Register a free account today to become a member! Once signed in, you'll be able to participate on this site by adding your own topics and posts, as well as connect with other members through your own private inbox!
Inside the bay of the dropship it shuddered and shook as it entered into the planet's atmosphere. CT-312 sat hunched in her harness, helmet on, visor reflecting the flickering readout of the mission briefing now scrolling across her HUD.
She gave a sharp exhale through her teeth, barely audible over the engine rumble. Escort duty. Not the most glamorous assignment. It reminded CT-312 of the escort duty on Elrood and that in itself was not your typical escort mission. The mention of a Sith Lord meant it was no milk run and the jungle alone made that obvious. The Camo Scout looked at the two other DeathDrops sitting across from her. She could tell they weren’t excited. Looking bored, clearly never being an escort for a Sith Lord before.
The pilot broke through the tree line and spotted the black, angular silhouette of a ship nestled in a small clearing—Darth Morta’s Umbra Operis. “There’s your HVI. Touching Down”The pilot grunting over the comms. As the ship started to land, with a practiced efficiency CT-312 unlatched her harness and moved to the rear hold. She ran a final equipment check, fingers brushing over her gear like a ritual.
Slinging across her back, fuel tank humming lightly, the CR-24 Flame Rifle in her hand, E-11 Blaster Rifle locked at her side, and vibroblade knife sheathed securely at the back of her belt. Giving the flame rifle an extra pat, a grin formed underneath her helmet. CT-312’s excitement buzzard just under the surface. 'Heh.' Always wanting to use the flamethrower, the jungle was asking for it.
Hiss… The dropship’s ramp descended, letting in the thick humid air. CT-312 stepped out, boots crunching against the damp soil. Other footsteps followed her as the two Troopers stood beside her. Ahead at the edge of the jungle stood a figure, elegant and statuesque.
The trio approached with purposeful strides, stopping a few meters away. CT-312 spoke firmly through her helmet’s vocoder. “CT-312 reporting, Darth Morta”. Giving a respectful nod. The other two Troopers reported in and saluted.
Darth Morta watched the trooper Dropship land as she was just a few meters into the jungle, good, they were supposed to have come in with her, but must have fallen behind navigating the deep Maw. Rather than turn back to meet them, she simply drew her lightsaber and slashed at a strangler vine that had been reaching down from a tree towards her.
Morta watched the troopers disembark and approach, the leader, Morta shook her head at. Camouflage, in this environment with these enemies, would be useless, they'd be better off using something that would help them see each other given none of them had the force to keep track of the group. The flamethrower in the leader's hand however had Morta give an appreciative nod, with plants blasters were hardly an effective weapon. A flamethrower could burn back brush, not a quick weapon but it would clear sight lines and could push back the jungle if they needed an open clearing.
"Good to have you trooper, I expect the Death Drop will live up to its fearsome reputation."
There was no reason to chide the trooper for the faults of her pilot and so Morta dismissed them from her mind.
"Your primary purpose will be parameter security once we reach my objective at the base of the mountain. The jungle has heavily encroached on a ruin compound there and your job will be making sure none of the lethal vegetation causes problems while I investigate them."
There was no need for Morta to go deeper into how exactly she planned to investigate the ruins, the troopers wouldn't understand anyway.
"The animals are less than harmless, so your primary concern is and will remain vegetation. The ecology of this world has been flipped on its head due to how steeped in the Dark Side it is."
Morta turned and slashed another strangler vine that was descending from the tree she was under to punctuate her words. This time she didn't stop at the vine though and she toppled the entire tree now that it was no longer needed to make her point.
"Stay close to me, if you get lost in this jungle you'll die before we even realize you're gone."
Oh, so it wasn't an unexpected element—it was one of the worst possible elements that could be introduced into his operation. Short of another rancor incident, Drystan could hardly think of anything more capable of ruining his plans.
His intel—reliable until now—had made no mention of actual brass being on-site. His fist clenched slightly, not out of anger, but as a warm-up for what might come. With a slow roll of his shoulders and a quiet sigh, he adjusted his glasses and uniform before straightening his posture.
"My apologies. At once," he said over the communicator, disengaging the locks. He knew better than to make someone with that tone wait—hesitation would only invite more scrutiny. Immediate compliance was the lesser risk.
As the doors slid open, he took a half-glance to size up the agent, concealing any thoughts or assessments behind a well-rehearsed mask of deference.
"Technician Meeks reporting for duty, your grace. The data center and myself are at your disposal."
Drystan delivered the standard salute and address, mimicking with precision the tone and form he'd seen subordinates use. He only needed to see something once to replicate it perfectly.
Though always vigilant, he couldn't deny the flicker of curiosity that stirred within him at the agent's arrival. And the warrior in him—the one that existed before the Jedi—couldn't help but wonder: what was this one capable of?
And more dangerously: how would I fare against them?
Still, that was not the question to be answered today. Not if the mission was to succeed.
An inkling of relief stretched over Adean when the technician offered no further resistance. Tensions were already pulled tight by the ongoings elsewhere, she'd really rather not have to escalate matters further, even if a great deal of her cohorts would've taken pleasure in doing so. Her posture straightened a fraction as the doors opened, features relaxing into a stoic calm as she took in the technician before her.
Everything about him read as to be expected from a junior technician, though Adean had to wonder where the level of shakiness she'd detected earlier had gone. Perhaps it had just been the nerves of an initial message. Or perhaps trained stoicism had kicked in once their conversation progressed, not unlike herself. A dark brow lifted at the term 'your grace'. Now that was a term of reference she hadn't had directed at herself before. She couldn't quite determine if she disliked it or was just taken aback by it. Either way, she had little doubt that Brassius would accept the title with glee, so she did as well.
Stepping beyond the threshold, she cast a cool glance about the server room. Nothing seemed out of place and yet, that feeling that something was wrong still burned in her chest. "You can start by explaining what you were doing in here, technician. Routine maintenance has already commenced for the day, as you know," she started, rounding on the console. Surely, it'd have a guide to what data was stored in this particular room, and where. She hit a couple of buttons, meant to pull up the console's last screen. "If you're vying for an additional break, that's between you and your superi-" she paused, brow furrowing as she took in the screen before her. Something had been unceremoniously removed from a port, if the error message was to be believed, leaving some data untransferred.
Data transfer? That was bad. Very bad.
Clearing the error, she took a subtle breath to steady herself. "This console keeps a record of all that's stored here, yes? I'm unfamiliar with your systems. Would you be so kind as to pull that database up?" The lie came out in a tone intended to match the rest of her speech, one to suggest it was an order more than a question. She didn't know if this technician was the cause of what she'd just discovered (though it certainly didn't cast a good look on him), but regardless of his culpability, she needed to keep him busy.
This reptilian following her around was starting to get annoying. He may have had held the stance of a warrior, but he was still the civilian in this scenario. Did she have the authority to just arrest him? Most likely not. She'd learned, with some surprise, the Jedi had been kept entirely seperate from the secular command structure of the Alliance. That probably extended to the ability to make arrests.
She continued walking, frustrated. They were reaching the outskirts of the small settlement. Buildings became more sparse, the vegetation increasingly thick. Jungles were still among the most uncomfortable places she'd been to, and this blasted reptilian wasn't doing the situation any favours.
"Can you do nothing
But speak in annoying rhyme
Get lost."
She waved down the road behind them.
"I'm sure someone back there can use your help. I'm fine by myself. Go."
Malum noted with grim eyes, and silent lips, as one of his Cruisers were struck by an expansive volley from the Jedi's reserve fleet. Watching with quiet contemplation as through the visor of his mask, through the viewscreens of his command bridge, in a brilliant explosion of fiery orange, heralded beneath the arcs of the blue turbolasers of the Alliance vessels, the cruiser, the Coluber, if memory served, was torn asunder.
He noted down he deficiency quickly.
As with peer to peer combat, one's focus was upon avoiding strikes, to have the agility and speed to furrow oneself as invisible to the enemies' attack. A strong defence was a waste of material, a losing battle in an ever unsuccessful war, as strong as one's shields, as invincible as one's hulls, there would always be a weapon that would be able to pierce.
Always a method to bring down the prize of war.
He raised his hand, "Withdraw the Shikkars and Arbites behind the aegis of the star destroyers, divert all power to their engines and point defence batteries, not a single starfighter is to break through." His commands were wordlessly executed, even as a corvette was the next to be sent low, Malum watching without voice, as the explosion rippled out from its front, bubbling and bustling, as finally the engines gave out to a final crescendo, that seemed to disturb the space around it, there going the short career of the Viper. The rest of the cruisers and corvettes hardly doing much better, with various degrees of damage visible on each, be it scrapes on hulls or the shimmering of shields.
The corvettes were performing better, that much was proving evident, as the formation he imagined came into fruition, much faster...
...Yet, their guns were proving too weak.
As much as battle was avoiding to be strucken, it was as much about striking first, and striking hard, speedily annihilating the enemy was the most decisive method to conduct war.
Speed to avoid all risk to oneself.
Annihilating to end the battle before it began.
Out from the hangers of the Arbites, Kaas', and the Darr Itah, more, and more starfighters flew out of their hangers, sending force to reinforce the great battle in the stage that was the Alliance fleet, in space between the newest of the Alliance's toys, and some of the most seasoned Sith pilots. A resounding crescendo, of space flight, as the whirling mass of metallic hulls cirlced each other in the most dangerous of dances. While the bombers, what few could break through the onslaught of Alliance starfighters escorted by the particularly heavy TIE Huntresses', made for the transports.
As other squadrons stuck stubbornly against the side of the Grand Battlecruiser and Star Destroyers, combined with the cruisers and corvettes, making clear every intention for the Alliance to not break through.
As Malum, realised the moment had come.
Battle was as much about all that he had described... as much as it was pushing upon every point.
And seeing what gave.
If the Cathar imagined he would follow her bait, she was to be handily mistaken.
"Venerandus..." Malum spoke softly, casting his gaze away from the advancing Dawn of Hope fleet, that which he so wished to destroy... but that would come soon enough, "Have all guns fire upon Task Force Spruance."
There was no surprise from his cousin, that the Lord of the Tsis'Kaar knew exactly where the weakness of their enemy lay. Malum looked out the viewscreen, bringing his chin to his hand, as he lazily gazed forward.
As the titanic guns of three star destroyers and the grand battlecruiser began to fire, upon the vanguard of the Alliance fleet.
TLDR: The Cruisers and Corvettes have withdrawn behind the Star Destroyers and Grand Battlecruiser to focus on providing point defence support, after losing one cruiser and corvette, and taking damage themselves. More reinforcement starfighters are sent out from the hangers of the Cruisers, Star Destroyers, and Grand Battlecruiser, with the Corvettes having run out, reinforcing the swirling melee, as some bombers and escorts break through to make an attempt on the transports, while some wings are staying by the Star Destroyers and Grand Battlecruiser to provide support, finally, the Star Destroyers and Grand Battlecruiser begin advancing, entirely ignoring the Dawn of Hope fleet, and looking to annihilate Task Force Spruance.
Oh this jedi was really starting to get on my nerves. Walking further away and out to the edge of town. Really trying to test my patience. I was spot on by thinking she was barely a child at this point. Peaked in maturity if I had ever seen it before. Making fun of my ability to speak. She didn't even speak in the right way. It nearly set me off. Aren't jedi supposed to deescalate the situation? Not make it worse? I rolled my eyes and just continued to follow. "You are such a child,
Making fun of me like that,
You are no Jedi."
I slowly shook my head at her. She even then pointed down the way and motioned for me to leave. Saying that someone else needed help. That I should go. Fine by me. Surely someone needed help. However, it was not them. With speed, I drew out a small device from my robes. tossing it at her like some kind of token. A false sense of giving her something.
"I don't think I will,
you are the one who needs help,
ignorance is bliss.
As soon as the young jedi would catch it, or just let it hit her, the device would stick against her skin or clothing. Already I was prepping myself to deal with this fallout. My hands open and ready.
Still jogging but getting faster in the pacing. Tyron accompanied his master; Jedi Knight Kaleleon
to hurry and locate fellow Padawan Learner Sienna
with the realized and growing threat approaching her. The question remains on his mind will they make it in time to stop the Padawan Learner waltzing into danger.
Suddenly, a build-up of energy from the Light-side in the Force was wrapping around Tyron's body. Unconsciously, he was picturing himself sprinting but at enhanced and quickened tiers of pace.
The Besalisk's body had started to blur as the ability known as Force Speed where it seemed the urge to render aid to another was the reasoning behind it's usage. However, remembering some conversations with Caltin Vanagor
not to rush in without all relevant information before engaging.
"Master what do we need to prepare for against this lizard species you mentioned? How dangerous are they?"
Tyron asked questions to initiate building up a picture and prepare himself for what he, Sienna
and Kaleleon
are going to confront shortly. He remained hopeful that Kaleleon
and his own presence would arrive to save Sienna
from harms way inbound for her.
Drystan was about to retort with something about taking a short break in the server room—citing its cooler temperatures and welcome solitude. But a subtle twitch in his eye betrayed his irritation as the Sith agent asked about the inner workings of the database.
He should've paid more attention in those computer courses back at the temple.
"Uh, you see, my liege... I'm unable to at the moment, given that the job to clean th—" Drystan launched into a flurry of technical jargon, cobbled together with fragments of information from the brief overview he'd been given about his data transfer device—and whatever he could recall from his long-ago classes. It made some semblance of sense, at least enough to pass as believable.
"As you can see here," he added, pointing to something on the screen that looked important—though he had no idea what it actually was. If he'd had more time with the system, more time to study it, he might have sounded more convincing. But this half-formed lecture, propped up by memory and improvisation, would have to suffice.
He just needed to buy time. Long enough to shift the focus away from himself. Long enough to drop the mask.
Slowly, the air around him began to change. A subtle but unmistakable shift in the Force. The nervous tension in his posture melted, replaced by something steadier, sharper. That anxious gaze of a bumbling technician hardened—steel slipping back into his eyes.
He was done playing pretend. The Shadow was returning.
"What did you just—" Sienna's fury was interrupted by surprise.
The small something attached itself to the tunic on her left shoulder. A haze descended on her senses and her strength momentarily faltered. The reptile seemed to move like a blur, while her mind tried to dredge thoughts and commands to her body from beneath oily depths.
It had been an attack. An ambush, there'd be more. She needed ready herself. The next attack would come, she needed to seize the initiative for herself.
Barely a moment after the device attached itself, her vibroblade had been drawn, swung into the space between them. Her other hand found her knife, wielded in the off-hand. She'd try to create distance between them with the sword, to buy enough time to cut the device from her tunic with the knife.
She knelt in the crater. Face tilted to the storm.
No lightsabers ignited. No defense raised. No more screams.
Just the soft patter of rain on ash and armor. Just her fingers, trembling in the dirt, searching for a memory.
Nothing left. Not even the voice.
She exhaled a hollow breath. Eyes unfocused. Mouth slightly open. A moment of stillness so complete it felt accidental.
Precognitive Flash said:
And then— The shot.
No warning this time.
A single blaster arrow struck her just below the sternum. Melted flesh and bone, pierced clean through.
Her body rocked backward, not violently. Just— Shifted. Like a tree bowing under wind it didn’t see coming.
Her hand twitched once against the ground. Then stilled.
Her head lolled to the side. Eyes wide. Unseeing.
The rain kept falling. Nothing else moved.
She died without a final word. Without redemption. Without vengeance.
Just... stopped.
And in the silence that followed, there was no judgment.
"Blue Squadron, we’ve got a gap on the eastern flank. Route around the debris field and press the advantage!"
"Red five is requesting rear sanitization! I repeat, someone get those blasted fighters off their six!"
"Yellow squadron has been wiped out. Take them off the board."
The Promethean Doctrine's starfighter directory center was the scene of chaos. The crew ran back and forth, shouting developments or waving pieces of printed parchment. In the center of the chamber was a massive table with miniature pieces representing friendly and hostile assets, staff shuffling and removing pieces as the tide of battle shifted. Large holographic screens showed a roster of squadrons available. Many of them were starting to become empty at distressingly fast rates.
These were experienced pilots, decades-old veterans of bloody campaigns against not only the Sith but the Mandalorians, Confederates, and Imperials. They had flown through hell and come back. Yet the horde of Sith starfighters was chewing through them like fodder. Make no mistake, Alliance starfighters were making mincemeat of the enemy. Most pilots were achieving an excellent ten-to-one kill ratios, but that didn't matter if they were outnumbered fifteen-to-one.
Starfighters were being forced to divert their attention between protecting Spruance's capital ships, the transports, and themselves. Rookie mistakes in the air control center that should be been ironed out in basic training were made again and again. Communication errors ran rife. Squadrons were being dispatched to emergencies on the other side of the battlefield. Bomber wings were ordered to attack enemy interceptors. These cadet errors would have been mitigated by the more experienced air controllers, but they were nowhere to be found, thrown by the SIA into the deepest cells of their black sites for interrogation into their ex-Imperial backgrounds.
Only grit and close support from the Task Force's capital ships were keeping them in the fight.
Spruance grimaced as he watched the battle at wide unfold. The Righteous Indignation shook as proton explosions erupted through her spine, courtesy of a group of Sith bombers that broke through the scrum. Similarly, Mantua's Law suffered significant damage from repeated strafing runs from Locust fighters, but was successful in placing itself between its attackers and the transports fleeing the planet below.
The Weeping Somnambulist stood out from its besieged brethren by actually going on the attack. With its Trandoshian commander, Taffy 2.2 launched a spirited counter-attack into the midst of the attacking enemy starfighters. The Belarus-class Medium Cruiser and its corvettes batted aside wave after wave of enemy squadrons with their fanatical gunnery. Walls of concentrated flak fire broke apart enemy fighter formations, leaving them vulnerable prey for the X-Wings and E-Wings following closely behind.
Spruance sighed. The damage they were taking in defending the transports was punishing. But they were holding their ground. For now, at least.
"Sir. Enemy fleet movement," one of the bridge crew manning the scanners called out.
"Is it the cruisers?" he turned his back to the viewports.
"N-n-no," she stuttered. Spruance's heart sank. "It's all of them. Every single one of them is advancing towards us!"
He could now see it on the battlemap: a massive blotch of darkness thundering forth, blocking out the stars. Screams filled the bridge comms as starfighter squadrons caught in its path were dragged into and absorbed by the void.
"Incoming fire! By the Chancellor's Balls, every single one of their guns is trained on us!"
Spruance's white gloved hands trembled. He wanted to freeze. He wanted to flee. He wanted to run to the deepest bowels of his ship and sully himself with one final drink before the end. Then he looked at his crew. Faces just as terrified as his — young men and women barely half his age who hadn't even had a chance to start their lives yet.
Spruance turned sharply.
"Reinforce our deflector shields," He ordered, his voice snapping his stunned crew out of their stupor. "Divert power from our capital guns — we're not going to make a scratch on them anyway. Concentrate it around the bridge tower and reactor housing."
"Aye, Captain!" came the response, followed by the hum of energy redistribution. Shield matrices flickered on the tactical display, resembling a blue cocoon that tightened around the hull. Spruance couldn't withdraw, not without abandoning the transports behind him.
"Alert all damage control crews. If any of them are understrength, they have the authority to commandeer personnel below level Omega priority. Place the us between those thrice-cursed bastards and the transports. They'll have to rip us to shreds before they touch a single hair on any of those refugees."
"Contact established with the other ships in the Task Force, sir."
"Taffy 2 and 3, draw up your vessels behind us. Put all available power not going into anti-starfighter defences into your shields. I am putting into effect edict two-two-seven. Your crew are to remain on their vessels even until imminent destruction. Those sons of banthas are going to destroy any life pod they come across anyway. If we're being sent to the depths of Hel, might as well drag some of them with us. If Taffy 1 goes down, protect those transports with your lives."
A wave of affirmations came flooding back from his sub-commanders. What their crews lacked in experience and training, they more than made up for in dedication. They all knew that the Alliance could only retreat so much further. Many of their families and loved ones lived only a parsec or two away.
They would stand. They would die.
"Get me the Dawn of Hope," Spruance gritted his teeth, "Vice Admiral, my Task Force will only be able to withstand that level of firepower for a limited amount of time. The transports will be protected to the last man. We will endure until we can endure no more. Long live the Alliance."
It was the brutal truth. Task Force Spruance was expendable.
"Detecting incoming fire, sir."
Space burned. A wall of crimson plasma bolts shrieked through the vacuum.
"All hands, brace! Brace! Brace!" Spruance shouted into the ship-wide comms system.
The Vanguard shuddered with a terrible force. Shields flared brilliant white, then amber, then blood-red under the strain. The bridge's forward viewport dimmed automatically to prevent retinal burn as blinding light exploded just meters beyond. Sparks burst from overhead panels. A nearby console blew out, sending a clone officer sprawling with a cry. Alarms and klaxons screeched. Inertial dampeners caught up seconds late, hurling crew to the floor or slamming them against safety rails.
Spruance held himself upright by gripping the frame of the viewport screens. Barely. He watched the Cyclops, caught out of position, simply be completely atomized by focused volleys from the Sith Star Destroyers. Solarbeam was reduced to a fiery hulk by repeated strikes from the enemy flagship and sent flying through space on trails of ejecting rhydonium. The bridge of the Tython Carrier Promethean Doctrine vanished in a flurry of fire and shrapnel after it received a direct hypervelocity cannon hit. Communication from its command staff sharply ended.
"We've got fires on every deck. Breaches in the ventral hangar. Shields are at 7%!" someone screamed.
"Commander Shakevoa, now!" Spruance shouted.
Radiance of Meridian suddenly lit up her engines and wheeled herself between Vanguard and the Sith fleet. Its port-side flank was engulfed in a massive wave of explosions that rippled across her hull, and the ship disappeared in a shower of dust and debris. Any other normal warship of her size would have shared the fate of the Cyclops.
But Radiance was no normal warship.
The Blissex-Class Frigate limped out of the cloud, presenting a scarred, burning expanse of hull to the enemy. The damage had been devastating. Her shields were gone. Her reactors aflame. A good quarter of her crew killed outright. But she was still battle functional. Her sister ship Admonisher quickly took her place, buying time for Vanguard to regenerate its own shields.
Soon, it would be her turn to be battered.
Spruance was buying time for whatever plan the Dawn of Hope had cooked up. But this could only go on for so long. His wallet was quickly running try.
The Task Force barely contains the incoming Sith starfighters. Noticing that the entire enemy fleet is bearing down on him elects to hold his position as long as possible to protect the transports behind him. The rest of the Task Force takes cover behind Taffy 1, which is constantly rotating frontline ships in a merry-go-round fashion to allow the other two ships a chance to recharge their shields. This has bought time. But not much of it.
Malum was making her an ultimatum. Either protect the transports, or save the other fleet.
Jonyna was never one to take ultimatums.
"Zoro, shift Lifelight between the enemy fleet and Spruance!"
"Aye! Lifelight, push forward, prepare for broadside Shift power to port shields!"
The massive battlecruiser shifted, pushing right in between the line of fire, as turbolasers and mass driver rounds impacted it's dense shields, again and again. Suddenly, the port guns opened up, rocking the ship to starboard, aiming at one of the star destroyers.
Jonyna snarled. They needed to hit back. Without her order, Zoro moved.
"Astrocats, shift Thunderer position 180 degrees to the south, and prepare for microjump."
Jonyna paused, looking to the male with a moment of deja vu. In that moment, she didn't see a tiger, but a female pilot in an orange jumpsuit. A smrik formed on her face. Zash would be proud.
Suddenly, the frigates that had once been far out of range of the enemy guns, jumped forward, right behind the enemy formation. Their massive turbolasers opened up once more, aimed straight at the engines of the Battlecruiser. All the while, the crews of the three frigates opened up point blank at the Corvettes, each picking a target and opening up with 18 proton torpedoes at once, from their Tusk Launchers.
"Zoro, push us in! I want the Venators hammering the Star Destroyers, while we get the Dawnbreaker to break up the enemy starfighter formation. Get the point defense guns on full capacity."
Zoro paused, looking back to Jonyna. That would put them at risk, but they needed to be bold. He gritted his teeth, and confirmed the order. "Aye. Crew, push us into the fray. Shining Dawn, Blazing Dawn, focus fire on that Battlecruiser. If we can pin it down, the Lifelight can pick off those SDs. All Defense Gunners, full battlestations! Reroute transports to the Dawnbreaker!"
That wasn't the order she had given, but she knew better than to argue. She could only count on the starfighter pilots to pull their weight. They'd already lost a third of their pilots, but she knew better than to lose faith.
And she still had a few tricks up her sleeve anyways.
TL;DR:
Battlecruiser has shifted to block off the line of fire between the sith fleet and Spruance.
Astrocat Frigates have microjumped behind the sith fleet, firing guns on Malum's Battlecruiser from behind, while opened fire with missiles point blank at the frigates.
Venators have opened fire on the Battlecruiser, while the Dawnbreaker has pushed in to break up the melee.
"Over half of the Spruance's starfighter wings have been eliminated."
"A third of the Dawn of Hope's starfighter wings have been destroyed."
"Their first squadron has taken heavy damage, and will soon be crushed."
"Their second squadron is operating at barely more than a third of its strength."
"Their third squadron is operating at two thirds of its operational capability."
"Their fourth squadron has lost its leadership, and has taken moderate damage across the board."
The various updates from his various subordinates across the bridge confirmed what he saw with his eyes unseen. Many spoke of imagining the board of the battlefield, gliding far unto the sky, and gazing down below with perfect vision of what was occuring. It was few commanders that held the capability to actually perceive on that level, as the invisible inky tendrils drifted out of his form, and across the lifeless quotidian darkness that made the vacuum of space, touched all that drew breath.
The fear was palpable on one side of the aisle. Despair that was so sickeningly sweet, that it was quickly becoming time for his time to partake of it to end.
While on the other end, a grim determination, a satisfaction brought on by the knowledge of a victory close to the horizon, the barest joy... allowed even in the midst of deadly, bloody, battle.
He felt for Isoruku Spruance, he truly did. For as nobly, as he fought, it would all come to nought. He allowed himself to bask upon the scene that pervaded across the viewscreens. Burned out husks, the hulls of a fleet that may have been made up of the noblest of the noble of the Alliance.
Left here, unto death.
All, apart from for the intervention of the Jedi.
He watched with dead eyes as the Lifelight-class Battlecruiser took up position in front of the revolving door of the first squadron, a final few volleys may have been enough to annihilate the task force, but now, watching with red eyes narrowing in annoyance, as the larger vessel, larger than his own Darr Itah, absorbed the impact of the next salvo.
The Cathar had chosen the Spruance then... no... she was not one to choose.
He turned his masked head towards Venerandus, a silent comunique passing between them, red eyed cousins sharing a bond formed by blood and a lifetime of service to each other, "Baron Delvardus of the 181st Imperial Fighter Group is reporting that the Dawnbreaker is making its way into the starfighter battle, despite withering losses to the Alliance, theres have only been more so on our side, they request reinforcements, and permission to strike at the transports."
Malum narrowed his eyes at the end of the statement.
Grinding his teeth in irritation, even amongst his Tsis'Kaar there were those that had surrendered honour for blood.
"Permission denied, he knows his orders, reinforcements will be dispatched shortly."
Venerandus' accepted the words with a silent nod of his head, as he went back to studying the graphical display of the starfighter encounter, closing his eyes, as the orders began to transmit from one mind to another.
As the TIE Hunters and Kzaevas Bombers that had broken through and had for barest moment the golden opportuntiy to launch a bombing run along the hulls of the essentially defenceless transports suddenly, without warning, dived away from them, their gyrocopters swinging harshly against the forces acting on them as they made their way for a strike to finish off Spruance.
As out from the hangers of the Destroyers and Grand Battlecruisers, more fighters and bombers flew out, the smallest reinforcing wave, even smaller as they split their focus equal fold. Some wings giving a wide berth to the Alliance Battlecruiser and Venators, for a strike towards the Spruance, while the rest of the wings made way to the whirling melee of starfighters, that was soon becoming even more untenable for the Sith craft as Dawnbreaker's point defence cannons came alive.
It mattered little, time was the only currency that they required now.
And if bombers could benetrate the shields... well then...
He paused his considerations, as he felt the change in the air, where once one stood, now they were there no longer.
"Behind us!" He hissed, a voice carried by the sorcerous, heard by every captain of his fleet.
It mattered little.
A dull explosion rankled along the hull of the Darr Itah, as it began to list, red klaxions flashing angrily over the bridge, as one of the port engines indicated damage.
Perhaps more importantly, the Stilio, the Dipsas, and the Excetra, three of his Shikkar-class Corvettes were in states of utter disrepair. The first having been outright destroyed, eighteen proton torpedos having cleaved their way through its already damaged shields, and bursting through its armour and hull, to create an internal firestorm only quietened by the vacuum of space. The two others were hardly much better, the second having its power distributor utterly shot, the engines, shields, and hardpoints powering down, leaving only the emergency lifesupport, the vessel listing off into space, as panic engulfed the crew, unable to even scream for help, as communications were equally shot. The third swung heavy onto one side, holding together by a thread, the mere impact of the torpedos having already made casualties of at least half the crew, as the other scrambled to maintain a steady course, even as they flew a ship that was rapidly beginning to fall apart like a crumbling tower.
Surprise engulfed the bridge for a moment.
Before the grim determination returned, and eyes spun to face their Imperator.
As annoyance, as irritation, all faded away, to an anger that burned as hotly as the sun. As red eyes stared out to the Venators and Battlecruiser that stood against him, as scanners finally confirmed the presence of three frigates behind them, a microjump to place them directly behind his fleet.
A most fitting punishment coming to mind.
"Allow the Dipsas and Excetra to offer their surrender, get that engine back to service," He grinded down on his teeth, with an urgency that might have cracked bone, "Escort all escape pods from them and the Stilio into any available hangers." He counted to ten in his mind, it did not make him waver in his determination, as he now so deeply wished he had fielded the Mors Vistra today.
"The remaining wave of starfighters from the Arbites are to launch an attack on those frigates, focus on their shields and engines, we will make an example of them, desperation has paid for their gambit, and they will be punished for it." He strummed out, his fingers tapping along the rests of the command throne, "Four Corvettes begin bombarding the frigates, accompanied by two Cruisers." It should be more than enough, as he cast his gaze upon the colossal foes to the front of him, guarding what was left of the Spruance.
"The rest of the fleet is to advance, the Darr Itah with two cruisers, and a corvette, to face the Lifeline, the Anguina and Serpens with two cruisers to face the western Venator, the Vipera with three cruisers to face the eastern Venator." His fleet remained in consoldiation, despite the losses, theirs was fighting across different fronts, in very different conditions.
Victory remained in his grasp.
"Yes, my Imperator, as your will commands!" Captains and subordinates across the line announced.
As the engines purred, and the guns began to sing.
TLDR: The starfighter battle takes a turn as half of them disengage to make a run for the weakened Spruance fleet, abandoning the transports, while the other half continue the battle, keeping a threatening gaze upon the transports, while shifting their focus onto the Dawnbreaker. A smaller reinforcement wave arrives for both, as the Arbites do not send any wings. Three Shikkar Corvettes are in various degrees of disabled, with two deploying escape pods escorted into the hangers of the remaining ships, and one having signalled their intent to surrender. Four Corvettes and two Arbite Cruisers turn to face the frigates, with the Arbites deploying their final wave of starfighters in a bid to destroy the frigates. The main battle turns to the one between battlecruisers, as Malum rallies the remaining corvettes and cruisers along with the Star Destroyers and Grand Battlecruiser in an advance against the Alliance Battlecruiser and two Venators.
Sure, it would've begotten more questions, but annoyance pooled in the base of Adean's skull as the technician seemed to throw buzzwords at the wall like cooked pasta to see what would land. A part of her wondered if this was in some way retaliation, given the look in his eye when she questioned his presence. She couldn't blame him if that were the case, or rather, she'd be less inclined to do so if not for her more recent discovery. At present, the mishmash of information seemed like a deliberate waste of her time.
She glanced at the area he indicated on the screen, brow furrowing in a way that was unbecoming of her assumed status, as she couldn't for the life of her understand how that image was related to her question. As his lecture droned on, her eyes drifted to another portion of the terminal, a button to instigate a lockdown for that individual room and send an alarm to comms that the alarm had been triggered.
With half a mind to dismiss the decidedly unhelpful technician so she could focus, she turned to cast a cold glance his way and found herself freezing. There was something different in how he carried himself, subtle enough that anyone who wasn't so much a wallflower or observer wouldn't have noticed. What was especially different, however, was his gaze, different enough to make her own seem cool rather than cold. Words left Brassius' lips before they had the chance to think otherwise. "Wanna try that introduction again?"
The ground shook as the detpack blew — the wall to their east crumbled with a deafening roar, flinging durasteel and smoke across the forward line. Aiden ducked instinctively, shielding his face as debris rained down. Shouts echoed across comms. "Breach on the east wall!" came a voice — didn't matter whose. They were already moving.
Ashley hit his side with practiced ease, raising her rifle and bracing it against him like they'd drilled it a hundred times. Maybe they hadn't — but it felt like they had.
"Use me as much as you need," he said, steadying his footing and planting his shoulder firmly beneath her rifle. "I'm not going anywhere." His voice was calm, resolute — but not cold. Just loud enough to cut through the chaos, and warm enough to say: I've got you.
As she gave orders over comms, he scanned the breach — shapes moving in the smoke. Too many. Too fast.
"They're gonna push hard through that gap," he muttered, reaching to his belt. With one smooth motion, he popped a grenade free, thumbed the activation, and held it ready in one hand.
"You light 'em up, I'll hit them hard."
He turned his head slightly, just enough to catch her eye under the lip of his helmet.
"You've got this, Ash. Let's make 'em regret thinking this was the easy breach."
With a smile, Ashley thoughtlessly switched her visor to Thermals, and began opening fire on the incoming threats. One. Two. Five. Seven. Again, and again, her blaster rifle lit up enemy after every. Five bolts in each, two to the head, three to the chest. It was all routine. All practiced. Any that stayed up were hit with one heavy bolt from her shoulder rifle.
Then came a warning signal on her HUD. Incoming grenade!
Without a word, she raised her carbine from Aiden's shoulder, and shot it out of the sky. More came, but none were as targeted. Others landed either harmlessly in the middle of the base, or on top of men scrambling to get to cover.
She knew what came next.
"They're gonna come through, light them up Marine." She said, as both of her blasters fixated on the gap in the wall. She trusted her squads to push the enemy back. They'd dealt with worse. The transports were still coming. They had an evac plan...
As Lord Morta spoke, CT-312 stood with the flame rifle resting comfortably across her chest. Every word that was spoken ran through her mind again. It was just not the instructions, but the intent behind them. Perimeter security. Vegetation is the threat. Stay close or die. All of it precise. Clear. CT-312 nodded, “Affirmative Lord Morta.”
It surprised her, more than she’d admit aloud. The Scout had worked with different types of high authority figures in the Sith, especially Sith Lords. They usually offered nothing in communication. Treating their support as disposable weight. But Darth Morta was the few who was something else entirely. She gave information. Gave expectations. Even gave a nod of respect at the sight of the flame rifle.
Watching Darth Morta dispatch the strangler vine with fluid precision. Her crimson saber cut through like paper. CT-312 didn’t flinch, when the tree was effortlessly cut down without breaking a stride. There was no need for spectacle. Just lethal intent and brutal clarity.
CT-312 liked that.
The two other DeathDrop behind her were quieter now. Tension, maybe. Or awe? She didn’t care which, as long as the two kept pace. The Camo Scout turned around, fully examining the two. Their armor was standard issue, boots which were not properly sealed already caked in mud, they were stiff as a board. There was no insignia. They were barely cadets. ‘Tsk, Fresh Drops.’ CT-312 let out a small disappointed sigh. ‘Of course, they would.’ Usually her briefing would include notice of newer cadets or prospects. If she had to deal with them. But there was nothing. The two potential DeathDrop recruits were here to fill in the numbers. Just armor covered meat.
They had no business being on an escort mission, let alone one like this.
Bringing up her hand to her helmet, CT-312 adjusted it slightly. Switching through the thermal and motion scans. Looking around, past the two, it was nothing but dense heat signatures and slow shifting pattern of plant life waiting to ambush something warm-blooded.
She decided to give them a chance of survival. Addressing the two, “Tight formations. Don’t wander. Don’t touch anything that moves. We’re not here to impress.” Both looked at the smaller Camo Trooper. Clearly doubting her credentials. CT-312 didn’t bother learning their numbers. If they lived… They’d earn them.
Boots squelched in the thick, dark mud. There were footprints of animals that ended abruptly. Sounds were damped by the jungle’s foliage. One of the Troopers was lagging. Swatting at the vines with exaggerated annoyance.
“I hate this place.” He muttered over open comms. Lifting up his boot, trying to stomp through a patch of thick rooted viens. The other Trooper replied, “Feels like everything’s touching me.”
“Cut the chatter and close up.” CT-312 snapped.
It was too late.
Vines slithered, wrapping around the Trooper that was stomping through. Quickly yanking him upward with terrifying speed. “AHHHHHhhhhhh” His scream cracked through the canopy. More vines wrapped around him. First legs, then sides, to the point where his screams were muffled. Dragging him into a hollow trunk that pulsed like a waiting mouth.
The other Cadet froze in panic, while CT-312 pulled the trigger of her weapon. Flames erupted all around them. Keeping the other vines that crept towards them at bay. Another scream pierced through the commotion. Turning towards the direction of the sound, it was the Trooper that was half consumed. Vines uncovered his head. It was too late for extraction. His eyes locked with CT-312 through a cracked visor expressing agony. Silently pleading.
She lowered her flame rifle, using her other hand grabbing the blaster at her side. CT-312 fired once. A clean shot. The screaming stopped. Soon the vines retreated and silence returned. It was thick and suffocating. Holstering her blaster, her head slightly turned to the remaining Trooper. CT-312 spoke, voice flat through her helmet’s vocoder.
“That’s what happens when you don’t listen.” She looked at the unused blaster clutched with both hands at his chest. CT-312 reached out with a hand, grabbing the blaster in the middle, firmly shoving it harder into his chest. Causing the Trooper to take a step back. "You have a weapon. Use it."
He shook his head and swallowed hard. There were no more protests. Falling back in line behind the Darth Morta. CT-312 followed suit, boots crunching over the vines on the jungle’s floor. Continuing their trek through the jungle.
Drystan shed the last traces of deception as the Sith turned to glance back at him. He removed his glasses, a calm smile playing on his lips—thinly veiling the danger that simmered just beneath. While he seemed at ease, it was a mask stretched taut over something far more volatile—like the lid on a pot of boiling water, quietly rumbling, ready to erupt.
"You got me," he said simply, casually spinning the metal frames of his glasses in one hand. Then, without another word, he closed his fist around them—glass cracking, metal shrieking under the pressure. When he opened his hand, what remained was a mangled clump of wire and shards. He tossed it aside without ceremony. The broken pieces scattered across the otherwise pristine floor with a series of sharp clatters.
"But let's not do anything drastic, yeah?" he continued, voice light and composed. "I was just here for some information. Wasn't planning on tangling with you… though the thought's crossed my mind a couple times. Actually make that three times."
His tone was now a smooth stream of nonchalance, a stark contrast to the bumbling, stuttering mess he had pretended to be just minutes earlier.
"So what do you say?" he asked, eyes locking with the agent's. "We pretend this little encounter never happened. I'll let you walk out of here without a scratch, and you let me finish what I came here to do. Once I'm done, I vanish. No alarms, no witnesses."
"We can't hold up to that level of firepower anymore Captain. Shields at 4%."
The Vanguard trembled as another volley slammed into its prow. A shot from a hypervelocity cannon got through the shields and punched straight through the hangar doors, erupting through the opposite end of the ship. Explosions from proton torpedo racks detonated by raging fuel fires ripped through half of the main hangar bay, claiming the lives of hundreds of damage control crews.
"2%"
Spruance looked out the viewport at Radiance and Admonisher. He didn't need sensors or verbal reports to know they were in no state to take up their position as the frontmost ship. They wouldn't be there to save Vanguard from the chopping block.
He turned towards the impending Sith fleet.
This was it.
He glanced at the bridge crew, all pale. Some were crying. If he hadn't survived Tython, none of these boys would be finishing their graduations and serving under a better Captain than him. He couldn't even think of any words to comfort them in these last few moments. He should have died a long time ago at Tython, with her.
His hand slipped into his coat pocket, feeling the cold, alluring metal of the flask underneath. His fingers curled around it for a moment before he let it go, shaking his head. He would at least allow himself the dignity of dying sober.
He watched the next and last volley come screaming in from that cursed Battlecruiser. He closed his eyes.
And yet found himself able to open them again.
Where death had been before him, the Lifelight was instead.
Spruance didn't know what to think. It didn't make any logical sense for the Jedi to choose a ragged band of third-rate warships and their crew over transports carrying elite troops. The maneuver defied every method of logic or war making that the academy had taught him. It should have been an easy choice to make.
I suppose that's why everyone considers Jedi big damn heroes, the stray muse crossed his mind, because they don't take the easy choice.
The bridge crew was just as stunned as him, frozen in majesty as the enormous battlecruiser effortlessly battered away volley after volley of enemy fire. Any single one of those fusillades could have easily atomized their entire Task Force. But Spruance knew it couldn't endure that punishment forever. This battle was far from done.
"Don't just stand there," Spruance squawked, snapping his crew from their stupor. "I want a detailed status report from every vessel in the next minute. Order damage control teams to release any requisitioned personnel back to their stations once they've wrapped out their duties. We are no longer on the defensive."
A pair of ensigns nodded and dashed out the doorway.
"Hail Promethean Doctrine at once. If their bridge doesn't respond keep going down the line of command even if we have to settle for the ship's sanitation crew. I need to know if Halsey is still alive and if is he must answer these questions: how many combat operational starfighter squadrons remain? Does his ship retain the ability to effectively maneuver? Can he actually continue to command his ship?"
"Sir, Mantua's Law says they've suffered heavy damage but are still capable of fighting. But Radiance reports that while they still posses intact shields and engines, most of their gun batteries have been disabled or destroyed. Commander Shakevoa believes she will be combat ineffective from now on and request permission to withdraw."
"Denied. Inform Shakevoa to continue to hold position until further orders."
One of the bridge's senior ratings ran up to Spruance's ear and whispered, "I just got off comms with the Promethean Doctrine. Halsey's alive, sir, but he's reported that his starfighter control center has been destroyed. All the air control crew are dead. Their hangers have suffered significant damage too. They can launch their remaining bomber reserve but they won't be able to retrieve any more starfighters. His ship still has full propulsion power."
Spruance remained silent.
"Captain, I'm afraid the Task Force has taken too much damage. We need to withdraw. We've done all we can. We did our duty."
He glanced at his rating. She was far from a coward. He knew given a decade of her life to the navy. But the seemingly endless string of defeats at the hands of the Sith had slowly broken her down over time. Retreat and humiliation had become her norm.
"Give me control of every single comms speaker on all of our ships."
She hesitated for a moment but nonetheless obeyed. Spruance walked up to his command-throne and pressed a button on its armrest. His next words echoed through each vessel of the Task Force at once.
"This is Fleet Captain Isoroku Spruance. No matter how much we feel the Alliance has forsaken us, and for many of you they have, do not forget that we swore an oath not to the state but to our citizens. We swore an oath to safeguard not just our people but their basic freedoms and rights even at the cost of our lives. I now ask for even more than that even though I know I have no right to," he paused, contemplating for a second his next words carefully, "The enemy is too close. Our transports too vulnerable. Our ships too damaged. Retreat is no longer possible. Surrender to these bastards is not an option. The next hour will decide if we live or die. I ask... no... request all of us to commit the last of our souls to this fight. If we are to burn let us burn bright and bring them down with us."
Spruance lifted his finger off the comms button. He didn't wait to hear their response. He didn't need to. Instead he turned to issue his next order.
Battered, bruised, but unbowed Task Force Spruance surged forward. Knowing that if their vessels perished here there would be no way home, the surviving Alliance starfighters gave everything they had. They poured every inch of themselves into their flight controls to summon the final vestiges of strength from their dying frames. They fought like there was no tomorrow. Because many knew they had none. There wasn't enough hangar space for everyone. Pilots refused to eject, choosing to instead ram their flaming starfighters into Sith bombers diving for friendly warships.
They defended their brothers and sisters. But at a heavy price. By the time the combined Task Force had wheeled around the eastern flank of the Lifelight, nearly the entire starfighter complement of the Task Force had been annihilated.
More shots battered the moving flaming wreckage that was the Radiance of Meridian. Its burning corpse, spewing ejecting plasma and escape pods, passed by one of the Kaas-Class Star Destroyers now reveling in its kill. But that grand old ship had done her duty. It had shielded the Promethean Doctrine long enough to present its now-empty hangars to the enemy.
Because the Tython-Class Carrier had just launched every single one of its remaining bombers at the Sith battleship. Three squadrons of over-strength Thunderstorm II Y-Wings charged the Star Destroyer. What X-Wings remained formed alongside the Y-Wings in their final death ride. Waves upon waves of point defense lasers and missiles streaked towards them. Even the sturdy battle-tested shields of the allied bombers would have failed against such firepower if it weren't for the sacrifice of their escorts that hurled themselves in the path of these weapons.
Even despite the dedication of their brothers and sisters, the vast majority of Y-Wings didn't make it through. But enough did to deliver a massive package of ion bombs courtesy of Si Tech Industries to that cursed Star Destroyer.
Suddenly, the engines of Promethean Doctrine blazed with the intensity of a new star as it veered to point its prow at the Kaas-Class Star Destroyer. The skeleton crew still left on the carrier forced their reactor into criticality to give their vessel the final boost. Halsey remained on the auxiliary bridge until the very last moment, guiding his home for the past two years right into the dorsal fin of the enemy. The trajectory he had calculated would bring them both down onto that monstrous Battlecruiser. If he were lucky, he might clip a second Star Destroyer and take it on a field trip with him
"Thanks, old girl," he grinned as he rested his hand on the groaning hull of the carrier, "Just a bit more."
Spruance rallies the last of his fleet to protect the transports and support the Dawn of Hope's attack on Malum's forces. He chooses to use the combat ineffective ships, Radiance and Promethean Doctrine, to ram one of the enemy Star Destroyers. Radiance is sacrificed to get Promethean Doctrine close enough to launch a massive strike package of bombers carrying ion bombs. Radiance then turns to drag down the Star Destroyer with it to crash into Malum's flagship.
The other ships focus on dueling the cruisers and frigates under the cover of Lifelight.
Darth Morta
//:
