Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Faction Don't Tell Mom I'm At FOB Tavlar





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Kuat – Upper Peninsula, Sector 7
FOB TAVLAR
Assorted Stormtrooper Units
TROOPS IN CONTACT

[IMPERIAL MILITARY TRANSMISSION – SECURE CHANNEL 775.6-AUREK]
⭓ Origin: KUAT ORBITAL PLATFORM V-9
⭓ Operator ID: ST-2215
⭓ Timecode: 0329:49 – LOCAL SECTOR TIME
⭓ Encryption: GALLIARD-6 (ACTIVE)

> BEGIN AUDIO TRANSCRIPTION – PRIORITY: HIGHEST

[03:29:49]
TK-2215: "Command, this is V-9 Net Control. Perimeter integrity holding. Routine comms check, over."

[03:30:12]
CMD-KUAT: "Affirmative, V-9. Comms green. Stand by for shift transition at 0400. Anything further?"

[03:30:37]
TK-2215: "...Negative, command. Just—wait. Stand by—"

[03:30:54]
STATIC BURST
TK-2215: "Unidentified signals... short bursts on the rebel band. Originating inside Sector Seven. Confirming..."

[03:31:21]
CMD-KUAT: "Say again, V-9?"

[03:31:47]
TK-2215: "Unknown transmissions matching rebel encryption. They're inside the sector, Command—Requesting immediate recon detail!"

[03:32:18]
CMD-KUAT: "Negative on reinforcement. Secure your position. Continue monitoring—"

[03:32:41]
TK-2215: "They're moving fast. Stormtrooper detachment Kappa-Four reports contact—blaster fire in—"
STATIC
"—I REPEAT: WE HAVE REBEL INFILTRATION INSIDE THE PRIMARY LINE—"

[03:33:09]
CMD-KUAT: "V-9, report. Confirm breach location. V-9, respond."

[03:33:34]
TK-2215: "⚠⚠ THEY'RE OVERRUNNING SECTOR SEVEN—WE NEED—⛔⛔"
STATIC NOISE – AUDIO DISTORTED

[03:33:51]
??? (UNIDENTIFIED): "—ion codes... stormtrooper... helping us. They don't know—"

[03:34:02]
TK-2215 (frantic): "NO–NO NO NO–WE'RE COMPROMISED–INTERNAL BREACH–CODE BLACK–SEND ANYONE, SHOOT THAT MOTHER F—⛔⚠⚠⚠⚠⚠⚠"

> END TRANSMISSION – SIGNAL LOST

"GET THAT E-WEB UP!"

Sid screamed, slamming his body into the lower retaining wall. Blaster fire kicked up around him, slamming into a Trooper next to him. He was cut down quickly. He screamed inside his helmet as another grenade went off, peppering his armor with shrapnel. He shook his head, pulled his blaster over the wall, and fired. The rebel forces on Kuat had quickly amassed at the very least, a company-sized element assault FOB Tavlar. FOB Tavlar was currently staffed by less than 60 Troopers and support staff.

And preliminary recon reports from their listening posts was that there were at least 200, if not more, Kuat-based rebel troops assaulting FOB Tavlar. FOB Tavlar was meant to be the spearhead of a more established foothold on Kuat, to drive up conscription and to enact more operations in the upper hemisphere, where the Empire had yet to gain as much of a foothold as they needed to secure the planet.

Needless to say, Sergeant Berik was picked for the task. He was becoming a good troop in his own right- though a natural born combat leader. He skirted along the wall, passing several other troops, some half-armored, some fully. Everyone was in the fight now, off-shift or not. Sid himself was luckily the watch NCO at the time, and got to respond in kind, and organize a hasty defense. Most of the rest of the troops were popping out of their barracks, desperately getting their gear together. He turned his head to a support small engine mechanic, responsible for fixing the small generators and other machines that made the place hum and stay on. The Empire may have put Stormtroopers on the posters, but it was the little jobs that made the Empire an efficient, pleasant machine to live under.

Sid crouched, running over to the mechanic.

"WHAT'S YOUR NAME, TROOP?"

"ME-141- -2.." He said with a terrified stammer. Sid grabbed him by the shoulder. "Your name, Trooper!" He said, repeating himself. "P-Pulin!" Sid nodded, turning his helmet to the firefight on the south end of the FOB. "Pulin, I need you to start running ammo to all these troops and grab whatever they need! Go!" He said, giving him a thumbs up, running back to the line. Pulin stood up, taking off quickly towards the ammunition depot to reinforce the line. Sid turned his head, watching the troopers desperately set-up the E-WEB. The Gunner was still in his pajamas and only had his belt and his rifle laid across his chest.

Bravery and facing the enemy, underequipped.

He turned his head to the enemy line, mostly infantry for now- but they'd need to coordinate some kind of more elevated response. And hopefully, once the ion attack was over, they could put out a more clear message. He hoped, however, that the message was reached to someone, anyone prior to the EMP. For now, Sid charged his weapon, stood up, and shot three rebels.

"HOLD YOUR POSITIONS, FOR THE EMPIRE!"


 
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Tags: Sid Berik Sid Berik

"You're bleeding again."

Mordane didn't answer. He stood just inside the threshold of the command tent, half-shadowed in the stale light of the overhead fluorescents. One pauldron hung loose at his side, slick with ash and blood, the other buckled tight against a bruised shoulder. His armor was caked in soot from the engine fire that had gutted the southern ridge. Somewhere beyond the perimeter, blaster fire cracked the air in sharp rhythm, and the screams that followed were shorter now, more abrupt. Efficient. He stared at the flickering tactical holomap, eyes sweeping the red pulses where squads had once held ground. The 323rd was stretched to the breaking point—ninety troopers left at most, scattered across a broken trench line and a few hastily fortified cargo containers. Rebel numbers had tripled since dawn. Kuat's resistance, once a joke of pamphlets and poorly organized militias, had teeth.

"You always wait too long to dress your wounds," Captain Ishan Stark said from across the tent, voice even, almost chiding.

Mordane didn't turn to face him at first. He let the silence draw out. Let the fire-control net stabilize. A few minutes ago, they'd nearly lost the generator again—another grenade down the conduit line. One more breach like that and the compound's defensive shields would collapse for good. They didn't have time to scavenge for parts, let alone replace personnel. Too many technicians had been pulled off-grid to reinforce the outer walls. The gun crews were on half-charges. Ammunition was down to personal belts and one overburdened depot.

He finally looked up.

Stark stood beside the wall terminal, hands folded behind his back, dark naval uniform flawless. He looked untouched by the last two days of fighting. Calm. Clean. His eyes glinted with that same old light—the one that made Mordane think, once, long ago, that there might be something waiting for them beyond all this metal and death.

"You should sit," Stark said. "You're swaying."

"Not yet," Mordane replied, voice flat.

"You said you wanted to walk away from this one. You said Tavlar was temporary."

"It was."

"And now?"

"Now I'm here."

Outside, the E-Webs roared again, bursts of repeating fire cutting through the static-filled screams. Somewhere to the west, an outer wall finally gave out—he could feel the impact reverberate through the permacrete beneath his boots. The rebels were inching forward trench by trench. They'd dropped mortars two hours ago, and if they were smart, the next push would come with heavier armor.

"You didn't have to come," Stark said. "You've risen too high to get mired in outposts and kill-zones. There are others. Younger men."

"I've never trusted younger men."

"You've never trusted anyone."

Mordane turned fully now, the holo-map casting cold light across his face. He took three slow steps forward until Stark stood within arm's reach. He could smell the faint scent of Stark's cologne—something naval officers had clung to even after all this time. Expensive. Precise. It triggered something in his chest. Not pain, exactly. Memory. Of long nights aboard cold ships, whispered plans over darkened consoles, quiet laughter in silence they didn't deserve.

"You left me," Stark said.

"I had orders."

"You didn't look back."

"I couldn't."

"You wanted to."

He didn't deny it.

Their eyes locked for a long moment. Stark didn't flinch. He never had. Even now, his voice was unshaken, his stance military-perfect. But there was softness in the lines at the corner of his eyes—worn from time, not battle. A different kind of erosion.

Mordane reached out—not far, just a flicker of motion—but stopped. His fingers curled back into a fist. His mouth tasted like copper and smoke. He could feel the crack in his ribs from earlier widening when he breathed too deep. Somewhere beyond the tent, a siren burst to life and was quickly silenced.

"I loved you," Stark said quietly.

Mordane's breath caught as the lights died.

When they returned, dim and humming, Stark was gone.

The tent was empty, save for the low whine of the command terminal and the distant thunder of plasma mortars hitting the upper wall. Mordane stood frozen for a moment, hand still half-raised. The silence inside was heavier than the war outside. Slowly, he exhaled. Then, with a shake of his head, he turned back to the table and recalibrated the firing grid.

Berik's squad was still out there. Sid was holding the southern wall. A new push was forming on the eastern slope. The time for ghosts was over.

He had a job to do.
 






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Kuat – Upper Peninsula, Sector 7
FOB TAVLAR
Assorted Stormtrooper Units l Domaric Mordane Domaric Mordane
TROOPS IN CONTACT



Rockets came screaming by, impacting near the E-WEB. The machine gun was cutting down the advancing rebels, and more importantly, delaying their enclosure into the FOB's outer perimeter. He wasn't sure about the other positions- hell, Sid wasn't even sure about the positions roughly fifty feet beyond his own.

Another rocket came screeching by, knocking Sid off of his feet, debris, dirt showering his position. He dropped his rifle, scrambling to reacquire it, coughing. His helmet was cracked, his visor dented by the impact. He was fine- but his helmet wasn't. He ripped it off his head, scrambling to take the spare communicator out, placing it up and over his ear.

He grit his teeth and screamed again, another Trooper near him being cut to pieces by counter-machine gun fire. Fire came down from the eastern slope. The enemy was advancing. Pushing. Coming down hard on them.

Sid screamed into his headset- to anyone who'd listen.

"WE NEED FIRE ON THAT SLOPE! THEY ARE PUSHING ON THE SOUTH WALL, WE ARE TAKING HEAVY FIRE- HEAVY CASUALTIES! WE'RE ALMOST GONE HERE!"






 
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Tags: Sid Berik Sid Berik

The line clicked. A distant echo of cannon fire broke the momentary silence before another voice answered: "WE NEED FIRE ON THAT SLOPE! THEY ARE PUSHING ON THE SOUTH WALL, WE ARE TAKING HEAVY FIRE- HEAVY CASUALTIES! WE'RE ALMOST GONE HERE!"

"Stand by," he replied, already moving.

He moved quickly, his stride limping but unwavering, dragging along his battered cape. Medics shouted orders in the background, dragging screaming bodies toward whatever passed for triage this late into the siege. A cargo lifter lay overturned in the center of the yard, its repulsorlifts gutted and sparking, a trooper still half-trapped beneath it. Mordane didn't look. There was no room left for sympathy—not here, not now.

A mortar shell screamed overhead and hit just outside the perimeter wall, flinging debris across the compound. Mordane barely flinched. Shards of plastoid clattered against his cuirass. One sliced across his brow, tracing a hot line of blood into his right eye. He wiped it away with the back of a gauntlet and kept walking. The last artillery piece loomed ahead, partially shielded by collapsed durasteel plating, its crew slumped and motionless, spent beyond use. Every second wasted was another trench lost. Another squad buried. If the slope fell, the entire eastern defense would collapse—and then the rest of them would go with it.

"Clear the breach," he ordered.

The surviving gunner tried to protest, weakly, before Mordane brushed past him, climbing the platform and settling behind the fire controls. He didn't hesitate. The system was sluggish but it obeyed. The targeting grid flickered to life.

He adjusted for wind shear. He compensated for elevation loss. Then he fired.
 

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