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Dominion FATE OF THE CHISS Pt. I | Fortunate Sons | NIO | Noris

Erin E-141

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Erin "Esk 141" E-141
Sergeant First Class
Noris, Near Primus, 20km W of FOB Belisarius
Writing with:
DECEASED Remmel Karsh DECEASED Remmel Karsh , Jack E-138 Jack E-138 ,
Narrative Tags: Cormac Thire, Ivan Sienar, Thane Thane , Melvain Braxis Melvain Braxis

Erin's ears continue to ring loudly and drown the staccato rattle of blaster rifle fire heralding the advance of a new party. Erin tries to shift her arms from the shallow grave of soil in the trench's floor, but they feel utterly numb and stung with pinpricks, the kind when you fall into a deep sleep on your arm and awake. The crimson hands had leapt to seize their prey found that its' determination to kill exceeded their ability to survive; the backblast killed all four of them, their bodies unmoving in the muck alongside the Elite. Erin's vital monitor on helmet-mounted display shriek and cry with panic.

She feels something loom, its' presence standing over Erin. "This is it." Erin calmly closes her eyelids together. "I hope you saved me a seat in hell, Charlie company". The leather bag hanging from the rear of her belt rattles with one-hundred and forty-four metal holotags as Erin is turned to face the warrior who would claim the glory of the killing blow. The dark haze clinging to the edge of Erin's vision clears and she peers between the drops of rain to study the silhouette. It wasn't the broken pelt of a Crimson Hands hunter but an honest Imperial Stormtrooper.

Erin's skin sizzles through molten holes punched through her shielding and armour. The dense musculature of her limbs melted with armour into a sludgy soup by plasma fire, steam and the scent of burnt flesh wafts in thin contrails up into the air around Sergeant Cantrell. There was blood pooling in the space between Erin's organs. Crimson flashes play across Erin's vision, and the blood vessels in the white yoke of her eyes flare; some of the capillaries burst, leaving a thin film of bright blood in living her eyesockets. Erin began to blackout.
 
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Cormac Thire

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T H I R E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
117th STORMTROOPER DIVISION
38th SAPPER COMPANY
Ivan Sienar | Jack E-138 Jack E-138 | OPEN

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A WONDERFUL LIFE
NORIS '74

He nodded down the Staff Sergeant upon his approach, taking the exchange of chatter between the NCO and officer to steal another puff from his cigara, closing his eyes as he took in the brief release from the blackened hell they lingered within minute by minute, day by day. He opened his eyes once the Lieutenant shifted his attention back to him, exhaling a puff of smoke into the open air as he peered in the direction of the blaster fire, nodding in understanding.

"That's what they trained me for." He remarked in regards to the IED issue, a round about way of saying that the 38th Company would solve the issue, or at the very least, the team of bomb techs he led would do their part. He couldn't speak for the chain of command immediately above himself.

"Nah- you're right. Few nights isn't too bad, we've been a few months here already...isn't great but it could be a lot worse. I remember hearing about the 501st and the GA down in Ziost, New Adasta area when I was in the pipeline, makes Noris sound like a night out at the Come-Right-Inn compared to that joint. But still, it's good to queen every so once in a while, keeps you grounded...you get too used to living like an animal, like we have...there's no hope for you when you go back to civilization, I've seen it before." Thire remarks before arching a brow to the Lieutnant's off-hand comment of home.

"Lianna. Highborn kid weren't ya? Must've been nice. Sure- I'll take a visit to Lianna. I got plenty of leave saved up for when we finally get the green light to hop off this rock, I hope to do some traveling with it. Of course, make the obligatory round back home to Borosk where everyone'll ask the same three questions, 'how bad is it out there? did you kill anyone? did you bring anything back?'." He said, the last three phrases in a mocking, uneducated tone.

"Nah, Ord Cantrell sounds nice, resort world...but hell I don't make 'resort world' kinda creds...tell me more about Lianna, maybe it might be worth the trip. If only for the history if nothing else, love seein' that kinda stuff..." He asks.
 

Jorus Fel

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His eyes narrowed into an embarrassing smirk at the mention of Come Right Inn. He'd never heard of the establishment before departing from Lianna. For too long the NCOs of his platoon had worked hard to convince him it was merely a very refined inn befitting his stature and 'how they won't let us in without you, LT'. The bait had been placed and the trap triggered leaving him storming out of the brothel ashamed at the first sight of its true nature in the form of a scantily dressed twi'lek.

The memory abated when the sapper brought up Lianna, replaced by the yearning beats of his chest for home, "You must understand my view of Lianna comes from a very biased standpoint but... it is a nice world by all means." Ivan stared into the distance ahead. The ashen trenches lit up into bright boulevards and the sharp, malformed embankments carved perfectly sculptured and polished plazas. The unfurled, half-torn banners of the Iron Sun waved against the blistering wind, its crest swept away into the regalia of his house. "It is very much like... Bastion... or Coruscant. Only cleaner and less cluttered."

"But as I said - my view is skewed..." his eyes fell back on Cormac, "...so should yours be too. As enticing as Ord Cantrell sounds, perhaps it is wiser to return home to Borosk first."

"... I know for a certain my family would have my head on a plate if I was to divert to any other place after this deployment is over."

Cormac Thire
 

3rd post
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FORTUNATE SONS

EMBER_ONE

117th Division
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15th Company,"The Embers"
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NIO: Cormac Thire Melvain Braxis Melvain Braxis Ivan Sienar
Hal Vaiken Hal Vaiken Erin E-141 Jack E-138 Jack E-138
Frajan Borjar

Ascendancy/Enclave: Nuruodo'kal'brast Nuruodo'kal'brast

Captain Karsh's Loadout
STORM Universal Combat Platform

CSR-50i Slugthrower Sniper Rifle
AP-25i 'SIMP' Particle Beam Blaster
X3 Flashbangs
X3 Frag Grenade

Beskar Bowie Knife
Entrenching Tool


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A LIFETIME OF SERVICE: ACT 1 (DUTY) - PART 4
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Objectives:
  • Defend FOB: Belisarius & the outposts (DOOT)
  • Raid enemy positions (DOOT)
  • Rescue beleaguered Imperials/Chiss (DOOT)
  • Guard escape-path to Spaceport (DOOT)
  • Heal wounded soldiers & refugees (DOOT)
Camp Veers Redoubt, Northern Outskirts,
Primus City, Noris (874 ABY)


'How's she lookin', Nara? If she's still responsive, we're good to keep moving.... We're about half a klick out from those swoops we used to get here, and it's looking nice and quiet so far.'

Still moving northwards, still at great risk of further Crimson ambushes, the men and women of Scope Platoon were in quite the precarious position for their transit northwards, and would remain at great risk for as long as the swoop-bikes remained out of reach. Not that they had many options at their disposal, but Cantrell's platoon were more than willing to take a chance for as long as it was there for them to take, and though they knew there were more cannibals in the area, the Scopes were all quite set in their path, and to an extent it verged on absolute, obstinate determination at that. In the spirit of urgency, and for the sake of Erin E-141's survival, the atmosphere in the open formation around her was friendly for as long as the streets they walked remained blessedly devoid of life.

For as long as she keeps breathing, we appear unbreakable.

Cursed though the afterthoughts would be if humoured for long enough.

After all, this Elite's a survivor, and strength derives from strength.

'Being straight with you, it's not good by any means. But we could still save the Elite if we play our cards right out here, never rule it out.... I'll be saying this much at least, this one has strength - this one has fight left in them still.'

'Just hold on, Elite. We'll keep you safe, you got good marksmen here to help.', Cantrell started, pausing to lean back and make eye-contact with the briefly-conscious Erin, laying a service-pistol and water-flask on the stretcher by her hip as she breathed in fresh air through the gas-mask the others had put on her face shortly after triage. The mask would fog up on every exhalation, but would clear up long enough for the Master-Sergeant to see that she was trying to pay attention, concluding,'We've got medics on the way, and as for the water, drink it in little sips to start with.... Nobody knows what damage has been done exactly, we just cleaned and bandaged what we could from the outside, so be careful at first - just in case, okay?', with just a face-covered cursory nod available to convince the Elite-Trooper of his commitment to the task. But the beautiful silence all around them wasn't ever meant to last, proven by the low-rumbling felt underfoot by none other than Malle, once again taking point at the time, and reacting very quickly in remembering what that particular sensation beneath his boots often meant in such times.

'TAKE COVER!!!! MOVE-MOVE-MOVE!!!!'

Splitting their formation in two, the young Thyrsian Lance-Corporal held his ground until the majority of the formation had found buildings to hide in, choosing to lead the other two fireteams in the absence of Atrisian Corporal's presence on the right until the two groups were safe enough to link back up again. Young Quinton wouldn't be waiting long for the door over the road to open, already peeking his head out when Denzo calmly exclaimed,'Report quickly, Malle! We're ready to work, but I need to know what you saw first!', taking the opportunity to aim his long-range optics northward in the process. Naturally taking every precaution, Futanara would leave nothing to the chance shot of a lucky Mawite sharpshooter, scanning almost every building in the distance for any sign of a hidden humanoid presence as he listened carefully to Malle's reply.

'No visual yet, but I know its swoop engines! I know it right down to my bones, Nara! Dealt with enough of the bastards by now-'

In an instant, like slug-rifles' shots were ringing out somewhere, the deep, backfiring bangs of distant engines were heard echoing across the city from the north, bouncing off the windows and cementwork of the skyrises' upper stories before the real cacophony followed, like rumbling thunder from a distant stormfront. Closing their entrance-doors to avoid detection, the commotion and complacent bravado of the Crimsons (the Scopes wouldn't know of this until they had returned to the spot where they hid them) would do the rest as they rode their reacquired swoop bikes past without a single inkling or hunch to suggest that imperials were hiding nearby. Within the space of a minute, the last of their avaricious foes had turned east to keep searching elsewhere for the ones who killed their comrades, leaving Scope Platoon to continue on their path towards FOB: Belisarius.

'Not today, young one. Not today.'

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A LIFETIME OF SERVICE: ACT 1 (DUTY) - PART 5
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FOB: Belisarius, Nadrin Quarter,
Primus, Noris (874 ABY)


'It's fine, troopers. I'm just passing though - and I'd be doing the same in your shoes. Hell, even I chatted away on sentry back in the day.... My superiors might've chewed me out for it fifteen years ago, but it doesn't mean I need to continue such policies, right? Not on my watch anyway! As you were, gentlemen.'

In his search for Sergeant Thire, Captain Karsh would hear commotions small and loud alike on the way, though it would mostly consist of the hushed murmurs of people muttering to each other at their stations; behaviours that Remmel was very familiar with and guilty of at the same time, and in the subtle self-reminder resting within his observant state, would allow it if it meant keeping the sentries and all the on-duty troopers alert for the night ahead. No matter what the outcome of the Noris matter would be, the old Thane knew the 117th were in for the hardest fight in their lifetimes, and in seeking the small blessings going forward, All-Heart had been making a point of allowing others to seek the small reasons to keep fighting as well. The world was crumbling to apocalyptic Hellishness all around them, and as far as the old Thane saw it, the least he could've been doing at the time was allowing at least some small semblance of peace in all that horrifying destruction, using the calm for all it was worth before the real storm washed over them.

'Captain Karsh, sir! Word from the 38th is that they're almost ready to head out again, I think they might be waiting for the cover of the shadows and the like.'

'Good to know, Corporal. Just enjoy your peace and quiet while there's still time to do so.', the Captain replied in sincerity, seeing the state of the trooper's armour and helmet and understanding it to be signs of long-term deployment. No trooper needed extra stresses in their life, for that of an archetypal stormtrooper of the 117th was fraught with death and despair already, and none quite so much as those he could see around him; Noris had been tough on their ilk, and it was much the same for all their auxiliaries up until that point, so the choice of being kind was surely to keep All-Heart in good stead for as long as he could continue fighting. Yet his mind would be given reason to doubt their chances of survival once more, and in the form of a young Lieutenant's hope for a safe evacuation that the others had long since abandoned, for their own sakes as much as those who were following suit, for the sake of their sanity in the bloody, agonizing final moments the other troopers were foreseeing for themselves.

'But to answer your question, Sergeant with a dose optimism if I may - our evacuation is merely a few nights away.'

Like a solid punt to the solar-plexus, the Krieg-born warrior was forced back by the sheer weight of his own horror, understanding the young officer was very likely to find the thought of dying on Noris the most difficult to bear. Karsh had known men like the one he was just seconds away from meeting, and all had died before their time, leaving warriors like Remmel to remember them in peace, war, in agony and in death - and hearing this hopeful optimism was bringing it all back with weighty, hard-hitting intensity.

There's always one on each deployment, but why must it be someone - with a future this time?

Taking a moment to himself, the old Captain would step back a few paces, moving back behind the medical tent he had only just walked out from; and without being noticed, Karsh would sigh with head bowed in deep, dumbfounded dejection, utterly confused as to why fate would hand him such depressing accompanying circumstances to the hopelessly beleaguered nature of his own, and that of all the others working in close proximity with the lad. Remmel could only hope then that the worst of the still-unacquainted Lieutenant's high hopes had run their course after that, but in war's ever-growing hatred for those who tread her glorious crucible with impunity too long, All-Heart was very close to breaking after the gut-wrenching realisation that the opposite was more than likely to be the case before the end. It vexed the old Captain so viciously that he could feel his usually-calm stomach acids and bile rising up beyond his larynx, swallowed down with a struggle, even though Karsh could still feel his stomach turning relentlessly after the fact.

If it falls to me, I let the lad down slowly.

'I fuckin' hate this job sometimes.... So be it.'

Despite the pain, the urge to vomit, and the sinking feeling within him, the indomitable Karsh would sigh it off, straighten his posture and adopt the role of leader and mentor once more, keeping his mind ready for whatever slight the hands of fate had ready for him next. Braving the present-tense, Remmel then stepped out from behind the nearest medical tent to make his presence felt once and for all, only to hear the young officer say,'I know for a certain my family would have my head on a plate if I was to divert to any other place after this deployment is over.', once more with a clearly discernible hope of making it home in voice, demeanour and body-language alike. And yet, the old Thane took it in stride despite how much it hurt to hear the young aristocrat speaking in such a way, stepping off to one side so he could get a better view of the conversation the Lieutenant was having.

'My father was much the same when he was alive, though I must admit it took me half a lifetime to understand why.... At ease, gentlemen. I honestly have no intention of intruding, so please, by all means. We can get to introductions soon enough, rest assured.'
 
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Cormac Thire

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T H I R E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
117th STORMTROOPER DIVISION
38th SAPPER COMPANY
Ivan Sienar | Jack E-138 Jack E-138 | DECEASED Remmel Karsh DECEASED Remmel Karsh | OPEN

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A WONDERFUL LIFE
NORIS '74

He was soon to speak up again when Karsh approached, his cigara nearly falling from his lip when he raised his hand to salute the senior officer only to put himself back at ease following his command to do so. He nodded once to the man's words.

"Cap." He said, a word of greeting that came from a certain respect held for the All-Heart. They'd rarely crossed paths in these trenches, in this war- given the different dynamic of ranking between the NCOs and the Officers only further separated by the difference in job ratings between infantry and sapper.

"Clean up ops out on the routes between here and Primus are good-uh-go. Routes Besh and Aurek are freed up for troop movements. Nasty fuckers, Baradium charges, any droid would've fumbled the process or sent an electrical charge through the RC unit, not to get too much into semantics. My team needs the rest but...if you need us out I can probably scrounge a couple o' motivated bucketheads to figure it out. We still looking good to be evac'd on time?"
He asked out of curiosity, even if he was sure Remmel had heard it too many damn times in the past few days.

It was hardly the war that gave Thire this anxiety, he could fight it for years longer...but the waiting, the uncertainty.

That could kill him.
 

Iago Zacarias

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O R N
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
NORIS

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That was blood to be paid the moment the Red Legionnaire swung his fist at Frajan, the soldier successfully provoked by the Stormtrooper. Every Imperial soldier near the commotion was prepared if a bigger fight did escalate should the rest of the mercenaries intervene to aid their comrade. No fight would erupt as their commander stepped in, his blade unsheathed to draw a line between his men and Frajan. The most rational Red Legionnaire, knowing too well that if his subordinate didn’t speak and act out, this wouldn’t have happened.

Punishment was to be executed, one that would fit the crime of Morrow’s actions. Couldn’t be radical such as maiming or quartering the man. It had to be fair and balanced evenly with the scales of justice.

Only interrupted when an agent of the Bureau walked in. A disdainful look was shot at him, most soldiers had mistrust in the Bureau and other agencies related to it. What business did the Chiss have in talking down on Frajan, talking all that crap about “duty” and following orders.

“I think you should fuck off and get back to comfort behind the front lines. I don’t see a smudge of mud of your shiny armor, hell I don’t think you’ve managed to break a sweat. If you’re gonna hang around, I suggest you pick up a shovel and dirty your hands for once.”

“Now if you don’t mind,”
his hand reached down for a vibroknuckler from his utility belt, “I’ve got some blood to collect.”

The vibroknuckler was modified, no blade attached at all but still had the capabilities of breaking stone or metal. Just had to tone down the power in not sending Morrow to the ICU, but still enough to cut through flesh and make a pulp out of his face.

“Boy, I hope your mom will recognize your face after this,” smirking at the Red Legionnaire as Frajan had wrapped the weapon around his hand. Robert did say it was up to Frajan to deem whatever punishment for Morrow’s misconduct. “Now hold still and pucker up,” loading up his fist before punching front and center at the Red Legionnaire’s face.

 

4th post
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FORTUNATE SONS

EMBER_ONE

117th Division
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15th Company,"The Embers"
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NIO: Cormac Thire Melvain Braxis Melvain Braxis Ivan Sienar
Thane Thane Hal Vaiken Hal Vaiken Erin E-141 Jack E-138 Jack E-138 Frajan Borjar

Ascendancy/Enclave: Nuruodo'kal'brast Nuruodo'kal'brast

Captain Karsh's Loadout
STORM Universal Combat Platform

CSR-50i Slugthrower Sniper Rifle
AP-25i 'SIMP' Particle Beam Blaster
X3 Flashbangs
X3 Frag Grenade

Beskar Bowie Knife
Entrenching Tool


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A LIFETIME OF SERVICE: ACT 1 (DUTY) - PART 6
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Objectives:
  • Defend FOB: Belisarius & the outposts (DOOT)
  • Raid enemy positions (DOOT)
  • Rescue beleaguered Imperials/Chiss (DOOT)
  • Guard escape-path to Spaceport (DOOT)
  • Heal wounded soldiers & refugees (DOOT)
Arlasim District, Western Outskirts,
Primus City, Noris (874 ABY)


<"Malle to Ember Six! What's the plan?">

<"Cantrell to Scope Three! Didn't want to do this but - we're goin' for it. We close the distance and try our hardest to stay outta sight. Only way for it.">

<"You're damn right it is, Sarge. But I'm of that mind to outsmart these freaks tonight, that means ain't nobody eatin' nobody as long as we keep our heads down.... Moving up now though, Sarge. Scope Three out!">

'Good thing for us, the young Lance-Corporal is on top form tonight. We're good to go.'

Completely unaware of the fact until they had returned safely to the place where they parked up the stolen swoop bikes, the sharpshooters of Scope Platoon would find that each and every last one of their means of transport had been reacquired in their absence, kicking themselves as much as they were cursing the Crimson Hand under-breath. All their hopes beyond this point, in all the risks that continued to stack up on their life-expectancies, were hinging on the swift arrival of the medics who were locking onto their GPS signals on their way southwest.

'Alright, I'll get the other fire-teams moving. Just don't let Malle run off too far too fast, alright? The more we move, the more it pains the trooper.... And I'm not risking stims of any sort at this stage, nowhere near qualified enough to make that call.'

Leaving it at that, the Master-Sergeant and the Corporal parted ways with cursory, helmeted nods in each other's direction, beholden to their temporary roles whilst FOB: Belisarius awaited their arrival with baited breath. There was no doubt in everyone's minds that the medics were on the way, and in dire need of protection before, during, and after the combat-medics linked with the Embers' marksmen, but without any such comm-link confirmation of their whereabouts or bearings, there would be no way to know for sure that help was still on the way. It would not be an easy RTB by any means, but the keen determination of the Thyrsian was serving as something of an inspiration for the others, and to none quite so much as Cantrell, especially in the moments that required silence, cunning and killer-instinct to slip past every potential disaster unnoticed.

But then, just when it seemed like there was no hope of the medics ever being able to make contact in their attempt to get Erin E-141 to safety, an unexpected voice in Cantrell's ear jolted him into a momentary state of acute hypervigilance. The Master-Sergeant's comm-link was finally active with external incoming chatter, and much to his great relief, the platoon-leader would find that the Elite's, his own, and everyone else's salvation had finally patched through to coordinate between units.

<"Ember Six, this is Salazar Cruz of the Imperial Medical Division! Callsign designation is,"EMT One".... We have your positions locked, movements tracked, and our equipment ready to go. Only request is that you hold position, makes it easier for us as we close the distance. Much easier.">

<"Cantrell to EMT One! This can be arranged, hold on just a moment-">

'Nara, halt the column! We're good to stay here for now!'

<"Alright, we're stayin' put for now. You got much farther to go?">

<"Almost three klicks out and moving quickly, Cantrell. See you soon, real soon! EMT One out!">

Being of half-Tetan descent, hearing another of his people over the line had helped to put all the Master-Sergeant's lingering worries to rest, leaning back against the iron-grill covering of a derelict, inactive ventilation outlet as he watched Malle cautiously making his way back towards the rest of the column. Given all the reason in the Galaxy to relax and enjoy the moment, Cantrell would sigh a tired, weak exhalation of quiet joy and mutter,'Soldiering's small successes, hah? Always feels like more when it goes right, always.', with a moment taken soon after to reflect on the weight of their so-called small success that night. The implications of what the survival of an Elite-Trooper meant for the chances of their own, the implications of what sort of damage could be done to unsuspecting attackers if she lived and recovered, all of it would be considered far-reaching by those who would need every friend they could get in such times.

'Almost there, Elite. The medics are close by, so don't be giving up on us.... 'Cause we won't be giving up on you either, kid.'

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A LIFETIME OF SERVICE: ACT 1 (DUTY) - PART 7
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FOB: Belisarius, Nadrin Quarter,
Primus, Noris (874 ABY)


'Cap.'


Thire, the perfect sort of professional, even in his courtesies, a trait that Karsh valued greatly, a trait that often left Remmel wondering why the man was never offered commandership or a battlefield-commission in his tenure with the engineers. It wasn't like he was a one-trick pony, malicious or complacent, so the fact the career-track ended there for Cormac just seemed much too out of place for the old man's liking. However, despite the setbacks the division's joint-chiefs always set before the lower rungs of that hierarchy, and all the many times the 38th and the 15th were deployed to separate locations at the same time, All-Heart found it all too impossible to think of any other NCO more fitting to stand proudly among the Low-Numbers clique than Thire.

'Sarn't, Lieutenant.... Anything worthy of a Sit-Rep, or...?'

For none among the Invincible had nerves quite so steely as the division's engineer-in-chief, and certainly not whilst in the process of endeavouring bomb-disposals under fire, like so many bucket-heads like him willingly carried such orders out as part of their daily vocational work-patterns. Nothing new to Cormac's ilk, and as far as the same company's representatives were concerned, nothing for others to feel overly concerned about either.

'Clean up ops out on the routes between here and Primus are good-uh-go. Routes Besh and Aurek are freed up for troop movements. Nasty fuckers, Baradium charges, any droid would've fumbled the process or sent an electrical charge through the RC unit, not to get too much into semantics. My team needs the rest but...if you need us out I can probably scrounge a couple o' motivated bucketheads to figure it out. We still looking good to be evac'd on time?'

Yup, looks like I'm the bearer of bad news this time.... As predicted.

Shuddering audibly, All-Heart knew he couldn't hide it from Thire, and in that same breath, realised he couldn't hide it from his replacement second-in-command either. And yet, nobody else was close enough to see or hear it in the Captain at the time, so nobody else would have any reason to object to further secrecy, inciting the need to remove his helmet then look his subordinates in the eye as he muttered,'Both of you, follow me. There is much we need to discuss, gentlemen.', with helmet temporarily clipped onto his utility-belt in quick succession. Then, after leading the others in a leisurely stroll towards the command-cabin by the south wall, Remmel would make use of the noise and hubbub around him as he turned back to say,'We'll get to work on the immediate issues soon, I just need to clear a few things up first.', with a kindly nod before turning back to keep walking.

'It's the only way to avoid any confusion when the shit hits the fan.... Trust me, it helps.'

Remmel turned around to press the last sentence home with as much endearment as his heavy heart could muster, and in seeing the cigara, chose to make the most of his time without a helmet on and took the unintentional cue to smoke a cigara from his own pack as they walked. Then after passing a slew of shacks, containers and vehicles alike, they'd come to the command tent and walk inside before venturing to hear out the Captain on his sudden need for discretion, remaining silent when Karsh finally turned to Thire to say,'Before I continue, I would first like the Lieutenant's summarized prediction of what to expect, then I would have yours right after.', realising in that moment that he would've been understanding if all he received in response was beratement, or drawn gazes of suspicion in their highest, most-judgemental forms for his troubles.

'Nothing untoward going on, I just need to know is all. I have my own assessments to make on the matter here, for how else am I to mount stubborn defence-efforts without it?'
 
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NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
117th STORMTROOPER DIVISION
21st Company "Cadaver Dogs"

DECEASED Remmel Karsh DECEASED Remmel Karsh | Erin E-141
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"Permission granted, Staff Sergeant. Make sure to inform Ember-One before departing, they are currently in operations within the city. Perhaps his pickets may have more intel on the missing Elite."

"Yes sir," Jack acknowledged. A quick salute preceded a sudden turnabout and hustled steps through the trenches. Mud and trench slurry squleched and splashed beneath every footfall. "Oracle," Jack accosted in his helmet, queuing the onboard AI to heed his command. "Connect me to 15th Company's frequency, and route me to Ember-One's position." Several AR overlays lit up over the inside of his visor to guide him around the corners and corridors of the trenches. Comms chatter fluctuated between static and incomprehensible jabber as ORACLE adjusted for a direct frequency.

<"Route established to the Arlasim District. ITT required. Please stand by, Esk-One-Three-Eight,"> ORACLE's monotone informed into his earpiece.

Jack followed the projected path, narrowly slipping through patrols and sapping crews.

<"Transport secured,">

"ETA?"


<"Six minutes.>

"Any intel?"

<"15th Company are engaged with Maw contingents in the Arlasim District.">

"Anything on Esk-One-Four-One?"

<"Negative.">

Out of the trenches, the AR pathing led him onto FOB Belisarius' primary LZ. "
Staff Sergeant!" a voice rough voice beckoned aloud. Its source walked out from the side of a K79, waving a rushing hand. Jack picked up his pace, joined the trooper in entering the transport. "Oracle works fast, huh?" the driver inquired rhetorically as he fired the repulsor engines. "Right as I was starting to think there wouldn't be any action, too," the soldier remarked excitedly. Jack observed the corporal's enthusiasm without any outward acknowledgement.

"Must be serious if they called one of you out."

"This is my own initiative," Jack corrected.

"Getting the itch, eh?"

"No."

<"Communications tether established, Esk-One-Three-Eight.">

<"15th Company this is Staff Sergeant Esk-One-Three-Eight, responding to Esk-One-Four-One's distress signal. Enroute to your position. Requesting correspondence and direction from Ember-One. Please acknowledge.">

"An Elite distress signal?" the Corporal seemed taken aback, and not at all bothered by his own eavesdropping. "What the hell's going on in the city?"

"War."

"That's... descriptive."

<"Repeat, this is Staff Sergeant Esk-One-Three-Eight, responding to Esk-One-Four-One's distress signal. Enroute to your position. Requesting correspondence and direction from Ember-One. Please acknowledge.">

"Three minutes until arrival, Staff Sergeant."

"Put your foot down, corporal."

Repulsor engines screamed as the ITT engines were pushed to top speed.

 

Jorus Fel

Guest
J
The captain's grizzly voice snapped his back erect and into a perfect salute as if they were not in the weary trenches of war but on the Emperor's Parade, "Captain, Sir." his commanding officer's dismissal came shortly after and Ivan's hand fell level to his hip but his back remained as straight as an arrow.

The sapper sergeant took to reporting his recent bomb disposing operation, giving a sitrep on their situation before Captain Karsh beckoned them to follow him towards the command-cabin. The solemn tones in his voice creased the young noble's brow into a frown. An ominous premonition ran a shiver down his spine.

"Our picket lines have reported the Maw's forces are on the move, Sir. They have been dilluting their center, spreading them out on the flanks and thus extending their line. Their reserves have been moving to augment the gaps." he sourly reported hinting that a large scale assault might be on the books. "The initial assessment has been rather... underrative of their manpower, Sir."

DECEASED Remmel Karsh DECEASED Remmel Karsh Cormac Thire
 


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New Imperial Order
Red Legion Volunteers
Acting 'Relief' Unit for 117th Stormtrooper Division
Lord General of Feriae Junction - Robert Dris
Forward Operating Base 'BELISARIUS'
Interacting: Frajan Borjar
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Despite the Imperial's comments the entire squad was soaked in more sweat than raain and had caked mud sometimes up their entire legs, but this Imp was obviously not one to pay attention to anything that went against his complaining. Robert did as he was asked and slid his blade back into its scabbard. The Imperial on the other hand...Well Imperials, despite being all for Order and "Good of the Empire" didn't like to follow orders very often. The knucker connected with the young man and sent him stumbling back, unconscious and bleeding from his nose and mouth. The others caught him and looked to Robert to see what they did next.

"Apologies for my man's behavior Special Agent. We'll make sure he gets to a med station. Thank you for your insight." He looked at the other Imperial, his eyes shooting daggers. "And apologies to you as well. We'll be on our way. We have a patrol to get to."
 

Erin E-141

Guest
E

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Erin "Esk 141" E-141
Sergeant First Class
Noris, Primus, Ruins of Arlasim District, 17km W of FOB Belisarius
Writing with:
DECEASED Remmel Karsh DECEASED Remmel Karsh , Jack E-138 Jack E-138
Narrative Tags: Cormac Thire , Ivan Sienar , Thane Thane , Melvain Braxis Melvain Braxis

Erin's lungs heave oxygen with a harsh rasp in and out the valves of the full-face respirator. Her eyelids move from open narrowly to reveal a pair of colourless grey iris peeking through the pair of circular lenses on the mask's rubber surface. Erin's eyes close again as the Elite drifts to and from consciousness, clinging to life as her cells frantically attempt to repair the massive damage done. The unconscious mind of Erin drifts into a memory of an earlier battle.

Deep within the metal hull of a Maw Star Destroyer. Elite one-four-one leads the survivors of charlie company; a pair of Stormtroopers, Lieutenant Alais Kaun and Corporal Nova Shyre joined by a weary dropship pilot Lieutenant Ciliian Doyle. The destroyer is the flag for a Mandalorian Mercenary and hangs above the surface of Noris.
"This door leads to the command centre. They've disabled the sensors inside." Erin begins as the stream of binary code scrolls across the terminals' display, addressing her companions. "Expect anything, Lieutenant you and Shyre get into position." Lieutenant Kaun and Corporal Shyre take positions on either side of the bulkhead door's frame. "Doyle, hang back at the hallways' intersection." The pilot, brandishing his pistol, clings to the corner's edge and peers around to observe the Elite, Kaun, and Shyre prepare to breach.

"Wilco Elite." Alais Kaun said with a wicked smile beneath the bill of her cap, her scorched and battered red and white Shocktrooper armour clatters subtly. "Standing by to kick em' in the Arse."

Wordlessly, the Elite nods her helmeted head and jams her fingers into the seam where the bulkhead doors meet. "Frags on my mark." The heavy alloy of the doors makes a tortured whine as Erin's strength forces its motors over their reverse gear. "Mark!" Erin shouts. Kaun and Shyre toss a fragmentation grenade through the narrow opening and Erin allow the door to snap shut. The pineapple-shaped grenades make a dull skipping sound barely perceptible to the Elite's ears, followed by a rancorous explosion that was both heard and felt through the shuddering deck.

Erin dug her gauntleted fingers into the door crack of the bulkhead door again and, straining her tired muscles forced them apart a few centimetres. A red, hostile blip pings on her macro motion monitor. Erin shoves the barrel of her heavy rifle through the door crack and pulls the trigger. Something howls and contrails of white smoke waft through the opening, followed by the sound of a heavy thud. Erin holsters her right over her shoulder with one hand and braces both palms against the inward edge of bulkhead doors. This time the serious alloy moves, and a bright flash of plasma fire wash over Erin's energy shields, blinding her. Erin ignores it, pulls her eyelids shut and continues to force her way through the door.

Another bolt of ionized Tibanna smashes into Erin's breastplate, her shield generator whines in alarm. The door was now open about half a metre. That was enough. Erin broke into a lithe roll to the side behind a column, granting her shield generator a respite in which it regenerates. Erin's modified Stormtrooper Armour's temperature sensors protest; the internal temperature was over sixty degrees celsius, and she could feel the beads of cool sweat trickle down her forehead.
"Covering fire!" Erin's throat shouts.

"Let them have it!" Lieutenant Kaun replied. Lieutenant Kaun dropped to one knee, braced her rifle against a punctured shoulder, and began firing through the opening. Shyre stood and fired above his Platoon Commander's head. Erin's energy shield generator abruptly fails; her eyelids widen somewhat in alarm, which leaves her massively vulnerable to injury. "I'm out. Cover me!" Kaun shouts, and she receded behind the Bulkhead door and began to swap out power cells. Erin scanned the room; it was shaped like a rectangle fifty metres across with two trenches cleaved into the floor and a raised dais cast ringed with holographic control surfaces between them.

Erin catches some motion in her peripheral vision. A Mandalorian Chieftain, wearing silvery armour, melts materialised from what appeared to be thin air on the dais. The Chieftain's light-bending camouflage dissolving. The Chieftain points a shimmering silver broad-edged plasma sword in his opponent's direction, and his coarse voice roared a challenge. Erin's rifle snaps onto the Chieftain, and she pulls the trigger. It spat five bolts of greenish plasma, then her battery charge read '0%'. Erin's shots smash harmlessly into the Chieftain's Beskar Breastplate. However, one luckily deflects off its' hard surface and smashes into his right shoulder. Crimson blood-spattered and dribbled onto the deck.

The Chieftain shrugged off his wound and kept coming with a warrior's relentless fury.

Lieutenant Kaun barged into the confrontation and levelled her reloaded blaster rifle in the Chieftain's direction.
"Sod off!" The Chieftain drew his own pistol and fired several precise shots in Alais' direction without taking his eyes off the real prize; an Elite. As the plasma cuts and slashes at her exposed face, Alais curses in a pained howl and scrambles out of the bridge. Erin drops her rifle and positions herself into a low hand-to-hand stance, with two clenched fists raised slightly above the sides of the helmeted head and the heel of her right foot raised off the deck. Erin had learned this from another Elite, Annor E-059.


Erin thought she could take a single Mandalorian warrior, no matter how experienced. The Chieftain, given pause, drops the pistol, removes his shiny calligraphy stamped helmet and allows it to fall onto the deck with a clatter. A pair of red eyes set into a blue face staring at Erin. His lips curled into an evil grin, and brandishing the broad-edged silver lightsabre, he charged.
 

Cormac Thire

Guest
C

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T H I R E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
117th STORMTROOPER DIVISION
38th SAPPER COMPANY
Ivan Sienar | Jack E-138 Jack E-138 | DECEASED Remmel Karsh DECEASED Remmel Karsh | OPEN

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NORIS '74

As one of the veteran NCOs present in the 117th, being one of the first green troopers assigned to the Legion after it was commissioned by one of the last military commands of the late Imperator Tavlar, it was often he was privy to the meetings of platoon and company level officer elements. His rating in the Corps gave him an aura of know how beyond what standard infantry troopers would obtain, while 'Sappers' weren't seen so differently from conventional troopers, Bomb Troopers had a special air about them. It came not only from the vast technical knowledge obtained from their advanced training at Joint Base Soontir on Dubrillion, being face to face with explosives that could vaporize anything within 50 feet of it gave them a set of nerves cut from a different cloth from their traditional infantry counterparts.

Perhaps out of place, he sought to back up the green LT, to boost Sienar's confidence, at least in his ability to discern human intelligence and command troops on the field.

"Three-to-one is about what we're up against as far as Maw to Imp manpower, we have the logistical and organization edge on them at the moment, for sure...but they're less than predictable. A lot of the anxiety about these delays from my talks with the men comes from that fact. A lot of the forward observers have said they've seen the tracks of greater foot traffic than what command initially anticipated."
He admits, downing the last bud of his cigara before ashing it out.

"But so long as this last delay is the last delay, it shouldn't be much our issue and they'll be nothing but kings of the glass we leave behind." Thire remarks.
 

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P A G A N
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
IMPERIAL SECURITY BUREAU
FIELD OPERATIONS GROUP
Frajan Borjar | Melvain Braxis Melvain Braxis

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CONFESSIONS
There was little that was more dangerous than young men willing to kill with far too much time on their hands. That all compiled with the swelling anxiety and stress of the unit's situation compounded into one thing. Savagery. Soldiers became little more than vandals. Weeks of training in the mud and forests of Adumar withered down to the primal nature of man. He understood it, he truly did. He was once one of them, even with a divergent role, the Combat Control Teams of the Starfighter Corps always singing to a different tune than their conventional Stormtrooper Corps counterparts, but even still, he'd served, he'd known what it was like in war.

He had to lay down the law in the only terms familiar to men in this state.

"Every moment you spend languishing in this degeneracy, the Maw is preparing to attack us with more men and more guns. Bloody the men who will go into battle with you and see how well you fare when that time comes, trooper. But do as you will, I'm hardly your commanding officer." A waste. He thought. He understood brutality against the enemy, fear had to be instilled. In his few spurts gathering human intelligence on the front of the Second Hyperspace War, he'd seen the brutality of what even the supposedly harshly disciplined corps of professional soldiers of the Imperial Army were capable of.

He could recall a psychological operations mission not a year prior to now to an outlying settlement under the watchful eye of the 112th Brigade, 66th Armored Assault Company. 'Bolter's Bastards' as they were called.

He saw the flayed corpses of bodies strung unto metal crucifixes in the outlying settlements of Ansion, propped up by the Armored Commander as mile markers to ward off any attacks by the Scar Hounds. A man who was supposedly a doctrinal asset to the Imperial Armored Assault branch was a vandal as much as any of them.

"A fucking waste..." He said under his breath, making his way past Robert with a gaze of anger painted across an otherwise frigid expression.

These worlds were little more than a backwater campaign to the Empire and the Winter Contingency being put into effect didn't quite sit as the best decision for the moment for the native Chiss. These were his old stomping grounds, though it had been over a decade since he could ever call Sposia or any of these other Chiss worlds a 'home', his early roots being planted in the New Order quickly grew over his origins as Chiss, with the stubbornness of the Ascendancy leading up to and after the destruction of Csilla only serving to exacerbate that personal schism.

He'd tried several times now to evacuate what was left of his fledgling family from Sposia. He hadn't had the chance to access a holo terminal to see if they'd activated the Imperial visas on their end yet or not, but the stubbornness of the Chiss to keep home was gnawing at Thane's patience.

Even he knew it was a fight of waning feasibility, the best they could do was leave nothing left for the Marauder Hordes of the Maw to pilfer and defile.

But for now, he needed a cigara, a drink- or at the very least, he couldn't hold his temperance dealing with much anyone else.
 

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GREVEN ASTOR - "SAXON ACTUAL"

New Imperial Order
Strike Team Saxon


Tags: OPEN

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Two weeks ago...

The barracks were alive with the usual bustling ambience of the New Imperial military, culminating in a bit of a white noise that was all too familiar to Greven. He had been off-world for some time now, taking the fight to the Maw with the rest of Strike Team Saxon. It seemed like an eternity since they had first joined the ranks of the New Imperial Order, yet somehow, they never quite managed to settle in. Being a Mandalorian, foundling or not, operating outside of their usual traditions, wasn't an easy road to walk. Though the Empire welcomed them with open arms, there was always a bit of a disconnect. Some said that they had spent too much time among the Mandos, forgetting their roots entirely. Greven shook the comments off, knowing that the doubters simply didn't understand the simple fact that, despite the circumstances of their upbringing, each of them were still children of the Empire.

They had just returned from a mission within the Unknown Regions, where they had provided support to the NIO forces attempting to push the Maw back. It had been a long and arduous task, proving that the reality was simple... they couldn't hold them forever, at least, not effectively. Though their mission had been a success, the shadow of the Brotherhood continued to loom over the horizon, conjuring a lingering sense of uncertainty. Greven was looking forward to some R&R away from the front, and he imagined many of his men felt the same. Unfortunately, it simply wasn't in the cards...

The transmission came through his commlink, relaying information about the implementation of the Winter Contingency. The evacuation of New Imperial assets from Chiss Space was something Greven had somewhat anticipated, though the implications of such a decision were troubling. Greven motioned toward his men, leading them into their quarters.

"Got some bad news. The evac of Chiss Space is a go."

Many of the men shot confused looks to each other as he spoke.

"That was to be expected though, wasn't it Sarge?"

Silence followed as they began to realize what his response would be.

"They're sending us back out, aren't they?"

Another moment of silence...

"We've been ordered to assist the 117th in the evacuation of Noris. We will be running recon along the peripheries of the line, at least until the evac is complete. In and out. We'll be back soon enough."

The men continued their muted stares, the disappointment clearly showing in their faces now. They had been away for so long, only to have their short time of rest taken away. Greven understood the frustration, but in the end, they were Imperials, and as such, they would go where they were needed the most... and the 117th needed them.

"We leave in the hour. Make sure to get some hot food in you before we ship out. And vode... I want to see us all get out of this in one piece. Stick to the plan, and we'll be getting plenty of rest before the week is out."

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Present day...

Gloomy Sunday

The rain had been pouring for what seemed like an eternity, bouncing off of Greven's armor and to the ground below. Two weeks had passed since Strike Team Saxon landed on the planet... two long, excruciating weeks. The evacuation had gone slower than anticipated, and the intel provided about the Maw's forces had been less than adequate, at least, by Greven's standards. The morale of those that among the defenders that had been here from the start was starting to noticeably suffer. Even Greven's own men were beginning to look battered and worn, having had little rest since they had arrived. Their boots were never fully dry, and their eyes had to remain open at all times. The enemy was out there... it was only a matter of time.

Greven pushed the reality of their circumstances to the back of his mind as he approached one of his men, a foundling from Dantooine named Jerynn. Jerynn hadn't been with Strike Team Saxon long; this was only his second deployment with them since he first joined their ranks. He was young, compared to the others, though he had all of the fire and iron of a true Mandalorian. Yet, he was naive, stubborn, and entirely too proud... not unlike Greven when he was younger. Yet, despite all of the young man's bravado, he had spent the last hour alone, leaning against the wall of the trench. He wasn't ready for a war of attrition, he simply wanted to kill some Mawites and get home. Greven took a knee next to him, offering him a drink of water.

"Drink."

Jerynn didn't budge, his eyes still locked into the nothingness of the raining sky. Greven let out a sigh, looking into the distance as he dangled his canteen in front of him.

"Missing home?"

Jerynn's gaze finally moved toward his commander.

"Yes sir."

"Yeah... me too. You never get used to it... not really. Tell me about Dantooine. I don't know much about the place."

It was a lie, but he needed to remind Jerynn what he was fighting for... what they were all fighting for. It wasn't just this one planet, or just the Chiss, or even just this region of space. They were fighting for the protection and safety of Imperial citizens... for their homes. It was what kept Greven going, despite the circumstances. Luckily, the tactic seemed to work. Jerynn took a sip from the canteen, and began to share stories of his childhood. The conversation wouldn't last long, as Greven had the rest of his men to attend to, but for now, just for one moment, he would give the kid this moment of nostalgia, this brief taste of home...

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FATE OF THE CHISS (PART. I)
• • •

FORTUNATE SONS
OPPOSING | BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW
PINGS | Mattali Omenza Mattali Omenza

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IMPERIAL STORMTROOPER CORPS
IMPERIAL VANGUARD
| EMPIRE OF THE HAND
117TH DIVISION 'THE INVINCIBLE' | TASK FORCE 'NERN'

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<EQUIPMENT: 'STORM' UNIVERSAL COMBAT PLATFORM MK. V — AP-25I 'SIMP' PARTICLE-BEAM BLASTER — SFR-58 'BOZDUGAN' BLASTER RIFLE>
•••
<CODE NAME:
NERN-ACTUAL>
•••

<BEING CHISS: SONS OF ALLEGIANCE, SONS OF ASCENDANCY — PART. I>
DOKAL
nodded as RITES was watching her six and preventing her from being aimed by her opponent. The Chiss then threw her thermal detonator to destabilise the heavy soldier they were facing.

“Nern-Actual to Nern-Three, ya can move now! We can take him between the hammer and the anvil!"
“Who’s the anvil, Boss?” HUKOR asked his leader.
“Me. Nern-Actual, over.”

She jumped over her barricade, looking for her enemy with the very big blaster cannon. She was holding her SFR-58 rifle, ready to make it firing at any time. “Nothing to signal fo’ the moment,” she just said on the comlink, “be careful.” She slowly walked to another covered zone. Everything was now silent but DOKAL knew that it shouldn’t last long. The chiss knew she was near…

K’pah?! she said in a stranglehold. The Mawite was here, putting his punch in DOKAL’s face. She hadn’t been careful enough this time. She tried to dodge the second assault, but she was out of control and this one led her to the ground, facing Noris’ mire. “DOKAL?!” SHORTY exclaimed on the radio as the Chiss was bullied by her enemy. The Imperial commando finally threw a hand in her opponent’s throat, after receiving a couple of jabs in her face. The Mawite rolled on the ground as he was trying to understand what was going on.

“I’m good,” DOKAL declared while she was putting back in place her helmet, “it’s just... minor injuries.”

She drew her AP-25i handgun and then aimed at the Mawite who immediately raised his hands to DOKAL’s attention. “That’s okay,” he said, “end of the simulation, commandos.” The Chiss took fake-Mawites’ hand to help him get up on his feet. “Nothing broken?”

“Hopefully, not,”
the trainer smiled.
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Noris. Unknown Regions. DOKAL did not know why those worlds were parts of the ‘Unknown Regions’ when explorers and —more importantly— the Chiss mapped it several centuries before. Sure, those planets were strange to the Core Worlds, but they were the cradle of civilization for DOKAL’s people. Yeah, this planet remembered DOKAL from her homeworld. And, soon, they could disappear in Maw’s storm. Something terrifying, according to all the Chiss —and the Imperials. Some people thought they were already gone in the immortal Brotherhood’s fire. Maybe they weren’t wrong, but maybe not. They were salvaging what they could, in a way.

Sat in the mire, behind her tent, silently smoking DOKAL thought about all that. She thought about her parents, her family, her ASCENDANCY. No one could, a day, replace them, and she knew that by heart, but she just hoped that there still were some Chiss in the Galaxy. Sat in the mire, she hoped. With some kind of luck, she would meet them after this war would be over.

“Bosssss?” REAR asked his leader. The Trandoshan was holding his blaster on his shoulders, his arms over the cannon as he was taking a look at DOKAL, “Everythhhhing’s okay?”

The Chiss nodded without throwing a glance at him, only drawing a cigarettes’ pack from her utility belt, "Cigarettes? They come from Bastion." A creepy smile appeared on REAR’s face as he was taking a cigarette and saying “Goooood…” The Trandoshan, whose call sign was ‘NERN-FOUR’, had been captured by the Maw several years ago and then he integrated the New Imperial Army in the StormCorps as a refugee. Now, he worked in TF ‘Nern’ alongside DOKAL, SHORTY and RITES. As the Chiss was finishing her cigarette, she took her datapad from her bag. She sighed, “New roadmap.”

“Better thhhhan I exxxxpected.”
 

5th post
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FORTUNATE SONS

EMBER_ONE

117th Division
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15th Company,"The Embers"
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NIO: Cormac Thire Melvain Braxis Melvain Braxis Ivan Sienar
Thane Thane Hal Vaiken Hal Vaiken Erin E-141 Jack E-138 Jack E-138 Frajan Borjar

Ascendancy/Enclave: Nuruodo'kal'brast Nuruodo'kal'brast

Captain Karsh's Loadout
STORM Universal Combat Platform

CSR-50i Slugthrower Sniper Rifle
AP-25i 'SIMP' Particle Beam Blaster
X3 Flashbangs
X3 Frag Grenade

Beskar Bowie Knife
Entrenching Tool


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A LIFETIME OF SERVICE: ACT 1 (DUTY) - PART 8
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Objectives:
  • Defend FOB: Belisarius & the outposts (DOOT)
  • Raid enemy positions (DOOT)
  • Rescue beleaguered Imperials/Chiss (DOOT)
  • Guard escape-path to Spaceport (DOOT)
  • Heal wounded soldiers & refugees (DOOT)
Arlasim District, Western Outskirts,
Primus City, Noris (874 ABY)


'Good job you found 'er when you did, guys.... I'm not so sure she'd be able to make it another hour in this state. And thanks, for holdin' off on the meds and such. At least now we can keep track of the doses as we make our way back, good thinkin' on your 2-IC's part anyway.'

Cruz had been quick enough to make it there in time to catch the Scopes before they started embarking on their way north again, as it seemed like they would need to run the rest of the way with an Elite-Trooper in rapidly declining health, something that was turning everyone's stomachs to consider before the timely comm-link correspondence from one of IMPAF Medical Division's best field-medics put all these cursed plans to rest indefinitely. Turning back in maintained vigilance in the nagging relief, Cantrell would cover their six to the south, keeping all his attention to the canopy of potential snipers' perches as he queried,'You hear that, Nara?', in a quiet, though conversational mutter.

'He just said you did good to hold back on the stims. Seems you're more qualified than you give yourself credit for, hah?'

Cruz was already something of a friend to the Embers, having been there for them in almost every last deployment of note, always being noted as one who would always work to save the careers or the lives of their comrades; and outside the professional setting, always one who actually cared worth a damn as far as all the Embers were concerned, always one with time to spare for Karsh's low-numbers clique.

'Being honest, it wasn't. Just an innate fear of needles and drugs in general. The usual.... Good to see you alive and well though, all things considered.'

'Thanks, and likewise! And whether it was fear or otherwise, its good enough for me, Denzo.', Salazar responded with a gladdened smile, turning to look at Erin as his assistants loaded her up onto the medical-speeder with care and slow deliberation. Sighing with clear relief, it was clear to both Cantrell and Futanara that their friend was thinking they might have been a little too late, only changing in his demeanour when the triage was finalised and out the way, and only letting the relief take hold properly as soon as Erin had been secured inside the armoured medical-speeder. All angles were covered, with all contingencies and deteriorations worked around for as long as they remained in control of the situation, giving plenty reason for Cruz to relax in such a fashion as he concluded,'Good enough for now anyway, lets go-', hitting his point home to speed the process up before an unexpected interruption stirred the Master-Sergeant from his mild reverie.

<"Karsh to Ember Six! You've got incoming friendlies, another Elite-Trooper by the looks of it. Keep a line open for Esk One - Three - Eight! Could come in handy, ya never know.">

'Alright then, more the merrier.'

<"I'll take it! Elite's an Elite, and I won't be venturing to look a gift-horse in the mouth today. Ember Six out!">

With an encumbered grunt of standing exertion, Cantrell would rise to his feet from his kneeling position with intent to get the formation moving in pursuit of their fast-moving comrades, only to find his intentions interrupted by the sighting of approaching vehicles in the distance, fortunately marked as friendly on the HUDs of everyone's helmet-displays at the time though. Marked as vehicles of the 21st Company, Scope Platoon's arcs of fire returned to their formerly south-westward headings, quite confident of their diminishing safety concerns by then, and quite happy to let the formation bolster itself properly - no matter how long it would take to do so.

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A LIFETIME OF SERVICE: ACT 1 (DUTY) - PART 9
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FOB: Belisarius, Nadrin Quarter,
Primus, Noris (874 ABY)


<"15th Company this is Staff Sergeant Esk-One-Three-Eight, responding to Esk-One-Four-One's distress signal. Enroute to your position. Requesting correspondence and direction from Ember-One. Please acknowledge.">

Raising an eyebrow in confusion, then raising a hand to halt their command-tent proceedings for a moment, Captain Karsh was beginning to think that there had been some misleading information given to the young Elite-Trooper somewhere along the way, as it wasn't Remmel himself who was leading the rescue effort; and in light of knowing who was in fact leading the Scopes southward, All-Heart began to weigh his response in the spirit of clearing up any and all confusions in the process, hoping for a particular way that ensured comprehension quickly for everyone's sake. In the moment he decided what the best course of action would be, Karsh would find himself hearing out another comm-salvo from the concerned Elite-Trooper as he reached into one of his belt-pouches for his comm-device's receiver and a datapad for the purpose, trying his utmost to be understanding of the situation as Jack-138 patched through again in desperation.

<"Repeat, this is Staff Sergeant Esk-One-Three-Eight, responding to Esk-One-Four-One's distress signal. Enroute to your position. Requesting correspondence and direction from Ember-One. Please acknowledge.">

'Just a moment, lads.'

<"Esk One-Three-Eight, this is Captain Remmel Karsh! Callsign: Ember One! The callsigns you need are Ember Six and EMT One, sending GPS readings and trajectories to your datapad now.... Also, please try not to clog the comms too much after this, we need the comm-traffic as sparse as possible, but otherwise - good luck out there. Ember One out!">

'Sorry about that, Lieutenant.... So, your summary. By all means, begin.'

A tense moment, and for all involved, as it was bringing out a subject that would otherwise be dismissed as fanciful at that stage of any other deployment like it, such a subject that was usually always avoided by All-Heart in favour of adapting and overcoming instead. He could see it in the eyes of his subordinates, but could do nothing to change their initial thoughts on his sudden irregularities, so in that moment, all Remmel could do was let Ivan and Cormac have their say, waiting to decide in the end on whether it really was the right time for harsh realities or not. The writing on the wall was there for the Imperials on Noris to see, but whether they would look and read it properly was another philosophical matter entirely, and as far as their supposed evacuation was concerned, it wouldn't have mattered if they believed or not - as threats far more immediate were always there to keep the 117th Division from finding the time to plan around these circumstances.

'Our picket lines have reported the Maw's forces are on the move, Sir. They have been dilluting their center, spreading them out on the flanks and thus extending their line. Their reserves have been moving to augment the gaps.'

The truth is already beginning to pain him, yet he swallows this understanding like its-

Like it was bile or vomit rising in his throat.

And yet, the urge to express complete honesty began to take over Sienar's withdrawn, reluctant demeanour, concluding,'The initial assessment has been rather... underrative of their manpower, Sir.', an air of reaffirmed certainty that served to raise the Lieutenant from his middling place in the old Captain's estimation of character. Even if everyone under the protection of FOB: Belisarius was to meet with a bloody, agonizing fate, Karsh was beginning to understand how such a noble could earn his right to be an officer with the 117th, realising then that it was more than just the merit of his Fort Rex passing grades; even if Sienar didn't see it in himself at the time, almost every fiber in his commanding-officer's body could see the stuff of heroes resonating outward from within him. Greatness of a sort was silently expected of Ivan in this moment, no matter how fleeting his time with it ultimately amounted to, as every little would help in the fight's final stages, and like Cormac, Remmel was also beginning to hope for the best for the Lieutenant's sake.

'Thank you, Lieutenant. I appreciate the honesty.... But we'll cover this in a moment though, lack of interruptions permitting of course.'

In the following smoke-filled silence, Remmel nodded to Cormac for his summary's commencement, seen taking his cue with a returned nod before weighing in with,"Three-to-one is about what we're up against as far as Maw to Imp manpower, we have the logistical and organization edge on them at the moment, for sure...but they're less than predictable. A lot of the anxiety about these delays from my talks with the men comes from that fact. A lot of the forward observers have said they've seen the tracks of greater foot traffic than what command initially anticipated.", finishing his cigarra and stubbing it out in the moments he paused for further reflection on the matter. The optimism was worrying, but the Captain found himself somehow feeling all the more grateful for it, as such optimism often served as a great catalyst for the fuelling fire of all the greatest last stands in the Galaxy's history, and the likes would most certainly be needed if Noris was to end up joining that dreaded, though prestigious list of heroes.

"But so long as this last delay is the last delay, it shouldn't be much our issue and they'll be nothing but kings of the glass we leave behind."

The testing moment, the greatest of it's kind Karsh had ever known, as not even in all the time Remmel had served as a soldier (and in almost every conceivable form) had he ever found himself needing to consider the psyches of his subordinates in such a way, and to make matters more difficult for the old Captain, this really wasn't something he wanted to deal with in such a setting. Such talk was usually left for the days prior to deploying or for the days following their returns from tours of duty, never quite considered for the sake of not wishing to be the ones the enemy caught slipping, but the intensifying urgency of the situation had called for it, and All-Heart always faced his problems head-on. The entire spectrum of hope and doubt were contrasting right before his very eyes, but Karsh, much to the surprise of himself, was still undecided on the matter, even after vowing to be the one to break the bad news to Sienar.

'You know what, lads? I was of a mind to despair and adapt a plan around it like it was the done thing to endeavour.... But you're both bringing out a stubbornness in me, and whether we make it through this or not - it appears you both have me well-invested in your survival here.'

'But you must both promise that you will ask a sacrifice of me when the time comes.'
, the Captain continued, dropping his gaze in the realisation that his own efforts would amount to little and less by the time the Maw were expected to cast the old man aside, ruefully understanding his predicament in comparison to others in his shoes. Even if the eventual arrival of the evac-dropships occurred just in time to save them, Karsh was well aware that he was very unlikely to find himself boarding any of them in the end, concluding,'And if the ultimate sacrifice must be promised by the old, then a vow to protect each other must be promised by the young I see standing before me.... For if we deal with empty promises, or a too-little-too-late circumstance, you will be needing each other to survive it.', as his mind threatened to drift toward thoughts of watching the last evacuation-ships flying into orbit without him.
 
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NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
117th STORMTROOPER DIVISION
21st Company "Cadaver Dogs"

DECEASED Remmel Karsh DECEASED Remmel Karsh | Erin E-141 | Whoever else I lost track
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<"Esk One-Three-Eight, this is Captain Remmel Karsh! Callsign: Ember One! The callsigns you need are Ember Six and EMT One, sending GPS readings and trajectories to your datapad now.... Also, please try not to clog the comms too much after this, we need the comm-traffic as sparse as possible, but otherwise - good luck out there. Ember One out!">

"Damn AI sending me out half-cocked," Jack grumbled.

<"Copy, Ember One. Coordinates received.">

Projections of Primus City and the Imperial positions within began to render on Jack's forearm-mounted screen. Known and suspected Maw positions followed shortly, lighting up in a vibrant, hostile red. Distance between the pip that indicated his location and the position of Ember Six was swiftly diminishing. An indicating finger pointed from the cockpit viewport to direct his impromptu chauffeur. Dirt and dust kicked into a knee-high cloud as the vehicle drifted sideways, stopping just as soon as Jack hastily removed himself from the co-pilot's seat.

"Get back to the FOB, Corporal." The vehicle spared little time speeding off just as quickly as it had approached.

Jack's overbearing figure jogged the distance from drop off to Ember-Six. Overbearing stature coupled with amber-accented sable armor cut and imposing figure against the hardscapes of Primus. His HUD pinged Erin's signal from a medical speeder in the corner of his vision, drawing his attention for a brief moment between steps. Too late to make a difference there, all up to medical, now. Were this a simpler situation, that would have been the end of it. Yet, Noris had been anything but simple, and the job was far from over.

"Ember Six," Jack greeted with quick formalities gestured nigh robotically. "Seeing that One-Four-One has already been secured, I suppose that makes me your reinforcement," Jack observed phlegmatically. Sensing the direction the Master-Sergeant had been wanting to progress from prior observation, Jack made a half-start that direction as to not hold up the operation any longer. "Tell me what you need from me, Sergeant."

 

Erin E-141

Guest
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Erin "Esk 141" E-141
Sergeant First Class
Noris, Near Primus, HM Base Belisarius
Writing with:
DECEASED Remmel Karsh DECEASED Remmel Karsh Jack E-138 Jack E-138
Narrative Tags: Cormac Thire, Ivan Sienar, Thane Thane , Melvain Braxis Melvain Braxis

Colonel Wolthius walks down the rank of bacta tank beds along the intensive care ward wearing the white apron of an Army Physician. He was the Battalion Surgeon responsible for the medical treatment and care of the wounded at His Majesty's base, Belisarius. Nursing a cold mug of black coffee in his left hand, Wolthius rakes his other hand through the stubble on his itchy face before pulling a greenish surgical mask back up over the bridge of his nose.

With weary eyes, Colonel Wolthius watches as Nurses brandish glinting scissors peel and cut away armour panels and the form-fitting fabric beneath. He sees ashy black holes punched through the young woman's porcelain skin to the exposed tissues around her bones; the tell-tale signs of third-degree plasma burns typical of Energy weapons.
"What's this soldiers' name?" Wolthius breaks his gaze sadly from the girl's catatonic grey stare aimed at the ceiling.

"Sergeant First Class: Elite one-four-one, first name; Erin.". Head Nurse Silva answered firmly and cleared his throat sharply. Using retinal commands

"Well, give me a medical read-out, Leftenant. What are we looking at?" Colonel Wolthius' jaw slackens agape once the acute trauma team move away from the Elite's motionless body. What he saw was simply unsurvivable; multiple puncture wounds with third-degree burn presentation through the limbs and thorax.

Silva reaches for his datapad in the front of his blood-stained apron, the device chimes, and he pulls it out. Silva's brown eyes blink at the display a few times, issuing ocular commands and then studying the screen for a few moments. Silva's shoulders rise and then fall with a heavy sigh.
"It appears a large percentage of one-for-one's quadriceps, abdominals, biceps, and deltoids have burned away by Tibanna-gas blaster bolt impacts. There is some thoracic and abdominal internal haemorrhaging and a subdural hematoma."

Wolthius grimaces. "Palliative care in the Sergeant's condition appears to be the most appropriate. We won't be able to provide the appropriate care with these limited resources." He produces a full syringe from a right trouser pocket in a loose grip and flicks its proboscis. A blueish solution oozes from the metal needle.

Beads of sweat roll down Silva's forehead. Even climate control couldn't wholly stifle the suffocating humidity.
"Hang on, Sir." He reads the metabolic information streaming across the liquid display panel. "According to this data, the Elite suffered these injuries about an hour ago." Silva's eyes widen, and he slaps the display gently. "This can't be right."

Wolthius' brows lift on a gust of hope for the young woman, his curiosity piqued. "What is it?" He asked with caution, heard if not necessarily seen on his face behind the cloth mask and sleek glasses.

Silva rubs his sleepy eyes with loose fists and refocuses on the datapad.
"Elite one-for-one's muscle function and immune response are already elevated to the levels you'd see after ten standard days of bed rest for injuries of this nature. Is this because of her augmentations?" Silva slips the datapad back into his apron.

Musing audibly with a hum from pursed lips.
"I can't say for certain Leftenant." He replied, suddenly adding. "Because they're classified, even for me." Buoyed by determination, Wolthius snaps from his fatigue and points to Erin, whose heart's rhythm beats dull. "Get her to a Bacta tank. If none are available, then either find one or replace an incumbent patient likely to pass on." Wolthius' eyes narrow, and his voice firms with magisterial authority. "Get me a copy of the Elite's genetic profile. I don't care if I have the clearance or not and start cloning replacement organs."
 




Fortunate Son

Location: Deployed with 8th BRIGADE COMBAT TEAM
FORWARD BASE 'BELISARIUS'
Code name: Bliztar
Gear:
Storm Armor Mk. IV
REC Scatter Gun
REC-DC/04 Particle Blaster Pistol
Sentinel Tech Gloves

Tags: Nuruodo'kal'brast Nuruodo'kal'brast

Stumbling backwards as the grenade flashed by, Mirinda dove down into the dirt as the explosion erupted, showering her with dirt and debris. Muttering Zeltron swears under her breath, she rolled onto her feet and tried to be of help, only to hear the startled shouts of Dokal over the comm. Rushing to the aid of her friend, Mirinda's scatter-gun nearly fired into the Mawrite's back, before the order to stand down was given out. At that, she exhaled, shaking her head as she kicked the nearest rock as far as her suit would carry it.

Way to be dead weight Mattali.
Needless to say, she was none too pleased.
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Back at camp, Mirinda glanced over to Dokal, seeing the woman fast at work on whatever it was she was doing. The Zeltron herself had her REC disassembled, trying to replace a fried chip that was causing her HUD issues. She knew what was probably on her mind, the same as many Chiss she would imagine; settling the score. Mirinda herself had her own desires to gain from this whole debacle, namely money and hopefully a better position in the military. Seeing another one of her squad mates moving to talk with the woman, Mirinda shook her head, finishing up her repair job and putting her weapon back together.

Mirinda didn't do drugs, cigarettes could cause complications with hormone production. Heck, she didn't do much of anything now a days except drink and get depressed. A combo as old as time itself. "Hey, Dokal, you alright?" She asked, her fingers coming up to knock against the side of her head. It was a simple question, and a not so simple meaning behind the gesture.

'Everything alright upstairs?'


 

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New Imperial Order
313th Stormtrooper Division
19th Company "Blisterbacks"
Sergeant Baxter Weyland, TK-9426
FOB Belasarius

VO0kjpBUGMPmyDi0VG1-AI2QdNWopAVZ9F5Zufmqk4-Zlfh8jATA64xolKW_lV_m55sitSQUIw-M7aavBq1K1iDmTa7mI88KHsLWzb6BQwDqFqHYWzj1P1j4hsEtE0VAc8cpAkfx

He'd stopped counting the days some time ago, and even then the announcement that they'd be holding for ten more left him groaning. His helmet had been lifted, the bucket itself sitting just above his brow as he trapped a stimstick between his lips and muttered something incomprehensible. Baxter had been stuck with the replacement for at least a week, and when he wasn't trading fire with the Mawities, he was pulling the kid out of the firing line. Eat, sleep, rest, he'd all but forsaken them once again, all but these little reprieves.

"Still havin' fun shiny?" He called out to Archer Fallon Archer Fallon , exhaling a long drag into the dank air as his boots drifted through the mud. It wasn't even an accurate moniker for the kid anymore, whatever sheen his armor had vanished weeks ago. He kept one hand on the stim, another carried his rifle, and his eyes never left the fresh-faced sniper. The others were around, but beyond the kid he hadn't seen them in hours. "Or you finally gettin' that this is the real deal?"

Somewhere outside the line, the 117th was in the fight, where he wasn't sure, when he couldn't say, but they were somewhere outside the wire. The Lieutenant would've told them usually, but she'd been blown in half by some mortar three days ago, and command of the company, now completely without officers, was in disarray. Various other NCO's had tried to assert some measure of control, but they'd all bit it at some point or another, and he wasn't eager to follow in their boots anytime soon, but he still found himself preparing to do just that.

There was a good platoon or so of them still in fighting shape, and half that could reasonably mobilize without leaving the wounded to die, which left him with just enough to be workable. Any more it'd become too big a mess for him to organize, any less they weren't going to be good for anything but eating a few blaster bolts for a company with fewer holes in it.

Baxter wiped sweat from his brow, flicked away the stimstick, and pulled the bucket down over his head once more, keying into the communications network for the fifth time in the past three hours. His hands tightened around his rifle, and he wondered if a mortar would have the decency to put itself in his lap before he had to go slogging through the mud to get torn apart by some Mawite. It'd be over quicker that way he supposed. Baxter shrugged and opened the line.


"Fall in kid, we're gonna go find the Captain, get some work in."




 
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