Dominion With Baited Breath [GE Dominion of Galantos]

[St. Thomas Barran]

THREATS APPROACH
AND NEARER THAN ANY ARE COMFORTABLE ADMITTING

BUT THIS COULD VERY WELL MARK THE MOST VITAL CORNER OF THE CORE FRONTIER

​

New enemies await beyond the Deep Core, gathering closer than any could have anticipated, but threats remain from before; and especially on GALANTOS, considered a vital civilisational lynchpin for it's seemingly-endless supply of natural gelatin material, and the GA-remnant cells there are well-aware of this fact. Setting up within the many outer-suburbs of the planet's capital city, these so-called Guerillas have proven to be a headache for forward operating units within the urbanised boundaries of Gal'fian'deprisi, but around it's infamous Spaceport - this appears to be an entirely different story.

Considered as cursed by the locals, the Fia had always assumed that the Spaceport only ever belonged to the dead, namely those of the Black Hammer Pirates, of whom have been dead-and-disbanded for many centuries since. But for the Mawsworn Khanate, only one so steeped in mysticism could view this as an open invitation for Heathen Nomads to make it their new base of operations, and so, the Bloodhound's Foederati will be deploying with the Empire's trooper elite in the impending cleanup operation. Unwilling to leave it to chance, and with authorization from the Grand-Vizier, coordination and cooperation between soldiering elements is considered an imperative.

You're not just allies any more, you're comrades - battle brethren from multiple different battlefronts.

Time could be against us, but for all the time they would be allowed to hold reign over the planet, any small morsel extent could prove vital to survival in the impending war, and the Ruling Council will need every vital resource they can get their hands upon. Galantos is the key to that survival, and just as much as Fenris in that matter, and if the Galaxy truly is turning collective periscopes in our direction, then we must outlast this impending siege on the Core. Here is where the first actions set the tone, on a sea of green, gel-quaking madness, and though we wish for easier means of survival, worlds like Galantos are the only way to outlast our foes.

And with absolute certainty at that.

BRIEFING

As inhospitable as Galantos might be, the GA-remnants in the region still hold out against all hope of a normal life on it's surface, especially if it means holding out within the ramshackle towns and cities on the planet's few (but still sizeable) moving continents. Thus the unsavoury task of routing and taking them down has become the main objective going forward, and henceforth, marking it's doctrine as that of a meagre, unsatisfying cleanup. However, of those already deployed to Gal'fian'deprisi, many are wise enough to be wary, and among those few - almost all are Mawites with vigilance set on edge for a while already.

This time, your rationale, and main advice should be,"Find a nomad, find your way around.", for if you stray from the beaten path, (even if only for a moment too long) there is no telling what methods may be utilised against you. Bear a thought for the desperation of your foes, as almost every last one of them are beset by a cornered-animal mindset, and for as long as they have no guidance from serving GA-affiliated senators, nothing remains off the table for as long as we continue to spread our Green Zone perimeters' reach.

We will win this sector, but be advised - our soldiers must be at the height of self-awareness to survive here.

 

[St. Thomas Barran]

WITH BAITED BREATH
I

​

Black Hammer Spaceport, Gal'fian'deprisi,
Galantos, Galactic Core Frontier (904 ABY)

'Take the bodies, display them at the entryway junction.'
'I'll see to it, Great Khan. Leave it to me.'
'Good lad.'
​

Having just thwarted an assassination attempt, the Bloodhound was not in a good mood, and especially not with his eldest son being one of the priority targets; but fortunately for all in the room at the time, young Batu was quite content with his lot at the time, as he was just gladdened of another opportunity to carve up a couple of his assailants with his new gleave. Thus the Khan could see that Alparas was proving to be quite the sharp wonder already, but for all his amazement at the wrought end-result, the Bloodhound was unable to shake the wrath of having been insulted, and horribly misjudged by the planet's so-called,"Guerillas".

Finding mostly Fian corpses among the dead throughout their time on the planet, it was obvious that these revolutionaries were moving far beyond the extremes of their ilk, and if the blood of the local species was no longer beneath them, the Mawsworn collectively understood that methods much darker still awaited. Even the Khan could not help but drawl,'Its bleak out here, man.... They best keep that chit at arm's length, I know that madness is contageous, an' enough to avoid it like a plague.', though it seemed he was only saying it to the dead at the time, as Batu was already on his way to the entryway junction, seeing to his task with a trailer full of dead assailants while the Khan himself considered their next step.

<"Ghoul to Bloodhound! The Imperials are moving out, guides are getting on well so far.">
<"Good news, or at least, as good as one can expect.... Anything else to report.">
<"Mandalorians are approaching orbit, bearing allied markings.">
<"Direct 'em down, please. I'll figure something out diplomaticly. Bloodhound out!">

 

[Sid Berik]

​

ENEMY UNITS: GA-Aligned Rebel Units and Holdouts

THEATER:

Galantos

FRIENDLY CV: NUMERICALLY INFERIOR, UNKNOWN TERRAIN, COMMUNICATION ERROR, SUSPECTIBLE TO AMBUSHES
ENEMY TCV: COMMAND AND CONTROL VULNERABILITY, LACK OF TRAINING, LACK OF COHESION
OBJECTIVE: SEARCH AND DESTROY


Hostile environments were nothing new to Sid.

But environments that shifted deep, gel that ate at your boots- well. He didn't like that one bit. He'd been planet-side for two weeks now. One week to get acclimated, and after that, they went out. Sixteen hour days in the bush, returning only to refit and rearm. They'd been probing for days in this sector now, hunting the last holdouts of a GA-aligned rebel group. His promotion meant responsibility, and with responsibility came decisions.

The decision to send his men out into the inhospitable terrain of the planet was not a light one. The gel and terrain ate at their armor, flightsuits and armorweave weighing them down. Heat casualties and weight was a concern- Stormtrooper armor was protective, not fast, not light, and definitely not sneaky. Even Deathtrooper armor was more for frontal assaults.

So, they donned their dull-gray green jungle fatigues, like regular Imperial troops. Unauthorized headgear, webbing, equipment. Captured rebel jungle boots, packs- and the favorite, the new bucket hats. Sid wore one himself. He liked it, and he endeavored to keep it on the way back. If he made it back. Casualties were not common, but they were expected. The rebels had the advantage of terrain and knowledge, and their ambushes, though few, were lethal and violent. Four troops dead, and sixteen wounded thus far. Of those sixteen, only ten returned to service. The rest would have to be evacuated off-world or significant time spent in their recovery.

Unpleasant, all around.

Sid's entire body shifted forward, his boots scraping a rock covered in that gel, goo- whatever it was. The map they'd made, hand-drawn over dozens of patrols, were zeroing in on the rebel holdout. Speeders, ships were seen in the area. Had to be sizeable, and had to have refueling and ammunition. Pre-fabricated, if he had to guess. Would make the most sense. Underground, if he had to guess again. Him and his thirty troops pushed through the jungle, another day that would turn into night in the bush.

Not a man spoke, not an unnecessary noise was made. Just quiet resolve, tempered with hatred of the enemy. The four that were killed were well-liked and good troops. Guys around his age, if not younger. Dead because the GA couldn't just admit defeat. The Empire even offered clemency to the enemy troops that surrendered. Why couldn't they just accept that they were beaten? Why all the trouble, to kill a few boys?

Sid scoffed as he ordered a SLS pause in the patrol. As much of a tactical move as it was to give his men a break. Then a thought hit him:

He wouldn't give up, either. In that way, he could admire their tenacity. Living on rations, limited communications, and hope alone. But Lieutenant Berik was there to deliver death- the death of hope.

The Empire had come. And he was it's wrath.

​

 

[Reiner Ghadi]

Tags: St. Thomas Barran , Sid Berik , Doctor Afic Otker

Imperial Advance

Galantos, somewhere deep in the countryside...

It had been some time since Reiner had seen a battlefield... to any degree, really. He had spent much of his days in the labs of the OIS as of late, or doing his best to maneuver the complex politics of the upper echelons of Imperial Society. There was still much contention to be ironed out within their ranks, and the shortage of supplies for their soldiers certainly had not helped. Thankfully, his machinations were seeming to come to fruition at last. The first steps toward order would be tread by him first as he would help lead the Empire into a new era... skeptics be damned.

He stood among a mix of soldiers, scientists, and ISB operatives, each group working in tandem in order to ensure that the goals of the OIS were met upon this strange planet. The gelatinous terrain was certainly an obstacle to overcome, but should this annexation of the planet succeed, that same terrain would feed the forces of the Empire for years to come.

"Director, it appears that the troops have begun their advance. Our own teams have departed as well."

"And the Khan?"

"Uncertain at this point."

He could only respond with a nod. Thomas Barran was a man that Reiner had yet to fully wrap his head around... and that made him dangerous. People were predictable, but not the Khan. He and his ilk, while effective, were little better than wild beasts. Beasts that could be aimed at an enemy, but beasts nonetheless.

"So long as our teams aren't hindered, I suppose it matters little."

Their mission was clear. They were to collect enough samples of the gelatinous substance that seemed to covered this vile planet, and bring them back to Arkania for further study. With any luck, they would accomplish that with little fuss...

 

[Khamul Kryze]

The Unchained

Loadout: Mandalore's Lament, Regret, beskar'gam

Tags: St. Thomas Barran

Disposal Unit

Some things change. Flags... borders... people...

But not Thomas Barran.

That didn't mean he was the same as when the Mand'alor had met him. Yet, at the same time, he was. He had just become more of that same man. With each raid... with each victory... Thomas had gotten more at home within his position at the head of the Mawite remnants. In recent years, Khamul had kept his loyal followers away from the forefront of the battles of Solipsis. It wasn't that he meant to betray the man, but with each day the Unchained had grown jaded with the New Sith, as well as this growing Church of The Dark Side that preached the will of the Sith'ari with every waking moment. It was the days of old he wished to return to, and Thomas was the only man that would understand that yearning. The Khan was not a man Khamul would bend a knee to. He would never bend the knee to another. But respect? That was a commodity worth sharing with Thomas.

Their ships had broken the atmosphere, Khamul's dropship at the lead. His masked gaze drifted toward the surface as they descended, his mind fixated on what surprises the planet may have in store.

"Mand'alor, we've been requested to link up with the Khan."

Khamul's familiar, wicked smile flashed once again behind his mask.

"Well, we shouldn't keep the man waiting..."

The time for blood was upon them once again.

 

[Alaric de Braose]

The machine was slow to wake. But it would not fail.

From the lookout atop the command pylon, General Alaric de Braose surveyed the convoys as they crawled across Galantos' fractured spaceport. The land beneath them was not land in any sane sense, it sometimes moved, groaned, shifted in ways no planet should. A broken clockwork of drifting continental plates, its tectonic hunger resisted all reason.

Still, the columns moved. Lines broke, reformed, struggled to keep pace with his doctrine. They moved like blood through a wound that refused to close. Delays were inevitable. Failure was not.
The decree had come five standard weeks ago: the First Army, spear of the Imperial Crusade, was to pacify Sector V-9 and rectify the blight of GA-remnants infesting the region. That this much steel and will had been mustered in such time was, to most, astonishing.

To Alaric, it was insufficient.
Fuel lines choked in mineral storms. Nomadic interference garbled communications. Mobile towns, makeshift GA holdouts lashed together atop wandering landmasses, slipped between gaps in orbital coverage. Every setback was logged. Not as a systems failure. As a failure of will.

Aides muttered about terrain instability. Advisors fretted over predictive models failing to track continent drift. Alaric cared for none of it.
Order was not found in the landscape. It was imposed.

That the enemy refused to hold still only proved their desperation. The GA stragglers were more beast than soldier now, cornered minds, clinging to a myth of return. Deprived of command, they turned to whatever tools survival offered. Nomad saboteurs. Booby-trapped fuel caches. Kamikaze trikes laced with cryo-charges.

But desperation is a double-edged thing. Predictable. Exploitable.

He had already begun issuing new doctrine: "Find a nomad. Find your way around."

No satellite scan could replace what a weather-hardened local knew. Their allegiance could be bought. Or broken.
The crusade was not a conquest. It was an audit. A purge. A correction of record.

And what lay beyond the Green Zone was not civilization. It was deviation. A rupture in Imperial time.
And time would be set right.

"General, reports from scouting parties tell of a different story at the edge of the hab-zone north of the Spaceport. Insurgents still holding some sway with the local populace it seems."

Alaric looked up briefly from the map he had turned to study. "What is your point, Major?"

The bristling Major huffed a little. "What is your directive, sir?"

The General moved his hand across the data-display and executed a swift double-tap on the screen, blue icons appearing where his digets had just been.

"Dispatch a regiment. Overpower them. Silence their dissent."

"Yes sir." The Major saluted, walking off with his adjutants in tow. Alaric looked bemused, privately wondering why anybody would resist the might of the Imperial Army. It was a bafflement.

St. Thomas Barran

 

[St. Thomas Barran]

TAGS
Khamul Kryze Trent DT-9197 Darth Keres Sid Berik Alaric de Braose

WITH BAITED BREATH
II

​

Black Hammer Spaceport, Gal'fian'deprisi,
Galantos, Galactic Core Frontier (904 ABY)

<"Director, this is the Bloodhound. Be advised, you'll have friendlies set up 5 klicks west of your current position, safety assured all the way there. The battlefront won't be much farther beyond that, though. But if ye need some good news, my Keshigs will be holding your left flank this time, elastic offence too.... In any case, good luck o'er there. Bloodhound going dark.">
​

Batu's very own company of Aspirants were holding the ground on the frontlines with Ghoul Darkhan, awaiting role-activation as guides for the advancing Imperial battle-line, but the best of whom were in the process of securing the compound at the time, checking every nook and cranny within Black hammer Spaceport whilst the Khan himself was escorted beyond the perimeter. Everyone else would be pushing forward in line with the Imperial vanguard, and with the 3rd Auxilia working to secure the ground ahead, the Spaceport would rely heavily on the Bloodhound's power for the time-being, though it would not be long before their headquarters moved westward with unexpected support.

​

'Alright, Batu. Please try t'be polite.'
'You kidding, Great Khan? Kryze is a living legend. I'll be on my best behaviour, rest assured.'
'Good.... An' while you're here, listen - an' listen well to the things I reveal here. I cannot lie to this man, I will not.'

After recognizing the markings on the Mandalorian starship, the Bloodhound was fortunate enough to quickly recall the emblems on display, recalling allies from as far back as the latter-half of the previous century. However, it wasn't until Barran began rifling through all the old names that he realised who was approaching, and only then that he remembered Kryze was the most-likely to reach out all along, thus could only feel relief for the second time that day, as Khamul Kryze was one such exemplar of the Brotherhood that the Khan knew he could trust. Only the truth would suffice for one who had earned it, and ten times over at that, and though the years had kept the Woad apart from his Mandalorian peer, this encounter would soon make the Khan feel as if barely any time had passed at all.

'Good t'see ye again, Kryze! There is much and more to tell, and more still to plan - how ye been?'

Extending his right hand for a greeting handshake, the Bloodhound would hook thumb and grip-over-grip to turn something business-oriented into something of fraternal, brotherly extreme instead, nodding to further-compund his gesture of respect before young Batu politely set the pommel of his Glaive on the ground. In Mawite culture, this was often viewed as something akin to a salute, stemming from visible statements of non-combative intent, a necessity of extremes more common than most would think. A good thing then for the young Sharptooth that he immediately followed up with a bow, dropping his head to chest-level with the blade tip still facing the sky, and only lifting his posture when the elders' hands finally disengaged.

To the Khan, and his Mandalorian peer, this was merely a chance reunion between comrades, but to all the young Aspirants who were there to witness this event, this was a moment of great, historic significance. There was no real way for the one-eyed Woad (and for that matter, nor his Beskar-clad peer) to know, as they were merely enacting old warlord protocols between Mawites, but for the Marauders, the Keshigs of the next generations, this was deeply cultural, this was a morale-boost they so desperately needed. Not that the obediant youth would ever mind, as there would be plenty opportunities to state admirations and aspirations alike, and just as many openings to thank Khamul for landing to speak with their Khan.

 

[Doctor Afic Otker]

Reiner Ghadi | Sid Berik | St. Thomas Barran
​

"Not too much, we have to space out our sample locations."

The unassuming man spoke to his peer, or rather his subordinate, as he watched him collect a small dollop from a trunk that was bleeding viscous tree sap and fusing with pale green gelatin. The unassuming man was, in fact, Doctor Otker, a high-ranking and senior member of the Office of Imperial Sciences. However, due to Otker's paranoia regarding insurgent snipers, the man had chosen to remove all rank tabs and insignias from his person and instead dress as another mere scientist within the formation. He was dressed in a sterile protective suit, a bead of sweat tickling his forehead as he traversed the terrain.

Otker had never thought he would directly be in a combat zone in his role, let alone collecting scientific samples in an active warzone, but his rising advancement in Imperial prestige and his growing approval with the Director had meant he was entrusted to accompany the mission and have a selective pick in the samples for his research department. On the surface, the gelatin that saturated this rebellious planet from top to bottom was simply a near-renewable source of food. But the Department of Advanced Weapons Research had musings that the substance could have interesting military applications, particularly as a form of weapon lubricant or even as potential ammunition. At the very least, Otker's research department would not run out of ballistic gelatin for their tests anytime soon once they secured the planet.

In the present, Otker did his best not to show his discomfort from the planet's environment as the team slowly began to move in tandem with the general Imperial advance and the movements of their fellow research teams. Overhearing the conversation, Otker held back his thoughts on the Khan owing to the presence of the ISB agents in the team and instead started with a safe conversation while in proximity.

"Funny, isn't it, Director, the impermanence of governments. It was barely a few months ago that the fate of the Alliance was decided just two sectors away in Atrisia. Now we freely walk on the planets of our fallen enemy with only small holdouts to stop us."
​

 

[Trent]

TAGS
Khamul Kryze DT-9197 Darth Keres Sid Berik Alaric de Braose
St. Thomas Barran



Post one
Foederati Vanguard

The gelatinous surface beneath the continental bodies of Galantos quaked as the mass of Imperial might moved above. Masses of troops, nomad and otherwise combed the surface and shattered what little resistance the planet still held for them. Around them trees listed back and forth as a gale found it's way across the lightly forested area. Norman's right hand held the back end of his DLT-34A, while a younger nomad who was serving as his spotter held the front. Both ran at as fast a pace as they could dodging trees, spare power packs and kit bouncing around as they bounded among their various comrades towards the group of Fian rebels and GA remnants, a quarter click or so out. The enemy took up pre prepared positions in a small one story compound, a small buckle in the greater Imperial wave engulfing the area. Trent's muscles burned with new life as for the first time in Gods knew how long he was truly, honestly alive again. As the gap closed the younger nomad, Cassius, set them up next to a larger fallen tree, while Norman set himself up behind the large weapon's stock, sighting it towards the enemy as the other began tapping on his helmet and pointing, while looking thru a binoc between.

Trent took a breath in, then on the exhale squeezed the trigger as his scope's reticule centered on a Fian's neck and shoulders, who had begun firing at advancing troops over a low wall. The xeno vanished in a colorful display of plasma and biomass. Norman gave out a "whhhhoooooppppp" and picked another target, a pair of humans attempting to set up their own mg in an open window. Within a half second Norman had sent four bolts into each of them, respectively, and moved his sight left to catch a few rounding the corner in the opposite direction.

Norman took out the rage of a lost generation on people who had no idea the depth lf hatred their enemy felt towards them. In his soul, he'd found comfort in blaming the rebellion for his misfortune and any that may have befallen his family in his depature. The GA was a good a stand in as he could hope to find. His cybernetic upgrades hummed, life saving additions to his biology to maintain him after the long cryo sleep. Courtesy of the Khan.

Norman was eternally grateful. A few months of recovery and he felt better than before, besides his flailing psyche.

 

[Nigel Redmond]

Post 1
Naval Ship/Low Orbit
Air support now available: St. Thomas Barran DT-9197 Doctor Afic Otker Alaric de Braose Sid Berik Darth Keres

Nigel and the six others of 5th Squadron suited up and exited the prestine looking barracks they all lived in. John, Emelia, Ann, Blake, Edward, and Sion. All underneath his wing so to speak. They were his family out here, same as his family back home was. Together they'd flown several missions without incident, since his promotion to Commander. Nigel held great pride in their abilities and in their wider mission. Without them, airborne assaults wouldn't happen, on the transportation or attack side of things. Today they were on the attack, with the others of the Air Wing spread around among both roles supporting ground operations against both the GA and the Xenos.

This was what they lived for. As mechanics and crewmen scattered among the flight deck the pilots jumped into their gunships and signaled the clear to their CO as they powered up their craft. Red lights flashed to green along the edges of the hangar door as a flight controller flagged them all clear. Nigel launched as he finished buckling his safety harness, sending himself out into the starry void surrounding the Carrier before spiralling down towards the bright bulb of a planet that lay beneath. The rest followed in kind in a brilliant spectacle of metal and light as they gunned their engines. In a diamond formation they went straight towards the conflict zone, coms open and ready to receive any calls for close air support.

 

[Reiner Ghadi]

Tags: St. Thomas Barran , Sid Berik , Doctor Afic Otker , Nigel Redmond , Trent , Alaric de Braose

Imperial Advance

The advance had begun...

Reiner's datapad lit up as research team and soldier alike began their march, his cold, iron eyes scanning each piece of data as quickly and efficiently as he could. There was much to do, and the resistance had dug in deep. Despite being abandoned by their precious Senate and Jedi, these fools dared to cling onto some semblance of what they once had. It was almost enough to make the Director scoff. The Alliance... he had tried to change their trajectory, but in the end, none of them heard his words. It mattered little now, however. Progress would always find its way, even if it meant burning down the world he used to help defend.

His commlink came alive with chatter as the Khan's message came through, distracting Reiner from his data for a brief moment.

<<Copy that, Bloodhound, we will proceed accordingly>>

He still didn't trust the man. The Maw were the very enemy he had defended the Alliance from, and he had seen first hand the destruction that came in the wake of their march. Better for them to be fighting our enemy, rather than us, he would think to himself. Better that the ire of the wardogs be felt by those that wished to impede the Empire's plans. But in the end, their esoteric ideals were yet another thorn in Reiner's side, another representation of the chaos he had devoted his life to ending.

But useful nonetheless.

His attention shifted toward Dr. Otker as he spoke. The young man was still a rather new face to the Director, but his mind was sharp, and his ideas had already begun bearing fruit. He was a hard worker, and devoted to his duties. In Reiner's experience, those were the kind of people you elevated. The type you kept in your corner as best as you could.

"Indeed, Doctor. Regimes come and go. It is their nature. But our work..."

He shot a quick glance toward the man.

"Our work endures."

Noticing the lack of anything representing a rank on the man, causing the side of his mouth to curl into the slightest semblance of a grin.

"First time on the battlefield, Doctor?"

 

[Khamul Kryze]

The Unchained

Loadout: Mandalore's Lament, Regret, beskar'gam

Tags: St. Thomas Barran

Disposal Unit

Death's Hand made their descent, having left their craft via jetpack as they landed near their allies. Khamul was the first to approach, his hulking armored form taking deliberate, heavy steps as he approached the Great Khan.

"You as well, Barran. Things have been quiet. Perhaps more than I prefer. Seemed like a good time to bring my people back into the fold."

He returned the handshake, his gloved hand meeting that of the Khan. He took note of Batu, as well as the respect the man showed him. It appeared Thomas had ensured that his men knew who exactly was in their presence. A wise move, and a proper gesture of respect. Somehow, it almost felt like the old days of the Brotherhood. The days of violence.. of madness... of blood. Perhaps he had returned at the right time after all.

The Unchained turned his attention to the horizon, his head motioning toward his men, giving them the signal to establish their own perimeter. It wasn't that the Unchained doubted Thomas or his men, but in Khamul's experience, his own brethren were the ones he could trust the most.

"So, these holdouts... what should we expect from them?"

Khamul was a brute, but he was no fool. Time had honed his mind, giving him a method of channeling his rage. Blood would flow soon enough... it was only a matter of finding the most efficient way to break the levies.

 

[St. Thomas Barran]

TAGS
Khamul Kryze Trent DT-9197 Darth Keres Sid Berik Doctor Afic Otker

WITH BAITED BREATH
III

​

Black Hammer Spaceport, Gal'fian'deprisi,
Galantos, Galactic Core Frontier (904 ABY)

'You as well, Barran. Things have been quiet. Perhaps more than I prefer. Seemed like a good time to bring my people back into the fold.'
'Indeed.'​

A promising first sign of working intent, and for as long as Death's Hand could remain covert, they could utilise twice as much with replenished warriors, resources and the like; just one of the many benefits to biding one's time, and just as Maestus had before him, so too had the Unchained. Not that the old Mawites were ever synonymous with terms like idleness and hubris, yesteryear's greats had all but purged it from their blood along the way, leaving raw hypervigilance to reside where comfort once thrived, making old maxims ring true than ever. Especially that which pertained to the phrase,"Beware old men in professions where men often die young.", as despite the Brotherhood's downfall, and despite both of the Khan's incarceration-spells, it seemed the Galaxy was not yet potent enough to eradicate their ilk.

​

'So, these holdouts... what should we expect from them?'
'Besides the IEDs, the Fian meat-shields an' the like? I suppose, with those considered, nothing's off the table in the mind of a cornered animal.'

The Bloodhound then noticed Kryze's subordinates were relieving the Aspirants at the perimeter, but against his expectations, the youths would not take this personally; choosing to strike up conversation with the Mandalorians instead, the surprises seemingly wouldn't cease, especially after seeing this inquisitive nature reciprocated for the most part. Curiosity was fortunately not too much for those serving with Death's Hand, or at least, not so much that it aggravated efforts to distance themselves from the Nomad youths as of yet, though the Khan saw sense enough to quietly instruct young Batu to keep his peers on the right side of respect and admiration.

'Batu, end of rotation, tell your subordinates to pump the brakes a little.... Let 'em learn by watching instead.'
'Yes, Great Khan.'
'Good lad.... But for now, you can fall out if you want.'

​

'My apologies, Kryze. Jus' making sure no patience is tested too early.', the Khan continued with a light-hearted chuckle, turning to the Unchained once more with cursory glances toward the battlefront to the west, a gestured intent to get back on track with his little rundown. It was then that Barran's smirk then diminished into something far more serious in contrast, thinking more of what would come next when he got back on track with himself, drawling,'The holdouts will obviously have something hidden away for their last, darkest hour. If we locate that weapon or whatever, we can break their morale with lasting finality - my money's on the Western Gelatin Bay o'er yonder.', though nearing dangerously close to an absent-minded haze as he found himself stuck in thoughts of threats of greater extreme.

'You know the Sith are baking something up, for us, right? Yeah, I know.... Can't put the genie back in the bottle, but I can't lie to you either.'

 

[Alaric de Braose]

2nd Regiment
1st Battallion
2nd/3rd Companys​

The ground convoy crawled northward, increasing pressure like a wound dressing itself; slow and ugly. The crawlers that had been seconded to the Battalion were in good working order despite the peculiar nature of the environment. The sensors bleated musically, their random nature made all the worse by the crackling vox units that chirped dryly, voices low and alert. The two Company-strength units moved through the ever-decreasing hab sectors, fewer houses offering fewer chances to hide insurgents. Captain Ulnian sat up front, squashed in against his junior officers, his carapace body armour scraping and rubbing against the others with repetitive percussion. He felt stifled, the air closing in as the smell of fuel and fumes sat stagnantly around the cab.

“On approach to the AO, Captain.” spoke to the lead driver, her voice only clear in Ulnian’s earpiece, despite their close proximity. The sound of the engine was too great to contest. Ulnian answered curtly.

“Solid copy. Bring us in slowly.”

The sudden end to the deafening engine’s roar came as a surprise to Ulnian, his senses wracked and jolted. He waited for the troopers beside him to exit the carrier before he began his typical barking orders, platoons forming up and squads finding each other in the muddled nature of the rapid deployment. The area around this part of the spaceport was sparsely populated, only sporadic buildings dotted about, all dominated by the control array that once offered communications for the spaceport. He looked it up and down, marking it mentally as a place of interest.

Lieutenant Caelis approached Ulnian, his blond hair matted and almost smeared to his forehead under his helmet, the rising humidity playing havoc with his attempts to maintain his usual vanity.

“Captain, we’ve almost completed deployment. Secured east and west flanks, just north to go. That array is putting out nominal signals—nothing Comms considered awry.”

Ulnian sighed, his chest feeling heavy with anticipation. To be deployed here, to be sent to ensure compliance, was part and parcel of Imperial doctrine, that he knew. He just couldn’t discern any threats.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Keep an eye out for—”

They saw the first of them at the edge of the relay tower, dressed in local garb: loose shirts, durable trousers, hoods that protected the backs of their necks from the harsh sunlight. They were armed and beginning to fire indiscriminately at the soldiers of the Company. Shrieks and cries rang out, blaster bolts beginning to find their targets within the Imperial force. Ulnian and Caelis dived behind the protection of the carrier, the stub-gun mounted on top beginning to loose its deadly payload into the undergrowth that hid the insurgent force.

The thick clump of detonation caught Ulnian’s attention, his eyes snapping toward the western edge of the control zone across the open square. Pressure-rigged mines and cryo charges had detonated, snapping vehicles in half and throwing squads into disarray. In the chaos, insurgents began to emerge from terrain hollows and shattered architecture, vanishing between strikes. It had been a trap, thought Ulnian, one he had blundered right into.
The intensity of the fighting grew, squads of men laying down blaster fire at whatever enemy they could pick out. He dared to jump inside the carrier whose shadow he had been hiding in, the vox team inside barking furiously to ensure the theatre of war remained under Imperial control.

Ulnian grabbed the receiver from the handler, growling his identity codes at the central controller on the other end of the vox.

“2nd Company, north of the spaceport. We are engaged with hostiles. Company is pinned down. Requesting immediate air support. Enemy currently holding the ridgeline north of our position. Be advised, enemy may have ordnance.”

A muffled buzz of confirmation crackled back from Central Command. Until support arrived, Ulnian had to survive and keep the assault from collapsing.

He reached for his blaster and waded back outside the carrier, the stubber above hammering its staccato rhythm into the tree line. Smoke and dust rose in bursts across the zone.

He scanned for weakness, then moved toward the western flank.

Spotting a squad covering the rear guard, he barked at them and waved forward. They surged into the fight with him, laying down a wild, agitated barrage of blaster fire into the shrubline.

A window of a nearby hab-block blew out as the carrier-mounted grenade launcher fired, sending its payload clean through the structure. Whoever had been hiding inside was silenced, permanently.

---

The Command​

Inside the carrier’s command nexus, the tension was coiled tight. Vox officers moved with methodical urgency, heads bowed to their consoles, fingers dancing across dials and flickering screens. Above, the comms arrays reoriented with a low mechanical whine, locking onto the orbital relay.

The signal cut through, sharp and prioritized; other traffic dropped.

A clipped, emotionless voice filled the compartment, cold as steel through static:

“5th Squadron, you are cleared hot on Grid Theta-Four-Seven. Confirm engagement pattern Aurek-Two. Targets are hostile irregulars; rules of engagement: unrestricted. Suppression ordnance authorized. No civvies expected in AO, repeat, no civvies. You will maintain high-altitude overwatch post-strike. Await further tasking.

Relay confirms pressure-triggered ambush. Ground elements compromised. You are to neutralize resistance nests west of the control array and provide immediate gun-run support to 1st Company at their forward perimeter. Target designators active, paint and kill.

This is a compliance action. Repeat affirm.”

Nigel Redmond

 

[Nigel Redmond]

Post 2
Down


The voice of Alaric de Braose crackled across the net, redirected by the signal corps to Nigel's gunship's internal speakers, which he immediately plugged to the whole squadron as the call went thru. Commander Redmond responded in a quick key.

"Moving to Grid Theta-Four-Seven. Engagement pattern Aurek-Two. Roger that, inbound now."

He flicked his com back to just his Squadron's channel.

"Burn em." He said coldly. Green dots in his flight helmet's HUD showed acknowledgement.

He flipped his ship into an accelerated planet-aimed sprint as he plugged the coordinates into the ship's navcomputer. 5th Squadron launched towards their new targets at breakneck speed, flashing past slower Imperial vessels in a controlled dance, maintaining formation as they descended into the highest layer of atmsosphere. Vaper and flame flickered about both his shields and the durasteel of the vessel itself as they broke thru the middle layers and towards their beseiged brothers and sisters. The strange biosphere of Galantos stood in stark contrast to the dim cloud layers above, brilliant flashes of plasma and fire erupted in the distant ground ahead of them as they decelerated. Even at this distance the various infared lasers 1st Company was painting on various targets to their immediate west. They banked in sideways and diagonal over their friendly convoy as they streamed towards the painted targets before leveling them and releasing their bombs over their targets. For a second, seven metallic cylinders spiraled thru the air, spinning like tops as they spun towards their targets. The speed of the assault left little time for reaction, a few looked up in fear, cursed, or fired at them, before vanishing into an incredible wall of fire that started at the ground and leapt dozens of meters into the air as it consumed everything around it. Their predug positions hadn't been deep enough. Evidenced by the little firelights that poured out of the tunnels as the squadron climbed above the bonfire they'd created and back into low atmo, like a group of fed hawks.

 

[Doctor Afic Otker]

Reiner Ghadi | Sid Berik | St. Thomas Barran | Alaric de Braose | Nigel Redmond | Trent
​

Otker periodically checked his holopad as the team hiked along across the terrain, wanting his own peace of mind that they were aligned with the mapped route on the hologrid. He held a substance analyzer in his other hand, always scanning each sample of material that the team's scientists collected and documenting the composition of each collected substance

Once the Director had turned his attention on Otker, he kept him in his peripheral vision as he spoke, wanting to give the Director his respect as he continued working and walking. Otker nodded in deep agreement on the permanence of their scientific works that would outlive the regimes of the galaxy, perhaps even the Imperial regime. Even now, Otker had dozens of ideas swirling through his mind while he travelled through the humid jungle. So much to do, so little time to do it.

Otker cranes his head fully to the Director's question, nodding repeatedly as he makes a surprising realisation.

"Now that you mention it, sir, it is my first time in an active battlefield rather than being on the periphery or during the aftermath. I have spent years studying the art of war in many schools and academies, but it will be the first time today that I can see theory being put into practice. What gave it away, Director?"

Otker barely suppresses a smile arising from the innate human desire to be recognised and the subtle irony of his situation. Otker's mind once again trails away, pondering the possibilities of conducting in-person observations of his department's prototypes in combat zones to analyse the performance of his department's weapons.

His thoughts on experimental weaponry were interrupted by the sounds of standardized ordnance being dropped by Nigel Redmond aerial formation on helpless insurgents in the distance, the boom of the explosions cracking through the dense vegetation. Otker betrayed nothing in his expression as he reacted to the sound. Otker immediately presents his holopad to study his map once again as he asks a general question to anyone qualified to answer within the team.

"How close are we to the active zone?"
​

 

[DT-9197]

HICOM LINK ESTABLISHED

. . .

DT-9197 PERSONAL COMMS MATCHED TO ACTIVE UNITS

. . .

DT-9197 DEPLOYMENT ACTIVE

. . .

x2 IMPERIAL TROOP DROP PODS DEPLOYED

. . .

PENETRATE, DAGGER, CONTROL

​

AREA OF OPERATION: Chirk'pn Wastes, North of Gal'fian'deprisi
CURRENT POSITION: Galactic Alliance Remnant Outpost
SQUAD: Two Fireteams | One AWR Specialist
LOADOUT: In Bio

Death came from above, it came ready and deceived those that thought they knew better. Like scattering insects, they hugged close to their corners of presumed safety and security, thinking themselves hidden from prying eyes; however, they would be proven wrong in a way that would not only strike terror into their hearts, but would also serve as a means of gathering intelligence on where more of them hid.

For all their knowledge and experience pieced together over time, their familiarity with combat and the pitfalls of underestimating opposition, they truly stumbled. Their footwork unmade, lost to the desperation that fed into uncertainty over whether or not they'd live to see another day. They'd grown weak, yet fought with a pride that could be considered admirable. They were broken, but stayed glued together under an ideal that their spirit could not be erased.

They were correct in thinking they wouldn't be erased. Instead they would understand the result of friction. Their hopes and identity would be ground into a dust that would be carried away on the winds.

They would be unmade and returned from whence they came.

Without warning, the wastes were struck with two unknown objects. What was thought to be chunks of debris finding their way into orbit, plummeting down to meet the crust of the planet. A cell of GA remnant had poked their heads up with intrigue, moving in to investigate the large metallic objects jutting out of the dirt.

At first they felt a rush of excitement, laughing among themselves as they noticed the scorched Imperial branding, thinking of it as lost cargo that some incompetent crewman managed to fumble. Or perhaps the remains of an Imperial vessel that'd been struck down, its innards now dashed across the galaxy, falling through the atmospheres of nearby planets.

All it took was for one of them to get too curious, start an attempt to scavenge the clearly visible supplies, or what they thought were goods and rations that would sate their hungry stomachs. They didn't know they were looking at empty containers, just like they hadn't a clue that they were already compromised, observed, and manipulated.

They didn't understand the gravity of their own hubris.

An explosion erupted outwards, shrapnel tearing through the group of remnant operatives. Silence fell over the area, and those that remained took up defensive positions in a nearby building that'd been designated to be captured and used as an FOB for Imperial use. They too were just as clueless, just as helpless.

From the second drop pod, its doors burst open and out came a singular squad of Stormtroopers, followed by a large figure clad in blackened cloak and armor. Immediate blasterfire was opened upon the GA remnant, their thinned out numbers counting only several souls that had no time to react properly. DT-9197 raised his E-11D without hesitation and began methodically picking off targets, three kills confirmed in mere seconds as he pushed forward with his squad in tow.

The sound of a thermal detonator chirped to life, mechanical clicks counting down until detonation as one would-be warrior chucked the explosive towards their opposition, causing them all to scatter and dive away from the blast. Two of the ten man squad had suffered severe burns and limb loss, their screams piercing the cacophony of combat around them.

Jagged rocks standing tall enough to be cover in the wasteland were taken advantage of, the remainder of the squad and DT-9197 dug in and kept suppressing fire upon the remnant forces.

 

[Lee Redmond]

Post 1
FNG

Lee looked about in awe as the massive vehicles that made up the Imperial Convoy crawled along the large road the natives had maintained for centuries. A vital vein running by the planet's famous spaceport, and the only such road with consistent upkeep. As the crawlers bumped and jostled the troopers inside they grumbled, joked, or discussed the million trivial things that some would in preperation for what was to come. The grunts from the squad leads when they'd been ordered onto the crawlers told Lee everything he needed to know. Contact was definitely expected.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Slow counting definitely helped his fraying nerves. An equal combination of fear, excitement, and good ol' fashioned adrenaline flushed through his system, keeping the young man alert, if a bit antsy. This was his first, proper deployment, and this would probably be his first combat. Around him, cramped in the apc, sat fellow Stormtroopers of various age and experience, the older of which were largely unconcerned with the battle that was about to unfold. The years of battling the GA and other elements hardening them to the initial buzz of the experience.

Lee found himself unable to focus on anything but that.

For a while the only sound was the occassional conversation and the ever turning gears of the crawlers as they slunk along the highway. Endlessly plunking.

Until a sudden halt almost sent the unbuckled flying into the front cab. The drivers cursed and began heatedly arguing, the Staff Sergeant joined in before a large explosion jetted through the interior of the cab, silencing everyone from the front quarter of the crawler in an instance, deafening all the survivors, in addition to sending screaming metal and bone towards them, killing some, wounding others further. The crawler broke in half, only sparing half the crew because an inital round created an air pocket for the pressure to escape without crushing the troopers.

Screams, fire, and blood filled Lee's vision as he tumbled about, smashing into armor, limbs, and Gods knew what else into his visor. He flailed as they others did, cursing as his left pinky and ring finger smashed between himself, a comrade, and the unrelenting durasteel of the back door. Mercifully or by a twist of fate someone hit the emergency switch by the door sending the ramp and several troopers careening backwards and two meters down as the crawler tilted forward with a new fulcrum point. Lee hit the ground and shouted as his already broken fingers were subjected to the unfeeling ground. Plasma flew through the air from both directions as the rebels launched an assault and the Imperials frantically returned fire.

For a moment Lee was overwhelmed by the sequence of events, ears ringing, blood trickling down them in spite of the sound dampeners his helmet provided, half sitting, half laying on the ground until a corporal smacked him on the back of his helmet and shouted at him "MOVE DOC, MOVE." Snapping him out of his stuper and sending him moving to his immediate left as troopers pulled their fellows out of the wreckage. Lee helped lower one of the wounded down, an infantryman with a large portion of his left arm missing, and locked in, focusing on applying a tourniquet as the man screamed and thrashed, blaster fire flew past the pair as the survivors formed a protective bulwark around the wounded and mostly destroyed carrier as Lee tended to the wounded.

Lee didn't know how long this moment lasted, felt like forever, but couldn't have been more than five or so minutes of sustained fire. As he tended to another trooper, this one without a left knee as the entire AO lit up with the friendly air support, frying the bulk of approaching rebs and bringing celebatory shouts from the grunts. Lee paused for a moment as the flames rose into the air, the illumination of a small sun shining on all of their helmets.