Private Raid on Ironbush

[Kaela Voss]

Raid on Ironbush​

Tags: Korda Veydran // Tekton Artez // Perseus

The day started off like most others for Kaela, waking up at the crack of dawn because of the Pit droids from Orrek's was ringing the intercom at her door.

"I'm coming D7," Kaela said, sounding almost like she was whining as she strapped her blaster pistol to her hip in case any wildlife wandered into town, poured a mug of caf and grabbed one of the condensed ration bars she kept around for mornings like this.

As she walked to her job at Orrek's Scrap & Service, the Pit droid did its best to fill her in. One of the local farmers had a power surge right in the middle of harvest season and damaged a lot of their equipment. Kaela was so tired that she barely noticed the ship flying in overhead. Ships were a rare sight on this part of Aargonar, but with the harvest they weren't too odd.

Kaela stopped to check on her speeder bike, hooked up to a diagnostic computer, before getting to work on a harvester droid that had seen a few dozen seasons past its replacement date before ol' farmer Brost got his hands on it.

A couple of hours later, her caf cold and hands covered in oil, Kaela stepped outside for a quick smoke break, before she could light up, Keala heard shouting as a ragtag crowd of armed beings entered town. Something felt like a vibroblade in her guts until she heard one of the shouts clearly.

"PIRATES!"​

The person who shouted it, an old man who had been working on a small garden, was promptly shot. It was an intimidation tactic that might have worked in other places, but Ironbush fought back, and rather than a quick raid for credits, the whole situation dissolved into a mess of running blasterfights.

The initial violent clash settled down quickly as bodies piled up while Kaela ducked back into Orrek's. Soon, it was small groups sniping at each other between buildings or as people ran to check on family and neighbours, the pirates, being more brutal, were slowly starting to win as they seemed intent on paying back every death of their own with five of the townsfolk.

 

[Korda Veydran]

Tags: Kaela Voss Perseus Tekton Artez

Aargonar.

Korda Veydran had passed through worse places and intended to keep passing through this one.
Ironbush was just another settlement pretending survival counted as stability. Mud, metal, tired people holding onto routines like they were armor. He had seen worlds like this before. They usually ended the same way.

His boots carried him through the outer road with heavy certainty. Seven feet of beskar and old war doctrine moving through a place that had not yet decided to hate him.

Helmet sealed. Crimson visor steady.
He was already leaving.
Urban fighting always ended the same way. Tight corridors. Blind angles. Civilians caught between panic and geometry. Yaga Minor had taught him what cities became when they broke, and he had no interest in repeating that lesson.

The Ashen Maw rested secured against his right shoulder in its reinforced holster.
It was not just a weapon.

It was a hand-welded slugthrower built from scorched alloy and layered ceramite, scarred by heat bloom and field repairs that never bothered hiding their history. A cylindrical drum sat tight against its frame, forty slugs locked behind biometric recognition tied directly to his pulse and bone signature.

Inside it lived four different forms of violence.
Combat. Sniper. Suppression. Incendiary.
Right now it slept in Combat geometry. Compact barrel aligned. Balanced for fast draw and controlled engagement. The holster kept it inert, but never harmless. The weapon did not rest. It waited.

His HUD pulsed faintly with its link. Wind. Range. Atmospheric drift. Idle awareness shared between man and machine.
Nothing engaged.

Nothing needed.
Korda turned slightly toward the road out of town.
That was when the bolt hit.

A sharp crack of energy and impact slammed into his thigh plate.
Beskar held.
The force did not.

He stopped mid-step.
Slowly, he looked down at the scorched mark.

Then toward the direction of the shot.
A pause.
"…Of course."

His voice came through external speakers, low and flat, carrying none of the surprise it should have.
The Ashen Maw came free.

The shoulder holster released with a mechanical lock-hiss as biometric seals confirmed identity. It did not feel like drawing a weapon so much as unsealing something that had been deliberately contained.

Close up, it was worse.

Weld seams ran along its frame like old injuries that refused to close. Heat-blued alloy marked where it had been pushed past safe limits and rebuilt anyway. The barrel assembly carried subtle asymmetry from repeated field reconfiguration, each adjustment permanently impressed into its structure. Nothing about it was polished. Nothing about it was clean.

It was not designed to impress.
It was designed to survive.
The HUD immediately synced. Combat geometry confirmed. Drum feed stable. Targeting link active.

Forty rounds.
Forty decisions.

He rotated it once in his grip. No rails. No attachments. Nothing external to fail. Everything was internal. Everything intentional.
A quiet mechanical click confirmed readiness.
The barrel settled forward.
Not raised yet.

Just present.
"…You picked the wrong direction to fire."
The first shot did not find a man.

It erased the ground in front of him, dirt and stone exploding upward in a violent punctuation mark. A warning written in impact rather than language.
A second round followed, punching into cover nearby and tearing it open into useless geometry.
Silence stretched after it.

Not peace.
Expectation.
Korda stepped forward through it.

Ashen Maw stayed low in Combat mode, tracking with him like an extension of intent rather than an object in hand. Each step was deliberate. Economical. Nothing wasted. Nothing hurried.

His helmet tilted slightly.
"Those were warning shots."
A beat.

The barrel shifted a few degrees.
"I do not repeat myself."
Another step.

Then, quieter. Not a threat. Something older.
"My clan did not fear me because I was strong."
A pause, just long enough for the words to settle into the dust.
"They feared me because I learned when to stop pretending I was still one of them."

The Ashen Maw lowered slightly.
Not less dangerous.
Just decided.
"Run."

 

[Tekton Artez]

Kaela Voss Korda Veydran Perseus

Tekton had been tracking the pirates ever since they hit one of the refugee reconstruction towns he and his Clan were hired to protect. You'd think pirates would hit more lucrative targets then people who had lost everything, but then perhaps they had just been expecting an easy mark. They had been dead wrong. The operative word of course being dead. The pirates had sustained heavy casualties when faced with the disciplined elite fire a Mandalorian Clan could defend against.

Still the Clan had been reluctant to pursue it would have left the camp vulnerable. That didn't mean they couldn't send half a dozen warriors in a single ship to track them. Fortunately one of Tektons fellow warriors had thought to fire a tracker onto their ship.

Tekton had been hoping to track them back to their base wherever it may be then rally some of the free elements of his Clan for a counter raid of their own. As far as Tekton was concerned pirates were scum and villainy , men who didn't so much as fight but slaughter easy pickings in order to steal their hard earned livelihoods.

Tekton like the rest of his clan believed in developing a skill in a hard earned trade to utilize in times of peace. For Tekton that was being an engineer, but he also dabbled well enough in metalwork, carpentry and construction. Point was they didn't just destroy lives, they built them, sometimes from the ground up. Someone coming along to steal all that hard work was a travesty. The fact that they had sought to do so to people under Clan Artez protection only highlighted the insult.

Unfortunately Tekton hadn't found them licking their wounds at whatever backberth base they scurried under when not preying on the helpless. The pirates had taken their rage at their losses and humiliating defeat, they had elected to target another township. No doubt this town without the benefit of Mandalorians to protect it would soon be rubble, it's citizens a pile of bodies.

A more Weasley person might look at the force of pirates, given it up as hopeless and moved on. For Tekton that was a scornful yet amusing thought. As if he would ever run from a fight worth having. No he had already decided on a plan of action. He would land his Ori'ramikad rescue as many people as possible, then organise a tactical withdrawal.

If fighting to the death had a chance of success in saving the town he would, but the priority was saving lives. It was hard cold fact of refugee work, you couldn't save everybody, but you saved who you could.

The pirates were already in amongst the buildings so there was no chance of using the Ori'ramikad's heavy fire power. Still the ship could squeeze fifty troops comfortably, Tekton was hoping to double that in refugees.

Landing on the opposite end of town from the pirates, where the town folk were being herded towards, Tekton hefted R.I.P., Whip It as well as his blades Akk'kad, Hund'kad, his Med Kit and six thermal detonators.

Exiting the ship he opened the ramp.

"All of you!" Tekton commanded the warriors from Clan Artez. "Set up a perimeter. Get as many people on board as can fit. I'm going to see about holding off the pirates. If the Pirates get through lock up and power up the shields, it'll hold off anything but another ships attack."

The warriors hid their disappointment that they wouldn't be just firing head long into the breach of the pirates.

Tekton grinned inside his helmets.

Like puppies being told they don't get a treat.

Sparing no further thought to them for the moment. Tekton did exactly what he told his men not to do and rushed headlong into the breach.

 

[Perseus]

| Tekton Artez | Korda Veydran | Kaela Voss |

The town had dissolved into chaos by the time I reached the center of it. Blaster fire cracked somewhere farther down the street while smoke drifted between buildings that looked as though they had stood there for decades. People shouted over one another, some running blindly while others remained where they were, unable to understand how an ordinary morning had turned into this. My eyes moved from face to face automatically, sorting through what was in front of me. An elderly couple struggled to keep pace with everyone else. A man sat against a wall clutching his arm where blood seeped through his sleeve. A mother carried one child while another stayed glued to her side. None of them belonged anywhere near a firefight.

My attention settled on a workshop near the edge of the road. It was built from stone and old duracrete with narrow windows and only a single entrance. The walls were thick enough to stop blasterfire from passing straight through them. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than the open street. The pirates could wait. These people couldn't.

"There, Inside. Move."

I said, raising a hand toward the building. Most listened immediately. Fear had a way of making simple instructions easy to follow. Others didn't. An older man stopped halfway toward the entrance, one hand still wrapped around a satchel hanging from his shoulder while his eyes searched somewhere behind us.

"My wife—"

"She's coming with us."

A woman had already taken the older woman's arm and was guiding her toward the workshop. The man looked at me for another moment before finally moving again. Nearby, the mechanic remained slumped against the wall, his face pale and his breathing uneven.

"You can walk?"

He blinked once and nodded.

"Good."

I reached down, pulled him to his feet, and guided him toward the workshop. The mother hurried past carrying her child while the younger boy looked up at me through tears before immediately burying his face against her side. I didn't know what to say to him. I wasn't sure there was anything to say at all.

"Keep moving."

The old man had stopped again.

"My tools—"

"Leave them."

The words came out sharper than I intended. He flinched slightly, glanced toward whatever he had left behind, and then nodded before continuing toward the entrance.

Another blaster shot cracked through the street. The sound was close enough that every thought immediately narrowed around it. I turned toward the road and saw movement at the far end. A pirate rounded the corner at a run, his eyes finding the cluster of civilians before they found me. His gaze moved over the mother, the children, and the injured mechanic still struggling to stay upright.

Easy targets.

I knew immediately they weren't going to make it inside in time. The mother was still too far from the entrance and the mechanic was barely managing to walk. There wasn't enough distance left between them and the pirate. I didn't stop to think about it. I moved. I stepped directly in front of them just as the pirate raised his blaster and fired. The bolt struck my chest plate hard enough to rock me backward half a step. Heat spread through the beskar while the impact echoed loudly inside my helmet. Somewhere behind me, someone screamed.

I barely heard it. All I could think about was the fact that he had fired anyway. Not at another fighter. Not at someone carrying a weapon. He had aimed at people who couldn't even run.

My hand was already moving. The knife came free from its sheath as I closed the distance between us. The pirate barely had time to react. I struck his weapon first, knocking the blaster aside, and drove the knife upward beneath his arm before he could recover. Momentum carried both of us to the ground. He made a strangled noise as the air left him and I ripped the blade free before he had even stopped moving.

Another set of footsteps hit the street. I rose immediately and turned. A second pirate stood farther down the road with his blaster already half-raised. His eyes moved from the man bleeding in the dirt to the scorch mark still glowing faintly across my chest plate.

Neither of us moved.

I didn't advance toward him and I didn't raise the knife. Instead, I took a single step backward and placed myself directly in front of the workshop entrance. Behind me I could hear the child crying. I could hear the mechanic struggling to catch his breath and someone quietly praying. The old man was saying something softly to his wife. I heard all of it.

The pirate lifted his blaster a little higher.

I remained where I was.

The knife stayed low at my side while my body blocked the entrance to the workshop and the people sheltering behind me. At that moment, the fighting in the rest of the town seemed very far away. There was only the street in front of me and the frightened people behind me.

If he wanted them, he would have to come through me first.