Star Wars Imperialism

ATTN: Lieutenant Commander Lorth Needa
Commanding Officer, Imperial-class Star Destroyer CVS 447 Panurgic
Priority 2
34.7.24GRS

Needa,​

​

Intel's slapped me with another wild bantha chase to hand over to you boys out in the rim. A tip from a local says there's a Jedi hiding out on a backwater dustball called Tatooine. I know, it's difficult to believe, but it seems there are still a handful of them listed 'at large'.​

​

Though this nonsense is almost certainly the delusional rantings of a stim addict, protocol dictates we at least send a squad of scout troopers to scope the coordinates out. You know the drill: ferry them down to the garrison, they talk to the tipster, ride out to the marker, return, and arrest the tipster for filing a false report. Quick and simple, assuming nothing goes wrong.​

​

Nonetheless, tell your men to be extra careful. Tatooine may be remote, but the fauna and locals alike have a reputation for ruthlessness. And the local garrison commander at the capitol, I'm told, has a habit of putting his ambition first. Plus there's always the chance this will be the one time the tip is hot, and this particular target held a high rank within the old Order.​

​

I hear they've been transferring men coreward out of the rim lines, so if you're short on staff, I've taken the liberty of attaching some recruitment forms so you can get a couple more boys suited up in white. You owe me an Alderaanian brandy the next time we run into each other on Impcenter.​

​

Signed,​

​

Major Kendal Ozzel​

Commanding Officer, Imperial II-class Star Destroyer CVS 1007 Reprisal​

Attachment 1:

Spoiler: Scout_Trooper_Code_of_Service_34GRS.imptxt

CODE OF SERVICE
STORMTROOPER CORPS, SCOUT BRANCH



1. All applications MUST BE SENT TO THE RECRUITMENT DEPARTMENT VIA PRIVATE HOLOMESSAGE for pre-approval before an applicant may be processed at their nearest recruitment center. In-person applications will be rejected, and the offending applicant will be locked in a magsealed trash compactor and subjected to compressive execution, pursuant to Imperial Military Code 127.4.83C.

2. All Imperial personnel are required by military law to obey the orders of their commanding officers at all times, placing them above all other personal, moral, ethical, spiritual, and political beliefs, practices, and tenets, except absolute, unquestioning loyalty to the Emperor and the Galactic Empire.

3. Discharging your weapon or taking similar actions that may conflict with the rules of engagement while on duty without prior authorization from a commanding officer will result in a court martial. [Recruitment officer's note: For this unit, special new automatic identification systems will denote sentients who are not to be hurt/killed without authorization via private holomessage from a commanding officer; they will be highlighted in red on your HUD. Hurting/killing sentients not highlighted in red without prior authorization is allowed- however, you will still be held responsible for the consequences of your actions.]

4. Applicants claiming to wield magical, psychic, or mythical "Force" powers are neither desired nor accepted by the Stormtrooper Corps, and such applicants would be immediately detained and remanded to the custody of Imperial Intelligence for suppressive containment and questioning if such powers were to exist, which they do not.

5. All civilian regulations listed in the Terms of Citizenry of the Galactic Empire must be obeyed by personnel within the Stormtrooper Corps, except those noted by Imperial Military Code 42.15.5.1A.

6. Personnel of the Stormtrooper Corps are required to submit weekly reports indicating that their levels of loyalty and personal contentment remain above acceptable thresholds. Any trooper who believes their enjoyment of their service has fallen below these standards is required to report to their nearest Imperial interrogation chamber for corrective contentment therapy. [Recruitment officer's note: In other words, have fun!] [Recruitment supervisor's note: Please ignore the previous note. The officer who wrote it has had his employment terminated.]

Attachment 2:

Spoiler: Scout_Trooper_Application_Form_34GRS.imptxt

APPLICATION FORM H-1003-8J
STORMTROOPER CORPS, SCOUT BRANCH



[For your convenience, annotations on this form clarify, denote mandatory answers, or delineate choices, pursuant to SB742 The Imperial Military Data Storage Reduction Act of 29GRS.]

Full Name:
Aliase(s)/Nickname(s):
Age:
Date of Birth: [In year:month:day format (example- 13:5:21) following standard GRS syntax.]
Homeworld:
Species: Human [Only Humans are permitted to apply to the Stormtrooper Corps. In lieu of military service, non-Humans who wish to serve the Empire are welcome to register as servile collaborators at their nearest Subhuman Collaborationism Department facility.]
Gender:
Height:
Weight:
Skin color:
Hair color:
Eye color:
Short Biography:
Medical / Psychological History: [Note that serious conditions often disqualify applicants. Schedule a meeting with your nearest recruitment office if you are unsure if your condition is likely to disqualify you from service.]
Main Weapon: [Applicants may select either the EE-3 carbine rifle, the E-11 blaster rifle, or the E-11s sniper rifle. Your choice of weapon will indicate specialization in close, medium, or long-range combat, respectively.]
Standard Sidearm: E-10a holdout blaster pistol
Standard Equipment: Armor, macrobinoculars, rations, water purifier, flare, length of fibercord, grappling hook, comlink,thermal detonator, combat vibroknife, and medpac

Attachment 3:

Spoiler: 8327131OBIW.hlcf

 

"Sir. Monitoring reports they're observing a flagged packet on one of the taps."

"Do we know the endpoints?"

"Uh... Corellia to Alderaan, best we can approximate."

"Let me have a look."

Spoiler: ISB Monitoring Initiative - Recorded Packet 0882 23:57 34.7.25

ISBMI INTERCEPT - 23:57 34.7.25 - AUTH O882
CLASSIFIED - EYES ONLY

>>PRIORITY SIGNAL DETECTED
>>WARNING: SIGNAL INTERFERENCE PREVENTING TRANSMISSION
>>94.7% PROBABILITY OF JAMMING ATTACK
>>98.6% PROBABILITY OF MONITORING PROGRAM
>> SOURCE ... WORKING ... CORUSCANT WITH 99.9% PROBABILITY
>>40.2% PROBABILITY JAMMING CAN BE OVERRIDDEN
>>00.4 % PROBABILITY TRACING CAN BE OVERRIDDEN
>>AUTOMATICALLY SOFTLINKING TO BOTNET 4
>>BOTNET 4 READY
>>INITIATE DENIAL OF SERVICE ATTACK?
>>initiate
>>COUNTERJAMMING ATTEMPT 1 .... DEPLOYING
>>WORKING ... WORKING ... WORKING ... FAILURE
>>JAMMING REMAINS ACTIVE
>>COUNTERJAMMING ATTEMPT 2 .... DEPLOYING
>>WORKING ... WORKING ... WORKING ... FAILURE
>>JAMMING REMAINS ACTIVE
>>COUNTERJAMMING ATTEMPT 3 ... DEPLOYING
>>WORKING ... WORKING ... WORKING ... SUCCESS
>>JAMMING OVERRIDDEN
>>FILE aak1837231.xxb DOWNLOADING
>>DECRYPT FILE?
>>decrypt
>>DECRYPTING ... STOPPED
>>WARNING
>>MONITORING PROGRAM IS ACTIVE
>>DECRYPTING FILE NOW WILL COMPROMISE ENCRYPTION ALGORITHMS
>>DECRYPT FILE?
>>decrypt
>>DECRYPTING ... COMPLETE
>>OPENING MESSAGE
>>
>>laserball,
>>terrible news
>>utter disaster for the alliance
>>fleet tracked + interdicted near myrkr
>>all but two capitol ships destroyed
>>rogue shadow missing
>>advisory council fears kota, eclipse, starkiller captured + tortured for information
>>council has dissolved itself
>>they are cowards
>>funding pulled out from under our feet
>>we have abandoned sanctuary base
>>i am en route to a world on the rim with a few of the others
>>hoping to secure funding from last resort benefactor
>>possibly our final chance to salvage this alliance
>>the redhead disagrees of course
>>what else is new
>>lay low for a while
>>total comm silence
>>bail already knows
>>if i don't contact you within one week
>>walk away from all of this
>>you were never involved
>>destroy all files etc
>>may the force be with us all
>>garm
>>
>>END MESSAGE

 

Two crimson suns hung low in the sky as a man walked out of a Mos Eisley hangar building into the warm, dusty embrace of the late afternoon. He wore a dark brown robe and a pair of flimsy goggles, and a thin fabric sandmask obscured his features. A few meters away, a very short, squat man with a round face and pointed ears raised his hand to wave as he cracked a wide smile.

"So we meet again," the newcomer said, smiling as he approached, extending his hand.

The short man beamed and shook it. "It seems we do, Senator," he said in a Coruscanti accent, "or should I say General?"

"Either is fine. Although it's been quite a while since I've seen the inside of the Senate building."

The short man cocked his head to the side and squinted. "Your hair's short. Can't remember if I've ever seen you with it short. And white."

The tall man hesitated as he turned his head to watch a stormtrooper that was passing by the pair, cradling a large rifle in one hand and muttering something over his comlink.

"It won't stay that way for long. Just a precaution. Can't be too inconspicuous out here."

"You? Conspicuous? I see a lot more humans walking around here than Sephi dwarves. You fit right in."

"Ha! Point taken."

"Although in my line of work, being small has its own... advantages."

"I'm sure it does. So where are we headed? Bestine?"

"Ah... I'm afraid she isn't there at the moment. She's up near the Wastes, overseeing a new dig site for the next three weeks. We're breaking ground on the biggest find yet."

"Even better. I'd dreaded setting foot in that city anyway."

"Hey, watch it. I live there, you know."

"I... I meant no offense. Only that, from what I hear, it's overrun by Imperial troops now."

The short man's deadpan scowl spontaneously broke into laughter. "I'm just busting your beam cannons! I wouldn't move there if you paid me to take a deed. Can't stand the place myself. I don't know how she does it, commuting there all the time. Maybe you should ask her? Let's walk this way- the rendezvous point is only a couple blocks over, and... I believe your forward team is already there."

"Very well."

"You know, I'm glad to see you again, General. A lot has changed since you were here last."

"Me too. I only wish it were under better circumstances."

---

The storage bay of the Star Destroyer Panurgic was mostly empty, save for a handful of hanging TIE fighters scattered throughout and a group of people huddled over a box covered in playing cards in the corner. Four scout troopers in gleaming white armor sat in a circle on empty crates, their helmets on the ground next to each of them, playing sabacc.

"Have you heard the chatter on the holonet?"

"What chatter?"

"The rumors. About Vader."

"Huh?"

"They say he got captured."

"No sith. For real?"

"No sith. On Kamino. By some rebels."

"Rebels? Who'd be dumb enough to forment against the Empire?"

"'Forment'? You been reading the handbook again?"

"I like to stay sharp, you know."

"Then get your aft deck to the range, don't stick your nose in a datapad."

"Whatever. Anyway, they ain't dumb if they caged Vader."

"Yeah, I guess. Sith. That's crazy."

"You know what I've always wondered about the guy?"

"What's that."

"If he's still got his... you know."

"His what."

"You know. The ol' laser gun an' thermal detonators."

"Oh, gods. Here he goes again."

"Hey, man, I'm just wondering. I mean, he's so angry all the time, I thought-"

"Why you so obsessed with Vader's docking bay, bro?"

"C'mon, you never thought about that? I mean they say he got burned real bad, right? His whole body, almost?"

"Right."

"I mean- just think about what he's like in the bunk. Shiny cyborg parts whirring and flying everywhere. That voice makin' dirty talk in her ear, and the breathing. Sith, in the dark she's not even sure if she's feeling an oil leak or-"

"Alright, Sav, we get the picture."

"I'd be more freaked out by the lizard head, dude."

"What? Lizard head?"

"Yeah. Vader's a lizard thing inside that black bucket. Like that old general from the war, Gravel-iss or whatever his name was."

"No way, Semp."

"Yup, that's what I heard from my pal in the 501st. Said he's seen him without the helmet."

"He's full of sith."

"No way they'd pick a subhuman for Supreme Commander."

"Okay, whatever, I believe it."

"Well then I've got some swampland on Dagobah you might wanna buy!"

Three of the troopers started hysterically laughing. Semp just looked at them blankly. Then his mouth crept into a smirk, and he laid his cards down on the box.

The sergeant scowled. "Wellllll... sith."

Footsteps were approaching, their clack-clack-clack echoing around the room. An Imperial officer rounded the corner. She abruptly stopped and stared coolly at the scene in front of her.

The sergeant turned slowly, and when he caught sight of the officer his eyes widened. He shot to his feet.

"Atten-TION! Officer on deck!" All of them stood up quickly and snapped into a salute.

Pulling off a datapad from her hip strap, she spoke. "Is this..." she poked the datapad several times, "...Private Semp Terralle,"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"...Corporal Treveck Belinski,"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"...and Private Serrell Velsívnar?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

She looked at the sergeant. "Then you must be Sergeant Cobel McKittrick."

"Yes, sir. B Company, 2nd Platoon, Graul Squad, all present and accounted for."

"Good. Captain Needa wants you in the briefing room at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow morning. You're to meet the new recruits that are filling out your squad."

"Very good, sir."

"And the Captain wants me to tell you," she peered over at the other troopers, "that if you ever turn your comlinks off all day during R&R again, he'll have you scrubbing the mess hall with toothbrushes for the next six months. Understood?"

The sergeant gulped. "Yes, sir. Understood, sir."

"Good. At ease." She turned and strolled away, around the corner.

Clack-clack-clack-clack.

They all slinked back down to their crates and slumped over the sabacc game.

Belinski sighed. "Why is it that the only women around here are the ones giving us orders?"

"With a face like that, T-Bone," the sergeant snickered, "you should be glad she's talkin' to you at all."

 

GM Approved

Full Name: Praxis R’juna
Aliase(s)/ Nickname(s): ‘Silver-hand’
Age: 21
Date of Birth: 13:7:7
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Height: 5’11”
Weight: 161lbs
Skin color: Tan
Hair color: Black
Eye color: Hazel
Short Biography: Born an only child. Praxis is a former courier and amateur echani practitioner who competed in several underground fighting tournaments in Corscant’s under levels. Having a noble heart, he refused entreaties from local gangs and corrupt officials, which in the end, cost him his mentor’s life and led him to escape conflict by joining the Imperial Academy of Cardia, ironically fulfilling his wish to ‘leave this hell hole’.
Medical/ Psychological History: No medical history, Praxis is in excellent physical condition. However, he can become temperamental, is often defensive and periodically succumbs to depression, guilt or deep seated anger.
Main Weapon: EE-3 carbine rifle
Standard Sidearm: E-10a holdout blaster pistol
Standard Equipment: Armor, macro binoculars, rations, water purifier, flare, length of fiber cord, grappling hook, com link, thermal detonator, combat vibro knife, and medpac.

 

GM APPROVED

Full Name: Aiden Halleck
Aliase(s)/Nickname(s): Leck
Age: 22 Standard Years
Date of Birth: 12:10:18GRS
Homeworld: Abregado-rae
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Height: 6'0"
Weight: 195 lbs.
Skin color: Light olive skinned
Hair color: Black
Eye color: Blue
Short Biography: Aiden Halleck was born an orphan in Abregado-rae's capital city spaceport and grew up on the streets. Active with a local small-time gang, the Dock Street Devils, he bears an altered tattoo of the Imperial crest on his right triceps that has a striking resemblance to their old symbol. In and out of jail for a few minor offenses, he was caught up in an interdicted smuggling operation and given two options: he could go to a penal colony and spend the next four years making little ones out of big ones, or join the Carida Imperial Academy with a clean slate. Service in the Stormtrooper Corps to expunge his charges. He chose the obvious, and despite his rough past has thoroughly enjoyed receiving a top-notch education and becoming a soldier.
Medical / Psychological History: Aside from the errant scar, Aiden Halleck is in perfect physical condition. His above-average muscle mass owes to his training on the planet Carida and his own extracurricular exercise routines. Psychologically, he has had a problem with authority in the past, but such tendencies appear to have been drilled out of him through maturation and military training. Having found a home within the Empire that raised him up out of nothing, he is fiercely loyal and a firm believer that its ends justify their means.
Main Weapon: EE-3 Carbine Rifle
Standard Sidearm: E-10a Holdout Blaster Pistol
Standard Equipment: Armor, macrobinoculars, rations, water purifier, flare, length of fibercord, grappling hook, comlink, thermal detonator, combat vibroknife, and medpac

 

GM Approved!

Full Name: Kagura Saito
Alias/nickname: Lil' Sis / TR-8311
Age: 20
Date of Birth: 14:8:2
Homeworld: Eriadu - Attended the Imperial Academy on Carida
Species: Human
Gender: Female
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 135 lbs, muscular build, slim not stocky, little body fat.
Skin color: White with yellow/olive undertone
Hair color: Black, straight, even bob cut just below her ears
Eye color: Dark Brown
Short Biography: Kagura fought hard to get where she is. Now a fresh and untested in combat she is a Scout Trooper and ready to continue to prove herself as she moves forward to active service, she is tough as any other Storm Trooper in the Imperial Military. In joining the service of the Empire she was approved to be trained as a Scout Trooper under the strict condition that she could not be anything less than perfect. While attending the Imperial Academy on Carida, she had proved to have excellent skill in medium range combat and any kind of field operations, her undying loyalty, tenacity, fitness and strength rivaled those of the other top candidates. Although not without problems, she had gotten into a fight with a male candidate during training, almost getting disqualified. In time the candidates whom had completed training with her came to refer to her as Little Sister and she has always carried the moniker Lil' Sis as a proud memory.
Medical / Psychological History: Sustained knee injury from the incident with another candidate during training, though this hasn't presented a problem thus far, but may in the future. Psychologically fit for duty, tendency towards over-exertion and analytical thinking. Trooper may require monitoring to prevent degradation in combat readiness and ability due to lack of sleep, food, and dehydration.
Main Weapon: EE-3 carbine rifle
Standard Sidearm: E-10a holdout blaster pistol
Standard Equipment: Armor, macrobinoculars, rations, water purifier, flare, length of fibercord, grappling hook, comlink,thermal detonator, combat vibroknife, and medpac

 

GM Approved

Full Name: Aldor Links
Aliase(s)/Nickname(s): Al
Age: 25
Date of Birth: 8:10:2
Homeworld: Coruscant
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Height: 1.8 m
Weight: 70 kg
Skin color: Pale
Hair color: Blonde
Eye color: Blue
Short Biography: Young and impressionable when the Emperor first abolished the Republic, Al Links grew up an enthusiastic proponent of Imperial dogma, and enrolled in the Imperial Academy at the earliest opportunity. Not especially suited for the demands of hand-to-hand conflict, he proved to be something of a crack shot during training, and was quickly filed into a sniper detail. Following graduation, he entered the Stormtrooper Corps, and since then he has served well in his current capacity, if somewhat unexceptionally given the talents around him. Al remains as fiercely devoted to the ideological goals of the Galactic Empire as ever.
Medical / Psychological History: 32:4:18 - Minor blaster injuries incurred during policing operation on Ghorman, since fully recovered.
Main Weapon: E-11s Sniper Rifle
Standard Sidearm: E-10a holdout blaster pistol
Standard Equipment: Armor, macrobinoculars, rations, water purifier, flare, length of fibercord, grappling hook, comlink,thermal detonator, combat vibroknife, and medpac

 

At this time, the application window is closed. I would like to keep this game very small and manageable for now. If applications reopen, I will post notifications in RPR and ask the mods to amend the thread title. The first post with tags will be up soon.

 

A farmboy brushed his hair aside and peered at the faintly humming transport as it cut through the indigo haze of the evening sky, passing in front of the fading suns with a glimmer and continuing northward over the plains.

How he yearned to be in that cockpit. To fly a craft free of the dust-choked atmosphere of this lonely, desiccated world. To explore, to fight, and to discover what secrets the galaxy held close. As he watched the ship shrink into the horizon, the desire burned in his gut.

A couple meters away, a power converter rolled off a crate, and fell to the dry ground with a thud.

That's funny... there wasn't any wind.

-

"Stalker Six-Six, this is Panurgic actual. Maintain present velocity and reroute to heading zero-one-niner decimal eight-two."

"I copy, actual. Stalker Six-Six rerouting. Two minutes to drop zone."

The voices of the pilot and cockpit comlink carried back to the cabin of the Sentinel-class shuttle, where four fully outfitted scout troopers sat across from four others, holding their weapons, helmets off. The old, facing the new.

"Since we didn't get a chance to meet in the briefing room," said one of the eight, a man in his early forties with a worn face, short, curly grey-black hair and a wide smile, "I think we should introduce ourselves now. I'm Sergeant McKittrick. The troopers next to me are Belinski, who we call T-Bone-"

A burly, light-skinned man with a shaved head was next to the Sergeant. He was chewing a toothpick slowly. Regarding the new recruits coolly, he gave a slight nod.

"-Velsívnar, who we call Sav-"

Next to T-Bone, a man with scraggled hair and sunken, piercing eyes snarled, "Morning, choobas," as he cracked a wide grin.

"-and Terralle, who we call by his first name, Semp."

At the end of the row of seats, a large, dark-skinned man sat watching the others, arms crossed. He didn't say anything.

"So, new guys," the Sergeant said, looking back to his new squadmates, "why don't you introduce yourselves."

"One minute to drop zone," echoed the pilot's voice from the cockpit.

"And you'd better make it fast," the Sergeant added.

TAG: greyjedi125, BLemelisk, Heavy Isotope, Ramza

Spoiler: GM Addendum

In my opening post, I specified that "godmoding" (i.e., hurting/killing without prior approval) would be allowed against NPCs whose names were not highlighted in red. For the sake of simplicity, I'm going to invert this rule: unless an NPC's name is highlighted in red, you may not post damage against them, although you may make attempts to attack them or confer with me via PM about harming them. If you have questions, please PM me and ask!

 

IC: Praxis R’Juna
Sentinel-Class shuttle

It never ceased to impress him how stable the ride aboard the Sentinel-Class shuttle could be. After risking his life so many times while riding on unreliable and sputtering air-cabs down on level 101 back on Coruscant, this was a welcomed change. Those cab owners could always replace or repair a droid cab driver if their vehicle crashed. It was understood that the passenger knew the risks he or she was taking for the sake of ‘convenience’. Even the air inside the shuttle was far cleaner and actually breathable - a far cry from trying to guess the origin of an unrecognizable stench.

Still, the question remained. What was he doing here?

Sure,he could follow orders and the training was something he always enjoyed and looked forward to, but there was something that bothered him inwardly.

Did he finally manage to escape the gangs of Coruscant’s under-levels, just to -by some twist of fate- join the most powerful and militarized gang in the galaxy? Was he overthinking things and viewing it all from the wrong perspective? What about taking revenge on the bottom-feeders who killed his mentor? What about his infirm mother, whom he’d practically abandoned?

[‘Stalker Six-Six, this is Panurgic actual. Maintain present velocity and reroute to heading zero-one-miner decimal eight-two.’]

[‘I copy, actual. Stalker Six-Six rerouting. Two minutes to drop zone.’]

The exchange came through quite clearly through the ship's intercom.

So, they were changing course again, and sure enough he felt the shuttle yaw. At least they were almost at their destination.

Hearing that they were only two minutes from the designated drop zone, Praxis was about to begin a weapons check, when a voice across him suddenly got his attention, so naturally, he looked up and listened. That’s what you were expected to do when someone who out-ranked you spoke.

“Since we didn’t get a chance to meet in the briefing room, I think we should introduce ourselves now.”

Praxis regarded the older man who addressed them, giving him his full attention.

“I’m Sergeant McKittrick.”

Praxis offered a slight nod as the man continued making introductions of all the troopers on his side of the shuttle. T-Bone,Sav, Semp. All had interesting names and displayed individuality. Praxis nodded at each who made eye contact with him, including the big silent one who was not introduced.

“So,new guys, why don’t you introduce yourselves.”

[‘One minute to drop zone’]

“And you’d better make it fast.”

Praxis had no problems following that order. He wasn’t much for the whole introduction ritual either way. Best to get it out of the way. He offered a sharp salute and spoke with all due respect.

“R’Juna, Praxis, SIR!”

Surname first followed by given name. You couldn’t get more formal than that.

Praxis held the salute for a beat, then placed his hands back on his weapon. That check would have to wait for the moment, since he was also curious as to who the other three rookies sitting next to him were.

Tag:BLemelisk,Heavy Isotope,Ramza,Pyrophoric

 

"Trooper TR-8311, Kagura Saito," she said quickly and confidently. Kagura didn't know what to expect on this mission, being her first deployment. Nor did she expect her superiors to seem so familiar with one another. Then again the reputation of the Scout Troopers was that of a wild bunch, I guess that would make them less regimented than a regular legion, she thought. Though it may be in their nature, Kagura was still new and would need time to adjust to this lifestyle, trusting in her training was key.

Kagura drummed her fingers on the helmet resting on her knee, they were getting close now. She checked the safety lever on her EE-3 Carbine to ensure it was engaged, afterwards resting her finger over the trigger guard. Looking to the other rookies a realization crept upon her, she figured that though not by much, she was the youngest and least experienced; as well as the only female. However she was glad they were all humans, the Empire made good on only allowing the best into the Stormtrooper Corps and the best of those into the Scout Troopers; now she was one of them. Though her armor was less bulky because of her figure, she is still a Scout and behind their unique helmets; whether she is a woman didn't make a blasted difference. Kagura sat back taking pride at the thought, resting the stock of the Carbine on her thigh so the barrel pointed upwards and away from anyone aboard, counting down the seconds to touchdown in her head.

TAGS: Pyrophoric greyjedi125 BLemelisk Ramza

 

IC: Aiden Halleck
Aboard Sentinel Transport

With each introduction provided by the Sergeant, Aiden looked and nodded with a pursed-lip smile to each of the four seated across from him. As McKittrick finished speaking, two of the three other newbies rattled off their names. One a quick and sheer salute, the other delivered by a female trooper he had admittedly stolen a few glances at in the briefing room aboard the Destroyer. He had met them at various points on the Panurgic during the trip to Tatooine, but not their four veteran counterparts along for the ride in the troop bay.

He sat a little higher up, addressing his superior, “ST-865, Aiden Halleck, Sar’n. And ‘Leck’ kinda rolls off the tongue easier,” he added looking to the others.

A slight bit of atmospheric turbulence shook the craft, and he took in a deep breath. This was his first real-world mission, and he was eager to get started. It was also his first time on Tatooine, though he understood the place was essentially a smaller, dirtier Abregado-rae. At least he was used to it. To think some of the poor stimheads in the Devils who had been breaking their backs on Kessel for the last four years were getting out soon, and here he was on a state-of-the-art dropship in a fringe system responding to a call about Jedi. Who in their right mind wouldn’t have signed up? The idiots he used to run with, that’s who.

Those he ran with now were in control of the entire galaxy, not just a couple back alleys in a ratty spaceport.

TAG: greyjedi125, Heavy Isotope, Ramza, Pyrophoric

 

Al Links
Transport

Al decided to hold back on his introduction until the others had taken the initiative. It was a habit he'd picked up in combat service - when you were on sniper detail, you either mastered the fine art of not drawing attention to yourself, or you got some punk terrorist gunning at what was supposed to be your secure position. It was a philosophy that permeated most aspects of his life these days; meet and greets were no exception.

"Al Links. Designation CR-9117. Nice to make your acquaintances."

After this curt introduction, he pulled out his macro binoculars and inspected the lenses. "The E-11s," he remembered an instructor telling him once, "is accurate to within a 3 mile range. That means when you fire it, it's going to hit whatever it's pointed at. Consequently, it's your job to make sure that whatever it's pointed at is whatever you want it to be pointed at." Typically, that translated to making sure the business end was pointed at some unsuspecting Rebel scum, and while the E-11s had a scope, you probably wanted to make sure you had any business using the scope in the first place.

That meant keeping your macro binoculars in top condition. Fortunately, this new deployment had meant new equipment. For good or ill, that meant new macro binoculars. He inspected the lenses again.

"And when it's pointed where you want it to be pointed?"

Position target in the center and pull the switch.

He grinned.

Tag: All

 

When the new squadmates had all introduced themselves, Sergeant McKittrick nodded. "Good to meet you all. It's nice to finally have some fresh blood in this outfit."

The shuttle was over Bestine now. Fireflies shimmered in the night— rippling orange embers that danced together in clusters, scattered throughout the dark of the city speeding by below.

“Riots,” said McKittrick, gazing out the cabin porthole.

He looked over at the other troopers with a grim expression. “Protests broke out in the capitol a few hours ago. Don't expect a warm welcome when we touch down. Garrison commander's got his hands full, no doubt. We've been ordered to leave the shuttle here to pitch in with the suppression. So keep your head up. There's no telling if these insurgents are stupid enough to try and hit the garrison, and the last thing I need...” he paused for a second, hesitating, “...is to lose any more of my troopers.”

“Tower, this is ST six-six, requesting permission to land.”

“Evening, six-six. Quite a mess down here.”

“Looks like it, tower. Should we hold back in a hawk circle?”

“Negative, six-six, we've, uh... yeah, we've got space. Permission granted at coordinates... seven... three... niner.”

“Copy, tower. Sierra hotel. Lifts live, four down and locked. ETA fifteen seconds.”

Bestine Garrison sat atop a large hill overlooking the city. As the Sentinel approached, two floodlights embedded in its flared nose flicked on, piercing the darkness to converge at a single spot on the desert ground below. A crater of swirling sand whipped furiously up and away as the shrill whine of the engines lowered to match the shuttle's descent. The landing skids met the dirt with a thunk and let out a long, groaning creak as their hydraulic pistons took on the burden of one hundred sixty-five metric tons of metal. Then the pressure seals on the starboard hatch of the craft disengaged and the hatch began to lower with a slow hiss, steam cascading out in billowing clouds from either side of it.

“ALRIGHT, YOU WOMP RATS!” the sergeant yelled, unbuckling his harness and standing up. “It's showtime!” He shoved his helmet onto his head and his voice became distorted as its comm systems crackled to life. “I want ALL EIGHT of those speeder bikes on the sand YESTERDAY!”

While his troopers scrambled for the vehicle hold, McKittrick holstered his E-11 and strolled down the assault ramp. Fifty meters away the dim yellow lights along the garrison's blast wall glowed, silhouetting three figures who were walking toward the shuttle. As they came closer, the light emanating from the hatch brought them into view.

An Imperial officer wearing a black armor vest and wide helmet over his uniform was trudging through the sand toward the landing zone. He was flanked by two stormtroopers in dirt-battered armor. They carried long repeating rifles, and each had a red pauldron affixed to their right shoulder.

“Look at this clown costume Command's got me lugging around,” the officer said as he came to a stop in front of the now-saluting McKittrick. A thin black handlebar moustache was draped over his scowl. “Bestine's a hot zone right now, they said. Protocol is protocol, you have to wear the battle gear. Inside the garrison. Can you believe that sith?”

He extended his hand. “At ease. Captain Foriss Jasha. CO Bestine Garrison. Good to meet you, Sergeant.”

McKittrick shook it. “JH-2911 reporting, sir. Just tell me where to find the tipster.”

“That won't be necessary, Sergeant. We've already got him in custody with the other dissident scum inside. Our theory is that he was working with them, trying to get troops out of the city with a false report to draw them off the protests. Obviously, we couldn't spare anyone down here on a snipe hunt," he nodded down at the city on fire, "and that's why we called for you boys. We need you head out to the coordinates he gave us. Apparently, they point to an abandoned communications facility in a valley to the west, up in the Jundland Wastes. Relay tower and a couple habitations. I've put the data in your helmets already. This rock's got two suns, so the night is short. It'll be dawn before you arrive. Bike to the hills at the edge, peer in, then check all the buildings and we'll send your Sentinel over. Clear?”

“Crystal, sir,” replied McKittrick.

“Good. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some interrogation droids to start warming up.” Jasha and the stormtroopers turned and started back toward the garrison wall.

McKittrick saluted again and then turned back toward the shuttle. “WHY AREN'T ALL THOSE BIKES ON THE SAND YET, YOU LAZY CONDUIT WORMS? Ten more seconds and I'll bust you all back to the Academy!”

When all the 74-z speeders were out of the lander, McKittrick crossed his arms and addressed the troopers once more.

"Alright. So they have the tipster and all we have to do is ride out to the marker. Easy. So check your weapons and mount up, we're riding through the night. If you have any questions," he swung his leg over the seat of one of the speeder bikes, "you should probably ask me now."


TAG: @greyjedi125, @BLemelisk, @Heavy Isotope, @Ramza

 

“Riots,” said McKittrick, gazing out the cabin porthole.

Kagura peered out the porthole as well trying to get a view of the commotion, to no avail, there was only light from fires spread across Bestine which prevented her from discerning any actual chaos. Sergeant McKittrick continued, but it was the last of his words that stood out, "the last thing I need... is to lose any more of my troopers.” She nodded, his words struck her seriously, training was one thing; combat was another. The Sentinel touched down, "I want ALL EIGHT of those speeder bikes on the sand YESTERDAY!” the Sergeant roared. "Ready to rock," Kagura thought as she quickly donned her helmet and slung her carbine over her shoulder, her voice distorted by the comm: "AYE, SERGEANT," she shouted in acknowledgement then rushed to the speeders. She quickly removed the securing harness of one, climbing aboard and steering it to the side of the craft to begin the line for the rest of the speeders. Rushing back to help the rest of the squad remove the rest, her heart pounded, she certainly didn't want to get on his bad side. After he was finished talking to the CO he continued to bark orders, Kagura worked quickly. Fresh out of the Academy one could expect no less of her than obedience, speed, and intensity.

As she removed the harness from another speeder gesturing to one of the other squad mates to take it, Kagura began to think of this as a race and time was not on her side. She quickly unsecured another speeder which was taken by another Trooper. That was the last of them, she quickly made her way down to the sand as Sergeant began to speak, "Alright. So they have the tipster and all we have to do is ride out to the marker. Easy. So check your weapons and mount up, we're riding through the night. If you have any questions," he swung his leg over the seat of one of the speeder bikes, "you should probably ask me now."

Doing as she was told Kagura again checked the safety lever, slinging the carbine across her chest and keeping her hand firmly on the pistol grip, her finger resting over the trigger guard. She activated the night vision of her helmet's visor and mounted the speeder she had first brought down. "Sergeant, when we get to the marker, what's the likelihood our target will be there and is there anyone specific we should be looking for?" Kagura asked loudly with a confident and respectful tone. This was it, what she wanted all her life, the armor felt like a second skin and she loved the way her voice sounded through the helmet. Though she kept that thought to herself.

 

Praxis R’juna, TK-1277
Bestine Garrison

The other three rookies introduced themselves one after the other. Praxis managed to steal a glance at them, just to mentally register their faces, thought, Leck and Kagura did look a bit familiar to him.He’d seen them a couple of times back at the Academy at Carida. There had been a lot of unspoken ( and welcomed ) competition among the new recruits, especially during physical training drills. Praxis was surprisingly pleased by the motivation this gave him. It did help him meet and even exceed some of his personal goals. Kagura, being practically the only female amongst the new recruits, could keep up with most of the guys, if not all. The Drill Sergeant however, happened to be his own biggest obstacle.

Praxis hated how the guy would just yell and holler all up in his face. It was like the man was trying to break him, but he refused to be broken. His personal dislike for the Drill Sergeant had grown to such an intensity, that he’d begun to plot a confrontation with the large man. This just made him train harder, not just to prove he would not quit or back down, but also to take down his bigger opponent.

One time during mess hall, so focused on his growing animosity was he, that he’d blinked blankly at the man when he’d bought him a mug of Corellian Ale,the man then proceeded to congratulate him on a job well done. Praxis, was at a complete loss for words, caught totally off-guard by the gesture. The man grinned wickedly, slapped him on the shoulder and moved on to congratulate the next recruit. That's when it dawned on him that just maybe, none of that had been 'personal'. All that training, all that anger he was building up - sometimes it was all so confusing.

“Good to meet you all. It’s nice to finally have some fresh blood in this outfit.” Sergeant McKittrick stated, snapping him out of his reverie and back into the present.

Praxis nodded amiably, not sure what to really make of that statement. Did he mean ‘fresh blood’ as in a good set of ‘new soldiers’…or cannon fodder?

Something caught the Sergeant’s attention, then he looked out the porthole nearest to him and said “Riots.” Praxis quickly did the same and looked out as well. He looked back, not understanding what this meant, and found the sergeant already giving a sit rep.

Praxis listened carefully and kept his expression neutral, which was easy to do, until the last part of the Sergeant’s statement.

“…the last thing I need…is to lose any more of my troopers.”

Praxis tamped down his curiosity and growing anxiety. What did happen to the 'other four' troopers they were replacing? and why were there riots in the capitol? At the moment, he couldn’t think of a way to get those answers, so perhaps it was best not to focus on that. They were about to land in a hostile environment. There would be other, more immediate concerns to keep his mind occupied.

Their shuttle received permission to land and in fifteen seconds, they were on the ground.

“ALL RIGHT, YOU WOMP RATS!! It’s SHOW TIME! I want ALL EIGHT of those speeder bikes on the sand YESTERDAY!”

“Sir! Yes, Sir!!” Praxis responded and added a sharp salute as he himself got up. Things were getting exciting, though he wasn’t sure if that was the right feeling he should be experiencing. Best just to go with the flow. With a practiced sense of urgency, he donned his helmet and got in line to make his way to the speeder bikes. No point in tripping over each other. There was an unspoken beauty to efficiency and organization that he inwardly admired. He didn’t mind the playful name calling in these situations as he now learned they were intended to be motivating. ( and as long as they weren’t all up in his face )

Thankfully, he wasn’t the last one at the vehicle hold, he made sure of that, but he was far from being first. No matter. The 74-Z speeder bikes all looked the same, but he still picked one out visually. He quickly moved to the one he desired, but was suddenly cut-off by none other than Kagura, TR-8311.

What the…

But before he could protest, Kagura had removed the harness from the speeder bike, gestured for him to take it and moved off to the next one. It was a very quick efficient process.

[“Uhm…Thanks”] He said, then suddenly realized how strange he sounded with his helmet on. That was going to take some getting used to.

True to his training, Praxis did not waste any time. He took the bike and guided it down the ramp, then quickly got into formation even as the Sergeant ‘encouraged’ them to hurry.

“WHY AREN”T ALL THOSE BIKES ON TH SAND YET, YOU LAZY CONDUIT WORMS?” Ten more seconds and I’ll bust you all back to the Academy!”

Praxis, suppressed a chuckle. He knew this was serious and was not supposed to be amusing, but at times it was hard to tell the difference, given some of the colorful language. Well, it was amusing if you bothered to visualize it.

Once they were all in formation, Sergeant McKittrick explained the situation. Praxis did his weapon and equipment check as ordered, then mounted his bike. He had no questions, so he kept his peace. Inwardly, he took a breath as he tried to focus his mind. They were about to go on their very first mission - well, the new recruits at least. They were only riding for a couple of hours to their marker, so why was he feeling so anxious and excited all at once?

Stay cool ‘silver-hand’, it’s not a division belt you’re going after. Focus on your objective…it’s gonna be alright.

A good mantra, however, the shimmering amber lights he viewed in the distance were likely to challenge that.


Tag:Pyrophoric, other troopers

 

IC: Aiden Halleck
Landing Pad, Bestine Garrison

Halleck had kept quiet during the rest of the approach, noting the Sergeant’s somber acknowledgement of his unit sustaining casualties previously. This wasn’t unexpected, as that was the very definition of “replacements” in a military sense, but he couldn’t help but wonder the circumstances. Was McKittrick a poor leader? Impossible. They wouldn’t give him a mission with this sort of command autonomy if he was. Besides, he had a steely look about him that exuded authority, and Aiden always respected someone like that.

As the craft touched down he pulled up his helmet and habitually flicked the visor twice before planting it on his head, a high-pitched whine ensuring a tight environment seal.

“ALRIGHT, YOU WOMP RATS! It's showtime! I want ALL EIGHT of those speeder bikes on the sand YESTERDAY!”

McKittrick’s voice immediately came through on his external audio feed, far louder than if Aiden had been unbuttoned. Startled, he jolted upright as he quickly navigated the helmet’s HUD and reduced the setting back to normal amplification – it had been elevated as he occasionally boosted the sensitivity to eavesdrop on the errant camp conversation. Harmless, though he had forgotten to reduce it again after intently listening in on a pair of female troopers complaining about their boyfriends.

Trotting to the back of the bay where the 74-Z’s were stowed, he got to work amongst the others guiding the bikes out and onto solid ground while the Sergeant talked to who appeared to be the local garrison commander. They finished up and McKittrick barked once more as the squad was finishing up their task.

“WHY AREN'T ALL THOSE BIKES ON THE SAND YET, YOU LAZY CONDUIT WORMS? Ten more seconds and I'll bust you all back to the Academy!”

The seven used these fictional ten seconds to dress their line and stand properly next to each of their selected bikes.

"Alright. So they have the tipster and all we have to do is ride out to the marker. Easy. So check your weapons and mount up, we're riding through the night. If you have any questions, you should probably ask me now."

Their NCO then jumped aboard his own bike and everyone followed suit. Kagura asked loud and clearly, "Sergeant, when we get to the marker, what's the likelihood our target will be there and is there anyone specific we should be looking for?" Halleck couldn’t resist and added quickly over his general address comms, “Anyone with a lightsaber, right Sar’n?”

TAG: Pyrophoric, Heavy Isotope, greyjedi125, Ramza

 

Praxis R’Juna, TK-1277
Bestine Garrison

The chatter was not helping his nerves, so he really had to try harder to stay focused and hope their target was anything ‘other’ than what was being suggested.

No one seemed to have a question for the Sergeant save for Kagura.

“Sergeant, when we get to the marker, what’s the likelihood our target will be there and is there anyone specific we should be looking for?” TR-8311 asked.

Before the Sergeant could answer, Leck spoke his mind with causal ease and perhaps just a hint of eagerness.

“Anyone with a lightsaber, right Sar’n?”

Praxis was glad he was wearing his helmet as a brief cautionary expression crossed his face. He wasn’t sure where the others were from, but he was native to Coruscant, where the Jedi Temple once stood. He’d heard enough tales about how Jedi were able to control peoples minds and compel them to attack each other, throw folks around like rag dolls with their mystic powers and deflect a barrage of blaster bolts with their laser swords. Heck, it took a Legion of troopers to take down Jedi during the war. No wonder they were wiped-out. Was this a suicide mission then? How could anyone be excited about that?

Slowly, Praxis let out a breath and hoped his internal mic didn’t pick it up and broadcast it to the rest of the squad. First impressions were lasting impressions. Best to just get to the marker and deal with whatever the situation called for once they got there.

All that remained now was for the Sergeant to answer the question with some intel and launch the sortie.


Tag: No one atm ( yeah, I couldn’t resist after reading Blemelisk’s post)

 

A series of flashes pierced the night, and a moment later thundering echoes cascaded off the outlying hills, the rumbling remnants of explosions far below. A wing of TIE fighters glowing red by the dim light of distant flames streaked across the sky, their screaming engines straining, and banked down toward the city center spitting shrill green bolts.

"Lightsaber. Is that what they're called?" Sergeant McKittrick asked. "I'd forgotten. Been a while since Carida." The sergeant looked over to face the darkness in the west. "They put me in the 501st ten years ago, fresh out of the Academy. We had a name for a Jedi sighting back then: we called it a scumspot. Want to know how many scumspots I racked up chasing four hundred eighty-six separate leads?"

He turned back to the other troopers.

"None."

He reached down and thumbed the ignition on the speeder. "They're all dead."

Its vanes trembled as the engine sputtered and growled to life. "Most of them were wiped out two decades ago. Any stragglers were picked off soon after." He pressed his foot down on a pedal and revved the speeder twice.

"Officially," McKittrick said, watching it fly off into the night, "the current figure pegs the odds of a tip being genuine somewhere around... one in six million, I think. We're chasing a ghost tonight, make no mistake. But that doesn't mean you can treat this like a day off. We've got other worries- real worries. I sure hope you chubbas read the dossier on the indigenous hostiles carefully. The Wastes are crawling with natives carrying sniper rifles."

He leaned forward and gripped the speeder bike's handlebars. "So keep up."

He compressed the pedals again and his bike whined as it shot down the hill behind the garrison, into the night.

-

The biting cold of the night wind whistled and swirled as eight specks of light moved across the black emptiness of the bleak desert plain.

"Here's the plan," McKittrick said over his helmet comlink to the troopers in his wake. "We keep going west, hugging the mountain range to the south, until we pass over a patch of rough terrain that the local swoop jockeys have taken to calling 'The Rumbles'. I'm guessing we'll know it when we feel it."

"Oh great," chimed in Sav, "I always like my breakfast gettin' stuck between my face and my helmet rather than than stayin' in my stomach."

"Remind me to lock Sav in the trash compactor when we get back to the destroyer. Next, we hang a left and head southwest into the mountains down a pass called Hanter's Gorge. At the end is a valley with the old relay station. Our marker sits on top of it."

"Hey Sarge," said Semp, "Why's Command sticking us with this bantha chase, anyway?"

"The brass takes Jedi hunts seriously. They're convinced some of them are still out there."

Semp asked, "So you think you know better than Command, then, Sar'n?"

"Watch your tone, trooper," T-Bone shot back. "If I so much as sense insubordination toward the Sergeant again, you're going to find yourself walking back to Bestine."

Semp had the sense to shut up.

"Like I said, Semp, I've been on a helluva lot of these. And every single one turns up empty," McKittrick said. "Anyway... I think we could all use a mission like this after Mon Cal."

For a minute there was silence.


"You know... sometimes..." Semp started again, "well, sometimes I get to thinking..."

"Yeah?" said T-Bone.

"Like... what did they die for on that transport? Those guys? Was what we did, how... how could that be worth it?"

"They did their duty. For the Empire. That's all that matters."

Sav added, "Yeah... except Perrins. All he did was-"

T-Bone yelled, "That's IT, Sav. Double PT for a week. One more word out of your mouth and I make it a month."


McKittrick said nothing.

The bikes whirred on through the night.


TAG: @greyjedi125, @BLemelisk, @Heavy Isotope, @Ramza

 

Private R'Juna's joke didn't phase with Kagura, she had only ever heard rumors of Jedi and decided caution would be necessary. Aside from that she had always been serious in nature as soon as she entered the Academy, most jokes didn't effect her much. Pushing her old life on the Imperial world of Eriadu behind her, and she was glad of it. A second Couruscant they said, a second pile of trash more like it, she thought bitterly. The ruling class of Eriadu, the Quintad, as they were called had turned what was considered a backwater planet into an industrial powerhouse. However unlike Couruscant, Eriadu didn't hold to their propriety in standards of living such as atmosphere scrubbers, aquifer purifiers, and integrated waste disposal. They got what they wanted, however, Eriadu is among the top Imperial production worlds for industrial manufacture.

Sergeant McKittrick spoke of his time hunting the rumors of Jedi, Kagura's heart sank as he explained that they all came up as chasing after nothing. Her first mission would likely be nothing to share stories of, not that she enlisted for glory; that was a bonus. Getting off Eriadu was what she wanted, when she arrived on Carida as a select few women, Kagura wanted more as she began her life as a recruit. As selection took place she demanded that she be trained as a Stormtrooper, upon receiving approval she pushed further for Scout Training, to the frustration of the Commanding Officer; she was approved. Kagura learned to always push, to make herself stronger and never give up.

"Most of them were wiped out two decades ago. Any stragglers were picked off soon after." Segeant continued. Kagura started up her speeder as well, the hum was familiar, she hadn't ridden one since the field operations exams. She new the craft though, his mention of the natives didn't scare her, they'd have to be a crack shot to hit them on these. Still, she would keep her head on a swivel.

As Sergeant McKittrick accelerated down the hill and out into the night she kept in the formation with the other scouts. The rush of the bike coursed through her as she overcame the inertia of taking off after him. After matching the speed of the other Scouts her body adjusted to the motions of the bike heading through the sandy terrain. The sound must be quite deafening without a helmet on, she thought.

Corporal was reprimanding the Scout they referred to as 'Semp.' Why bother questioning the purpose of a mission. Just do it, simple, she thought. Back on Carida she'd never expect even minor insubordination, she had gotten into a fight with another recruit for his constant complaining and talking behind the instructor's back. Maybe she needed a reality check with what the operating fleet is like, as opposed to life in the Academy.

"Like... what did they die for on that transport? Those guys? Was what we did, how... how could that be worth it?"

"They did their duty. For the Empire. That's all that matters."

Sav added, "Yeah... except Perrins. All he did was-"

T-Bone yelled, "That's IT, Sav. Double PT for a week. One more word out of your mouth and I make it a month."

Fitting enough, Kagura thought. Though she couldn't help but wonder what he was talking about. It definitely seemed like a subject that can light a fire with the Corporal, maybe the Sergeant as well and decided it was best not to ask. Her focus back the mission and staying with the other Scouts as their speeder bikes continued on. Kagura made another mental note not to get on Corporal's bad side as well.

 

OOC:Heavy Isotope, clarified that she meant to write Aiden Halleck instead of Praxis R’Juna in her post, FYI.

---

Praxis R’Juna, TK-1277
Bestine, Tatooine

So, this was mission was referred to as a ‘scumspot’ hunt, and according to the Sergeant, the odds of finding an actual Jedi were one in six million, more or less. Well, that was a relief, and the Sergeant would know, after responding to over four hundred such tips with no results. That had to be irritating. So why keep doing it?

Praxis couldn’t think of a good reason why the Empire would keep searching for people who were presumably extinct. Wasn’t that an obvious waste of resources? This struck him as quite odd, and the colorful name calling was something he’d just have to get used to.

The good part of their mission was (if you could consider being shot at by native snipers good) that they might see some action. Praxis did a bit of research on their current location while in transit and found out that the locals were called Tuskens and Jawas. They both had interesting biographies, but there was nothing really alarming about them…well, maybe with the exception of the Tuskens. They could be considered hostile.

Praxis nodded at the Sergeant when he mentioned ‘indigenous hostiles’.

These were real and present dangers, not ghosts from two decades ago.

Grabbing the handle bars, Praxis leaned forward and made ready to blast off into the darkened sand dunes ahead. He tested the 74-Z speeder bike’s responsiveness and found it surprisingly in-tune. He’d learned how to ride swoops back in Coruscant, but the bikes in the underlevels were largely cobbled together from various low-end models. They were quite dangerous to steer, although fast, but tended to explode spontaneously. So, needless to say, Praxis wasn’t an expert per se, but he could handle himself.

At that point, the Sergeant said his warning piece and then, they were off.

***

Praxis couldn’t help but smile within his helmet. The 74-Z responded smoothly under him as they sped off. The acceleration was intoxicating, which did nothing to mitigate the excitement he was feeling.

That mitigation came in the form of comm-chatter.

After the squad's path and action plan was relayed by the Sergeant ( Praxis managed to bring up a map on his HUD), Sav and Semp went on to provide a running commentary on ‘scumspotting’. Semp quickly got himself in hot water with some unintentional ( maybe it was unintentional) insubordination. The Corporal put a quick end to that with a stern warning.

That didn’t seem enough of a deterrent, as he started once again. Something about a botched mission ( this was an assumption) to Mon Cal. It seemed people died.

Praxis was listening quite keenly at all this, trying his best to get a more complete picture by what was said and what was being omitted.

So, our duty is to die for the Empire?

The thought blossomed within his mind almost reflexively.

Sav mentioned a name, Perrins, but the Corporal had had enough.

Sav was now destined for double PT for a whole week, courtesy of T-Bone.

Besides the sound of the 74-Z repulsor engines, only silence dominated the comm-channel now.

Praxis learned a valuable lesson here. In this squad, it's best to listen and keep your trap shut.

The eight vehicles continued on, piercing through the darkness of the desert, never breaking formation. No words needed to be spoken. Praxis actually liked the silence and the feel and sound of the speeder’s engine. Besides, they had to stay alert, just in case they suddenly encountered the ‘indigenous hostiles’ the Sergeant had mentioned earlier.


Tag:Pyrophoric, any

 

Aiden didn’t get much of a rise out of his quickly-added joke. Kagura remained silent and then Sergeant McKittrick went into greater detail about his own Jedi hunt record, referring to it by the term “scumspot.” Even though it was somewhat of an outdated tag, Halleck liked it. His military history classes at the Academy had been clear to paint the Jedi and their philosophies as criminal. Given their attempted overthrow of the Republic and resistance of the early Empire, “scumspot” seemed as good a name as any for the religious subversives.

However it appeared as though this would be a wild bantha chase after all, as McKittrick admitted he had been called on hundreds of these types of missions, each coming up short.

He did warn of the native sharpshooters known as the Tuskens, and how their mission path would take them directly through their hunting grounds. As the the Sergeant tore off astride his 74-Z westward into the blackness opposite the fires and commotion in the capital city, Aiden was quick to follow on his own bike, feeling a slight chill creep up his spine. While these “Raiders” probably weren’t as active at night, this mission’s window stretched well into the next day, and they just might find themselves inside these things’ stalking grounds in daylight.

Craning his head around in the seat to make sure he saw both Semp and Al Links’ E-11s-carrying forms silhouetted against the glow of combat from Bestine, he breathed a little easier. They had two marksmen in the unit, and hopefully that would be enough to scare off any native rabble that tried taking pot shots at the squad.

After a while they were all alone, Bestine was no longer in sight to their six. According to his helmet HUD, the external temperature was dropping rapidly, as was the case of a desert at night. He could feel the change slightly through his body glove as it creased and pushed against his skin with the wind that blew past.

McKittrick outlined the plan before the squad began chattering. It was the veterans that did the talking, Aiden and the three other newbies were just staying in file at this point.

Listening intently, Halleck learned of what sounded like an awful mission to the waterworld of Mon Calamari that claimed the life of at least one named comrade of theirs, and possibly the others that he, Links, Saito, and R’Juna were replacing. And it sounded like the Corporal, T-Bone, wouldn’t allow any talk of it, dishing out punishment to Semp. Armies were worse than old-folks homes when it came to rumors, and Aiden had every intention to approaching Terralle in the future to find out just what had happened.

There was no sense in bringing up anything until at least one of the vets spoke first, Halleck knew his place at this point.

 

Dawn's brilliant tendrils broke beyond the eastern mountains, bathing the jagged outcroppings of the Jundland Wastes in the harsh light of early morning. The eight scout troopers were hunched over their speeder bikes, careening across the desert in a tight formation. They gleamed as the first of the suns to rise played off their sand-battered white armor.

“Sergeant,” T-Bone said, breaking the comm silence, “are you picking up these readings?”

“Yeah,” was all that McKittrick said in response.

“Our long-range comm signals are dead. All of them.”

“We must be out of range of any transceivers here. The garrison commander did say the relay station was abandoned.”

“But why would Captain Needa tell us we're to call in for the shuttle if-”

“Doesn't matter, Corporal. We work with the circumstances. Get the job done, then ride back until we pick up a signal or reach the garrison.”

“Got it, sir.”

T-Bone looked over at McKittrick, who was facing forward, seemingly focused solely on piloting his bike. If the Sergeant had any misgivings, he couldn't sense it. But T-Bone sure did. He had a bad feeling about this.

—



“Three kilometers to target,” McKittrick buzzed the other troopers, “Graul Squad, reduce power... now. Deceleration factor point-seven.” The combined whine of eight speeder bike engines cut lower as each trooper shut off their bike's primary repulsorthrust banks. Traveling much more slowly now, the group was approaching a ridge running along the top of the hill ahead.

“Okay...” the Sergeant continued, “park 'em over there, by those boulders.”

He eased his speeder onto a level area overlooking a valley nestled between the sharp hills of the Wastes. It was dusty and brown like the rest of the sun-battered landscape, but at its center was something the troopers had not seen by the light of day yet on the planet: a tiny settlement.

“Alright,” said McKittrick, switching to his barking-orders voice as he swung his leg over the speeder bike's seat, “Teralle, watch our six. Okay, I want eyes on the target. That means your scope, Links, and macro-nocs for everyone else.”

The sergeant crouched behind a rock, swung the front of his helmet upward on its hinges, and raised his binoculars to his eyes. “Let's see what kind of scum is lurking down in that pit.”



TAG: @greyjedi125, @BLemelisk, @Heavy Isotope, @Ramza

 

Praxis R’Juna, TK-1277
Jundland Wastes

Though they had not slept yet, R’Juna felt wide awake. The silence, the speed, especial now with the sun rising…the patient witness of the age old rocks and sand all around them, it all seemed so majestic. Inspiring even. He’d almost forgotten why he was here.

The comm silence had been broken by T-Bone. The tone of the conversation between the two senior officers was less than comforting and immediately put him on alert.

That’s right. They were here on Imperial Business,and he was….a stormtrooper.

Once again, that familiar bad feeling came to him and he force it down. Get angry, burn through your fears and apprehensions, stay focused.

“Three kilometers to target,” McKittrick buzzed them now. “Graul Squad, reduce power…now. Deceleration factor point-seven.”

There was a unanimous chorus of speeder engines deceleration simultaneously, and all eight speeders slowed as one. Yeah, they were a team. Not only that, they had a name. Graul Squad. He rather liked it. Sounded just like ‘growl’. He definitely identified with that.

Soon, they reached their parking spot and found themselves on foot. Sarge was in barking-mode now. It was time to get serious.

“Teralle, watch our six. Okay, I want eyes on the target. That means your scope, Links, and macro-nods for everyone else.”

Praxis still had to get used to some of the names. He knew ‘Links’ was the only rookie with a sniper rifle. Which one was Terralle again?

A quick glance revealed both Leck and Kagura’s position. Praxis placed himself near them and followed orders. He produced his macro-binoculars from his waist belt and thumbed the gain contacts. His equipment was still functioning to specification, for which he was glad, given their environment. Praxis zoomed-in on their target: a tiny settlement. What were they expected to find so far out in the middle of nowhere?

“Lets’s see what kind of scum is lurking down in that pit?” The Sarge said.

Scum?

Wasn’t he jumping the gun before seeing any evidence? This wasn’t anything like Mos Espa, according to his mission briefing. That’s where you needed to go if you wanted to capture ’scum’. Oh wait…maybe he meant…..

Praxis shook his head, stoping his trend of thought and refocused. Let the nocs speak for themselves. Slowly, he started a sweep from the west side of the settlement and made his way east. Sand, a tent. Sand. Some strange equipment. A com-dish. More sand…a Jawa transport? what did they call those things anyway….it rhymed with brawler, that much he knew. Sand…..brawl…no, Sandcrawler! that was it, but…there was smoke pouring out from its port side. That couldn’t be good.

Praxis, felt a jolt of trepidation as he was about to do something he might inwardly regret, but so far, Kagura and Leck seemed quite comfortable speaking. It didn’t seem fatal.

“Small structures west, a com-dish at the center, possible storage space or small vehicle hangars to the south west and a smoking sand crawler north west of the camp, sir. North-eastern structure could be a power generator. No signs of life yet detected. Requesting permission for closer recon, sir!”

There, he said it, and he was still breathing. The response might fix that, depending on the Sergeant’s answer. No matter, he was here to do a job. He already failed at being a competitive prize fighter back in Coruscant. This was a second chance to do something right. Maybe, just maybe, he might not make a mess of things here as well.


Tag:Pyrophoric, BLemelisk, Heavy Isotope, Ramza.

 

The Scouts parked the speeders out of sight and they took up their respective positions. Kagura took a knee, resting her rifle across her leg facing the muzzle towards the ground and away from the other troopers. She raised her macro-binoculars to her helmet visor, lifting the face plate or taking it off seemed too dangerous to her. They were in unknown territory and those natives with long range weapons could be sighting in on them right now... She shook the thought from her head to focus on the task at hand. Scanning the small settlement she began to take verbal and mental note of the layout.

Private R'Juna spoke up first, “Small structures west, a com-dish at the center, possible storage space or small vehicle hangars to the south west and a smoking sand crawler north west of the camp, sir. North-eastern structure could be a power generator. No signs of life yet detected. Requesting permission for closer recon, sir!” Kagura added her own input, "Sergeant, two tents, what looks like solar arrays and an operator's maintenance area close to the radar," Kagura said, recording her and the Trooper's report for later reference, "About that Sandcrawler, Sergeant. Do we have any forces operating in the area in the past few hours?" It seemed strange, the settlement was like a ghost town. "Sandcrawler appears to be the only structure with damage, however I see no life forms. Unless they're all sleeping or hiding, the settlement might as well be considered deserted." She really wanted to go in and investigate, but she couldn't do anything until ordered to do so. Thermals wouldn't work either, the heat was already beginning to rise as the suns began to shed their light and warmth. "Request permission to assist Trooper R'Juna with closer investigation, Sergeant."