Star Wars OPEN Paradoxical Echoes: An Original Trilogy Game (Always Accepting New Players)

IC: Reen G'Spaugh
Convoy 'Crash' Site, Lepsawn Central (planet of Lepsawn 1-9)

"I'll take that!" Alex called. He used his PAC20 wrist comlink to respond to her. "Reen, just worry about yourself; stand by, we are coming for you."

"Copy that Ice, and take your time. I'm not outgunned or anything.." she said with blaster fire in the background.

The 8880 Limousine hit the main road, it's back drifting out as it turned onto the roadway and stopped next to the upside-down limousine, blocking it from the laser fire that had been slamming into it, and now taking the heat off of Reen.

Alex pushed open the left passenger door and Reen called to him, "I'm not getting back into one of those!"

Yet another volley of fire slammed into the upside down vehicle from a different angle coming from the south as several more contruction workers joined the firefight, most likely chasing after Alex.

"Alright alright fine!" Reen winced as she jumped into the vehicle.

"Well this entire operation has gone from bad to JUBAR!" she complained as she tossed her borrowed UNMF blaster rifle to ground in disgust.

TAG: @Sith-I-5 @Bravo @galactic-vagabond422 @Mitth_Fisto

OOC: Hey rifle is a piece of junk that keeps overheating after a couple shots, it most likely has a bad power coil. FYI.

 

IC: Staff Sergeant Aricor Colbea & Ensign Jaycas Braxhave
Brig, Darkest Night

"Follow me."

The stormtrooper led them down the cellblock. At the end of the corridor, two other stormtroopers patrolled; if they were anything like other troopers that Colbea knew, they wanted to be anywhere but here. If only the Rebels would give up their futile fight against the Empire. A single Imperial Navy Trooper stood outside one cell, probably the one with the Rebel leader inside.

The stormtrooper halted, waved an arm at the cell. "Here he is. He refuses to talk, unless he talks to the commanding officer. We taught him a lesson about that," he said, indicating the Rebel's bruised face and bloodied lip. They'd clearly roughed him up a bit, despite being a bit thin on the ground. The trooper then pointed to a interrogation room at the very back wall of the cell block, saying, "It's all set up for you," and then turning to the navy trooper, ordered, "Open it up." The Navy Trooper nodded, typing in the correct authorization to open the cell. The stormtrooper snarled, "Move it, scum!"

The navy trooper marched into the cell and pulled the Rebel out. Colbea indicated the interrogation room, and the prisoner was shuffled into it, Braxhave following after. He turned to the stormtrooper. "Thank you, Sergeant," he said, and entered the interrogation room.

It was the standard setup, really. Table, chairs, a camera blinking in the corner. Colbea knew from experience that not everything was recorded, not always, though one never knew when it was or not.

The navy trooper finished securing the prisoner, then stepped outside to take his place beside the door, to be called upon if needed. Braxhave leaned in one of the corners, as if bored, though Colbea expected that he was not.

Colbea slid into the chair across from the Rebel. "There's several ways this can go forward, as you might know," he said. "I'm not particularly wedded to any one way of getting you to answer my very simple questions, but your responses will determine which methods I proceed with. So, let's begin: what's your name?"

If they could get that, then Braxhave could send it along to the lieutenant, and progress could get made on stopping this painful and pointless conflict that had ravaged the Galaxy throughout his lifetime.

TAG: @Bravo

 

IC: Sergeant Oak
Naval Trooper Detachment assigned to Monitoring Station, Sentry Moon

Some time later...

Oak brought his sweaty hand down hard on his neck, ensuring that the blood sucking bug that was there was dead. When he withdrew his hand, the insects' yellow-and-black with orange stripes body was crushed innards & outer shell. The Sergeant gave the bug's once menacing look a revolting cringe and taking his index finger, flicked the bug off of his hand.

It was times like this, the Sergeant thought as he paid as equally close attention to his surroundings as he did where he stepped, that he envied Stormtroopers and their enclosed armor. The Plastic Boys didn't have to deal with thumb sized blood sucking bugs on their necks.

Oak looked around the jungle as the rescue team trekked through the jungle; he thought, for the briefest of moments, that he might not return. But he kept that thought to himself as Shinzon walked ahead of him; surely the Security Chief would alert them to any danger with his advanced sensor suite in that armor? What Oak and his men lacked in an advanced on-board HUD and sensor/communications suite, the Chief more than made up for.

One of Oak's troopers on point put up a closed fist and signaled for everyone to take a knee. For some time, the distance running of water could be heard. That distance sound had turned into a blaring audio of water as they had neared.

Looking back to the three Troopers behind him, Oak gave the men hand signals to form a rear guard as Oak moved up quietly behind Shinzon, until the two were up with the Corporal. Directly ahead---by a few meters---the ground abruptly ended and fell off into a giant hole that went straight down to a sparkling lake below. The lake's waters were being roughed by the waterfall that was opposite the three men, in which the pounding water audio had originated and was now at its strongest point. To the troopers' left was a crudely built dirt road with wooden logs across the dirt to assist in ascending up from the lake, roughly 100 yards below.

For right now, the three men remained where they were. Oak wondered for a brief second why the Corporal had stopped them them, when they could have simply gone around, then Oak saw it just as the trooper pointed to it.

Three wooden boats rocked gently back-and-forth in the lake, being anchored to a rock outcropping and were---as Oak could now attest---almost perfectly camouflaged by the thick rushing waterfall. Every now and then, for the briefest of moments, the wooden boats would appear, then disappear, behind the waterfall. The boats were rather large and while paddle driven by 8 such hand-powered paddles on each side, they also each had a singled mass to give the boats some much needed extra power. This, in turn, meant these boats were capable of traveling over longer distances.

In his head, Oak did the quick math. Although he couldn't be certain, he mathematically guessed that the party of natives that had attacked them earlier had come off of these three boats. But, for the boat's placement in a lake, there would have to be a way out of said enclosed lake that wasn't entirely----

Oak's thoughts stopped as he saw a Duro male---dressed clearly in a form of mercenary clothing---stroll out of seemingly under them, far down below! The alien was taking drags off of a cigarette as he walked around lazily with a blaster rifle across his chest. While the distance from up here to down there was roughly 100 yards, Oak already had his electrobinoculars out and zoomed in, clearing seeing a ear-piece comlink (so, either he wasn't alone or he was connected with a distant command & control post via comlink). The Duro was carrying some pretty high-end military grade equipment---blast vest, BDU pants & military boots, equipment webbing and accompanying equipment belts, blaster pistol strapped to a thigh, combat knife in his boot, and even a run-of-the-mill combat helmet----clearly which was all black market, considering its varying degrees of make & protection value.

The Duro walked around a few more times below, scanning everywhere but directly above him. Suddenly, from across the way and behind the waterfall, three of the natives that looked all too familiar to the ones that attacked Oak's men and outpost earlier came walking around the stone that ringed the lake and to the armed mercenary. The mercenary exchanged something out of his BDU pockets with the natives, then the 3 aliens disappeared back behind the waterfall.

Oak lowered his electrobinoculars in disgust.

Spice.

Whoever that mercenary was working for, they were paying these natives off with spice. It made sense, Oak reasoned, if the natives had never experienced the addicting drug before and became hooked. It was cheap-and-criminal way of trade-and-commerce with underdeveloped and undiscovered civilizations to have "trade relations" with a controlling power. In this case, the controlling power was whoever this mercenary worked for. And whoever this mercenary worked for, Oak had a strong sense it was associated with one of the many gangs on Lepsawn 1-9 that they were all briefed on before hypering in system on the Darkest Night.

Oak just looked to the Security Chief. It wouldn't be wise to exchange any words here, least risk a odd chance of being heard (even with the booming waterfall as cover). So Oak made his way back to the rest of his men, where the Chief would surely follow soon after with the Corporal most likely maintaining a watch on enemy movements below. Knowing that they couldn't just leave this place unchecked, Oak quietly started signaling everyone closer together for a plan of action. Everyone knew they had to keep an eye on the jungle, but the quieter they all spoke, the better.

Oak had his plan, but he knew the Chief probably had a better one. So he waited for the experienced leader to join the rest of the troopers. Oak was now certain a river ran through tunnels from that lake, which explained their rate of travel. Two questions now remained for Oak: first, where did those tunnels lead and second, if those boats were designed for at least open shallow waters close to a coastline, why did the boats have to travel out to the open ocean?


TAG @Bardan_Jusik

 

IC: Surgeon-Commander Debgate, Medical Bay nearest Main Hangar, Deck 4
Location: Star Destroyer Darkest Night


"Ma'am, yes Ma'am!"

Debgate looked on as the stormtrooper hurriedly acknowledged her and fumbled the closing of the datapad that she had been using, the device falling between her armoured legs, to smack the deck, prompting the silver-eyed girl to kneel down to check it out.

"Is it alright?" She asked as the other ran a gloved digit over the screen, then rose to her full height, still over a foot shorter than the Barbarian, and gazed up at her.

"S-sorry about that, Ma'am. Won't happen again."

The Chief Medical Officer waved the matter away with a friendly smile. "Oh, don't worry about it." She paused, then, "And thank you very much for helping to secure my medical bay. Your efforts are most appreciated. We are keeping five of your comrades to monitor overnight. They are sedated, but did you want to quickly to take a moment to check on them?"

Tag: @Glimmer of Hope

 

IC: Alex Qipao19, Baille Harte, 8880 Limousine, and car park behind compromised office building, respectively
Location: Capital city, Lepsawn1-9


Alex had not been sure how to take G'Spaugh's statement that he could take his time coming to rescue her; was she being sarcastic, or did he really have time to stop off for a coffeine?

Now, leaning out of the car, arm stretched towards his friend laying on the ceiling of the upside-down limo, Alex was initially shocked in the face of her apparent reluctance to carry out her side of the rescue!

"I'm not getting back into one of those!"

"We didn't have time to shop around!" He retorted incredulously.

"Alright alright fine!" She jumped at him, and he got fingers hooked into the back of her belt to help haul her aboard, slamming the door once her feet were safely inside.

He wanted to roll a window down and give some of the shooters a taste of the A380 longblaster, but La'Roche accelerated them away from the wreck at the centre of the ambushed convoy, taking them out of the line of fire.

Alex made a dive for the seat, getting his forearms onto it to bridge himself over the former TIE pilot to prevent himself rolling onto her and hurting her more.

* * * *

Car Park behind office building

Baille found herself down on one knee beside the driver side of an enclosed canopy landspeeder of unknown make, her E-11 generally aimed up at the windows at the rear of the office building.

She looked around at the people gathered next to her, that she was providing cover for, only to find them toddling away somewhere.

"Where are you going?" She whispered harshly after them.

One closest to her, looked over at the Imperial and indicated the way that they were headed. "Our fire evacuation assembly point is in the park across the road. You coming?"

"What? No!"

"There's a towel shop nearby."

Harte looked at the ground to factor in this new information. "Yeah, alright." Standing from behind the speeder, she kept her gun on the building as she backed out of the car park.

She pressed her comlink as she backtracked. "Commodore, Harte here. Has Markova done that overload yet?"

Tag: @The Vanguard @Bravo @galactic-vagabond422

 

IC: Captain Jeffery Vicks / Master Sergeant Dax & Master Sergeant Davis
Streets of Lepsawn Central (planet of Lepsawn 1-9)


Davis looked upon the smoking ruins of the construction vehicle from the driver's seat, the window rolled down; a high speed chase had lead Davis baiting the brainless workers into a real construction site in an seemingly abandoned block of town, forcing the blaster carrying workers and their vehicle into a confusing mess of stops, turns, and lane changes & closures that lead the workers and their vehicles into a head-on collision with a hardened barrier. The "shotgun" passenger hadn't worn his seat belt and his bleeding and broken body lay sprawled out on the crumpled mess of the hood of the larger vehicle. If his body flying through the front windshield wasn't enough, the hardened barrier had finished the job as his construction helmet failed to protect his head from becoming a compact mess of brain tissue and skull fragments as he went head first into the barrier at a high rate of speed.

The four blaster carrying construction workers on the back of the bed of the vehicle were sprawled out all over the road, they likewise not wearing seat belts. The driver was the only one wearing a seat-belt, but Dax was finishing him up with a blaster bolt to the head. Davis watched as his partner cooly walked around the rest of the wrecked construction vehicle and popped blaster bolts into each of the four other construction workers, ensuring they were dead. Two weren't dead, rolling around in pain, but Dax fixed that problem soon enough.

Dax came back to the vehicle, standing beside the driver door.

"Now what?" Vicks asked, getting out of the back seat of the speeder and approaching the other two; the Imperial officer nodded to the water tower that was starting to fall over and where blaster fire was increasing. "The fighting is over there."

"You should have left survivors," Davis said, looking at his partner, "We needed to question them and see who they work for. We needed evidence."

"No you don't," Dax said, suddenly raising his blaster pistol and blowing a hold through Davis' chest; the Master Sergeant then turned on Vicks who---for once---was showing some back bone.

"You Sithing-face traitor!" the diplomatic officer shouted, going for his own blaster pistol.

Dax shot him in his drawing hand, watching with pleasure as the spineless officer squealed like a baby in pain, then the soldier popped him in his right knee, watching the officer drop to the floor.

"Why?!" Vicks said, holding up a hand in a vain notion of self-defense as his own blood started to soak his white officer dress clothes from his various injuries.

Dax looked down upon the helpless man and raised his blaster pistol to point at the man's head, "Family."

A single blaster bolt was discharged and Vicks' body went limp on the side dirt road, his blood pooling out and muddying the dirt.

Dax looked around as he holstered his blaster. Good, no witnesses. That would be unfortunate for him to have to tie up more loose ends.

Turning around, he closed the back seat door to the speeder and then opened the driver's door. For a moment, he looked at the smoking hole he had punched through Davis' armor and felt a moment of sorrow. "I'm sorry, brother." He said quietly as he unbuckled his comrade and let the man's body drop to the dirt road outside the vehicle. Dax then climbed in and buckled up, rolling up the blaster-proof window and drive away, leaving the bloodbath behind.

As he drove, making sure to take various side streets & turns to put off any would-be followers (although there were none), he took a moment and opened up the middle console compartment, withdrawing a deluxe-sized comlink & mini-computer. The device was still running as he brought up all the communications channels. There was Englewood's location, with the Queen in tow. The Commodore's comlink message was coming through now, first being filtered through Dax's device and then blocked.

"Englewood to Totter. How copy?"

As long as his men in both the Garrison and Central Government Building were doing their jobs---as well as his other employees at each of the sensor stations in the North Squadron (except for the Darkest Night---he could never find a weak enough minded pawn)---then the plan would work. No one would know what was going on, at least for a short time. But it would be enough time to complete the mission. The entire 115th Naval Battle Group was baited to Lepsawn 1-9; it wasn't all that difficult. Having the security clearance he did, Dax was able to plant "evidence" for Military Intelligence to pick-up the bread crumbs on, to chew on, to think it was real. It was enough bait for the MI superiors under Moff Starski to suggest the 115th come "clean out" Lepsawn 1-9.

The trap was laid. Soon, Queen Natasha the Bold would be captured & delivered to Knowledge. Soon, Englewood would be dead as well, the Commanding Officer of the GREAT Star Destroyer Darkest Night. The Darkest Night was a legend among the Imperial Navy; more-so, its service record and gallantry in battle had been a rallying call for Imperial recruiters across the galaxy. Its storied missions were a thing that young wide-eyes cadets dreamed about.

His younger brother was one of those young wide-eyed cadets. His death came aboard the Darkest Night. Soon, the Star Destroyer would be in ruin and a debris field as a long-forgotten weapon on the Sentry Moon was slowly brought back to life. The weapon would crack the Star Destroyer in two with little effort and Dax would have his final revenge; more-so, the lie that was the Darkest Night, the lie that took so many like his brother to their deaths, would end. Dax knew Englewood's every move before he made it and knew the Commodore would re-position the Star Destroyer over the smaller moon to prevent his flagship and largest military assets from being trapped by Lepsawn 1-9's larger gravity well.

Dax knew Englewood probably better then anyone else. After all, Dax was Englewood's intelligence contact for Operation Home Base. The same operation in which Dax watched his younger brother died for the sake of the Commodore's orders.

Bringing the speeder around, he neared the back-side of the building where his device told him Englewood would be. Before arriving, he turned the device off and then put it away in the center console and locked it for good measure as he brought the vehicle around a corner and saw the building where Englewood was at.

"Commodore, Harte here. Has Markova done that overload yet?"

Peter replied, "Negative. She's getting everything set and ready----"

Dax keyed his comm and started talking over the Commodore, "---Commodore Englewood, this is Special Intelligence agent Master Sergeant Dax. Comm channels have been disrupted. But the jamming appears to be gone. I'm rolling up to the rear of your building---we got a ride and a way out of here!"



********************************************************************************************************


IC: Commodore Peter Englewood
Ambush of Presidential Convoy, Lepsawn Central (planet of Lepsawn 1-9)


Englewood nodded to himself as he listened to the comm traffic. The building was clear. He turned to Natalia.

"Do it!" the Commodore ordered.

Peter realized something he hadn't thought of the entire firefight. Why hadn't the Darkest Night or the Imperial Garrison in Lepsawn Central come to their aid? How could a bunch of low-level thugs be able to block encrypted military channels? Or, at the very least, wouldn't sensors at either the Garrison or the Star Destroyer being tracking them, if comms were noticed to be blocked? Or, at the very least, wouldn't the UNMF or LNDF be tracking the Queen and her protection detail?

As Natalia was working her magic, Englewood keyed his comm to the Star Destroyer, "Englewood to Totter. How copy?"

Static.

He tried the Garrison.

Static.

He tried all of the comm channels to government services on Lepsawn 1-9.

Static.

Fine. He would have to do this the hard way----

"Commodore, Harte here. Has Markova done that overload yet?"

Peter replied, "Negative. She's getting everything set and ready----"


"---Commodore Englewood, this is Special Intelligence agent Master Sergeant Dax. Comm channels have been disrupted. But the jamming appears to be gone. I'm rolling up to the rear of your building---we got a ride and a way out of here!"

"Great to hear a friendly voice!" Peter said, "We'll be out in two minutes!" Peter then got on the comm again, "Voss, get up here to our second level! We're going to be pushing out the back doors here once Natalia has fried those thug heads!" Englewood took a breath, then keyed the comm again, "Break, all units! We have a friendly unit to the back of our building! We are proceeding out the rear door in two minutes! If you need a ride, let us know---we'll come and get you. Other then that, proceed back to the Central Government Building once free of enemy tangos! Harte, make sure that building is free of electrified bad-guys. I don't want any followers!"


TAG @Sith-I-5 , @Mitth_Fisto , @galactic-vagabond422 , @The Vanguard

 

IC as Private Callizto Syteen
Star Destroyer Darkest Night, Medical Bay near Main Hangar

“It’ll be fine, I think.” She said as her thumb grazed the top corner of the screen. The hybrid gave a firm nod and looked to meet eye to eye with the Commander but found herself dwarfed in height.

“O-oh!” Callizto gasped, not having met a woman of Debgate’s stature before.

The trooper saluted again. “Think nothing of it, Ma’am. Just doing my assigned duty.”

Her thoughts shot briefly to the five injured troopers and it wasn’t at all surprising how Syteen had gained the nickname "Medusa”.

“If you’ve tended to them, Commander… I don’t see the point in checking on an unconscious patient in a doctor’s care.” The half-breed coldly replied. “Besides, it’s not like I could tell them what a mistake it was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Callie’s demeanor changed as her datapad was slid into her belt and her fingertips traced along the various pouches. Her stony gaze remained and soon she looked over her shoulder into the medical bay proper.

“And it’s not like they’d do the same for me.”

A long pause.

“Is there anything else I can assist you with, Commander? Or would you prefer I remain at my post?”​

TAG: @Sith-I-5

 

IC: Natalia Markova
Boutique, Lepsawn Central

Natalia waited, finger just above her datapad waiting for the order...the order to kill the men on the other side of the street. As the Commodore communicated with the others around. Her heart pounded in her ears, her breathing was shaky, nerves welling up in her. A blaster bolt sparked above her. A sharp cry felt her throat as she ducked down to avoid the burning metal her arms moving to cover her head. Her grey eyes look back up to her commander still waiting, just waiting for his words. She was imperial through and through, she would do nothing without orders. No matter how much she wanted this all to be over she would wait, she would stay her hand.

"Do it." he ordered and she snapped into action. Fingers flying across the datapad. In her shock from the blaster bolt she had closed out the session she had open previously. The delay was slight she knew exactly what she had done.

The navigator looked up one last time watching the Commodore hand out his final orders before she intiatied her plan. She took a breath and let her finger finally fall on the button. A loud crackle of power sounded from across the way. Sparks fell from the lights as the bulbs burst, terminal screens exploded into plastic and transparisteel shrapnel. She was too far away to hear but, she could imagine what the men over there were experiencing their muscles seizing, senses racked with pain, then finally their hearts stopping. A resounding snap sounded from buildings, the breakers blowing apart stopping the flow of deadly energy into the room.

However the damage was done, the men lay dead, sprinklers continuing to rain upon them putting out the small fires caused by the electrical overload. She stood up datapad held close to her chest. The shots had quieted though they still rung in her ears.

"Overload sent sir." she said curtly arms shaking. Making her way over to the back exit, her thoughts swirled with notes not a song of victory, nor one of despair, just a piece she had studied. The notes and beat brought order to her once confused mind. She began to hum the tune, her fingers accompanying as they played against the datapad. She was safe, she survived her first combat, the first time she seen violence up close. The images still lingered, just beneath the surface of her mind. She hoped they would fade...in time.

She stood by the exit, looking more and more the part of a rebel, crisp white shirt stained by soot, dust and grime, the tear over her left knee broader than when she started, a slight scrape darkening with drying blood. Her right arm streaked in the deep red of a fresh cut still bleeding. She didn't even notice the pain anymore. Was it the adrenaline or just the shock of it all? Either way she stood waiting, yet again, just waiting to leave.

TAG: @Bravo @Sith-I-5 @The Vanguard @Mitth_Fisto

 

IC: Jengleheimer Voss ‘aka Jingle’
Ambush zone, Capital City

Breathing he had waited for the pause to snap back out and shoot again. This time he didn't think he even hit anyone, but he was at least making them take cover. Something which they then did in return to him. Pushing himself up, gingerly at first until he got the odd angle of his prosthetic properly under him to shove himself up the small wall he waited again. Preparing to spin around the other window at a different height, only at this distance and with these guys the trick didn't exactly work as he barely looked before ducking back before a hail of blaster bolts struck into the clothing section he was in. More items igniting in small fires that were growing.

It wasn't long until he had heard the crackle and hiss of a comm link. Something which made him check his own. . . that was no longer on his hip. Eyes scanning the room he spotted it under one of the clothing racks. No more than two meters away from his hiding spot. "Of all the cornish porgs, it just had to be there."

Thinking for a moment he finally decided just as the foam fire suppression systems activated in his section. Watching the white spray hit the clothes and floor before expanding he nodded once before doing something truly stupid. He jumped for it. Thankfully the foam was giving a bit of distraction, and likely cover for him. Still as he landed in a crouch he pushed off with both legs back into the wall behind him as blaster bolts stitched the ground where he had been. Of course he hadn't practiced such a maneuver in a while to say the least, and his adrenaline was pumping just a little bit through his green blood. So when he pushed, he had done so rather forcefully with his prosthetic leg so that he slammed enough to have him gasping in pain as he stared at the comm in his hand that was squeaking orders. Whether repeated or something new after a bit of conversation that he had missed, he did not know.

". . .all units! We have a friendly unit to the back of our building! We are proceeding out the rear door in two minutes! If you need a ride, let us know---we'll come and get you. Other then that, proceed back to the Central Government Building once free of enemy tangos! Harte, make sure that building is free of electrified bad-guys. I don't want any followers!"

"Heading to. . .back. Meet on route." he grunted into the comm as he sat and waited until he heard the sound of a damaging situation across the way, and a quieting of the blaster shots that had plagued them thus far. Comms returned and a respite from danger. What a night.

Getting up and carefully walking through the slippery foam, coughing slightly at the smoke as he passed extinguished racks he remarked to no one, "I look like I belong in a soap commercial. Rebel scum suds, make an Imperial out of you it will." Snorting he headed out the rear entrance to the section and began picking his way over toward the Commodore's position and from there he would head down and out.

TAG: @Bravo @Sith-I-5 @The Vanguard @galactic-vagabond422

 

IC: Security Chief Cain Shinzon
Sentry Moon, Battle of Lespawn 1-9

Ensconced in his Imperial supercommando beskar'gam, Chief of Security Cain Shinzon was glad for the small amount of climate control it allowed as his squad trekked through the humid jungle. An eye blink extended a small straw towards his mouth and he took a sip of tepid water from the bladder worn against the interior side of the armor along his back. Even still it was important to stay hydrated. Blinking again in the right sequence retracted the straw again as he turned his head and glanced behind him for a moment to ensure the rest of the squad was still behind him. Due to the closed in nature of the terrain, he had them in file. With a Corporal out in front on point followed by himself, several others and then Sergeant Oak further to the rear. Cain could have opted to command the squad from the middle of their single file line, but he wanted to be farther forward in case the man on point ran into anything interesting. Watching the Sergeant swat away one of the moon's various insects made him smile and appreciate the civilized form of warfare that Mandalorian has practiced for centuries. He may be an Imperial now, but most Imperials were still aruetiise barbarians, especially when it came to the art of war. Glancing back forward he took note of the Corporal he had out on point moving cautiously, but quickly through the jungle.

There was the distinctive noise of rushing water in the distance, they were approaching a river or stream. That would complicate things as it would strip away the concealment the jungle canopy gave them. They would have to be cautious about crossing it, even more so if the waters were as treacherous as they were beginning to sound. Up ahead the Corporal now gave the clenched fist to halt, he must have come to the river, the sound of which roared ahead of the squad. Cain repeated the hand signal to the troopers behind him before giving his own signal, both arms outstretched to his sides he lowered them, telling his men to take cover. Look back again he found Sergeant Oak and motioned him forward. The pair would see what the corporal had run into and decide from there how to proceed.

It was a lake, formed in a large depression, a pit really, that was nearly 100 meters below them. That made things far less complicated than a running stream, they would be able to detour around it, in either direction as the waterfall feeding the lake was directly opposite them. To their left was a road, leading down towards the lake. Well we won't be following that, Cain thought to himself, it was the most likely route for native patrols. However, they might parallel it if down towards the lake if they wanted to see what was down there. Cain didn't see much point to that. OK, so detour off to the right then. He looked to the Corporal to give the order but the junior NCO was pointing to his eyes and then to the waterfall, indicating there was something there. Straining through his T-Visor it didn't take long for Cain to see the boats moored there, mostly hidden by the falling waters of the fall. Now that was interesting. Maybe they would go down and take a...

A Duros appeared below them and Cain magnified the image on his HUD to examine the being more closely. For a moment Cain wished for the rangefinder accessory so many Mandalorian warriors and mercenaries utilized on their buy'ce (helmet), but only for a moment. Yes a rangefinder would have offered him an even better view, as well as other functions, but they were fragile things and in his estimation too prone to failure at a crucial moment. Better to have the tougher, more evolved design of his own buy'ce rather than the relics of the past that so many traditionalists clung to.

The Duros was clearly a soldier, his equipment and blaster rifle bore testament enough to that, and clearly not an imperial. Mercenary or Rebel then, and he very much doubted the latter. Too well equipped with a hodge podge of expensive equipment. The Rebels, for all their disorganization, at least tried to look somewhat uniform, at least within their individual cells. This Duros though, his equipment and demeanor just screamed private contractor. Of course he could still be working for the Rebel Alliance, though they didn't often have the funds to hire professional private soldiers, stranger things had happened, there were rumors that such had happened in the past anyhow.

Cain cocked his head to the side as three natives approached the merc, and were given something from the Duro's pockets for their efforts. Cain couldn't see what it was as they disappeared behind the waterfall, clearly pleased with their haul. Raising an eyebrow behind his faceplate he looked to Sergeant Oak who had lowered his electro binos with a look of disgust on his face. The sergeant clearly didn't approve. Cain gave him a nod as the sergeant moved back to where the squad had taken cover. Cain motioned for the Corporal to stay and keep watch and then followed after Oak.

"OK, troopers," Cain began quickly, and quietly, explaining the situation to them. Telling them about the lake, the boats and the mercenary with his bought off natives he soon got to the crux of it. "This mission is still to recover our lost men, but we can't discount the opportunity given us to gather some much needed intel." He had a feral grin on his face, even if his troopers couldn't see it. "Capturing that Duros merc for interrogation might give us that intel." He glanced from side to side, his T-Visor meeting the frightened eyes of everyone in the squad. Their fear disgusted him, they were weak. His hand moved lower, to the holstered blaster pistol at his hip, as he fought the urge to cull the squad of their weakest member as a signal to the others of the fate that awaited cowards. But he needed everyone, the squad might not be sufficient in size for what he had in mind anyway, he would need them all, alive, for the moment. If it came to combat, well combat had a way of culling the weak all on it's own. He smiled in grim satisfaction at that thought as he turned to Sergeant Oak to the senior NCO. "Besides, our men may have been captured, a prisoner of our own could prove...useful. Thoughts Sergeant?"

TAG: @Bravo

 

IC: Sergeant Oak
Naval Trooper Detachment assigned to Monitoring Station, Sentry Moon

"OK, troopers," Cain began quickly, and quietly, explaining the situation to them. Telling them about the lake, the boats and the mercenary with his bought off natives he soon got to the crux of it. "This mission is still to recover our lost men, but we can't discount the opportunity given us to gather some much needed intel. Capturing that Duros merc for interrogation might give us that intel. Besides, our men may have been captured, a prisoner of our own could prove...useful. Thoughts Sergeant?"

Shinzon could hide it behind a mask. Or, at least, he thought he could. Oak had worked enough with the Security Chief in close and personal enough over the last hour to be sure of two things: first, to not show fear in front of the Chief. And second? Well, second was that Shinzon wouldn't hesitate to waste every last member of this mission in the jungle with his own blaster. Oak had come to the realization that he was either working for a psychopathic murder or a blood-thirsty war hero.

Or both.

Either way, Oak realized that if he was going to make it off this rock alive and---if he did---have any hope of staying in the military without Shinzon finding grounds to dismiss him early, it was time to fall in line. In war, choices were made. Sometimes, those choices were taken to the grave. Other times, a court martial found the truth. Either way, war is hell *. And it was time to live in the hell---in the suck---and live to fight another day. Childish games were over for Sergeant Oak.

"Perfect plan, sir," Oak replied, falling in line, "I would recommend a small team, sir, three men. Keep it quiet. Clear out the immediate area of hostiles---any taverns or rooms we find behind that waterfall. Gather any additional intel. Keep a larger force back for a rear guard and rescue team in case we get stuck. And we should see if we can get a tracking beacon on one of those boats, sir. See where they go, it could lead us straight to our POWs."


TAG @Bardan_Jusik


OOG:

* William Tecusmseh Sherman

"I am tired and sick of war. Its glory is all moonshine. It is only those who have neither fired a shot nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded who cry aloud for blood, for vengeance, for desolation. War is hell."
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/william_tecumseh_sherman_190604

 

IC: Surgeon-Commander Debgate, just inside doorway of Deck 4 Medical
Location: Star Destroyer Darkest Night


The trooper, though visibly surprised by Debgate's height, saluted again. “Think nothing of it, Ma’am. Just doing my assigned duty.”

She did not take up the offer of checking on her presumed comrades-in-arms, encouraging the Barbarian woman that she could be a good candidate for her networking services.

“If you’ve tended to them, Commander… I don’t see the point in checking on an unconscious patient in a doctor’s care.” She coldly replied. “Besides, it’s not like I could tell them what a mistake it was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Callie’s demeanor changed as her datapad was slid into her belt and her fingertips traced along the various pouches. Her stony gaze remained and soon she looked past the medic into the medical bay proper, though she would not see much as the lights were off to help the patients rest.

“And it’s not like they’d do the same for me.”

"Are you quite sure about that?" Deb queried gently.

There was a long pause with the two females of different statures, one gazing into the bay, the taller one sizing up the stormtrooper.

“Is there anything else I can assist you with, Commander? Or would you prefer I remain at my post?”

"No, you are with me. Come on." Debgate stepped into the brighter corridor, still talking to the young trooper as she turned left towards the front of the ship. "There is something that I want to check out in the main hangar bay, and then we will get you something to eat; you must be hungry, standing on guard for hours like that?"

The Barbarian envied the young girl's ability to carry a sidearm around at all times. Her own suspicion about the strange vessel did not warrant her taking a blaster along, even if her E-11 wasn't up in Main Medical.

Still, she made a subtle show of straightening her sleeve cuffs, pinched fingers confirming the presence of the tiny round object that she had sewn into all her tunics, an FBE, Fire Beetle Eye, in case she had to do any combat.

As they approached the dark grey blast door halfway along the corridor, sealed as part of the Yellow Alert lockdown, she talked to the trooper whom she hoped was still following close enough to hear her. "You are special, a young lady, who, like me, is serving within the Imperial Armed Forces; however there are so few of us, that it is all too easy to get isolated and feel lonely. I take down the names and contact details of ALL girls that I find in Imperial service, regardless of age, rank, or species-" She plucked a chrome pen-like code cylinder from her tunic, and inserted it into a discreet receptacle on the bulkhead, the doors ahead of them splitting open diagonally to retreat into the ceiling to the top right, and into the floor to the bottom left, and immediately beyond this barrier, another set of doors was going the opposite way, giving the visual impression of an expanding diamond of space opening up before them. "-to eventually enable us all to network with each other. That way, for instance, instead of on shore leave, having to pretend to be one of the boys in a spaceport bar somewhere, we can do stuff that interests us as fellow girls. Shopping, visiting museums, gambolling through fields of flowers, if gambolling is your thing." The Surgeon-Commander had never gambolled in her life, but that odd, half-a-shaved-head thing that the youngling was sporting, was giving her a distinct flower child, wood elf, kind of vibe.

Getting her code cylinder back, Debgate stepped through and used it again on the other side to seal the doors in her wake, proceeding along to the open hangar entrance.
"I know this sounds scary, me being an officer and all; however I want you to be a brave girl, and consider me someone that you can come to with any problems." Slowing as they approached the wide and tall open square in the right-side corridor wall that was the entrance to the Main Hangar, Debgate glanced back and motioned to the Fall-Ratt' hybrid. "Can you, um, put your helmet back on, and keep your weapon handy. This is official business now."

She stroked a hand over her own wavy blonde locks, and checked that her own tunic was smooth and uncreased as she waited for the trooper to comply.

Tag: @Glimmer of Hope

 

IC: Flight Lieutenant Baille Harte, Flight Lieutenant Alex Qipao (npc), UNMF driver "15-Mary-3" (nrc), car park behind office building, and 8880 limousine, respectively
Location: Lepsawn 1-9 capital city


Baille was looking away from the building, towards the last woman escapee, noticing her jaw drop as she looked past her at the building.

The shivering Imperial pilot spun to see the windows flashing blue-white presumably with the electrical overload happening inside.

She might look like a demure little frakker- She was thinking of Markova, when Englewood's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Break, all units! We have a friendly unit to the back of our building! We are proceeding out the rear door in two minutes! If you need a ride, let us know---we'll come and get you. Other then that, proceed back to the Central Government Building once free of enemy tangos! Harte, make sure that building is free of electrified bad-guys. I don't want any followers!"

"C-copy th-that, Sir." She stammered with the cold, hunched in with her straight arms down by her sides, every part of her cold and clammy, thinking on the bright side that the exercise ought to warm her up; then gazing up at all eight of those floors, considered that she was no longer in one of her TIE Phantoms. "Uh, c-can anyone p-pinpoint which fl-floors, and/or the roof, the shooters are at, so I don't have to check every s-single r-room on every s-single fl-floor?"

Thinking about TIE Phantoms, as she raised her E-11 before herself, covering the building's rear as she approached the back door she had just come out off, she wondered why none had de-cloaked above them once the shooting had started.

If they were not shadowing them, why move that pair round to the shuttle bay where she and Alex had joined the rest of the Away Team?

Alex chimed into the general band over her helmet's comlink: "Uh, Commodore? Black Ice here. Does this 'friendly unit' know that you are dressed as Rebels? You don't want to get accidentally shot after all this. Whoof? Our driver says you can ignore the first two floors above the lobby. There were two terrorists on the third level, different windows."

Baille paused at the back door, cautiously pecking at the metal handle with a forefinger, then satisfied that it wasn't still live, grasped and pulled on it to open the pneumatic door. "Thanks, 'Ice."

Going inside, she spotted the door to the freshers, halfway along to the lobby, and paused before it.

Although she knew where the first of the shooters were, and they wouldn't have had line-of-sight on the speedercade from in here, there were more ways to surveill, than with the eyes. They could have set up an ops base in here?

She shouldered her way through this one, and the second door just inside, her feet sliding from under her as soon as they stepped onto the waterlogged tiles!

Baille noted her boots flying up before her, the ceiling above her, then automatically adopted the Meridean Jitsu rear breakfall position, chin on chest to avoid smashing her head on the floor, and throwing her hands out to the sides to slap them down on the floor, if she timed that right...

"OOF!"

* * * *
Limousine

Alex had managed to clamber onto the seat and belt himself in during the moment of relative rest, and called over Reen to the open partition between himself and the driver. "Take us round to the back of the Commodore's building."

"Already on it." The driver acknowledged, the view outside the tinted windows blurring past as he spun their vehicle off the wreck and body-strewn thoroughfare. "Your boss said there were only two of my guys with the Queen. That's not enough."

Looking through the sudded-up partition, and past the driver's shoulders, Alex could see a chain-linked fence type of gate looming ahead of them, a moment before they rammed through it, continuing down a brick-wall sided access road before making a sharp turn to take them behind the buildings that included the one where their comrades were hiding.

"Oof!"

Alex frowned at the pained exclamation from his partner back at the office building. Pressing a hand to the side of his helmet, he queried into the comlink, "Whoof, you okay?"

"Never better."

Alex subsided without saying anything. He did not believe her, but there was nothing he could do about it, the limousine gliding into place just outside the loading area at the back of one of the buildings.

There was a knot of people standing around uncertainly, whilst a speeder sat before the raised ferrocrete platform that was at a height suitable for the heavier repulsorlift lorries that would bring stock.

Tag: @Vanguard @Bravo @Mitth_Fisto @galactic-vagabond422

 

IC: Commodore Peter Englewood
Ambush of Presidential Convoy, Lepsawn Central (planet of Lepsawn 1-9)


"Overload sent sir."

There it was, Englewood concluded. In her eyes. In her tone. In her movements.

Death.

She was changed. Forever. As the Commodore watched her move her way to the back, towards the exit, he felt pity for her. Her innocence was gone.

He looked away, back towards their own near-death experience, and focused his thoughts. The building where the enemy once was now lay in silence, its blaster bolts and screams of hostility now the legacy of dead men. A legacy brought to them by Natalia.

Such was war, Englewood thought.

Jingle soon joined them from the flight of steps below, Englewood's eyes looking at the near-human. His face betrayed a hardened soldier's story; his broken body and, in particular, robotic right leg bore testament to that story's tale. Peter glanced back towards Natalia---hoping Jingle would follow his gaze---as the Commodore looked upon the lost innocence of a young woman in a terrible war. In this room had shown Natalia what she was, what she had become, and who she would be if she continued down the path she was on.

Peter brought his attention back to Jingle. Yes, the soldier turned cook was the destiny of Natalia's journey: the harden face, the broken body. The Commodore nodded Jingle towards the shaken Natalia quietly. She would be unpredictable with the emotions of the recent experience and the Commodore needed to make sure she didn't do anything beyond the scope of rational.

Collecting his own things, Peter stood up and heard his comlink come to life.

"Uh, Commodore? Black Ice here. Does this 'friendly unit' know that you are dressed as Rebels? You don't want to get accidentally shot after all this. Whoof? Our driver says you can ignore the first two floors above the lobby. There were two terrorists on the third level, different windows."

Good point.

Peter brought a hand to his ear comlink, "Commodore copies all Black Ice. Thanks for the head-up."

The Imperial officer looked to the UNMF trooper next to him, "Probably should clear our way. Don't want to be getting shot for our identities."

Peter got the feeling the man smiled behind the helmet when his next words came out, "Wouldn't ruin my day much."

As the mercenary marched off towards the exit, Peter sighed. Sometimes allies were allies in battle and battle alone. Once the fighting stopped, so did their loyalty.

The Commodore activated his comm, "All units, this is Commodore Englewood. We're exiting out."


***********************************************************************


IC: Master Sergeant Dax
Streets of Lepsawn Central (planet of Lepsawn 1-9)


Dax had his hand on his blaster pistol---hidden out of sight under the driver's door---when a UNMF soldier walked out, clearly ensuring the exiting was clean. Dax could see he was talking to someone behind that helmet of his by, by the way his body moved, or didn't move, as he approached.

A close range shot up against the armor would be muffled by the impact distance and, as the others came down, Dax would set up an ambush point and get to the Queen accordingly. Suddenly, however, one of the armored limousines pulled up directly in front of him. Dax cursed under his breath as he released his grip on his blaster pistol and quietly holstered it again.

"Hey," said the UNMF soldier as he walked up to Dax's ride, "Ain't you one of those Imperial bodyguard types?"

Dax nodded solemnly, "Our comms were down and we got ambushed while leading a construction vehicle with blaster carrying construction workers on it away from the presidential convoy."

The UNMF nodded, "As you can see, we got the same. I thought there were more of you."

Killers. Both Dax and this UNMF soldier. Instead of honoring the dead with silence or tributes to their war-time accomplishments, they used their dead comrades respectfully as objects to identify events, rather then brothers-in-arms to dignify life.

Soon, a metal legged near-human came out with another Rebel-dressed-Imperial beside him, followed up by the Commodore, the Queen, and a final UNMF soldier.

"You best get in," Dax said, "We don't know the enemy's plan of battle and need to evac the scene before more enemy foot mobiles arrive!"

Peter couldn't agree more, as he opened up the door and got everyone piled in. One of the UNMF soldiers took the shotgun passenger seat in front, while another one remained with the Queen in the back with the rest of them.

"We're evacing to the government complex," Peter said, then noticed something missing, "Where's the Ambassador and the other guard?"

The front-riding UNMF soldier cut in before Dax could, "I'll fill you in later, Commodore."

Peter shrugged, sitting back in the seat. Fair. If t was urgent enough, the mercenary would share it with him.

Hopefully.

Apparently, it was not urgent. Fair enough for the moment, before they got clear of the danger zone and back to the government building.

The vehicle began moving, first reversing, then getting back onto the main road and headed towards the government complex.

Peter keyed his comm, "Commodore and Queen package on the move back to government complex."


TAG @Sith-I-5 , @Mitth_Fisto , @galactic-vagabond422 , @The Vanguard

 

IC: Natalia Markova
Boutique, Lepsawn Central

The young woman remained still standing by the door taking refuge in her mind. Her fingers still tapping, her throat still humming, she was still hiding, not ready to face the real world. But, was it? It didn't feel like this was all happening, that she'd actually done what she had done. Or maybe she was just deluding herself, not wanting to deal with the blood now on her hands.

As the others left she left with them still in her own thoughts hidden in her high tower of order and music. Stepping out of the store she was hit by something that threw her down, tearing the tower with it. The acrid stench of burning, the distinct odor of an electrical fire. It was a reminder of what she'd done, and she couldn't hide from it, couldn't stop up her nose to prevent it. Almost instantly she felt the urge to retch, to remove the poisonous sent that had assaulted her senses. Her body bent in half heaving, nearly turning her stomach inside out yet nothing came up. Again she heaved with a horrid cough and found no relief from the death that hung in the air.

Now a new noise entered her mind.

*SCREECH*

It wasn't the sound of a limousine coming to a halt, or anything around her. It was an old fading memory that had come back to haunt her.

Her first lesson.

*VUURRR*

As she tentatively pulled her bow across the strings of her mother's viol.

*SCREECH* *SCREECH* *SCREECH*

As she attempted to stretch out a tune, a simple one, just a few notes. Her movements were unsure, untrained.

She somnambulated like this caught in painful cacophony of her past, getting in the vehicle beside the Commodore and the cyborg, datapad set across her lap.

*SCREECH* *SCREECH* *SCRrrr*

Her little hand stopped looking up at her mother still smiling despite the ear piercing shrills of her furtive attempts to copy the older woman's practiced movements.

She did her duty, did what she needed to do to survive, so that her team could survive. There was no reason for her to feel guilt, no reason to feel this...emotion rising up within her.

*SCREECH* *SCREECH* *SCREECH*

The her phantom first notes continued to haunt her. It wouldn't stop, the scratching, the schreeking, it drowned out everything in her mind everything but, the scent of burning plastic and possibly flesh. They all came together in her mind creating a storm things within her. They're dead, dead by her hand, she took their lives, blood is on her hands.

She ran the numbers over in her head, the cold calculus they had to die so that she could live.

Did that make her a killer, a soldier, something else? She wasn't, she was just a navigator, a bridge officer not meant for the front lines, not meant to see combat. Why was she there, why did she have to kill them.

Her vacant expression never broke, her grey eyes staring listlessly into the floor of the vehicle.

Her mind continued to spiral deeper and deeper in do what she did.

Blood on her hands, what she had to do, for the Empire, for the Emperor, for…

*SCREECH* *SCREECH*

Her thoughts were a jumbled mess she couldn't sort out, their was no pattern, no rhythm, just an ever deepening spiral that seemed to have to end.

Until pain shot through her, radiating from her left arm, the open, bleeding wound staining the short white sleeve dark crimson. Her mind was cleared...somewhat, the thought spiral banished by the shot of anguish.

She was alive...she could feel...she could think…

But, was that a good thing?

Should her survival come at the cost of other's lives?

She could feel the spiral coming back the shrill shaky notes of her first strokes of a bow.

*SCREECH* SCREECH*

With her right hand she jabbed an index finger into the wound, sending more pain through her body, breaking the spiral once again.

"Sir," she said quietly, softly voice slightly shaking, leaning heavily on the Commodore's shoulder, "I...I request that I be transferred back to the Darkest Night. I do not believe I can continue this mission."

TAG @Sith-I-5 , @Mitth_Fisto, @Bravo, @The Vanguard

 

IC: Twi'lek Rebel Leader
Interrogation Room, Darkest Night


Colbea slid into the chair across from the Rebel. "There's several ways this can go forward, as you might know," he said. "I'm not particularly wedded to any one way of getting you to answer my very simple questions, but your responses will determine which methods I proceed with. So, let's begin: what's your name?"

The aged alien chuckled, issuing a short-lived laugh, as his facial movements reminded him of his facial condition and his face quickly turned serious. "My people---we always saw a darkness in the Clone Troopers during the war. How the Grand Republic's troopers---their Jedi and political leadership---seemed more and more blinded by loyal militaristic philosophies. We went from a free galactic government to a government run by fear and control throughout the war. An organization for this, an organization for that. A law for this, a law for that. Towards the end of the war with the Separatists, we all felt it was more defeat then victory. We could see---could smell, could hear---the gears of a never-ending military dictatorship come to life as the Republic's armies crushed the last life out of the droid armies. When the Empire rose from the ashes of the Republic's victory, we lost. We all lost. And you, Imperial agent man, is just as much a victim as I am. Blinded by the loyalty that a few stripes on your uniform gives you."

The Twi'lek shook his head in a mix of defeat and anger, a long tear rolling down his cheek as he moved his shackled wrists up and down to signify his status to himself, then he let his wrists drop to the table like dead weight, his head dropping in defeat as well. The clang of metal restraints against the metal table reverberated throughout the interrogation room.

"Your name first, Imperial agent man," the Twi'lek spoke softly, his head low as he stared at his shackled wrists, "Earn my respect and I shall give you yours."


TAG @Laine_Snowtrekker

 

IC: Security Chief Cain Shinzon
Sentry Moon, Battle of Lespawn 1-9

"Perfect plan, sir," Oak replied, soothing Cain's ego to the point that he didn't mind the Sergeant's obsequious tone. "I would recommend a small team, sir, three men. Keep it quiet. Clear out the immediate area of hostiles---any taverns or rooms we..." Cain smiled behind his faceplate. What did the Sergeant mean 'we'? If it was a small team one of the two leaders was going to have to remain behind to maintain command and control of the larger group. The Mandalorian listened to the rest of the plan the Sergeant laid out. It seemed well enough thought out for them to enact, Cain nodded his approval before speaking quietly.

"Very well, you remain here with the rest of the squad and I'll lead the infiltration team." He paused for a moment to let that sink in with the Sergeant, wondering if he would be relieved and reveal himself as a coward. "Give me, Corporal Alder," Cain mentioned the trooper who had been on rear guard for most of the patrol. He was slender, but with a strength that belied his size, as well as observant. "And Private Catalpa." Catalpa was the only female trooper in the group and was known for being light on her feet. The pair probably had the best skills in terms of the silent infiltration he was planning.

"Maintain an OP of the falls, but if you're in danger of being discovered, then move out." He again looked for signs of cowardice in the senior NCO. "If you're engaged, return fire but try to break contact. If we call for help, then move your shebs and reinforce us." He looked to Private Catalpa who was silently checking her gear and Corporal Alder who was stoically watching Cain. "If you don't hear from us in four hours, head back to the LZ and get back to the ship." He looked out into the jungle. "OK then, Catalpa, you're on point. Don't take the road, it will be mined or patrolled. We take a parallel route to it, 50 to 100 meters off center got it?" He waited for her curt nod. "OK then, move out."


TAG: @Bravo

 

IC: Sergeant Oak
Naval Trooper Detachment assigned to Monitoring Station, Sentry Moon

"Very well, you remain here with the rest of the squad and I'll lead the infiltration team." Oak didn't hide his disappointment, as he set his jaw and stared the Security Chief down. The tension in the back of his jaw bone echoed the anger that now boiled through him. Here, he was: finally, willing and able to sacrifice for the idol-god that he had made Shinzon into. And now, the psychopathic hutt slime was denying his right.

The pressure increased in his jaw as his jaw bone seemed locked in a rebellion of anger. "Give me, Corporal Alder. And Private Catalpa."

But he was a soldier first and foremost. A member of the Imperial Fleet. And as such, he would obey his orders. But, when the time arose, he would prove Shinzon wrong----he would make a war sacrifice upon the alter of his idol-god that Shinzon would have no choice but to accept him. He woukd see that Oak was a loyal follower to the ways of war and bloodshed. That one body---or one hundred bodies---mattered not to the man of war. That the enemy dead was all the same: sacrifices to the gods of war.

"Alder, Catapla," Oak finally spoke, breaking his stare from the senior officer, "You heard the Chief. Fall in!"

"Maintain an OP of the falls, but if you're in danger of being discovered, then move out. If you're engaged, return fire but try to break contact. If we call for help, then move your shebs and reinforce us. If you don't hear from us in four hours, head back to the LZ and get back to the ship. OK then, Catalpa, you're on point. Don't take the road, it will be mined or patrolled. We take a parallel route to it, 50 to 100 meters off center got it? "OK then, move out."

As the new team of three moved out, Oak looked about and gave hand signals to for everyone to take defensive positions. He keyed his comm and whispered to the corporal overseeing the waterfall to stay put, out of sight, and report anything.

Watching Shinzon"s form get sucked up by the green jungle, he couldn't help but let a very traitorous thought enter his mind...


TAG @Bardan_Jusik

 

IC: Jengleheimer Voss ‘aka Jingle’
Ambush zone, Capital City

Pausing at the top of the stairs as he nodded to the Commodore and company he took in the situation. It looked like they had made it, the Commodore, Queen, and Natalia who looked worse for wear, and a couple of Queen's guards besides. Not bad, although as he looked back at the Commodore, mentioning as he did so "I think a nice souffle and a cup of something sweet is just about in order, sir." he noted the Commodore's own backwards glance at Natalia.

A notion which Jingle could easily enough understand, it was the tried and true method of passing the cred chip to the lowest grizzly fellow on the hierarchy. Which had him deeply wishing even that TIE pilot that was chummy with the medical officer was here so he could pass it to her. As was, he would have to bear it.

The Commodore, to add surety and make sure the notion wasn't lost or could be claimed to be unnoticed nodded Jingle towards the shaken Natalia quietly. The Commodore had brought a hand to his ear comlink, "Commodore copies all Black Ice. Thanks for the head-up."

The Imperial officer looked to the UNMF trooper next to him, "Probably should clear our way. Don't want to be getting shot for our identities."

Peter got the feeling the man smiled behind the helmet when his next words came out, "Wouldn't ruin my day much."

As the mercenary marched off towards the exit, passing Jingle he had to merely smile and tip his head, "But then you would miss dinner. That would be shame, yes?" Sometimes you had to tug on a dogs chain to make sure it remembered whom it needed to stay loyal to beyond the one that cared for it. Once the pay stopped, so did their loyalty and the pay was not done yet.

The Commodore activated his comm, "All units, this is Commodore Englewood. We're exiting out." The effect causing an odd sensation of an echo in Jingle's ear from standing so near the Commodore when the transmission occurred.

As they went down the stairs to the exit he looked at the young woman, "Just remember to breath. It was them or you and us." it was trite words but they were true. They would sting, but in time she might begin to believe and understand them. Only as he looked at her the visage was lost, distant and her fingers seemed to be trying to do something. What he could not hazard a guess.

With a sigh he merely followed her and the others into the limo. His foot clamped down hard, digging into the thin carpet until it started to screech on the metal. "It's ours right?" he simply muttered with a furtive gaze at the Commodore before looking at the young woman. What he saw was sobering. She was jabbing a finger into a wound. A focusing technique that made his stomach pause and quiver.

"Sir," she said quietly, softly voice slightly shaking, leaning heavily on the Commodore's shoulder, "I...I request that I be transferred back to the Darkest Night. I do not believe I can continue this mission."

"Death is a part of life, you saved us from the next iteration and followed orders. Fact that you saved yourself doesn't matter. The blood is the Commodore's, the consequence and boon. Only respect that you followed orders is yours to endure." he whispered to the woman. The extreme of that was as dismal no matter which way you went, taking it all on yourself or assigning all responsibility to another. They weren't droids after all, but neither were they Emperor's that answered to no one. Life was a balance, like that spot where sweet and spicy meet to create something fantastic. Finding that balance was never easy and sadly took practice that you rarely were prepared for or had the number of tries truly needed to find it.

TAG: @Bravo, @galactic-vagabond422, @Sith-I-5, @The Vanguard

 

IC: Natalia Markova
Lepsawn Central

Her first reaction was to jump, taking in a sharp breath as the cook's voice whispered in her ear. Part of her understood, knew that what she did was right, that she was just following her orders. But, why did her heart trouble her, she didn't know, she couldn't understand.

Why did these deaths trouble her? When they were just numbers on a screen, just casualty reports she could understand them. Now those cold numbers were made flesh, men and women left bleeding on the ground, or sent to their deaths by the push of a button, by the words of another.

It was just so easy, just so simple. She didn't know how many were dead but, that didn't matter all she had to do was press a button. A simple act and a life was snuffed. She looked at her hand, index finger stained with blood, the same digit that signed those men to death. It was her blood, she knew that but, all she could think was that it was the blood of those men.

*SCREECH**SCREECH*

The noise returned, drowning out her rational thought leaving only on fact.

She was a killer, a murder.

No, no she wasn't...was she?

*SCREECH**SCREECH*

She took not just a life but several, by the definition she was a killer:

A person or thing that kills.

Murderer, Butcher,

No…

*SCREECH**SCREECH*

The spiral continued, turning deeper and deeper.

Blood on her hands, their blood…

Her hand reached for the wound again, was this to break the spiral, or was this just punishment?

She gave no reply to the other man, her mind still a maelstrom, still disorganized, as she desperately tried to return some order to it.

Her finger again was pressed into her open bleeding wound sending pain through her body. A long hiss passed through her teeth, as she turned to face Voss, tears of pain in her eyes.

"I...I know...I...would just like to return to my station...I am not a soldier." she shifted her shoulder drawing attention to the bright red cut on her shoulder. "I'm injured, and require medical attention." she was lying, covering, she just wanted to be far away from this place…

She needed distance, and music, orderly predictable music.

She began to exert some control over her mind, forcing it to one of her favorite pieces the first one she ever learned. It was simple but, comforting. Its rising melody recalled happier times, times with her mother, learning the front room of their simple home in O'Pahz, the capital of Carratos.

Unconsciously she began to hum, softly, gently, the two men next to her could hear, and possibly the Queen. It wasn't perfect, wasn't exactly how it would sound if she was playing it on the Viol she kept in her quarters but, those around would get the idea. At the same time her her fingers played the song bending and arranging themselves as if her datapad was an instrument. If one was trained in the Voil or had seen a recital they would know right away what she was doing.

Natalia didn't care who saw, she was trying to counter the spiral, not break it, just turn it somewhere else...she hoped.

TAG: @Mitth_Fisto @Bravo @The Vanguard

OOC: The song Natalia is humming can be heard here.

 

IC: Security Chief Cain Shinzon
Sentry Moon, Battle of Lespawn 1-9

As the Imperial supercommando disappeared into the bright green foliage along with the pair of Imperial Naval Troopers Cain Shinzon was confident in the troopers he'd left behind to cover their approach to the base of the falls and the enemy encampment there. Those troopers had been through a lot, it was true, and Sergeant Oak had shown some signs of weakness, but they were Imperial Naval troopers, loyal to the Empire, the Darkest Night, and to Cain Shinzon. They would do their duty.

So too was the Mandalorian confident in the pair he had chosen to accompany him on his reconnoiter and infiltration. Private Catalpa was out in front of Cain, barely visible to him through the dense jungle even though she was scarcely fifteen meters out in front of him. Another ten meters behind Cain was Corporal Alder who was watching the small team's back as they made their way down towards the base of the waterfall. They too were good troopers, more competent than Stormtroopers anyhow, though naturally not on par with a Mandalorian Supercommando. He wondered briefly what it would take to get a company of those assigned to the Darkest Night, shab a platoon or a even squad would make for a powerful force multiplier. Under his direct command of course.

They had gone down about half way now, staying basically parallel to the winding road, but ensuring they never got closer than 50 meters to it. That road would be the insurgent's main route of travel to and from the falls, and Cain didn't want to run into anyone until he'd had time to prepare. A sudden motion ahead of him caught his eye and he froze. It was Private Catalpa. Mimicking her action he stopped and raised a clenched fist for Corporal Alder to see, knowing the man would also halt and check their six. Why had they stopped? Cain wondered as waited for the Private to motion him forward.

TAG: @Bravo

 

IC: Aricor Colbea and Jaycas Braxhave
Detention block

The Twi'lek huffed a short laugh, then quickly sobered. "My people---we always saw a darkness in the Clone Troopers during the war. How the Grand Republic's troopers---their Jedi and political leadership---seemed more and more blinded by loyal militaristic philosophies. We went from a free galactic government to a government run by fear and control throughout the war. An organization for this, an organization for that. A law for this, a law for that. Towards the end of the war with the Separatists, we all felt it was more defeat than victory. We could see---could smell, could hear---the gears of a never-ending military dictatorship come to life as the Republic's armies crushed the last life out of the droid armies. When the Empire rose from the ashes of the Republic's victory, we lost. We all lost. And you, Imperial agent man, is just as much a victim as I am. Blinded by the loyalty that a few stripes on your uniform gives you."

The Twi'lek shook his head, his lekku twitching to signify defeat and anger, a tear rolling out of one eye. He dropped his bound wrists on to the table, the clang of metal restraints against the metal table reverberating throughout the interrogation room. "Your name first, Imperial agent man," the Twi'lek said, his eyes lowered. "Earn my respect and I shall give you yours."

Colbea smiled tightly. Everyone had to fend for themselves in this universe, whether the Republic or the Empire or the Separatists or the Rebels held the reins. And while there was good in this universe, there was also evil, and sometimes it was difficult to tell the difference between the two. To his fifteen-year-old self, the choice had been made when Separatist terrorists had attacked his parents' trading station, killing them, damaging the station, wounding so many others, all to try and gain a hold over the hyperspace lanes--only to be driven away by the 2nd Sector Army. Those troopers this Twi'lek so disdained had saved Aricor's life.

"The few stripes on my uniform, as you call them, are not why I serve," Colbea said, though this Rebel didn't need the truth of it. Honey and flies and vinegar and all that. "I know what battles were fought to save Ryloth and deliver your people from the Separatists. Yet you repay the lives of those troopers, the ones who saved your planet, your people, you, with disloyalty and disparagement."

He threw a quick glance at Braxhave. Kid didn't know anything other than the Empire. Maybe that was better, maybe it was worse, but it wasn't for Aricor to decide. But he'd stopped being a victim upon enlistment in the Imperial Navy--it was a way to survive, a way to better himself, a way to repay the troopers (and Jedi, though he knew better than to talk about them) who'd saved his life.

"Still, it doesn't hurt to be civil," Colbea continued. "My mother always said it was best to be polite. I'm Sergeant Colbea, and my partner here is Ensign Braxhave. Now, that's one more name than you wanted, so I expect yours as well as something else in return. What's your end goal with Lespawn? Surely a backwater like this is of no real use to the Rebellion."

Except as holes to slink to after attacking outposts like my parents'.

TAG: @Bravo

 

OOG: Computer is back up & running. 3 weeks of DRL has hopefully gone away. Back to posting. Yes!


*************


IC: Commodore Peter Englewood
Ambush of Presidential Convoy, Lepsawn Central (planet of Lepsawn 1-9)


"Sir," she said quietly, softly voice slightly shaking, leaning heavily on the Commodore's shoulder, "I...I request that I be transferred back to the Darkest Night. I do not believe I can continue this mission."

Peter glanced towards Natalia, as she spoke. Here, he waited just inside the door---blaster pistol ready---as the mercenary had walked out ahead. He had nowhere to go for the next few moments and had nothing else to do, but listen to the woman. For a moment, he felt guilt, pain, ashamed. What she hadn't said yet was what she was right about: she wasn't cut out for front-line combat. She was a technician behind a console, one of the many billion of faceless, nameless Imperial technicians that made the gears of war grind onwards behind the scenes, as Stormtroopers, Imperial Army Troopers, and TIE Pilots did the hero work: dying in combat or returning home as a wounded veteran, displaying their badges of brave service and sacrifice for all to see. But, quietly---behind closed doors and in dark rooms---those same heroes lived a life changed either mentally or physically or both, a private war they would continue to fight until their last days of life.

Natalia wasn't that poster boy soldier hero that COMPNOR wanted and sold to the Imperial citizen as what an Imperial should be. No, she was just a everyday enlisted crew member trying to make it through their service time and say that had accomplished something worthwhile in life. War and dying---especially taking another person's life in the heat of battle---was not something she had foreseen herself to have to do.

"Death is a part of life, you saved us from the next iteration and followed orders. Fact that you saved yourself doesn't matter. The blood is the Commodore's, the consequence and boon. Only respect that you followed orders is yours to endure."

Jingle's whispered words made all the truth: the blood was on Peter's hands, not hers.

"I...I know...I...would just like to return to my station...I am not a soldier." she shifted her shoulder drawing attention to the bright red cut on her shoulder. "I'm injured, and require medical attention."

Coward.

The word stuck in Englewood's mouth like sour milk. He would play the tactful, respectful military officer.

For now.

But it became clear, as true as truth can be, that Natalia wasn't cut out for this line of duty.

No, there were no exceptions! A Stormtrooper, a soldier, a TIE Pilot, a station technician like Natalia: they were all in the military, an organization by its very definition an assembly of men and women who's very job was to bring chaos, suffering, and death upon those that threatened the freedoms and ideals of the Galactic Empire.

Si vis pacem, para bellum. If you want peace, prepare for war. *

Englewood hand-picked this team for the very reasons that played out before him now with Natalia. You were assigned a duty in the military and Englewood could see that Natalia and people like her expected to just do that job. No! You were a soldier, a sailor, a pilot first---you were trained since basic training to carry and fire a weapon. To work as a team. To accomplish a task, no matter the circumstances. Then you were assigned to a specialty and shipped off to another school for more training.

But, you were a soldier, sailor, pilot---first.

Englewood aimed to bring that lesson home today, tomorrow, or the next week.

The Empire was in a war. And every able bodied man and woman was expected to fight to their dying breath to protect the Empire.

Natalia would be no different.

Then she started humming. Englewood diverted his attention before he just shot her himself and save the Empire thousands of credits in paychecks and thousands more in housing, training, and nutrition. Was she realty about to crack like a egg in the field? Force help him, what was the Empire's rank-and-file coming to these days?

He could see the UNMF soldier approach the limo and not start off a firefight. So, it seemed to be clear for now.

"All units, this is Commodore Englewood. We're exiting out." Peter spoke into his comm and signaled for the others to move forward.

Englewood approached the limo and the driver yelled out.

"You best get in," Dax said, "We don't know the enemy's plan of battle and need to evac the scene before more enemy foot mobiles arrive!"

Peter couldn't agree more, as he opened up the door and got everyone piled in. One of the UNMF soldiers took the shotgun passenger seat in front, while another one remained with the Queen in the back with the rest of them.

"We're evacing to the government complex," Peter said, then noticed something missing, "Where's the Ambassador and the other guard?"

The front-riding UNMF soldier cut in before Dax could, "I'll fill you in later, Commodore."

Peter shrugged, sitting back in the seat. Fair. If t was urgent enough, the mercenary would share it with him.

Hopefully.

Apparently, it was not urgent. Fair enough for the moment, before they got clear of the danger zone and back to the government building.

The vehicle began moving, first reversing, then getting back onto the main road and headed towards the government complex.

Peter keyed his comm, "Commodore and Queen package on the move back to government complex."

As the line of buildings zipped by faster and faster and they exited their recent war zone, Peter keyed his comm.

"All Presidential Convoy units, what's your status?"

Soon, they would be back to safety. But, Englewood knew, with more questions then answers.

Englewood's first question: who was blocking their comms? His second question: where the hell was the Darkest Night's support during all of this?

The Commodore's thoughts drifted to a very uncomfortable place just then.

There was a traitor. And that traitor had help, from within the Darkest Night.


TAG @Sith-I-5 , @Mitth_Fisto , @galactic-vagabond422 , @The Vanguard

 

IC: Corporal at the Waterfall
Naval Trooper Detachment assigned to Monitoring Station, Sentry Moon


He keyed his comm in three rapid clicks. That meant STOP.

From his vantage point, it appeared Private Catalpa had spotted the problem the same moment the Corporal did and had ordered her detachment to the standby.

Force is she good! The Corporal thought to himself. And no, he didn't mean her rather attractive physical features. Although that helped increase his opinion. No matter the situation, the Private always seemed a half-second faster then everyone else.

The Corporal keyed his comm and whispered, "Watch tangos coming from within the cave system opposite the waterfall. I count two, plus the original guard. Looks like their having a good ole chat. It should be easy."

There was nothing the Corporal could do from his vantage point, save alert the whole criminal operation as he fired a spray of blaster bolts down from above. He could throw rocks down on them, but he figured these mercenaries weren't as helpless as Stormtroopers fighting Ewoks. Wait, wasn't that in the last holo vid he watched last night?

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, the Naval Trooper focused on his mission. His vantage point was limited; he couldn't see what Private Catalpa was seeing from her vantage point opposite the waterfall (whereas the Corporal's vantage point was above the waterfall and directly at the waterfall). Was there another cave system opposite the waterfall directly ahead of the Corporal, where he last saw the drug deal? And if so, was it a small network or something more expansive?

Either way, the Corporal knew his usefulness was coming to an end soon if the team decided to enter those tunnels.


TAG @Bardan_Jusik

 

IC: Flight Lieutenant Baille Harte, Flight Lieutenant Alex Qipao "Black Ice" (npc), office building, and 8880 limousine, respectively
Location: Lepsawn 1-9 capital city


Baille had extricated herself from the ground floor bathroom after making sure that the place was clear of hostiles, swept the lobby, and moved squelched up the stairs towards the first floor, her blaster aimed up to cover all hostile angles, whilst the back of her STANG vest scraped the wall.

Sprinkler water that had collected at the bottom of the stairs, and had been stopped by the fire door, had washed over her feet when she had hauled the door open, but hadn't come close to topping her knee-boots, though she had several dirty splashes up her thighs that had had made her hiss with the cold.

The lifts were out, from Natalia's electrical overload, and the pilot suspected that the slight odour of singed flesh that was detectable as she went up, was probably from victims of that, though she had not yet encountered any bodies.
At least the deluge had stopped, and she was very glad not to be enduring the water drumming loudly on her helmet.

She was on a set of steps that led up to a small landing that was bathed in light by a window overlooking the rear car park, and then another set of steps went up in the opposite direction, behind her, and then so on, zig-zagging up to the roof.

The natural illumination was welcome, as the lumis were frakked, burned out, either by contact with the water, or via the power overload.

C'Boath on a bike, but that Natalia girl was hell on Building Insurance.

Under her white scout trooper helm, the pilot's smile widened into a toothy grin as she visualised Navigation Officer Markova as a Republic-era ribbon-haired moppet, skipping ahead in her sleeveless frock, stopping to stone windows for her ceriglaze salesman Dad.

"All Presidential Convoy units, what's your status?"

Englewood's voice in her ear, startled the pilot back to the here-and-now, and she was silently grateful for the interruption. Now was not the time to be losing concentration.

Figuring she was no longer a 'Convoy Unit', she did not bother responding, instead, carefully moving up another step. squelch

****
8880 Limousine '15-Mary-3'

Alex and his UNMF driver observed the vehicle parked ahead and to their left, pick up the Commodore, the Queen, an unsteady-looking Markova, the two UNMF people, and Spangle, Jingle, or whatever the bossy chef was called.

The Commodore's speeder, peeled out of the loading dock area, and onto the road where they were already parked, turning back towards the Presidential Complex.

Alex made sure that their own limousine settled in behind the departing speeder, then leaned down to fondly ruffle G'Spaugh's hair, where she still laid across the floor.
"You alright down there?"

"All Presidential Convoy units, what's your status?" Englewood's voice came over Alex' comlink. The man sounded calm enough, no sign that he had just been pinned down without the ability to return fire.

"Black Ice here, Boss." He responded. "We are on your six, Sir."

The view through the transparent partition between himself and the driver's cab, and the windscreen beyond him, showed the rear of the Commodore's vehicle.

Alex looked left and right, then behind, wondering where the next attack would come from.

Tag: @Bravo, @The Vanguard, @Mitth_Fisto, @galactic-vagabond422

Note: Baille's visual of Natalia, is based on an old Charlie Chaplin film, where he wanders the streets with window panes strapped to his back, and his daughter goes ahead of him by a couple of streets, stoning windows. No idea what the film is called.