The First of Many

[Asharad Graush]

​

Kaeshana.
Fenrik, Imperial Garrison.

A'sharad remained seated in the closest thing to a Command Centre that the IM-455 Modular Garrison could offer him. Since evacuating the Citadel of Dawn, his armour had since been removed, at least the upper portion so that his wounds could be tended to. A nasty bruise upon his left shoulder plate along his back, a cauterized wound that was relatively light in comparison to others on his chest upon the same shoulder.

"You can't move, General... Sir."

The unwavering glare of the Sith turned to settle upon the medic that worked on him. Bacta patches were relatively simple to acquire, and they would serve the purpose of healing his wounds where it was necessary rather than being subject to being dunked into an actual bacta tank.

Still, he fidgeted.

"Casualty numbers."

Someone who appeared to be too young to even be in the Military stepped forwards from a line up of gray garbed uniforms, datapad in hand.

Already they began listing off various numbers from each and every regiment under the White Wolves, under his command.

"482nd Regiment: 25% casualties, 33% of survivors wounded." They were in the heaviest of the fighting, having been at the Citadel from the very beginning. Vyrassu nodded as the numbers continued. Certain officers such as Major Bissell were referenced as casualties. "He waited until he had word that you were on the way before engaging the enemy, General... He died soon after." And to that, A'sharad's amber orbs narrowed, squinting as he lips tugged to either side, not in sadness, but in a twisted sort of mirth.

My... Presence elicited such a response?

"As was his duty as a Junior Offi-" He was cut off as he hissed in surprise, the burnt flesh along his flank being prodded by the doctor, though he ignored any further prodding, though there was a visible involuntarily flex every time it happened. "And the final three battalions that held the line as we retreated?"

"90% casualty rate, Sir. They followed your orders to the last."

"Admirable." He rose to his feet, left hand, finally having been freed from its metal cage beckoning the doctor off, but also simultaneously shoving him away via the Force. "Their families will receive their medals." What an awkward situation. He stepped forwards, glancing down to the right hand that was little more than a stub at this point. A disappointed look crossed his features before he said, "Patch me into all ground forces comm lines." In his left hand, someone was pushing a commlink. He turned it on, transmission waiting to be projected.

Another step, this time towards the door.

"We'll use the plains outside as a parade ground."

"Yes, Sir... But uh... What do you plan to do?"

The name Bissell crossed his mind, and although he couldn't help the amused grin that cracked his otherwise deadly features, he said, "Inspire."

While the Sith Lord hobbled out of the Command Centre, his commlink, wired to the First Order's channels activated. The first time he spoke the words they were live, likely deafening in the ears of the soldiers that heard the cold and deep voice of the Sith Officer. The second, third, fourth, infinite amount of times that it looped afterwards however was less so, to the point that it stopped playing. By then, all forces would know where to regroup.

"This is General Graush of the White Wolves recalling all First Order forces to Fenrik Garrison. Coordinates are uploaded into your HUDs. If you are incapable of making it to a rendezvous location, broadcast upon an open channel. You will be collected..."

[member="Pharazon Draken"], [member="Rexus Wenck"], [member="FN-888"], [member="BE-183"], [member="Rolf Amsel"], [member="Ludolf Vaas"], [member="Aermoira Cyone"], [member="Isla Ashen"], [member="Samka Derith"], [member="Lydia Finn-Camden"]

[OOC]: This thread is to hand out some medals found here, and to make your promotions IC instead of just being in the Faction forums. Feel free to post your journey towards the Garrison, or already be present there and heading for the parade grounds.

 

[Pharazon Draken]

Kaeshana
Humanitarian Camp, then Fenrik Garrison

[SIZE=11pt]Pharazon lay now in a proper bed and was covered in bacta patches and bandages as he continued his recovery from surgery and his wounds sustained early in the ruins of the capital. Gone was the jury rigged equipment and pitiful tents and mud of the humanitarian camp in the southern hemisphere. As supplies had streamed in following the First Order’s victory the camp had quickly undergone a rather major upgrade, and Pharazon along with a few of the other seriously wounded men of 4th Platoon 189th Company were now quietly resting in proper hospital beds in a prefab structure. Pharazon knew that they were soon to be transported to the Fenrik garrison for eventual transport off planet. Pharazon just tried to relax and maintain his breathing pattern and ward off as much pain as possible. He suspected he could get up and walk now but he was not going to do so without good reason. He also tried to let the knowledge that Captain Vortigern had been horrifically injured and evacuated just flow through him, he did not need to worry would be be taking the vacant captain’s post yet. He also was still having problems keeping his thoughts and perceptions in check on account of the painkillers, but at least he was just in a bed.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Just as Pharazon was about to get back to sleep, however, two officers entered the recovery room. They gave respectful nods to the wounded who lay in their beds, and strode over to talk to the attending medical staff.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“Prepare those that can be moved for transport to Fenrik base, there are more supplies and free medical personnel there and I am sure you have your hands full here and could use some empty beds” the lead officer said. She and the medical chief talked quietly for a moment more and then began to prepare the wounded for transport on one of the shuttles landed near the perimeter of the camp.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“Oh and doctor” the female officer said, as if nearly forgetting to ask this and not being very happy to have to do so. “Get Lieutenant Draken into a uniform, he and his unit have been ordered to attend some kind of impromptu parade or review outside Fenrik garrison” she said, her misgivings about interrupting this officer’s recovery evident.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“He can move on his own if needed, for a short time at least, but I must first apply quite a few bacta patches and bandages to him… Maybe give him a small stimulant as well which I was planning on doing anyway, might as well do it now and give him some energy to stand, but he cannot be up and about for too long, if he needs to march he can't, be aware of that” The doctor said, giving a respectful nod to the female officer as she acknowledged him and left to organise[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt] the rest of 4th Platoon, and then he went about his task.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]By the time the doctor was finished, Pharazon’s torso, upper right leg, right arm, left hand, and the entire right side of his face were covered in bacta patches, bandages, and a whole assortment of dressings. He received his stimulant and a form of painkiller that was safe to use alongside this. The chief recovery doctor and two nurses then began the awkward process of stuffing Lieutenant Pharazon into his light grey duty uniform, rank cuff title bearing the name of the hero Veers and cap placed upon his head and all. After more time than any participant wanted to have had passed had, Pharazon was drugged up, no longer effectively naked, and ready for transport. However, one could clearly see the outline of his bandages through the light grey fabric of his Lieutenant duty uniform, in addition to the large one that covered the right half of his face, he appeared and moved almost like a character out of a holocomedy, bandaged and bumbling for laughs.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]As Pharazon was led into the shuttle at a very slow limp and supported by Medical Officer Henry Dagon who would accompany him personally, Pharazon was not entirely sure what was going on. Oh well, at least I am not dead I suppose… [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]he thought hazily. Most of 4th Platoon was also being moved to Fenrik to make space in the camps after their initial trauma needs had been met.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]The shuttle ride took some time, but as they touched down outside Fenrik base Pharazon and the remnants of 4th Platoon 189th Company shambled down the ramp, trying to maintain their dignity even in their wounded and tired state. Apart from Pharazon, most were still in their armour but Dagon was also in his uniform as he had been helping meet the medical needs of soldiers and civilians alike. Pharazon, even had he known what was going on, could not have worn his armour as it had been effectively destroyed during the fighting, with great holes and burns on most plates. Regardless, Dagon knew that it would not do to have their commanding officer show up to what seemed to be a sort of rally in dirt and blood stained armour. The rest of the mostly unwounded men had been cleaning theirs to get it to at least a presentable appearance dispite the damange most had to their armour. The most wounded stormtroopers, however, were directly rushed to the medical centre to continue treatment such as Sandalphon and the other critically wounded.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]As Pharazon and the 4th reached their assigned rendezvous point, they formed into in all things considered a disciplined unit square of columns. They may have suffered over 40% casualties during their desperate battle within the ruins but they had not lost their pride. Pharazon stood to the front and far left of his men, with Platoon Sergeant Cain and Dagon standing close behind him for both show as they were his senior living ranking subordinates and to ensure he did not collapse into the ground. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Pharazon swayed slightly as he stood, but managed to take a parade rest stance and steady himself. He still did not know what was going on, and the world was still rather blurry and swayed in a rather disconcerting manner, however, he was here now for whatever was about to happen.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“Am I still alive Cain... or is this hell?” Pharazon [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]hoarsely[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt] mumbled, no one but the two behind him could hear Pharazon’s ramblings over the sound of the other units and soldiers taking positions. “If it is hell… I am not surprised to see you here... I knew those sideburns were trouble when I let you keep them” Pharazon mumbled again, head rocking forward for an instant before he managed to steady it again. He then decided to fix his uncovered eye on another formation of stormtroopers that were at parade rest, and it seemed to help him maintain balance and a look of discipline by having a fixed point of reference.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“No sir, this may be a horrible planet but it is not the void, you are still alive and I am not damned yet, no matter what you or my mother have to say on the matter” Cain said, chuckling. “Just keep your head up sir and try not to talk or think too much, it is amazing you can walk and still look imposing even with all those bandages, so just be content with that” Cain finished reassuringly, giving Pharazon a light pat on the back before resuming rest.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“Very well Cain...” Pharazon said, less mumbling now but still very much disorientated.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Shaking his head slightly, Pharazon straightened his back as much as he could, held his head high, put on a determined facial expression on the left side of his face, and prepared himself for whatever might happen next.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt][member="Asharad Graush"][/SIZE]

 

[Rexus Wenck]

"We are not your kind of people, speak a different language.... We see through your lies." Dergan Twigg quietly sung as he severed the limp hand of a Firemane sergeant. The metallic splinter the soldier had snapped from the blaster scorched spider droid was crude, but it did the job. Twigg's gauntlet was coated in blood and marrow as he sawed through bone and tense muscle. The Eldorai sergeants body was limp, her body twisted and mangled from the multiple thermal detonator blasts which had killed her.

Blood trickled out of the sergeants pale hand as Twigg stood up properly. He dangled the hand over her eyes, letting the cold dead pupils be coated in her own blood. Satisfied, Twigg spat on her face, and walked along. This was the "graveyard shift" as they grimly called it. For the less morally restricted, it was the perfect time to pick up that ring your lass wanted or pick up some blasters to sell on the side. But for Twigg, and many others, it was personal.

He dropped the hand on the ground next to sergeant, and moved on to the next set of corpses. His cold blue eyes scanning the horizon from behind his helmet. In the shadow of the Citadel of Dawn, stormtroopers scurried around with stretchers, carrying the dead to be repatriated. The dead zone, as they called it, had to be resized at least twice now to accommodate for the amount of corpses they were pulling in. In the east, a pile of Firemane and GADF troopers began to catch alight as two flametroopers went to town. Twigg was about to join them when the transmission from General [member="Asharad Graush"].

So that's where the General had gone off to. Twigg had heard that a base had been established to Twigg reached for his helm, "Alright, lads, form up half a click east, I'll get us a transport." Twigg commanded over the platoons comms. One by one, the beleaguered troopers sounded off. It was rather unnerving to hear just fifteen voices rather than the usual fifty, but that was wars way. Over the general comms of the Citadel of Dawns vicinity, Twigg made a call, "This is Sergeant Dergan Twigg of the Gundark Gunners. If any of you flyboys could give me and my men a lift to Fenrik, we'd be mighty appreciable." There was about thirty seconds of dead air.

"Sergeant Twigg, this workhorse one, I think I can afford a trip." A voice replied on the open channel. Twigg felt a smile spread on his face, perhaps this was the first thing to go his way today.

"Cheers workhorse one, we'll be waiting, half a click away from the citadel in ten, over." Twigg replied, before switching to platoon comms, "Alright you karknuggets, double time it, we've got ourselves a ride."

Workhorse One was one of the Atmospheric Assault Landers, that had deployed the third relieving wave of troopers to the surface. As it waited, as the sixteen still in action troopers arrived, and piled in. Twigg was one of the last, much to the amusement of Sergeant Zamel Gerda. "So," Gerda began, "What do you think the General wants?"

"Who the kark knows what he wants half the time." Twigg replied, leaning against the crafts wall as it took off, "I betcha, it's got something to do with karking... You know what, I don't know." Twigg surrendered.

"Looks like you could use a smoke boss." A trooper chimed in.

"You offering trooper?" Twigg asked, unsealing his helmet, and looking at the trooper.His face was covered in a thick layer of perspiration and grime from the inner helmet.

"Sure." The trooper replied, reaching for his belt.

"If he's having one, I'll have one." Gerda added, unsealing his helmet. His face was battered and bruised from his fight with a Jedi earlier that day. It had been a tough one, but the sergeant took solace in stealing the force users lightsaber.

"I'll take that as well." Another trooper added, unsealing her helmet.

The one supplying the cigarettes, pulled out a red wooden box, handcrafted, with gold leaf emboidry. He handed the paper rolls out, and handed the troopers the gem encrusted lighter. "Where the hell did you get that?" Twigg asked, taking a long drag.

"Private Callhoun Dawson." The soldier said with a smile as he lit his cigarette.

"What unit is he in?" Gerda asked, "Helluva guy to give you that." He added, sitting back and inhaling.

"I'm sure he was," The stormtrooper added, playfully, "His dogtag said he was in the fifth special forces, Sullust division." He chuckled as he opened the box, "Inscription said his Daddy gave it to him on graduating the academy.

Gerda immediately spat out the cigarette, "What?!" The trooper asked, "What are you pulling here?!"

"What do you mean?" The stormtrooper asked.

"Taking a dead man's things like that?!" Gerda snapped.

"It's not like the guy was using them any time soon," The stormtrooper replied, "Look, he was dead anyway and I-"

"That's bad mojo man," Gerda growled, raising his voice, "What are you trying to pull here?! Giving us a dead mans smokes?!" He made a move towards the soldier, arm raised.

"Enough!" Twigg snapped, "E-kriffing-nough!" He got up, and got between the two, "Calm down, the two of you."

"Man, you're sick, sick tryin' ta take a dead mans poodoo, that ain't right!" Gerda said, looking at the stormtrooper, and then at Twigg, "Man, I might be a Gundark Gunner, but I never tried to take a mans poodoo!"

"Well what about them?!" The stormtrooper fired back, "What about those GA-holes? Huh? What about them? I lost some good friends out there to those motherkarkers, where's my justice?" The trooper then smirked in the silence, "What's the difference anyways, you stole some karkers lightsaber."

"Oh, that's it, you're dead now!" Gerda spluttered.

"Karking shut it, the lot of you!" Twigg bellowed. But the stormtrooper didn't listen.

"Yeah, that's right. You know you're wrong. You're a hippocrite, a filthy-"

Twigg slammed his fist against the troopers jaw, causing the man to fall to the ground. He wasn't dead, but he was hurt. A deathly silence came over the group. "We've all lost someone," Twigg said, "We've all done karked up poodoo, but now is not the time to talk about it. One more word from either of you, and you're dead!"

The rest of the trip was understandably silent. The stormtroopers smoked their cigarettes in silence. . As much as he'd have loved to have seen Arry beat down some hapless grave robber, Twigg knew that feeling. To have so much taken from you. Hell, Twigg was probably gonna lose one of his best friends tonight. The lamentation on Rexus' future stopped when the lander did. "This is Warhorse One, we have arrived."

 

[Hansen]

FN-888 "Helden"
IM 455 Garrison "Fenrik", Parade Ground.

A collection of vehicles; Advanced walkers and tracked assault tanks sit inert behind the platoon of Stormtroopers, these 'Ironhounds' had proven themselves as such when they held against the relentless onslaught of the Galactic Alliance and Firemane criminals. To look upon them one would find a myriad of different armour models worn; Stormtrooper, Combat Assault Vehicle Driver, and AT-AT Pilots. They stand juxtaposed with their vehicles as a reminder of their armoured nature. Although despite their differences in equipment one if nothing else unified the Stormtroopers of this platoon; Their loyalty to FN-888. The Stormtrooper Lieutenant proved her loyalty to the First Order and her troops time and time again, she'd taken a blaster bolt during the defence of the Citadel of Dawn. Even so, it did not deter Joan from proceeding to lead a humanitarian outreach mission to a refugee and crises camp. Though First Order Stormtrooper armour is usually a stark white, after several battles and struggles theirs had been battered and scratched; the true and outward signs of veterans. Amongst the platoon was a small number of blank files, concealed in the second and centre rank. One might conclude these members were dead or receiving life-saving surgery. The latter being correct albeit no less disconcerting for the loyal Ironhounds.

Joan pivots in white boots and turns to face the platoon who stand at attention, silently eager to hear from their commander a speech. "Ironhounds! Stand at. Ease!" The platoon's legs and arms move in a frightening near telepathic display of unit coordination. Joan clears her throat, curled fists tremoring anxiously. "Troopers. It has been a long battle and a tough battle. You have fought with valour and honour for your homeland and all her citizens!" Joan's pause is followed with a tear rolling down her concealed cheek. "You're an exceptional group! We stand together and look to our left and right and find not just comrades, but a family of brothers and sisters that are forged in the links of suffering and perseverance." Joan sobs quietly, struggling to not look away from the blank files, to just ignore them like a pained hypocrite trying to hide from the truth; Her Troopers were injured and suffering because of her decisions as a leader. "We have stood together firmly against the chaos which threatens to overrun the galaxy, in the trenches, in the field and in the confines of armoured vehicles. We have witnessed death and struggled against insurmountable odds." Swallowing her tears. "It is my honour to be your platoon commander and to serve with each of you. May we all see the end of this war and live long and free lives in the peace that will follow." Joan's right arm wheels around up into a prompt salute with the palm facing the Ironhounds. The entire platoon responds without a word, slamming their heels together and returning the salute.

[member="Pharazon Draken"] [member="Rexus Wenck"] [member="Asharad Graush"]

 

[Natasi Fortan]

The medical transport that delivered Lydia to Fenrik was less about comfort than about saving lives, which was evident from the moment that she was deposited, barely conscious, onto the stretcher and loaded in. She vaguely recalled being helped off the rocky ground where she had fallen, face broken, nose broken, bleeding into the dirt and sucking in toxins. It must have been [member="Rolf Amsel"] -- who else had been around her? -- but in the moment she wasn't thinking about it -- or anything, except the pain she felt as medics worked over her, applying bacta patches and injecting her with something that made pain radiate through her body from the injection site in her neck through the rest of her body.

When she woke up as the medical transport set down at Fenrik, she felt -- better. Considering the shape she had been in when she was loaded onto the shuttle, that wasn't saying much, but still.

A medic helped her stand up, tested her vitals and her balance. "I'm afraid we've got high priority cases, miss -- well, whoever you are," said the medic. "Soldiers, you understand. When it's all died down, we can take another look, but we've set your fractures and dressed your wound. You'll need to have it looked at again, but you should be fine for now."

"Is there a place I should go?" Lydia asked, feeling rather small and insignificant and, worst of all, underfoot. "Somewhere I should go to be out of the way of everyone?"

"Don't know," the medic said impatiently. "Sorry, but you need to get off now so we can unload the rest of these men and go out for more."

"Of course. Thank you -- thank you so much."

Liddy walked out of the ship and descended off the landing pad before walking over to one of the walls of the landing area and standing with her back to it. Here, she could almost blend into the background and watch, stay out of the way while the medical teams attended to her betters.

 

[Asharad Graush]

While the Sith Lord walked from the centre of the First Order Encampment, specifically the Command Centre situated within its heart, he passed by multiple platoons and squads that were heading for the newly dubbed para grounds, some following the Sith Lord, others hurrying ahead of him in fear of being reprimanded if they were identified. By the time the Sith Lord arrived, more hobbling than actually walking as confidently as he would normally, in the para grounds, there was a podium in position for him.

A good sized one too.

He strode up the steps. One at a time, frowning at his own weakness before he called on the Force to numb the pain and once he was at the top he pulled the commlink out of his ear and pocketed it. It was deactivated in that motion, and he looked over what he figured to be the vast majority of the First Order's forces on the planet. Many were still out in the field, cleaning up the various battlefields of the dead, or chasing away any lingering hostiles. Not everyone could make it, but most were sanitation crews and thus unimportant to the Epicant-Hybrid.

"Soldiers of the First Order," the Sith General addressed the host. He used no commlink, all he required was the Force to boom his voice across the vast parade ground. Even as he spoke, other soldiers were moving into formation. Placing his right stump on the podium, he made his announcement. "The Galactic Alliance has fled Kaeshana. We have won." There was a pause as the Sith allowed the expected cheering to follow. Many were already at Fenrik, having fallen back to the Military Garrison before the Alliance had retreated. "Many of our brothers and sisters - comrades in arms died on the battlefield, on the Ground and," up went his stump to wave at the sky, "And in Space." A split second of his face contorting in a moment of pain before he dropped his arm and all went back to normal.

"The First Order came to its planet to bring aid, food and resources," he claimed. "Our attempts gave us the unexpected outcome of war," his amber orbs glowed brightly to that, "And even fewer people to save." There was a pause as the General placed the blame on their hostile neighbors. It would only further fuel the war effort of common soldier against the Alliance.

"And yet, we, the First Order proved to the entirety of the Galaxy that the Galactic Alliance's authority isn't nearly as absolute as it appears. That their Triumvirate of leader are capable of making the wrong decisions, for the wrong reasons." There was nodding all around. Many of the soldiers there had seen the General elevate from Colonel to General. Many would've followed him everywhere. The White Wolves were easily the most famous unit of the First Order's Army. Their loyalty was absolute, trumped only by their loyalty to the Supreme Leader. "Sieger Ren willed this victory, and you, extensions of his will, brought forth Victory."

It was a hard fought victory. Despite the cheering, many would soon come to realize their losses, if they had not yet been registered. Behind him, there was a handful of his most trusted Officers in the White Wolves, Colonel Kamset namely, he was beckoned forwards with a box. Colonel Kamset came forwards to hold the relatively large box above his head. Clearly a medal box, closed at this point, but at the same time, A'sharad was speaking.

"Many of you performed to an admirable level. Though the list is long, the few that are announced today are only the first to be awarded for their service to the First Order and her Army. "

A'sharad had already read the names. He had been taught from his father, Darth Acarus that memory was necessary, at least, as long as it served a purpose. Chances were, by the end of the day, he would forget the unit numbers and names attached to the faceless helmets he was about to speak. "Lieutenant [member="FN-888"] of the 2/17th Battalion's Alpha Company," he pronounced. "Now Captain." He recalled the next name, and said, "Lieutenant [member="Pharazon Draken"] of the 189th Company, elevated to the rank of Captain." The emphasis he placed was important, it would give a sense of importance to the common soldier. A pause as he called the second to last name.

"Major [member="Rolf Amsel"] of the First Imperial Shock Troopers." From a Sergeant in the 482nd Regiment under A'sharad's company, the Sith's first position, and now the Sergeant was a Major, already on the move to Colonel? It was impressive, admirable even. It was why A'sharad had taken it upon himself, claiming the voice of High Command to do what he was doing. "Colonel." And then there was the last name, one that took plenty of willpower to resist frowning, or contorting his face in disgust. Even if A'sharad himself had put the man's name forward, he wasn't the sort you'd expect to find within the White Wolves, and doubly so for the rest of his circus of a Platoon. But still, he had lived for this long under the General's command, and had evidently proved himself. It was reluctantly done, but still, necessary.

"Lieutenant [member="Rexus Wenck"] of the White Wolves' Gundark Gunners, promoted to..." He resisted the urge to contort his face, but he was the one who had put him up for promotion anyway. Even so, the man was... Well, he was something that one wouldn't expect to find in the White Wolves. "Captain."

A pause.

Behind A'sharad, Kamset opened the medal box. Some had new, shiny rank bars fashioned for the recipients of the promotions, but doubled with them were additional awards for military valor. Major Amsel, now Colonel was already a recipient of the Second Class, the same with Rexus, they would now be recipients of the First Class. The other two, FN-888 and Draken would only be rewarded with Second Class' their first awards.

"Additionally," he continued. "Those that fought under your direct command will be receiving the same medals of valor." There was a pause, allowance for the cheering to rise up for the four soldiers and their respective military companies. Even if it was an open field, it was loud, near deafening as he awaited the recipients to come to the podium.

[member="Lydia Finn-Camden"]

 

[Hansen]

FN-888 "Helden"
IM 455 Garrison "Fenrik", Parade Ground.

Sev stands behind the "Ironhounds" The NCOs as it turned out weren't filed in for the administration parade. Sev's heart thrusts up into his throat with pride to hear that his Platoon Commander would be promoted to Captain. "Sons. Of Dosuun!" Sev roars, the entirety of Alpha Company not just the Ironhounds of the third platoon; punch their fists into the air. "Upon the Filth!" The entirety of the Company replies. With the NCOs beginning to slam their fists against breastplate in anticipation of their new Commanding Officer; An Ironguard ritual. "Swords of the Empire!" Shrapnel's throat tears with the volume he screams the rally. The sound of this show of force is like a calm albeit powerful heartbeat, constant and unignorable. The rank and file Stormtroopers beat their breasts with bellicosity, prepared in word and deed to fight the Galactic Alliance. "Right into them!" Thrusting their fists into the sky does the single reply of the company come. Potentially rallying their comrades in the other platoons with this show of proud belligerence.

Joan thrusts her own fist into the sky as an acknowledgement of her new company's pride. "Make ready!" Joan's feet carry her body to the left with a snap of heels. She proudly marches upto the podium towards Asharad, the esteemed Officer Commanding of the equally respected white wolves. They are good, although to Joan nobody would ever beat her Ironguard and their armoured hides. In many ways the Ironguard and White Wolves are similar; Both having an unwavering loyalty to their Officer Commanding and the Supreme Leader.

[member="Asharad Graush"] [member="Pharazon Draken"] [member="Rexus Wenck"]

 

[Pharazon Draken]

[SIZE=11pt]Pharazon did not entirely assimilate everything this General was saying, but he managed to force his mind to understand most of it. The power of the General's voice, however, was not lost on him given his booming speech apparently unaided by commlink, which he suspected helped him understand more in his current muddled state. He knew that he was being promoted, and receiving some kind of award. He could hear the cheering from the assembled troops on the impromptu parade ground. His own men were no exception, they let up a hearty roar at the news of victory over the Galactic Alliance and their retreat, they thumped their armoured chests as Pharazon’s name was called. They yelled his name, oaths to the First Order and the Supreme Leader. They were thrilled to be alive, thrilled to be victors, and thrilled that their commanding officer was being recognised for his deeds.[/SIZE]

“I can make the walk myself...”[SIZE=11pt] Pharazon said with a weak half smile from the right side of his face to Cain and Dagon who looked at him worriedly from behind him. H[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]e began a slow, unsteady, and limping pace toward the podium. His body was covered in bandages and bacta [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]patches[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt] clearly visible under his clothes, his left hand was nearly compltely bandaged and he was pale from blood loss. But none of this stopped him keeping his pride intact as he strode, if in a limping manner toward the podium. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]His shattered right arm was braced and secured so he could move it little, and his right leg limped considerably. His depth perception was off as he could only see out of one eye on account of the entire left side of his face being covered in bandages. But he continued to keep his head held high, a firm expression on his face, and put one foot after the other. As he reached the podium, he climbed the stairs slowly and methodically, forcing one leg up after another and carefully ensuring his balance. He was thankful that even in his painkiller minded state he at least was able to control his body properly, or at least what was left of it. As he climbed the stairs his men cheered his name, they would not let anyone in the parade ground think even for a moment that they were ashamed of their commanding officer, not after everything they had been through that day and all they had accomplished and survived under his command. As he [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]climbed the steps,[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt] he could not help but feel emotional hearing his men, Pharazon may have cared little for this planet or even the Eldorai that they had originally been trying to help, but he would forever be proud of the his place in this platoon, the group of soldiers that had shown him that trust could exist between people and become a strength rather than a reliability.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]After some effort he managed to get onto the podium proper, once there he looked to the General.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt][member="Asharad Graush"] | [member="FN-888"] | [member="Rexus Wenck"] | [member="Lydia Finn-Camden"][/SIZE]

 

[Stardust Solus Skirae]

Kaeshanna

The news had reached stars ears and had brought her a great deal of anger, after talking to miss Fortan and pledging her help not only troop and other ways but with her own hands, she headed immediately to kaeshanna, she exited out of hyperspace turning her comn on as she got patched in

this is imahalyans light, we are here to assist in bringing humanitarian workers and medical supplies, point me to where to land

She said and then waited, her ship stopped not to far out, she closed her eyes anger still fresh on her mind as she grew closer and closer to the battle field

 

[Progflaw99]

Major Amsel had ensured [member="Lydia Finn-Camden"] was aboard one of the first vessels evacuating casualties, aside from being covered in goop from the glop grenade, the woman had taken more than her fair share of bumps and she was just a civilian, a reporter who'd managed to get herself attached to one of the hardest hit units of the entire conflict. Even now, the forces of the enemy had been relentless, at least until the call for retreat had been given. Still helmetless - a stoic Rolf had callously stripped one of his former troopers of their gear, replenishing his supplies and securing a helmet for himself. Such were the realities of war, a stale few breaths as the helmet cycled the air. He'd managed to stop the bleeding from his face, or at least enough to prevent him from drowning in his helmet though the taste of blood was still fresh. His armor was covered in mud, a collection of dirt and blood, red streaks and smears marring the pristine white of the uniform. The warfighter had done what he could to rid himself of the goopy substance which had stuck to his armor and made movement difficult but patches here and there remained. Taking in a painful breath, the Major pushed off from where he crouched behind the hulk of a ruined tank, whose it was he couldn't even tell it had been so completely destroyed. He was thankful for the stims he'd received in haste as he'd deposited the reporter on the shuttle - the majority of the pain from his bout with what he assumed to be some kind of Alliance soldier suppressed by the chemical cocktail now flowing through his veins.

Doing a final once over of his kit the Major clutched the blaster rifle in his hands, preparing to dash from his current position across the littered battlefield to another burned out husk - likely a walker by the looks of it, smoke and sparking electronics creating a strange aura around the shattered hull. With a pained grimace, he shoved off, his heavy booted feet stepping on and over the wreckage as his legs pushed him quickly across the broken ground. In a final burst of speed, he jumped behind the wreckage. He hadn't heard any fire but it had been a short leap from his previous location, no telling what horrors yet lurked across the battlefield, even after a battle they were usually still wrought with hazards.

[member="Choli Vyn"]​

 

[Choli Vyn]

Behind Enemy Lines
[member="Rolf Amsel"]

Time bled into nothingness. Honestly, it was hard for the Rogue to determine exactly how long she'd been keeping a low profile and hiding from sight. Her trek crawling across the muddy encampments had smeared her body in mud and grit. Pro, it muted the bright orange of her flight suit. Con, it was going to be a fething cold night if she managed to stay alive until dark. Dark, muddy, wet tendrils of hair stuck to her cheeks, painting them brown. So different from flying up over it. A different world. 'Verse.

Gotta keep moving.

Tasting blood on her lips, the Rogue pilot smeared it off. A glance at her fingers saw them coated in blood. Great. Swallowing hard, the olive skinned woman swung her gaze back up. There was smoke everywhere. The sound of grenades, blood curling death cries, and ongoing fire. It saturated the ruins of the citadel as much as the blood and the mud therein.

Palming her Tir stun blaster, Choli made a choice. Alright, if she could find Alliance personnel, then maybe she would be able to make it out alive. Maybe.

"Alright, focus..." and keep your head down enough so it don't get blown off. The Force still pulsed and ran through her with a heightened sense of danger. But danger was just everywhere.There was another tank about twenty meters from where she lay. Time to get moving. With that in mind, the young pilot took the first few tentative steps, keeping a wary eye out.

 

[Kaiden Rohn]

Citadel, Enemy AO


Carbon. Burnt flesh. Gunpowder. Explosives. The smell of burning metal. So much hit Kaiden when he awoke. He had fought valiantly- but not hard enough. Still, he was an operations soldier. He had more SERE training than anyone he knew. He could evade the patrols, but not for long. He sat up, palming ash over his Havoc squad armor, painting it more of a black color. He slid his visor up. He could see better, smell better, and hear better with the glass up.

He picked up his rifle, a suppressed slugthrower. It would come in handy. He did a round count. He had two magazines left. A blaster with maybe a couple dozen shots. Nothing that could do any serious damage. Then, he saw movement. He recognized her as a pilot. [member="Choli Vyn"] was moving, but it was...not as graceful as him. Not as fluid. The Havoc Squad commander sped up to meet her, but realized it might get him shot. He trudged through the mud, avoiding the sweeping eye of the remaining First Order troopers.

They were pulling out. Probably to some rendezvous. Kaiden saw her target. She had moved about fifteen meters from where he saw her from. A tank. She was going for the tank. He crouched low, rifle in one hand, and his left hand free to manuever the environment. He attempted to get her attention by waving. Hopefully, the Havoc Squad armor would let her know who he was right away. After all, he was somewhat known as a hero of the Republic- and practically the only Havoc Squad soldier left running around.

 

[Progflaw99]

--- --- ---​

Location: Wreckage, Battlefield, Citadel of Dawn​

Status: Exfil, Return to OP Fenrik​

--- --- ---​

​

The Major took another moment to catch his breath, let his heart rate settle. He was pretty beat up - a dull ache settling in from his tussle earlier. Carefully peeking out from behind his cover he pulled back. About ten meters from where he crouched was yet another hulk of melted slag, just one more ruined piece of armor. It wasn't the armor that had concerned him. In a split second decision he rose halfway, the blaster rifle brought to his shoulder and pointed towards where the wreck was - and where the object of his attention found itself, several footsteps away. Sights bearing down on the woman who appeared to be in a flight suit, though difficult to tell with all the muck of the battlefield smeared on it. The Major yelled, the voice projection of his helmet activating.

"First Order! Stop where you are and identify yourself!"​

​

Keeping the blaster leveled at the woman, he tried to assess her condition. He could see the blaster in her hand, it appeared to be her only weapon but looks could be deceiving. He hoped she didn't attempt to use the blaster, too many people had died today and adding one more to their number wasn't something he felt happy about doing - but if it came down to it, he wouldn't hesitate to put her in the ground. As he waited for a reply, a motion in his peripheral vision caught his attention though his blaster rifle remained trained on the woman at least for a moment. Turning his blaster on the armored form of an obviously non-First Order trooper he yelled out again once more, quickly transitioning his blaster between the armored figure now waving and the woman. He wouldn't hesitate to respond in kind if either of them drew down on him.

"Stand down! Drop your weapons!"​

​

[member="Asharad Graush"] | [member="Choli Vyn"] | [member="Kaiden Rohn"]​

 

[Choli Vyn]

Location: Wreckage, Battlefield, Citadel of Dawn
[member="Rolf Amsel"] [member="Kaiden Rohn"]

"Feth!" the curse went ripping from Choli's lips. The Force had barely given her any warning, what tiny hairs at the nape of her damp neck rising. The mud and blood crusted figure gave a whip of her head, tendrils of hair sticking to her grimy cheeks. It was rather instinctual, to try and duck away from cover. It was, after all, what she'd been trained to do.

In between the First Order solider panning his weapon from her over towards [member="Kaiden Rohn"], Choli made her move. Was it a smart thing to shoot? Likely not. All she had on her person was a TIR stunner and that would only knock a person out. It was a powerful weapon, but if there were any other First Order soldiers around, they could easily pick her off.

A few pot shots were sent over towards [member="Rolf Amsel"] 's direction, the worn and weary pilot scrambling for purchase to find a trench to slam herself against. This was soo, not going to be a great day.

 

[Progflaw99]

--- --- ---​

Location: Wreckage, Battlefield, Citadel of Dawn​

Status: Exfil, Return to OP Fenrik​

--- --- ---​

​

*Blast!* It took him only a milisecond to squeeze the trigger of his blaster, unfortunately aimed at the armored target as the incoming fire from the smaller figure impacted the wreckage - had the wreckage not been there, the first shot would have hit him square in the chest, instead it was stopped short. After loosing a pair of bolts directly at the armored trooper, Rolf ducked down behind the remaining wreckage, the sound of shots overhead keeping him almost pinned - it seemed the battlefield was mostly empty or at the very least those on it didn't want to continue engaging - save these two. Grimacing beneath the cold impasse of his helmet, Rolf weighed his options. He could cut out to the side and try to storm the less threatening of the two, or... another idea occurred to him. With one hand on his blaster's grip, he reached up with a free hand to his rigging, removing one of three cryoban grenades. With a quick move of his thumb he primed the grenade and in a flash he had hucked it over the wreckage towards the armored trooper, if he was lucky it would at very least cause him to stay in cover for the moment he needed to spring forth and cross the distance between his position and that of the smaller target - the one who'd fired at him. At best - the cryoban might even immobilize the trooper.

In a burst of speed, Rolf propelled himself from behind cover, staying low, blaster leveled at the place he'd seen the woman jump to just before he'd taken cover himself. He'd covered the distance fast, even by his standards, a surprise spurt of energy flowing through him - entirely beyond the physical limitations of his body. It wasn't often the Force decided to manifest itself in the Major but for whatever reason it had deemed, he practically flew across the open space, ending up in a trench adjacent to the refuge the pilot had found. A grin graced his obscured features as Rolf reached up once more with his off hand, this time his fingers grasping at one of the round glop grenades hanging from his rigging. Careful not to activate the grenade early, he tossed it into the trench where he'd guessed the woman to be, ducking low beneath the parapet to prevent the sticky explosion from hitting himself as he gripped his blaster now with both hands.

[member="Choli Vyn"] | [member="Kaiden Rohn"] | [member="Asharad Graush"]​

 

[Kaiden Rohn]

(Apologies. Relocation to Japan and all.)



War. War had come to Kaiden Rohn many times. First, it was with a mission and a furry little bastard in Havoc Squad. At a bar, he learned the realities of warfare. He learned that sometimes it was pointless and the results were for the most part, asinine and non-observable. Kaiden Rohn had a lot more experience in warfare than [member="Rolf Amsel"]. He knew that much. He could feel it. The Force didn't touch Kaiden. The Force merely guided him some times. Right now, it screamed for him to move. The Cryoban exploded behind Kaiden as he launched himself forward- towards the Major himself. He fired at the Major's position, dumping what remained of his magazine around him. Kaiden dropped his weapon as he got close. And he thought for a moment. Thought about it all. His mentors. His friends.

All the ones he lost. Willa. Edward. Wanderer. Miles. He remembered all the fights. Naboo. Alderaan. Carida. The wars. The intensity. The rage. The hate. The anger. The confusion. He brought all this with him, compounded it into experience and action as he sprinted towards the Major. He dropped his suppressed rifle, as he jumped into the parapet- and withdrew his knife. He went to jump on top of the Major. Kaiden was falling fast, and if the Major acted quickly, he could avoid getting skewered with the blade that had ended a lot of Sith, would-be Sith, Sith troopers, mercenaries, and generally anyone who got in Kaiden's way.

"Picked the wrong damn fight, son."

 

[Choli Vyn]

--- --- ---​

Location: Wreckage, Battlefield, Citadel of Dawn​

[member="Rolf Amsel"]​

--- --- ---​

​

There were moments in life that Choli retraced to see how she ended in a particular state. Tatooine, Arceneau Trade, the Jedi Academy, Chloe and Jan, the Alliance. All those little moments in time that had been hard won lessons and experiences that brought her here.

The last thing she ever considered was that it would culminate with getting covered head to foot in sticky adhesive.

When the grenade came, the Force wailed a cry of warning. Instinct prompted the sudden drag and fling of a small charred tank door in front of her. But by then it was too late.

The concussion of the grenade came first, followed by the shrapnel and the batch of adhesive. The door got the brunt of the shrapnel, but not all. The explosion flung her back, shards of durasteel piercing her skin and knocking her back, the sticky adhesive locking her in place. Her head struck hard against the burm, sending stars in the back of her eyes.

Vertigo took her, and while she fought to remain conscious, it was a futile endeavor.

Everything went dark.

 

[Progflaw99]

--- --- ---​

Location: Wreckage, Battlefield, Citadel of Dawn​

Status: Exfil, Return to OP Fenrik​

--- --- ---​

​

With his back to the wall of the trench he now occupied, he felt the heavy footfall of the enemy soldier before he heard it - it spurred him to action. Rolling off the wall to his right he brought the barrel of his blaster to bear on the space he'd just been occupying, eyes tracking the soldier as he dropped from above. His quick movement had driven him clear of the blade now in the hand of the enemy soldier but had bought him precious little else. He'd nearly tripped on battlefield debris in the well of the trench but he held the blaster firmly in his hands - if the soldier didn't move fast, he'd find himself staring down a barrel of an already on edge First Order Major. They were practically next to each other, the other soldier having dropped right where he'd been waiting to burst forth, it had caused him a quick change in plans but for the moment he held the upper hand.

"Don't do it!"​

​

Rolf shouted, the vocalizer clearly relaying the message through his helmet. If there was any doubt of his intentions before, there would be none now - if the man made a move on him, he'd be ready to squeeze the trigger.

[member="Kaiden Rohn"] | [member="Choli Vyn"] | [member="Asharad Graush"]​

 

[Kaiden Rohn]

Location: Wreckage
Objective: Trench fight


Brutality. Brutality was a thing in combat that they did not teach you. To Kaiden Rohn, it was the simple act of being more aggressive in the fight than his opponent. His opponent wasn't like most other Sith- most other soldiers he had met. He lacked brutality and decisiveness. Kaiden would've shot him dead if the roles were reversed. He would've ran a failure to stop drill on whomever he had the gun aimed on. Truth be told, the Major wasn't ready to pull the trigger. If he was, he would've done it. He would've shot Kaiden dead. So when the Major moved the weapon upward and failed to gain ground on Kaiden, Kaiden was still well within lethal range. Kaiden lashed outwards, his left hand moving to not move the gun- but the entire arm that was holding it. And he brought the blade downward, trying to stab it into his collarbone. Trench warfare was a nasty business. But Kaiden had been buying and selling death for a long time.

He depolarized his visor, letting the man look into his hate-filled eyes.

"You should've shot me, son."

The Commando Elite- Havoc Squad. Kaiden was damn near one of the best soldiers still alive in the galaxy. He had led Havoc Squad to victory enough, and been apart of the Republic's finest back when the Republic was dominating the galaxy under it's well-meaning flag. Kaiden, looked at the soldier. He could feel the man's demeanor. He was oddly calm. He had been in combat before. Perhaps they were not equals, but the man he was facing wasn't exactly a greenhorn either. So Kaiden ran through several scenarios in his head, trying to get a feel of what the man would do. How he would react to the blade coming down to his collarbone? Block it? Try and move the blade out of the way? Try and flip him? However he reacted, Kaiden was going to measure his opponent's weight, skill- and whether or not he was going to kill him.

"How's it feel to be the right arm of evil, huh?"