Faction Chapter One | Mandate of Iron

[OPCOM]

​

The recall travelled through frequencies long believed dead, carrying the same command to scattered fleets, abandoned garrisons, and dark servants who had concealed their allegiance beneath another banner. The message was clear: Come home, the Emperor commands it. A directive that shook loyalists to their core, word from the Emperor himself, not seen since the Galaxy itself united against the Death Star III. Locked in combat with Jedi Master Romi Jade, the Emperor was thought lost when the superweapon was destroyed. Recognized chain codes passed between warships assembling in secret. Veterans returned to their stations, bringing fellow soldiers, their grievances, and their ambitions with them. The crimson imperial crest soon flew openly again, with transmissions carrying the Sith’ari’s will spreading across the Old Empire like wildfire.

Above Ord Mantell, Imperial Star Destroyers emerged in battle formation, their guns turning toward the defenses protecting the deepdock and Mantell City. On Ghorman, months of COMPNOR agitation reached their culmination as agents and armed proxies moved to overthrow the government and secure the resources needed to sustain the returning fleets. At Yinchorr, the Sepulchre carried the Dark Side Elite toward a sealed vault, an ancient relic, and unfinished business with those who had betrayed their oaths. Each operation would lay a foundation for the campaigns to come. The officers on the bridges, the soldiers in the landing craft, and the operatives awaiting their signal had answered the same summons. Together, they would give the galaxy reason to fear the Empire once more.

ORD MANTELL | FLEET COMBAT · STARFIGHTERS · GROUND ASSAULT



The Short-Range Hyperspace Radar systems were too slow to register the sudden arrival of the Empire. At the break of dawn, the first thing Ord Mantell’s provisional government over their skies was the shadow of an Imperial Star Destroyer crossing the Deepdock. More followed, Imperial III-class Star Destroyers emerging from hyperspace in formation, converging on Ord Mantell. Their batteries turned toward the planet before the local authorities could finish demanding identification. The answer soon came in coordinated volleys, defense emplacements systematically coming offline from their tactical displays as turbolasers opened fire. Emergency channels immediately began to fill intercepted comms with overlapping reports as Ord Mantell's defenders scrambled to meet what-seemed-to-be an invasion already underway.

The Empire had returned for its shipyards.

The orbital deepdock deemed essential to the repair and rebuilding of the Imperial Navy. Its repair facilities must survive the assault, along with the machinery and personnel needed to operate them. Boarding forces are ordered to seize its control centers while the fleet shatters defending warships.

Over Mantell City, TIE fighters descend through the clouds in a blitzkrieg. Utilizing lightning-fast swarm tactics, the Empire moves to quickly assume air superiority. Below, troop transports approach Mantell City under fighter escort. The skyhook rises above the city centre, its immense structure disappearing into the smoke gathering overhead. Around its foundations, local defense forces establish barricades and bring their weapons to bear on the approaching landing craft. The opening bombardment has fractured the planetary defenses, but it has not broken the soldiers holding the streets.

Secure the deepdock. Establish air superiority over Mantell City. Drive through the defenders and capture the skyhook intact. The Empire needs a port from which its campaign can sail.

The assault has begun. Man your stations.

 

[Sarsius Sol-Kress]

The map flickered on the portable console, casting a dull glow over the dust in the abandoned office. Outside, the low rumble of turbolasers higher in the atmosphere rattled the loose glass in the window frames. Fifty-eight minutes since the first boots touched ground and they were already racking up a considerable casualty count.

Though what mattered was the red line representing the city's central power grid, as he wanted to avoid entering into a slog for each city block. Once the power generators were out of the picture, the heavy defense turrets around the skyhook would be offline followed quickly behind by the garrison surrendering due to the possibility of the Imperial Fleet bombarding the mostly innocent populace.

"The local militia is reinforcing the main avenue," a Sun Guard sub-commander said, stepping away from the doorway where he had been watching the street. "The Imperial army units are taking heavy fire near the plaza."

"Let them," Sarsius said without raising his voice or looking up from the tactical screen. "They draw attention. That is their function today." He tapped a sequence on the console, highlighting the subterranean routing station three blocks south. The conscripts and standard line troops were useful for noise and mass, but they lacked the necessary experience to execute his plan.

"Your squad moves through the drainage conduits," Sarsius continued, pointing a gloved finger at the primary junction on the wireframe. "Do not engage the street barricades. Secure the primary breakers, sever the feed to the skyhook's defensive perimeter, and lock the blast doors behind you. I expect the grid dark within ten minutes."

"And if the local guards attempt to bargain for the generators?" Sarsius finally looked up, his face impassive in the dim green light. "We are not negotiating for infrastructure. If they stand between you and the switch, eliminate them and secure the console. Bring the squad into position." The sub-commander nodded and went to give the orders. Sarsius fixed his sash, moved near the broken window, and stared out at the skyhook reaching up into the thick grey clouds.​

 

[FN-999 (restored)]

Tags: Sarsius Sol-Kress

It had been three years since FN-999 had left the galaxy at large for the Unknown Regions.
​

There, he had cast in his lot with the restored First Order, only to soon realize that it was not all that its propaganda hyped it up to be. Following the First Order's quick and unceremonious collapse, FN-999 had found refuge and an erstwhile ally in the planet of Caragach. After securing victory for its pro-Imperial faction in a planetary civil war, FN-999 had been appointed High Marshal of the Caragachi Commonwealth, keeping his tactical skills sharp as he held command over the Commonwealth's entire armed forces.

Sick and tired of seeing poorly run Imperial states crumble around him, FN-999 had sworn to use his influence on Caragach to build the world into an Imperial redoubt: a modest but extremely stable state that would always take in and nurture Imperials who had been cast adrift by opportunists and petty warlords. After overcoming a series of costly raids by the Wild Space Rebellion and driving them out of the Unknown Regions, FN-999 had believed he would spend the rest of his life nurturing the next generation of Imperials in the relative safety of the galactic rim.

Then the transmission arrived.

At first, FN-999 had been hesitant to take at full value the words of yet another Imperial claimant. After all, there had been many Empires before this one, and few had even come close to the strength the Empire had once possessed.

Then, the source of the message had been traced, and that had changed everything. Darth Solipsis, long thought dead, had in fact survived the Death Star III cataclysm. Since then, he seemed to have bided his time, building up his power once more until he had finally reached the point where he could confidently deliver the transmission across the galaxy.

As much as FN-999 preferred secular government, he could admit that Solipsis was a powerful unifying force. More importantly however, he had come to appreciate over the past three years just how more closely his idea of Empire fit the Imperial orthodoxy than the utterly sadistic Sith cult-states coming out of Jutrand or Coruscant.

So, having left Caragach stable, prosperous, and free from major external threats, FN-999 set out for the world of Ord Mantell.

And he did not arrive alone.

Along with the old general came a full legion of volunteers from Caragach, all eager to see the galaxy and fight for a cause greater than themselves. They all pledged themselves to the service of the Empire, establishing the first auxiliary division to fight under the new Imperial banner.

The legion had arrived above Ord Mantell just in time to see the might of the Imperial fleet smash the planet's orbital defenses. Their warship, the first of a new class of cutting-edge Irredentist-class Star Destroyers commissioned in utter secrecy for the Imperial Navy, had quickly joined the growing fleet of Star Destroyers amassing above the world. Within an hour, the Caragachi Foreign Legion had been unloaded, arriving on the surface with zero shuttle losses thanks to the establishment of air superiority.

The first action FN-999 had taken after groundfall was establishing comms with the other divisions on the ground. Only once the three regular Imperial divisions and the Caragachi 1st had been connected did FN-999 take command of the army group, quickly concocting a plan to subdue the remaining defenders of Ord Mantell's skyhook.

Urban warfare was a uniquely challenging endeavor, one that FN-999 was all too familiar with. His first ever battle in service with the New Imperial Order had been the liberation of occupied Bastion, during which he had learned hard lessons that had stuck with him to the present day.

FN-999 began by having the four divisions under his command establish a perimeter around the skyhook, cutting off the defenders from any outside reinforcement. The next step was the assault on the remaining defenders. Two major avenues cut straight to the skyhook, but FN-999 immediately ruled out advancing through them. Though they provided the most direct path, the avenues were also heavily barricaded and any attacker would be vulnerable to enfilading fire from snipers from the windows of the many buildings overlooking it.

Instead, FN-999 opted to employ a strategy of mouse-holing, breaking directly through any buildings between his forces and the skyhook, while also making extensive use of recon drones to minimize the defender's advantage in environmental awareness.

In all, the Imperial advance followed a brutally effective cycle: a platoon would deploy a recon drone into a building ahead of them, identify hostiles hiding inside, break through the building's walls with a grenade or anti-tank round, and then engage the hostiles in close combat, where the better armored stormtroopers held an advantage. If snipers or machine gun teams were detected on higher floors, the platoon would instead order an airstrike on the building or simply have an E112 Capricorn fire its main cannon into the floor if there were anti-aircraft weapons present.

The Capricorn alongside the A28 Taurus proved valuable assets in their first trial by fire, primarily providing heavy fire support while sticking close to infantry platoons to avoid being struck down by anti-tank fire. The Capricorns, imported from the Caragachi Legion, were particularly well-liked due to their tough hulls being usable as battering rams to level large chunks of a building's walls in a single blow while its armored hulk provided cover for infantry to move into close quarters combat.

FN-999 was also aware that other elements of the Imperial army were infiltrating through the sewers, aiming to disable key power infrastructure. Their missions were interconnected: if the teams below were able to kill the grid, the army above would be able to secure the skyhook without the threat of being fired on by defense turrets the moment they ran out of buildings to breach.

From his command tank around a kilometer out of the range of the snipers in the southern avenue, FN-999 gazed up at the skyhook as it towered up into the sky like an enormous gray finger stretching beyond the clouds. If everything went according to plan, it would be hours at most before the skyhook was in Imperial hands and the Empire's resurgence began in earnest.

 

[Reiner Ghadi]

Tags: Sarsius Sol-Kress

Theme

The days had come and gone, and over time, talks of the Galactic Empire had become little more than a whisper. Whispers were good, for no longer were the Empire's enemies shouting the name at the top of their lungs, giving their energy instead to other supposedly more pressing matters. Whispers were quiet, and said when one did not wish to be heard by unintended ears. Whispers implied fear... fear that the boogeyman might rear its head again, crawling from the shadows to swallow whole the person that dared invoke its name.

Perhaps they were right.

The transport landed on the outskirts of Mantell City, taking care to remain away from the thick of the fighting. Its cargo was a detachment of security officers from the Office of Imperial Sciences, each outfitted with rather meticulously chosen gear, fitting for the great undertaking they were about to begin. At their head stood the Director of Science himself, the traitor of the Galactic Alliance...

Reiner Ghadi.

The OIS had not been idle in the wake of the Death Star III disaster, for with or without the Emperor's guiding hand, they would continue their work. Reiner had taken great precautions during the Empire's last collapse to make it so, and had pulled vast amounts of Imperial resources from several primary facilities before making himself a ghost.

But now, that ghost was back to haunt its adversaries once more.

He stepped out of the landing craft, surveying the immediate area as the rest of his unit disembarked.

"Captain, Establish a perimeter. Once we've secured the area, we will weigh our options and determine how best to proceed."

Their mission was simple. Infiltrate the more clandestine facilities of Ord Mantell, and retrieve everything that wasn't nailed down before the military had the chance to blow it all to kingdom come.

 

[Galen Tagge]

Tags: FN-999 (restored) Reiner Ghadi Sarsius Sol-Kress
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Galen's Imperial-III shuddered as it exited hyperspace above Ord Mantell with a fleet of other ISD's. Ord Mantell has older radar systems meaning they have a bigger window before any resistance could be given. Galen opened up the comms, "All ships, open fire." A hail of lasers descended upon the planet as more ships poured out of hyperspace. "TIE fighters prepare for launch, move in open cluster formation. we are going to need total air superiority if we want to land our troops." It felt good, directing a battle. Galen hasn't done that for a long long time. TIE's were away. Now it is onto the main course, the shipyards. If the assault on the Core worlds is going to go anywhere, the Empire will need to capture these shipyards.

 

[Alaric de Braose]

Galen Tagge | FN-999 (restored) | Reiner Ghadi | Sarsius Sol-Kress

The staccato of the data terminals filled the operations room, each character sounding its own peculiar pitch. To most men, it was an unintelligible stream of noise, meaningless in its constant buzzing. But to the droid that manned the station, and the banks of operators seated in long rows either side of it, the sound was almost symphonic. Each little cadence brought some reassurance, some certainty that the great machinery of the Imperial Army continued to function. Messages passed through the terminals in their thousands, reporting the movements of supply transports, the arrival of much-needed munitions and the changing dispositions of the deployed forces. Soldiers and officers walked the tiered gangways, data-slates in hand and pistols upon their hips, long since accustomed to the whirring and chattering of the tactical operations room.

The central deck was dominated by a great rectangular holomap, a robust construction of steel and glass upon which the theatre of war was projected in miniature. Fed by hidden cables and droids, its surface was alive with the movements of armies. Coloured icons marked the positions of Imperial formations, their allies and those forces designated for destruction. Around it stood a collection of senior officers, their expressions severe, their attention divided between the shifting display and the reports delivered by their subordinates. Arguments were conducted in low voices, interrupted occasionally by the sharp demands of an officer seeking clarification.

The display was presently concerned with the Imperial advance upon the skyhook at Mantell City. Alaric had committed his army to the eastern approaches, its divisions advancing through the surrounding districts towards the perimeter of the installation. Elsewhere, other Imperial formations were prosecuting their own assaults upon the great structure, the combined weight of the returning Empire bearing down upon its defenders. The principal avenues were heavily contested, and Alaric's officers had directed their infantry through the narrower streets and adjoining buildings, seeking to circumvent the enemy's prepared positions rather than expend their strength against them.

"Forward formation dispositions updated, sir."

"Army Headquarters priority directive acknowledged. Switching to secondary communications."

"Second Brigade reports sustained enemy contact along the eastern approaches to the skyhook. Intelligence is intermittent. Last confirmed positions logged."

The words came in quick succession, each report acknowledged and passed along to those whose business it was to act upon it. There was a rhythm to these exchanges quite distinct from the mechanical chatter of the terminals. Orders were given, repeated and confirmed. Nothing was left to chance where it could be helped, though every man in the room understood that chance remained an unwelcome companion to war.

General Alaric de Braose stood at the head of the holomap, his hands clasped behind his back. He had listened to the reports without interruption, his eyes following the disposition of the forward brigades as their icons shifted upon the display.

"Second Brigade," he said at last. "What is the nature of their contact?"

An officer looked down at his terminal.

"Unconfirmed, General. Their forward elements report sustained fire, but communications have been unreliable.”

He waited a moment.

"Establish contact with Brigade Headquarters. I want their situation confirmed before any further formations are committed. Have the reserve held at readiness."

"Yes, General."

Alaric returned his attention to the map. He was a veteran of the Imperial campaigns, having spent much of his adult life in the service of the Empire and its forebears. His understanding of warfare had been acquired through years of campaigning, of watching formations advance and retreat, of counting the cost of victories that had appeared so easily won upon the maps of distant headquarters. He had grown accustomed to the peculiar burdens of command, and there was little in the conduct of war that surprised him now. The technical mastery of the battlefield was, however, secondary to his commitment to the Imperial cause. He was a professional soldier, and had given his life to the preservation of an order he believed worth defending.

Yet there remained within him a great shame, a burning sense of injustice that no victory had yet succeeded in extinguishing.

He had been absent from Imperial Center when it fell to the Sith cultists. The High Command of the Ruling Council had been slaughtered by traitors and heretics, men whose treachery had brought ruin upon the very institutions they had once professed to serve. Though the Emperor had evaded capture, many had not. Officers and soldiers had given their lives to secure his retreat, holding their positions in the knowledge that they would never be relieved.

Alaric had learned of their deaths from a report, delivered to him many hours after the last of them had fallen.

It was a circumstance that had troubled him ever since. He had not been there to stand amongst them, nor to offer his own life in defence of his sovereign. Others had paid that debt, and he had survived to read their names upon a casualty return. He could not quite forgive himself for it.

The Emperor lived, and for that Alaric was grateful beyond measure. Yet the survival of his sovereign did little to diminish the humiliation of what had occurred. Imperial Center had fallen. The institutions to which he had devoted his life had been desecrated, and those responsible still drew breath.

His eyes settled upon the enemy formations displayed across the holomap.

There would be time enough for grief when the war was won. Until then, there were armies to command, enemies to defeat and a debt that he intended to repay.

He would atone, though. Every day.

---

The staccato of the enemy-held stubber filled Captain Indo Slate with a growing sense of frustration. He and the rest of First Platoon were pinned beneath a rate of fire that was both aggressive and wild, blasts of superheated energy and vicious metal slugs striking the heavily armoured vehicle that had, until moments before, been the APC responsible for the rapid insertion of the Army elements present that day thus far. Concussive blasts against the lower portion of the carrier, as well as from devices concealed beneath the roadway, had set off something within the workings of its engines and propulsion. The result had been an inelegant and quite final jolt towards the floor, without ceremony. The crash had thrown several officers from their seats, their data-slates still held firmly in their hands. One trooper had been spared a more serious injury by the well-fitted helmet secured beneath his chin, though he was left dazed and quite incapable of contributing much to the proceedings.

Slate had been accompanying First Platoon as the forward element of his company, a formation belonging to Second Brigade of Alaric's army. The remainder of the company had been ordered to secure the adjoining streets and establish a defensible perimeter. Their advance through the eastern district had been proceeding tolerably well, the infantry clearing buildings and moving between secured positions as they pressed towards the skyhook. The carrier had been attempting to cross an exposed intersection between two such positions when the concealed explosives had brought it to an abrupt halt. Now, with the vehicle immobilised and the roadway ahead exposed, their position had become a rather disagreeable one.

Under the calm direction of their commanding officer, Lieutenant Raph, the platoon's troopers had begun to disembark from the rear of the carrier, seeking what cover the surrounding buildings afforded them. They had scarcely reached the roadside before a mounted automatic emplacement at the far end of the street opened fire.

The weapon swept the roadway with murderous efficiency, its heavy bolts striking the ferrocrete and sending fragments of masonry scattering amongst the men. Several troopers fell in the first flurry, their combat armour turned to near-liquid plasma by the ferocity of it all. From this distance, their butcher's bill would be staggering, Slate thought, as he pressed himself against the side of the carrier, putting its considerable bulk between himself and the enemy forces intent upon turning him into sludge.

Some of First Platoon's troopers had attempted to circumvent the attack by moving through the adjoining buildings, seeking an angle from which they might bring sufficient firepower to bear upon the murderous gun. They too had been caught in its deadly gaze, the addition of blaster fire from the soldiers occupying the surrounding structures giving extra pause to the remainder of the platoon as the assault troops who had attempted the manoeuvre were cut down. They lay still, their wounds smoking, their armour cauterised. One tried to move a limb every few seconds, his body struggling against the injuries that had rendered him helpless. The movement eventually ceased, and another Imperial life bled out at the hands of the enemies of the Empire.

Raph had done what he could to restore some order to the engagement. The surviving squads had been withdrawn into whatever defensive positions could be found, their sergeants attempting to establish overlapping fields of fire whilst the enemy continued to rake the street. The platoon's light support weapons answered intermittently, though their efforts did little more than oblige the enemy gunners to keep their heads down for a few precious seconds.

Slate made eye contact with his subordinate, Raph swallowing hard from the thirsty work.

"Captain, I suggest we pull back. That stubber isn't going to stop anytime soon and it's playing havoc with our manoeuvres."

Slate nodded, the noise making any natural conversation near impossible, save for the comm beads they used for close-quarter chatter. He looked beyond the carrier towards the far end of the street, where the emplacement continued its relentless work. Its position commanded the main approach and much of the adjoining roadway. Whatever infantry accompanied it had evidently been placed with some intelligence, for they had made a particularly effective business of preventing any attempt to outflank the weapon.

"Have we anything heavy enough to silence it?"

"Not with us, sir. The carrier's main weapon is out of action. The armour is still engaged along the southern approach and cannot reach us without abandoning the infantry they're supporting. I've requested assistance from Second Platoon, but they're still clearing the adjoining buildings."

"Smoke?"

"Expended most of it getting the wounded back, sir. We have a few charges left."

Slate considered this. The carrier was finished, and the wounded could not remain where they were indefinitely. Nor could he afford to leave First Platoon pinned down whilst the remainder of his company continued its advance. Every minute spent beneath the enemy's guns invited further casualties, and there was little prospect of the position improving of its own accord.

"Affirm, Lieutenant. We need it out of action now. Have your support squad concentrate everything they have upon that emplacement. Use the remaining smoke to obscure the crossing."

Raph glanced towards the street.

"And the assault squads, sir?"

"Send one across the road. Draw their fire towards the eastern buildings. The others are to make for the opposite side and work through the adjoining structures. Get around that gun. They cannot cover both approaches at once."

Raph took a moment to picture the scenario, running it through in his mind. He knew that whichever portion of his men attracted the attention of the emplacement would suffer grievously, and that even the smoke would afford little protection once the enemy realised what was happening. The manoeuvre was possible, certainly, but it would demand speed and a good deal of luck.

He looked towards the nearest squad, its sergeant crouched amongst the rubble with three of his troopers. Further along the wall, the remainder waited for instructions, their attention fixed upon the roadway that had already claimed so many of their comrades.

There was no enthusiasm in Raph's expression. He understood perfectly well what was being asked of him.

"Affirm, sir."

He turned away and began to bark his orders, the squads responding with precision and deftness. The support weapons were brought forward, their crews preparing to lay down what fire they could muster. Smoke charges were distributed amongst the assault troopers, and the surviving men of First Platoon gathered themselves for another attempt upon the street.

Slate watched the preparations from beside the ruined carrier. He had made his decision, and the responsibility for its consequences would be his. There was nothing further to be gained by hesitation.

"On your order, Lieutenant."

Raph raised a hand, waiting until the last of his squad leaders acknowledged him.

Then he brought it down.