Scrapping the Royal Junkyard that would be King (Open Battlefield)

[Kei Amadis]

Circarpous Sector
Gyndine System, Gyndine
Industrial Zone 12, Techheap Junk Site
Midnight - Wildfire.

Artillery shelling, a cacophony of violence raining down on their bunkers like the rhythm of a steady beating drum. It was wild and unfocused, with no real target, but was effective in damaging an already low moral. Night time, black clouds of burning metal, twisted constructs of rusting industrial skeletons in this junk field, made for makeshift cover and lines of sight. In deep again, only their third mission, the taste of asphalt was on the tongue, as dust was shaken by the hard pounding of cannon much bigger than men. Once more the nightmares of fire met stone, and once again the unit was hit from afar, the old demons of Contruum singing a new song here for their ears.

Today it was the warlord come criminal Kapesh-t and his so called Saroon guard, a private band of cut throats finally cornered in republic space, fleeing to a junk heap which was several miles across. Acting like they were a noble house, dressed in all red uniforms, they'd picked off transports and civillians for months now. The wildcards dealt in to break the lines, they'd smashed the makeshift bunkers, shattering the hardened shell of the enemy center point, with pinpointed pressure. The bunkers were theirs but they were unhappily sat in a crossfire now between what was left of the guard, which outnumbered their 30 men by at least 3 to 1.

Fortunately the high card, a squadron of twelve e-wings, orbited above, they didn't require a hanger as with most republic fighters, being jump capable. Unfortunately orbital communications were down, with just static over the speakers, nothing doing on the signal bands. Jammed again! No air support, which after contruum and the new nickname he had 105 in 5. 5 minutes, 105 pilots dead in one single attack, almost two full wings. He was loath to give another air strike order anyway, the moral of his unit at an all time low, he half doubted the navy would even come in anyway.

Through the constant shelling, eyes peering through makeshift bunker holes, the landscape around them twisting further to black and smoke, and the smell of burning all too familiar.

"PHP at two thousand meters," presumed hostile presence, closing, spotted, nothing but glints off the metal at this range. One of his six man squads called out, spread out as usual, digging in well. Breaching had been easy, now came the hard part.

"Hold your fire." Kei shouted over the echo of artillery fire still raining down on them, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, "keep it steady," Nodding to the nearby men, there were a lot of new faces, lot of good ones hadn't come back from Contruum, and that had meant a lot of funerals. After today nobody would be a new face, but there was bitterness in the air, the Wildcards needed a victory, and soon.

"PHP at one thousand meters" Crackled his earpiece, "check your targets, don't give yourself away without a clear shot," came from another commander in the field calling out. Still only glints against the buckled metal at range, the occasional sniper snapped off a shot, but nothing much save the constant pounding reminder of the cannons from afar.

Tension was in the air, the moment of contact once again close.

Spoiler

Open to anyone, or just as development. Inspiration

 

[Kei Amadis]

Thud, crack, and a closing of the eyes. A sniper shot rang true, hitting a man in a nearby squad. They were giving better than they were getting but being approached from both sides, it looked like they were badly outgunned. They'd just have to signal those e-wings some other way, there had to be a way.

"CHP's at 500 meters!" Confirmed hostile presence, out of effective range still of blasters but nevertheless shots were hitting all around them now. Having to blink out the smoke from holes left by the scorching red tips of angry biting aggressors, men come to exact a penance. Red cloaks, and flowing red robes proudly and stupidly distinguishing the enemy from the metal they hid behind.

It was almost as if he could see the shots going in slow motion, men falling, diving, praying that they'd just get that last shot off before it hit them. The Saroon were stupid to assault the wildcard's in their bunkers from the front, that had been Kei's mistake at Contruum, now reflected back against him here.

In the mix, in the thick of it, seeing the looks around him, of men and women that while not scared, had lost something at the battle of Contruum, their fighting spirit. It was in their eyes, they wanted to believe, but they'd seen so many die in their very first battle, their first taste of combat as a unit, that did something to any unit or crew. It cut him to see, breathing deep and trying to find some reason or sense of purpose. There was something, something in him and what Manu had said, it resonated.

It's not about you, man. It's about the Force. Peace despite pain, harmony despite chaos, serenity despite passion.

Artillery hitting closer to home, in danger of being overrun, no, not again, never again.

"It all comes down to who we really are. Are we going to die in a junkyard? Is that what you want to be remembered for, on the scrapheap?" Kei holstered his weapon and drew Unity instead his saber, its deep blue light hummed to life, and gave the bunker a glimmer of hope.

"No? Who's with me!" The glum looks paused, and turned to a grin, one man stood up, the same brave young rookie he had met at training those weeks ago, then a woman, then five more. Never again 105, in 5? So be it. That's how many he'd personally stop today!

 

[Dyllaefi Cridu]

If there was a mantra for Dyll's life lately, it was probably "it seemed like a good idea at the time".

Swearing violently as another artillery blast narrowly missed atomizing him, the smuggler shielded his face against the razor wind of metal shavings that exploded away from the newest crater in Gyndine's surface. Durasteel shards ripped through his jacket, opening several jagged cuts on his arms, and he swore again. That one had been far too close. Catching a glimpse of red out of the corner of his eye, Dyll sprinted toward the crater, its sides still hot from the barrage. He slid down into it and crouched at the bottom, blaster in hand and heart beating fast.

On good days he joined everyone else in looking down on battlefield scavengers. It was the work for those who had no better skills, disdained by most of the civilized galaxy as corpse-robbing. On bad days he took whatever work would get him a little closer to paying the bills. Today, Fate's Fool was grounded, its hyperdrive broken. That meant no smuggling jobs plus another major expense to pay and thus one hell of a bad day. He'd hopped a shuttle over to the latest battlefield to collect baradium cores for resale while his ship was under repair.

He'd assumed that the Republic, slow and unwieldy as it tended to be, would have no problem crushing the slavers of the Saroon Guard; they were an unusually well-equipped slaver coalition, which was why Dyll had wanted to take their stuff and the reason he didn't feel bad about doing so, but surely the 'Pub military could bring more than enough force to bear to squash any one criminal group that chose to stand against them in the open. That assumption had gotten him into trouble. The battle was ongoing, and his shuttle had been shot down.

Peering over the lip of the slowly cooling crater, the smuggler saw that the red-cloaked Saroon soldiers were getting closer to his position; the bombardment must've been meant to soften the area up before a major push. On the bright side, there was a bunker about twenty meters from him. If he could reach it, he might have a fighting chance behind its fortified walls; he wasn't much of a warrior, and out in the open he was just asking to get shot. Grabbing his bag of baradium cores, he climbed out of the crater and made a run for it.

The clouds of superheated metal kicked up by the ongoing bombardment provided him with a little cover, at least, and for a moment he thought luck must be on his side; none of the red-cloaked goons spotted him as he streaked past, breathing hard as he tried to move quickly while keeping his footing on the shifting pile of junk that made up the battlefield. But the moment passed. Ten meters from the bunker he spotted the guns sticking out of it; the place was occupied, and he was running right at it with a bag of explosives. That would look good.

Skidding to a halt, his mind seizing with panic, Dyll dropped his bag and his blaster, putting his hands in the air as fast as he could. "Don't shoot!" He shouted, desperately hoping he could be heard over the deafening thump... whiiiiiirrr... BOOOM of the Saroon artillery. "I'm a civilian!" He really hoped they were Republic in there; the Saroon were thugs who wouldn't think twice about shooting someone in their way just because he claimed to be a noncombatant. Of course, the Saroon were advancing behind him, too, and might have heard him yelling...

@[member=Kei Amadis]

 

[Kiyron]

Kiyron hunkered down lower amongst the pils of junk in which he now lay hidden, some distance from the main battlefield, listening to the roar and crash of artillery. He peered down his binocs, to zero in on the approaching red-clad troops. Too many for an open fight. He quirked a smile. Perfect. Just the type he knew.
He did some figuring. The odds were at least 5 to one against them. 150 credits say we make it. He stifled a chuckle, and aimed down the scope, scanning for an enemy commander or other such valuable target. An artillery spotter for one. He shifted over towards the main guns, adjusting the scope to zoom in closer. Or even the guns themselves. 20 to 1 against. 500 says I manage. He checked the comms again. Still static. He bit back a curse, and made a slight adjustment on his camouflage. There were no sight lines to the guns. He turned back to the advancing troops, searching for some tell tale sign of rank.
He checked the distance between the bunkers and troops. They needed more time. He considered, wiping the sweat from his forehead. There was a way. Incredibly risky. Likely to get him blow to pieces. 100 to 1 it gets me killed. He sighted in on the lead soldier, and took a slow breath, counting. He stopped. Wait. That wasn't a soldier. Some sort of smuggler by the looks of it. He shrugged, and shifted behind to the actual enemy soldiers, waiting for the right moment for them to be clear of cover. Just a few moments more...

 

[Kei Amadis]

Then that moment came.

The artillery aimed further back, still hitting the Wildcards but away from the Saroon's own advancing men. Bolden and brazen, red cloaks started filtering through the nearby scorched heaps of metal from both sides, heads down for the most part, carrying blaster carbines, rifles and the occasional heavier cannon. Heads down but still plenty to choose from for those with eagle eyes. @[member="Kiyron"]

"Alright listen up," Kei called out, Unity his saber still in the air, "today's that day, it's all on this. You know your training, you know you're better than them, three, four, five to one is nothing. We eat three to one, now get to it." Kei thumped the closest man on the helmet, and everyone got into position. Not the position on the floor, the position ready and alert, ready for anything, despite the shelling and despite some of the green meanies here today, the rookies in amongst them.

"We got a civvie here, weapons free, I need cover to get to him." Pulling the bunker door aside in the force... "Committing", came a shout from a nearby bunker, and that's about the time today really got started.

Amidst the craters, and the metal furnace in this twisted scrap heap ahead of him. All Kei saw was about five men levelling blasters at him, the lightsaber held forward, "Get down!" He shouted to @[member="Dyllaefi Cridu"], the enemy still at least three hundred meters out, he had time to deflect what came his way but it sure wasn't easy. Standing in a door which became peppered with fire, holding the lightsaber guard high, but narrowly missing more than one burning reminder of why practice made perfect.

Both sides that had waited to see each other again, erupted at the call of incoming fire. Thankfully these bunkers gave them the advantage, but facing a pincer movement by the enemy, hitting them from both sides, for just how long they had that advantage was debatable. "I can't hold them for long," he was backing back in, drawing their fire, @[member="Dyllaefi Cridu"].

A whistling shot coming in landed about thirty feet from them, sending up a huge plume of rising debris right in front of the bunkers.

"Anyone got eyes on that damned artillery yet or the spotters!" @[member="Kiyron"]

 

[Bloodknight]

Out of the crowd of blood red cloaks and robes came one garbed in a full suit of shining durasteel. He walked with a superior air and his steps, unaffected by the ruin and debris that litter the floor, were light like a predatory animal stalking it's prey yet held the weight of a prime Senator. Andreas surveyed the scene,ignoring a blaster bolt that was deflected harmlessly off his armored shoulder.
"They dare call this a battlefield? This is a mere playground, a space consumed in child's play"

Andreas gave a wistful sigh. He doubted he was needed here, in fact,the fact that he was hired for this was a grievous insult. But he had a job to do and he had already made the trip so he might as well get it over with. Suddenly, he sensed a force user. Drawing his darksaber, Andreas walks towards @[member=Kei Amadis], the flat,completely black blade of his darksaber springing to life with a crackle of black electricity and a hum softer than that of a normal lightsaber.

 

[Dyllaefi Cridu]

It was a relief to avoid being shot. Perhaps a temporary one, but a relief nonetheless.

Dyll's frantic hopes had been vindicated; the bunker was held by the Republic. A tall, broad Jedi (judging by the blue lightsaber clasped in his hands) shouted for him to get down, and the smuggler didn't need to be told twice. Dropping to the ground, he recovered his blaster and began crawling toward the 'Pub bunker. He paused only a moment to stare wistfully at the bag of baradium cores; he'd never make it trying to drag his loot behind him. It would probably be destroyed in the barrage, a day's work wasted. He'd have to find some other way to pay off repairs on Fate's Fool.

Clouds of smoke and fire erupted around him as he worked his way toward the durasteel walls of his chosen refuge, sometimes crawling on his belly, sometimes crouching and scooting along the junk piles step by uneasy step. The Jedi stood at the entrance, his saber moving so fast it seemed like a solid wall of azure light as he deflected blaster bolts harmlessly aside. Generally not a great fan of these do-gooders, perhaps because they reminded him so acutely that he was far from heroic himself, Dyll was deeply grateful that this one was here; he'd never make it without him.

Standing and sprinting the last few steps to the bunker's entrance, the smuggler found himself somewhat surprised to have arrived intact. "Thanks," he told the Jedi between gasps for breath. "Name's Felid Yal; I work for Corellian Salvage United. I owe you one." Ducking inside before anyone questioned his story, he found himself in the midst of a Republic squad, weapons at the ready. It looked like they'd taken some serious losses already; where the kriff was their air support? Still, they stood tall and proud, ready to fight to the last man to hold the bunker against the rapidly approaching line of Saroon soldiers.

Staring out at the oncoming enemy, who would no doubt try to kill everyone within the walls now sheltering him, Dyll drew his blaster. He tried to avoid fighting unless he had no other way out, but this definitely qualified as "cornered". Around him the troopers tensed, ready to repel the oncoming assault, and the smuggler readied himself at one of the empty gun ports, drawing a bead on an approaching scarlet uniform. But then he saw it: a blade made of midnight, blazing black through the smoke. His blood froze. This was why he didn't like hanging around Jedi; they attracted the wrong kind of attention.

"That doesn't look good, Master Jedi. Some sort of dark lightsaber, coming our way fast!"

@[member=Kei Amadis] @[member=Kiyron] @[member=Andreas Wintergreen]

 

[Kiyron]

Kiyron groaned, seeing the new figure stride ahead in the battlefield. Just what the day needed. Another Force User. He gave a slight shrug. Not exactly anything he could manage it. He doubted the sniper rifle could punch through the armor, let alone evade the blade. He'd have to let Kei handle that. Or, maybe even slam the door shut to try and buy some more time. Not that he wasn entirely sure the bunker door could handle it either.
He shrugged and tracked back towards the artillery, then froze. He squinted, and gave a small grin. An antenna for a comm unit. The artillery spotter. He slowed his breathing, and focused on his heart-beat, getting into the rhythm. He focused on the spot. There! A slight shift of moment, and a glint of light off a scope. A grim smile pulled at his lips. Cat and mouse. Just like home. He slowly slid the trigger to the half-way mark, taking in a deep slow breath. Another flicker of movement. The chaos of battle went quiet as he focused. He began applying gentle pressure to the trigger. Perfect. The target was in sight. He took in another breath, and released it halfway, sweat trickling down the back of his neck. He finished the trigger squeeze. A barely visible blaster bolt streaked forth, striking the spotter square in the chest, and he tumbled over onto the junk heap.
He let out the breath, and scanned the area, checking to see who might have spotted him.

 

[Kei Amadis]

"Don't thank me yet. Day's young... Can you use that thing?" He grinned to @[member="Dyllaefi Cridu"], but kept his eyes ahead, seeing what was coming. @[member="Andreas Wintergreen"], another day, another place warrior to warrior he'd have been charging out, and probably still would be by the end. Though today he had lives to save, his men, with a salute of the saber to the force user for his courage, the bunker door he was edging into was slammed shut in the force, and began to be welded sealed. Kei the solider, and commander, firmly behind it, for now... duty called.

"The board is red, and staves are high."

A switch was pressed, from behind the advancing Saroon, 1, 2, 3, 4 lines of explosives went up in rows, ripping through a couple of dozen men, burning super hot metal into sludge. These were not the unwieldy, but overwhemling numbers @[member="Dyllaefi Cridu"] might have been expecting, these were highly trained men and women, specialists at this kind of close quarters fighting. A match for other factions that had the same.

"Someone give those snipers a medal," came a shout from the back ranks at @[member="Kiyron"]. The artillery begin to slow, at least until they got their game faces back on, and someone else out front to spot. "How's it coming on the comms, speak to me," all Kei got back was a shake of the head, "damn."

The surprise trick played, they'd only be able to do it once. Now it was getting personal, and the slavers hit them with everything they had, grenades, explosives, a barrage of fire. "show that force user how the wildcards do business. Drop him." @[member="Andreas Wintergreen"], didn't face regular troopers on mass, he faced a few very well placed, pinpoint strikes. An especially hard hitting Czerka HeadBanger which could take a head off a wookie, and a sonic rifle, which warped around lightsabers, were among the shots, coming from cover in the stone. Of course the sonic grenade or two about to be rolling next to his feet, couldn't hurt either, best of all it wouldn't do much to the cover if sent back their way. Just a few troopers sure, made for a small battlefield, but damned clever ones at doing their job, those bunkers weren't going to be an easy nut to crack.

@[member="Kiyron"], the commander of the Saroon, Vanmere Invaris, entered over the ridgeline, the officers and their commander standing out, proudly in their red stripes and their noble robes. Aggressive now, enraged, because behind them came a... tank, a frelling XR-85 droid tank, nobody on intel had mentioned armor, it was only one, but one would be enough against fixed bunkers. Thankfully some of the wildcards, the eagle eyes, had the weapons to puncture its soft spots, @[member="Kiyron"]. Kei just hoped they were up to the job of disabling it before it could start picking them off.

Spoiler

Fantastic from all of you , loving it. Inspiration

 

[Bloodknight]

Andreas watched half-heartedly as the soldiers assembled before him, carrying their specialised weapons. A twinge of nostalgia hit him just then, it seemed like it was only yesterday he was stationed to defend from attackers on his home planet. Good times, good times. But it was time to focus on the here and now. Using force speed to augment his already amazing agility, the mercenary unholsters his pistol skillfuly evades the ammunition coming at him (which seemed to move in slow motion compared to him) while firing some bolts of his own, aimed with deadly accuracy at the source shooters. Behind the protection of the bunkers, the well-trained soldiers are only vulnerable while they're attacking and as such, they fall backwards one by one, either dead or incapacitated not long after they've pulled their triggers. The grenades were simply forced into the air, where they would explode. Still utilizing force speed, Andreas zoomed over to the bunker door behind which @[member=Kei Amadis] had fled, stabbing his blade through it. He deactivated it soon after, taking a deep breath. Use of such a force technique really does drain him. He proceeded to slice an Andreas Wintergreen shaped hole in the door and kick it in, allowing himself to walk into the room.

He has one job: kill any force-users. And he will not let that be thwarted by any obstacle

 

[Dyllaefi Cridu]

Could he use that thing? Dyll looked down at his blaster and wondered. It was an elegant, swooping Theed Arms design, more at home at the side of a high-stakes Sabaac player than in the holster of a soldier. He'd never fired it. In most of the situations in which he'd found himself lately its simple presence was enough to discourage trouble; in other situations, he relied on running fast and thinking faster. Stuck in a bunker on a savage, smoking, cratered battlefield, he was unlikely to end up in either camp; no one was going to give up, and there was nowhere to run.

It was with great reservations that the smuggler took up a position at one of the firing ports, peering out through the narrow view slit at the ruined junkyard beyond. Black clouds of vaporized metal obscured much of his vision, but every so often he caught glimpses of scarlet through the haze; the Saroon were getting closer in spite of the torrent of blaster fire the soldiers beside him were pumping out. But, as the distance lessened, it became clear that the Republic troops had serious advantages. Safe behind their walls, they were also deadly accurate at close range.

Blaster fire struck all around the viewports, singeing the transparisteel and filling the bunker with the sharp, acrid smell of expended tibanna gas. But the Saroon advance was faltering in the face of such determined and skilled resistance; just a little more force might turn the attack back. If not, Dyll told himself, they'd be overrun. He would die, or rot in a slaver prison for the rest of his days. He wasn't going to let that happen. Fitting his blaster to the viewport, he flicked off the safety and thumbed the mode selector over to burst fire. He sighted down the barrel, seeking targets.

A moment's search later his eye alighted on a burly Nikto, several of his facial horns broken off and tattoos adorning his sneering face. Breathing out slowly, as he'd seen the others do, Dyll squeezed the trigger. His first burst went wide, kicking up steam two meters from his red-armored foe. The Nikto's heavy rifle swiveled toward him, and crimson flashed across the viewport at forehead level. Panic spoiled his next shot, sending it into the smoky air. But the third burst took the Nikto straight-on, five shots moving up his chest to finish at his chin. The alien toppled, his face pulverized.

Kriff, Dyll reflected, simultaneously horrified and in awe. Killing people is easy. No fanfare. No slow motion. Just boom. Dead.

But even as the Saroon advance faltered, the troopers withdrawing toward... was that a tank? Kriff. Even as they regrouped at their heavy support, probably now planning to level the bunker instead of capturing it, the man with the dark blade reappeared, closing in fast on the Republic troops. Impossibly fast. Casually evading the heavy weapons directed at him, he sent blaster bolts directly through the viewport gaps. Dyll was still gaping as those bolts started hitting home; the shots were going through holes barely as big as a blaster barrel. It should've been impossible.

The smuggler was lucky enough to be at the end of the line of viewports, and by the time shots came his way he'd had a moment to recognize what was happening. He pulled away just in time, feeling the heat of the blast as it skimmed the back of his right hand and impacted the wall behind him. Looking up, he watched as that dark lightsaber (was that an oxymoron?) began to cut through the sealed bunker door. Nope, he was still going to die, and after all that trouble. If only he could move fast, get the kriff out of here. But maybe he could still think fast...

The trooper with the Czerka HeadBanger was hit, but he'd been lucky; his shoulder armor had taken the brunt of the blast. Dyll's paramedic instincts told him the man would be fine. Still, he'd dropped his heavy weapon. Scurrying over, Dyll dropped his blaster and snatched the big gun up in both hands, the weight nearly throwing him off balance and pulling him to the ground; the thing was heavy as kriff all. Turning on the spot, he aimed it at the spot where the mysterious attacker was slicing through the door. "Take cover!" Bracing himself for recoil that still left him flat on his backside, he opened fire.

The massive HeadBanger round struck the chunk of durasteel the Sith was slicing through just as he finished. The heavy shell's impact sent the entire improvised doorway, which had to weight several hundred pounds, flying backwards at twenty meters per second. It had basically become a speeder truck; anything it struck would be squashed like a bug on a windshield. And the Sith had been standing directly behind it in order to cut it out...

@[member=Kei Amadis] @[member=Kiyron] @[member=Andreas Wintergreen]

 

[Bloodknight]

Cutting through that door was taking longer than expected. A man could have dropped his weapon, found a bigger one, picked it up and aimed it and he would still be cutting through the door. The force screamed danger. Curiously activating the tactical vision of his HUD, turning the walls and door in front of him into a red transparent mass, he saw just that. @[member=Dyllaefi Cridu] was seen as a skeleton outlined in the red of his heat signature. Multiple notifications appeared on the HUD, giving him information on a bunch of miscellaneousity like heart rate, criminal records, etc. but most important of all: the weapon he was now holding, glowing green on the grid.

Andreas put all his weight on his rear foot and jumped to the side, his darksaber sliding out along with him. The door before him exploded outwards while he was still in the air. Fire and flaming shrapnel surged forth, slowed only because of the force push simultaneously applied to them by Andreas. Nevertheless, he was hit by some, the thermal gel underneath the durasteel absorbing what blunt force that traveled through the enhanced plates. . Andreas landed with a skid in the ground and looked to where he once stood

Normally, the mercenary would have delighted in the fact someone was man enough to face him one on one, but right now, he was an unwanted distraction. He pressed his back against the wall, out of sight. No doubt, the man would think he was dead and may come out to check. He'll be waiting for him. He deactivated his darksaber and kept it in his hand

 

[Kiyron]

Kiyron groaned. Cursed Gundark ears! Three targets. All as difficult. He scanned the troops again. Some were peering his way from behind cover. He had one, maybe two shots before they got close to pinning down his location. Not to mention he'd need to switch out the ammo to load the rifle with ammunition that could punch through the armor. He chewed his lip, glancing from the tank to the commander. Which one? ​Which one? He did some calculating. The commander. It was the only choice at the moment. But it would give the tank time to hit the bunkers. Sweat burned his eyes. He blinked it out, and ran his sleeve across his forehead. He swallowed, and zeroed in on Vanmere. A tricky shot, given distance, conditions, and very little visibility. He took a long, slow breath. He could this.
He zoomed in more, and checked the wind, trying to gauge the variance between him and the target. Nervousness knotted itself around his stomach, and he felt the cold trail of sweat dripping down his neck. 1000 credits say I make it. He clenched his jaw, and then released it. He took in another slow breath, and half-released it. Then slid the trigger back, at a speed that seemed incredibly slow. The rifle fired, and he tracked the beam through the scope until it vanished in the haze.
Kiyron swallowed, and wriggled back out of his hiding spot to the bottom of the junk heap. It was too dangerous to stay in that spot now. He started crawling along the bottom of the junk heap, trying to spot a better position. There was one. Quite a distance to crawl though. He shrugged, and tucked the stock of the rifle in his elbow and started crawling through the reeking mud.

 

[Kei Amadis]

Metal meets man, fragments, becoming knives at some of the explosive rounds being used, the only reminder that men were once there was the cloaks covering their bodes as they fell. The bunkers were holding up but not unscathed, all bearing their own scars and now looking at the very real threat of a tank head on. The civillian impressed him with how he handled himself in the middle of this situation, rising to the challenge, and the shattering of the door from @[member="Dyllaefi Cridu"], caused Kei to hold fast to the wall avoiding the debris from the massive round. "Nice shot" @[member="Dyllaefi Cridu"], he grinned "you can handle yourself. Everyone wait here i'll check on the body. Keep that door covered."

Standing in the doorway again, saber in hand ahead of him in a high guard, Kei became the door to his men, their shield, feet planted firmly on the ground, like a rock, deflecting shots with powerful Djem So swings. He advanced steadily, keeping low to avoid most of the blaster shots whizzing by. Certainly not their only target, the firefight reaching its apex around them, which brought its own hazards to everyone as projectiles, and blaster bolts went both ways, sailing over his head. Bursts of flamethrowers responded forward to anyone bold enough to try and get a grenade in the bunkers, and fast firing blaster carbines sent volleys of fire to cut down any Saroon moving to surround them.

Reaching out, point to point, moment to moment, how Kei viewed the force, the connections. Kei traced back the darksider's actions, no sign of him physically, something wasn't right, there should at least be a body. Unity was held out ahead of him, and standing behind a pillar of metal he reached his full height, leaning against it for cover. "Hide and seek?" He goaded, hoping to get anything that might be alive to come out, he couldn't tell if he was alive or dead, but it was worth a shot to play off any temperament. @[member="Andreas Wintergreen"]

Some of wildcards were hit, the cover was peppered at this point by closing aggressors. Thankfully a cheer erupted from around the bunkers, there was wavering moral from the Saroon, as their commander was picked off by an eagle eye, @[member="Kiyron"], Vanmere now stone cold seemingly. Someone was getting a medal after this. The red cloaked men were in disarray for a short while, and the tank halted, its droid driver popped the hatch to have a look at the prone commander, and critically they paused. Till the remaining officer in front directed the droid gunner at their bunkers.... rallying his men to look for the sniper. They had seconds before these bunkers began to go bye bye. The Saroons just needed to keep them pinned, exactly as they were.

Cavalry scouting ahead, E-wings on approach above the junkyard, still had no orders, just silent static greeted them over the comms. The communication techs in the bunkers were trying very hard to sort out just why this was happening, when a pulse somewhere to the left gave it away eventually, a miniature 220 Sig Jamming device variant, carried by a very burly looking man on his back, one more target for the eagle eyes. "Eyes open we've got a jammer west by north west!" Came a shout, passed across the front lines, whispered and called to any that could help. That tech, or the device on his back, was probably more important than the tank driver or officer. Another tough call, who to hit first? Especially with time running out till the Saroon found their main sniper. @[member="Kiyron]

 

[Bloodknight]

"Hide and Seek?"
The jedi's words were caught by the audio enhancers in Andreas's helmet, the HUD notifying him of 27 people in the surrounding area with the vocal structure capable of producing such a tone. He dismissed the useless information, his tactical vision was still activated and he could see @[member=Kei Amadis] clearly through the three pillars between them. How serendipitous that his target be the one to show himself.

Without warning, the world around him distorted like pieces of a puzzle being moved around haphazardly as his tactical vision was abruptly disturbed by an EMP. Turning off his HUD, Andreas gave a mental shrug,he didn't need it for this anyway. Time to put his expert marksmanship to use. He drew his pistol and aimed it. Soon as he pulled the trigger a bolt shot out,ricocheting off several precise points to finally come at Kei from his left while he ran towards him on his left. Doubtless, the jedi would simply deflect the bolt with his lightsaber,but to do so he'd have to turn to his right and he may even be under the illusion that the attacker is to his right. By that time,Andreas would already be behind him (Matukai training among other things has rendered his speed to extreme levels) and he will aim a kick right at his back, which should knock him on his face.

 

[Dyllaefi Cridu]

Flat on his back, his ears ringing and his shoulders aching from the heavy gun's discharge, Dyll managed to crack a grin; he had handled himself pretty well, and he was proud to have a Jedi recognize it. "Thanks," he said, hauling himself to his feet and retrieving his pistol. Moving over to the fresh hole he'd blown in the door, the edges still hot from the lightsaber's molten passage, he pressed his back against the wall beside it, blaster steadied in both hands. The bunker was relatively intact and still in Republic hands, but the battle raged on. The outcome remained uncertain.

The smuggler considered staying in position to cover the jagged impromptu entrance, but one look at the Republic troopers convinced him it was unnecessary; they had the situation well in hand, ready to annihilate anything that stepped through in a 180 degree field of concentrated blaster fire. There were more useful things he could do. Moving over to the soldiers who'd been hit by the Sith's sudden and impossibly accurate attack, Dyll dug his emergency medkit out of his jacket and got to work. He couldn't close injuries instantly like a Jedi healer, but he could certainly help.

Three years of experience with CorSec's emergency medical responders had taught him a lot about treating the sort of injuries he saw here; blaster burns and broken bones were common in Coronet's rougher areas, and shrapnel wasn't all that different from broken glass from a bar fight. His medkit only had so much in it, as it was really only meant for patching himself up in an emergency, but he used what he had; for the next few hours at least he would live or die with these men and women. Quickseal splints and medical foam, adhesive patches and FastFlesh, he used it all.

It felt good to be working with his hands again; it took him back to better times, to the days he'd spent with his friends on Corellia. He'd been so sure then that things would work out just the way he wanted. He'd spent his days in study and his nights cruising Coronet's neon-lit streets in a medical speeder, doing his part to make the galaxy a little better. He remembered Talyn Tarn, his fellow first responder, with her fiery hair and ready laugh, and all the craziness they'd been through together. He'd been about to propose to her the night he'd heard about his parents' accident.

He'd dropped his job then and there, pawned the ring as costs mounted, trying so hard to take care of his own. The things he'd done to save his family, dirty jobs that got people hurt and killed, would always haunt him, but none would hurt quite as much as leaving Talyn behind, standing at the spaceport in the evening rain. Shaking his head, Dyll brought himself back to the present, to the roar of artillery and the whine of dozens of blaster rifles. He would soon be out of supplies, back to shooting the Saroon to save himself. These same hands killed and healed.

He just hoped that the Sith, or whatever he was, was really dead. And that the tank wouldn't level the bunker and make all his work for nothing.

@[member=Kei Amadis] @[member=Kiyron] @[member=Andreas Wintergreen]

 

[Kiyron]

Kiyron froze as blaster bolts whined overhead. They were getting close. He wriggled faster, wincing as the muck splashed up on his face. He spat some out, hoping it wasn't toxic. There. A better vantage point with some decent cover. He rose to a crouch and sprinted as much as he could, although it ended up more like a waddle.
He dove down behind the pile of rusted and snapped metal. He cursed as a piece of shrapnel punched through his leg armor. 10 to 1 it gets tetanus. He dragged himself closer to the junkpile, and and set his rifle down. With quick, fluid movements, he began disassembling the chamber, and replaced it with a larger one for anti-armor sniping.
He dragged himself through the tangled junk to slowly reach the top, where he could look down on the battlefield. He scanned it with the binocs real quick, to gauge what had changed. He squinted, and then zoomed in. A jammer? Where in blue blazes did they get that? He switched over to the scope, wincing as the moment sent shooting pain through his leg and side.
He swallowed, and nestled the stock in his shoulder, taking a deep breath before looking through the scope and setting his sights on the jammer. He paused, thinking. Jammer or carrier? That was a relatively easy one. Destroy the jammer and it can't be used anymore. Kill the person and someone might pick it up. He checked the wind again, and adjusted to the side.
The world blurred a little. He gave a slight shake of his head, trying to clear it. The world wavered. He closed his eyes, squeezing them tight, before opening them, and squeezing off the shot.

 

[Kei Amadis]

One well placed shot, just one and the battle turned. Communications went up! @[member="Kiyron"]'s, and the others headsets on again, chatter was all over the place at first till it settled. "High Cards clear to roll the ball, on coordinates 2,5,Alpha 9,1A, I say again drop it all on 2,5 Alpha 9,1A." Angry angels soaring, the highcard's fighters were still inbound, causing a roar of acknowledgement overhead when they changed direction. On the ground the Saroon were getting really close to @[member="Kiyron"], at least a couple of them, heavy footsteps crunched metal to give them away. At the front of this scrapheap, of metal and men, one beleaguered remaining officer pressed the Saroon forward, wavering badly, it wouldn't take much. The battle was on a knife edge, and it all depended on the next few minutes.

"We need reinforcements on our position and evac on these bunkers for the wounded." The remaining squad leaders were trying to direct things, hectic as it were, @[member="Dyllaefi Cridu"], had saved a lot of men and women patching them up, getting more than one appreciative thank you. The tank though, its barrel moved, staring straight down the bunker. "They've almost overrun our sniper's position! Can't get anyone out to cover them! Need a distraction!" @[member="Dyllaefi Cridu"]

E-wings riding in fast and low like the cavalry, in waves of 4, close to the ground as they could, risky but then the wildcards didn't play the game safe when lives were on the line. Bombs were released in a line pattern of 4... and then the tank fired. The bunker shook, its foundations taking a great big hit, did it hold? Did it shatter? Kei couldn't see from where he was, only those inside the first bunker would know, if they were still alive, smoke rising from somewhere behind him.

Already ducking the tank's blast, Kei sidestepped left from @[member="Andreas Wintergreen"]'s pistol shot, which meant the kick ended up hitting his arm painfully and causing a nasty bruise, one thing about the man Andreas just kicked is, he didn't go down easy, stubborn would be an understatement. Stumbling forward, through the flashes of light, the firefight which threatened to hit either one of them. Kei force pulled the metal sheet down behind him. Bending the metal cover down from on top of Andreas's, and trying to sheer him. Pushing or pulling the jagged shard along the ground if it missed to try and roll the metal right over Andreas when he evaded, forcing him to respond to it, and buying time.

A few more solid steps, took Kei into another piece of roofless metal cover. He span around, and a Djem So Guard went up, in a high two handed style, tensing his fists at the outpouring of the force. Kei's beam was inverted, angled diagonally down and to the right, an attack stance, facing his opponent, and watching the blaster shots exchanged from the two forces between them. Ready, adrenaline pumping through the muscles. How would @[member="Andreas Wintergreen"] get across the fire fight to him and attack? It was an advantage of position to the defender, Kei expected a jump, fully ready to dodge if the man did the same thing to him with the metal, the padawan was expecting one or the other, ready for them.

"Lay down your arms now, and you can still walk away," Kei called, watching aside Unity's blue beam, assuming the mantle of the Jedi's restraint once again. The Epicanthx breathed deep of the force and was remembering what it meant to be a Jedi, despite the fact his techniques might be need some toning down, lethal as they sometimes were inclined to be. Annoyingly his earpiece to hear what was going on anywhere else, had been fried along with his opponent's systems, he just hopped they were alive in that bunker.

Spoiler

Andreas are we writing this out as if your character was a paddi or a knight since the upgrade? Bordering the two would make sense as he started a paddi.

 

[Dyllaefi Cridu]

Dyll had long believed that he'd used up all his luck a few years back. The first quarter-century of his life had been perfect, far better than what trillions of sentients across the galaxy could even hope for; a loving family with plenty of money and the opportunity to go wherever and do whatever he wanted. But since his parents' accident it seemed to him that nothing could go right. His ship was always breaking down, his business partners were always double-crossing him, and his creditors were always hounding him, taking away what little he managed to earn.

That day, though, he had to admit that there must be some luck left in his life. Not as much as he would've liked, but some.

Leaning over to slather a blaster burn in anti-inflammatory foam, Dyll happened to glance up at the viewports and spy the other soldiers diving for cover. They didn't even have time to shout, just hitting the deck and clasping their hands over their heads. The smuggler felt reflex take over; his mind was moving too slowly, and only instinct could save him. Before he'd even registered what was going on he'd pushed the trooper he'd been working on to the ground, shielding her with his body while trying to get what cover he could for himself. An instant later, it happened.

The world dissolved into flame, a flash of light and heat so intense Dyll thought he must've been thrown into a sun. He felt his jacket catch fire as the concussion wave forced him down hard on the battered armor of the trooper beneath him, knocking the wind from his lungs. It was too hot to breathe; he wheezed, desperate for air, as molten metal shavings cascaded down on him, leaving fist-sized burns and bruises across his back. Wriggling frantically, he managed to shake off his coat, throwing it aside to burn quietly in a corner. And then, all at once, it was over.

Finally managing to draw a ragged breath, Dyll rolled off of the woman he'd done his best to protect and crashed to the ground, his singed and battered skin screaming in agonizing protest as it pressed against the durasteel. He was staring up at the sky, full of smoke and the scent of blood, and after a moment he realized why. The tank's heavy cannon had aimed just a little bit too high; it'd taken the roof clean off the bunker, but it hadn't blown the structure completely apart. Everyone was covered in hot durasteel rubble, more battered even than before, but alive.

Why had he interposed himself between that trooper and the explosion? Why had his reflex been to risk himself to save someone he'd never even been introduced to? If he died, then everything he'd done, all of the moral compromises and unsavory deeds he'd had to do to save his family, would've been for nothing. He couldn't afford a conscience. And yet the memory of those days when he was a bright-eyed paramedic, sure he could make the galaxy a better place, refused to lay down and die. Deep down, no matter what he told himself, he wanted to do the right thing.

The trooper he'd covered, a Mirialan with short-cropped dark hair, deep emerald skin, and diamond-shaped tattoos beneath her eyes, leaned over him anxiously. It took him a moment to realize she was talking; he was pretty sure his eardrums had been blown out. He shook his head, tapping his ears, and she nodded. Moving around to kneel beside his head, she laced her arms under his and grabbed him around the chest, hauling him to his feet braced against her. Slowly, gently, she began the process of half-dragging and half-supporting him out of the ruined bunker.

@[member=Kiyron] @[member=Kei Amadis] @[member=Andreas Wintergreen]

 

[Kiyron]

Kiyron froze as he heard the crunch of footsteps around his cover. Not good. Not good. Not good at all. He ducked as the tank blew the roof off the bunker, a cold solid knot forming in his gut. He could have prevented that, had he not focused on the commander and jammer. There'd been plenty of time to take the tank out. He reloaded quickly, watching the tank, and listening to the soldiers looking for him. He slipped his pistol from its holster and set it beside him, before sighting in on the tank again. This at least he knew he couldn't miss. The key would be hitting it somewhere with weaker armor that had critical components beneath. He had one shot. Then the soldiers around would locate him and he'd be too busy to fire on the tank.
He paused, thinking, and ran through what he'd learned in training. He set the crosshairs on where the weak spot should be. He squeezed the trigger again, and waited for the recoil to stop before grabbing his pistol up and swinging it around to fend off the nearby soldiers. He bit back a cry as pain shot up his leg, and his arm buckled.