ARC TROOPER
Location: Kway Teow - Northern Approach.
Objective: GATE BREACH!
Allies: The Galactic Alliance; Felucian Expeditionary Forces.
Enemies: The Sith Empire.
Equipment: See Signature for Relevant Hyperlinks
NPC Complement: 212th Army Group - 7th Regiment: ~2,560 Alliance Marines.
Status: Besieging and Assaulting Kway Teow.
Morale: Steady - Partially Improving.
Objective: GATE BREACH!
Allies: The Galactic Alliance; Felucian Expeditionary Forces.
Enemies: The Sith Empire.
Equipment: See Signature for Relevant Hyperlinks
NPC Complement: 212th Army Group - 7th Regiment: ~2,560 Alliance Marines.
Status: Besieging and Assaulting Kway Teow.
Morale: Steady - Partially Improving.
As the Wolfpack advanced as fast as the rugged terrain would allow them, the Armour from the 7th moved to encircle the City. Fighter Tanks raced across the foliage, deftly weaving themselves between towering fungal spires and roving packs of insidious Graug. Some Pilots were unlucky and met their grisly end after falling prey to some improvised trap that punched through their Armour. But, for the rest, who considered themselves lucky? The Barrage mode on their Fighter Tanks didn’t only end up saving their lives, but the lives of their fellow soldiers. Their twinned cannons unleashed a rapid salvo of plasmatic bursts, turning small swathes of the forest to ash as the superheated plasma bathed their surroundings. All that remained in their wake was Scorched earth, a concept that the Sith were all too familiar with and eager to employ when the going got tough.
While utilized in microcosm, the 7th Regiment was pleased that the Sith Empire was finally getting a taste of their own medicine. Even though the damage was far from what was inflicted across the Braxtant Run or the Core Worlds.
Although not as swift as their Fighter Tank brethren, the Recon Walkers found themselves sweeping through the fungal thicket with as much mechanical dexterity that their machines could provide. They trampled the native flora underfoot as they advanced towards embattled units or sought to save those Fighter Tanks who fell prey to the dastardly tricks of the insidious Graug. Some of the Repulsortanks managed to protect themselves from their enemies’ machinations. Still, others were forced to rely on support from additional forces or perished in the process. There were even encounters of bat-like creatures beginning to harry to the outlying elements of their advance. To which the Squadrons of Recon Walkers countered with lobbed incendiary grenades and a storm of fire-linked weaponry. However, that wasn’t an outcome that was shared by every Squadron.
The unlucky ones were stolen from their towering edifices of nano-welded metal and seemingly devoured by the horrors lurking within the jungle. The Natives and Graug alike knew the terrain better than the Alliance. They exploited that advantage at every opportunity to reap a heavy toll upon the 7th Regiment and their allies. But, for every death that was confirmed or speculated through the disruption of their BattleNet, the Alliance was more than keen to avenge their fallen in whatever means were available to them. This world was rife with hostility, and all who raised a weapon against the Valiant men and women of the 7th would be gunned down as an active combatant. They had no choice, for it was either them or the enemy that lived to see the dawn of a new day. There was no moral high-ground that could be taken by either side, for that was the childish realm of politics that mattered little on the battlefield.
The only thing that mattered here was what side won out at the end of the day—nothing more and nothing less. For war... makes murderers of us all.
Considerably slower than their Recon Walker counterparts, the Tactical Enforcers found themselves storming through the fungal underbrush. Their forward cannons were utilized in clearing a path towards their various waypoint markers. Slicing down fungal trees and what remained of the highly-aggressive territorial creatures with little remorse. From a certain point of view, it was saddening that the Alliance was forced to gun down the native fauna. They were the invaders and were destroying their homes in the resounding hopes of defeating their enemy. But, again, the Alliance had no choice. The natives were stirring the local population into a frenzy and setting them loose upon the various Platoons that pushed towards the Capital. There was even an instance of a Jungle Rancor storming forth, roaring with everything it had and charged a nearby tank. Its muscles tensed and flexed as it shouldered into the cockpit, causing the armoured glass to crack. The Pilot encased within was trying everything within their power to break free. The woman threw her control sticks forwards in an attempt to overwhelm the beast with the Walker’s mechanical strength. Yet, all that action did was force the two creatures into a deadlock of nature and its artificial twin.
Such a deadlock seemingly lasted for ages, even as the Walker’s gyros started to spark and strain. Their stalemate was broken through the turret’s initiative affixed to the dorsal surface of the vehicle. The female Marine was ensconced within the turret’s protective shroud and provided fire-support for a nearby platoon with her vehicle’s firepower as the Rancor charged. She never had the chance to shoot the oncoming beast before it was too late. But, as her fellow Pilot struggled to fight back - that decision could now be remedied. She swung her turret towards the cockpit as fast as she could, an action that thwacked the Rancor’s fleshy skull with as much force and momentum that could be garnered. The beast was stunned - and stepped backwards, releasing the Walker from its deadly grip.
As soon as the front struts struck the ground, the Turret gunner opened fire at point-blank range.
Elsewhere, the distant Artillery found itself busy with a slew of danger-close fire missions as well as softening up the Capital City’s defences. Plasmatic hellfire rained down from on high, as magnetic-accelerators utilized the native forces of gravity to guide their respective payloads to their targets. Every shot was confirmed by the calculations garnered by the sight-line probes that remotely transmitted their information back to the selective bombardment line. There couldn’t be any mistakes, as one wrong number could mean that the Alliance was bombarding their own - rather than the enemy’s forces. Thus, through their countless hours of additional training, coupled with the various combat stims keeping them alert, the Artillery Company of the 7th Regiment triple-checked their numbers before pulling the trigger. When that time came - the heavens themselves were torn open, and their enemies were seemingly devastated from afar.
But, for every successful bombardment - there was fire-support that arrived too late. The 7th Regiment was the only Artillery Line that successfully deployed in the assault against the Capital; thus, their firepower was stretched extremely thin. They did their best to support the advancing forces. They couldn’t meet every request, and the Company Commander began assigning each fire mission with a certain level of priority. The demands for fire-support that seemed more urgent would receive immediate bombardment, while others were tasked to occur later. It was the best that the Company Commander could do, but sometimes… it wasn’t enough. The hard choices had to be made, and regardless of their decision - their fellow Marines died. Such thoughts would doubtlessly weigh heavily upon their conscience. Still, through their conditioning, the Unit Commander would put aside such thoughts until later. For now, their concerns were tied only to saving those that they could - and avenging those that they couldn’t.
_________________
Major Dune watched as the Capital City’s northern Gate loomed ever-closer. His Turbo Tank was slow to accelerate as soon as their paths were aligned. Still, the damned vehicle was too big to be dissuaded by any obstacles that sought to slow its momentum once achieved. Conventional tank traps, dragged into the towering vehicle’s path, were simply bashed aside by the forward energy plow and crushed beneath the vehicle’s incredible weight. It was a crude attempt to slow the barreling behemoth’s impetus, but the Alliance Marine mockingly admired their intent. A shame it didn’t work out for them, as it seemed that the closer his Tank got - the more desperate they appeared to become. It was likely they finally realized what their enemy intended to do but were too late to stop it. Thus, they shifted towards softening the blow by whatever means necessary. Sith-Imperial Legionnaires atop the Curtain wall’s parapets began raining down whatever weaponry they had at their disposal. Even going so far as towards retasking whatever light weapon emplacements towards breaking the Turbo Tank’s shields and shooting the metallic driveshafts.
The Turbo Tank’s shields flickered and flared under the brutal assault, but Tycho’s eyes were fixated on the Gate ahead of them. This was the moment where the stalemate would end; the man kept thinking to himself. Where the tide would turn in favour of the Galactic Alliance, and their month-long struggle would finally come to an end. The situation laid before him was a make-or-break moment, and it was only fitting that the Heroes of the Alliance were leading the charge. Such acts of valour would doubtlessly inspire generations to come. Through their actions, the Galaxy would be made safe and free for all living beings. Where they wouldn’t rely on the misguided decisions of the few to navigate their path, instead choosing it for themselves. They would live or die of their own volition. To men like Tycho, who had seen their fair share of the supposed ‘prosperity’ that the Sith Empire valued, such liberties were worth fighting for.
Thus, as the embattled Gate was within reach, Tycho started barking orders into the vehicle’s integrated speakers.
BRACE FOR IMPACT!
BRACE!
BRAC-
His last words were cut short as the Turbo Tank smashed into the towering edifice of metallically-reinforced bone. Through the combination of weight and gathered momentum, the Juggernaut lived up to its name. The pseudo-organic structure splintered upon contact as the Turbo Tank’s shielded plow rammed into the bottom of the Gate. When the door gave way under the sudden impact, the rest of the Juggernaut barreled its way inside the Capital City. The various weaponry that dotted the Tank’s exterior’s surface began firing at entrenched enemy positions from within their defensive perimeter - catching them partially exposed from behind. Doubtless, the entrenched Sith Imperial forces wouldn’t last long under such pressure, but the results didn’t matter as much. Mostly because they were pinned down and unable to reorientate their weaponry. Tycho smiled at that notion as he grabbed his rifle from the wall-mounted weapon rack. Significant portions of the enemy garrison around the northernmost Gate were pinned down now, which meant that his forces could exploit this newly created gap in their defences.
Such information was relayed to the Command Echelons of the attacking Alliance Forces, informing them of their attack’s success and the future deployment of their boots on the ground. It was only a matter of time until the breached Gate was claimed, and the Star-encircled Starbird billowed in the breeze high-above a liberated Kway Teow.
So, with the rifle in hand, and a Platoon of armoured Marines behind his person, Tycho descended through the spinal corridors of the massive Turbo Tank until he reached the lowermost deployment deck. Once there, the Major cycled his rifle and felt it’s lethality rise. As the weapon thrummed to life, the Marine felt his hand begin to shake. It wasn’t out of fear this time. Such notions were forever scrubbed from his thoughts by a lifetime on the frontlines. No, the man’s hand shook because of the anticipation that flooded through his veins. In many respects, the Marine was akin to a Horse locked in the starting gate. All that course through that beast’s mind was the uncontrollable desire to run. Thus, as the green light bathed his surroundings and the metallic door before him parted, Tycho rushed out of the Turbo Tank with his rifle shouldered.
His adrenals were spiking, and the Soldier felt nothing but excitement as he charged headfirst into the fray. As soon as the first step was taken from the Deployment Deck, his mobility shields flared into life as the enemy sought to gun him down. Undaunted by the oncoming assault, and the rapidly depleting shield capacity, Tycho shouldered his rifle and shouted into his Helmet’s comms. These words were rife with aetheric potential as they resonated across the encrypted channels that bound the Troopers in his proximity. When the words faded, only to be replaced by the unmeasured and wordless cries in response, the Major knew that this was the tipping point. Where the single spear thrust into the heart of the enemy would see to their defeat.
His words were simple in their concept and delivery, yet laced as they were with pride and excitement, became more powerful than the man would ever realize. His words were…
"FORWARD! FOR THE ALLIANCE!"
_________________________________
:// Setpiece Items:_________________________________
- [2] REC-TT/01 "Pernach" - Class Turbo Tank(s) - One Command, and One Transport.
- Several REC-MA/01 Mobile Artillery Platform(s); Gorgon Pattern.
- Variable Turret Loadouts.
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