Haul of the Century

[Valkren Calderon]

Somewhere in deep space..

Spoiler

Sergeant Valkren Calderon spat out a string of dark liquid, letting it splat onto the metallic flooring of a Black Station in the depth of unknown space. For his occupation, it was surprising to know that he actually hated space. He didn't show it, but most of the time he was actually on the ground. On the ground there weren't as many variables, not as many ways to face death. Ofcourse, as Republic special forces, he was trained to face those methods.

Still, too many variables..As he spat out another string of gunk from the corner of his mouth, someone that seemed to be a soldier stepped up to him, clad in solid black armor and speaking out of a vocoder.

"Sir? Crewchief says you can't chew that stuff in the hanger..It uh..Messes with the flooring."

Valkren glanced over his shoulder, arms folded across his broad chest as he scanned the goon who just seemed to be a pawn in this entire operation. "So first you all take my weapons, now you're taking away my tobacco?" The young commando finally spoke up. It was true, Valkren had taken up the cancerous habit back in his early years of being a marine rifleman, it was the common thing to do during down time, but it had stuck with Valkren and his team members into the next chapter of their lives.

That also brought them to where they were, Valkren waved away the the spook soldier, telling him to transfer a rather explicit message to the crewchief. Usually he'd be more respectable, but only to factions that actually wished to be known to the world..This 'middle man' scenario made the commando uneasy..Letting these spooks handle all of the 'packages' before his ride got here. He was hoping that the captain he had specifically selected to come for the job had a crew of his own. Either way, he couldn't wait any longer..He hated this station, and space.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, sporting civillian attire, he watched out the hanger doors, waiting for his ride to arrive.

[member="George"]

 

[George]

[ T H E M E ]​

It had taken a few favors and a whole lot of credits for George to convince the Insurrectionists to depart with one of their MPDs despite all of them being in unsavory condition. The Insurrection Sector Leader responsible for Beerwah Spaceport -the second biggest on Uluru- did not exactly have a lot of resources at hand. Therefore, while many of them had been ecstatic that George had left them a good sum of cash, it was obvious it was only because of his past they allowed the deal to happen in the first place. Many of the members would happily have stuffed a handful of bullets into his back if it meant keeping the MPD, that was for sure.

Nevertheless, George had left Uluru with another spaceship added to his fleet. It was now comprised of the extraordinary amount of two. Even though the ship was not exactly in prime condition, the investment had still been one that had torn a bit in George’s budget. However, had it not been for the contract he had been hired for, he would never had made such a purchase in the first place anyway. There were credits to be earned, territory to be explored and allies to be made.

It had been a complicated procedure to locate the Black Station the contractor for the mission had pointed them towards. But George always showed up on time and today he lived up to the reputation once more, his ships exiting hyperspace at a comfortable distance from the station so they could announce their arrival in good time. Quietly, the two bird shaped metal hulls approached the magcon shields a few minutes afterwards, a loud roaring exploding from the engines as soon the freighters passed through the shields, one ship leading the other. Bursts of air blasted violently through the hangar, adding only to the noise. Slowly they descended towards deck, the ships landing gear extending towards the hangar flooring and moments afterwards touching down with a hard thump.

Slowly, the rumbles subsided and after a moments pause, the ramp that led into the first ship started to move. However, one that had been observing the ship in question would quickly have come to the conclusion that it would be impossible for the ramp to touch the floor. Behind the ramp and under the primary engines a large electromagnetic plate was placed, allowing for the transportation of external cargo. From both the MPDs hung a large durasteel container, large white lettering spelling out: George Freight Group.

The ramp collided with the end of the container, stopping in its tracks, only providing a crack large enough for an undersized child to slip through. As if in response to this, a thick manly drawl was heard from the inside: “Yah forgot to drop the can again, Sweetie!” An inaudible retort was made by what was probably a woman and moments afterwards the magnetic plate disengaged, dropping the large container towards the floor, only rescued by its own repulsorlifts. The ramp could finally be lowered and from inside George appeared, his grey hair in a ball at the back of his head, the large smile behind his mighty beard visible. “So this is Black Station, huh?” He muttered at himself as he made his way down the ramp.

[member="Valkren Calderon"]​

 

[Valkren Calderon]

Valkren smiled at the sight of the man as he stepped down from the ramp, reaching up into the corner of his mouth with his left hand and tossing a clump of tobacco off to the side, coincidentally landing on one of the spook soldier's boot. As the soldier quietly cursed to himself, knowing he couldn't take any action, Valkren simply wiped his left hand on his khaki pants, and raised his right hand to offer George a firm shake.

"Yes Sir, the same black station that thinks it's a good idea to confiscate the weapons of a rather agitated Republic commando." The young sergeant had his signature smirk across his stubbled' face as he stated this, finding slight humor in the situation now that a 'friendly' had arrived. Although he did not personally know the spacer before him, he wanted to. He had read the man's file, ex shock trooper, ex ranger..He was soldier, one in the same as Valkren. They just held different backgrounds. He admired it in this man, especially considering his 'business' had no affiliation with any factions at the moment. This meant he was a possible asset, or ally, or even a friend.

"George Maui? Sergeant Valkren Calderon."

[member="George"]

 

[George]

[ T H E M E ]​

His handshake was firm and precise, practiced over the course of many haggles and dealings throughout his life. It was also worth noting that his hand was large and rugged. There was no doubt that the man in front of Valkren had never had an easy day in his life. “And I’m guessing ye’re that Commando?” He asked with the same drawl from before, a hint of amusement heard in his accented voice. Behind George, a tough-looking woman exited the spacecraft he had arrived in, her eyes lively as she searched the hangar curiously with her gaze for a moment.

She was dressed in the same practical, handcrafted manner that George was. Like George, the side of her head was shaved, while the top portion of her hair grew long. She had fashioned her hair in a long braid that swung behind her as she walked over to the other ship that had landed a short distance away from Georges. She was young and could very well go for George's daughter. When she reached the other ship she began helping the two pilots that had controlled the other MPD, preparing the container for the cargo.

When Valkren introduced himself, George’s smile widened behind the bushy beard of his so broadly that the creases by his eyes deepened: “The very same! A pleasure meeting ye Sergeant Calderon.” He chuckled sagely: “I did not realize we were dealing with fellow warrior folk. What an honor.”

It was apparent that George was old despite the incredible muscular physique he maintained, his complexion wrinkled and tan, beaten by wind and weather over the years. Raising his large, intricately tattooed left arm, George pointed a thumb over his shoulder to indicate towards his crew. “Those over ther’ are Nani, Phowill and Marama. The lads will take care of Skenandoa, while Nani and I will fly Osyka.” He indicated the ship behind him for a moment before his hand dropped down at his side, using his large belt for support. Strapped to it, an overly large slugthrower was placed and like the man that carried the weapon, it was obvious it had seen its fair share of use. “Shall we take a look at yer cargo, Sergeant Calderon?"

[member="Valkren Calderon"]​

 

[Valkren Calderon]

Valkren kept the smirk across his face as he turned, placing a hand on the back of his hired captain after taking a look over his crew and what seemed to be his daughter. "Yes.. Well the suppliers of my cargo suggested I use on of their spooks as a middle man for this job, and have you meet me at the drop off point..Yada' yada' yada. I'm sure you know the whole political coverup bull."

The young sergeant spoke and made his point with slight hand movements while guiding them across the hanger to a large pallet with ten metallic crates packed tightly into it, fit together like a finished game of tetris. A few feet beside that gigantic pallet stood what seemed to be an elongated rack that could have held have the storage space of George's container, yet the contents of this rack were covered in one large 'blanket.' Next to these objects stood a squad of spooks' in armor that seemed to be more lightweight. These few men were here to help operate the loaders to secure the cargo. They were also the exact men that Valkren didn't trust with his cargo.

As they reached the pallet, Valkren stopped to unhook one of the crates, lifting the lid just enough so George could see the contents. This crate seemed to be stocked to the lid with 'Valor' assault blasters, old Republic models. After giving him a good look, he shut the lid and resealed it, moving over to the rack close by.

As he stopped and placed one naked hand on the cloth that covered the rack, he sighed and looked to his hired captain once more. "I figure it's better to operate with someone who knows the nature of what the cargo deals with..War." After making this statement, he yanked off the cover, revealing Sixty shiny NH-Knight elite combat droids. All sixty were crudely painted with blue Republic markings, one of the shoulder painted with a grey-blade like symbol to indicate affiliation with Saber team, the special forces unit that Valkren was affiliated with.

[member="George"]

 

[George]

“Aye, the top brass always got complicated plans stuck up their arses.” George joked in response as they made their way towards the haul, his own arm slung around Valkren’s back in mirror of the motion the other man had done. He was not trying to be anything but friendly. However, it was a challenge navigating through all the widely different social customs and manners the different species and cultures of the galaxy had.

Which was why George copied the gesture, thinking it a friendly gesture. He had lived most of his life in the Cadi system and had only recently begun visiting other systems. This was not for a lack of want, however all traffic to anywhere else than inside the Cadi system had been restricted by the old government for centuries. With the Commonwealth rising, they had opened their borders once again.

George eyed the squad of spooks that stood by the cargo warily when they reached the pallet, offering them a curt smile before he turned towards the unhooked crate that Valkren had grabbed. Peering inside, George spotted the blaster rifles and nodded solemnly. He was not personally familiar with the technology, but knew of the damage they could account for. Personally, he favored the ancient alternative that was slugthrowers, it was what he had fought with ever since he had held his first rifle and that favouritism was not likely to change anytime soon. According to him, Morris Munitions produced the best weapons in the galaxy. Though, he could still respect a beautiful design when he saw one.

When they moved towards the rack George paid close attention when the blanket was pulled off the figures it had hidden. At first, George thought it a smaller army of soldiers that had been standing perfectly still under the cloth, but as none of them moved he quickly instead assumed it to be sets of armor. This assumption seemed to be false as well as he soon spotted the mechanical joints of the chrome surfaces and he finally figured them for what they were. Droids. He had to admit he found the whole idea of droids to be somewhat uncomfortable. Where he was from, computer programs were restrained to take care of management tasks and if they ever materialized as physical beings, it was in the form of holograms that resembled Humans, not metal hulls that could move at their own accord.

“It shouldn’t be a problem.” George said after having begun measuring the size of the crates and droid rack. “We can fit the metal into one of the containers and then split that puzzle boxes over ther’ between the other container and the troop room of the ships.” He pointed briefly towards the crates, turning his gaze somewhat to look towards his crew. “Ye folks heard that?” He yelled at them, a grin forming on his face. “Get to work folks!” Soon, they would start working on allotting the different crates between the two ships, fitting the containers to the brim and putting the rest into the bay of the spaceships. It was obvious that the MPD had once been a troop transporter, now refitted by George for cargo transport. Various decorations and pictures hung inside the small spacecraft: pictures of beaches, palm trees and large swaths of desert as well as hanging bamboo door beads at the entrance to the cockpit. It was a homely spacecraft, that was for sure.

[member="Valkren Calderon"]​

 

[Valkren Calderon]

Surprisingly, after George's orders to his own crew, the squad of spooks directly next to them began to move the cargo toward the containers and ships that George had amassed in his 'fleet,' following every word of what the captain informed Valkren they could do. The sergeant didn't want to admit it, but mercenaries were sometimes the best and most efficient way to work. They always only had one job, to get the job done and get paid. The young commando turned to George once more and opened his arms in a kind of 'here we are' manner,

"Well, I suppose I'll be rolling with you then." As he lifted his arms, it would be clear that they actually did confiscate the weapons from the young man. As his arms went out, his jacket lifted, shifting just enough to reveal and empty blaster holster attached to his utility belt.

Within a matter of thirty-or-so minutes, the spooks had finished up, some dusting their gloved hands off in signs of approval. As Valkren had finished one of his comments to his friend across from him, one of the soldiers happened to walk up.

"You're all set to go, Sergeant. No offense, but I hope we never have to deal with you again." The balaclava that hid the lower section of this spooks face moved slightly, his voice muffled as he spoke to the Republic NCO infront of him.

"I would say the same to you, bud..But I doubt this will be the last any of you see of me." Valkren smirked once more, turning and motioning toward the ships for his new found friend to lead on.

"By the way..You wouldn't happen to have a weapon I could borrow, would ya'?"

[member="George"]

 

[George]

Before the doors to the containers were sealed shut, George grabbed what most of all looked like two large metal backpacks from the cockpit of his ship and placed them within both the containers. Most men of the military would know they were standard long-range comm relays. With the flick of a switch, George turned them on individually after having secured them a place in the containers, small lights blinking red, then green. He adjusted a few settings on them for a few short seconds before he asked his crew to lock up the containers, turning his back to them and walking towards Valkren. “Just in case we need to track them. Insurance. Free of charge.” He smiled, crossing his enormous arms as the soldier approached Valkren to comment on the Sergeants departure. When the exchange had finished, George thanked the spooks for their aiding hand in securing the cargo and then proceeded to walk back towards his ship, the Osyka.

“A weapon? Got someone to shoot, my friend?” George joked, nodding at his crew as one of them asked him a silent question, pointing towards their own ship, which they began to board at George’s nod. Entering through the troop bay, George maneuvered past the few boxes that could not fit in the container and was placed within here instead. Once he reached the entrance that separated that room from the cockpit, he patted a metal cupboard and rested his hand on its door. “In ‘ere we got a couple of M101’s. If we need ‘em you’ll be the first to get one into yer hands, Sergeant.” George said, his tone sincere and somewhat serious despite the smile on his face. “Unless ye of course want to shoot some of those out there.” A short rumbling chuckled cracked features.

​

[member="Valkren Calderon"]​

 

[Valkren Calderon]

"Please, you probably know better than myself, I'm always expecting to shoot someone." Valkren responded, chuckling in response to George's joke.

He followed closely behind him, clambering up into the troop carrier and navigating between the boxes as his pilot did, stopping when the husky man patted at the hatch. "M101's, huh? Slugthrowers? I like where your head is, boss," The young commando exclaimed, wanting to open the small door already and hold the cold steel of an age-old designed rifle in his naked hands, but he restrained himself, moving toward the cockpit to take a look at the pilots set up and where exactly he'd be sitting.

"So we've got two stops actually, I'll give you the coordinates of the jump once we're outa this hanger..The first is a meet up with a Republic-mandated escort. The other is our drop off point."

********​

​

Somewhere in space at stop 1.

A lone mining ship loomed amongst the wreckage of several Republic-marked snubnose fighters. Within that ship was a mull of pirates and mercenaries, carrying boxes and lugging crates back and forth. However, instead of resources from mining asteroids being inside these crates, they were chock full of Republic and un-registered weapons. A lone Cathar male stood on a railing that overlooked the entirety of the hanger and loading bay of these mining vessel, simply observing the mix of races that had joined along for this trip. Suddenly, a transmission broke through to the Cathar's earpiece, forcing him to respond imedietly.

"Negative, the cargo will arrive to this point, and it will stay here with us. For the Republic cannot leave the pilots we 'rescued' from those fighters. It's not in their blood to do so..Move the pilots to the crew quarters..All we must do is wait."

After the transmission was sent and received, the Cathar pirate that seemed to be in command of this small 'boarding' party received a confirmation message, then silence. He sighed, reaching a gloved hand up and rubbing at his whiskers lightly. It was a waiting game now for the opposition of the Republic and allies.

[member="George"]

 

[George]

George gave the gun safe a last loving pat before he moved through the passageway and further into the cockpit of the spacecraft. It was one of the tiny ones. Two large chairs reserved for the pilot and co-pilot occupied most of the space within. George moved up to the left seat, the pilot’s seat and sat down with a groan, his thick fingers flicking switches and pressing buttons as he ran through various pre-flight checks. “Two halts? Ye got to be kidding me lad. That usually costs extra.” A chuckle was heard from him, his head turning away from the console in front of him to look towards Valkren. It was obvious he was in a good mood. “Oh, by the by ye sit over ther’.” He pointed towards a folding seat behind the co-pilot. “Also, forgot to tell ye that if ye need the loo, there’s a refresher opposite of the cupboard.”

As soon as George had said that, the hum of the ramp retracting filled the ship and footsteps echoed in the troop bay. “All checked, Cap’n. Phowill and Marama also got the cooler fixed.” The young woman George had referred to as Nani appeared in the doorway to the cockpit. She gave Valkren a single nod and a smile as a greeting before she turned her dark gaze back towards George while she moved down towards the co-pilot seat. “Both ships also got fueled.”

********​

“Entering realspace now, folks.” George said as he took the last bite of his dinner, the azure waves of hyperspace coming to a rippling halt as white dots against the backdrop of black appeared behind the canopy of the small converted troop transporter. Overall, they had flown for a good four hours. Though George had barely noticed that the time had passed. As soon as the coordinates for the first stop had been punched into the navi-computer and calculated, he had pulled forth some rations from the overhead storage in the troop bay and heated them. It was surprisingly delicious food, home cooked and self-vacuumed as noted several times by George who seemingly would not rest before Valkren picked up a plate. The sauce was rather spicy, but the red fruit juice George had served alongside the dinner and persuaded Valkren to try as well, was surprisingly efficient at soothing the stinging. A big portion of the trip had been used on George talking about the M101. That was at least until he had been stopped by Nani, who had apparently heard some of his stories a thousand times already.

George had just placed his flight helmet back onto his head when their other ship exited hyperspace a few meters to the left of them. “Gud to see you, my brothers. Enjoyed the trip?” Phowill’s thick accent poured over the radio, he was the pilot of the other ship, which the Freight Group referred to as Skenandoa. He had throughout their time in hyperspace been checking in with George every now and then to make sure everything was alright, and had even participated in the M101 discussion for a while, offering some counter arguments against George’s godly praise of the weapon. He was ex-soldier as well, having served with George at a couple of occasions.

“Wait. Radio silence, Pho.” George responded, his voice having turned gravely serious. If the other passengers could have seen his eyes that were currently blocked by the flight helmet, they would have seen a deep frown placed on his face. The Osyka’s scanners had picked up faint signatures relatively close to their current location. It seemed Phowill had picked up on the clues as well, and had positioned himself at the Osyka’s fighter wing as the two crafts carefully began moving forward.

A heavily battered snubnose fighter were spotted soon after through the viewport of the Osyka as they had floated towards the non-responding spacecraft. Its glass was cracked and interior bloodied. However, the pilot seemed to be missing... "One of yours, Sergeant?"

[member="Valkren Calderon"]​

 

[Valkren Calderon]

Valkren's face went pale as the ravaged snubnose spun quietly in the dead of space so that the cockpit faced the Osyka. Valkren simply nodded, making a rather audible gulp. His eyes seemed to venture further than just the fighter that grimly rotated infront of their viewport. He was staring directly at what seemed to be a clump of asteroids that had been hacked at, obvious signs of a mining vessel. Just as the thoughts of the possibility of a mining vessel crossed the sergeant's mind, that same vessel revealed it's ugly composure from behind one of the asteroids, creeping out to give the group a full view.

The young commando remained silent for several more moments before attempting to speak up, yet he was cut off by an incoming transmission coming directly from the mining vessel.

It began with static, but then came through rather clear for what seemed to be an age-old vessel, "This is the civilian mining vessel, Sea of tears, requesting assistance ASAP. We have two wounded Republic pilots onboard and are in fear for our own lives. Possible pirate forces in area. Repeat, possible pirate forces inbound to the asteroid field..We're a floating target here with these pilots onboard!"

The much larger ship slowly drifted in the direction of the two transport ships, sensors would reveal no weapons, lifesigns were about three-dozen, and most of their instruments being knocked out for some undisclosed reason. The sergeant got up from his lovely throne behind Nani, placing his hands on both the pilot and co-pilot seat as he leaned in to listen to the transmission. "That voice..It sounds familiar.."

The mining vessel held no faction colors, it seemed to be an open-market ship, able to be purchased by anyone. It looked as if it could have been modified a great bit, yet it showed no signs of modification.

The mix of red flags that arose with this vessel were countered with the idea of both Republic pilots being alive and well on that ship. The sergeant's blue hues glanced over to George, waiting for his reaction to this cry for help. He knew what he wanted to do, but the commando wanted to wait to see what exactly his Captain had in mind.

[member="George"]

 

[George]

While George was always ready for a confrontation, he always hated when they happened. He had quit the war long ago, stopped fighting and quit trying to get the nobles back on the throne. He was done with conflict and yet it never seemed to be done with him. His face had grown grave, as if a cold mask had frozen his face. In that moment, it would be easy to see that the just moments ago joyful man had truly once seen horrors indescribable to the average civilian.

Oh, what he would not do to be on a beach, listen to the wind and the cheers of friends as mighty waves crashed calmly against the shore. What he would not do to simply lean back and relax. George looked towards the comm relay as static appeared on their end of the line and the mining vessel send them a transmission. He listened intently until it was over. “Ye know the voice? Ye know these Republican pilots?” George asked, his voice calm yet icy as he flicked another controller on the dashboard and a faint hum could be heard under their feet as a result. "I don't like this one bit, Valkren. It's yer cargo, yer choice."

He grumbled as the hum that had begun under their feet seemed to lower in intensity, spinning at an even pace. “How much do we have loaded, Nani?” George asked his co-polit, which touched a few controls as well and responded immediately afterwards. “One K, the Skenandoa got 1.4.” While the Osyka was a transporter, it still had a decent loadout. A large slug thrower canon was placed at the tip of the spaceship, able to shred enemies with thousands of bullets per minute. Well that was, if they have had the ammunition.

[member="Valkren Calderon"]​

 

[Valkren Calderon]

Valkren had disappeared from the cockpit, placing himself directly infront of the weapons safe in the room behind the two pilots. After retrieving one of the M101's from the hatch, he'd briefly look over the weapon as they drifted in space, currently in a staring contest with the mining vessel that approached them.

The Republic sergeant then spoke up as he slipped the sling right over his torso, checking the safe for any extra magazines George and his crew might have brought along on the Oyska. "The voice sounds familiar but I can't put a name to it..As for the pilots, I picked them personally to meet us for the escort, they're my responsibility."

He returned back to the cockpit and stood behind the pilot and co-pilot's chairs, blinking once as he took in the situation at hand. The gears inside his head turned as he pondered their next move. After initial scans there didn't seem to be any weapons on the vessel, but that had fooled many spacers before. There were always stories of pirates and enemy factions disguising weaponry as simple mining equipment, luring in unsuspecting explorers just to be plundered of all their resources and their lives. Then again, there was no way Valkren could pass on the opportunity of retrieving the pilots that he put in harms way.

Gotta make a choice here, Valk..

The soldier had few options here, especially considering his conscious was weighing deeply on this scenario. "George, think you can get me inside that thing? This is my cargo and my men, I'll try and deal with it." He winced for a moment as he said this, expecting a slap in the back of the head from an old drill instructor he knew so well for the idea he just put forward. It was a stupid idea, going in alone in a ship they had no intel about.

Yet, that's what he was made for right? The most impossible and stupid missions anyone could throw his way.

[member="George"]

 

[George]

George and Nani’s gazes followed Valkren for a second as he stood and walked over to the cabinet that held the M101s. In his good mood, George had forgotten to lock the cabinet. Nevertheless, such safety measures did not matter in this case. Valkren was in George’s eyes an honorable fellow despite the fact he was suddenly keenly aware of the pistol at his hip. George simply shrugged off the paranoia he had built up over his long military career, trusting the fellow soldier.

Slowly he began moving the ship forward as Valkren talked, maneuvering past the ravaged snubnose and signaling their companion to follow. “Sure, I can Valkren. No worries.” George answered to the question, speeding up their trajectory a little: “But if ye think ye get to go in there alone then ye’re stupider than ye look, son.” After flicking another switch, giving full control of the ship to the Nani, George stood from his chair with a groan, pushing himself up with his arms as he turned and pushed his way towards the weapon locker to grab a M101 for himself. “Get us close to the mining vessel, Nani. Tell the others to stay back and keep our six shiny. If anything happens ye get out of there, understood?” His tone was stern, not allowing the girl to come with any objections.

Evidently, he had practiced sliding in mags and checking the m101 thousands of times, his movements perfect as he grabbed hold of a rugged, but spotless clean rifle from the back of the cabinet. After having put on his old three-point sling he turned towards the cabinet again, rummaging through it as if trying to find something. “Spread yer arms boy and see if ye can fit in this.” He pulled out a combat vest with thick phrik plate inlays from the cabinet and tossed it towards the Sergeant, folding his arms with a serious expression on his elderly face as he looked at the man in front of him. “Ye ain’t keeping it though. But I don’t want my customers go dieing on me.” A slight smile crossed the old mans face and slowly the Osyka moved towards the old mining vessel, floating through the empty black.

[member="Valkren Calderon"]​

 

[Valkren Calderon]

Valkren took in George's statements for several moments before responding with a simple smile and nod. He respected the fight in the aging soldier. In a way, it's how Valkren would want to end up some day: wise with age but still battle ready and a badass brute. The young commando reached behind him, pulling the slugthrower back around so he'd have room to equip the combat vest George had just produced. After adjusting himself and his kit to a more comfortable position, he regripped the M101 once more, taking a glance out the viewport to asses the situation once more.

"We should contact them, let 'em know we're coming aboard... If they're hostile, we'll still have the drop on them. If they're not..Well, those miners are in for one helluva' surprise." Valkren stated, sliding a fresh clip into the mag well of the rifle. After letting the crew take whatever cautions they needed, he'd remove a hand from the cold steel of the rifle and pat George on his own chest before motioning back towards the troop carrier section of the ship. As he moved away from the cockpit, he attempted to speak quietly as to not alert Nami. "I appreciate ya' coming with me, but your crew and ships don't need to be at risk. If whoever onboard that mining vessel is who I think it is, they'll have weapons on your ships as soon as they realize we're inside."

After making his side of the argument, he looked back up to the cockpit, a worried look on his face for a moment. After taking a few quiet seconds to piece together his next thought, he'd speak up again. "This is the Republic's fight, whatevers left of it atleast. Don't want to drag any non-combatants into the equation."

*****​

On board the Sea of Tears, it's Cathar captain grew impatient with the response time of the two transport shuttles. He made his way off of the same catwalk where he had stood to oversee his mini-operation there in the hangar of this stolen mining vessel. The claws on the end of his fingers slowly rapped at the handle of a blaster pistol that was strapped to his right leg, in truth the captain tended to avoid conflict, letting his grunts do all the nasty work. This time, it was personal. The pirates had intercepted a Republic transmission and deciphered who the supplies being transported were for. Sergeant Valkren Calderon, Command unit 52..

Saber one...

The team of elite 'pipe hitters' led by Valkren, callsign Sabers', had been a thorn in the sides of several marauder groups ever since the mighty Galactic Republic had fallen. This took away all the major operations and missions that the Republic special forces were usually sent on, being reduced now to glorified coast guards of Allied worlds, cleaning sectors up of pirates wherever the Sabers could find them. This was the pirates chance to fight back against the always-moving special forces unit. He stopped to take in the panic that was the operation they had set here. There was a clearing in the hanger, almost a 'choke-point', created by resource crates stacked on each side of the hanger to catch whoever came aboard in a crossfire hopefully. One side was slightly more reinforced with more manpower and a single cannon emplacement, due to the corridors that led to the crew quarters and bridge were directly behind it. He took off on a brief jog to cross the open hangar floor, making his way across and slowing down once he reached the other side, making his way calmly to the bridge to oversee the situation. More importantly, to get away from the blood shed.

[member="George"]

 

[George]

Currentlty George was pushing large slugs into empty magazines. It had been a long time since he had needed magazines enough for a potential combat situation, so in order to get as many magazines as needed he had to open a box or two of slugs. Soon he had filled his belts with the heavy metal mags. It was one of the slugthrowers major weaknesses compared to a blaster. While a single energy cell for a blaster could contain hundreds of shots and weigh almost nothing, a slugthrower would need many kilos of ammunition to achieve the same bullet count.

George nodded once at Valkrens concerns, responding in the same quiet manner, however he seemed scarily determined: “Don’t worry, son. Everyone in my crew is former military. Even Nani up ther’. We got yer back.” With a click, the last bullet slid into the magazine he had been loading and soon George seemed to be ready, having connected a headset to his comlink.

He tossed one to Valkren. “This ye can keep. Alexandrian Military Encrypted. Pre-set to our channel. Hook it up to a relay and ye can get in contact with us anywhere.” George said as he walked into the cargo bay and towards the currently closed ramp, sliding a pair of orange tinted shooting glasses onto his nose while he walked.

“So son, ye sure ye know how the M101 works?” George joked after Nani had yelled that they were approaching the mining vessel. With a roar, the MPD entered the hangar, hovering in the air inside of it. Having flown in with its front first, the ship offered the two soldiers some protection as the ramp quickly descended towards the floor… “C’mon soldier! Move!”

[member="Valkren Calderon"]​

 

[Valkren Calderon]

Valkren caught the communicator, nodding as he set the appropriate frequency to the headset he know slipped over his ears. The confidence of George and his crew put the soldier at ease, but something still didn't feel right about jumping into this scenario with hardly any intel or support at the least. They were going in blind to the situation with only the vessels that were tasked with transporting Valkren's cargo as their backup...It was certainly a story to be told to the marines back aboard The Atlas, that is if they even make it back alive.

The sergeant smirked as the freighter pilot joked with him about the usage of the firearm he had. As they reached the rear end of the transport, closer to the ramp, Valkren actually took another moment to inspect over his tool of the trade. Ofcourse he knew how to use the M101, his knowledge of all things combat/military related extended further than any other subject he had information about; however, in truth he was much more aquatinted with the energy weapons that were standard issue in the Republic Armed Forces. It would be difficult getting adjusted to the slugthrower's rate of fire if this situation called for combat.

Hopefully there wouldn't be any need for gunfire..

After this thought of a peaceful exchange of protection and the republic pilots ran through his mind, it was obliterated by the sound of blaster bolts reflecting off the nose end of the MPD as the vessel roared into the hanger, Nani able to see easily from the viewport that these were no miners. They seemed to be outnumbered and outgunned as a mix of pirates and mercenaries ran across the open hanger, quick to change defensive positions as the sudden entrance of the Oyska into the Sea of tears changed the battlefield's dynamics.

Valkren took a quick peak out of one of the viewports before looking back to George, raising his voice back to his usual commanding firefight tone, changing demeanors rather quickly from the joking side of the sergeant. "We use the cover of the Oyska to jump the edge of their barricades! If we both make it to cover, it'll cause 'em to panic."

He pushed the rifle away from his tactical vest so he'd be able to switch grips on the firearm, getting adjusted for the change of direction in the firefight that could happen. "These aren't professionals! We can do this!" He yelled out into the communications system as the ramp dropped, letting the two men free to move out of the troop carrier.

As the ramp dropped, there were a few moments of peace toward the back end of the MPD, the engine's roar blocking out any sound of gunfire or communication besides their own headsets, letting Valkren's mind clear and focus on the first goal of reaching adequate cover. Sergeant Calderon raised his M101 while his boots touched the floor of the hangar, letting a burst of slugs fly from the barrel of his weapon and towards the scattering mercs, not expecting any of his rounds to connect. He hoped for the chance of suppressing the enemy and to take some of the hostile fire from the Oyska, considering the enemies were now stuck in a decision on wether to turn the cannon emplacement on the ship hovering in the hangar, or the two shooters that had just deployed from that same ship.

Valkren flinched slightly as a mix of orange and red bolts began to fly past his field of vision, indicating that a decent size of the enemy ambush party were now focused on the two soldiers. The soldier slid into a resource crate that the OPFOR had used to create part of their barrier against the boarding party, remaining crouched in cover as he glanced out to observe the Oyska and the hangar doors on either side of the vessel..

The doors were beginning to shut.

"We got a problem here!" the sergeant shouted as he motioned towards the hangar doors' emergency shutters that were starting their way down, before checking the ammunition level of his weapon and preparing to re-engage the enemy.

[member="George"]