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Clandestine Meeting on Dolis 3
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| Moff_Brandt | Date: Thursday, 24 Jun 2010, 11:16 PM | Message # 1 |
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| From orbit, the immense, empty space over Dolis 3 seemed to emphasize how remote the planet truly was. Tucked away in an obscure corner of Imperial Remnant space, it was far from the bustle of Bastion, Yaga Minor, and the other prominent Imperial worlds, and it was far even from its own star—as a result, the planet was frigid, covered with snow and ice and, naturally, it was not well traveled. It was uncommon to see any ships over Dolis 3, much less the two Preybird starfighters that appeared from hyperspace within a heart beat of each other, and an austere Sentinel landing craft a moment later. "Your excellency," a crisp voice said, rousing Rainier Brandt from his sleep as it rang from the intercom in the landing craft's spacious, if rather plain interior. "We have arrived." Brandt nodded to himself as he straightened in his seat and went about smoothing the creases from the immaculate uniform that signified him as an Imperial Moff. He noted a soft trembling in the durasteel beneath his boots as the landing craft entered upon Dolis 3's atmosphere, and it was then that he felt a vague sense of dread—not at the ship, but at the task before him. There was something about Colonel Kramer that made Brandt feel uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the Colonel's ambition, his demeanor, or the menace in those glowing red eyepieces. Whatever the reason, Brandt didn't look forward to their little meetings. But they were necessary, and so was Kramer. A former stormtrooper who had since become a rather accomplished bounty hunter, Brandt had brought him in to train a new generation of stormtroopers to augment the Remnant's aging troops. But Kramer wasn't the only one who was ambitious and, as ever, Brandt had his own reasons for the project; the Moff needed a small, versatile force of troops that answered to him, and were capable of performing, shall we say, "special missions" of the sort that he had come to Dolis 3 today to discuss with Kramer. As far as Admiral Pellaeon was concerned, however, he had gone to Dolis 3 simply to tour the fortress and training center. There were many things the Admiral didn't know, and Brandt meant to keep it that way. Putting the fortress on Dolis 3 in the first place, for example, was intended to place this operation as far away as possible from Pellaeon and Brandt's other political rivals on Bastion. So far, so good. He was roused from his thoughts, however, as the hum of the landing craft's engines began to subside behind him, and the stormtroopers that Brandt had brought with him began to gather their things. The shuttle had landed. The Moff stood and pulled on a long, grey trench coat with a fur collar, intended for cold climates. He nodded to the two stormtroopers, who followed him ceremonially as he descended the ramp of the shuttle, pulling the coat tightly around him to brace himself against the cold. Before him, the fortress loomed.
His Excellency, Rainier Brandt
Moff of the Imperial Sector (i.e. Coruscant, et. al.)
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| Kramer | Date: Sunday, 27 Jun 2010, 12:02 PM | Message # 2 |
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| By the dim flickering light of his desk lantern, Colonel Vahn Kramer sat hunched over a datapad, a stylus in hand. With the windows and balcony shuttered, the Commandant's Quarters were almost black as pitch, save for the orange glow bathing the various weapons and artefacts of war that adorned the walls. It would have been more practical to turn on the lights, but weeks among the rolling drifts of snow and ice had given him a distaste for anything that glared too brightly.
Tapping his stylus on the datapad screen, he switched from his personal journal, and began perusing company rosters, occasionally marking off a name and re-routing it to a different squad or platoon. He'd begun to learn the strengths of each of his men, both new and old, and had already identified problems within the structuring of the army he'd been appointed.
A chime disrupted the silence, and broke Kramer from his reverie; an automated signal, he knew, directed straight to his quarters. It would be his aide, alerting him that his visitor was en-route.
Another day wasted on pomp and protocol, Kramer thought to himself, sliding his datapad into his desk drawer and closing the combi-lock. He slipped his helmet over his head, took a moment to adjust his sash and smooth out his red command cloak, then raised the shutters on his balcony. His helmets lenses polarised instantly, darkening the world outside to muted tones of black and white. He waited, for life to return to colour, before the realisation that even in normality, everything outside was a neutral shade of white, grey and black anyway; from the armour of the Snowtroopers waiting in formation in the courtyard, flanking either side of the long walkway leading to the fortress proper, to the stationary AT-AT parked outside the citadel walls, guarding against the unlikely prospect of unwanted visitors. A blot of black, bronze and deep scarlet, Kramer stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. And I like it that way, he reflected. It told his men he was more than they, that he'd earned his priveleges, and that he was more than just a man who gave them orders; he was a titan to be feared and respected, who's word should be followed like holy scripture.
Upon his emergence on the balcony, high over the courtyard, midway between the ground and the uppermost turret of the cliff-face training facility, the ensemble below snapped to attention in his direction. He didn't mind admitting that the sight of it filled him with pride, and a sense of glory; even if he felt that this was a waste of valuable training time, these people were, for all intents and purposes, his men.
Two aides, who'd been keeping watch on the balcony, released an Imperial banner which unfurled almost all the way to the ground, and Kramer saluted, tucking his command baton under the other arm.
"Once again we are honoured by the presence of our esteemed Imperial Command" he said, his voice echoing out through the grounds; with a slight inflection of tone, he was no longer the snarling bloodhound that had been the bane of many a failing Stormtrooper these past few weeks. Now, he was a gentleman, though the bloodthirst and savagery was still detectable beneath his every word. "Moff Brandt has high hopes for this army, and we shall see them fulfulled!". The Colonel paused, clasping his hands on the balcony railing and leaning out slightly, almost as a God surveying lesser men.
"Disappoint the Moff, and your days in the Empire will be swiftly ended. Disappoint me, and your days in this life will be ended even swifter" he promised. "Now... form ranks!"
A thunderclap of stomping feet and rifles slapping armour plates roared through the courtyard, as each Snowtrooper turned once again to face the central pathway, while the gargantuan gates began to swing outward at the approach of Moff Brandt and his entourage.
Kramer leaned back, silently regarding his disposition; he was in no mood to be entertaining, but it wouldn't do to allow the Moff to detect that. The man evidently had his own agenda, and Kramer wouldn't deny him that right. Even during the glory days of the Empire, politics were often deadlier to a senior official than the threat of war.
As long as Kramer himself stood to do well from whatever plans the Moff had, then he didn't care.
 Vahn Riktor Kramer
Governor of the Juris Sector "Intolerance is the first step to seizing control"
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| Moff_Brandt | Date: Monday, 28 Jun 2010, 0:34 AM | Message # 3 |
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Major
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| The symbolism of Colonel Kramer towering over the procession, and over Brandt, was not lost upon the Moff. As he glanced at Kramer on the balcony and, behind the Colonel, at the rest of the fortress and the face of the grey, granite cliff that ascended into the white of the snow, the clouds and the sky, Brandt couldn't decide which of these—the cliff, the fortress, or Kramer himself—was the most ominous. He felt a distinct chill, and wasn't sure that it was simply the cold that had caused it. He took his time as he entered upon the gate of the fortress, making a point of surveying the assembled snowtroopers, if for no other reason than to remind all of those present, including himself, of his authority. He inspected uniforms, armor, weapons, and made words of encouragement to some of the troopers, but his thoughts were on Kramer. Perhaps it was simply the suspicion that, as Kramer had noted, was natural to a man of Brandt's position, but he was wary of the Colonel. The man was good at what he did and, crucially, he had the gift of discretion. But Brandt was also keenly aware that the devotion that he inspired in his soldiers could be dangerous—dangerous, that is, if that devotion was more to Kramer himself than to the Empire, or to Brandt. It was not hard for the Moff to imagine Kramer, in the future, using this as leverage to make demands on him. It was not hard for him to imagine this because, he conceded, he would probably do the same in Kramer's position. But no, he reminded himself, this was a problem to consider when, in fact, it became a problem. The Moff's plans were in their infancy, after all, and Kramer deserved his trust and certainly deserved his respect in the meantime. As soon as he was inside and the Colonel had descended from the balcony to greet him, Brandt would return his salute (if one was forthcoming), and would remove one of his gloves as he shook the man's hand. "It's good to see you again, Colonel," he said cordially, "These are fine men you have here—well ordered, well disciplined." He turned to regard them once more, now speaking loud enough to be heard by, well, most of them. "I've heard it said that the finest days of the Empire are behind it. You've heard this said, too. It isn't so, men, and the proof of this is in the barrels of your blasters—the proof that there are, as yet, more fights to be fought and more battles and triumphs to be won for you and the Empire. Let no one doubt this." The conclusion of Brandt's little speech might prove to be rather anticlimactic since, more likely than not, the snowtroopers were not meant to applaud or, in any manner, signal approval or disapproval while standing at attention. In any case, he would clear his throat as he turned back to Kramer. "And, of course, I am looking forward to touring the facility," he said to him. The last sentence had been somewhat contrived, however. He was interested in how Kramer was running the operation here on Dolis 3, of course, and he would pay keen attention during the tour. But they both knew that the tour itself was a cover, and that as soon as it was done he had a confidential matter to discuss in the privacy of the commandant's quarters.
His Excellency, Rainier Brandt
Moff of the Imperial Sector (i.e. Coruscant, et. al.)
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| Kramer | Date: Monday, 28 Jun 2010, 12:18 PM | Message # 4 |
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| Kramer descended to the ground level, striding briskly through the fortress, flanked by both of his aides. The ceiling of the main entrance hall was lost to darkness, yet Kramer could feel the weight of the building and the snow pressing down on him; it was nauseating. Adjusting his breathing regulator, as well as his armour's internal temperature controls, he allowed his assistants a moment to wrap up warmly; down here, away from the central operating areas of the facility, the climate regulators had no effect. Where it was warm to the point of comfort within the fortress, it was as bitterly cold in the entranceway as the world outside. Colder, perhaps.
Timing his arrival perfectly, Kramer presented himself the moment the Moff had finished his rounds with the troopers in the courtyard, and offered a crisp salute, the eyepieces of his helmet retracting to show the Colonel's piercing green gaze. The skin around his eyes was thin and scarred, pale as the snow around him, and bunched around the tip of the breathing apparatus clamped to his face. "It is an honour to receive you, Moff Brandt" he noted, shaking the Moff's hand. "I am pleased that you approve. The measures we're taking here will ensure the finest of these men. I have high hopes for them" he rasped, his sly voice carrying through his mask and over the courtyard. He clasped his hands behind his back, while the Moff made his speech to the troopers, his eyes in the back of the other man's head.
More fights and more battles and triumphs to be won for you and the Empire... this is going to be an intriguing visit, Kramer silently mused.
When the Moff's tirade was greeted with silence, Kramer made a slight gesture, raising a hand palm-up, and as one the men turned about-face and pressed a fist to their breastplates; a sign of respect.
"And, of course, I am looking forward to touring the facility" the Moff said, turning to face the Colonel. Ah, and so begins our charade.
"I would be all too happy to give the tour personally, Moff Brandt" Kramer replied, his smirk apparent in his tone. "If you'll follow me, we'll begin in the depths of the facility, and work our way up".
He turned on his heel, gloved hands still clasped behind his back. One of his assistants unclasped Kramer's command cloak, and the other produced a thick trench coat of cured Taun-Taun hide, lined with fur, which he placed over the Colonel's shoulders. Setting off at a none-too-brisk pace, owing to the cold weather once again aggravating his right knee injury, Kramer led the way to the turbolifts, and escorted the Moff to the sub-levels. "Originally, as you are likely aware, the lower levels of this facility were designed as a brig and detention area" the Colonel said, gesturing to the row of cells; each had been replaced by a cubicle with transparisteel walls, each cubicle containing a terminal and a full headset. "I dislike the idea of incarceration, it teaches nothing and wastes valuable time and space. I've taken the liberty of refitting this area with virtual tactical training facilities" he announced, leading the way between the rows of cubicles.
"Here, troopers can learn anything, from squad tactics, to stealth operation, to all out assault, without having to pick up a blaster". He paused to watch one trooper, his display showing a simulation of the battle of Yavin IV, based on events from the time directly after the first Death Star was assaulted by the Rebel Alliance. "It hones a troopers reflexes, and allows them to learn from mistakes in a risk-free environment, rather than on the battlefield".
He moved on, bypassing the stairs leading down to the other two levels, and instead travelled to a control station at the far end of the room. A lone officer stood there, regulating combat scenario's for his designated cubicles, and snapped to attention upon spotting the Colonel and his esteemed guest.
"At ease" the Colonel gestured, moving the man aside to show the Moff the different array of scenarios available to his men. "As you can see, we have accounted for the most viable options on almost every planet worth mention" he said. "Should need arise, these men can be trained preemptively, then deployed with full awareness of the likely situation. It isn't quite the same as flash-memory training, but it's a start" he mused. Moving on from the virtual training facility, he led the Moff back up into the heart of the fortress, first past the troops quarters (noting that he only accomodated for half his maximum capacity, meaning at any one time at least half of the facility's trainees would be awake and active), then paused outside the mess hall.
"Access to here is restricted to one hour every two days" he said, nodding into the mostly empty facility. "While we do serve the best to our men to keep up their morale, it would look suspicious if copious amounts of food were being shipped here on a weekly basis. I keep the men on emergency rations, when their mess-hall quota is up" he said slowly, turning away again and closing the doors to the hall. "It helps them grow accustomed to not having three square meals a day, such is the case in many a hostile situation".
As they walked, the small party passed many placards mounted on the carved walls, each stating a tenet or philosophy regarding war; 'An artist would not paint with an ill-kept brush - maintain the tools of your trade', for example, or 'A soldiers greatest hinderance is not his ailing body, but an unprepared mind'.
"Colonel Kramer quite literally wrote the book on war" one of the assistants offered, gesturing to one of the placards. "His literary works serve as inspiration to the men".
"I am sure the Moff does not need to be regaled with tales of my infamy" Kramer admonished. "He and I do, however, have business to discuss, so you are dismissed to the engineering sector until I call for you".
Both aides saluted and left without question, though the look on their faces said it all; the engineering sector was far removed from any excitement or importance.
"At the present time, we have little in the way of vehicles or defences" the Colonel explained, before the Moff could question the looks of disappointment given him by the assistants. "One dilapidated Imperial Walker, which has been patched up more times than I can count, and a handful of Arakyd speeders, none of which are in proper repair". He paused, entering the central turbolift which would take them straight into the reception hall of the Commandants Quarters. "I hope that any petition I make, pertaining to the matter of additional support and defence, will be well met?" he asked, though managing to make it sound more like a statement. His keen eyes met the Moff's, as the turbolift doors closed, and with a noticeable change in temperature, they approached his quarters and the true purpose of this meeting.
Vahn Riktor Kramer
Governor of the Juris Sector "Intolerance is the first step to seizing control"
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| Moff_Brandt | Date: Tuesday, 29 Jun 2010, 3:02 AM | Message # 5 |
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Major
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| "Intrguing," Brandt mused aloud as Kramer explained his views on incarceration. He wondered what methods he used instead of incarceration and considered asking him, but decided against doing so—he had eaten rather recently on the flight. His stomach turned regardless, however, upon seeing the simulation of the Yavin campaign. He couldn't escape his own recollection of those events when, as a young, promising officer, the Imperial Senate had assigned him to liase with Senator Romodi on the Death Star and hastily compose a set legal guidelines on the use of the station and its infamous weapon, the superlaser. The Senate was disbanded and the Death Star destroyed during the flight, however, and Brandt met up with the starfleet in the midst of the Yavin campaign that ensued. He was, suddenly, a man with nothing to do, and so he had followed the progress of the campaign to keep his mind from what had very nearly been his death. The feeling of unease he had felt then was similar to the one he felt now, on Dolis 3. He distracted himself, however, with studious attention to Kramer's tour. He was impressed with the virtual training accomodations, one of few that he'd ever heard of outside of Carida or Raithal, much less seen himself. A moment later, he was suddenly grateful for whatever perturbations his lunch had gone through in these last few moments as he was told of the emergency rations to which Kramer's troops were accustomed. The cumulative effect of seeing this, the troops quarters, the virtual training center, and of course the troops standing at attention outside, was to cause in Brandt a feeling he'd not experienced in a long while—pride. If Yavin was the beginning of the end of the Empire as it was then known, it was also the beginning of Rainier Brandt's long descent into cynicism. It was a descent that, ironically, accompanied his ascent through the bureaucracy. Brandt was one of the pragmatic Moffs who had agreed, reluctantly, with Admiral Pellaeon's assessment that the Empire, confined to a mere eight sectors and possessing fewer than two hundred Star Destroyers, had already lost the war and had no choice but to sue for peace. Since then, the Empire's prospects had not much improved and, if anything, they had worsened with the recent collapse of the Imperial economy. But now, on Dolis 3, he found himself entertaining the idea that the words he'd said to those troops a moment ago might actually be true. The feeling was fleeting, however, as they entered upon the Commandant's quarters and proceeded to business. "But of course," he answered Kramer on the matter of additional resources and defenses. Notably, he did not meet Kramer's gaze as he said this, glancing instead at the floor numbers displayed on the turbolift's monitor with his hands clasping his gloves behind his back. Whether this implied dishonesty or whether, simply, the Moff was uncomfortable in turbolifts, Kramer couldn't be sure. Brandt went on though, as if to assuage his concerns. "As far as Bastion knows," he said, "this operation is a simple one—simple training for simple stormtroopers. The Moff Council and our friends on Muunilinst will provide whatever funding is needed. That, and.. other sources of revenue that I have. I'll see to that. Beyond this," he shrugged, "There are a million or so troops in this Sector, and it is easy to make a few speeders, walkers or weapons disappear. Unfortunate for the Empire, perhaps, but fortunate for us." Brandt would follow the Colonel out of the turbolift as it opened upon the modest reception hall to the Commandant's quarters. He would shed his trench coat at the soonest opportunity, set it absently over a chair, and go about smoothing his uniform as was his habit. He also ran a hand over his hair which, in hues of black, grey and white, seemed rather appropriate for the rest of the fortress. As soon as the Moff was assured that they were alone, whether in the reception hall or in the Commandant's quarters themselves, he would broach somewhat delicately the subject he'd come to discuss. "I won't lie, Colonel. I am impressed with your progress here," he said, "The training of these men will serve them, and us, well. But I think you know as well as I that before they can be deployed in any significant numbers, the ground must be set. To this end, I have an assignment for you that might, in better times, be considered objectionable." He would study the Colonel's reaction carefully before he went on. Many bad things could be said of Brandt, but it could not be said that he wasn't intuitive, or good at reading people. For indeed he was, although Kramer was more difficult to read than most.
His Excellency, Rainier Brandt
Moff of the Imperial Sector (i.e. Coruscant, et. al.)
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| Kramer | Date: Tuesday, 29 Jun 2010, 4:03 AM | Message # 6 |
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| Any doubts Kramer may have had about the Moff's dedication to making this facility a prime focus of the Empire's progress faded over the progress of the tour, especially when the Moff agreed to the matter of defenses and weapons.
"The means with which we acquire money and resources are your concern, Moff Brandt, I simply concern myself with how best to utilise them" he said in a matter-of-fact tone, stepping out of the turbolift. The reception hall, while spacious, was sparsely decorated, with low lighting and a single tapestry, depicting an artists impression of the battle of Coruscant at the end of the Clone War. Kramer paused to study this tapestry; Separatist vessels painted mid-explosion, Venator-class Star Destroyers sweeping majestically through the enemy fleet, and below, a parade of troopers proudly marching across the Senate plaza amidst the debris of fallen battle droids.
"We are too quick to forget the past" he murmered softly, to nobody in particular. He'd only been a child of one at the time, but he somehow doubted that the battle had gone quite as happily as the tapestry made out. "History is written by the victor, and as such, the Empire has lost any glory in the eyes of the public. Perhaps one day, such glory can be re-obtained". Collecting himself, he led the way into his quarters, removing his own trench coat and draping it over the back of his desk chair. The room was cluttered, but in an orderly fashion; trophy cases and cabinets displayed a wealth of weapons, some of them relics in their own right, some so rare and expensive that only a few were ever made. More paintings littered the walls, some of them holographic, others canvas, and each depicted a pivotal battle from history, reaching as far back as the Sith Wars of milennia ago.
Kramer released the seal on his helmet, and with a hiss of escaping air, lifted it free. His skin seemed to shrink tight against his skull, long ago burned and scarred, pale from barely seeing the sunlight. His nose and mouth were covered by a respirator mask, and patches of black hair hung lank from his head.
"To business, then" he rasped, his voice sounding ever the more terrifying for being processed through a vocal processing unit built into the respirator. "We don't live in better times, Your Excellency, we live in dire times. Times in need of a swift, firm hand, to steady the chaos and reunite the galaxy under a banner of control". He paused, sitting down at his desk and gesturing for the Moff to sit opposite him, as a teacher would to a disobedient student. "If you have an assignment, then I'll hear it".
Vahn Riktor Kramer
Governor of the Juris Sector "Intolerance is the first step to seizing control"
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| Moff_Brandt | Date: Tuesday, 29 Jun 2010, 3:38 PM | Message # 7 |
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| "I don't doubt that it will," Brandt said absently, with regard to Kramer's hope that the Empire will find some semblance of its past glory. He glanced at the tapestry for a moment, but only a short moment that served, unwittingly, to underscore what Kramer had said; that the past is not appreciated as it should be. He paid considerably more attention to the decor in the Colonel's office, however, knowing that the things that adorned a man's walls are, often, the things that adorn his heart and his soul—things that spoke of a man's passions and his character. And his weaknesses. The bloodhound might have had a keen sense of smell, but so too did the fox. Too keen, in fact, as Brandt found himself stifling a sneeze as he glanced about the room. "You have a dog," Brandt mused, more an observation than a question. His tone of voice made it clear that he didn't care for animals and neither, apparently, did his sinuses. Brandt was distracted from his survey of the decorum as the Colonel removed his helmet. The Moff resisted the morbid temptation to stare at him, but privately he wondered what Kramer had been subjected to that resulted in his hideous scarring. At least now he no longer begrudged the man for wearing his helmet. But indeed, to business. Without thinking, the Moff had made his way in the direction of Kramer's desk as though to sit behind it himself, as was custom, only to stop as the Colonel was seated there instead. He paused for a moment, as if trying to decide whether he was angry. If he was, he didn't show it as he remained standing and inspected the various weapons, paintings, and other objects in the room as he conversed with Kramer. The Colonel's answer had pleased him. He was, indeed, what Brandt had expected him to be. Notably, none of the inspirational placards he'd seen in the fortress had mentioned honor. A quaint notion, Brandt thought. "I'm glad you agree," he said, his back to Kramer as he studied an SFOR Republic carbine in one of the weapons cases. It was in surprisingly good condition. "It's worse than that, though," he went on, "If the Empire continues its cordial relations with the Rebels, I fear that the men you spoke of—men of principle, like us—will become vieux jeu. Something must be done to rouse some old animosities." "To this end," he explained, "I'd like you to bring a small number of men to the planet Delephr. It's in the Carrion sector, not far from here. I won't bore you with too many details. Suffice to say, there's a shipping company called Delephran, which has offices at the spaceport on Delephr and has something of a monopoly on trade in the sector. It was recently purchased by a Bothan conglomerate, since the Bastion Accords permitted free trade with the Rebels." He shook his head in disgust before going on. "Needless to say, this has caused quite a bit of tension in the Carrion sector—the Delephran offices have seen some protests and vandalism. Nothing serious so far, but I'd like to change that. The office must be destroyed, and as many of its employees as possible killed. This will not be difficult for you. What may be difficult is that this must be done in the guise of Moff Dominin's stormtroopers, so that it appears he was responsible for the deed. You will, of course, have to disappear rather soon once the mission is complete. The Imperial authorities on Delephr must not know who you are." "Rest assured," he turned, finally, to face Kramer as he walked to one of the seats opposite the Colonel's desk and stood behind it, resting his hands upon its upholstery, "This is not how it seems. That is, it is not some cynical attempt to destroy a competing business or to discredit a rival of mine on the Moff Council. Dominin is a firebrand who hates the Rebels with a passion. If he is under the impression that his stormtroopers have done this deed, he is likely to support them unapologetically. Here, you see, is the incident we need to set events into motion." He patted the back of the chair triumphantly as he finished, clearly proud of himself at having devised this scheme. Then he sneezed.
His Excellency, Rainier Brandt
Moff of the Imperial Sector (i.e. Coruscant, et. al.)
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| Kramer | Date: Friday, 09 Jul 2010, 9:59 AM | Message # 8 |
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| With barely a pause, Kramer interjected with a point of his own.
"There is no question as to whether or not I will undertake this mission, so your explanations aren't necessary" he said, to stop the Moff from trying to justify himself and shed himself in a brighter light, despite the treacherous actions he proposed. "However... if I'm to lead this assault personally, there's a very high chance I'll be seen. Any word of this gets out to the Empire, they'll know I'm your man the moment they hear of it". He didn't have to explain that, in order for word to reach the Empire as desired, survivors would have to be left. The Moff was an intelligent man; anything less, and he wouldn't even have had the inspiration to propose such a radical attack. It was, afterall, an order to commit murder, if only to push the ever-turning wheels of the Empire in a direction more favourable to a few nostalgic men. He paused longer after his own words, weighing up options and counter-balancing them in his mind. Some ideas were ludicrous, others plain suicidal, and some wouldn't work at all. Then, an idea began to form, though it wasn't much of a plan; Kramer, afterall, was always better at thinking on the move. He was a strategist, not a tactician.
"Perhaps, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, you could appeal to Dominin to send what aid he can to Delphr" he suggested, purposefully neglecting to call Dominin by his honorific title; it showed lack of loyalty to the other Moff. "A small force of whatever troops he can spare, to oversee security during these troubling times. When in place, I can reinforce with my own men, and... take it from there" he said, smiling to himself beneath his respirator.
During such times, with the Remnant in the state it was in, it was likely that any troops that could be spared would be of the lowest calibre, trained to a basic degree and as a result, disciplined and unruly. It would no doubt be easy to turn such a harmless situation into an explosive matter, and implicating Dominin's men would be all the more easier if they were actually there.
Vahn Riktor Kramer
Governor of the Juris Sector "Intolerance is the first step to seizing control"
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| Moff_Brandt | Date: Friday, 09 Jul 2010, 3:20 PM | Message # 9 |
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Major
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| Brandt nodded. He saw where Kramer was going with this, and he liked it. Most innovative. "I assure you," the Moff said as he rounded the chair and seated himself, "The situation on Delephr is quite volatile, and it hasn't escaped Dominin's notice." He, too, used no honorifics when referring to Dominin. He was a useful man, but not one that Brandt respected. An impulsive man, crude and uncultured, Dominin apparently spent most of his time devising new methods to torture the Kaleesh. It was how he made his career, and he never seemed to tire of it. Brandt went on. "Protests have become rather common at the Delephran offices. The company has its own militia—mercenaries mostly, nothing you can't handle—and they have made it clear that they won't hesitate to use force on the protesters if need be. This is not very shrewd of them, and certainly not for Bothans," he shrugged, "but it works to our advantage." "The point is," Brandt explained as he crossed one leg over the other, "The garrison on Delephr routinely dispatches stormtroopers to the spaceport to watch the protests. Not many, mind you. But enough. Also, I spoke with General Park recently and I managed to learn from him over a few glasses of brandy that the stormtroopers on Delephr are rather undisciplined, as are most of Dominin's men. The General bemoaned this quite a bit, in fact. As for whose stormtroopers are whose, it's not easy to tell them apart in the middle of a protest—certainly not for our witnesses, the protesters. You have a point about you being recognized, however," Brandt said, stroking his chin as he considered it. "Not to intrude on your area of expertise," he ventured, a moment later, "but might you coordinate your troops from somewhere nearby? I'm told that there are a number of buildings, a warehouse, a parking garage, a few others, that overlook the spaceport. I'm sure one of these would afford you a good vantage point to watch the protesters, the stormtroopers, your men, and also the Delephran militia."
His Excellency, Rainier Brandt
Moff of the Imperial Sector (i.e. Coruscant, et. al.)
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| Kramer | Date: Thursday, 15 Jul 2010, 11:51 AM | Message # 10 |
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Private
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| Waving aside the notion of having his expertise trampled on, Kramer listened to the Moff's suggestions, propping his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers before his face.
So, the Moff is of a sound strategic mind, Kramer observed. This was good; far too often had he witnessed operations botched by the undisciplined and self-serving minds of politicians with no feel for warfare. Moff Brandt, thankfully, appeared to be lacking those flaws, and it made Kramer respect the man all the more. Perhaps relations would become less strained with time, now that the other man had displayed his aptitude for strategy and, more importantly, versatility in his own machinations. "Any of the surrounding buildings should suffice" he murmered. "Though it wouldn't harm to have a contingency plan in effect. Should things go awry, I'd like to have access to a few supplies... say, a Star Destroyer in orbit" he suggested, carefully. He was treading on potentially dangerous ground now. "Should my men fail to stir a convincing uprising which leads to the aforementioned slaughter of employees..." he began, not bothering to mince his words, "then the Remnant could hardly be blamed for an accidental mis-firing of the weapons of an orbital transport. A freak occurence, resulting in the accidental bombardment of Delephran Shipping, would look less demeaning in the headlines than the failed attempt of mass murder".
He paused, took out an ornate glass bottle from his desk drawer and uncorked it. "Brandy, Moff Brandt?" he asked.
Vahn Riktor Kramer
Governor of the Juris Sector "Intolerance is the first step to seizing control"
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| Moff_Brandt | Date: Saturday, 17 Jul 2010, 9:51 PM | Message # 11 |
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Major
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| "Hmm," Brandt murmured, considering the politics of the Colonel's suggestion. "I could try," he said, doubtfully. In theory, each Moff enforced the peace in their own sector, and the Carrion Sector—adjacent though it was to Brandt's Obtrexta sector—was not under his jurisdiction. It would be no small feat to send one of his Star Destroyers into Dominin's territory, but all things were possible with Brandt. Still, perhaps there was another way. He considered a number of possibilities, but smiled to himself as he thought of one in particular that appealed to him. He didn't mention it to Kramer, however. The Moff suspected, as Kramer did, that the two of them would indeed work well together in time. The bloodhound and the fox were usually adversarial, but imagine what they could accomplish if they combined their formidable talents together? But even so, Brandt wasn't prepared to trust the Colonel completely. Yet. He was distracted from his reverie as Kramer offered him brandy. "Yes, thank you," he said, resisting the temptation to inquire where it was from, "It's a good drink to have on a world as cold and distant as Dolis 3—it warms you up and reminds you of home," he mused. It was also Brandt's favored means of getting sensitive information from his colleagues, as he'd hinted a moment ago. He would accept a glass gratefully. "Yes," he returned to the point a moment later, "We will have a contingency plan, but I have every confidence in the ability of you and your men." He had good reason to be confident in this mission, too. For indeed, it would only take a couple of artful shots from a white clad stormtrooper into an office window or an unfortunate Delephran guard to cause Dominin's bewildered troops to do the same. And with the law seemingly on their side, the protesters would do the rest. The resulting chaos should allow Kramer and his men to disappear unnoticed. If not, then Brandt would indeed have a contingency plan. "I'll toast to that, in fact," he said as he raised his glass, "And to the end of pandering for peace on Bastion—an end that we will hasten at Delephr."
His Excellency, Rainier Brandt
Moff of the Imperial Sector (i.e. Coruscant, et. al.)
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