TO THE MINES
Obredaan
Mines
Michael, Gabriel, Azrael, Sariel, Raphael, Jeremiel, Seraphim
[Any text in brackets signifies comm-link usage and not face to face conversation]
Objective One: Obredaan, Fallen Industry (Jedi/GADF)
//I have the path. I can't tell... what exactly it is they're defending. Lines of crates?// ... //This... isn't going to be easy. They're dug in, expecting a fight now. Fortified cover. Two ceiling-mounted turrets. Two entrances, both of them with laser trip mines. Not to mention enemy numbers. It's... a lot. Fifteen Remnant soldiers with heavy blasters, and a few tough guys with heavy armor and cortosis vibroblades waiting in cover for us to close.//
//More on the way, if we take too long. The mine's converging on us. If you're planning on walking away from this, we need to move quick.//
That’s not a stronghold. That’s a meat grinder. They’re waiting for someone like us to show up. He then turned to Connel.
What say we oblige them?
You’re scary in times like this.
Azrael just shrugged.
Just like you at a buffet… Gabriel just turned away muttering “Schutta…”
He then turned to the team, voice low but unshakable.
Not trying to pull rank, but … we breach fast and violent. No monologues. No dramatics. We take them before they know they’ve lost.
Michael stood up nodding in agreement.
Gabriel—mark the trip mines. Sariel, kill the far turret first. Raphael, Jer, go hard into the center. Azrael, you and I will swing wide and hit the flank.
I’ll come in last. Connel then pulled his lightsaber—not igniting it, just holding it. A symbol. A promise.
Leave the ones with blades to me.
If you see something we don’t… don’t hesitate…
The team moved past him, not dismissing him—but not really needing him either. This was not a tone of disrespect, but there was a reason he called for them, was there not? This was their wheelhouse. He would not have to take the center.
He’s not the center.
He’s the edge of a storm they’ve already learned to ride.
But they trusted his data. They’re following his path.
That… says everything.
The path winded sharply and opened into a reinforced loading chamber—a dead-end chokepoint, designed by the Remnant to bleed out attackers. Crates of cortosis line the walls, fortified emplacements cover the approach, and trip mines blink silently at both entrances.
Omega was already moving.
His voice cut through comms like a wire. A small pulse from his device sent a momentary white flicker through the minefield.
[You’ve got thirty seconds. MOVE!]
From the upper shaft, Sariel dropped into a prone position, rifle barrel braced on a magnetic hook.
CRACK—! The first ceiling-mounted turret exploded in a shower of scorched metal and sparks before it even rotated.
CRACK—! A Remnant soldier who was dropping into cover suddenly collapsed, unconscious before he hit the floor.
[Two down. You’re clear to move.]
Raphael charged the chokepoint, cannon spinning, pushing forward with brute force. Jeremiel is right beside him, shield braced against incoming fire. Bolts slammed into Raphael’s armor. He walked through them like rain. Jeremiel tossed stun grenades left and right, bouncing them off crates with unnatural accuracy.
[Let’s make them earn every centimeter!]
Azrael’s charge was a wall-breaking sprint, mini-charges clamped to his gauntlet. He slid beneath a volley of fire, slapped a concussive on the underside of a turret mount, and dove behind a power conduit.
FWUMP—
BOOM—! The second turret collapsed into molten scrap.
Michael flowed into the newly made breach, dual stun blades sweeping in wide arcs. His movements were surgical—one to the leg, one to the gut, non-lethal but never gentle.
[Flank’s broken. They’re collapsing!]
Raphael was still drawing fire, but his armor was not impenetrable. In fact a lucky shot got him in the shoulder, right in between plates and took him to a knee. He was still fighting, but this seemed to draw as much Imperial weaponry on him as possible.
Dammit! He took another shot to the knee.
This brought out the animal in Jeremiel.
One of the reasons why Jeremiel was mainly the “Corpsman” was because he used to be a black ops agent. He took the dirtiest missions until morning he brutalized a man, almost as if it was his pleasure to dismantle the Morellian limb by limb.
It took a LOT of therapy to get him out of that darkness.
He was going to need it again.
Unslinging his own rifle, he took to the fighting, while holding up and even shielding Raphael (who was still firing) where he could.
As the squad split the enemy’s attention, Connel stepped through the center, alone.
Five Remnant soldiers with cortosis-blade armor form a defensive semicircle around the core crate stack. Blades drawn. Eyes fixed. These are elite. Trained. Hard. Deadly.
But not ready.
Connel didn’t ignite his saber. Not yet. He lowered his center of gravity and opened his stance. He thought momentarily of his father teaching him “The Way of the Saber”, that knowledge flowing through him like a stream. Mind-body-spirit alignment, he was Force enhancement wrapped in precise economy, capable of effortless redirection. That would be enough.
If it wasn’t, then came Broken Gate. The Jedi Martial art of Bone-shearing strikes, joint breaks, feint traps. Counter-violence with intention, it is punishment used as punctuation.
Hyperbole and definitions were great, until you had to engage. It was time to fight. The first blade swung—Connel sidestepped, palm struck at the enemy’s elbow, snapping it sideways. Their weapon fell. Unfortunately this opened up the second who swung high—Connel dropped low, sliding under the arc and slamming his boot into their knee. A crunch. A scream.
He spun, feigning a punch, finally igniting his shortsaber in reverse grip.
Snap-Hiss
He deflected one strike, redirected another into an ally, then leapt forward—shoulder-checking a soldier into the crate wall. The last cortosis elite lunged, blade overhead, brute-force style. Connel stepped into the strike. Catch. Twist. Break.
The blade spun away. The elbow dislocated in his grip. A throw. A slam. The enemy did not rise again.
Enemy lines started to break. Gabriel looped their fallback comms with fake retreat orders. Jeremiel secured the wounded, checking pulses, tagging unconscious foes for evac. Sariel dropped two more trying to flee through side tunnels. Michael and Azrael cleared the command alcove.cRaphael held aimed perimeter guard and disarmed the remaining perimeter charges by shooting the control box.
Smoke rose. The fifteen soldiers are down—none dead, all silenced. The room was theirs.
Connel stood in the center, breathing heavily, blade still humming, steam rolling off his shoulders. He finally extinguished it.
He turned to Alicio, I thought you said it wouldn’t be easy.
Beat.
Azrael was panting, chuckling… Force enhancement wrapped in precise economy. It wasn’t.
I can kid too…
