Dominion An Uncivil War: First Order Dominion of Keskin

[Resurgent Regiment]

THE INTERVENTION ON KESKIN begins, as the former First Order world plunges into a bloody civil war between two groups. On one side are former Imperial loyalists while arrayed against them is a vicious rebel movement. Caught in the middle is the civilian population, most of whom seek peace and stability, whether that be under the First Order or another power. Civilian administration and local leadership for various cities on the planet have sought offworld intervention to stop further destruction as warring parties inch closer and closer to non-combatant villages and cities built into ruins of Imperial era constructs. This verdant jungle world was once a paradise, perhaps in time it may become one again.

​

Keskin Rebel offensive (Operation DAWN). The rebel movement senses victory is slipping away from them with the First Order's return. A negotiated peace is something they wish to prevent. Rebel command has launched a multi-brigade offensive aimed at crushing loyalist support in the capital before the First Order can take possession of the planet. Crush the armoured offensive in the countryside or fight the enemy house to house. Ideal for military characters.​

First Order diplomats are attempting to negotiate with the warring factions and negotiate an end to the war by supporting one faction or neither. The various delegations are hoping for their force's victory in the field to strengthen their bargaining position. It's a tough proposition as the First Order have to arbitrate for two bitter enemies while also putting forward their own proposals.​

The First Order administration attempts to rebuild Keskin’s infrastructure that has been shattered by the civil war. Aid in reconstruction efforts with civil projects at the planet's spaceport or water purification plants. Bring food and medical supplies to war-torn areas. Most importantly of all, bring hope. Ideal for medical characters but keep your eyes peeled for ambushes or rebel sympathisers.​

A First Order lander has crashed in the jungle with VIPs. All units in the area have been detailed to intervene where possible. Army patrols, drop troopers, CSAR, come one come all and get to the lander before the rebels do. The jungle is a friend to no one.​

Get involved and do you part on Keskin, with a Bring Your Own Objective. The planet has ancient ruins, ones that were old during the Galactic Civil War. Why not venture into their depths?​

 

[Caio]

Another boom sent the jungle screaming.

Caio let out a breath and handed the still smoking shotgun up to Somhairle. Strong arms hauled him out of the swamp and back onto terra firma. Bubbles rose from the centre of the pool, dark ichor spreading as the creature thrashed its last. The birds were still screeching in the trees and other animals were yammering and shrieking in a cacophony of sound.

"Well if they didn't know we were here then they certainly do now" Jalik said. Kanner glared, "So you'd prefer letting that taking your leg off?". Caio was checking his legs for leeches before taking a drink from his canteen with shaking hands. "Won't be doing that again in a hurry" he quipped, forcing a laugh.

The section were on recce for the rest of the platoon. The First Order deployment to Keskin had resulted in one of the larger light infantry deployments in recent memory. For once the armour and mechanised formations were playing second fiddle. They were stuck securing the settlements while the grunts went out into the Green to scour for signs of the rebs.

They kept their voices low even though the shotgun blasts had probably been heard a couple of kilometres away. The bush absorbed sound but nothing would completely block out that. Force of habit though, they'd all spent enough time fighting on their homeworld to learn the value of silence. As if to punctuate the point, Jalik's comms set spluttered.

"Recce, come in. We heard weapons fire". The static made it hard to tell whether Kaza was concerned, pissed off, or curious. "Negative on contact Sunray. Some local wildlife". Jalik was smirking and a couple others in the section looked fit to giggle. Caio smiled but moved his hand in a motion to cut off any sounds.

His hand moved to indicate his orders. The section moved with practised precision, hefting pangas to start hacking through the undergrowth.

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They heard the screech first.

Everyone tensed as the sound moved high overhead, the jungle set off again. Somhairle mouthed something at Caio but he shook his head in annoyance, straining to hear more. No one in the section moved, fingers on triggers and eyes outward in expectation.

Five minutes passed and nothing. The section resumed movement cautiously, senses straining for anything. Jalik frowned and motioned for Caio. "What's the word?" he asked as he squatted near the comms tech. Flies buzzed around him but he ignored them through force of will. "Shuttle. Accident. They've managed to triangulate the crash site to a few clicks from here".

Caio repressed a groan. "And?" though he already knew the answer. "Well rescue is on the way but they want us to secure the crash site and help any survivors. CSAR can come in then and grab anyone off the wreck". Caio bit back a curse but then decided to go for it "Bollocks anyways. Give the coordinates to Kanner" "There was another thing". Caio's eyes widened slightly and he nodded for Jalik to go on. "They're not sure but the shuttle pilot reported possible enemy contact before crashing". "Do we've any good news?" "I'll let you know soon as corporal". Even Jalik couldn't resist a smirk at that.

 

[Aithche Wierz]

"INCOMING"

Aithche Wierz didn't even bother trying to grab her notes. As soon as the first warning was shouted, she was sprinting (or as close as one could manage with a lame leg) for the nearest ditch. The dirt felt cold on her cheek as she crouched against the dirt wall, body tensed. The whine was the worst, hearing the squeal as shells came in. One of the locals was standing slack jawed, gawking up at the sky. Aithche rose cursing and caught his leg, sending him tumbling into cover.

CRUMP CRUMP CRUMP

The first mortars hit the camp with devastating effect. The rebel weapons weren't sophisticated but what they lacked for in elegance, they made up with numbers. One salvo straddled the motor pool and destroyed a local grav-tank. The flying shrapnel decapitated an artillery captain while her gun battery gaped. Another had hit the troop lines, she could hear the screams from here.

The locals had a warning klaxon that had always sounded during practice drills. It was noticeably silent now. Aithche swore but it would do little good now. Probably little good afterward either. Working with indigenous forces had never gone right in her experience. Locals somehow managed to mess it up more than the First Order military she found (if that was even possible).

The third explosion in her vicinity let her relax. The rebels used a quick firing automortar that used three round clips. A decent weapon for a homegrown design but it gave a noticeable gap between rounds three and four. One someone else might have used to sprint for another foxhole or dugout but right now she had little intention of even poking her head above ground.

"Acorn to any units, please respond over" She gave it fifteen seconds before she repeated her comm request. Reen was a Keskin loyalist camp but a company of the First Order Army had been deployed there as stiffening. Aithche didn't see the point and had made that abundantly clear in the briefing, up to and including insubordination. The deployment was too small to do any good and too large to easily evade contact. It was little more than a speed bump.

"Watcher Three here". Aithche wracked her memory, one of the outposts. "We've eyes on a mechanised column with infantry, they're advancing under the mortar fire". She swore again and risked raising her head above the parapet. Smoke blanketed the perimeter and beyond the cleared lanes of fire she could make out the shapes of armoured vehicles and infantry moving. She adjusted her magnoculars and squinted. The smoke was clearing and the sheer scale of the assault was starting to become apparent.

Aithche's swearing was cut off by the next mortar salvo.

 

[Rolf Amsel]

9th Imperial Battlegroup | Task Force Tomahawk
​

Silence. A weightless sensation. A precursor to the violence of atmospheric re-entry. A precursor to the violence that was to be unleashed on the rebels below. The quiet ride quickly de-escalated as the drop pod Rolf was strapped into began to shake and wobble against Keskin's atmosphere, just like every other drop pod that had been deployed from the 9th Imperial Battlegroup's planetary assault force. Task Force Tomahawk. Just like their namesake they would split the sky and cleave their enemy in two, or so Admiral Strasse had implied during his pre-engagement briefing.

The enemy forces at hand had managed to acquire a considerable motor pool of light vehicles supplemented by heavy tanks - perhaps a combination of old First Order walkers and various upfitted civilian vehicles. It was too early for them to know for certain. What was certain however, was that they were on the move to secure and squash any illusion that the rebels here could stave off the Imperial might of the First Order. Might they would bring to bear. As the vibrations rattled through to Rolf's core he clenched his jaw, biting down on his rubberized mouth guard. They were in it now, it wouldn't be long before the violence gave way to one more brief moment of serenity. A quiet moment to make one's peace. And then the fire. This wasn't the career trooper's first drop. Nor would it be the last, he thought wryly. It was a world away from the assault landing shuttles he'd traveled on early in his career - there was something more barbaric, more savage, about the 9th's preferred method of deployment. On the flip side, it also afforded better survival rates as counter intuitive as that may have been. Additionally it granted Rolf and the troopers of the 9th a versatility unrecognized by the standard assault lander waves of their past, an ability to drop behind enemy lines.

A bit overkill for this particular encounter perhaps - aerial superiority was never a question for the First Order, at least not here on Keskin. Sure there were rebel fighters, transports, upfitted cargo haulers, but there was never any real threat to First Order superiority. How could there be? It was a prepostorous notion but if nothing else the Ssi-Ruuvi had taught the Lt. Colonel not to underestimate a foe regardless of appearances. It was in part the reason why they'd been deployed almost five kilometers from their target. THe enemy may not have had heavy fighter screens or a plethora of anti-aircraft batteries on the ground but they only had to get lucky once - the First Order on the other hand had to get lucky every time.

: BRACE FOR IMPACT IN TEN SECONDS:
​

The automated message rang in the Lt. Colonel's ears. He heard an echo for a moment as another transmission cut through the noise. :: Acorn,to any units, please respond over.:: Before he could respond, the alarm sounded one final time. Five seconds. Gritting his teeth he waited for the inevitable thwump of the pod as it slammed into the ground. Hopefully the inertial dampeners were calibrated properly.

Aithche Wierz | Caio

​

 

[Gunnar Madine]

Assault Lander AL-1337 | Occulus Actual
​

The first clue that he was still alive was the searing pain that felt like wreaths of flame biting at his arm. As his eyes fluttered open he saw that it was indeed, flames licking at the torn and tattered sleeve of his First Order uniform. With a grunt he swung his arm towards himself and rolled over on it, suffocating the flames - slowly the pain receded. A little bit. Several mumbled curses passed Gunnar's lips before he forced himself up on his good arm and surveyed his surroundings.

Shattered durasteel. Showering sparks. The smell of burning flesh and fabric. Where am I?

It caused the First Order officer several moments of dumbfounded silence as he fought to remember - but he couldn't. That's when his training kicked in. An involuntary utterance of pain escaped his lips as his arm burned with renewed agony. He fought the urge to look, he knew the damage. He'd have 3rd degree burns without a doubt, shock would set in soon if he didn't do something to deal with it. He had to escape this place first, whatever it was. Stumbling to his feet he looked for clues as to where he might be. Webbing. Deck plating. A ship. An assault lander. He was certain, a charred chunk of durasteel bearing the vessel's designation jutted out of the ground at a strange angle. AL-1337. He tried to raise his voice, instead a violent cough wracking his body as he fought the urge to vomit. He needed to get out.

"Is anyone there, hello?!"

He'd done the math. It wouldn't be long before he'd be incapacitated at this rate and regardless of the circumstances it was more important that he was found, even if that meant it could be hostiles. He wouldn't survive long on his own.

Natasi Fortan​

 

[Natasi Fortan]

It wasn't supposed to happen.

The lander had been chosen for its anonymity as much as its durability.

No different from any other, it wouldn't have been pegged to be transporting the Supreme Leader of the First Order to Keskin to engage in secret diplomatic talks. The last-ditch effort to bring a peaceful resolution to the conflict tearing the world apart was hinging upon Natasi Fortan's personal interest, but sending her in an ostentatious transport or a powerful vessel with military escort would have made it a target. The beauty of the selected approach was that it would be safe.

But random luck could defeat the best laid plans.

Natasi slowly became aware of her position, lying face-down on something soft, body at a haphazard angle. She opened her eyes to darkness, punctuated by flashes of light and flickers of flame nearby. Her ears were ringing; she could hear nothing else for the moment. Her face was wet. She ached all over. But she was alive. Natasi turned her head slowly, surveying what had, moments earlier, been the main cabin of the First Order lander. Her eyebrows furrowed as she cast her mind back. The warning. The alarm klaxons. Dyrn grabbing her, tossing her onto the crash couches, hunkering over her to spread her body across as much shock-absorbing crash gel as possible, holding her in place using whatever leverage he had at his disposal and sheer force of will.

Dyrn.

Despite her aching body, she rolled over and struggled to her feet. Someone called out in the distance, but it wasn't Grav. "Dyrn," she croaked, trying to call out to him. Her throat felt sore, ragged. She recognized the symptoms of smoke inhalation. She struggled to swallow with her mouth and throat dry, then tried again: "Dyrn!" Natasi tried not to panic as she struggled through the debris of the wreck. Some had been thrown from the wreckage, and a lot of what hadn't been secured had clattered to the base of the angled lander.

"Who's there?" she called at the noise she heard nearby. Natasi slipped on the steep angle and slid down the deckplates, coming to rest in the mud. "Dyrn?" she called after once more clambering to her feet. She went towards the voice she heard, spotting Gunnar Madine standing in the wreckage. He looked dazed, dazed like she felt. "Lieutenant Colonel," Natasi called, beginning to pick her way across the debris field towards him. "Have you seen -- anyone?"

Gunnar Madine | Dyrn Grav

 

[Caio]

The smell hit them first.

The lander had torn through a couple of acres of forest with ease, smashing century old tree trunks and shrub alike. A few stumps were still alight, acrid smoke heading for the sky. A nice beacon for anyone else in the area. Chunks of wreckage were strewn in the lander's wake, bits of metal still hot to the touch.

Caio's section had made good time, sacrificing stealth for speed. The jungle was still loud, most of the wildlife not appreciating the sudden crash landing of an Imperial lander. The section had fanned through the undergrowth, only slowing as the bush began to thin. "We got eyes on" murmured Culhwch, he'd taken point. Caio moved into a stoop and then a crawl, cresting the low rise carefully.

Only a sharp intake of breath let the scout know how impressed the section leader was. There was a new clearing in the jungle, courtesy of the shuttle. Luck or brilliant piloting had managed to land it somewhat intact but there was still smoke billowing from it and the occasional small explosion a blaster pack or electronics cooked off in the flames.

He cast his eyes left and right. Even knowing he was there, it still took him a few seconds to pick out Somhairle. The camo cream and mottled uniform made the Coillteans seem part of the forest. Somhairle's eyebrows raised in a question and Caio responded with quick signs. Circle to the left and secure the area. His eyes met Gjor on the right and he gave similar orders.

Rising slowly to his knees, he tapped Culhwch's shoulder. The two Coillteans cautiously broke cover, padding forward with their fingers on triggers. Caio didn't even need to look back to know a few blaster muzzles were aimed at the wreck. It was probably a fool's errand but stranger things had happened. He wondered if there was even enough left of the crew to identify them.

Natasi Fortan Gunnar Madine

 

[Rolf Amsel]

Keskin Landfall | Task Force Tomahawk
​

A flash of light, a shroud of darkness, an overwhelming pressure exerted against his body as the pod slammed into the ground. Only microseconds passed between the moment of impact and the explosive concussion of the door ejecting. Feet. Eyes snapping to his surroundings first, Rolf's feet followed. He darted forward and took cover behind a fallen tree. His blood was flowing now, heartbeat rising as he surveyed his landing zone. All around him he could hear fellow impacts as more pods landed nearby.

:: Acorn, Tomahawk. Moving to your position now. If you can draw their attention we can close in from their flank. ::

It was going to take them time. Time Acorn probably didn't have. Rolf's eyes scanned the small holo map projected from his chrono. They had to beat feet if they wanted to get in position in time. :: Listen up Tomahawk, we've got ground to cover and not time to do it. Regroup at AP one. Acorn reports mechanized column supported by infantry. I'll relay more information as I receive it. Hold your fire unless absolutely necessary, we're going for the full broadside. Tomahawk One, Out. :: Pinging the Ambush Point for his team leads Rolf rose to his feet and made towards their objective. He'd undoubtedly pick up his men on the way, the gentle thudding of pods hitting the ground had stopped and if they followed their training soon enough he'd see them shortly.

 

[Dyrn Grav]

First there was silence. Well, almost silence. More a ringing. Slowly Dyrn's vision began to clear, as he looked at the shuttle in front of him. Dazed, the Guardsman wasn't confused, he knew exactly what had happened - some artillery had hit the transport, which had caused it to crash. Unexpected, and there also remained the question why the pilot hadn't had shields at full power; but that could be answered later, once Dyrn managed to get up and--

Oh no...

"Natasi," Dyrn coughed, his voice barely above a whisper, as he struggled to sit upright and took stock of his situation. He was propped against a tree, one covered in mounds of moss, which might have just saved his life. Maybe. "Na--* cough *... wh-where are you?"

With some blinks, Dyrn squinted. His eye was damaged, cracked. No, wait, that was the helmet. Slowly the Royal Guard reached up and pulled the helmet free, as he felt the humidity wash against him. Jungles. The vessel had plowed into a number of trees by the look of it, and the cockpit at the front was all but gone, so the pilot had escaped questioning about his failure. The events just before the crash played through Dyrn's mind, as he moved his body to get up...

He stood there, near the Supreme Leader's flight chair, as he glanced to her through the helmet lens. He held a railing above his head, it helped keep him steady. The choice to attend discussions in person had been a risky decision, one made with good intentions to avoid as many deaths as possible, but one that left the Guardsman in a very unknown situation. It had required additional personnel, for security purposes. There was a moment of calm, as the transport moved down through the atmosphere, the pilot had announced the plan to fly low to avoid starfighters or other dangers... it had seemed like a good idea, save for the lack of appropriate shielding power.

Thoom!

Then the transport had been hit. Dyrn was almost thrown across the cabin, but his grip remained as he steadied himself. Without hesitation, the Guardsman had grabbed the emergency lever, and then pushed Natasi into the crash padding that deployed as the alarms sounded throughout the ship. He didn't have time to get to his own crash couch, so he doubled down on keeping her safe. At all costs.

<"Stay flat, don't tense,"> Dyrn said through his helmet. <"I--... I'll secure the impact padding. You will survive, I promise.">

With a growl, Dyrn pulled tightly on the material and enclosed the protective shroud with his left hand - a crushgauntlet - before he wrapped himself over the Supreme Leader and prepared to hold on with everything he had. The vessel began to bounce and jar those inside as it impacted with trees, sickening tearing metal and splitting hull, as the ship went down hard.

And then nothing...

"Argh," Dyrn bit his lip, as he struggled to stand. He looked down to his armor, noted the dents and damage. The lining of his bodysuit had done a lot to absorb impact, but there was no denying he was in a bad way. His left arm, the one with the gauntlet built into the glove, hung uselessly at his side - dislocated, broken, both likely. His left leg was certainly broken, his thigh was a wave of pain. Then he heard calling, from over near the crash site, some thirty yards away--

"L-Lady Fortan?" He tried to call again, but his lungs refused. In fact, his breathing was ragged, and a cautious hand to the left side armor indicated the source - under his arm, down his side, the armor had crumpled and likely cracked his ribs; it also looked to have tightened the protective layer around him. "I hear you... I..."

* Cough cough *

Ahead, he saw two individuals near one another. One was Supreme Leader Natasi Fortan , the other... possibly Gunnar Madine, it was hard to tell with the distance, the steaming and smoking wreckage and the blur in his eyes. Good, she's alive. Thank everything. With an effort, and very labored breathing, Dyrn rolled onto his right side with a thud in the grass and mud. He reached for the armor clasps with his only good arm, as he tried to remove the shell around his torso, but it proved difficult. Dyrn needed the armor off. It was pinning his chest and lungs. Every breath was more and more shallow, as he felt the shell constrict unnaturally around his torso...

I'm suffocating.

With a shaking right hand, the Guardsman grunted as he coughed and tried to reach again. He couldn't. His inhales were short, sharp, not enough to fill his lungs. And with a slump of his damp hair to the mud, he lay there unable to reach what he needed to get the air deprived to him. Turned out being thrown from a crashing lander was not a good alternative for impact couches.

But she's okay... she's okay.

Natasi Fortan | Gunnar Madine | Caio​

 

[Gunnar Madine]

Wreckage, AL-1337 | Occulus Actual
​

A few more wrenching coughs expelled the smoke from his lungs, ahead the smoke clearing to reveal a silhouette. Blinking his eyes against the sting of smoke and superheated metals Gunnar squinted at the hobbled figure before him. A woman's voice cut through the fog. He still couldn't remember how he'd gotten here but he knew the voice. Supreme Leader Fortan. It took him a moment to make sense of her words, the sounds muffled. Possible concussion. Perforated eardrum. His mind filed away those injuries to address later. In response to her question he raised a shaky hand, outstretched towards a prostrate figure behind her, barely visible through the disarray.

"There." he managed to say, a sharp pain stabbing at the side of his head. That's not good. He took a few steps forward, almost tripping over something. He looked down in annoyance at first but as Gunnar realized what it was he'd tripped over he felt a wave of relief wash over his shoulders. A medical kit. Not the typical gauze, bandages, slings, etc - though undoubtedly those would be present as well. What he'd happened to come across was a battlefield trauma kit. Stims. In his current condition those were the most important piece. Already he could feel the edges of his vision fluctuating, he had minutes at best before the shock of his burns would render him unconscious. Falling to his knees he cradled his arm and fumbled with the seal on the container with his other, a satisfying release of air pressure indicating it had remained intact. It only took him another moment to locate the stim injectors. Removing the cap between his teeth he held the needle perpendicular to his thigh briefly before sending it plunging into the side of his leg.

A sharp intake of breath followed by a headrush almost sent him spinning to the ground but he managed to keep himself on his knees by bracing himself. The incredible pain immediately dulled in his burned hand and arm, the headache replaced by what could only be described as euphoria. Get a grip. You've trained for this. Gunnar forced himself into the now, the high wasn't the reason for these stims - it was to survive and none of them would survive if they couldn't get out of this crater. Already he could hear the metal creaking and shifting. Taking another deep breath despite the smoke in the air he rose to his feet. "We've gotta get him out of here, I have to wrap this up too." he said, holding up the grotesque burned flesh of his arm. "Make sure his neck stays in line." he pointed towards the fallen man's head. "We have to rule out spinal injury before we can even hope to move him."

Natasi Fortan | Dyrn Grav​

 

[Aithche Wierz]

Aithche let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. "Understood Tomahawk, we'll do our best to hold". No point in trying to communicate more. They'd get here when they'd get here. Five minutes, ten minutes, it wouldn't matter if they had rebels on the wire in two. She brought up an overhead display on the tac screen, trying to make sense of the battlefield.

Green for friendly forces, blue for allies, all too few. Red for enemy, all too many. Aithche did her best to not think of them as people. That had always tripped her up when it was for real. It was easy in simulations, just hit reload and everyone was back to life. Not so easy when each light winking out on the screen was another screaming soldier made of real flesh and blood.

"Platoons report in" she said in a emotionless tone. "Makari, twenty five effectives". "Kjaran, thirty effectives". "Van Zyl, eighteen effective". "Tran, twenty two". Aithche felt the deaths like punches to her stomach. "Understood" was her response in a voice not her own. "Transmitting orders now. Van Zyl pull back to ready as reserve". Bollocks to holding the camp line with an understrength company, the locals were folding already.

She risked another look above the ground. Satellite imaging was all well and good but she hadn't made it to thirty five standard years without the help of the Mark One Eyeball. The enemy had dismounted and were moving forward with their APCs for cover. Smart, it kept them motivated and fired up. A repeater cannon in one turret blasted cyan bolts into the base while a dozen rebel infantrymen scurried in its wake. Cheers turned to screams when a rocket snaked out from a bunker, blasting the turret off and cooking the crew inside.

Bodies were strewn around the APC but the bunker blew up fifteen seconds later when two more APCs trained their armament on it. Aithche ducked under, biting back the familiar feeling of fear. The rebels were going to bleed for breaking the perimeter but they had the numbers to win on attrition alone. Her fingers danced along the screen, plotting suggested attack vectors and marking targets. "Acorn to any available air assets. Marking targets for attack run"

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Natasi tried not to dwell too much on the horrific injury suffered by the Lieutenant Colonel. She was made of stern stuff and wasn't especially squeamish, but the gruesome injury was only a hint of what could have happened to Dyrn or any of the others that had been aboard. She couldn't think that way now; they had to find the other. Instead, her gaze followed Gunnar Madine's good arm to where he pointed out another form on the ground. The armor, however dinged up by the crash, was unmistakable.

"Oh no," she breathed. She lurched forward, dropping to a knee as she stumbled over a piece of debris before clambering up to her feet with some difficulty. She brushed her forehead and her hand came away bloody. Natasi didn't care. She pressed on with Madine at her back. He seemed to have located a medical kit, and she was glad. He was injured and the Balance only knew what had happened to Dyrn and the rest of the occupants of the lander. The medical kit would come in handy. There should be others, too.

Natasi dropped to her knees next to Dyrn's body, her clean hand instinctively going to his forehead. "Dyrn," she said softly, not knowing what else could be said. For the first time, he looked vulnerable and mortal. His armor was badly damaged; it looked like it should be crushing him, from how dented it was on the opposite side from her.

Madine made it to them and Natasi looked up at him. He had training in this field; he would know what to do for the best. "Yes," she agreed. "Yes -- the first aid kit should have some bacta patches. I can -- I can wrap it for you, once we -- see to Captain Grav." She couldn't bring herself to say check whether he's alive; she was fighting to keep an edge of panic out of her voice. It wasn't just that her companion was lying in what might be his tomb, or that she was battered and bleeding. The lander had crashed into a warzone; there was no telling how long they would remain unmolested by the warring factions. "We can't really -- rig up a frame," she panted. "First thing's first: we need to get him free from this -- it looks like he was trying to reach it." She gestured at the crumpled armor. She couldn't imagine the force necessary to dent such a piece of armor, let alone crunch it.

Natasi didn't say how she was familiar with the clasps on this particular set of armor, but with some manner of efficiency, she disengaged the clasps. One was badly damaged, but she was able to wrench it open despite trembling hands. Carefully, she lifted the armor off Dyrn and dropped it unceremoniously off to one side, her dark eyes surveying his body suit. No tears or punctures that she could see. That was good, right? "Dyrn, are you all right? Can you breathe?"

She leaned over him, dark eyes searching his face, looking for some sign that he would come around. "Lieutenant Colonel -- please," she said before leaning down, putting a ringing ear close to Grave's face, to see if she could hear or feel breathing. Her eyes darted around the crash scene she could see from this vantage, seeing everything but absorbing none of it. She held her breath, straining to hear...

Dyrn Grav | Gunnar Madine | Caio

 

[Caio]

Caio felt more insecure the further he stepped out from the treeline. Sunlight hit him properly for the first time in days. He would have savoured the feeling if he wasn't so on edge. It was only slight comfort knowing there were hidden blasters ready to avenge his death. He forced the thoughts away and focused on the misson.

The lander looked to be nothing special but the communique had been quite clear about making it a high priority. Who in the nine hells was on it? He'd not be happy if he'd booked it several kilometres for some minor sector official. Officers at the rear had some warped ideas on what 'priority' could mean.

Culhwch hissed and caught Caio's eye. He indicated a spot they could clamber up to access the side hatch. The landing had blocked the normal entry ramp. He formed a step with his hands and boosted Caio up. The young corporal turned and lowered his hand to grip the scout and haul him beside him.

Caio slung his rifle and unsheathed his fighting knife, rapping the pommel off the hatch three times, the metallic clanging reverberating through the hull and around the clearing. He waited a few seconds longer before pulling the lever on the emergency access panel. The side hatch groaned in resistance before slowly opening. Smoke billowed out and light filtered in.

Coughing, he scooted back a little from the hatch to let fresher air at it. He could hear voices inside. "Coilltean 4th, First Order Army!" he called in the hatch, making sure to speak in Basic. "D'ye need a hand?"

Natasi Fortan Gunnar Madine Dyrn Grav

 

[Dyrn Grav]

KESKIN JUNGLE
NEAR WRECKAGE AL-1337​

There was really no thought, no flashbacks on life, as Dyrn lay there and started to fade consciously. Darkness encroached on his vision, dizziness overtook him, and his survival instinct to draw in air was stopped by the torso armor finally pressing his chest too firmly to do so. He remained vaguely aware of figures approaching, there was a distant sensation of touch and movement at his side, distant echoes of voices. Murmured conversation seemed to float above him, and then things started to just black out, as he was jostled...

!!

Suddenly he could breathe.

Dyrn inhaled as much air as his bruised and cracked ribs could take in. He literally gulped, before he coughed and his eyes snapped open to awareness. Instinctively, his right hand grabbed the blaster pistol at his side, and it was drawn and aimed toward the shuttle before he consciously knew who was around him - there was banging from near the wreckage. The Guardsman blinked as he looked up and saw familiar dark brown eyes filled with concern, to which Dyrn smiled and nodded with another cough, though he turned his head with a wince to avoid doing so in Supreme Leader Natasi Fortan 's face.

"I can now... thank you," He said in a gravelly voice, blue-orange eyes catching hers, before he looked to Lieutenant Colonel Gunnar Madine. "You're both alive, good... anyone else? The * cough * delegation team?"

With blaster still aimed at the wreckage, Dyrn recalled the banging mere moments before.

"Someone's... on the wreckage, there," The Guardsman said, mainly for Madine's benefit, so the other could assess and determine threat. Dyrn wasn't moving much for the moment, as he lowered his arm and let the other soldier take guard for a moment. The other man seemed to have significant burns to one arm, which looked to be in need of medical assistance soon, to which Dyrn turned back to Natasi Fortan . "Arm is broken... dislocated... and thigh is snapped. My armor plating might have * cough * kept the limb in tact." He dropped his blaster to the mud, then reached down to his belt, as he produced a small medkit - inside were bacta injectors. They were highly concentrated direct application vials, designed specifically to keep someone moving - albeit slowly, in this instance.

He handed the pouch to the Supreme Leader, his limb unsteady, and the fact he was somewhat mobile likely assuaged concerns of spinal damage.

"Please, one in my left hip... let's me walk, at least," Dyrn said, his chest still felt compacted in his bodysuit, but it was better than not breathing at all. "Other one, in Madine's arm... heal tissue under the * cough * burns. It's more effective than a patch, but use one of those, too."

With his vision cleared somewhat, and his focus back, the Royal Guard took stock of a closer inspection of the Supreme Leader. She had blood on her face, she was bleeding, to which Dyrn furrowed his eyebrows and reached out with his good arm. Concern was evident in his eyes, as he tried to determine the injury degree. It looked like a cut on her hairline, it wasn't life threatening, but Dyrn would see to it as soon as he could - unless someone else did first. Still,

"Lady Fortan... other injuries? Breaks? Concussion?"

Natasi Fortan | Gunnar Madine | Caio​

 

[Vakim Duval]

Objective 1:


Location: Capitol of Keskin, a very hot LZ
Troops: 48 Stormtroopers of the 12th Unattached 'Storm' Platoon
Equipment: F11D-Blaster Rifle, SE-44C blaster pistol, stun, and frag grenades, Swamptrooper Armor
With: First Order Allies, Keskin Loyalists, 9th Imperial Battlegroup Aithche Wierz Rolf Amsel
​

Duval and his men had opted out of the drop pods. The 12th was capable of acting as drop troopers, but Vakim hated it for numerous reasons. First and foremost it bred chaos within your own ranks as often as it did those of the enemy. Scattering your forces and making them come together before making any kind of concerted push. No. The 12th would unattach itself from the 9th long enough to ignore the orders to drop in. Duval had garnered enough weight within the Stormtrooper corp that he could call many of his own shots. He had used most of that weight today to call in many favors for his men. He had managed to get them assigned four Sigma-class ATR-15 Assault Transports, fully crewed and in peak operational shape. His men were divided into four groups of twelve, fully equipped and loaded out. Ready to hit the ground running in support of one another as soon as they hit the ground. Duval would join Section A on the lead transport, making a group of 13. He had also called in a few favors with the high command to get eight ISF-35A 'Thunderbolt' First Order TIE Superiority Starfighters as an escort and direct air support for his platoon. Keskin was important and the loyalist here are holding on by a thread. They deserve this level of aid. Not only that, but it was a good show of force for the First Order.

Duval and his men cut the small talk as their transports and escorts broke the cloud cover and descended down to their LZ. Well, it wasn't technically the assigned LZ. Vakim had given the crews of his transports and escorts coordinate almost 4 clicks closer to the loyalist defensive line that high command had ordered. A simple mistake on his part he would assure them if asked about it, but one that could give the embattled loyalists vital support earlier than expected. Time could be crucial especially to people under a full assault. The First Order needed to break through and they needed to do it now, plus Duval was almost certain at least a handful of drop troopers would end up scattered this far from their own LZ and need some support. His men would serve a double purpose as well as act as a vanguard to lead the spear that would relieve the beleaguered capitol city and its defenders.

Flak and rockets began to burst around the transports and shake the steel encasing protecting the troops. For a brief moment, Duval took a moment to remember the key advantage of drop troopers. Then his TIE escorts swept down on the anti-air defenses. Their turbo lasers making quick work of the rebels directly around the Landing Zone, as well as breaking off to begin strafing runs to silence the anti-air. The First Order pilots worked in incredible teams of two, scouring the surface for the rocket and flak emplacements targeting Duval and his men as they descended ever closer to the planet. Duval admired the green bursts and the veteran flying on display as his men began their final check-ins over the commlink. All Sections were checked in and the transports began their final descents. Their turrets beginning to open fire to help soften up the small arms and individual defenses that had survived the TIE strafing.

"10. 9. 8." The robotic voice counted down with a slow but determined cadence that brought all of his men to attention. The sound of small arms fire now bouncing off the encasing around them. The hissing of the large bay door beginning to drop to let the Stormtroopers out onto the surface to bring law and order. "3. 2. 1."

The lights inside the transport began to flash red as Duval and his men descended down the ramp at a steady pace, blasters up and firing to suppress the enemies intent on killing them. This was the most dangerous moment in the operation for Vakim and his platoon, but they knew what to do. The three sections quickly converged into a front line and the flanks began to collapse on the enemies before them while the center, held by Duval and his Section laid down massive amounts of suppressing fire. The fire at their landing zone was extremely intense, but the TIE support kept any rebel heavy weapons silent, and the turrets from the transports evened the firepower battle out despite the 12th's disadvantage in numbers.

They began to make good use of the tactics and boldness that had become the trademark of the First Order's Storm Platoon. The flanking maneuvers caught the enemies defending the LZ off guard and very quickly Duval and his men had softened up the enemy fire and were beginning to push towards the Capitol City and the loyalist lines. Duval hit his command commlink.

"Lt. Colonel Rolf Amsel this is Lt. Duval of the 12th Unattached Platoon. We seem to have been dropped almost four kilometers from our assigned LZ, nevertheless, we have secured our landing zone. We advise sending reinforcements to this position, I will be leaving a Squad to hold the defenses here with the transport crews until relieved the rest of my men will push the enemy lines and link up with the loyalists."

He paused a moment to let the Colonel digest the news of his men's new position. No doubt the Colonel was already in the thick of it himself with his own drop troopers. Duval smiled slyly.

"If erm, any of your drop troopers get launched off course and land out here feel free to send 'em up to help my boys push this line. We will see you in the Capitol. For the Order."

 

[Rolf Amsel]

9th Imperial Battlegroup | Task Force Tomahawk

​

Heavy breaths threatened to fog up the Storm Trooper Officer's faceplate, legs burning with the fire of exertion. A brief glance at his helmet's HUD revealed they'd made record time to their new position. They'd had a few stragglers initially but they too had made landfall well within bounds for error. The landscape was foreign but it reminded the veteran commander of the hills of Loch Weald - of course that was before the sundering. Rolling hills, large clusters of trees and foliage. Raising his fist in the air the troopers around him came to a halt on line, weapons at the ready as Rolf listened carefully. It took him a moment but he could hear the familiar whir of a repeater cannon echoing against the trees to their rear.

:: Enemy ahead, estimated range about four hundred meters. We've gotta close that distance. Get to the ridge line at their flank and hold fire, once we're in position we'll chew into their side and flank. ::

As the Lt. Colonel finished addressing his men an alert chimed, incoming message. The 12th. They'd come in by assault lander. A common enough occurrence for the First Order. It did have its benefits over drop pods but at the end of the day it all came down to mission parameters and design of force. The 9th was a planetary subjugation force by nature, designed for the rapid and immediate deployment of heavy assets to the surface of a planet. Resistance would be crushed by the hammer of the First Order... should it come to that, of course.

:: Understood Duval. Tomahawk currently engaged in maneuvers. Your concerns are noted, the 9th has a different objective at this time. All of ours are accounted for. Give em hell. ::

It wasn't overly lengthy, direct at least. The 9th had other priorities at the moment and while the capital was a valid target, Rolf had more pressing matters on his mind. The camp. To push in one direction and give in another would only bolster the enemy's resolve. No, they had to unequivocally shatter the enemy. To do so, they had to press on. :: Ready, Move! :: The command given, Rolf rose from his knee, feet driving him forward across the open ground. The ridge served their purpose to a T. The enemy wouldn't see them approaching and it would provide a good place to lay down fire on the enemy assaulting the camp. He didn't have much time to contemplate more than that, they'd arrived. As they all approached the ridge they instinctively lowered themselves to the ground for the final ten meters and crawled their way to the edge of the small rise. Rolf peeked up over ever so slightly, the scene below a hectic one overwhelmed with the familiar sounds of multi-level warfare. Mortars. Repeaters. Blasters. Grenades. He could feel the vibrations in the ground from here.

:: Acorn, Tomahawk. Acorn, Tomahawk. :: He waited a moment to make sure they were still in the land of the living. :: In position. Keep your heads down. ::

Time moved slowly as in unison the Stormtroopers of the Ninth rose to their feet, weapons shouldered and fingers hovering over their triggers. A single breath's length and the command was heard in all their ears as their hands went to work. :: Open fire! ::

Aithche Wierz | Vakim Duval​

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Natasi's relief was palpable when Dyrn took a breath and finally spoke. She smiled shakily, her dark eyes suddenly shining with unshed tears of relief. As she would expect, his first words were concern for others. He asked after others, but Natasi shook her head. "I don't know -- I didn't see," she confessed. "We'll worry about that after."

Dyrn rattled off his injuries, and Natasi tried not to let the horror show on her face. She followed the journey he described: eyes darting from his face to his arm, down to his legs. She couldn't tell which of his legs was broken within the confines of his armor. She supposed that was a benefit. Natasi took the pouch from Dyrn with trembling fingers and opened it, looking to Dyrn's face once more. When he identified that the bacta injector should go into his left hip, her eyes followed there too, and she nodded. She withdrew one of the injectors and studied the instructions.

Natasi steadied herself, taking a deep breath. Her hands were steady when she pulled the cap off the injector and shifted herself forward so she could jab the needle into his left hip. She jammed her thumb down on the applicator, forcing the bacta into Dyrn's tissues. She then withdrew the needle and re-capped it, setting it to one side. Her hands gently massaged the site of the injection, hoping to help the medication absorb. "Injuries?" she asked, eyebrows furrowing. This caused a searing pain to race through a gash at her hairline. "Oh -- I don't think so. I haven't -- there was no time. Dyrn, you saved my life, I'm sure of it. If you hadn't put me in that crash course..." She didn't finish the thought, instead reaching up to wipe blood from her forehead with her sleeve.

Picking up the pouch, she took the other injector and stood despite the protestations in her muscles and joints. She approached Madine and took his injured arm gingerly. His injury was gruesome, stomach-turning, but she faced it head-on. "Lieutenant Colonel -- this may sting a bit," she warned him. She lifted the injector, took the lid off with her teeth, and injected the bacta into his arm, again carefully massaging around the site of the application.

"Are there patches in there?" she asked, nodding towards the kit that Madine had found. "Can you get your jacket off?" The Supreme Leader recapped the needle and discarded it. As she worked, her gaze moved beyond Madine's shoulder towards the lander, where it looked like some soldiers were trying to get into the wreckage of the lander. "Is it helping?" she asked Madine quietly. It would take both of them at strength to be able to get Dyrn onto his feet again.

Dyrn Grav | Gunnar Madine | Caio

 

[Caio]

"Help" came a pathetic cry within the wreckage. "My leg, it's broken". Caio's eyes were adjusting to the light and dark, he could make out the outline of a functionary. "Help's coming" he assured the man before whistling. A Coilltean corncrake had never flown on Keskin before but only an ornithologist would have noted it. Two more figures broke from the undergrowth to head towards the lander. Culhwch started uncoiling a line to act as a hoist.

"I'll check the others" Caio whispered, patting the other man on the shoulder before he dropped to the ground. Rising, he began to jog slowly towards the other survivors. One hand rested easy on the grip of his blaster rifle, the other was raised palm outward to show he was friendly.

Not that he looked it. He wasn't the most physically imposing but a couple of weeks of jungle living and he stank. His eyes and teeth were white in his face, standing out against the dark camo cream. His uniform was torn and only his rifle looked to be in immaculate condition. There were no rank markings on him and the knife strapped to his belt looked to be non-regulation issue.

"Bad time to drop in" he said in a soft voice. The trio looked worse for wear. Man mountain on the ground looked to be in a bad way while the other two bent over him scarcely looked better. He wished he'd some tabac with him. He watched with detached interest as they injected bacta into him. A Guardsman. Caio had a scathing opinion of them like a lot of other line soldiers but even he had to admit that the man must have been made of some stern stuff to stay conscious through all this.

"One of the lads is a medic if that's any help" he said, not quite as good as a doctor but better than a kick in the teeth. "There any more supplies on the shuttle?" Pleasantries could wait until the wounded were stabilised.

Gunnar Madine Dyrn Grav Natasi Fortan

 

[Aithche Wierz]

Stormtroopers.

Aithche had never liked them. Much of that was professional rivalry. She'd been in the Army before transferring to the FOSB and gotten used to seeing the smaller branch get its pick of the gear and tech. They had a reputation for overkill at times coupled with arrogance, bragging, and going all in. The old joke used to be that if you needed someone to change a planet's geography, send in the Stormtrooper Corps.

But by the stars, they got things done.

Aithche stayed low in cover. The first immediate effect was that the overhead fire seemed to slacken. Then her tac display started to flash as the overhead satellites caught up with what was happening on the ground. The plan slowly started to become visible. The Stormtroopers couldn't count on the indigenous forces and the FOA remnants as an offensive element so they were using them as the anvil to crush the rebel brigade against.

It was just one brigade but it'd buy them time. Time enough for the heavier armour to offload at the main spaceport. The rebel tankettes and APCs might be fine for this type of war but they'd be easy meat against Imperial tanks and IFVs. But of course all that would be for nothing if the First Order didn't smash the vanguard here before they could overrun the spaceport.

The opening moments of the flank assaults were utter chaos. Rebels dropped by the score, not expecting fire from the sides. The offensive ground to a halt as the infantry went to ground and armoured vehicles tried to turn to present their thicker armour. For the camp defenders it was a much needed relief as the pressure lifted.

"Van Zyl, I need you to move your platoon" Aithche ordered, watching as blue markers blinked out on the screen. The offensive had slowed but they still had the numbers. Enough to wade in with just a rock in each hand and still kick the crap out of the defenders. "Plug that gap. Let the stormies worry about the armour"

Rolf Amsel Vakim Duval

 

[Gunnar Madine]

Wreckage of AL-1337 | Occulus Actual

​

While the Supreme Leader took position near the downed guardian's head, Gunnar surveyed the damage. It was unfortunate then that his eyesight began to swim. The stims were doing their part to dull the pain but his body was still suffering they effects of his injury. He briefly heard the man's reference to another - Madine's eyes darting in that direction. Dead. No doubt on that one. A durasteel plate had embedded itself in the victim's side, not visible from where the other man lay. By the time Madine looked back, the man's armor was off and Natasi was delivering the bacta injection. That's good. He's going to need it. Fumbling with his one good hand, Gunnar noted that the small blaster pistol was somehow still strapped to his waist. Retrieving it, the officer checked the charge pack. Satisfied that it remained undamaged he held it idly at his side.

As Natasi made her way towards him with an injector he grimaced. She was right, this was going to hurt. "Not sure, even if their are, can't be certain they didn't pop on impact. Besides, not much doing for a patch." He held his arm up again as she removed the injector. Burned flesh, muscle and sinew was polluted with burned fabric and melted fibers. "No luck with the jacket. Besides, putting a patch on this'd likely end up in an infection. Best thing for it is air." Cradling his arm back towards his chest, Madine looked towards the other man. "He gonna be able to walk? We gotta clear the impact site, who knows if there's gonna be secondary explosions."

He could feel the bacta keeping the nausea at bay, if only just. They needed to get the other man moved. He moved towards the man's head and shoulders but was cut short at the sound of a voice. "No other supplies as far as I'm aware." Madine grunted, reaching down to the man's shoulder. "This is gonna hurt like hell but it'll be over quick. You ready?" He looked up to the new arrival and Natasi. "We gotta clear the site. I'm not waiting around for any secondary explosions - her especially." he said nodding at the Supreme Leader. "Push with your good leg if you can, we've got about 20 yards to go." he said, addressing the guardsman.

Caio | Dyrn Grav | Natasi Fortan​