The Field of Tombs (AFTERMATH)

[Fromikeable]

Darion | Harukei | lion

---

“Step on it Private. This wind is killing me.” The leading speeder of three would kick into high gear as the wind responded with a particularly strong gust from the south, producing a nice whislte in the Captain’s ears. Why in the galaxy had Westen volunteered for this again? Granted, the brass had said there wasn’t any expected combat on this mission, but he should have known better than to think he could bring his squad right up to visual range of the fortress and not expect to run into some trouble.

Now Private Elena was bleeding in the back of the biggest speeder, and they hadn’t even been able to punish the Mando that shot her because of that damn ray shield. Gods help him, if and when that thing came down, that particular tin-can coward was his.

The speeders zoomed down a tight path between two of the mountains in the range, headed downward into a large, clear valley. The Field of Tombs, as the Mandos had named it. Mystic and dramatic, just like everything they did. Honestly, they were probably in competition with the Jedi for “most crap you can pretend is real”. At least with the Jedi, they got some superpowers out of the deal. With that said, the Captain really wished a few of the robed nutjobs had followed them to Vanquo.

But as the trio of speeders came zipping out of the tight path, they entered into the open tundra to find a blizzard forming, their visibility cut down to a quarter of what it was. Cursing lightly, the Captain tapped his comms again, clearing his voice and trying to speak over the wind as clearly as he could.

“Scratch that, slow it down. Switch to thermals if nothing else is working.” That reminded him; leaning over, he tapped Zrask’s shoulder a few times. “Keep a lookout An’tei. If you see anything humanoid out there, put a bullet through it and kick the driver.” There was absolutely no doubt around here; the main Republic force was still out to the west, and they were notified that they were the only scout team sent thanks to logistics and the terrain. If they saw anyone out here, it was 99.99% likely that they were tin-cans.

And after what they’d just figured out about the fortress, there wasn’t a chance in any of the hells that they could afford not to get back to command.

---

The sky howled gently across the cold land, both of them contending with the pure white snow. The mountains’ grey stone said nothing, too noble and strong to answer any call. What few rivers and bodies of water there were sat silent as well, defeated rather than stalwart, their harmonic motion frozen solid; they were paralyzed until the wind and the land and the snow deemed otherwise.

Even in nature, there was a true sense of battle on Vanquo today.

The black armor had paid all of them great heed when they had left the fortress. Their naked enemies had announced their presence boldly, almost arrogantly so, and thus it had been an easy thing to see where they were, what they had, and where they were going. The Republic, it seemed, moved less like a warrior and more like a beast. It did not simply travel, did not simply attack. It stomped and mewed, just as it flailed and bashed.

They would find that the Mando’ade were very skilled at fighting beasts.

Below the armor bounded the great black steed, its huge arms strong and true. It was Kaysh'meg'miit'gaana'oyacyi, and much like the armor, had it not been for current circumstance, it would be more than happy to simply walk slowly through the snow and watch. But they had a job to do, and an important one at that.

Bounding down a stretch of ground, the great mechanical beast would carry the Jendri as it leapt down a small divide in the land, landing with a thud that failed to penetrate the wind’s howl. It would seem as though nature was set to fight them all today as well; as the Mando’ade were returning from their raid on the nearest Republic convoy, the winds had gained speed, and the snow had become thicker and thicker. By this point, the droid and the armor could not see far without thermal imaging.

So when he saw a collection of extremely cold metal figures slowly trekking through the tundra, he encouraged the droid onwards. As it approached, it would move slower, allowing the other armors to take note of it without suspicion.

Geronimo had returned from scouting ahead, and he had news.

“Fifteen ahead. Returning from the next peak along one of the paths into the valley.” His voice seemed to contrast the weather; where the wind howled and screamed, he spoke with the calmest of moods.

“They ride in speeders too quickly for us to catch them in the pass. We must catch them here in the Field.”

[Harukei]

The awe she had felt upon first laying eyes on the nature of Vanquo had faded. It was not that the natural poetry from the vast fields and noble mountains felt out of harmony with the darkly shrouded skies and the gently floating snow that drifted downwards. In fact, given the time, the qualities that made this place as appealing as she had found it would slowly return. However this wouldn't happen after she had completed the job she had to do. 

Perhaps the word job felt thankless to what she thought of war. Or more specifically, the way of life she had being raised, molded and forged unto. In a way war was a form of artistry. Perhaps one that was not appreciated by the pubs, well at least not from the ones she had managed to shot with a graceful ease, but an art non the less. Yes, the Mandalorian way of life was a serious affair, one that she didn't jest about.

Maybe it had being fate, she thought, that had drawn the Mandalorians and the pubs unto Vanquo on this very day, as nature shifted into it's most frigid face. Perhaps the vast fields that stretched into nothingness were a sort of blank canvas upon which the first colors of the ultimate victory that every single clan and individual warrior yearned upon. The thought of some day sharing tales around a campfire while drinking a pint of kri'gee or ne'tra gal brought extra motivation. However such wishful thinking would lead nowhere if she was to remain day dreaming.

Inside the sealed environment of her armor, the cold was dispelled and did not bother. Not that the low temperatures would do so if her skin were to be exposed to the cold air and frigid winds. A perk of her species that suited her fine for now. Inspecting the barrel of her Anti-Material Rifle she would overheard the heavy crunch and thus of mechanical steps through the snow. Their leader had arrived from his scouting mission. Hearing the layout of the situation, she supposed that it couldn't be prevented.

"I guess we'll throw the pubs a nice welcoming party." Anya said with confidence in her voice as she approached the mechanic steed and it's rider. 

[Darion]

D'Vhex's first thoughts on the climat of Vanquo were, cold, and annoying. Although this would be his first time in battle, he found the chosen battleground to favor close quarters combat. The least efficient form of combat in his opinion. According to the information his commander had just released, the republic patrol they were going to meet had speeders further annoying Vex. Although hand to hand combat wouldn't be much of a chore when facing republic soldiers, it was still an undesirable option.

Deciding he had heard all there was to hear, he stepped toward the speeder that would most likely carry him into the heart of battle. After nodding to the female Mandalorian and his commander he took his hoisted himself onto the speeder. "The republic should have never come to Vanquo",thought D'Vhex in an annoyed manner. "Their idiocy knows no bounds, first they attempt to take back Taris, and then they attack this rock in the middle of winter with no prior knowledge of the planet."

At this point in his thinking D'Vhex was smiled even though his helmet concealed the expression. This would not be a war. This would be a military humiliation on the record of the republic commanders, and that, was something D'Vhex could drink to. Bringing himself back into the present, D'Vhex looked forward and waited for the commander to give the command to move out. Anticipation of the imminent battles already building in his mind.

While waiting for the command, D'Vhex unslung the slugthrower at his back and loaded an explosive round into the rifle. "It's not a party without fireworks" thought D'Vhex ruefully. He then slung the slugthrower onto his back and prepared to head out. His dual pistols comfortingly by his side, along with the many vibrodaggers hidden in the segments of his armor for easy access.

[lion]

"You got it, Captain." Zrask replied, curtly and low; his voice somewhat digitized through the vocoder mounted into his helmet. The visage of the standard-issue scouting armour, complete with the white-grey haze of his camouflage webbing, was certainly enough to invoke the image of a droid, given some creative leeway, but the broken, crackly treble of the small vocalisation speakers really sold it.

It was just a pity the light armour wasn't so close to replicating, perhaps, some climate control; the bitter chill of Vanquo sliced through the plates and body-glove like a vibroknife through flimsiplast; barely ablated by his layers of body fur as it was, the cold was still enough to bring on the occasional tooth-chattering fit. It could have been worse, Zrask knew with a bitter clench of the teeth partway to stop them in their trembling, Private Elena was proof positive to that bitter fact; bleeding in a heap at the back of the speeder with as much dignity as a farmyard nerf waiting for the bolt gun.

Perhaps bitter than most, Elena had been his spotter for the shift she'd been shot; she had graduated the same training group that Zrask had, and paired up for the Vanquo mission, it had been the potential for a long career. The pair had discussed loadout for the mission, weather patterns forecasted for the duration, all manner of the miscellania that would have been so vital, and in that, Zrask had found a budding respect for his colleague's attention to detail.

It was a deep shame, then, to have her out and out shot like this without so much as a peep, by some Mandalorian swine who'd, no doubt, trumpet the 'brave victory' to his likewise sycophantic tin-men brothers.

The agitation that the thought brought on, the bitter hated and disgust that bubbled forth in his mouth like bile and sent a shudder through his fur, only seemed to sharpen the young Bothan's senses, as he buried his eyes into the rangefinder once more. The handheld tool in the blizzard, trainers had said back on the range in training, could be better than even the Force to have at your side; it was never wrong. The blizzard ahead was little match for obscuring the thermal imagery brought to bear by the powerful optics, and as the numbers scrolled off as the rangefinder's invisible beam carved its way through the foggy haze, Zrask could only find himself believing the hype.

To the naked eye, there was only the whiteness of the blizzard, but to the electric eyes of the rangefinder, the ivory curtain lifted. In the distance, the other end of the trundra-strewn clearing, signs cropped up of contact. Shapes against the darker blue-black haze of cold, blurry outlines of orange quickly falling through the spectrum to blue.

Humanoid shapes.

Beside the bodies, another shape, far from a humanoid outline; reddish orange in hue that quickly bled to outright black. The outline of this mystery figure brought another shiver to the Bothan's furry coat, but rather than panic, military discipline bolted forth to the front. Training had ingrained the habit of reporting the intelligence found, and without taking his eyes from the rangefinder's display, he talked.

"I've got multiple contacts on the other end of this clearing, Captain; a squad of tin-cans and a droid to boot. They're holding; gotta be a trap, sir." Zrask started, holding up the rangefinder for his superior to take as the Bothan twisted in his seat to reach into the back. Private Elena had been the one to take the speeder-killing antimateriel rifle; it felt bad to have to take her weapon, but with the additional range and stopping power the heavier weapon brought, it was the only real choice.

Pressing his right leg against the dash of the speeder, Zrask pushed; pressing his body-weight back against the cushioning of the seat until he could feel the frame through the armour. Bringing the large rifle into his lap, sliding the loaded box magazine into the receiver feed before snapping into position the thermal scope along the sight rail, in front of the standard-issue scope.

Pulling the bipod legs to the full-forward position to likewise press against the plasteel dashboard, the Bothan then adjusted; not only pressing the rifle stock firmly to his right shoulder to take aim, but his boot to the 'foot' of the right leg of the bipod; pressing it down harder.

Stability, after all, was key, and with a weapon that could punch a hole in even light transports, it helped to have as much of it as one could feasibly get. Armoured cheek to stock, Zrask began to focus; letting the world dribble away until all that remained was the rifle, and the haze of blueish-purple of the thermal scope through the telescopic sights. There, far less visible than the rangefinder but nevertheless observable, the Mandalorian squad, loosely formed, along with the droid.

Feeling himself relax, his breaths slow and gentle with a flood of hazy warmth washing over his face not unlike sleep, the Bothan pressed himself just a little harder against the rifle; cradling it with his crooked left arm as his right caressed the pistol-grip. A target of opportunity appeared; a tin-man drifting from the group.

"Stand by for shot." Zrask stated, the digital voice unemotional and cold, as with one last steadying breath, the Bothan angled the rifle into position; correcting not only for the estimated distance but the effect of the wind itself. The tin-man on the other end seemed to agree, as with a few moments of standing still, Zrask had him zeroed in. The shaking of the speeder, his breaths, everything aligned for that one perfect moment of complete stillness.

Settling his sights on the Mandalorian's waist, one of the least armoured sections of the body, Zrask committed.

One gentle pull of the trigger, the softest of releases honed by Republic training against the trigger of the rifle, and it was as if thunder had struck. The rifle kicked back hard, jerking Zrask with a sharp shove into the frame of his seat as, with a blast of the explosive powder, the hefty armour-piercing slug sliced through the blizzard. The howl quickly bled away into the air, the sharp crack of the bullet shattering the sound barrier indistinguishable from the background whispers of the wind.

The gentle clatter of the slug jacket against the speeder floor, likewise, buried itself beneath the gentle thrumm of the engine. The snow and fog obscured not only the sound but the visible 'trace' of the round, the wash of air displaced by the bullet as it carved its way through the clearing.

Through the thermal imagery before him, the seconds of flight before contact were painful, but as sweet as the freshest kothtri juice, as the humanoid figure pitched backward into the snowy ground. A hit! Whether or not it was lethal was hard to tell, but with the size of the round and the speed at which the slug had flown, Zrask could only surmise what trauma it had imparted. Mandalorian iron or not, the figure didn't seem to get back up right away, and quelling the rush of a possible kill, the Bothan immediately began to swivel slightly, looking for the next target.

"One probable."

[Fromikeable]

“Say again Private, did you say a droid?” This was exactly what they didn’t need today. The damn tribals themselves were enough of a handful when it came to fighting; if it had been just them, then their chances of just getting by with minimal contact would’ve be existent. But he’d seen the reports on those war machines before they’d left. All the commanding officers had, and the instructions had been pretty clear:

Unless you were riding with armor right behind you, avoid at all costs.

“Hard left, people. Pump that throttle back up!” As soon the sound of a shot piercing out into the whiteness rang, the speeders veered to the side, picking up speed. The radio began to crackle more constantly.

“This is Bravo 2, confirming multiple contacts and a big… uh…”

“Bravo Actual, requesting hea-”

“Wait, negative, the big contact just… i-it’s not there sir!”

“Bravo 3, just saw it there a second ago, other contacts are taking up posi-”

The Captain’s dire listening was cut short by the medic in the back of the speeder shaking him roughly. “To our si-”

The soldier was interrupted as the speeder suddenly slammed on the brakes, the entire vehicle jolting. Looking out the front with wide eyes, the Captain’s eyes widened in shock as Bravo 2’s speeder came rolling in front of their own, reduced to flaming slag. Their own transportation couldn’t quite stop in time, and the two speeders collided, glancing off one another and sending theirs down into the snow, producing a hard hum from the repulsors as they malfunctioned.

After a second’s worth of sliding, their vehicle came to a rest. That’s when they knew there was no time to rest.

“Zrask, eyes up! Ferelda, get Elena out of the back now! Thron, covering fire!” Grabbing his own gun, the captain kicked one of the mangled doors out and slipped out, watching hastily into the snow and scanning every direction.

The droid was gone. Again. “Bravo 3, report!”

---

The droid could only be so quiet, of course. It weighed many tons, stepped with much strength, and moved with much speed. But the winds whistled over its steps, and the snows faded it from sight. The armor atop it could only see so far with its thermals, but the cold meant nothing to the beast; it was a climate like any other.

The only thing that needed to change was the color of white snow to red.

The droid moved swiftly, flanking the speeders as they came about. Even as they turned, the only need was to choose a different target; the rightmost one rather than the center. The crack of a heavy shot whizzed through the ice, but a cry over the comms revealed that it was meant for a suit of armor with the others. Judging by the lack of sound following…

Well, all the more fuel for the fight.

As Oya bounded, his might leg flung the speeder up into the air, catapulting it and its crew. Despite its calculations, it did not land on the other as it stopped, the droid watching curiously, noting such things for later. It had misjudged the speeder’s weight. It would not do so again.

Even as the armorless warriors began to pour out of the stopped speeder, Oya was already on the move as the third began to turn about. Atop the droid, the black armor ordered into its radio.

“The lead has stopped.” The rest could easily fill in the blanks as he patted Oya and tagged the third speeder with his thermals. After a second’s calculation, the beast was bounding once again.

[Harukei]

Surely, there was something about riding one of those Basilisk War Droids that was quite appealing. After all, the sight of a warrior charging on top of a mechanical beast was a sight to behold for those of the Mando people, and one to dread by their foes that foolishly sought battle. Perhaps it could be compared to the same sensation she felt as she flew her ship. 

As the order was given, Anya would only look the departing beast. Havoc and mayhem would be good deterrents and distraction for the pubs that sought to fight it. Veering from the main group, she could climb to a small elevation of sharp rocks, the padding and plates of her armor ignoring the puncturing nature of the snow topped stones, she took a kneeling position, positioning the Anti-Material rifle over the stone with care.

Her HUD linked with the optics of the weapon as she began to scan the battlefield and thus the coming carnage. The Pantoran's index would slide slowly over the trigger as she awaited for the moment of strike. As the pubs noticed the massive war droid and the band of warriors coming at them they recoiled to take cover. A smart move indeed, facing it with a charge would be suicidal.

It was then when she began to scan for the proper target. Her scope looked at the scared faces of humans, zabraks, sullustans before finally settling on a vary scared looking zeltron who surely cursed the day he joined into the republic army and was deployed here. "Hello good looking." She muttered as she set her sights on him. As soon as an exchange of fire began. Anya pulled the trigger, a long thunder breaking the howl of the wind and the sound of blaster fire. It was in a split of a second as she looked at her art through the scope, as with eyes widened in fear, the pub soldiers announced the death of a comrade. "I have your back, alor." She announced through the com links in a whisper as she sought another one to make her art. 

[Darion]

As gunfire began to break out Vex had only one thing in mind. To not get shot. Gritting his teeth, he un slung his slugthrower and dropped to the ground. Scanning the throbbing ranks of the Republic convoy he searched for a target. Settling on a very large Zabrak who was too busy focusing on a comrade downed nearby. D'Vhex held his breath and squeeze the trigger. "Lets see how much fear I can instill by sending an explosive round his way.." He thought just before he jammed the trigger home and sent the round on it's way. The bullet made a slight whistle before impacting the Zabrak dead center in the chest. He was lost in the resulting cloud of fire and snow. Several of his comrades were knocked backward. 

Those that did get up were shaken. D'Vhex calmly loaded another explosive round into his slugthrower while musing to himself. "I wonder what would happen if I were to aim for a speeder. I think they're a tad cold over there. A nice fireball should warm them up." D'Vhex muttered once again before slowly pulling the trigger back and aiming for a speeder. He held his breath once again and felt the recoil as the slug sped towards its destination. Half a second later the speeder he had been aiming for gave a violent retort as it went up in a ball of fire and shrapnel. The slug jacket had since fallen onto the ground and laid there smoking faintly in the snow. With a smile that never reached his eyes D'Vhex radioed in to the rest of his unit.

"Soldier down, one speeder down, possible casualties from shrapnel. Please advise for next target alor." He then aimed his gun once more, another explosive round in the chamber, and waited for his next target. Sighing to himself as he realized this wouldn't be much fun, the republic soldiers didn't even dodge when shot at, they just stood there. Mentally shrugging, and reminding himself he wasn't there to have fun, he began to scan the battlefield in order to be ready when his next target was given to him.