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The Algarian Campaign
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| General_Adenn | Date: Sunday, 04 Dec 2011, 12:24 PM | Message # 31 |
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Lieutenant
Group: Users
Messages: 41
Status: Offline
| As Fajra took notice of the two that had come before her, the large Kaleesh General could not help but clench both fists together. His large vertically slit eyes gazing upon the small, frail girl with such disgust that it was truly a wonder how she did not simply burst into a ball of flames. Though he wished nothing more than to add her to the long list of causalities this campaign had already suffered through, he was bound by orders. And at this moment in his long life, Adenn was a model alien that fought under the mighty banner of the Empire. He did what he was told. Kill these groups of rebels on this planet, done. Recapture lost ground on that planet, no problem. Turn your head and look the other way so we can build up the reputation of some rich little female and get the support we need to send birth-borns off to war because you and the clones that fight under you are somehow obsolete, yes sir.
"Get her up, " he growled with that trademark rasp in his deep reptilian voice.
From Fajra's left and right, two palms reached out and grasped her thin biceps tight. Forcing her upwards on her legs until she stood before both the General and Captain. Then, just a moment after. The restraints were loosened from around her wrists, and ultimately fully removed. More and more individuals had stopped to watch the disgraced Commander. Some out of an equal discontent that the General had for her, others, mostly the fresh faces to the line, simply out of curiosity before sharp voices would shout for them to continue about their duties.
"Our field medics, and Doctors have dubbed what you're suffering through as 'Algarian Madness', Commander." Adenn began, the fake sincerity in his voice so thick only one incapable of hearing would not be able to decipher it. "This war has been wildly brutal, and it's taken a toll on a number of birth-born soldiers." He continued, "Which is why myself, and Imperial High Command, have seen fit to send you off on an extended leave of absence from this Campaign." The words had become so odd now that even the unconquerable General Adenn seemed to feel completely out of place saying them.
"It was an honour serving under you, Commander." Jai'galaar lied, his hand clutching the side of her shoulder. While his unhelmeted, violently scarred face stared at her with seething eyes. "I speak for the entire 13th when I say we hope to see you recover fully before you go the route so many others with this disorder have gone. It's nothing to be ashamed of after all, you're only -human-." The clone made sure to emphasize his final word quite clearly before he released her arm and stepped backwards.
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| Fajra_Merav | Date: Monday, 05 Dec 2011, 9:58 AM | Message # 32 |
 Major general
Group: Users
Messages: 258
Status: Offline
| "Algarian madness?" Her brows knitted together as she reflected on what the General was saying. She had read the reports of certain inflicted birth-born individuals. And while fighting on the Northern front, she had witnessed this so called madness. No. That wasn't her. "I won't deny that I've suffered through a few traumatic events. But I didn't stop at Corulag. And if I had a choice, I wouldn't stop here. Perhaps that in itself is madness?" She said through a smile. But it didn't quite reach her eyes. There was a deep sadness within her amber pools. For some of them...this would be their last Campaign.
Her eyes would then follow the Captains movements. Pausing upon the hand that rested upon her shoulder. The last time he'd touched her, he saved her life, and she nearly freaked. After Corulag, she froze up at the slightest physical contact. But it got better over the duration of the Campaign. Soft laughter would escape her lips as a thought occured to her. A realization. "Captain. You saved my life more than once. Was it duty that compelled you? Or your humanity? Maybe a little of both. Either way. Humanity looks good on you Clone. And I am grateful."
A beat after the Captain stepped away, she turned her back. Her walk up the landing ramp felt longer than it should have. Each step pulling at her heart strings. Until she was left with a dull ache in her chest. She paused at the top. Her five-foot-two frame appearing even smaller against the backdrop, and the two armed soldiers that stood at her sides. She started to turn her head, but paused before she could complete the turn. Fajra Merav never looked back as she disappeared into the Shuttle.
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| General_Adenn | Date: Wednesday, 08 Feb 2012, 11:01 PM | Message # 33 |
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Lieutenant
Group: Users
Messages: 41
Status: Offline
| Months had passed since Commander Fajra Merav had found herself forcefully ejected from the campaign on Algarian. Long, hard months, laden with feverish combat, bloodshed, sickness and depression. The war looked no better now than it had with her lack of presence and leadership. The resistance here refused to surrender, and they fought with a vigor and violence that rivaled, if not wholly surpassed the Mighty Empire that had come to crush and kill every last one of them. It was that fact that fueled their fire, and they were willing to watch their own world burn if it meant they would never have to call these Imperials master.
"Siyen, you are a fool to trust it. I assure you this will one day be the downfall of our cause. You must recognize this." Commander Zevek sighed thoughtfully, his eyes pleading with the twi'lek to see reason.
"It's given us no reason to suspect it of any type of foul play or malcontent, Zevek. Infact the success of the last few months would not have been possible without it's insight." She replied softly, placing her ivory palm upon the mans cheek.
"How could you even refer to what our people have suffered through as 'successes', Siyen?! You're beginning to sound like an Imperial!" Zevek growled, turning his head away from her touch.
Siyen narrowed her eyes, and presented the man with her back as she turned gaze out over the snow encrusted mountains that surrounded the rebels northern base of operations. "You're a fool to think victory does not come at a heavy price."
"I'm the fool?!" Zevek grabbed the young Twi'lek by her shoulder and twisted her lithe body to face him once more. "Tarensii'a is in ruins, our people starve and perish by the thousands nearly every day there!" He began, but before he could continue her palm jabbed him painfully in the sternum, stumbling him backwards several paces.
"Tarensii'a is a necessary sacrifice, and you should not denounce our men that make those Imperial dogs fight for every block and building in that city. Every day they afford us there, is another day we are building our southern defenses, ferrying weapons and people in to the jungles. And allowing the Separatists more production time."
"Yes, the Separatists. I believe you, Xife and Jalar were the ones that championed how they would be our saviours. But other than a few thousand droids here and there, all we have received from them are empty promises and pleads to buy them more time to produce." Zevek reminded, his palm gliding back and forth over his chest where he had been struck. At times he found it hard to believe that this was indeed the beautiful creature he had married before all of this madness had broke out.
"They have provided us with the weapons to fight, and the means to eliminate Imperial air and orbital support almost entirely. They will turn the tide of this war, I'm sorry you're foolish enough to believe that with so few facilities they could provide us with enough droid support to end this conflict in a day."
"And I'm sorry you believe that they actually will, even more so that this thing. . . has truly abandoned it's programming to assist us. I think the blood and the battles have fogged your better judgement, and you only care about your own goals, Siyen."
"My goals?" Siyen breathed spitefully, "My decisions, my leadership and my networks have turned this war from a situation where we were just waiting to lose. To something the Empire does not know how to deal with!"
"Your leadership has left one of our largest, and finest city's in ruin. Have left millions homeless and hungry, have cost us the lives of how many Algarian sons, and brothers and sisters. . . mothers, fathers? Oh. . . and lost the data to this very base, let's not forget that."
There was an uneasy silence, husband and wife staring each other down. A line had been crossed, and how they would proceed from here was the only question worth asking.
"I'll be informing the others that you have been overcome with this 'Algarian Madness', as the Imperials have deemed to call it. I would not be able to live with myself another day if I stood by while our people continue to die for your blood lust." Zevek said softly, unable to look his wife in the eyes.
Without another word he turned his back on her, and began to make stride off from the large Monastery balcony. He didn't know what happened first after that, the loud, echoing pop of a blaster. Or the dull thud against his back that wrest the wind violently from his lungs. Slowly he veered towards the duracrete framing of the door with heavy, uncoordinated steps. Gasping for air as another bang cried out from the pistol. More pain clutched over him, his insides burned. Weakly he slumped down on to his knees, his shoulder against the door the only thing that kept his body from bellying down.
"You fool. . . " Siyen breathed, her voice as heartless as ever. Carefully she stepped towards the man, and as he painfully whined and whimpered. She pumped one more blast in to his body, between the shoulder blades. Before leaving the man she once loved, there to die. She had to contact Xife immediately, it was time the asset that had caused this dispute finally came fully on board with the cause.
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"Yes, sir. It was an honour." Hemorrhage replied to a very obscured holo-image. "It'll be done." He concluded, the image fading from the projector soon after the words had been spoken. Taking a deep breath the ARC Trooper looked over his shoulder. In the tent with him was Captain Ne'tra of Gauntlet company. A man he had come to admire, despite his leading of a lesser viewed Company of the 13th.
Despite Hemorrhage's reputation for violence and cruelty he was a very deep thinker, as deep as a Clone could be anyway. To him it had always seemed strange that even in a Legion of Clones that there could be prejudices. Especially in one as fabled and experienced as the 13th. But Gauntlet had always, since it's inception, been treated as a lower valued force, especially when compared with Companies such as Shadow or the now defunct Crusader Company. This had only increased since Gauntlet had become fond of, and served as Commander Merav's personal Unit.
"Was that General Adenn? Do we have our orders?" Ne'tra coughed, his body trembling from the frigid cold of the North.
"Let's wake the men, and get moving. We have a lot of ground to cover." Hemorrhage informed, rising to his feet laggardly as he pushed the helmet over his battered head.
"Right away, sir." Ne'tra coughed once more, throwing his legs down on to the ground as he turned to sit up from his rack.
As the Captain was beginning to rise the boots of ARC Trooper Hemorrhage stopped just in the center of his gaze. And as he began to look up at his Clone brother a closed fist, with one of Hemorrhage's infamous blades crushed in to the side of his face. It was so fast Ne'tra didn't even realize what was happening as the blade penetrated through his left cheek, shattering and breaking his teeth as it cleaved down through his tongue and snapped through the body of his lower jaw on the opposite side.
Blood quickly began to pool from the wound, and spill rapidly from the open crevasse's. Clone training and instinct kicked in hastily as Ne'tra grabbed Hemorrhage's assaulting wrist and fought the blade free of his face. "Ughhnn!" The Clone grunted as he struggled to stand, blood now gushing from his gaping wound. But before he could even open his mangled mouth to attempt a shout, or spit the severed slab of his tongue out. Another fist struck him, and again he felt the penetration of metal through his mouth.
It came from the opposite side this time, with the tip viciously cutting in from an upwards angle almost exactly where the first strike had exited. Hemorrhage retracted his fist quickly this time though, as Ne'tra, gushing puddles of blood attempted to clinch with the ARC Trooper, only to find his weight lobbed effortlessly to the side. Confused and nearly losing consciousness from the sudden rapid loss of blood. He provided no resistance as Hemorrhage swung and arm around his neck, and locked in a tight choke-hold on him.
"Ready to die, brother?!" The familiar mechanical voice whispered. Although death was not really the intention.
Ne'tra tried to breathe, but it felt as though he had been trapped beneath a wall of fallen debris. He began to try and struggle, but no matter how hard he tried he could not budge the man from his back. Why was Hemorrhage doing this? This was his friend, a fellow clone, a fellow member of the 13th. . . a brother. A loud roar began to rise in his ears, no, it was more of a ring. A constant high pitched ring that echoed through his whole head as his surroundings began to darken. He tried to gasp air once more, but inhaled only the thick metallic tasting liquid that seeped from his ragged facial wounds. His chest began to ache, the darkness that was slowly filling his eyes began to hasten. He tried one last time to fight, weakly his hands grasped at the blade on Hemorrhage's locking arm. The razor-edges easily flayed his flesh to the bone as he struggled further and further. Until finally he managed to pull hand off from the back of his head and the arm down and over the side of his left shoulder.
But Hemorrhage did not falter in the brutal attack. No, now it seemed he did not want to kill the Clone Captain but, as his reputation had justly dictated, disfigure him. With repeated non-fatal stabs and cuts to the face and head. Until finally one more strike entered through his left orbital rim, and sheered through the delicate orb that was formerly his eye and continued rigidly down the front of his face.
The entire struggle had taken less than seven minutes, and as the blood soaked blades retracted in to Hemorrhages gauntlets the ARC Trooper gazed down upon his mangled masterpiece. Ne'tra was barely alive, Hemorrhage could have killed him easily. Or finished him now. But he wouldn't. Instead the tent was set ablaze, and alert had finally been drawn to the conflict, but Hemorrhage was already making his escape in to the cold Northern Algarian night. The first defector in the history of the 13th Legion.
Message edited by General_Adenn - Wednesday, 08 Feb 2012, 11:02 PM |
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| Fajra_Merav | Date: Wednesday, 06 Jun 2012, 7:34 PM | Message # 34 |
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Major general
Group: Users
Messages: 258
Status: Offline
| Northern Front
"Grenade out!"
Her eyes never moved from her target, once the Flash-bang grenade was released from her hand, the motion of her throwing arm continued naturally, increasing her accuracy while gaining distance. In the heart of the enemy skirmish, humans, aliens, and droids alike were caught by the Commander's wrath. A volley of fire from Gauntlet quickly followed, making recovery for the enemy forces difficult, but it wasn't enough for Fajra. She wanted them dead. All of them.
"Forward!" she ordered. With her rifle drawn, she sprinted ahead in a low crouch. Blaster fire rang out from both sides, setting the night ablaze with their bright blue bolts.
The terrain on the mountain range was unforgiving, and while the Southern Front was being bombarded by rain, the North wasn't any better. The threat wasn't just the enemy, but what they had to go through if they were to gain any amount of distance. Lightning, gusts of wind, falling rocks, and extreme cold were all additional threats. Just aiming down your sights didn't cut it. You had to compensate for the wind. Any form of movement, up and down the steep slopes, exerted an amount of energy they couldn't afford to lose.
The fighting was close, relying solely on their rifles was impractical at this point. Everyone was on their own, each engaged in their own fight. Someone stumbled into her back, knocking the wind out of her as her chest hit the ground. She dug her hands into the dirt, trying to pull herself forward, but her movement stopped as a boot came down on the base of her spine, pinning her to the cold earth. Images of Corulag invaded her senses. Before she knew it, she was on her back, her helmet had been pulled free, and was now in the hands of her assailant.
A pair of cold, battle-hardened eyes looked her over. He dropped her helmet to the ground beside her, where it landed with a thud. Tendrils of dark brown hair matted against her face, which was now devoid of color. Her rifle was out of reach, and she didn't have the time to fumble for her Lightfoil. Improvising, she waited for him to make his move, and then she struck. Once, twice, three times her helmet connected with his temple, and at least one of those times she caught his ear.
"Imperial bitch!" He cursed, his ear ringing, and the right side of his face slick with fresh blood. On her feet, she watched as he got to his knees, her hand releasing her helmet, freeing her hands. Stepping behind him, she cupped her right hand beneath his chin, her left pressed against his forehead. Without flinching, she snapped his neck, pausing only to see his body crumple before her.
She picked up a fallen blaster, and squeezed out the remainder of the magazine into some alien. As far as she was concerned, they were all the same. "They're falling back!" she shouted, while trying to avoid a bolt that nearly pelted her. "Son of a rancor!" She cursed, darting behind the trunk of a miserable tree, "...don't let them get out alive!"
A Clone from Gauntlet, and a soldier from the 901st were tag teaming a droid to the ground. Those who were left behind, met the fate of the Commander's words. Take no prisoners. Those were her orders.
Added (18 May 2012, 7:57 AM)
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"He's out there." Her words hung in the cold air. Waiting on the Clone Captain of Gauntlet Company.
"I have nothing to say on the matter." His response was expected, but she was unwilling to let it go.
"But I do," she said flatly. "Hemorrhage is not our enemy. He's a victim of this War. This Algarian Madness. Unless you're a droid...I'm afraid it can affect us all. We will all be crazy before we see an end to this Campaign. On the bright side, we'll all be crazy together. One big happy family."
"Why do I feel as though you're actually serious?"
She shrugged her shoulders, and then laid back, resting the back of her head within the palms of her hands. "I hate the cold," she said, bitterly adding, "I can see my breath. Maybe we will all die from the cold before we go crazy. Problem solved."
"Get some sleep Commander."
"Is that an order?"
"No."
"That's what I thought," she mumbled, rolling over to find comfort. She smiled as she gathered her stuffed Rancor in her arms. Sleep shortly followed.Added (21 May 2012, 9:19 AM)
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"Frak this day," she cursed under her breath. She was trying to pee, but the cold was scaring it away. Not only was it a pain getting her armor off, but it was cold, and she was half naked in the woods. When something finally happened. It wasn't much, but she was glad to be done with it. She quickly suited back up, shouldering her rifle last before departing. A short jog took her back to camp, which in her absence had been in the process of packing up.
"Fall in!" She ordered. In her hands, she turned her helmet over, blood and filth now decorating it. A grim smile parted her lips, which were cracked, aching for hydration. "We will run out of rations and ammunition before we reach that Monastery," she said matter-of-factly. "The Rebels have the high ground, and if we continue this way, we will be bantha fodder for their artillery. We need to make each shot count, not mindlessly pissing our ammunition their way."
A tight grip on her helmet, whitened her knuckles, nearly matching the frost that settled into the landscape. She extended her left arm toward the winding slope, that eventually lead to the Monastery, a structure that she deemed forsaken by the gods. "Our position is compromised. But there is another way. A broken path that shoulders off to the right," she said, her amber-hued eyes looking past her men's faces, towards a climb that could decide the fate of the Northern Front.
"I will be leading a small contigent through that pass. If this is executed correctly, we will see our struggles rewarded with the traitorous blood of our enemy!" Added (06 Jun 2012, 7:34 PM)
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Southern Front
Dactillion Imperial base
Outside Tarensii'a
She never thought it possible to miss the North. But as orders took her to Dactillion, she quickly found herself missing those damn rocks called mountains.
Again, she readjusted the strap on her shoulder, but for whatever reason it still didn't feel right. It was like the other night. No matter how many times she rolled over, she couldn't get comfortable. Even the littlest of things weighed on her thoughts. The tension, increased as she arrived, throbbing beneath the surface, but outside she wore a perfect mask of Stormtrooper Commander. Well. Kind of. Those hazel eyes, were like a mood ring. They favored a deep amber hue. But at the moment, they were a dark golden-green. And they were glaring across the Clones of Shadow Company, fixated on Captain Jai'galaar.
She had not forgotten. He saved her life. But the moment he learned of her ability, her life was no longer worth saving. It didn't exactly give her warm and fuzzy feelings inside. As she approached Jai'galaar, she set her bag down, and then slid into a chair beside him. She wasn't quick to break words, but when she did, they were spoken slowly, almost cautiously. "How do I know if you have my back?"
Message edited by Fajra_Merav - Friday, 18 May 2012, 7:20 PM |
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| General_Adenn | Date: Saturday, 09 Jun 2012, 9:31 AM | Message # 35 |
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Lieutenant
Group: Users
Messages: 41
Status: Offline
| So much had changed since Fajra had last found herself down here in the Southern expanse. Yet so much still remained the same. The battered trenches, the rusted vibro-wire, litters of dead bodies, filth and stench that not even the strongest bathing would ever easily remove. Actually, the only thing truly different was the position of the Rebel forces. No longer did they man an impenetrable wall around the skeletal remains of Tarensii'a, instead they had fallen back in to the endless maze of streets and avenues. Hiding among rubble and decimated frameworks, choosing instead to make the Empire burn them out one building, road and corner at a time.
It was a tedious, and deadly process. The constant hum and roar of the BARC Speeders, whose sole job in recent weeks had been ferrying both dead and injured Imperials out of the city were but one way to attest to this. The cost of this Operation was beginning to outweigh all previous estimates. And were it not for the fact that all roads in the South lead to this former hub of civilization, it would have been abandoned months ago.
Captain Jai'galaar had been sitting in the front, directly centre of the holo-projector of the briefing tent they had been assigned to. The simple lighting of the room blinked and flickered with every earth rumbling thud of Imperial armour that strode through Camp Dactillion. The base was very much alive, despite the otherworldly misery that seemed to grip every being that entered it's perimeter.
As Fajra entered many of the gathered Clones shot her careful glances. They knew what she was, but General Adenn had already covered her situation, and delivered strict orders to not only the 13th, but to every unit that currently called Algarian home, that she was here to stay. And while they did not have to respect her, they most assuredly had to respect her rank. No matter how it is she may have achieved it. Although, here on Algarian, and especially in the Southern Campaign, no life had a guarantee on it. And Shadow Company had a very well known vicious streak.
No one was more surprised than Jai'galaar when the small birth-born girl threw herself down next to him. In fact the expression on his distinctly scarred face spoke of undeniable confusion. It was not often that the Captain of Shadow Company could not find words to say. But then her voice broke the silence, and Jai'galaar shook his head pathetically at her.
"We've been given orders, " He said, and though his intention had been for the words to pierce forth from his lungs quite frigidly, they came out tired and void of emotion. Fatigue from this war lay heavy on all shoulders involved, Clone or birth-born. "Besides, " He continued as the tent that boxed them in began to ripple and shake wildly from the thrust of a Transport setting down just outside. "We're all just honoured that a celebrity, such as yourself, is willing to serve with us lowly soldiers."
Before Jai'galaar stood, he placed a holo-tablet on Fajra's left leg. On it's scratched and thoroughly worn screen was a picture of Fajra in her best high-society attire, and an accompanying article of her evening at that particular party with Orion Karath. Jai'galaar saluted the Commander, and without one more word uttered to the girl, he turned on his heel and strode to the side of the tent.
And in that final moment, the other occupants followed. Each giving Fajra an obedient salute before retreating to the corners and sides of the Briefing Tent. Leaving the young, birth-born Commander seated alone at it's centre.
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| Fajra_Merav | Date: Monday, 11 Jun 2012, 11:51 AM | Message # 36 |
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Major general
Group: Users
Messages: 258
Status: Offline
| Carefully, she lifted the tablet from her leg, holding it up closer to the light. Her eyes narrowed, focusing on the picture, before her gaze slid to the Captain's retreating form. She didn't know what hurt the most, and was quickly overwhelmed with an array of emotions. She missed the happiness she felt on Procopia, a feeling sparked by the Commando that was pictured beside her. That happiness, was short lived, and she wasn't sure if she could get it back. Her visions had made it clear, Algarian, would be her last Campaign.
"You know the difference between you and I, Clone," she said, pausing as she considered her next words, "This birth-born celebrity has never walked away." She tossed the tablet down so hard, that it slid off the makeshift table, and onto the ground below. Afterward, she buried her face into her shaking hands, trying to control the anger inside. There had been times where she couldn't think past her own anger, blind with rage, that she'd black out and lose herself. She was so close to giving in. The urge only heightened her frustration. She wanted to throw a fit, to flip the table over, and send her seat crashing toward the Clone Captain. And even that wasn't enough. She didn't want to stop until the tent was covered in the dirt, and then, just maybe, her anger would be satisfied.
A girl can dream, she thought. She dropped her hands from her face, placing them on the table that was spared from her Wrath. Her chin soon joined in, resting between her arms. It didn't take long before the Commander was out cold.
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| General_Adenn | Date: Sunday, 26 Aug 2012, 5:44 PM | Message # 37 |
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Lieutenant
Group: Users
Messages: 41
Status: Offline
| Fajra's childish tantrum had been ignored by all, none gave her the attention they felt she craved. None bothered to even offer reply to her blatant lie about walking away. They had been here fighting on Algarian while she, the untouchable Commander, partied her days away at first arrival, then again after she had been sent off to gather herself. The first fact was bothersome, but the second fact not only stoked the flames of contempt that burned for her, it made an overwhelming majority of not only the Clones, but now the birth-borns that had previously held her in such high regard, wish only to see her days on Algarian end quickly. Just as so many good soldiers had done in her absence, and have continued to do since her return.
The briefing had gone over as expected. An undisclosed Intelligence source had located a town East of Tarensii'a that had been nursing the injured, and providing shelter, food, and storage of weapons outside of the war ravaged city for the rebel cause.The town had roughly fifteen-hundred residents, and resistance was expected to be light to moderate. The mission was simple, eliminate any rebel fighters, secure the food and weapons if possible, and make an example out of any civilian that had chosen to betray the Empire and help the Rebellion. These actions no longer would be tolerated in the Algarian Campaign, and General Adenn was not well known for taking treasonous dogs that sought only to watch the Empire fail as prisoner.
The Imperials had left on foot that evening, Captain Jai'galaar splitting off and taking Shadow Company in a wide arc off from Commander Merav and the three Companies of the Nine O First that had been allotted to this mission. She would be taking a Northern approach on the town, while the 13th came in through the Southern flood plains.
Dawn was an hour old by the time Jai'galaar and Shadow Company had arrived at the mission waypoint. The town itself had been largely untouched by the war thus far. Nearly all of the fighting had happened in and around the massive city of Tarensii'a. But this was about to change. As the resistance grew more fierce in their attacks on Imperial soldiers, so too was General Adenn in his tactics. While before the Empire sought only to crush the Separatist and Algarian Rebel threats, protecting citizens when and where they could. Now thanks to the guerrilla tactics of the Rebels, all residents of Algarian were now to be viewed first as enemy. And this town would be one of many examples to come, showing what happens when you stand to oppose the Imperial war effort.
Beams of soft, golden light had begun stabbing through the tall buildings of the town as Jai'galaar carefully walked down the line of Shadow Company soldiers that were laid neatly along the base of an elevated road way that rose up out of the knee deep flood plains. It was a difficult position to be in, they had to climb up on to the road, then rush across a wide duracrete bridge before they even set foot on the ground the town rested upon. But the only alternative was the same tactic on the bank just beyond the bridge, where the enemy could more easily gun them down. He wasn't willing to risk it.
"Two minutes!" He informed lowly, "4th Platoon you know what to do." He continued, his body now leaning against the slope, one hand resting firmly on its surface. "1st you follow me straight up the middle. 2nd and 3rd be ready to come in hard."
The ticker on his tactical display finally went green, and the Captain of Shadow Company was first to begin heaving himself upwards. "Shadow Company, go!" He commanded loudly, and right on queue his men began to follow. No sooner than the Captain's boots had touched the surface of the road, the Resistance let their presence be known.
Heavy blasts of auto-cannon fire instantly speared out from multiple upper-story building windows. Tearing small craters across the surface of the road, and cleaving limbs from the body of a handful of Clones. But with such few targets the accuracy of the firing was woefully poor.
"Covering fire!" Jai'galaar bellowed as he and 1st Platoon began to rush forward.
"Contacts third floor, left and right windows, Cafe." A clone of 4th Platoon directed as he and his brothers fell in to position and began returning fire.
Withering hails of highly powerful slug-rounds hissed and snapped past Jai'galaar and his men. Sprinting at full speed, firing his rifle from the hip. They were halfway across the bridge when Jai'galaar slowed his stride, turning his body to motioned for 2nd and 3rd Platoon to make their approach.
"Forward! Keep going!" He yelled, his stride picking up pace once more as 4th Platoon began returning volley after volley of heavy, and coordinated fire. Giving the Imperial charge much needed breathing room.
One could only hope the very green Commander on the opposite side of town was having a much easier approach with her three Companies of birth-borns.
Added (26 Aug 2012, 5:44 PM)
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What had happened? The Captain of Shadow Company was on the ground, his back pressed tightly against the side of a building. There was a ringing in his ears, and his Phase II helmet's overlay was once again not functioning. Something that had become common since his second week in the Tarensii'a trenches. Roughly he thudded a closed fist against the side of his head. And for a brief moment his comms kicked to life, before fizzing out in to static. Fed up with the malfunctioning equipment he tore it from his head, only to discover a thick layer of dirt and dust had swallowed the entire street and, perhaps more surprisingly, he was but one of a good fifteen to twenty strewed across the ground. Some were unconscious, others were rocking side to side in thick pools of blood and viscera.
Crawling over severed limbs, and chunks of duracrete and broken glass he retrieved his rifle and hoisted himself up on to his uneasy legs. All the sounds were rushing in, as if the battle were unfolding at a very exaggerated pace, the screams and anguished bellows, the sound of blaster fire and the boom of the rebel Slug weaponry, all of it flooded in over his senses so rapidly it only offered aid to the confusion that already weighted him down. Jai'galaar palmed the grainy, black clod from his face as he stumbled slowly through the debris fog.
The street was absolutely devastated, with multiple wide craters down the entire length of it's middle and the first floor of many buildings were entirely blown in. Instantly he knew what had happened, and it was sheer luck more of his men had not been caught in the area when the Rebels had detonated these devices. What had his last order been? He tried to recall as he continued on in his daze.
Further ahead he could make out several figures through the dense covering of dust that still clogged the air around him. But it seemed as soon as his stinging eyes focused on them they vanished, as two figures from opposite sides of the street leaned their bodies out from the third and fourth floor windows, simple scarves wrapped around their faces to obscure their identity, lobbed two incendiary grenades down on to the clones. The flash, even through the cover of dirt and light debris, was nearly blinding, as a wreathe of blue flame swallowed the troopers whole.
Not thinking any further, Jai'galaar frailly ducked inside of a building while he tried to further recover his senses. With his rifle clutched loosely to his shoulder he began to clear the building he had entered, product of the drilling he had received through his entire life since his creation. Outside the Resistance continued their hit-and-run tactics. With sudden and violent bursts of gunfire, and explosions that shook dust from the ceiling. They knew victory was not an option, but that would not stop them from taking shots at the Empire, and then attempting to blend back in with the Civilians that were protecting them.
Captain Jai'galaar continued his dazed sweep, the crunch of pebbles and glass under the sole of his boots, somehow sounding louder than the skirmishes outside.
When he came to the top of the stairs, he entered what appeared to be the master bedroom of the home, and immediately cleared the hard corner of the room. But before he even began shifting the sights of his blaster rifle to the opposite side he heard a voice.
"Now!" a woman yelled, as she ran out of the room, clutching a young boy in her arms.
Still laggard in his response time, he attempted to bring his rifle towards her before he felt a heavy strike across his support arm, and the top of his weapon.
"Uhhf!" The Clone grunted as the weapon fell from his grasp with a thud.
His attacker was male, same height and build. Like the other Rebels in this town, a scarf covered his most distinguishing features. But none of that was important right now as the man, who now was wielding his Slugthrower as if it were an Amani War club had reared back for another swing, and did not hesitate in launching it wildly for Jai'galaars skull.
"Ah!" Jai'galaar growled as he raised his left arm, and shifted his body, letting the swing strike him hard on the side of his body armour before locking his arm down around the weapon, trapping it while simultaneously he threw his entire weight in to a punch that struck the man directly on the side of his face, stumbling him backwards.
But he was most certainly not dissuaded. He came right back, shouldering Jai'galaar in the abdomen, his arms enveloping the clones body as he drove him backwards through the door he had come through, across the top landing of the stairs and through a door on the opposite side of the hall.
Both men grunted as Jai'galaars legs hit the side of a porcelain bathtub and they fell in to it's deep basin, the shower curtain, and it's bar falling atop them as they struggled wildly against each others strength. The man trying to hold the Captain down while Jai'galaar tried desperately to get some sort of footing on the floor so he could pull his hips out from underneathe the man.
It wasn't until the Rebel postured upwards, and the dark, water resistant curtain fell just enough for Jai'galaar to see one hand hastily reach behind his back, and upon it's return a twelve inch blade protruded ominously from his fist in a reverse-grip.
"I got ya, clone!" The man hissed venomously, thrusting the blade downwards towards the clones face.
But Jai'galaar just barely managed to catch his attackers wrist, slowing the momentum of the mans attack. But the man quickly pulled his other arm up, and slammed his palm on to the top of his knife wielding hand. Pressing all of his weight down on to the knife as Jai struggled to hold both him, and the blade from coming any closer to his face.
"Take this back. . to your Empire!" The man, whose face was no longer hidden behind the scarf, growled through gritted teeth, blood and spit oozing from his mouth in long viscous streams as he spoke. Harder, he pushed down against Jai'galaars grasp. Driving the blade closer and closer by the second.
"Rrrghhh!" The clone struggled, his face turning to the side just slightly, trying to give himself space that did not exist from the dangerous point of the blade. Closer it came, closer. Until finally the razor-edged tip pressed on to his temple and began to drag painfully over his flesh. The arm he was using to hold the mans wrist was now shaking uncontrollably, he didn't have much left. Until the blade sliced through his eyebrow and finally, the last thing he would ever see out of his own right eye was the blood stained metal of an Algarian Rebels combat blade. "Arrrhhhgh!" He cried painfully as the blade continued down his cheek all the way to his top lip.
And that sudden rush of pain was all his body needed to release even more adrenaline. Jai'galaar pistoned his hand upwards, pushing the mans knife away from his face, while he finally managed to get enough grip on the tile floor to pull his hip out from underneathe him, and now the roles had reversed.
Jai'galaar, with blood seeping from the grotesque wound that would add yet another scar to his war-battered face quickly scrambled up to his feet. As the man tried to roll on to his back inside the bathtub. But before he could even stand, Jai'galaar heavily dropped the heel of his boot down on to the mans head once, then twice, the man began to groan painfully as the Captain of Shadow Company stomped his head again. Then again, and again. And again. As he continued his assault the shape of the mans head rapidly began to deform as the bones crushed beneathe the repeated strikes. And Jai'galaar did not stop until the skin had split, and the oddly coloured insides of his skull had drained out in to the white porcelain.
Panting heavily, Jai'galaar pressed his palm on to the wound, his body weakly collapsing down on to the toilet across from the tub. As a veteran of numerous wars and battlefields, this truly was one of the worst he had ever experienced.
*********
The Imperials had entered the town just after dawn, by the time the fighting had stopped, and the eight hundred and thirty-seven occupants that had not perished in the initial assault had been gathered in to the town square the sun was just beginning to lazily sag down below the horizon.
"How about you, you have anything to say?!" Gortoz, one of the troopers from the entirely birth-born 901st, yelled in to the ear of a blood smeared woman. "HUH?!" He howled even more loudly before grabbing her by the shoulder and forcefully throwing her now sobbing body to the ground. "You don't know nothing either, right?!"
In fact, across the entire square a similar scene was playing out. Imperial soldiers yelling, screaming, demanding the people of this town to point out the conspirators so those particular individuals could be furthered tortured for information about the inner-workings of the Algarian Rebellion, and more specifically anything related to the Tarensii'a Campaign.
The 13th had been known in the past to use questionable tactics in regards to both prisoners of war, and civilians. But generally they were just following orders. However, here on Algarian, especially on this night. Things had seemed to become much more personal. First, many of them were struggling at the thought that Clones were slowly being voted out of Service to the Empire. Second, a great number of them were actually beginning to suffer effects from what many of the field medics and doctors here had dubbed the Algarian Madness.
Whatever the case, there was a sinisterly volatile feeling that had swept through both the 13th and the 901st this night, and a single spark was all it would take to ignite an inferno that could actually threaten how the entire Galaxy would perceive the Empire, if they were to catch glimpse of flames.
Captain Jai'galaar had been standing silently, watching Shadow Company and the 901st collectively belittle and threaten all of the individuals that had survived the day. He made no attempt to stop any of the abuse on women, and the elderly. In fact he had not even spoken for nearly three hours since his head had been bandaged, and Baar'un had told him he'd have a new eye by the end of the week.
'Now!', he kept hearing the woman's voice repeat in his head over, and over again. He had just barely gotten a glimpse of the woman, but the child. He'd seen the child quite clearly, despite however brief it had been. Wait. The child. He looked over to where Commander Merav was standing near Jon Davir. All of the children had been separated from their families. The boy had to be there.
Quickly he took to stride, shouldering past Merav without a word he began to scan over all of the children. Until finally, the face. "You!" He growled, wading through the small bodies, and grabbing the one he had set his eye on by the nape of his neck, roughly forcing him out on to the street, and directly in front of where the adults had been corralled.
"General Adenn told us to make an example out of treasonous dogs. While none of you will be around to learn from it, trust us. Your Rebellion, and the Separatist mutts you all have been dying for will fail, and this world will crumble under the boots of the Empire!"
Jai'galaar, with his one eye looked down at the trembling boy. Meeting his teary gaze directly while he brought his opposite hand behind his back, retrieved his combat knife from it's sheathe, and traced the blade deeply from ear to ear across the boys neck. It was so sudden the child did not even cry out, his eyes simply rolled backwards, his severed wind pipe gurgling through the welling blood as it tried to draw in oxygen. Jai'galaar held him a moment longer, then shoved the convulsing boy to the ground as if he weren't even a living, thinking creature.
There was a sharp scream from deep inside the crowd, but before a riot could even think of forming, Jai'galaar lit the match. "Kill them all."
Message edited by General_Adenn - Sunday, 26 Aug 2012, 5:44 PM |
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| Fajra_Merav | Date: Tuesday, 01 Jan 2013, 7:05 PM | Message # 38 |
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Major general
Group: Users
Messages: 258
Status: Offline
| "Gortoz!" She repeated again, her eyes wild with disbelief. The birth-born didn't even pause at the Commanders voice. It wasn't until she placed a hand on his shoulder, jerking him back towards her, that he snapped out of it. As he turned to face her, she was suddenly reminded of Adarian. A noble born of House Calipsa. She grew up with him, and thought she knew him. That was until he tried taking advantage of a girl, that was to drugged up to defend herself(http://agalaxyatwar.do.am/forum/15-1662-1). "I said. You are done here," she said, looking past him to the frightened girl he had just pushed to the ground. "What do you care Commander? Last I checked...you were in some Commando's lap."
A fight had broken out on the Northern side of town. But it wasn't what one would have expected. The Nine O First was met by little opposition, but it was still a sight to behold. Rounds were going off, mostly from inside the buildings that were being cleared out, while a group of birth-born troopers crowded around Merav and Gortoz. Nobody knew who had thrown the first blow, but it was already making a good story, and racking up on bets. An elbow strike had cut across her brow, reddening her vision in her left eye. She staggered back, but regained her balance, only to pause as she looked around. "Stop," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. What were they doing?
"What's the matter? Afraid to end up in the dirt again? That's how I found you in Corulag. If you'd like. I can put you back there," he taunted. He reached for her, and managed to secure a tight hold from the front, beneath her arms. Before he could lift her up and put her into the ground, she reacted without hesitation. She thrust her right shoulder out, making space between his head and her body. Her left hand reached for his forehead, fingernails digging into his eyes, while her right hand simultaneously covered his chin. She tilted his head back, decreasing it's range of motion. His life was now in her hands. She was seconds from snapping his neck. She wanted to kill him, and would have if it wasn't for one thing. The sound of her men, cheering, as if it were a game. She tilted his head back down, and took a step back, bringing him to the ground. It wouldn't of been comfortable, but it also wouldn't have ended his life.
Everything else after the fight was like a blur. What she felt back there...it occupied her thoughts. She could have killed him, and at the time it's what she wanted. There was an unexplainable urge she felt inside, and it only heightened her frustration. She had to remind herself that it was her anger that got the best of her. He provoked her, and her reaction was only natural given the circumstances. But what if she had changed? She couldn't help but wonder if she had lost her sense of humanity. The Clones didn't have to worry about that, and perhaps they were right. Birth-borns weren't built for War. "Not this type of War," she said under her breath. It was a grim reality she was just starting to grasp.
She removed herself from the scene, choosing to observe as Jai'galaar brutalized a child. She wanted to stop him. To put an end to the madness. But she found herself frozen in fear. She stared at Jai'galaar, and then found her gaze upon Jon Davir, a once youthful and bright soldier. There was almost nothing setting him apart from the bloodied Clone Captain. An empty visage with what seems like no empathy for what's happened. And the cries, they pulled at her heartstrings, making her want to break down where she stood. But she had to stand strong, and pretend as though her world just hadn't been turned upside down. To hide her tears, she smeared her own blood against her eyes, but she couldn't bleed forever.
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| General_Adenn | Date: Wednesday, 16 Jan 2013, 11:12 AM | Message # 39 |
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Lieutenant
Group: Users
Messages: 41
Status: Offline
| "Not quite the type of night you're used to, right?" Jaigalaar questioned as he stood still, allowing the medic to unravel the bloodied bandages that hugged his head layer by layer. "Ugh!" He suddenly grunted as the final patch of gauze that had dried on to the wound he'd suffered earlier in the day had been pulled off.
"Hold still." Baar'un scolded as the Captain had instinctively lurched backwards a single step.
"I need to have words with the Commander, get out of here." Jaigalaar snapped back, shoving the medic away with his right forearm, while he brought his left hand up to palm the grisly knife wound that had claimed his eye.
Quite a lapse in time had passed since the clone Captain of Shadow Company had incited the blood lust and cruelty on the people of this place, and what should had only taken a few moments to execute, instead stretched on for an otherworldly duration. To the 901st, it had become a celebration of sorts, and a very clear and unquestionable display of how much of their humanity had been lost during this Campaign.
These were not boys anymore, nor were they men, or even clones. They were animals. Sociopathic monsters warped by the harsh realities of warfare and the toll it can take on the young mind. Individuals that would never fit in with the greater society of the Galaxy ever again, forever left empty and void of conscience. The Algarian Madness had transformed every impulse their subconscious mind could ever hope translate. And here, with Captain Jaigalaar and the 13th Legion, they had been left to indulge. There was no law here to hold them back, no code of conduct they were being forced to follow. No one, other than those present would ever know the exact story of what happened. But the rumors of tonight, and the horror these eight hundred souls would endure would undoubtedly spread across this entire world. Deterrent for civilians that had any plan of harbouring the Algarian Rebels ever again.
"Bet you're beginning to question why you returned? Why you came back here when you could instead be keeping the bed warm for your Commando friend, what was his name again?" The Captain questioned her, the awful sound of bludgeoning, rape, and murder with it's stomach turning tune of atrocity ever present in the background. "Well, actually, I suppose that doesn't really matter, right?" The Captain breathed, now standing directly in front of the young Commander. "Only thing that does, however, is that no matter how much you want to throw yourself on this man because he makes you feel as if you're something special, and not the worthless little rich girl playing solider with my family. . . my Legion. Is that no one outside of this mission, ever knows the exact details of our victory here." Slowly, Jaigalaar pulled the hand off from his wound. Staring at the blood stained surface of his palm through his one good eye, before placing it on to Fajra's cheek. "We lose a lot of people here on Algarian every day. I'd hate to see our most 'beloved' Commander of the 13th on one of the casualty reports. Are we clear?"
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| Fajra_Merav | Date: Friday, 25 Jan 2013, 9:27 PM | Message # 40 |
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Major general
Group: Users
Messages: 258
Status: Offline
| "I am so lucky to have you, to remind me, of how much I do not belong."
Her words were spoken flatly, lacking in their note of playful sarcasm. She watched as the medic hurried out, leaving her alone with a man she both respected, and despised. Blood still leaked from her brow, blurring the vision from her left eye. As she faced him, her blood streaked face mirrored his own, only she still had both eyes to see from. She kept her silence as he spoke, her thoughts far removed from the present. The cries that consumed the night took her back to Corulag. A memory that haunted her still. "I..." she paused, taking a moment to shake it off.
"You want to know," she said. The clone Captain was curious, something he may not have realized himself. "I returned because I wanted to. It might be hard for you to believe, but I never wanted to leave." A sad smile tugged at the corners of her lips, fading as she spoke of the Commando. "His name is Orion. And I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I did not sleep with him" she said, pausing so that she could take a deep breath. "Corulag took everything from me" she admitted, and she quickly hated the fact that she had just confided in him.
The fear that she felt had been overcome by her sadness. She didn't flinch as he rested his palm against her cheek. Her reaction was quite the opposite. Tears ran down her face, and onto his hand. "Are you happy now?" she whispered, her tears falling faster now, making a path upon her blood stained cheeks.
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| General_Adenn | Date: Wednesday, 30 Jan 2013, 12:45 PM | Message # 41 |
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Lieutenant
Group: Users
Messages: 41
Status: Offline
| (Rushed this out today so we could get moving on to the new storyline, sorry lol.)
Despite the war on Algarian being a global Campaign, with multiple Fronts and deadly pockets of resistance across every continent. Tarensii'a was the first word anyone spoke. The conflict in the southern Mega-City had become the stuff of legend, or perhaps more accurately, the stuff of nightmare. Kiran was a fresh face here on Algarian, one of numerous new recruits rushed in to attempt and swell the numbers of the 901st Youth.
Two months young, he hadn't even seen a single day of combat. But he had heard the stories. At first the stories had seemed larger than life. Unbelievable accounts of bravery, honour, and determination. To these fresh faces Clones like Jai'galaar, Feint, Conquest and others were like heroes. Then the General, Adenn. A Kaleesh, he had no idea what species that was, but by all accounts he was a giant. So massive he towered over even the tallest Algarian Rebel. And he could snap one of them in half with less effort than it took to pull the trigger of his rifle. And of course, Fajra Merav. A birth-born like him, now a Commander of one of the Empire's most ruthless and elite Clone Legions. Her beauty was rumored to be breathtaking, and even after losing herself to mental sickness she came back, and has pushed the Northern Resistance deep in to the frozen mountains. She was what every fresh-faced recruit aspired to be.
If only he had heard the facts from the actual Veterens of Algarian, perhaps then his entire outlook would have been different. Perhaps if he had known the life expectancy of new recruits in Tarensii'a was less than twelve days, he would have never personally volunteered to join in on the conflict.
"Sir, this is my first combat mission, I'm not. . . I've only been in zone for four days. " Kiran began to say slowly, before abruptly getting cut off.
"Eight more, and you'll be considered a real soldier." Baar'un joked as he paused in front of the young Trooper for his inoculation.
"It's just that, I'm not trained for this type of. . of Operation." He continued nervously, his body flinching just slightly as the needle jabbed in to his forearm, injecting the Altitude Sickness shot in to his system.
Baar'un carefully swabbed the dot of blood away with a small cut of gauze as he stared in to the young Birth-Borns eyes. Though a member of Shadow Company, his racism towards these replacements, if they could indeed be considered a replacement for the Clones, was not nearly as intense as some of his brothers. But it was indeed this type of fear, or at least what he was perceiving as fear, that really made him wonder why the Empire would ever even consider discontinuing it's heavy emphasis on Clone armies. The Clone's were loyal, brave, effective, and ultimately, when they died. It was just a fulfillment of their purpose. They were birthed from the womb of this Empire to serve.
"You stow that nonsense, Shiny." the cool, familiar voice of Captain Jai'galaar suddenly leapt out from several paces away. "You're in Tarensii'a now, consider this your on the job training. No one will be surprised if you don't make it back, if you do, maybe we'll teach you something else."
At first the words stung, Kiran had been close to panic before, but now with the revelation that he most certainly may not be returning. It sent a wave of such bowel-loosening terror through his very soul, that the risk of full on cardiac failure before the mission even started was rapidly becoming a very possible reality.
"Have you had your shot, Captain?" Baar'un asked quickly.
"I have." Jai'galaar replied, closing his eyelid over the plain white, mechanical eye that had been installed after his injury the previous month.
"You're Captain Jai'galaar?" Kiran inadvertently yelped, unable to control the outburst.
"Fall in for briefing, Shiny! Now! Move!" Jai'galaar hissed venomously, grinding his closed fist over the replacement eye several times. Before shoving the young Trooper away.
"He's definitely new, " Baar'un said with a low chuckle. As he and Jai'galaar moved on.
"Shadow Company is going to be making the drop on to the old Tarensii'a Spaceport with General Adenn and four other reinforcing Companies of the 901st." The Captain informed, once more finding himself rubbing that damned eye. "Captain Feint and Besiege will be leading the ground assault, they'll be the first ones out there."
"Enemy strength?"
"Best guess?" Jai'galaar asked with a spiteful sigh.
"You mean, we don't know?"
"Best conservative guess is between two to four thousand."
"Who's supplying this intel?!" Baar'un grunted angrily.
"General Adenn tried to pull in as many from across planet as he could. He even rotated Merav from up North. Turns out, however, her fingers have become gangrenous from frostbite. So. . . "
"She's out." Baar'un concluded. "So we're taking fifteen hundred and change to assault one of the Algarian Rebel's final footholds in this city, and we'll likely see the Opfor exceed the conservative two to four thousand mark?"
"Only six hundred of those are 13th." Jai'galaar reminded.
"Another day in Tarensii'a, yeah?"
"Did you want to die of old age, brother?" Jai'galaar asked, but before reply could be returned a low buzzing alert rang through the large warehosing complex the Imperials had been using as an inner-city command post.
With just a final nod to each other Jai'galaar and Baar'un parted ways. For this Mission the Captain would be working alone with Nexu Squad.
Down the Warehouse's immense, echoing length lay row after row, after row of LAAT/i Transports. For the majority of this Campaign aerial insertion and support had been nearly impossible. With the Algarian's focusing greatly on combating the one area they had very little coverage in, and forcing the Empire to fight them on their terms, on the ground. Today however, they hoped the ground assault from Captain's Feint and Besiege would be enough to blind them to this high-altitude assault.
Thirty Troopers were assigned to each LAAT/i. As Jai'galaar fitted his specialized mission helmet on to his head, he could hear officers shouting out commands and numbers, trying to rally each and every soldier in to the right detail, next to the right ship and on to the correct sides they would be exiting from.
"Precisely on schedule, boys. Let's get in the air!" General Adenn's distinct rasp could be heard bellowing wildly over the boom of the Transport engines, his voice amplified over a speaker system.
***
"How do you think they're holding down there?" Assail questioned.
"For our sake, we better hope it's well." Rout replied.
The ship rattled and vibrated heavily, over their comms the pilot, Stormbreaker could be heard murmuring to his co-pilot about heavy crosswinds and headwinds. "DZ in five minutes, if this headwind doesn't get any stronger, lads!" he finally informed Jai'galaar and Nexu Squad.
"Contact! Contact!" A voice erupted, followed by a wordless fizzle of static.
Stormbreaker jerked his head from side to side, just barely catching a glimpse of tracer fire snake lazily through the air.
"Break! Break formation, now!" Stormbreaker demanded, just as a massive air-burst rocked the LAAT/i violently.
Jai'galaar clenched his teeth, quickly reaching upwards to grab on to one of the support handles. But it was no help, the target lock alarm blared, and Stormbreaker hastily spiraled the ship.
"Brace yourselves, boys!" Stormbreaker called out as the LAAT/i flipped over. Sending Jai'galaar and Nexu Squad tumbling viciously back and forth through the transport cabin. "Hang oon!" The pilot growled, righting himself once more. But it was no use, the once black sky was now bright with white flashes of anti-air burst. And a constant barrage of heavy cannon fire. "This is it! Get ready to jump!" He commanded.
"Get up!" Jai'galaar yelled over the bone jarring roar of constant explosions. His hands firmly grasping on to Breakthrough, heaving him to his feet.
Another white-hot burst popped just over the top of the ship. Slicing down through the cockpit, shredding the co-pilot to ragged bits in a welter of sparks, steel splinters and gore.
"We're hit!" Stormbreaker cried in to the comm, his flight controls lurching so aggressively the force nearly broke both of his arms as he tried to keep the Transport steady. "I've lost main thrusters!" the Clone Pilot continued, alarms, flashing lights and the ever constant boom of explosions now at a deafening pitch. "We're going down, I can't hold her much longer. You have to bail now!"
"Eject, mate! We can all make it." Overwhelm assured.
"No! I'm not going anywhere. Now get out off my ship!" Stormbreaker growled, palming the blast door release.
The sudden in-rush of air packed such a concussion that all of Nexu Squad and Captain Jai'galaar were thrown like rag dolls from the vessel out in to the freezing night air.
"Heart to Empire, lads. . . good luck." Stormbreaker comm'd one final time, before the entire LAAT/i was engulfed in flames, and spiraled like a loose ribbon down through the clouds, and in to the dark abyss.
Jai'galaar tumbled and rolled wildly through the frigid night air. He was well below the flak bursts now, but the massive beams of high energy anti-air fire still hummed passed with gargantuan roars as he tried to right his body in free-fall.
"Try to stay close!" Assail yelled. Then quickly added, "Not too close!" as he banked left, narrowly avoiding one of the energy blasts.
"Stormbreaker's gone, General!" Baar'un notified while holding on to the steadying cable that ran the length of the Transport Cabin. "No word on Captain Jai'galaar or Nexu."
"They're alright." Adenn tried to reaffirm, his reptilian eyes gazing warily out in to the hellish night skies. Not a single flak burst bringing even the slightest flinch from the Kaleesh. "The Emperor himself would not be able to bring down Jai'galaar. Most miserable man I've ever had the pleasure of leading!"
"You've got that right, General!" Baar'un laughed, just as he saw the Transport beside them splinter and fall apart. "Watch out!" He suddenly yelled, as a cascade of shrapnel debris raked through the Cabin.
By the time he managed to recover, Baar'un let out a slow, guttural sigh. A terrible coolness filled his legs. With hands shaking, he slowly pulled off his helmet. Then dropped his gaze down, only to find that there was an aberrantly large, bloody hole sheared through his abdomen. He looked around once more, the entire Cabin was silent save for the frantic comm chatter between pilots. Then, wordlessly, Baar'un toppled out through the hatch, falling away in to the dark gloom.
He would need to be mourned later, Adenn repositioned himself at the Starboard hatch. Eying out in to the storm of enemy fire that rose up all around them. "GO!" bellowed the Kaleesh before he leapt out of the Transport.
***
Bitter, hard enemy fire rained down in an endless attempt to blast out every Imperial that had landed inside of the open domed Starport. A ceaseless strobing of darkness and flashes. And every few seconds, the painful thud of an explosive. The Empire was trapped, penned in with an elevated enemy that shot from balconies, windows, and the roof all along the dome.
"We're pinned!"
"We lost half our force on the drop!" Adenn yelled. Trying to return fire up at anything that even resembled an origin to one of the hundreds of blaster streams. "Move! We need to get inside!" Adenn commanded in to his Comm. Trying to marshal his men. It was the only choice they had, he just had to hope Jai'galaar and Nexu Squad had indeed survived, without their assault and takeover of the control room. This would be a slaughter.
Jai'galaar ducked, heavy chunks of stone, and scabbed pieces of masonry splattered apart from an archway that had just been above his head. Down the hall two heavy canons were throwing relentless volley's of fire at their approach on the Control Room. They were holding this with textbook precision, exactly how the 13th would. Heavy support weapons to block the main throughway, tight, measured bursts. With complete coverage to the flanks. Perhaps that traitorous ARC, Hemorrhage had assisted with their preparations here.
"Alright, go!" Assail yelled,
Rout took off before the command had even finished. Unphased as the pillar he ran towards began getting chewed away in to a spray of splinters and dust before he'd even managed to pull himself in tight behind it.
And so they continued, pillar to pillar. One right after the other, slowly working their way up towards the sandbagged weapons. Jai'galaar, now in the front of the pack. Signaled for a hold, before peering out from the edge of his position. The Command room was right there, if they could get in, this fight could be over. It seemed outside of these two heavy gunners, most of the Starports defence force was outside fighting with Feint and Besiege and around the dome, combating Adenn and his force. They had to succeed.
Just barely did he manage to pull his head away from the vomit of blaster fire that flocked out on to his pillar. Vibrating the thick rock against his back ruthlessly. Pointing to Assail, he motioned for him to run forward.
With three steadying breaths, Assail leapt around the outside of his pillar and began his mad dash. He came in to the enemy position from the side, shooting the gunner closest to him twice with his rifle. Both shots in the chest. The second took three hits from Rout whom had rolled out to the centre of the approach. Once in the shoulder, chest, and face. A third came bellowing from behind the Command Rooms doors, but before a single attack could be made on Assail, Jai'galaar struck him across the forehead with his combat blade with a loud, sickening crack. Shearing the cap of his skull cleanly off.
With a few more moments of intense fire, Nexu Squad, with Jai'galaar took control of the Command Centre.
Six hours after Stormbreaker had been shot down from the sky, the Imperial's had taken over the old Tarensii'a Starport. Of the over fifteen hundred that had been deployed, only four hundred remained. It was the largest victory to date here on Algarian. And with the amount of intel, and prisoners they had captured in the raid, the war here on Algarian may finally be shifting.
"Shiny, no more, kid." Jai'galaar said quietly as he approached Kiran, who had broken three ribs on his landing from the LAAT/i drop.
"Excuse me?" Kiran asked in a drug-dulled daze.
"You survived." The usually heartless Captain said, patting him on the side of his head where he laid.
Message edited by General_Adenn - Wednesday, 30 Jan 2013, 1:50 PM |
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