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"Have I ever seen a gaggle of savages so putrid?" Morrow asked no one in particular as he scanned the fighting with a pair of electrobinoculars. Talking to himself, or rather, thinking out loud was a habit that was slowly grating on contingent of soldiers he'd be assigned to work with. An odor akin to Bantha's shit would have been far less off-putting. His rangefinder droned steadily as it scanned over every blemish and nuance of the hardly-distant conflict.
"Captain, status."
There was no response. Captain Rickert was still tuning the Knight out. His inquiry didn't register as anything more than background noise.
"Captain?"
"Oh," Rickert stammered, slowly processing what he'd heard though hadn't really listened to. Phlegm rattled at the behest of an expulsion. Throat cleared he reported, "Status is: fucked, Ostarion."
"Elaborate."
"No contact with over a dozen companies. Manpower estimates for Maw forces are continually rising."
"19th Company?"
"Broken Arrow on their position. Not a trace of 'em when reinforcements came."
Morrow sighed with frustration, sneering behind the rangefinder. "Couldn't even handle sitting and waiting. Why do we put women in charge of anything?"
Rickert wasn't sure if that was a thought or an actual question. "People are dying out there and you've got nothing to say outside of being sexist?" The Captain wasn't particularly passionate about issues of sex, although his wife was a naval officer. Their vows must have specified something about all slights being mutual.
"Report me," Morrow dismissed.
"Maybe I will. I don't know who thought it was a good idea to put some wacko glowstick like you in command of this op."
"If you want to cry, go out in the rain where no one will see your tears."
Rickert scowled, fingers twitching as he resisted the urge to ball them into a fist. He took a deep breath, telling himself that Morrow was lucky that they were at war and all their lives were on the line. Assured himself that if things were different, that greasy haired, cave-dwelling, smug little weirdo would be getting the business. He had half a mind to-
"It is almost time."
Morrow's proclamation halted Rickert's thoughts and drew the attention of his men. Lithe, pale fingers pulled a cord from the rangefinder, plugged it into Rickert's still-in-hand datapad. AR projections of their flanking route and expected positions, as well ass predictive simulations of the ongoing skirmish overtook the hud of every visor in the company.
Rickert looked over the data, begrudgingly accepting Morrow's intel and plan as legitimate. "Alright boys, 19th Company is no longer in the picture, thus our planned flanking maneuver will prove more challenging and deadly."
"Borderline suicide, but it's the best we have."
"Suicide?" Rickert blinked. "This isn't the time to jerk us around."
"I wouldn't. The plan was predicated on 19th Company's survival. Even with the adjustment, we only have a sliver of advantage."
"We've made it out of holes deeper than a Coruscant cemetery time after time. They don't call us the Death Divers for nothing. We can handle it." The clamor of bravado and wartime optimism from the wider company agreed with a thunderous harmony. Mention of an almost suicide mission seemed entirely mundane to the men and women of the Death Divers.
"For all of your sakes, I hope this isn't hollow swaggering, otherwise there isn't going to be a 20th Company when this is over." Morrow stepped up onto a collection of cinder bricks and climbed to the top of the trench where he had once peered from. "An opportunity is presenting itself," he remarked as he gazed unaided to the distant clash. "Get ready."
"You heard the glowstick, on your feet!"
Weapons and equipment were made ready. Soldiers fell into rank and formed up for an advance. At the signal of a pale saber pointing them forward, the Death Divers dove into the mouth of hell.
War, death, rebirth. Mawite war sermons were on every public frequency available. Jalter sat next to his TIE, hopelessly flicking through comms channels hoping to find something else. Eventually he gave up, opting for the sounds of a distant, but ever nearing battle over the blood-crazed heathen priests. Jalter leaned back against the solar wings of the TIE and closed his eyes, trying to forget the dire situation they were in. As he sat there his 2IC walked in, datapad in hand. No doubt this is their next flight plan.
"How's Lieutenant Syren." Jalter said as he walked over.
Crater looked up and replied. "Boxer's on a ship out of here, Doc says she might lose her hand but she'll more than likely pull through."
Jalter leaned forward slightly and woke himself up. "She's one of the lucky ones then, eh?" he said with a slight chuckle. "Anyone else showed up since we made it back from the last run?"
The TIE pilot shook his head. "It's just you and me sir. Except for Boxer everyone else is dead or missing."
Bomber Flight of Darkstar were brought in during the previous month to help out with finishing up the evacuation. Like many of the other units here, they're casualty rate had shot through the roof, now only down to two combat effective pilots and their bombers. With a sigh Jalter stood himself up and grabbed his helmet, securing it tightly on his head. "What's the mission this time then?" Volff asked.
"The usual." Crater said before handing the flight plan datapad to the Captain. "We're to head to the frontline and bomb the hell out the mawites, keep them away from the spaceport. Along with what's left from Boxer's TIE we should have enough ordnance for it." he said before waiting for Jalter to reply. The captain simply had his eyes glued to the flight plan, going over every detail. Crater turned to his TIE Bruiser and began climbing in. "Cheer on up sir, it'll be just like Borosk."
The veteran TIE pilot grinned under his helmet at those words. "I got shot down over Borosk you ass." he said before turning towards his own Bomber and ascending the ladder into the cockpit. Jalter began his pre-flight checks and his fingers danced across the controls of the Bomber. The Bomber began humming as its engine was brought to life. As the engine came to life Jalter took out the datapad with the flight plan on it and plugged it into the ship's droid brain. Just as Crater had said the objectives we're plain and simple, stall the Maw with whatever they had, the spaceport cannot fall.
Jalter took hold of the Bomber's joysticks and the TIE Bruiser slowly lifted into the air. Jalter watched as Crater's bomber mirrored his own, both Bombers lifting until they were 30 meters above ground. "Follow me in." Jalter said before pushing forward on the throttle and pulling back on the stick, sending the bomber into the sky at a 45 degree angle. The iconic screech of craft from the TIE line filled the air. Eventually the two bombers sat high in the sky above the battle below. Jalter looked up out of his cockpit, watching as in high atmosphere the Maw ships began their descent past what had remained of the NIO blockade.
The situation was not looking good, he knew it, everyone knew it. Even through Crater's jokes in the seaport he could get a feel he was worried. They were dead men walking, or in this case, flying. Jalter switched over his comms to the NIO frequencies and spoke. "All units, Brawler 3-1, Checking in, 2-ship TIE/HB Bruisers, 9 nm north-east of Belisarius, flight level 170, 24 concussion bombs, 20 plasma bombs each, 16 proton torpedoes each , 1 heavy laser cannon each, 3 hour 30 min playtime, abort code in the clear. Ready 9-line" he said before changing comms back over to Crater.
"Now we wait, until someone calls in a request, or that Mawite fleet lands on our head and all hell breaks loose." he said solemnly, looking back up to the Maw ships.
Eight Guns at the End of the World Engaging: Moon Children swarms, the 909th
"Trooper! Are they moon kids or aren't they?!" "I-I can't tell, they're too f-fast-" "Oh for the love of- give 'em here."
And Mav pulled the binocs from the private's grip. Putting a hand on the kid's bucket, he shoved him back down into the trench before holding the binocs to his visor. In time he saw them- moving between cover and trenches quickly, staying low and in the dugouts to avoid getting picked off.
With a snarl, Mav slid back down to the bottom of the trench. His fellows waited for his report in a nervous half-circle. These troopers hadn't been under his command 3 days ago... now he was the only one in the squad's survivors with special ops training. Every man and woman had their helmet on their heads. Mav had never seen most of their faces. Two were wounded, but they weren't lying down. That wasn't a luxury they had now.
"They're not scavs." Mav spoke in the same hushed tone they'd all been using since the first wave had hit. "They're too careful to be moon children, and all wearing plasteel. From how fast they're moving, I'd say jump-packs. Upside is I only saw 10 or so, and they're not coming right at us, I don't think they know we're here."
Looks were exchanged, which was remarkably easy to do in a helmet if you'd worn one long enough. "Sir, there are only 8 of us here. How is 10 of them an upside?"
"Well, I figure with the element of surprise I can take at least 3, so that just leaves the rest of you slackers to pull your weight and bag your body." Mav looked around to see if the levity had earned a reaction, before jumping back in. "C'mon, I just told you, they don't know we're here."
"Yeah, some comfort."
Mav threw his hands up at this remark, looking at the guilty man with a cocked head. "This is our job, trooper." He scanned the others, and took a breath. "Alright nerf-herders, listen. I know you're hungry, wet, cold, and tired. Guess what? I am too. That's the kriffing job. What's weird to me is this- I think some of you have gotten it in your heads that we're going to die today. I don't know where that crazy notion came from, but need I remind you; battles do not kill soldiers. Battles get soldiers paid. You wanna guess what gets soldiers killed, Cyra?"
The rookie looked up from her hands where she was sitting. She eyed Mav for a moment, before scoffing into her helmet comlink, "Is it laziness?"
"Hey! Look who just earned herself my last ration bar!" And he tossed her the wrapped foodstuff he'd pulled from his belt. "Soldiers die when they do their jobs poorly. But we're not feeling lazy today, are we folks? We're gonna shape up, keep it tight, and run this like any other op. How we looking on weapons?"
Oril, the Twi'lek with the custom helmet that let his headtails out the back, hefted a rotary cannon with a grunt. "The BAW is rarin' to go. We've also found an Owl and- get this? Another CF6, so plus yours, hoss? We got us two concussion rifles. 'Course the rest of us will be using our service rifles, but with all the extra ammo we've found, we should be set for days."
Mav smiled wide and let it show in his voice. "Well alright! See? Things are looking up."
He shouldn't have said anything.
There was a blur of motion, and a guttural howl that nearly drowned out Cyra's screaming. Three different rifles plugged the moon child that had taken a chunk out of the woman's arm, but even as it fell dead two more were crawling into trench, and then a fourth and a fifth pounced in.
"Karabast!" Mav drew his sidearm to plug one of the jumpers, but was too slow on the scav headed straight for him. It bowled him over and began raking at his visor with a horrid gauntlet of jagged metal. The scraping was deafening and hurt to listen to as Mav struggled to wrestle the crazed corpse off. That's what these were. Not people. Just bodies filled with insane energy.
Oril appeared, swinging the BAW cannon like a hammer to sweep the lunatic off of Mav in one motion, who jumped to his feet to empty his sidearm's cell into the thing's head.
Coming to himself, Mav looked around their little trench. 6 dead moon kids- Cyra had plugged a latecomer with her good arm. Breathing heavy, she looked up with a wince and asked "Ya think they know we're here now?"
Mav looked to Oril and shrugged. It had been a lot of noise. The Twi'lek scampered to the top of the trench to peer over and check.... and caught a faceful of plasma for his trouble. He tumbled right back to the bottom of the trench.
"Oril!" "NO!" "I'm alright, I'm good, glanced off, no breach."
As if the surprise attack hadn't been enough of a scare. Mav breathed out a shaky sigh of relief as he seized the man's hand to pull him to his feet. "Whaddya say we pay 'em back for that real quick?"
"Oh, I'ma do 'em one better." And Oril crested the trench once more, spinning up the BAW's rotary barrels as he climbed. The moment he peered over, a heavy stream of red light was flashing from his gun. "EAT IT, SCUMSUCKERS!"
Mav was right behind him, pulling his concussion rifle from his back to sight the oncoming jumptroopers. "Whoever has the Owl, sit on the opposite ridge and wait for someone important-looking to show! I want all service rifles on full auto! We've got more than enough ammo, and I wanna use it all! GIVE 'EM HELL!"
And with a thundering roar, the blast of Mav's concussion rifle blew apart the front of a hillside the enemy had disappeared behind. Another barrel joined in, then another, until eight guns flashed from the crest of the foxhole. They wanted a war? Here it was.
The trench symphony of brutal slaughter reverberated through the field of battle between Primus and Forward Base Belisarius. It was a glimpse into the most hellish hells, this field of battle. Broken earth scoured with mud, blood and bones piling high to fill the craters pocked through the field by artillery and ordinance.
Each glare down the battlefield was haunting, foreboding to the soul. At least, it would be to any mere mortal. The Khot Vong were cut from a different cloth...or hardly cut from cloth at all. They relished in this circus of suffering and anguish, lovingly going forth in the crusade of the apocalypse that they sought.
The first trench they emerged into was a sickening sight. Vibro axes and power picks digging into the bones and sinew of the clammoring 117th Stormtroopers who rushed to put up a dogged defense as the Khot Vong turned traditional engines and tools of labor into brutalist machines of death. One of the prized weapons, the rock cutter being hefted up by one of the three armed mutant Khot Vong before the hydraulic heavy metal claws pried open before caving in the chest of a stormtrooper and clamping down to shatter betaplast, bone and burst out the insides of the man in an explosion of gruesome gore around them as they chanted in Vong to accompany each maneuver and tactic being employed as they worked through the corridors of gore with barbaric brutality infused with a cold, machine-like efficiency with each slain trooper seeing the emotionless, pale white gaze of the Sithspawned mutants before them.
In the shadow of the forward assault, Kalyptos followed them all, his gaze buried in the shadow of his violet cowl and robes beneath the environmental industrial mining armor adorned with the ornate finery fit for his position.
He walked a slow, foreboding pace as the Battlemind, his trusted confidant and one of the few Khot Vong who could ring together the others in unquestioned obedience spoke to the Sith master.
"They didn't suspect our emergence here...we'll continue until each and every one of them is to put to the slaughter." The Battlemind said, each word being spat out with venom coating each word between his gruesome, greenish maw.
Kalyptos nodded once, motioning a hand forward.
"Belek tiu!"
The commander cried out, hefting his vibro axe, flicking the weapon to life before the strained cry sounded out from another Khot Vong further down the line, the Neophyte finishing his exclamation in the Vong tongue with a high, diaphramic scream that acted as the Void's common sound of alarm between them to signal the presence of the enemy.
They were being flanked.
Immediately, Kalyptos could begin to sense the presence of another adherent to the Force present on the field. No Jedi, no. But he would put him down all the same.
As the Battlemind stomped forward to take command of his horde and mount a defense- Kalyptos sought, the other.
The proud knight that would meet his blade and have his form flayed apart for his comrades to bear witness to.
The Death Divers piled down atop the Children of the Void, a match fit for the battle it gave. The defiant Stormtroopers taking to arms against the brutalist Khot Vong neophytes. Butt stocks bashed against skulls as power picks caved in chests in nigh choreographed brutality.
Spotting the shimmer of the argent blade emerging amongst the smoke and dust of the battle, Kalyptos surged in Morrow's direction.
That impending sense of dread and overwhelming darkness might've met the Knight before he ever laid eyes upon the High Prophet who immediately sought to rip the fighting spirit of the Knight away as he sent a violent burst of violet lightning from the tips of his fingers splayed out in a nigh talon like grasp of the air as he let the Sithspawned darkness flow through him, made manifest in energetic rage upon the Knight as he approached further with slow, foreboding steps.
All the while his pale gaze was trained on Morrow's eyes, unflinching, unmoving, and certainly unnerving in his advance.
In unfettered silence, Kalyptos honed in on his prey as his other hand fished for the curved, golden hilt of his saber, ready to riposte the undoubtedly inevitable violent response of the Knight.
Mercy continues to reflect on the progress they have made with Kallan.
After the call, she reaches Mongrel's mind; Keilara and Kallan can finally greet each other, and their minds intertwine as well.
In the "basement", Ziare is glad to see the real Kallan again and says she was worried about not seeing him for a long time.
In the reality, the units arrive and Mercy obeys the command and goes to Mongrel.
~ Home/Consciousness; Mind Palace ~ | Kallan and Keilara (The Mongrel
)
When he got close, I felt his call; we’ve been together long enough, we’ve been lovers to make it easy to sense for me, if he thinks of me. I’ve been essentially instinctively searching for the “radiance” of his mind, even if I haven’t read his mind or entered his mind. I knew how painful it was for him to remember or what damage the memories had caused. I knew his brain was also damaged due to a lack of oxygen; I didn’t want it to get any worse. I wanted to give him a reason to struggle not to give up to still be alive. Odessen may have been a failure, but a different victory awaited us.
He learned and developed very quickly, he surprised even me pleasantly. I had some ideas on how he could train his brain and even the damaged parts to see if they were starting to heal. I wasn’t a doctor, but I was able to find tasks that use those parts and have to use them. It worked. Hard at first, but then getting better. I asked him to build a home he wanted for the two of us, in case that wasn’t our life. I loved that little house, even if it had changed several times; but the main places were always the same. This became our real home and sanctuary.
I’ve always admired the Warlord, the Mongrel, I was attracted to him, I even loved him, but I really loved the side that only I knew. Kallan when he could be him. When our minds intertwined, I was already helping to maintain our home, he didn’t have to. I helped to remember, to make it even sharper, even more real. It was ours and no one could take it from us. I think that could be something like a Force bond among the Force users? I’m not entirely sure, but in any case, I thought we shared something special.
Something not even Maw can take. I hated them all at once for doing this to him, and I was grateful that if that didn’t happen, we would probably never meet. He was fifteen to eighteen years older than me, living in a colony, doing a simple job. I… Ziare was a member of a noble family at Serenno. They would never have talked to each other, even if they would had in the same place…
If we wanted to go to other places, I built those places, it was faster and easier for me. I had a feeling if the Taskmaster ever found out what I use my telepathy for, he would kill both of us, or hand us over to the Heathen Priests to recondition us. I gave him back what they had taken from him. The hope, the joy of life. I loved to watch him for hours as he cooked or tinkered with the machines. These were Ziare and myI happiest hours of my own life… especially if I helped Kallan with these.
And after the call, I appeared on the outside of the fence around the house. And Kallan was waiting for me at the door. I smiled at him; now I felt even more how much I missed him. And such an invitation could not be said to be no. I don’t think we’ll get to the end of the film today either. I opened the gate and entered the garden. I wanted to be dignified and patient, but I couldn’t be. I started running towards him to cease the distance between us as soon as possible.
When I got there, I fell upon Kallan's neck as soon as we got to each other, our minds reconnected, intertwined. I am so used to this during the long nights, when we are at home, that the closeness, the feeling, to feel him, the lack of these feelings leaves a huge space when we are very far away from each other. Even I feel alone in my own mind, without him. I haven’t kissed him yet, I just embraced him tightly with love and put my face on his shoulders close to his neck. I wanted to feel his embrace, his scent, him.
~ Kallan… I missed you! ~ I whispered and purred during the embrace.
After that, I just looked up at him, into his eyes. If he hadn’t kissed me yet, I stroked his face, kindly, caringly, then leaned over and kissed him passionately. Whatever happened, I knew I was at home, while kissing and I was in his arms…
~ Basement/Subconscious; Mind Palace ~ | Kallan and Ziare (The Mongrel
)
Ever since that day, I don’t know what day it was, I just called it "the day I met him, Kallan"… since then he has almost always appeared in his own cage on a regular basis. I was happy for his company; I was finally not alone. I never knew when it would come, for how long. But neither why nor how. Many times, I even thought it was just the product of my own imagination, but no, it soon became certain that it wasn’t.
~ Kallan… I missed you! ~ I greeted him with a kind and happy smile.
I wanted to ask what was the reason he had been away for so long, but I knew he was at least as clueless as I was. We didn't figure out how this happened, how it was possible. Unfortunately, I didn’t think this had changed. But I was glad he was here, his company was always good in this eternal loneliness, though my heart was bleeding that he shared a similar fate like me. I went closer to the edges of the two iron cages where they met.
~ You've never been away so long since I know you. I was afraid I was worried something bad had happened to you… ~ I said in confusion as I blushed deeply.
~ Reality; Noris' surface ~ | Mongrel and Mercy (The Mongrel
)
While I waited, the Dark Voice's message, orders arrived; as did our units in the end. The war has begun. I watched the data, the bombing. I sent my report to them a long time ago so they could know more exactly where to attack and start the bombarding. I didn't want to protect the clan with this, I wanted to protect him. I don't care how many warriors die. If they are unworthy, they will perish. But he didn't have to prove anything, anymore, and I wasn't ready to let him go to the Avatars. Not now that we are finally together and happy.
I was in the circles of our arriving teams, now he wasn’t the first to come. After I was standing at the fence in the mind palace and looking at each other smiling, there was no need to meet physically. The less likely someone was to suspect something. So I waited for the order to leave. There was also a personal target I wanted to see dead in the ranks of the NIO, a general who once served my family, Ziare's family, and let them torture me, but I never abused my lover status. At the end of the offensive, I will ask for permission, but not before.
So I waited for the command when I had to head for the Belisarius fortification to mark the weak points to get in with my codes or do something like that. That's why he was surprised me when he called me.
<< As you wish, warlord! >> I answered him.
I headed for his position. I had already fought some fame among the Scar Hounds, though they didn’t know I was secretly hunting down those who wanted to call him to kill him, but even so, I had publicly killed more and more people I had challenged. Or I provoked them to attack. They were all strong warriors, stronger than me, maybe I was weaker and smaller, and, but I was quicker and smarter. Unlike them, the marauders, I didn’t have a single cybernetic implant, my wounds weren’t caused by the Heathen Priests or the Taskmaster. I joined them voluntarily, I didn’t have to be tortured.
The marauders turned away from me and left the route that I used, and let me continue on my way. So I got there soon. When I arrived, I saluted him with a cold, stiff military posture. This was the moment when our minds intertwined, and I embraced Kallan there. The reunion in the mind palace, at home, was much more intimate and direct. Here, in reality, it could not be, we were not alone.
"Warlord, welcome! Which part of my report do you feel is incomplete, or which part would you like extra information for?" I asked; we both knew it was accurate and detailed; I am not mistaken now, perfect as always, except the Odessen one. I longed for him, I wanted to be close to him, but it wasn’t possible unless he wanted to keep me in the camp among the other strategists as a military analyst and consultant, as his advisor…
The soundless footfalls of the Masked One's steady advance contributed to his ethereal presence. His reflective ornate mask a jarring contrast to the grim reality of the bone-grinding ground war. His deep black robe manifesting an esoteric aura to the already inhuman appearance of the corrupted Fondorian. The buzzing noise of an eager armada surrounded him.
His arms swinging gently to the beat of his gait, he wades effortlessly through reserve troops yet to be deployed for follow-up full-frontal charges at the New Imperial Order's forward fortifications here, outside of Primus. Walking through shadows cast by Mawite walkers, ordering aside towering brutes, stepping over salival Moon Children wrestling on the ground, Darth Ptolemis simply keeps on walking in a straight line toward checkpoint Belisarius, even catching a glimpse of the imposing Warlord The Mongrel
a few clicks from his position as he gradually progresses into the war-torn no man's land between the Maw's beastly troops and the city of Primus.
Confused looks are exchanged as the faceless member of the New Sith Order is birthed forth from a dense group of marauders, still walking alone, undeterred into the awaiting ivory jaws of imperial troops. His squirming fabrics conceal all the intricate movements of his body, culminating in an eerie illusion as if he was simply gliding straight toward the maelstrom of combat, levitating barely an inch above the ground. From the opposing side's point of view, he appears as an apparition, a dark anomaly painted onto the brutal canvas of the mawite army.
No sudden movements. Darth Ptolemis just walks, and walks, and walks straight ahead. His goals unknowable to most, his infamy nonexistent for the general public. He is an enigma, a tool of the Dark Side, a crawling miasma slowly seeping into the battle ahead. The conflict's characteristic sounds boil over as he begins to catch up with the dead bodies of the initial swarm of Moon Children set loose upon the imperials.
The Sith Lord is no frontline warrior. No seasoned commander. But he has power. Power that destroys, power, with which he harvests life. And so he shall use this might once more, this time against an opponent whose military's magnitude is nothing short of galactic. As the emotionless visage of the Masked One gazes over the chaos of battle, he recognizes the strength of his enemy. Strength he can corrupt.
A trench is torn into the scorched ground outside of the city. The Sith Lord advances without a shred of fear. Mindless Moon Children flash by him on all fours, grinning in anticipation of the brutality that is to come. An undoubtedly well-rehearsed barrage of blaster bolts washes over the shock troops surrounding him, and his crimson blade erupts into the scene.
Yet his advance is still undeterred. The Sith reflects some of the bolts, and deflects most others. An adhesive grenade is sent rolling toward him on the ground, aimed to halt the advance of the Masked Lord and his company of mindless man-beasts. Still walking, he snaps his gloved fingers at the round object, wraps the chains of his mind around it, and hurls it back into the trench.
The few surviving Moon Children dive into the forward trench without hesitation, guttural growls coating the atmosphere as they flail their limbs like complete madmen.
The Masked One finally stops, allowing for additional troops to funnel through the swath of empty space he tore with his ceaseless advance, still careful to stay clear of orbital bombardments issued by Maw command. The real forward fortification, the real challenge that is the Belisarius line is still far ahead, but an additional avenue is at least established. This trench was just a remnant of the real Imperial troops – a hopeless group of soldiers cut off from the possibility of retreat.
For the first time since his landing, the faceless anomaly is motionless. The Masked One's robes ripple as more and more marauders pass by him, his blood-colored saber's foreboding hum his only expression of self. He turns his terrible gaze back toward the general direction of the Warlords, the true leaders of the ground assault, raises his wrist-mounted comm to his mouth and reports through their shared frequency. – Ptolemis uploading positional coordinates. Offering assistance for ground troops.
Lord Ptolemis relaxes his arms as he gazes over the vast plains of the calamitous frontline, inhaling the brutality of the moment. Of war.
The troop transport was hit by a stray volley of blazing bolts, their scorching trail illuminated by brilliant bold green streaks. The stabilizing wing on the right hand side split as the weaponized plasma seared through the shielding into the protective hull plating. The vessel tipped, cries to the Avatars only intensified from the inside of the cabin as the warrior elites strapped in. The pilots desperately attempted course correction as they strayed off from their anticipated infiltration zone, the yells battered against the nerves of the pilots. These zealots cried not in fear but excitement, in righteousness fervor.
Skorge spat his cigarra out and scowled under his breath, flashes of memory came around him as he envisioned the day of reckoning so long ago on that unnamed desert world. The gathering, the first call of the Dark Voice upon his flock. Back in those days he was a berserker, a killer with an axe serving the great Maweth whom would soon be usurped by the unbending Katachi Ren
of Ixigul. He remembered his ‘brother’ Alars Keto
seated beside him among marauders, among men with nothing but faith and strength to guide them. The transport shook and buckled, Kryll looked upon him with a blood thirsty grin.
This is for you brother.
His eyes adjusted back to the real time world as the vessel descended rapidly towards the surface. Skorge pressed the midnight skull shaped helmet against his dome, air escaping as the vacuum seal engaged.
<“Glory to the Avatars!”>
The dropship collapsed into the earth, durasteel kissing against the surface of the planet crust with such force as it unrooted the area in a desolate trail. The cabin rocked and screamed, metal peeling from the very walls as the intense force ravaged the vessel. The pilots perished immediately upon impact, unsuited to survive the force of impact as the cockpit was destroyed near instantaneously.
The MAW HOLY CRUSADERS were thrown like rag dolls but the tenacity of the strong, the majority, it was enough to keep them safe from the upheaving storm. As the transport came to a halt, the commanding warrior shook of the grogginess with the ferocity of a Vornskr as sparks fell around them.
<“Rise! Forward!”>
Seizing his modified war axe, he engaged the plasma filament edge that ignited in brilliant red and carved like butter through the weak metallic hull for exit as the wall came down, peeling open as his foot pressed against it with brutish force.
Ten years it had been since the start of the Great War. Ten years had passed and the Master of Ren remained at his station as the Maw’s Wrath. All knew that when the Maw waged war he was not far behind, for the walking corpse had shown that he was an instrument of rage. His steps, slow and heavy. Behind him stood a legion of the Crimson Hands, the barbaric horde dressed in fur, armor and blood. They roared out as if eager to dine in on fresh prey while Kyrel had remained as silent as the grave.
They marched with purpose and bloodlust, as it seemed like the spaceport were an easy target. For once Kyrel did not expect a battle, he intended for it to be a massacre. A message for all the Chiss that dare show themselves that the Maw was not going to stop. Kyrel would not stop until any survivors of Csilla are dead. That the Chiss themselves are insignificant compared to the will of the Maw and the great journey marked with blood.
He reached out with the force, and with each step closer the dead man was he could sense the fear, the anxiety that had plagued the city. To the Master of Ren they wouldn’t leave alive, nor could they hide from his rage that so desperately needed release. The closer they got, along with the grunts and the chattering of his men. The sound of rusty metal could be heard as it banged against the armor of the men. Sounding its own eerie drums of ear letting those know of what is to come.
Arriving on the outskirts of the city, his troops became more excited to engage both the Imperials, and to slaughter the people. The banging of blades became louder and louder. A war chant started to form of the Maw’s on motto. “War, Death, Rebirth!!!” It could be heard over and over until Kyrel halted the advance if only for a moment. He finally spoke aloud away from his pondering, his tone filled with rage. “Attack! Wipe them out all of them!!! If I see anyone still I’ll gladly devour you myself!” His voice giving a loud boom.
Weapons raised! The Maw’s mantra grew louder for a minute. Kyrel’s own crimson blade activated, as in a brutal frenzy the Crimson Hands begun the assault on the spaceport. Kyrel remained behind them, his saber lowered as his men with blaster and blade in hand begun they’re assault. People screamed, blades slashed, blasters fired. All the while Kyrel emerged from behind. Any civilian running met a slash from his crimson blade, and while consumed by rage, he halted in the middle of the spaceport. He felt something or someone there, and wondered if it was Imperial or perhaps someone else?
As he typed away on his terminal, working quickly, Havoc received an incoming transmission, from one of the Maw higher-ups. He opened the transmission channel and listened.
"Yes, my lord," Havoc responded. "We will begin the bombardment momentarily. We will weaken their defenses for the main advance. We shall grind them into dust." He affirmed.
Then, he quickly began typing away on his terminal. He collected geo-location data, weather conditions, wind speed, coordinates of enemy positions, everything he could from what the Maw had discovered and were monitoring. To make this bombardment successful, it would need to be pinpoint and accurate. He would need to make sure that the guns shot their target accurately. He needed to make sure that the most was made out of this bombardment, and that the most damage was dealt against the NIO's defenses. Hence why this data was so important.
Havoc walked over to an artillery gun, one that the engineers had just finished setting up, the support crews rushing around to service the numerous artillery guns, the gunners rushing around, preparing the equipment.
"Gunners, to your stations! All hands, prepare the guns!" Havoc shouted.
The activity spiked up. Now, everyone was scrambling around, shouting and yelling at each other. The gunners rushed to their stations, the engineers and support crews working on the guns and preparing them, shouting at each other to do tasks and get items. The support crews loaded the guns with the shells, loading the guns with their payload. The guns were brought online, crew members still rushing around and prepping things.
"All hands! Load the guns!." Havoc yelled, ordering the crew around. "We have a target designation! Target Grid: 9979-D-382A, Heading 120. Angle 55 degrees! Adjust for wind direction and speed!"
The guns rose, angling themselves to 55 degrees. They turned, turning towards the designated target and heading. They turned nearly in sync, ready to deliver a wrathful demise to their enemies.
"First Battery, Fire!" He yelled.
The first battery of guns fired, launching their shells. The shots arced up high into the sky, racing across the skyline. Havoc watched through his macrobinoculars, watching the shots go up, before arc down slowly. The shells arced down, racing towards the enemy positions. Havoc watched as the shells slammed into the enemy fortified positions, sending them up into explosions. Direct hit. Havoc watched the explosions rise from the fortified positions, watching the carnage unfold, the sound of the explosions echoing across the battlefield.
"All Batteries, fire at will! Do not stop firing until I say so!" Havoc ordered.
Now, all of the artillery guns began firing, reloading, then firing again as quickly as possible, the sound of many artillery guns firing echoed out. Countless shots arced overhead over the battlefield, racing towards their targets. Havoc watched as the shells slammed relentlessly into enemy positions, explosions rising up almost constantly as shell after shell slammed into their positions. The barrage continued, the guns reloading after each shot, then firing again to cause another explosion within the NIO lines. The sound of constant, numerous explosions echoed across the battlefield, the NIO lines and fortifications turned into practically a light show as shot after shot slammed into their lines, causing explosions to go up amongst their ranks, the explosions echoing across the battlefield. It was glorious. Though, the NIO still held their positions despite the intense bombardment. Their battlements held, despite the multiple shells hitting them. Their ramparts and walls shifted and cracked, but still stood tall and strong. The bombardment would weaken the NIO defenses and their troops, but it wouldn't outright obliterate them. The main fortress was too strong to shell, it would take far too long. Luckily, they were able to take out some ramparts, sending them up into flames. It was clear that this was not going to be an easy fight, and that they still had a lot of fight left in them. This was going to be an interesting battle. The NIO would put up a very good fight. Perhaps Havoc had finally found a worthy opponent that could actually put up a fight. This was going to be a spectacle.
Havoc opened a communication line with The Mongrel
. "The bombardment has begun. You may begin your advance. Good hunting, Warlord. Crush the NIO for me. If you need any fire support, I can designate targets whenever." He reported.
For now, Havoc just sat back and watched the battlefield through his microbinoculars. He watched as the conflict raged on, NIO and Maw troops fighting each other in a seemingly endless bloodshed.
Objective: Protect the space port, the Chiss, and the NIO. Location: Noris Spaceport. Enemies: the Maw and anyone associated with them. Allies: The NIO, the Chiss, and fellow bounty hunters. Tags: Kyrel Ren
Monsters. These enemies were monsters. The Maw's wretched spawn approached, cutting down any civilians in their path. Innocent, helpless. Gwyn gritted her teeth, remembering the war that ravaged her own homeworld and drove her down this path. Her helplessness, no idea what was happening or why. How could these enemies be so cruel? Why?
Rage fueled her. Not wasting a moment, she fired shot after shot from her high perch on the wall. She targeted the ones who reached innocents or were near. She would offer them zero mercy, for they gave none. Firing again, and again, and again; her skills as a sniper were on full display as she did not miss one target. Not only was she a good shot, but she had the Force to aid her in aiming. She fired endlessly, only pausing to reload her ammunition. Alas, the enemy was unrelenting, and the New Imperial Order's guards here were outnumbered.
The Mandalorian was not giving up. Regardless of the dire situation, her goal was to protect the people rushing deeper into the facility, to an able ready ship for evacuation. She continued to kill the enemy, protecting. She would not fail.
Yet, she felt something. The Force pricked at her, warning her. She recognized corruption and darkness within the Force. A Sith? It would be no surprise. Those foul Force warriors were totally depraved, enough to join these disgusting monsters of the Maw. Gwyn turned her scope towards the direction of the Force signature. She took a look and...
She saw him.
The masked figure with mismatched eyes. His skin was under the hideous effects of necropsy. The darkness reigned powerful within him. His red lightsaber was that bleeding crimson, the crystal within begging for release from it's agony.
Further rage filled Gwyn. She took aim. She was not positive a simple blaster shot could kill him, but she had to try.
"So you're saying these are the same guys we fought on Csilla?" "No, we're fighting Ewoks."
"..." "Of course these are the same freaks that nuked Csilla, you buckethead!"
With a sudden shove, the sergeant pushed away the inquiring private and handed him his rifle.
"Now get back to the front!"
All around the pair, the 19th Assault Company was rapidly moving into position.
The trenches were a familiar sight to most of the 19th. Nines's Ninety-Nine had formed the core of the 454th Regiment, which had in turn formed the core of the trenchworks used in the defense and subsequent evacuation of Csilla. The problem of gradually rising mud that had unsettled a few troopers in Csilla had been resolved by the placement of thin wood and steel plates on the ground, thus moving the concerns of the 19th almost exclusively to their foe.
The Maw was now a more familiar foe, their most common units and tactics that had been deployed on Csilla well-known among the ranks of the 19th. Their light infantry berserker units, allegedly called "Moon Children", came in numbers far surpassing those of the 19th, but were quickly disposed of by machine gun fire and artillery from the 117th. The sturdier Marauders, possessing ranged weapons, were handled as if facing regulars of a professional standing army, with more precise rifle fire being used to tear through their hide. So far, none of the massive insect creatures deployed on Csilla had been witnessed, but a platoon of flametroopers remained at the ready just in case. Most unsettling to the company's leadership was the possibility of Force-wielding acolytes and betrayers charging the lines, given the significant damage just one acolyte had inflicted at Csilla. However, for now, the presence of such figures could be neither confirmed or denied.
Near the center-left of the Primus trenchworks and center of the 19th's segment of trench, Lieutenant Legion Commander FN-999 stood with two majors in a circle around a large radio apparatus, listening to a constant flow of transmissions. Casualty reports, enemy movements, supply requests, and orders from the larger 117th Legion provided a constant chatter, leaving FN-999's attention divided.
If only the entire 454th could have been here. It's a shame they had to pick us up RIGHT after Csilla and ship us back to the central systems. I suppose they really don't want to lose their veterans, even if their knowledge could have been critical here. Oh well, it looks like I still don't have the authority to modify Winter Contingency. I guess I'll just be happy the powers above let even ONE company back into the front.
"Sir, shall we update our combat report?"
The major's sudden inquiry snapped FN-999 out of his reviere.
"Yes, Major. Give me just a moment."
The lieutenant legion commander tweaked around with the radio system until he reached the right setting, opening a direct encrypted transmission to the 117th.
[This is Lieutenant Legion Commander FN-999 speaking. The 19th is holding its ground and its trenchworks are mostly intact, with very light casualties so far. So far, we have detected no Maw special forces units or elite troops. Please let us know if reinforcements or tactical advice is needed.]
F A T E_O F_T H E_C H I S S
The Eleventh Hour - Winter Contigency
FINAL DAWN NORIS, CHISS SPACE From the depths of the Unknown Regions , a massive armada of over 50 ships exited hyperspace arriving in orbit of Noris. Spearheaded by the flagship of the Final Dawn Armada , the FDS Immortal, this Fleet represented the Final Dawn’s answer to the Supreme Leader’s demand to snuff out the New Imperial interlopers on Noris once and for all. This fleet dubbed Task Force Momin , after the Sith Lord of the same name , was the largest armada ever assembled by the Final Dawn larger then the fleet deployed at Korriban and it would be the very force that would break the spine of the New Imperials here at Noris and swiftly end their defiance against the Maw once and for all. Already the Final Dawn had dealt with similar threats at Seeratter and Odessen and today would be no different.
Standing on board the bridge of the FDS Immortal was none other than Grand Overseer Marlon Sularen , the third-highest ranking officer of the Final Dawn under the Supreme Leader and one of the primary naval commanders of the Final Dawn. Sularen had overseen the vast expansion of the Final Dawn’s armada and had transformed the Final Dawn into one of the main military powers in the Maw and had even led it’s forces in dozens of battles and now he was here at Noris , facing a nation he once served before they cast him early on in the Third Imperial Civil War. Today they would understand how big of a mistake they had made in dishonorably discharging him , casting him out of the New Imperial Order and labeling him as a defector. He would show them all the price of their deception and betrayal.
Thus Task Force Momin began it’s slow advance towards Noris , with Starfighters and bomber squadrons prepared and on stand-by for deployment while gun crews through all vessels manned their battlestations in preparation for the Battle. Soon , Sularen would unleash his vengeful fury upon those who had wronged him and he would make sure this would be a battle they would never forget. The New Imperials had forgotten their place and the Final Dawn would help them remember where they truly belonged.
Task Force Momin , consisting of 50+ Vessels exit hyperspace and arrive in the Noris System.
The Fleet begins to advance towards the Planet of Noris ready to launch Fighters & Bombers and to carry out orbital strikes on New Imperial Positions if needed (That is if the New Imperial Armada doesn't show up)
The ship that careened towards the planet's surface was unlit, featureless, and its interior devoid of cargo save one. Darth Mori was the sole occupant of the small craft during its rapid descent towards Noris. There was not a shred of sympathy for the planet below or its people, not an ounce of remorse for what it was she intended to do - what the Maw would accomplish. A foothold that had stretched the Imperial machine one step too far, ballooned their confidence one measure too wide, Noris was what they had thought would lead their dagger into the heart of the brotherhood - it had led them to their grave instead. Every last soul on the world was marked for death and she, its shadow, would deliver much of it to them.
Chaos had captured the skies, the space above the doomed planet, as a repelled Maw force had redoubled its efforts with reinforcements far greater than the initial response on Nirauan had implied possible. Marlon Sularen
and others led an effort to breach the defenses that kept the greater naval power from scouring the planet from orbit, an effort which granted the many like her access to the planet beneath so as to rip and tear at the defenses that kept the Maw at bay. The spaceport, the central nexus for conflict between individuals relative to her and the Imperial effort, quickly came into view but she ignored it - her sights set on the greater Imperial machine further still. An explosive vibration ran through the ship, however, as defensive laser fire tore through the side of the ship and filled the cabin with smoke.
Alarms rang, her ship went down.
She emerged minutes later from a smoldering wreckage with a vengeance, Marcad
on the approach.
Romund and his troops began to make their own cautious advance through the no man's land. His clone soldiers make quick maneuvers from one piece of cover to the next, and only use their jump packs when necessary to avoid exposing themselves in the air too much. It was a rather tense and agonizing advance to avoid being lit up by the entrenched imperials who were surely keeping a diligent overwatch over the battlefield.
Over their own comms they noticed what seemed to be a pack of Moon Children approaching the Imperial trench. From there movements Romund and his soldiers took cover, fearing that the violent beings would blow their cover if they hadn’t already. As a few of them fell into the trench they could hear a struggle. Clearly it was occupied with Imperials as they began to fight off the Moon Children.
Crouched down craters, debris, and behind small hills Romund and the 909th listened before the warlord softly spoke through the coms. “Those who have a clear line of sight of the trench, shoot anything that pokes over the ridge.” He understood that meant there could be some friendly fire. But Romund was not confident that the Moon Children succeeded. After a few more tense moments of observation there was a moment spotted.
Almost instantly one of the various and scattered clone soldiers took their shot at the rising helmet of a stormtrooper. The sound of the shot popping across the surrounding area. Hardly a second later they heard others cry out from within the trench. Confident that they hit whoever was foolish enough to peer over the ridge. But before Romund felt like he could capitalize on it the opposition retaliated. Seeing the group of stormtroopers peer over the ridge with their weapons, Romund shouted to his soldiers. “Take cover!!”
As they came under fire Romund and his clone soldiers did their best to hunker down as much as they could. But it was becoming of little use as more and more of their cover began to get blown away from the enemy firepower. Knowing that it was only a matter of time till they were largely left exposed, Romund shouted. “On my mark, flare guns out!!”
He reached under his own overcoat and pulled out a large flare gun. He knew that there was no use left in hiding and sneaking. So he figured he could return the favor and with an advantage. He raised his hand up and aimed the flare gun to the dark and foggy sky. “NOW, advance!!” With that he shot his own flair up above them as he did a few other soldiers followed along and did the same. Lighting up the area around them in brillante illuminating light.
Now fully committed to their assault the 909th jumptroopers began their mobile attack on the entrenched enemy position. Getting up from their cover and activating their jump jets. Dozens of them launched into the sky after their flares. Utilizing their blinding light as cover to make them harder targets to shoot as well as shining light on their enemies.. Many of them aiming their weapons back onto the entrenched stormtroopers and returning fire, death from above.
Almost like warrier angles they descended upon the enemy. A few of them were shot out of the sky. Where if they didn’t die from the initial impact they certainly would from the fall. Even if not seen, you could hear the impact as their plastoid armor cracked into the earth below. Watching much of this himself Romund knew he could not just stand by and let his own clones go alone.
Harnessing the Force to the best of his ability Romund channeled the darkside into his movements. Charging at the enemy trench with blistering speed with his own power cane weapon in hand.. In a moment he was there, diving head first into the trench. Quickly getting to his feet he saw the daring squad of stormtroopers before him. The closest being what looked like a twi’lek given their custom helmet to make room for their lekku. They had a rotary cannon which needed to be taken out to remove its suppressive fire. Holding onto his cane he flipped it around and pushed a button near the top of it. After Which a thin vibro-blade shot out the bottom of it. With zero hesitation Romund took a powerful swing at the stormtrooper. The blade at the end found its mark where their helmet met their shoulder. Instantly beheading the valiant soldier in a grisly display of aggression.
Now arguably their most important defense was just KIA. Not even a second later the jumptroopers were once again making contact with the ground. Some in front of the firing line, some behind it, and even a few had flown directly into the trench alongside the storm troopers where they needed to quickly follow up by getting into a brutal melee with the stormtroopers. It was rapidly looking grim for the imperials…
The landing areas were a flurry of activity as the Imperials and Chiss ran about readying the evacuation ships and lining up and checking the lines of those to be evacuated. Civilians were scared, children crying, crews and military shouting to be heard, and Prulesa was lost in the middle of it. She tried grabbing a few people but the few that even listened to her didn't know what she should be doing and quickly got back to their own thing. Finally she stopped, flight helmet in hand as she took a slow look around in an attempt to see some bigger picture. The sounds of fighting and explosions picked up, closer than they had been and not fading away.
She worried at her lip, mulling it over. That absolutely wasn't another probing attack or one side shooting off to keep the others' heads down. However her eyes were resting on the one gun sitting silent over them all. That couldn't be intentional, the orbital cannon was supposed to be keeping the Maw ships back, supporting the fleet above and keeping the evacuation ships safe. There had to be people working on it, she was just a mechanic, but it was important, more so than any one ship she could escort out of here, it'd offer cover to all of them. Besides, how different could an orbital laser be from a ship mounted one?
Grabbing her tools from the stowage bins on Sin's Tangent, Prulesa made sure it was locked up before heading towards the gun's base. She wove in and out of open areas, nipped through lines of people and cut through several buildings until she found the interior fortifications around the gun that extended into the port itself. There was a clear area between everyone and the troopers clearly guarding the entry and she made sure to wave to get one's attention before approaching."Halt, no civilians past here." His modulated voice had that professional boredom of someone stating a fact while deflecting the possibility of a confrontation. "Yeah, ahh..." She really should have thought about this part on reflection. "I'm one of the NGO contractors brought in and assigned to assist operations here. I have my ID but its not local." She fished around in one of her stow pockets until she fished it out and offered it over hoping that she'd dazzled him with enough not actually lies and half-truths to get in. The armored trooper seemed to look it and her over, vizored gaze lingering on her identification before looking to his fellow guard who shrugged. "Follow me." He said handing it back.
TK-8867 was in the trenches, waiting for the fighting to reach him. He wasn't exactly nervous- he had been through this all before- but his less senior troops wouldn't stay still. They had a lot to learn- but war teaches quickly.
"Sorry, sir!" said the trooper who had bumped into him as he went back to his position.
TK-8867 looked at the trooper and at all of the sixty soldiers put under his command. He was confident. He had heard of the Mawite Hordes- they were just religious cultists with little training, or so said some Imperial officers back at camp. They would hardly be a match for the well-trained troops of the New Imperial Order. The stormtroopers would cut them to pieces with blaster fire.
TK-8867's somewhat happy thoughts were interrupted by a trooper waving a pair of electrobinoculars. They seemed extremely anxious; and they were shaking all over. Must be new, TK-8867 thought.
"Let me see."
TK-8867 looked through the binoculars, scanning the area where the trooper was pointing. As he watched, thousands of Mawite troops amassed on a ridge. They began running down, screaming terrifying war cries.
"They can't have that many!" TK-8867 said quitely. He didn't want to bring the morale down.
"Prepare yourselves! Blasters at the ready!"
The stormtroopers got ready, and waited for the signal. They would hold the line- or die trying.
"Fire!"
The stormtroopers opened fire, tearing through the Mawite ranks. Many fell, but for every cultist that hit the gound dead, ten took their place. The stormtroopers couldn't fight against these numbers for long, but the New Imperial Order knew what they were doing.
A missile blew up the trench to the right of TK-8867, killing fifteen troopers. This was going to be a long fight.
"Eyes up maggots!" Ignatius' dazed gaze rose up to the gargantuan, sickening figure that was Rotgut. Slavemaster of the Maw Auxiliary. The disfigured man; whose rotund stomach was augmented with a creaking pump, which whirred with each step, crossed the deck. "We 'ave us ordahs'!" The disfigured human spat, flecks of yellow and green phlegm launching with gusto from his maw. "Move it maggots, move it!" The deck of the 'Thunduh Givuh' began to steadily as the order went out. Ignatius dragged himself from his resting place, against a crate of rusted Chiss energy cells. The Auxiliary hobbled up as the crew of the Sluggah, a converted luxury barge began to stir. Crew scrambled under deck to organise weapons. Others began to rouse the others.
Ignatius looked down below to the makeshift camp forged in the icy tundra as Auxiliary's hauled arse aboard the LuchsHai support speeders. This was it. The Rancor Warband of the Auxiliary was one of the big formations which had crashed up against the wall of New Imperial defences at the spaceport. And Ignatius was anxious to see how the Rotgut Warband itself would travel, considering the limitations at hand. Rausgeber swallowed some as he moved toward the prow. "Keep it goin'!" Rotgut commanded, "Let's move us ya slackwits!" Rotgut chided, "Iggay!" Rausgeber's spine ran cold, "Get to the helm, and tell those grease thumbs to move it!"
Ignatius nodded, "Siryessir!" He snapped, with surprising efficacy as he hauled himself toward the rear of the ship. The Thundah Givuh had been set up so the helm, much like that of a traditional star destroyer or other craft. Ignatius moved to the helm. Effectively they had raised the controls to the top deck, allowing for an open air view of the outside. Ignatius however did not move toward the console directly, rather, he moved behind it. And knelt down and opened a hatch to the ground. Beneath, greasy bodies writhed amidst an interconnected warren of machinery. "How long till we're ready down there?"
The grease thumbs, as they were called were naked wretches, smeared in all manner of oils and mechanical components. Bodies scarred and disfigured from erring to close to the combustible engines they worked with. Fingers often lost to the whirring gears of machines. And their senses often times dulled if not numbed from years of huffing industrial coolants, engine fuels or merely from constant exposure to radiation. The lead grease thumb emerged from behind an engine servo, and hacked up a bloodied dollop of phlegm. "'Bout anothah three Iggy!" The grease thumb wheezed, "We're jus cleanin' the carbonator of Lez build up, 'fore we can spool the gruntah'!" Meaning they likely had to clean one of the engine pumps of Lesley. A clumsy klutz who to be quite frank, survived a little longer than Ignatius thought.
"Right, well be quick about it. We're on the move." Ignatius got back up and moved to the console. He began to make the pre-movement plans. He checked the pressure gauge, navigation systems, the fuel tank. Perfect. At least they weren't zero. Ignatius turned to examine the gargantuan Mongrel's Howl being loaded with Thundahvelins. That was a check. Perfect for firing. Across the deck Auxiliary's scurried to prime the E-webb weapons systems, or clamber up the masts of the barge, to get a good view and set up for their sniper rifles. Ignatius while waiting drummed his fingers against the console.
"We're clear boss!" Ignatius keyed the ignition sequence in, and there was a momentous roar as the large 'Sluggah' growled to life, trundling forward with a roar of approval from the crew. The Maw Auxiliary was on the march.
When Robert had come to the front lines he hadn't expected that it would be like this. He'd gotten as many of the Red Legion as he could to the starport for the Winter Contingency but the rest...Himself included, were stuck out here with the 117th. He had been able to tell for days that these men were ready to die for the Empire. Their Empire. Robert wasn't as eager but he would keep up a stoic face if not for him, then for his men. At the start of the day he had two full-strength companies left. Now? He had a handful more than a hundred men. On top of the Crimson Hand that they had been fighting for months a full-scale invasion force of those blasted Moon Children. They swarmed over the battlefield, flailing their bladed arms and howling wildly into any force that stood in their way causing chaos on the battlefield. He'd watched more than a few of his men fall victim to the cannibalistic monsters.
The rain fell steadily over the battlefield. He could hear artillery firing and exploding nearby, the energized particles cratering the rain and blood-soaked earth. This brief respite was all his men could as for now. Breathing heavily, head rested against his vibrosword's hilt as he sat in the trenches he looked to the sky where he could barely see the space battle occurring overhead. The cool rain felt good against his battle-warmed face. The squad of Red Legionnaires around him looked just as haggard as they sat or crouched around sipping nutrient gel packs or splayed out on mounds of dirt made into makeshift chairs.
"Up and at 'em," Robert announced before standing. He could feel his knees groaning as he stood. Not a good sign. Sliding his sword into its scabbard he peered over the edge of the trench and with blaster in hand he charged the enemy. The rest of his squad moved forward as well. "Just in time too," Robert thought to himself as a transport dropped one of those Imperial chicken walkers onto the field, its laser cannons firing before it even hit the ground. The smell of ozone wafted over him as those massive anti-personnel cannons ripped into a rush of the white devils.
Knight Melvain Braxis
[Open? Rannan Kol
down to clown?]
Melvain stood next to Knight Commander Ondarr frowning as he looked through his macrobinoculars at the sky. Their cannons had stopped firing after a recent explosion and though the troops on the ground outside the city were holding back a tide of bodies, without those cannons the Maw was free to drop troops right on top of them. It looked like they already had.
"This is problematic," Ondarr said as he looked back at the refugees loading up onto an Imperial transport. It was one of the Star Galleons. Its bay doors were wide open and the space that normally held rows of tanks, walkers, and starfighters looked cavernous without those tools of war. Instead, hundreds of people and wounded stormtroopers were trying to fit in the bay.
"We should be out there," Melvain said impatiently to his Master. He could feel it, something was wrong. Robert and his men were in danger and he had to stay here on babysitting duty.
"There is bound to be plenty of excitement here," Ondarr said distractedly.
Corproal Danny Evans' exclamation shot through the direct comms. Anne's helmeted head shot up from where it was resting on her rifle, firing away at anything that dared to move. <What now?> she asked. <Those freaks are swarming, Slash. Moon Chidlren for days.> <Don't stop shooting then, Corporal. We need a path forward to the rendezvous, damnit.> The Chiss-Imperial Sergeant in her exhaustion had trouble containing the frustration. Anith had just ducked down to fire once more when something clicked in her tired mind. <Screw it. Private! Take my place!> she then barked at a nearby trooper. <Yes, ma'am.> the young feminine voice of Private Asha Velder replied as she jogged up to her CO.
Anith moved toward Corporal Evans' location where most of the hostiles seemed to be congregating to try and overwhelm. "Look alive, Danny." Anith said as a concussion grenade was removed from her bag. "Got one?" "Aye." he said, digging into his pack. <Squad Six - duck.> she ordered her troops before she looked at Evans. "Ready? Prime......3...2...1..."
Both officers pulled back and threw the grenades deep into the crowd of Moon Children and Crimson Hands headed towards them before ducking down and diving behind some buildings.
The double explosion rocked the area, sending duracrete and steel in all directions along with pieces of Moon Children and Mawites. Peeking out from under some light rubble, Anith saw their gap. <Let's move, Embers! Greer, be sure to bring those autocannons!> she ordered as she jumped up, dragging Evans up with her. "You good, soldier?" "Yes, ma'am. Just a tad headache. Nothing serious." he told her as they started moving.
The squad of 20 men and women moved out as quick as possible, most of them able to keep the remnants at bay so the massive cannons can be carted through as well.
Anith switched channels while they trekked out, blasters still firing, but they had room to move now. <Slash to Ember Three.> she called through to Commander Greene under direct command of Captain DECEASED Remmel Karsh
. <Sir, requesting if rendezvous coordinates have changed? Squad Six making its slow way to catch up, Sir. We were delayed by some party crashers.> she then said. Now that they were moving, the sheer weight of the actual situation slowly started to sink in.
She had lost so much at the hands of these monsters. For a decade now she had been fighting against them with all she had. Trying to exact some form of justice for the people she had lost so gruesomely. Was she now leading her squad into the same fate? All because extraction took its damn time? That wasn't fair - not to young soldiers like Velder.
"Your armour looks like it was dragged through a Mudhorn den, Anne."
The Chiss woman was shaken from her thoughts. Evans had always been a constant at her side - fighting along with her without the prejudice that so many Imperials afforded for her kind. He had never shied away from battles - followed her through hell and back. There was no way she was letting him come to rest on this godforsaken planet, come hell or high water.
Her halfhearted smile could be heard through the helmet.
"You can clean it for me after all of this is done."
The 'Moon Children' were permitted to swarm ahead, the Marauders too. Together they provided an effective screen for many of the Acolytes that had accompanied Kol on his Dropship. As Kol had given the command many of the Acolytes had rushed ahead towards the trenchline maintained by the Imperial Order. If they didn't effectively screen themselves and were cut down by blasterfire or otherwise this was acceptable.
As for the Dark Apostle himself, he moved with his 'Cadre' of chosen Acolytes who effectively screened him, surrounding their Master with a blanket of bodies and lightsaber arcs meant to deflect blaster bolts and small arms back at those taking aim. The Force offered other means of protection too as did the bodies of the aforementioned Marauders hopped up on a bloodrage that drove them into a homicidal fury.
It appeared progress was slow going, machinegun and artillery fire was obliterating the 'Moon Children' leading the assault. Kol watched as several of the creatures were cut in half or ripped apart by incoming fire. The Dark Apostle was not pleased, his words came as sibilant whispers again and he reached out through the force worming its way into the minds of men...
"The Void keep thee, erase us from the minds of our foes. Let their ignorance lead them to the devouring embrace of the Maw."
...he spoke through the Force, his words carried through the river of universal energy that existed and interconnected all things. Those closest to him would hear the words of the Dark Apostle inside their minds, allies could hear it as an echo whereas enemies heard the demonic thrum of something unknown.
Illusions were powerful tools. As Kol spoke, refocusing his mind and reaching out he'd touch the minds of those who could see him and the 'Acolytes' he traveled with. He erased them. No one disappeared, they still strode forward but like phantasms they would evaporate from the Minds Eye. It took effort, the Acolytes in Kol's cadre were dozens and the illusion was not altogether complete or without its risk. They would need to act quickly.
Force Speed carried many of them forward, random machinegun fire an artillery still capable of ripping them apart though they'd make the trenchline much more swiftly.
It was on the last few yards between the trenchline and the warzone that many of the Acolytes would fling themselves into the air, aided by the force and leaping higher than was otherwise possible that they attacked. Lightsabers igniting they'd come down over the trenchline, chopping and hacking to shred the opposition.
Kol followed, the illusion broken as soon as the assault began.
The Dark Apostle leapt high too, higher into the air than any single man unaided by jump servos or a jetpack shoulder have been able to. With hands outstretched to either side of him he came down like a comet, the Dark Sacraments snapping into the palms of his waiting grasp. The Lightsabers ignited and in a whirlwind of mulberry he became a blur, slashing and swinging. Every blow he made targeting joints and weak spots that were known to exist in the armor as he slow the enemy.
Darth Kalyptos
and his 
Jorus Fel
|
Baxter Weyland
|
Gwyneira Vizsla
Rannan Kol
|
Skorge the Bloodied
|
Kyrel Ren
