged. Moving to reconnoiter the surrounding area.
Wrynn doubled back ahead of the others, and because resistance was lighter behind them than ahead he reached the entrance with virtually no trouble. It was outside in MetroBig City itself where the Rebels began to conglomerate and cause mayhem for the First Imperial troops attempting to restore order.
That was apart from their purpose here.
Wrynn grabbed hold of a window sill on the exterior of the palace and began to scale the building. It proved a much less arduous task when he realized that the building itself was fused metals, rigid and littered with footholds. It would take only minutes to get to a position perfect to survey all of the Squib City.
He just needed to find whatever looked like...
...where [member="Rexus Wenck"], [member="Omari Vyken"], and the Colonel needed to go next, since the Palace was a foregone conclusion. Internally he was grateful to the CO for his quick thinking and refusal to waste the lives of his men frivolously. That only steeled Wrynn's faith in the First Order even more.
Location: Refugee Camp. Objective: Defend the Innocent. Allies: The Squibs of Skor II, The Outer Rim Coalition; [member="Joza Perl"], [member="Orvo Lekarz"]. Enemies: The First Order; [member="Leah Kaban"].
I was never one for speeches, let alone poetic proverbs. As soon as those words left my lips, I felt my face scrunch with mild revulsion and had to bite my tongue to keep it from audibly clicking. It must’ve seemed entirely awkward to those in my present company, and as my eyes looked towards Joza - I watched as she rose a questioning brow. Clearly, she had seen others deliver a more inspiring oration, and ranked my performance at one of the lowest possible rungs. I can’t say that I blame her, as I was swept up in the heat of the moment and thought my words would be lure and balm for a frightened soul. A part of me thought it would’ve been enough to convince the woman to stay; but alas, she still wished to leave.
Her bond with her friend, whoever they were, must’ve been pretty strong for her to forsake her safety and safe harbour during the planetary tumult.
A heavy sigh of frustration slipped through my lips, and my eyes darted towards the ground. Only to have their path cut short as the rose-hued woman placed her hand on my shoulder, and swiftly offering up my voluntary services thereafter. Without even asking if that’s what I wanted to do; Joza had offered this woman my personage as a partially armed escort through the war-torn city. My mind raced with a dozen protests and questions, all pertaining towards whom would remain behind and defend the refugees if the Order’s armed forces ever marched on the camp? However, when my eyes darted between the two woman and seeing how closed off the one with the shawl became - I replaced my look of momentary shock with yet another warm smile.
“Uh,” I began before my resolve came to the fore. “Yeah, I’d be happy to take you into the city if you’d like. I could even follow you from a distance if you wanted to be left alone, as I’m a Jedi and can race to the rescue whenever danger strikes!”
It was cheesy, I know, but it was also true.
My prowess as a mystical warrior-monk lay within the enhancement of my physical form and would allow me to run considerably faster, once immersed within the ever-flowing tides of the Force, than I ever could’ve without such an aetheric connection. Not only that, but I would be able to safeguard -- My train of thought was suddenly derailed as my eyes caught wind of her sickly ochre aura brightening for a split second, before nonchalantly dropping her arms to hang loosely at her sides. That was mildly suspicious. Had she kept better control of her emotions, then I wouldn’t have caught wind of something being ‘off.’
I couldn’t tell what it was that caused her skin to pale, and her aura to flare, but when she slowly dropped her arms to hang at her side - there was a part of me that felt she was either getting ready to run away from something or hiding something. Following through with the process of elimination, I quickly darted my eyes from left to right; taking stock of our surroundings in a glance. Nothing that I saw seemed off, nor did I hear the distant sounds of battle suddenly erupt nearby. With the looming dangers of the First Order’s invasion slowly encroaching, however, it was reasonable to assume that she had seen something in the distance that spooked her? Even then, she would’ve torn her sight away from the pair that stood before her.
Instead, she seemed almost transfixed - worried that we saw… something, now hidden between the folds of her clothing.
“Listen,” I stated, with my tone adopting a stern sharpness. “We can’t have you running through the streets alone. Wherever it is you need to go, I’ll make sure that you get there. Safe, and sound.”
The Elite Strikeforce team having decided to accept the help of [member="Darth Metus"] and his apprentice [member="Srina Talon"] pushed through
what was left of the port. Now headed toward the palace itself, Jedi Master [member="Coren Starchaser"] now attempts to make contact with one of the Coalition
higher-ups, [member="Dax Fyre"] or @Julius Sedaire. Their task of locating the Chief of State and the Squib King grows with urgency by the minute.
Magnaguards now sweep on either side of the team just as Lav, the Selonian pilot moves the Princess Leia for strafing runs in an
attempt to eliminate as many First Order stormtroopers as possible.
[media]https://youtu.be/4IBpF_17QuQ[/media]
"Well color me silver and call me surprised," Mishel mumbled under her breath, "right, Lav! Come around again! Fire on any First Order troops you see get us a path!"
Her hand moved away from the comms and looked over at Srina Talon and Darth Metus, "Alright you heard the guy, let's go!" The Jedi Padawan's lightsaber came to life again with a snap-hiss as she followed her master out with a Force Leap of her own. The sounds of blasters firing were what told her they were pushing up in the right direction, of course, that meant they were going to run into a nice big group who no doubt would be pushing for the King/Chief of State. Either way, they had to pick up the pace. Lav acknowledged through his usual muffled Selonian.
Magnaguards.
There was a first for everything, she watched the move up along either side of herself and Coren Starchaser.
"SHIA! GET US THROUGH!" Mishel gestured ahead just as she pivoted to miss the swing of a vibrosword, the sound of her lightsaber clashing with it could be heard as her free hand jutted forward to push the man backward. "Up high, Romi!" The Padawan gestured to the gathering of troopers overhead, "there, there the Palace!" The young woman shouted for [member="Darth Metus"] to help carve up the path. They had to get someone on a frequency, line and the hope was now that they could get someone to give the coordinates on their holo maps of where to go.
The unmistakable sound of walls breaching wasn't far off either, either that or Mishel's ears were ringing which could definitely be a thing. A wave of her hand as she directed some of the Coalition's makeshift soldiers and the leftover Alliance soldiers to where they needed to go. Further promises of death flew past her and her lightsaber deflected what it could all the while she force leaped once more into the fray knocking out a new mob of stormtroopers who were attempting to block their path to the palace. The elite strike force team now aided by Darth Metus and his apprentice moved swiftly with the help of the Magnaguard. The hums of the Leia's engines could be heard as the pyronimum fused hull shined brilliantly on each strafing run. "Thanks, Lav, go back and help evac - let's get these people back out to the refugee areas."
Finally.
After what seemed like an eternity but had been about twenty minutes of slogging they had reached the palace grounds. "Which way do we go?" Mishel turned to Coren and looked over for Romi Jade and the others. They were late for the afterparty it seemed, "nevermind, troopers went this way c'mon!" She tapped him on the shoulders and motioned. Mishel double checked to ensure Shia was right beside her.
grenades or two, nets. feathers, etc etc
