Battle for Ordo

[Dire Wolf]

"There's a contact on the long range scanners," A man yelled back with the excitement of a dead man. His entire job, practically his entire existence, was staring at the holographic monitor of a computer and analyzing data for a possible naval invasion. Four years of staring at nothing punctuated with the occasional asteroid passing through the system had rendered him complacent and jaded. "Its probably another passing asteroid," a woman quickly responded from the other side of a holovision camera. The room was large and dark, save for the soft light that was created from the vast multitude of computer monitors. Each one serving its own purpose, from sensor data analysis to traversing and elevating the strike zone of each individual weapon.

That was the purpose of such a monstrous mass of technology was to maintain and operate the planetary defense network on Ordo. The woman folded her arms and observed the large monitor at the opposite end of the room. Red eyes scrutinized the data brought before them, and the soft light was lost on the azure skin. The glitch seemed off to her, and was quite unlike most of the others that she had seen in her time on the project. "Keep a watch on it. Notify the fleet. I have a bad feeling about this." "Roger," the man said with a sudden enthusiasm. The strange blue woman had a bad feeling about this. She stood up from her chair on an orbiting vessel to inform the Fleet Admiral of this sudden, possibly bad, news.

Not far away, a hulking behemoth plated in beskar watched what passed as security for the key to Ordo's defense. A simple dirt berm with razor wire atop it was all that separated the base from the outside, though perhaps that was the installation's only flaw. Patrols within the compound were many and frequent, and towers rose behind the berm with weapons powerful enough to gut a tank with a single shot. Fortunately the guns weren't automated, and instead manned by men who were jaded and just tired of their post in general. The militia had been harassing other compounds, but were specifically told to leave the orbital defense base alone. Boredom breeds complacency, and complacency can get you killed. In this case, Mal hoped, it would get more than a few republic dogs killed.

His visor's view magnified to the nearest tower to see the pair of soldiers within the plastisteel emplacement. One was sitting down, paying little to no attention to the dark surroundings, and the other was curled up beside the heater with his eyes closed and rifle out of arm's reach. "Undisciplined dogs," the man grunted as he ordered two of his men to hang back and keep an eye for any roving patrols while he, Private Korda, Zarene, and a few others moved up for their infiltration.

Mandalore wasn't exactly the best at sneaking around, being easily twice of the size of the average human male. Though one's prowess at stealth hardly mattered when dealing with complacent and incompetant sentries. He hand his small party practically walked through the darkness towards the small tower, and once they reached the base his hands flashed a signal for Yin and Korda to eliminate the two sentries.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lightyears away from the speck of light known as Ordo lie a mass of steel behemoths owned by the Empire. Each ship floated perilously close to its neighbor in an almost perfect formation. Heavier cruisers and destroyers brought up the vanguard, which half circled the heavier battleships and battlecruisers. Lighter ships gently hung about the formation to protect the ships from the fighter/bomber threats. Carriers brought up the rear, and would remain there to stay as far away from the action as they could. Aboard the Crimson Tide, a Vengeance-class sith battleship, was the small fleet's leader: Dark Lord of the Sith, Lord Vesperia.

Her who's mission had been made clear: do not let the Mandalorians lose. A disheveled black mane hung around her head, and her overall brutal demeanor was somewhat offset by a staff reminiscent of one that would be in a medieval holovid. The Dark Lord of the Sith gazed out into the black void of space, at the tiny speck of light that Ordo delicately circled. People were dieing by the hundreds near that tiny, peaceful little iota of her sight. The universe would persevere regardless of who one or lost, or how many Mandalorians were lost under a single star's grasp.

"Lord Vesperia, the Mandalorian fleet has reported contact with Republic Forces. They have launched their ground assault as well. They are outnumbered, but the Republic has bolstered its ranks on the Mandalorian flanks ever since Shogun was taken from them. They'll need help." Captain Rrogro said from behind his brutish looking mask. Adara's icy blue gaze shifted to the Kaleesh officer to her flank.

"Yes, they will. But they won't get it just yet. Warm up the hyperdrives, but do not engage them until I give the Order." She could tell by the look in his eyes that he wanted nothing more than to join the fray and assist their Mandalorian "allies." They were not allies. Their dim-witted leader had come to her superiors for assistance and would receive it, once the Republic fleet had been sufficiently weakened. Vesperia had been the leader of a group of Corsairs for a good portion of her life, and that was likely why she had been selected to lead this particular invasion. Letting two enemies fight each other out was preferable to wasting her resources. The Mandalorians would surely be friends until the Republic was dealt with, but what after? No foreign regime would stand before the might of the Sith, no matter how powerful their armies were.

None of her peers had the naval experience that she had, even if it was small scale tactics. That was why she relegated power to the men that were, indeed, more experienced at naval warfare than herself. Admirals and Captains were given charge of their own little sections of her fleet and issued orders, so that they could carry out Adara's will without the need for micromanagement. It had worked for countless leaders in the past, and it would work for her now. "Yes, ma'am," the tall Kaleesh uttered before turning to his crew and bellowing her orders. He was quite the authoritarian.

Vesperia rolled her eyes at the man. Shouting, hooting, and hollering was not needed in this case. They had done nothing wrong, nor had there been any cause to be angry. Vesperia may have been a Sith, but inspiring fear was by far the least effective of things to inspire within one's subordinates. "That is quite enough, Admiral Rorgro," her voice was barely above a whisper, yet it stopped the hooting and hollering Kaleesh in the middle of his sentence. "You may view the following events through the viewscreen in your quarters."

Rorgro nearly stammered out a protest before she turned and simply gazed at him. Not a word, suggestion, or gesture was given to him either physically or via the Force, but he seemed to cower beneath her iron gaze. "Yes, ma'am." Rorgro was off of her bridge within moments, and after he was gone she turned to gaze off into the blackness of space once more. "I expect my orders to be carried out without hesitation, and without the need to raise my voice. There will be no over-extreme punishments for failure, or unforeseen circumstances. Just do your job, do it well, and we will have no issue."

"Inform each of my ships that they are to have their hyperdrives on stand-by, and are to be able to leap at a moment's notice." The words seemed to echo and reverberate throughout the bridge as she stared out into the black, despite the fact that her voice was amplified in no way. Her crew began their feverish work.

[sparrow]

Zarene nodded and rubbed her hand together as her eyes scanned the tower. There was a narrow ledge just beneath the permaglass window behind which the two sentries were, only a few inches wide. Wide enough to stand on? It would do.

Decision made, she flashed a quick hand signal to one of the other soldiers. Give me a boost. He understood. His push lifted her up, and the Force helped to propel her even higher. She grabbed the edge of the ledge with her fingers, pulled herself, balancing precariously on her tiptoes as she put her hands onto the permaglass surface of the window.

------------------------------

Roth rubbed his hands together in front the small heater, which glowed dimly. It was the only source of light in the little sentry tower that he currently shared with his fellow soldier Fias, who was sitting in a chair a few feet away, staring idly out into space.

"Those Mandalorian attacks on the other bases," Fias said suddenly, "Do you think they'll strike here?"

Roth snorted derisively. "I could use the action. I didn't sign up for the army to be given late night guard duty. Put me on the front lines. I'd show those Sith a thing or two."

"Have you ever even seen a Sith?"

"On the vids, sure. Don't look too scary to me."

"I bet you'd piss your pants if you ever met one in person."

"Would not! Did you see me at the practice range yesterday? I'd be able to get in some pretty good shots!"

"I still say you'd piss your--- wait, did you hear something? I think something's outside."

Both men fell silent. There was a figure standing outside the permaglass window, wearing Mandalorian armor.

"Sound the alarm!" Fias yelled, "I'll---" He reached for his rifle, but suddenly the weapon seemed to take on a life on its own as it leaped upwards, the butt of weapon striking Fias in the chin. He stumbled backwards. Roth dove for the console, but before he could reach it he was suddenly pulled back by an invisible harness around his neck. He tried to claw it off, but his fingers only passed through air as the unseen noose tightened. What was going on? How could this be happening? In the corner of his eye, he could see Fias, clutching at his throat as well. The figure in the window simply stood there, head tilted slightly to one side, fingers on the glass moving in a slow rhythmic motion, as if manipulating puppet strings.

Suddenly, the hands pulled back abruptly, clenching into fists, and Roth felt himself being jerked forward at high speed. There was a crack as his face met the window, and then no more.

[Apillis]

Walking the wide corridors of the grand Republic vessel orbiting Ordo was a young woman with a cybernetic right eye and prosthetic cybernetic left eye, and other such enhancements beneath her soft, pale skin. Lieutenant Felicia Adeela is the name she is known by, stationed there several months ago as one of the navigational officers aboard the bridge. Her day to day being fairly mundane all things considered. After all, there is little for a navigator among several aboard a battlecruiser that merely orbits a planet at all times. Before then she was stationed within Coruscant as a liaison officer between the Republic Navy and the Senate security forces. A very cushy job, most had to assume her being assigned out her she must have pissed off the wrong person senator.

Nevertheless, she knew navigational coordinates well, her record spoke for itself. A long diplomatic career within the Republic Navy with some pilot training giving her enough expertise to make for a decent navigator. Though her diplomacy must have faltered somewhere to end that sweet liaison officer gig, but then again--the bantha crap hits the fan for anyone at some point, and the consequences for it are at times worse than others. When the bantha crap hit the fan for her, it must have really splattered.

In any case, she walked the halls of the vessel with the intention of heading to the bridge. But she paused as she felt the faint vibration of a tiny communication in the left breast inside pocket of her Republic officers shirt. That faint red prosthetic cybernetic left eye of hers narrowed in response to it. She immediately turned on her heel heading into the nearest lady's restroom. Swiftly she locked the door behind her and checked each of the stalls to make certain none were occupied, even being paranoid to check the airducts and searching for any possible security devices monitoring the bathroom. After all, one never knows, the military security personnel of any regime can be quite the voyeur.

When all was clear Felicia reached into the hidden pocket of her shirt, taking out the tiny device. With the small press of a thumb upon the tiny device no bigger than a trimmed human thumbnail, she answered its caller, "Are you insane?", she uttered with a whisper letting her return with its upper-class Vjun accent, "I was nearly on the bridge. I suspect something of great importance is happening if you needed to contact me now?"

"We understand the risks, Silens Six", she responded her contact at the other end of the communicator, "But the Mandalorians are making their move--"

"I know this already!", she snapped at her contact in a harsh whisper, "I remember the coordinated strike times! Did you honestly believe I'd forget?!"

"We realize you would not forget those details, Silens Six", the man on the other end of the line conceded, "And that is not why we have chosen to contact you. Your superiors have decided to up the schedule for the Fleet Admiral's assassination. When the news reaches the fleet about the Mandalorians striking the Republic, and he attempts to contact the Republic either personally (which would be best, it is what we are hoping for) or through proxy, eliminate him. Be creative if need be, just get it done."

"I see...", she replied contemplatively, after all--all of her preparation until now has just gone out the window, and with her preparations no longer available to her--her chances of escaping with her life dropped to being minimal at best.

"Is this understood, Silens Six?"

"Roger.", she responded dutifully, "I will see it through. Even should it cost my life, the Fleet Admiral shall be eliminated."

"Good. Imperial Intelligence Command, out."

Communications then ceased and she tucked away the little device back into her hidden pocket inside her Republic officer's shirt. Straightening herself out and making certain she upheld a clear frame of mind and possessed the modus operandi of 'Lieutenant Felicia Adeela', she unlocked the door to the women's restroom and resumed making her way to the bridge. She walked across the vessel's bridge heading to the navigator's chair, and naturally took her seat after relieving the other navigator from his shift. Upon taking command of the navigator's position aboard the bridge she rattled off to the commanding officer's on deck the current position of the vessel in its orbit and relation to the rest of the small fleet guarding Ordo, as per protocol of her position.

From there she remained silent unless addressed, otherwise... she merely patiently waited for when it was time to enact her true orders.

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

Enter Lia and this section of the Guerrilla forces.

---

On the opposite side of the base, and a good distance away a dark form lay belly down on the ground, making itself as flat and unobtrusive as possible. It was easy to do with the dark coloration of its armor…the deep blue and black more than compensating for the splashes of crimson, gold and grey that dotted the gear, and this was before one even took into consideration the dark brown (and dusty) leather serape that covered her form, allowing her to blend in with the ground even further. This form watched the happenings in the base through both HUD and a scope attached to her rifle that fed enhanced images into one corner of her vision.

Thus far not a single sign that there was something going on down there…but all she had to do was wait.

Waiting had never been her forte…but it was possible when necessary.

Behind her, and scattered about in small groups in the darkness, were about three dozen armed and armored forms like herself, waiting patiently for their time to strike…just like there were others, positioned similarly at other bases all across Ordo. For a moment her mind flickered back to a time, not terribly long ago, when she found herself in a similar situation. Of course, she had to remind herself that, at that time, she hadn’t been in command of anyone…Solus’ad had been there, taking the lead. Mal had been there, as well; two men that she’d never see again…though she hoped that she’d make them proud today.

All I need is to wait…

Every one of her senses burned with the thought.

She knew that Mandalore was coming…was here on the planet…somewhere…and with all of the surveillance and intelligence she’d done, or gathered, the woman lying hidden in the dark behind armor tougher than steel knew that this would be the most likely place. It was why she’d come here herself, rather than see to the smaller bases: This was the key to the lock they needed to open in order for full forces to enter and take back the planet.

”Six, do you see anything?”

The muttered question was met first with a burst of soft static in her ear before team six’s leader replied. ”Some movement of patrols, other than that, nothing.”

”Keep an eye out. They’ll be here. All watchers: Take patrols if they come too near to you, otherwise hold position. We don’t want to raise an alarm before they even get here.”

A chorus of grunts and singular words echoed their understanding as she listened, watching one of the patrols move around the corner of the facility and out of sight of herself, and her scope. One of the roving search lights swept along the ground a scant few feet away from the muzzle of her rifle, searching the grounds around the base for any sign of possible intruders…it would have worked, too, if the lights weren’t so damned predictable. Idiots are just asking to have a lesson taught to them. You’d think they’d have learned from the other attacks we’ve pulled, she mused, narrowing her eyes slightly behind her visor.

”Ver’alor, this is rayshe’a. We’ve got movement.”

Her ears perked up at that, her eyes attempting to see through buildings to where team five was positioned to no avail. ”What sort of movement?”

”The good kind.”

It was enough of an answer for her, making her nod slightly. ”Hold position and keep a good watch. Take out anyone who tries to stop them, but don’t get in the way. That goes for all of you. We’re ghosts until necessary. Three, be ready to short the lights on my side on my mark.” After she was sure that they all understood, the woman shifted slightly to look over her shoulder at the five others with her, turning her com off for a moment to address them.

”Get ready to give them hell. When the lights go off that’s our signal to raise hell and let our men do their job. Be prepared to hit and run like before. String them out and create openings. Above all keep them occupied and guessing. Keep a channel open to me in case we need to advance.”

Obviously pulling out was not an option.

The harsh monotone of her vocabulator gave the already gruff and terse tone of her words an even sharper bite, not that the woman cared as she turned back and lay flat once more, her jaw tightening beneath that emotionless helmet. For all those she’d lost…Sol, Mal, her ba’buir, her father, Rish, even Bane…these men would pay a dear price this night.

Ordo would be free at last.

[Grawn]

"We'll be arriving short, milord", the pilot radioed back, the occupant he referred to showing no sign of response. The hulking metal suit, adorned with intimidating spikes, prevented him from being able to sit naturally on the seats provided for normal passengers. While annoyed, he showed no displeasure openly as he sat cross-legged on the floor. The eight foot and a half tall steel giant quietly waited for the minutes to pass, his patience strained by his experiences over the last few weeks. It wasn't a everyday occurrence that you become a test subject to binding a soul to a set of armor for a powerful Sith Overlord.

Chaldus' eyes remained closed, indicated by the lack of red orbs of power that shown out from the inside of the helmet. Arms folded, the specter milled over the events of late, thinking of that wretch of a master he now served. If he had been at his peak, he would have crushed the mongrel and warped his mind to obey him without question. But that was over a hundred years ago and he was literally a shadow of his former self. He loathed it, he loathed that man that now controlled him and the life that was given to him. But Rogarr was a fighter and he would go on, willing or not. He served Overlord Iniquitous now, the Sith whos life was linked to his very own.

"Arriving at the Crimson Tide" the pilot brought Chaldus from his brooding. The two red eyes opened, glowing with a nefarious light as he stood up, his armor groaning in protest. The former Togorian was sent to assist in some conflict of interest to the Overlord, delivering a report to a Sith Lord by the name of Vesperia. Chaldus knew what the Overlords intentions were with sending one of his favored pet projects to this battle. A newly christened Sith, trained under the Master of all Sith, would surely require a testing of some sort. Chaldus loathed that man and would gladly wish to test his new abilities on the mans broken body, but that wasn't possible. For now.

The sound of screeching steel against steel was made as the airlock connected with the shuttle. Chaldus turned and without word to the pilot, waited for the door to slide open. When it did, he had to duck to pass through, but returned to full height when he emerged. The door slide down behind him and the one on the other side of the room opened, the giant striding forward. Passing through the door, he was greeted by armored troopers.

"Identify yourself" the lead one spoke, his gun held firmly in his grip in a state of preparedness, but not toward Chaldus. If it had been, it would not have been a good day for him.

"Chaldus. I come with a report for a 'Lord Vesperia' from the highest. I will require escort to her" he spoke, his unnatural voice that resonated with a otherworldly haunting. He didn't feel the need to explain to this man of his Master, because it shouldn't matter. This man had no Force talent, thus was of little concern to him and he generally looked down to many non-Force sensitives.

"I will page-" the soldier began before an apparently annoyed Kaleesh appeared.

"I assume you are the Sith we were to expect. Great." the Kaleesh coughed as he regained his somewhat lost composure and professionality, "I am Captain Rrogro, please follow me."

The Captain left without another word and the hulking metal suit followed, leaving the soldiers to comment as they please. The Kaleesh gave off an aura of anger that was held back by his stern demeanor, for what reason Chaldus could care less. He strode behind the Captain down the halls of the great ship, drawing a glance from a person here or there, all ignored by the former Togorian. His red eyes stared forward as they came to a great door and the Captain turned to him.

"You will find Lord Vesperia inside. With best wishes, milord", he said behind his mask, a common trait among his race and left. The metal suit approached the door that opened without his input to find himself on the bridge, the giant windows lining the room giving himself an amazing view of the endless void of space. Ignoring the busy men and women at their consoles, Chaldus approached a woman with black hair holding a staff. Judging from the massive aura of Force power that she gave off, he assumed this was his deliveree.

"I come bearing a report, I assume you are Lord Vesperia", he spoke, pulling out a datalog from his belt and bringing it to bear.

[Dire Wolf]

As the two women eliminated their targets Mandalore had leaned against the berm, his attention on the battle that had just begun. Minute flashes could be seen just above the horizon of the night sky, and he could only assume it was the brightness seen of shields flaring against the energy of capitol class cannons. Another battle raged on the more hospitable equator of the world, one who's setting was one that pitted man against man rather than machine against machine.

Things were advancing quicker than he would have liked, but nothing could help that. After he had been given the all clear he and the rest of his crack-team moved up the artificial hill. "Militia lead," his modulated voice sounded more robotic than man, rendering it unrecognizable, "move." The plan was, of course, to start something of a distraction once the team had infiltrated the base. Once the control room had been cleared, then both teams would clear it of defenders before taking control of the Orbital Defense network. If needed, the Militia would be the primary defense against any counter-attack the Republic would mount.

The cacophony of battle soon erupted at the other end of the base. A smirk creased the man's lips from behind his visor as he slid down the small berm. Thanks to the rather enthusiastic nature of an overly bored, complacent soldier... infantry and less combative personnel alike all but sprinted towards the sound of gunfire. "Yin, you and I will take point. Everyone else is to take up the rear." Grunts and enthused remarks were all that responded to him. That much was expected of a hardened vode in the vu'traat. Before setting off, he pointed to two of the small group, "you and you, stay in the tower and watch our backs as best you can. When we take the control center, eliminate the other towers."

"To the rest of you... lets move out." Explosions and blaster bolts screeching through the air seemed to die in that moment, and all that the man could hear was inhale and exhale of his own breath within his great helm. In that moment he was a young man again, one that yearned to crush the enemies of his people. Soon enough his boots were on the move, and his massive form hunched over to provide as small a target as possible. They were only a few hundred feet from the mouth of the three story control center, with not a soul between them and the entrance.

~~ ~~

Lord Chaldus. Lord Vesperia was mildly surprised when the door to her bridge opened, revealing the hulking form of the armored phantom. Darth Iniquitous' pet project was hardly needed in this conflict, but she surmised that it needed a field test. Vesperia turned to greet the "man", who was her equal, and took the datapad from his iron grasp. "Chaldus. You're to be under the command of Lord Allvitende, should the barbarians require our aid on the ground. They will. While they are undeniably ferocious and skilled, their fervor for battle tends to lead to... 'bite off more than they can chew', so to speak." As for the data on the device she had been handed, it was little more than a status report on the task force she had been given command of. All ships were ready and able to jump in and fight on a moment's notice.

It was something she had already known. "You may stay here, if you'd like. It would behoove you to get into a shuttle before the battle begins, however. What a shame it would be to see Darth Iniquitious' pet not take its first test." While Adara held the level of respect required for a Dark Lord of the Sith, Chaldus was no longer a man. He was a suit of armor bound by the blackest magics that had been seen.

It was an it.

[sparrow]

Their distraction actually got almost all of them, Zarene thought to herself as she surveyed the scene. Not bad. Not bad at all. The way to the control tower was clear, and she followed the Mandalore as he ran, slightly behind but keeping pace, rifle in hand.

The crescent moon provided little light, supplemented only by the flash of weapons in the distance. They reached the base of the control tower, still seemingly undetected. The distraction was doing its job quite well. But it also meant that the Republic troops had put the tower into lockdown. The heavy security door would take a powerful weapon to breach, and the troops, even if they didn't notice them yet, would surely notice the blast.

She looked at Mandalore, tilting her head towards the door. He was the big one with the big gun, after all.

---------------------

Captain Haviar sat on the bridge of the Sith carrier Taipan, his body hunched over, elbows resting on his knees, listening as Nerion, one of his junior officers, rattled off the latest report. In the background, the voices of the captains of the various other ships in the fleet could be heard over the comm as they each checked in, announcing their presence.

"... as I as saying," Nerion continued, "the high command still hasn't seem to have formally decided whether we'll be deploying in this engagement or not. The fleet's supposed to be supporting the Mandalorians, but fighting their ground battles for them is another matter."

Haviar nodded slowly. "Yes. But either way, send a message to Lord..." He still had trouble getting some of these Sith names straight.

"Vesperia, sir."

"ah, Vesperia. Send her a message, telling her that the our carriers are here at her service, ready to deploy fighters and troops on the ground at her command." His men had proved themselves in the incident involving House Droknel, but many were itching for a crack at the Republic. Perhaps soon they would get their chance.

[Apillis]

Sitting in the navigators chair, Six was quiet, merely going through the motions of uttering their orbiting coordinates and adjustments for maintaining the massive vessels orbit over the planet. Not merely a weapons expert but a highly trained spy, assassin, and sniper--patience is a virtue that she can uphold for a long time without ever wavering in the slightest. It boils down to frame of mind and falling into the role of ones surroundings, becoming something or someone else entirely. Even now she trained her mind to believe she was not the agent of Sith Empire, code named Silens Six, but really... just the navigator of the Fleet Admiral's flagship stationed for guarding Ordo. No more, no less--just another face the crew know and see in their day to day. Someone they know as colleague, even a friend.

It is the ultimate deception.

Six never dwelled on how the would react if the learned what she truly is. After all, guilt or even caring about the lives of those she were to be with beyond her mission was all superfluous, or utterly non-existent to her. Part of being a great deceiver is one making others care for them, while feeling nothing for others in turn.

It was simply a patience game, a game the target had no idea of their involvement in it. As situations escalated on the ground, word of communication issues with ground forces reached the fleet. The bridge begun to stir. And it was then announced.

"Fleet Admiral! The Mandalorians are striking at Republic Forces on Ordo!", the communications officer relayed to him on the bridge.

"What?!", the Fleet Admiral gasped, he quickly rose from his captain's chair with his XO at his side, "Open a holo-comm channel with Republic command. Now!"

"Roger!", the officer complied immediately contacting Republic command.

The grainy holo-projection of Republic leading officers at the Republic Military's HQ in Coruscant came to view. A smirk came to Six's visage in that moment as she suddenly rose from the navigator's chair.

The Fleet Admiral begun to relay the reports he was receiving on the bridge, "Republic command, this is Fleet Admir--", but that was interjected by a shot from a heavy blaster pistol burrowing a hole through his head right between the eyes.

"For the Empire.", the dissonant, silky smooth feminine voice with an upper-class Vjun accent of Six uttered. Her veil accidentally slipping for just that moment via an act of patriotism for Empire she had dedicated her life to serving, causing her to slip into her actual voice. And there Six stood with her heavy blaster pistol drawn pointing where the Fleet Admiral stood before his lifeless body stumbled backward flopping into his captain's chair in slumped position.

Her mission in that moment had been completed to the letter. Now the trick was escaping. Eyes all turned to her while the XO personally severed communications with Republic command until the bridge was secure.

The pilot who was sitting beside her grabbed her by her right left arm, "Stop!", he demanded.

She merely arched a brow, and as if in one swift motion, put the barrel of her blaster to his wrist and blew off his hand, thus causing him to no longer have his hold on her arm. With that momentary distraction security forces on the bridge drew their weapons on her. The pilot screaming in agony after having his hand blown off, she swiftly responded reacted to the security forces lining up their sights on her by stepping behind the pilot. Thus firing at her they risk shooting one of their own.

Not a moment was wasted by Six in drawing the pilots own blaster with her free hand and pressing its barrel under his chin. So now, with her left arm wrapped around the front of his torso, the tip of the barrel of the his own blaster pressed uncomfortably to his chin. Six now had a human shield as she kept her left shoulder and side pressed against his back, while her right arm and entire right side was free to line up shots where she needed them to be.

She kept her back facing the windows and walls behind her where no one was. Thus one would have to take a shot from either her front right or front left. Front left risks hitting her captive, front right risks getting shot by her first, and by the deadly aim she employed by shooting the admiral dead between the eyes, placing oneself directly in her line of sight is exceedingly risky in its own right.

Sweat dripping from the pilot's brow as he was forced to move along with Six as she moved toward the door. One of the four security personnel she took notice to from her peripheral slowly squeezing the trigger of his blaster rifle. He was lining up a shot on her, but he was inching to her front right, he was going to go for it. She smiled. The second he inched around her front left to her front right, her marksmanship did not delay her in turning her gun on him and firing three shots center mass. She did not need to get fancy with him, she just needed him incapacitated or dead. With two shots hitting him in the lungs and the last hitting his shoulder, he was sent to the floor. One other security personnel motioned to get into a position to attempt a shot on her, while the other two moved a few paces closer to her. Quickly she trained her blaster on the one moving to try to line up a shot on her, which caused him to quickly back away, while the other two froze in their paces.

By this point Six was nearly at the door of the bridge to escape it. But even should she... she still has the rest of the massive vessel to escape from...

*******

When the Mandalorians begun preparing for their assault upon the Republic to reclaim Ordo. While Zarene remained with the Mandalorians, Hervor left the planet to meet back up with the Sith fleet, boarding Vesperia's battlecruiser, the Crimson Tide. For the most part she spent her time isolating herself to her quarters, focusing her mind for the coming battles. But often when she does, there is a voice that lingers within her thoughts, though she never does anything to quash--but simply lets it continue linger within her.

"Do you feel as though everything has been wasted, Hervor? Or... is that who you no longer are?"

"I will always be me.", Hervor remarked to the voice--a gentle voice, calming in its manner and tone, "The Mandalorians will die if they turn on the Empire, or try to sever this 'alliance'. It is temporary at best."

"You didn't answer the question.... Do you feel as though everything has been a waste?"

"What would you have me say?", Hervor replied in a moment of candor as she stared through the battlecruiser's window within her quarters--gazing out into the great void as she crossed her arms under her chest, "Of course I feel it was... For everything that was sacrificed and lost... just wind up in this position... Yes... it was a waste."

The annoying chime alerting her that someone was at the door. The voice faded from her mind--familiar and from a painful past, there is always a measure of comfort to her when it arrives, both from the pain of the memory and the serenity of the presence. Whether it is just in her head or truly the spirit of that individual, Hervor believes the former, but if it is the latter--there are not any alive today close enough to Hervor to truly say or even those who know about it.

"Enter.", Hervor stated flatly.

An ensign stepped into her quarters, "Preparations are ready, my Lord. We will soon to make our move."

Hervor turned to ensign, "Good.", she stated flatly once again, now with a glare that simply seemed to say 'leave'. Which the ensign promptly did just that with a snap to attention and bow of his head before about-facing and taking his leave.

With a heavy sigh, Hervor finally stepped out of her quarters and head up to the bridge of the Crimson Tide. As she approached Vesperia and Chaldus, she inquired, "Are we ready to begin our assault? I was informed we were ready to make our move."

[Foxfire]

Quiet solitude had been Honog's wish but every life force echoed and cried out in the force as to their wants. Life, death, pleasure and power great power was the order of the day. He could careless about the wants yet being by himself for such a long time trying to rid himself of the hssiss poison that the more sentiant beings force sigs became very hard to handle.

But slowly by slowly Honog force them silent. Doing so with great focus and his purging of nearly all of his force pressonce. He had been hidding with in the force letting it mask and aide him blocking out all but the sound of the pulsing living force. Like blood through a vein he listened and slowly gain control of his focus once again.

He knew that his taking this time being away from everyone and every thing would not hinder any plans nor hurt any feelings. Being a war dog of the sith Honog had nearly resigned himself to the obscurity wilds of Zoist. When though he got word of his required presonce on this mission he broke from Zoist and it's primal inhabitants. Much knowledge he gained in the stay on Zoist of the primal ones of the verse. So when on the trip he studied once again about the current situation and the group that had pleaged his life so early on, the Mandos.

His hatred for them was gone now. They had just released him from his former master's enslavement and set him on a path of freedom and enlightenment. The knowledge he read about the current battle plans and the way the mandos fought was good to know. In that he could move in and out of battle with either side giving him to much grief.

Coming out of a session of force focus and poison purging he felt the gathering nerves of the normal beings on the bridge the sith leaders must be gathering for the start of the battle. The Crimsom Tide was a well built ship or he hoped at least. Leaving his room he quietly walked in silence. He had gotten so use to hidding within the force he would catch himself coming in and out as he stalked the halls of the temples. Even now his sig was gone as he moved through the ship walk ways. Most of the crew of the ship did not even notice his presonce as he walked by them as it should be. The only time was when then ran into him and crashed back to the decking in shock.

A nervous nod and poof they were gone. Their reaction was never taken notice of by Honog he simply moved on. In ghostly silence he made his way to the bridge only the sound of the doors opening was the only way ones on the bridge could tell he was there. Noting three other Sith there he moved back to a quiet dark corner within hearing range and waited for commands of his part in the ground assult.

[Dutch]

** Entering with permission from Dire Wolf **

In. Out. In. Out.

All Cyar'ika Vevut could hear was her own steady breath from within her helm. She sat crouched in the shadows several clicks from the base. Mandalore had been exact with what her role was in the upcoming battle, his solid, unwavering words still echoed in her mind. She slightly adjusted her weight and narrowed her eyes at the two republic guards who stood and talked to each other. With her helm's audio receptors, and her naturally keen codru-ji ears she could make out their words perfectly.

"... So I said, look, if that was really my kid, why does he have pink skin? He screams zeltron! No way am I going to pay child support!

Can't say I blame you Hoff, didn't Relli get pregnant while you were last deployed anyway? How could she possibly think she'd get away with making you think it was your kid? Crazy women... think they'd know their place by now."

Cyar's eyebrow twitched at the second guards comments. Sure, she could understand their point... but them being sexist just made her job even easier. She began to creep closer through the darkness, her upper arms keeping her balance while her lower ones began to check her gear.

Pistols: Check. Knives: Check. Wasps: Check. Ten kilos of highly explosive materials, courtesy of Tihaar: Check.

Her eyes glanced at her HUD and made sure her armor was all set. Thermal emissions were at the right levels, her seals tightened down, and her jetpack fueled. If there was one thing Cyar'ika never did, it was go into battle unprepared, one of the first things her father had taught her.

A prepared Mandalorian, is a victorious Mandalorian.

The codru-ji smiled to herself at the memory of her father. She would be victorious this day, for her father, for Mandalore, for glory. Cyar sneaked closer until she was well within their sights... but they were too enraptured by their conversation.

It was then that the sounds of battle begin. The two guards jumped and turned away from Cyar'ika... their last mistakes. She lanced forward at full tilt as her hands grabbed her melee weapons. A dagger in each hand and her now unfurled wasps held just tight enough to be secure, but loose enough for flexibility. The guards heard her footsteps too late.

The first one turned around just in time to take a wasp to the bridge of his nose, while the second one reached for his comm to call for help. With a deft blow Cyar both knocked the comm away with a wasp as she slid one of her daggers just deep enough into his neck to sever his larynx. As she did this she rolled her body to avoid the first guards bayonet and swipe her dagger across said guards throat.

He clutched at his neck and gurgled crimson nothingness as he fell to the ground. They were dispatched too easily for Cyar's taste, the two men not even a challenge for the prodigal mandalorian. Cyar wiped her daggers off on the uniform of one of the guard and tilted her head back to look up. Her goal, the base's comm tower, sat at the top of the building- easily reached by her trusty jetpack.

The sounds of battle continued to sing through her helm, just the right amount of chaos to keep these unworthy republic dogs distracted. She slid her knives and wasps into their sheaths, and once more checked her HUD to see if her systems were still operational. Naturally, they were.

Cyar thumbed her wrist mounted navcomp and bent her knees to jump just as she activated the pack. With a roar that would have gone unnoticed from the sounds of battle she launched upwards to the roof. She landed without a hitch and grinned to see several republic troopers sniping from the elevated vantage point. Naturally they noticed the invader... but not soon enough.

With the practiced fluidity of a trained warrior, Cyar slid her four MHB's from their holsters and unleashed a barrage of heavy blaster bolts. Apparently the republic's basic troopers weren't trained on how to take on an opponent who could wield four pistols at once. They dropped like sacs of produce, the last one screaming as he fell off the edge of the building, his legs torn apart by blaster fire.

"Too easy."

Cyar whispered and sighed. Once again, a disappointing fight. Despite Mandalore's orders for her to stay silent, she linked up into his comm channel, and laughed softly.

"Sir, I thought you said the republic had soldiers posted here, not a bunch of Hu'tuun!"

She continued to chuckle to herself as she jogged over to the comm tower, and began to plant the charges as Tihaar had instructed. With the use of her jetpack Cyar was able to place the charges strategically, her own little idea fueled only by Tihaar's enthusiasm. Carefully set timers were set into the charges, and Cyar once more brought up her navcomp as she began to run towards the edge of the roof.

With an cry of unbridled enthusiasm Cyar'ika leaped from the building just as she triggered the charges and activated her jetpack to slow her fall. The entire comm tower exploded outwards, the mangled chunks of metal and ceramics launched towards the mounting republic defense, free artillery courtesy of the republic tax payers.

Cyar'ika saw Mandalore as he began his approach, and adjusted her landing algorithms to land just in front of the hulking mandalorian as him and his team would approach. She landed with a gentle thud and snapped to attention.

"Operation successful sir! Orders?"

Her voice oozed confidence with a tint of boredom. Hopefully her leader had something more fun and challenging in mind next...

[Kella]

Tihaar was psyched. It had been a few weeks since she'd seen some proper action, and she'd been eagerly looking forward to reclaiming Ordo since Mal had first mentioned it as a possibility. It was time to kick some Republic ass.

The weight of the rocket launcher on her back was familiar and empowering, rifle resting familiarly in her hands. A bright beam of light, visible only to Tihaar, followed her gaze as charged over the berm and scanned the battlefield. Mal was taking point on the forward movement, a couple of others surging ahead to take care of the first set of guards.

On the other side of the base, another attack was occurring simultaneously, which drew nearly all of the guards that had not been directly engaged by Mal's unit. Tihaar spun when she heard a noise on her right flank, a pair of stragglers emerging from their tent near the berm, too caught up in their tardiness to be aware of the unit surging around them in the darkness.

Tihaar grinned.

They were too close for her rifle, and the sound of it clicking back into place behind her shoulder drew their attention. She wasn't really one for sneak attacks. The closest barely had time to turn before she'd swung her fist at his stomach, feeling her armor engage and amplify the force, and then hearing the satisfying crunch of the man's armor cracking. Not everyone could have Beskar.

The first staggered while the second raised his rifle, but Tihaar caught it with her off-hand and shoved it away, bringing her other elbow down on the man's exposed collarbone. As he stumbled, she grabbed his armor by the neck and threw him to the ground, crushing his neck under her foot. Something suddenly collided with the small of her back, and as she took a half-step forward and turned around, she realized it had been the first man's foot. He was trying to kick her over. How cute. She returned the favor by kicking him in the gut, feeling the armor crunch again, and the man collapsed without a sound.

Back to business.

She returned to cover Mal's flank just as the comm tower blew, and she couldn't help but throw a fist in the air. Only thing that would've made watching the concrete and fire fly through the air was if she'd set the charges herself, but oh well, Cyar had done her job well.

"Hell yeah!" she broadcast over the comm, frak radio silence, wasn't like she was going to talk about anything important.

[Grawn]

His glowing eyes narrowed as Vesperia concluded her introduction and commands for him. If all underlings of the Overlord were this audacious, it would require him to check his own temper. While what she said was true without a doubt, it just made Chaldus vividly understand his place. Dismissing her angering comments, he thought of the Mandalorians and what he had read on them. Even during his life, he had heard of their exploits as warriors and he looked forward to seeing them firsthand for himself. The armored phantom would need to learn who this Allvitende was and report to them, the memories of past combat demanding he not miss his chance at more.

"Very well, Vesperia, I will begin preparations. I would hate to disappoint the Overlord", his words rang with a tinge of disgust near the end, but he tried to hide it best he could. Seeing as how his voice wasn't anything natural, perhaps the emotion wouldn't carry over. Regardless, it didn't matter. "Be careful if you do join in battle; it would be a shame to lose you."

His sarcastic last words weren't necessary in the least, but he didn't fear repercussion. He was about to leave when a woman entered the bridge and questioned the readiness of the forces for combat. She stood almost six foot, so still shorter than himself, but he almost couldn't define the race. She was unlike anything he had seen before, but recalling the reading he had done under Iniquitous, she reminded him of a Morellian. Unable to answer her question, he decided to remain quiet when another being entered the bridge with the silence of a specter.

Chaldus recalled the newcomers race as Noghri and judging by the hint of the Force, an ally to the operation. He would eventually learn their names if he cared enough, but for now, he just wanted to feel the thrill of combat again. The lightclub that dangled from the belt on his waist made it a habit to faintly bounce against his armor, reminding him of its presence now and then. The large mace that he carried on his back made sure to do the same and reminded him of his position as 'the pet project'.

The former Togorian pitied the first creature that he met in combat. He intended to make it as messy as possible.

[Dire Wolf]

The Liberator

A pair of amethyst eyes gazed down at the cyborg as she motioned towards the closed door of command center. The building itself was little more than a two story prefabricated building with a few pieces of hastily erected communications gear attached to boards that hung off of the structure. All in all the entire complex was either tents or buildings such as this. It was a real disappointment to him that they didn't have any real defense to test his mettle, or his vode's prowess.

Before making his insertion one last piece of the plan would have to come to pass: cutting of communications. Mandalore had no real estimate of when the command did radio checks, but some part of him believed that it was at the top of every hour. If he was right, it was likely that they would have an entire hour to secure the base and re-fortify their defenses. If he was wrong, then they would have a matter of minutes.

A pair of thuds that were felt in the hollow of his chest rather than heard sounded moments later, and those silent concussions were followed by the screech of metal and cacophony of a tower crashing to Ordo's dusty face. Time itself seemed to slow as he glanced between the few warriors and one sith he had selected to follow him on this glorious raid. Yin, a Sith. Cyar'ika Vevut, one of his clan mates. Tihaar Verd'yc, a pit-bull of a vode with an extreme aptitude for all things that go boom. There were others around him too, each and every one's name was written across his mind and his heart.

Mal's voice was digitized as it passed through his helmet's voice modulator, and "leave nothing alive," were the only words he said in response to Cyar's near-arrogant query. The distant sounds of the battle being waged by Lia and her guerillas were inaudible due to his helmet, which amplified tones below a certain decibel level so he could still hear footsteps, voices, and things of that nature.

Silence filled his awareness once more, the only audible sound was a slight hiss made from his armor's respirator. Time continued to crawl as he pivoted his left foot and rotated his hips. His right knee rose up past his waist and flew into the door like a piston from an ancient internal combustion engine. Mal roared as his foot into the door, adding enough power to the blow to crater the door and rip it from it's hinges. The door tumbled through the air and slammed into one of the two guards who were positioned on the opposite wall. All that could be heard from underneath the heavy door was a grumble. The room past the now open doorway was a small one: a type of checkpoint where armed guards were posted that opened up into a larger room.

Mandalore threw himself through the doorway the instant that his second foot hit the ground. Surprisingly enough, he didn't fire his magnetic cannon and risk damage to the critical systems that the station relied upon. Instead of letting his unnecessarily large cannon off of its leash Mandalore swung it as if it were a massive club instead. The second guard did managed to fire a single shot off into the massive man's chest before the butt of the nearly forty pound weapon crashed against the inadequate plastoid full helmet that had been covering his head.

Rivulets of blood and brain matter sprayed out from the side of the helmet as it shattered to pieces, and more than a few shards of his skull peppered Mal's armor as the man collapsed to the ground like a limp piece of bacon. The center of Mandalore's beskar hauberk was scorched and pocked ever so slightly, but other than that no apparent damage or harm had come from the point blank shot to the chest.

Malak heard a slight scuffling from beneath the metallic door that had been kicked over. The soldier that had been crushed was still alive. Not surprising: armor generally did a good job of protecting one from such damage. "Continue through the building. Do not damage any equipment," the man's voice modulator made him sound more robot than man. It also forced him to speak more proper than he normally had before.

As the rest of his team continued through he bent down to lift the door off of the wounded soldier. The man tried to fight, but his body was far too broken to do anything resist one of his peers... let alone Mand'alor. Mandalore's fist closed around the man's neck before lifting him well off of his feet, where he gazed curiously for a few moments.

"What-... what are you," the man managed to gasp out. Mal would have never been able to hear were it not for his helmet's active sound dampening system. He pondered the question for a moment before his fist clenched, and carelessly tossed the lifeless body aside. The little pop that was his neck breaking felt as if they had been from a chicken rather than a human, "not a man."

The Sleeper

Not everyone on the bridge was who they appeared to be, and that didn't just go for the navigations officer. The Sith Military seemed to have a leak, and one of their targets was Fleet Admiral Bashahra, the supreme commander of the Task force that was charged with defending against the Mandalorian Juggernaut. Dehja had been posing as a simple defense analyst contractor, and had been at her station when her charge was killed.

Thinking fast, the chiss crumpled to her desk and let out a wail that one would expect to hear from a helpless woman. After a few moments of curling herself into the corner, the woman shot up and dashed out of the bridge while the schutta had been busy wreaking havoc on the bridge in front of the Republic High Command. She had effectively shown her arse to them, but she hadn't expected the navigational officer to be the plant. Pilot, maybe. Commo. But the Nav Officer? Never.

After the pneumatic door slid shut behind her the woman promptly dropped the helpless routine and hurried into her office, which was just to the left of the bridge entrance. She reached underneath her desk to pull off a simple curved longsword, a few throwing knives, smoke bombs, CS grenades, stun grenades, and a plethora of other objects that were perfect for disorientation.

Killing wasn't the intention here, though she seriously doubted that capturing someone who was audacious enough to kill a man on his own dreadnought would succumb to conventional interrogation techniques. Or any interrogation techniques, for that matter. Armor was useless to the woman, and only served to hinder her otherwise blindingly fast movement speed. By the time that her gear was properly strapped and attached and sword in hand, the spy had planted her two bolts in the security officer's chest and had nearly made it through the door.

Then it swished open to reveal the scared little helpless thing from before, this time with enough gear to take on a small army. A small smile pulled her lips apart as she lashed a kick intended to nothing more than push the woman and her hostage back into the bridge at woman's side. "For the Republic," Dehja exclaimed in a mock vjunese tone.


The Marauder

A single elegant eyebrow arched at the creature's response. Was that disgust she heard in it's voice? Perhaps it was more than a simple creature's essence trapped within a great suit of armor. Then it did that thing where words came out of it's incorporeal mouth again. Sarcasm dripped from every word it 'spoke.' Adara decided that she would further insult it by playing coy. For her, at least, it was most dissatisfying when the intended target of the sarcasm didn't give her the common courtesy of acknowledging it.

"Indeed it would, Lord Chaldus. While I thank you for your concern, my task is to lead the navy." the woman spoke in a sophisticated, high-born accent despite her wretched beginnings. A small smile pulled her lips apart but kept her lips closed as she turned towards the hulking suit of armor just in time to see Lord Allvitende stalk onto the bridge. Memories of their exchange at the temple flashed across the Sith Lord's mind as the woman stalked closer, and moreover how she fully intended to impale the worm that had been allowed to live just before it.

"Oh, we are fully prepared for an engagement right now. I see no advantage to throwing ourselves into a fight while the Republic is still so fresh, however. Lord Allvitende, this... weapon," Adara motioned towards Lord Chaldus with a wave of her hand, "is under your command for ground operations. I trust our troops are prepared to wage war on a moment's notice?"

It wasn't long before stunted and wretched form of Honog scurried onto the bridge. There were few creatures in this galaxy that Vesperia could tolerate, and this "Honog" dwarf was not among them. Put simply, he was a complete idiot who put far too much stock into his own ability to fight. Part of her wondered how he didn't forget to breathe. Perhaps he was fed lead paint chips as a child, or thrown into a trash compactor. No matter. At least he didn't pollute her bridge with his lacking grasp on galactic basic.

Her crew seem to shift around uneasily as they found themselves within spitting distance of four of the most powerful beings in the Sith Empire. Within that bridge resided enough power to bring destruction on nearly anything it came across, and they suspected that most's anger were easy to rouse. Vesperia's icy blue eyes drifted among them, not saying a word. They could be uneasy if they wished. So long as they did their job well, she didn't care.

[sparrow]

Haviar remained hunched over as the flickering image of the fleet admiral appeared on the holoprojector in front of him. "Orders, sir?" He had known the admiral for years, and knew that he was not one to make a fuss over formalities, or lack of them.

"Lord Vesperia will be supervising the space battle," the man said flatly, going straight to the point. "However, we have a number of Sith who will be spearheading the ground action. You'll take them down there, Captain. They should be arriving at your vessel soon. Have your ship ready to move out as soon as they arrive."

Haviar nodded. "Understood." The hologram flickered out. Swivelling in his chair, Haviar turned to face his aide, Nerion. "You heard him. Make it happen."

_________

Commander Karn listened as her subordinate gave her the latest report on the battle. She hadn't expected that it would have gotten this bad this quickly. The initial attack had been damaging, but the attackers, for all their ferocity, were no professionals, and it started to show. The Republic line had bent but did not break.

But then the real attack came, and there were now enemies within the main tower. If they could take the control tower, then they could potentially turn the base's orbital defenses against the Republic fleet. She could not let that heppen. "Jenkins, take four men. Guard the door." She was sending them to their death. They wouldn't be able to hold. But she needed the time. "O'Neil, Coras, I need you to help me to destroy these controls and instruments."

____________

Zarene entered the tower after Mandalore. As a shot took down the next door in tower, she rushed to the front. The first Republic soldier directly in front of her was yanked off his feet. Grabbing him, she spun him around, using him as a human shield. His fallen weapon lept from the ground into her hand, which she used to quickly open fire the two troopers to the left while they still hesitated at the prospect of shooting at their own comrade. The Mandalorians rushed in after her to take out the rest.

Fast, but not fast enough. A soldier on the other side of the room fired his rifle into a command console, filling the air with smoke, before a blaster bolt took him in the neck. Several others were doing the same thing, and even though they were soon dispatchd, the damage had been done. Many of the consoles were already smoking and inoperable, wirings and circuits now blasted lumps of charred and melted metal. Useless.

Zarene walked over to one of the few remaining consoles, her fingers moving quickly over the keyboards, trying to see if there was anything useful left.

It was a map of the surrounding area, a very restricted view, flashing and flickering as it updated itself with battlefield information. Red for the known Mandalorian position, blue for Republic. "Mandalore, you might want to see this." The map flickered again as it updated. "Oh... that's not good." A corner of the map was slowly beginning to fill with blue.

[Kella]

Tihaar charged into the building behind Mandalore, rifle raised and ready. A blaster bolt tore through the face visor of the first Reppy that crossed her crosshairs. "Boom! Headshot," she cackled over the comm.

"Continue through the building. Do not damage any equipment," Mandalore said. Tihaar didn't need to be told twice.

In another few moments, the lobby was clear. Mandalore was dispatching a man near the door, while the Sith and a few others charged into the comm room that was directly ahead. Tihaar, however, turned to the right, to a narrow set of stairs that lead up to the complex's second level. A similarly narrow hall ran the length of the upper level, doors lining each side. As soon as Tihaar stepped from the stairs, her armor rang as something struck her hard in the head. Not hard enough, however, given that she was an immovable Mandalorian clad in Beskar.

With an unseen expression of amusement, she turned to look at her assailant, whose raised rifle wavered. "Hi," she said, and, noting that there was barely a foot between her and the ambusher, took a half-step forward and slammed her forehead into his. The man's helmet crunched and he fell to the floor with a light whump.

"Stop right there!"

A man had emerged at the end of the hall, holding a small blaster pistol which was centered on Tihaar's chest. She turned and casually walked towards him.

"I said stop!"

Tihaar took another step and the man fired. The bolt gleamed as it moved through the air, almost at a crawl. It struck Tihaar in the shoulder, splashing across her armor and leaving a dark streak, but the woman proceeded undeterred.

The Reppy continued to unload his pistol at Tihaar, painting her armor with ash. He could not see her smile, only the unwavering pace of her walk.

"If you put the gun down I don't have to kill you."

The Reppy was starting to panic, firing faster. "Okay then, I'm not going to complain." Not even bothering to disarm the man, she grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him back against the wall that capped the hallway. The pistol clattered to the ground and she kneed him in the gut. His armor cracked loudly, his spine and the sheetrock behind him somewhat more quietly.

Tihaar ducked into the room that had been most recently occupied by the man whose bodily fluids were now oozing out through his lungs. The room's console had been shredded by blaster bolts. She heard footsteps in the hall and stepped around the corner just in time to see a figure disappear into a room across the hall, followed by the sound of a flurry of blaster bolts. Tihaar's eyes narrowed and she surged through the hall, quickly occupying the doorway and trapping the Reppy inside. Smoke was already rising off of the console behind him, so she leveled her rifle and gave him a generous assortment of new bodily orifices. There were six offices on the upper level, and Tihaar cleared out the other five in a similar manner, as the Reppies were two busy tearing out their consoles to mount a unified offense against the lone Mandalorian. As she killed the last man, his body draped against the molten remains of a console, Tihaar shrugged. Mandalore would just have to get over it.

Tihaar clipped back down the stairs, joining the rest of the vode in the larger comm room, which was now completely under control.

"Upper level's clear. 'quipment's trashed though."

[Dutch]

It wouldn't be seen, but Cyar'ika grinned with predatory joy at her Mandalore's response. Leave nothing alive... Those words were some of her favorites to hear, especially from her beloved clan-mate and leader. She followed right behind him as he strode towards the doors and took them down with the practiced entry method of a rancor. With a few clicks Cyar removed her MHB's from their holsters and thumbed the safeties on them. There would be blood.

Cyar'ika strode into the building as if she already owned it, and her HUD instantly highlighted several targets. Her arms swung gracefully as she pulled the triggers to her heavy blasters. The bolts screamed into their targets, the heavy strikes of plasma bludgeoning through armor and flesh alike. Body after body dropped to the single woman's barrage, her vode only egged her on as she saw more and more kills racked up by them. If only the codru-ji had been paying more mind to her surroundings than to who had the highest kill count so far.

She didn't see him arrive. A gamorrean nearly the size of Mandalore had heard the commotion from a room that connected to the one where the fight was the fiercest, and decided to join the fray. Cyar realized he was right behind her too late. If it hadn't been for her enhanced hearing, the young woman probably would have been destroyed by the hay-maker the massive beast swung at her. She spun around to train her pistols on him, but the attack struck home.

With a massive CLANG! Cyar was sent off her feet, the gamorrean's fists had struck so hard that her helm had been knocked clear from her head. Silken ebony locks of hair poured forth from the helm as Cyar flew through the air before she collided violently with a console. She tasted the coppery taste of blood and turned to snarl at the attacker, but barely had time to bare her teeth before another fist the size of her head was sent her way. Cyar dodged, but barely, and hissed as sparks shot out from the now destroyed council and singed her face. The woman tumbled to get out of the gamorrean's way, but was stopped. To her horror, he had fixed one of his colossal hands around her right arm.

"Haar'chak!"

Cyar spat in her native tongue before the world tumbled. She screamed in agony as he violently wretched her lower right arm, and the wet Snap! of her bones breaking echoed around the room. The gamorrean squealed in delight as he swung the codru-ji about. Her beskar ringed out as he swung the woman about like some sort of toy. Consoles, walls, other republic troops, nothing stopped this juggernaut of muscle and war, he swung his opponent into anything he could. When the beast finally let his grip up, it was to pick Cyar'ika over his head and toss her against a nearby wall. She collided with a crunch and once more, the woman screamed in pain as she felt her ribs break. How many, she didn't know. Cyar noticed a couple of her vode move in to help her.

"NO! HE'S MINE!"

Screamed the mandalorian. She slowly rose to her feet and clutched her broken arm to her side. Her face winced as it was on the same side she clearly felt broken ribs. What was normally a visage of calm, confidence, and elegance, was replaced. The visage that showed now was one very few of her vode had ever seen. It was the side she suppressed, the side she loathed, and in this case, the side she needed. The animal side.

Her two upper arms unsheathed her daggers and she held them firmly. Oh yes, there would be blood. What was happening in the room didn't matter. Cyar's sole focus was on the figure that laughed at her mockingly. He easily had two feet on her in height. He didn't realize that one of her sparring partners... was Mandalore.

Within Cyar'ika's chest her heart slammed with adrenaline as it coursed its way through her body. Blood filled her ears and drowned out all sound. She knew she could take this filth, this dishonorable pig. Cyar ran her tongue along the top row of her teeth, careful to avoid her slightly pronounced canines. She spat at the gamorreans feet, more blood than saliva. She attacked.

Cyar sprinted full tilt at the massive adversary, and cried a bloodcurdling shriek of a battle-maiden. He swung. She dodged and dragged one dagger across his arm. He squealed in pain. He swung again. And again. And again. His opponent was no longer the tiny punching bag that she was when he had ambushed her. With each attack of his, she dodged, or parried, and with each dodge and parry, her daggers would dance across his flesh. Ribbons of gamorrean flesh began to be flayed from his bone. The reek of his blood's scent and squeals of pain were all Cyar'ika needed to press on the attack.

After mere seconds, the gamorrean had nearly only one arm left, his left arm dangled limply at his side, tendons and muscle clearly sliced up and down and across every inch of it. He stumbled backwards from loss of blood. His mistake. With another feral howl Cyar launched towards her soon to be dead foe. Time seemed to slow as the adrenaline fueled Cyar. She saw her goal, and her plan. She leaped up and slammed one of her boots down on his bent knee from the stumble. The mandalorian kept her momentum up and slammed her two daggers downward into his chest. With a schlick! she pulled out one dagger only to plunge it higher up into the gamorrean's massive chest. As she did this, her other hand twisted the blade deeper into her target.

She cried out in bloodlust and then thrust forward to dig her teeth into his flesh at the neck. Her naturally predatory codru-ji teeth tore flesh like a gundark tearing into a nerf. The woman bit and tore and howled. Her bottom left arm reached up to grasp a tusk that jutted out of the gamorrean's mouth. A long tusk. Her cybernetic arm whirred as she applied great pressure then violently pulled down. Once more the sound of bone breaking ringed out, but this time, it was Cyar pulling the tusk straight out of her foe's jaw. Again Cyar'ika screamed and then repeatedly slammed the pointy end of the tusk over and over and over into his own eye socket.

For a moment the gamorrean fought her, the shock of the attack had stunned him, and it was more time than she needed to tear him apart. With a gasping wheeze the mighty behemoth fell. His body hit the ground with an audible thud, and Cyar'ika remained poised atop his form. Her fist continued to slam the now shattered tusk into his face until finally she leaned back and knelt on his chest.

Blood, sweat, and tears ran down her front, her hair a matted and tangled mess now. She panted. Her muscles screamed and her bones ached in exhaustion, but still, she won. Cyar's eyes turned to see the form of Tihaar clomp down the stairs in her impressive armor. The eyes that would greet her fellow mandalorian were at first feral and hateful, before they once more returned to their keen- if exhausted- normal selves. She noticed the scorch marks across Tihaar's armor.

"What happened to you?"

Cyar managed to ask before she felt her worlds spin, and she collapsed off the gamorrean.

[Apillis]

Six's eye widened in surprise when she found herself suddenly beset upon by an unknown assailant that her cybernetic right eye failed to pick up in its peripheral. Her hostage suddenly kicked out of her grasp. But while a highly elite spy she maybe, she is also a highly elite assassin. There was no hesitation in Six's reaction when her hostage was parted from her to take aim with the blaster in her left hand and fire to two quick successive shots center-mass while she was still in point-blank range with him. As his lifeless corpse fell to the ground, the heavy blaster pistol in her right hand took aim at her newly acquired assailant firing two shots--also aimed to be center-mass. Six was not looking for perfect accuracy at this point, even in close-quarters, she was looking to keep her assailants away from her and off-balance. Taking too much time for that perfect shot in lies death.

Defying the odds and surviving enabled her to become a Silens agent in the first place. Doing so again will only further prove her loyalty and value to the Empire. Though, even if she perishes in the line of duty, her mission nonetheless has proven successful.

Her left blaster having already shot down the pilot--her former hostage, then fired several shots at the security personnel. The shots fired were not terribly accurate, but placed well enough to force them back down into cover.

Albeit, the couple shots she fired with her heavy blaster pistol in her right hand at her assailant. She had a slight smile on her face. It was the assailant's mockery of her accent via the assailant's own proclamation of patriotism to her Republic. For her attacker was the little defense analyst contractor. Six spent months analyzing ever member who would come and go on that bridge, studying each and everyone the personnel there. It was her job to know, yet that Republic sleeper agent slipped passed her notice.

To escape Six's notice, her talent as a sleeper agent is extraordinary, certainly. But it was not enough to protect the Admiral, which in Six's mind still made her the superior spy. Sometimes the confidence boost from such a perspective can be the very thing that keeps one going and survive. There is a reason soldiers, especially elite soldiers appear to carry themselves with a level of self-assured bravado, it helps keep one from being daunted or shaken in extreme situations. Much like the one Six finds herself in now. Six knew a spy when she saw one, or rather--knew one when they dropped their cover and attacked. This woman was too quick--too silent, she did not move like one of these pissant security personnel, and like Six herself, she was cool under the high pressure and tension of the situation. This was a spy before her.

Six was already close to the bridge door, as it slid open as she continued to back away firing shots to keep her assailants away from her. Swiftly she spun around to the other side of the door, and slammed the butt of her left blaster on the manual door switch causing it to immediately close behind her. The Sith spy wasted absolutely no time in using the manual override seal the close the emergency blaster doors over the bridge doors. She understood perfectly well that on the bridge they could override everything she just did in a moment or two, this was merely a stall tactic. But... for the apparent sleeper agent that attacked her, she could not help leave a brief message over the two way emergency bridge door comm, "I'm guessing you failed to protect your ward? May as well take those cyanide pills. Or maybe seppuku?", with a laugh she immediately sprinted down the halls to continue making her attempted escape from the battleship.

*******

She gave an idle nod to the Sith 'creation' when introduced to it. While the noghri she did not acknowledge its presence, for she believed it still had a lot to learn after the 'conversation' she had with it.

"Of course they are.", Hervor stated confidently to Vesperia, "If everything is ready on the fleet's end for the attack. I see no reason for waiting.", Hervor walked to the galactical holographic map of the bridge. Bringing up planet Ordo, then focusing in on the vegetative regions along the equator, Hervor went onto say, "But, the longer we wait--the better off the Republic will be."

Crossing her arms under her chest as she analyzed the holographic image of Ordo's equator before her, "What you need to understand about the Republic... that the Empire often fails to keep in mind. The more time it has--the stronger the Republic becomes. The Empire often likes to focus on how slow and ponderous the Republic moves. But... think of it as a gigantic train--linked by numerous compartments. Slow to get moving, and while its laboring--its gears skipping and wheels slipping on the tracks trying to get a momentum generating... it can be stopped and ceased. However... give it time... those gears will get turning, and its wheels gaining traction--its momentum building. Once enough momentum is generated... there are very few things that can stand in the laboring behemoths path and hope to survive, and even if they do--they are the worse for it."

Hervor then paced around the holo-projection of the planet, observing the Republic strongholds at the equator. Drawing back the hood of her old and worn Archivist cloak, and dropping the mask covering the lower half of her face. The shrapnel scar running across the left side of her face, and the corruption of the dark side that marked the rest of her visage; her lean, lanky athletes physique covered with numerous minor scars, and her spidery hands severely calloused. Her entire being is one marked by conflict--by war. In a way, this was her arena--where she was at most home. Her black eyes with crimson irises turned to Vesperia as she uttered, "The Mandalorians are already making their assault. We may as well disable the behemoth before it has the chance to get up. Besides, if or when the Republic manages to respond with re-enforcements. It will be far better and more amusing to deal with them when they have nothing left to join..."

[Foxfire]

Honog moved quietly over to the holo and scanned the lay of the land. It was a mess down there and he regretably was not in his element of skill sets.

We need to gather what groups of mandos that are scattered and use them as a spear point. The supply points are a prime target but well defended. To either gather their goods or burn them on the spot is a start, still the supply lines are the blood of the armies. The stronger in mind should be the ones to face off with the brains of the main forces. Let me and the remnant of the scattered mandos gut the beast and force them to eat themselves or starve.

Honog did not look around for confirmation or correction, yet he knew that he was not going to be placed on the main lines unless they wanted him to be bantha fodder, of which they would be sadly mistaken in him. He would not just roll over and die. His skill of sabotage and hidding was his greatest asset and their key on how to use him.

Of course I bend a knee and will to Hervor to her greater knowledge of the lay of this battle. On the land or in the sky I shall take up the fight.

[Dire Wolf]

The Supreme Commander

"Lord Vesperia, Captain Haviar's carriers have joined and our ready to jump on your command," a voice rang out shortly after Lord Hervor was done giving her advice. The man hadn't bothered to say that he had gotten the notification earlier, and would have said something would it not have been buried by the avalanche of acknowledgements by each individual admiral. Such a thing happened when a supreme commander gave an order to all of her subordinates, and it was proper protocol.

Vesperia did nothing to acknowledge the bridge hand, but instead turned to Allvitende after she had given her council. It seemed sound. "Very well. Allvitende, Honog, and Chaldus you are all to go to Captain Haviar's ship. It will be his vessels that initially reinforce the barbarians' ground offensive. We jump in ten minutes. I suggest you make it to his ship." The three were equals in all situations but this one. Hervor may have been leader of ground operations, but she currently resided on Vesperia's ship. Only three beings had words that outweighed Adara's in that place. Renata, Eurachis, and Iniquitous. None others.

Adara turned to her crew once the three Sith had disappeared behind the door of her bridge. "As I said before: I do not expect any of you to perform herculean acts. I do, however, expect every last one of you to perform at one hundred percent. You may have noticed that I'm not like my peers. Do not take this observation as weakness. The one who does will suffer. All that I ask is that you do your job and do it well.: She looked amongst the multitudes of eyes glued to her as she spoke It wasn't fear that she saw in them, but rather respect. Sith or no, respect was a better leadership tool than fear.

Adara turned to her communications officer, "send a message to Captain Haviar to notify me once his guests have arrived, and one to the rest of the fleet to prepare for the jump to hyperspace." Vesperia's order was met with a loud 'yes m'lord' before she turned to gaze out of the view port once more. A small smile formed on her face as she remembered her youth. Back when all that swas the lived for was to crush her enemies, see them driven before her, and to hear the lamentations of their women.

'Lords Chaldus, Honog, and Allvitende are aboard Captain Haviar's ship. The fleet is ready.'

Lord Vesperia was silent as she walked over to the captain's chair and thumbed a button that would open a comm signal to the entire fleet. "All ships... jump to hyperspace on my count. Three. Two. One. Jump." She casually sat back into Admiral Rrorgro's chair as the hyperspace generators engaged. Her weight was crushed back into the plush chair for a moment as the stars blurred into lines, and eventually the brilliant white light gave way to the scintillating aurora of a hyperspace tunnel.

The fleet hadn't been located far from Ordo. As such not only was the transit to Ordo was quick, but its accuracy was also impeccable. Each ship kept its position within every formation surprisingly well, with only a few too far forward or too far back. Adara's smile turned into a feral grin as she saw lances of multicolored light dance between the fleets. The Mandalorians were aggressive and cunning, but the republic had numbers on their side. Key word: had. Fighters poured from the carriers as all ships rushed forward to flank the republic task force, unleashing a hell storm of turbolaser bolts.

The Sith armada had barely joined the battle before Vesperia's navigator cried out to the bridge. 'Multiple contacts inbound! Adara's brow furrowed as her gaze shifted from the naval battle before her to brilliant flashes of light in the distance. They were followed by another fleet of republic ships slowing to a halt just shy of the great battle before them.

Vesperia found herself wishing that she had jumped in sooner.

The Beserker
(made from ims between Kella and I to advance things along)

Walking through the command center was something akin to walking through an area that had just been hit by a hurricane. Under normal circumstances this fact would have earned a smile in the man's face, but under his current orders he couldn't help but adopt a scowl. It wouldn't be a surprise for him be told that the entire facility was garbage. Useless. All of the planning and preparation was made null.

"Mandalore, you might want to see this."

A vein popped out of Mal's forehead as he rushed over toward Zarene's position. She hovered over a table that held a holographic layout of the base. A few red units hovered about the command center, one particular guard tower, and scattered about one side of the base. These presumably represented the Mando'ade. One corner of the map was filled to the brim with blue units that ponderously advanced towards the base.

"Lia, you have five minutes before an army gets within spitting distance. I recommend fleeing, or trying to push up towards us. We're on our way," his voice crackled over the comm as he turned on a dime and began to sprint out of the command building.

A sight stopped him, however. It was Cyar crumpling to the ground with blood strewn about her. All three hundred and fifty pounds of the massive Mandalorian skidded to a stop as he saw his clan mate fall to the ground. Malak had known Cyar'ika since before she the beautiful vision of a woman that his comrades knew. She was initially kept as his wife's brother's dog until she went into a cocoon one day, and emerged from it a few days later.

Mandalore was at Cyar's side within moments with nothing but the fiery heat of rage within his heart. In that moment he ripped his helmet off, ignoring the hiss of air intermingled with painkillers, and flung it through a thin sheet metal wall. The great helmet ripped a jagged hole in its passing, and crashed into a holo-computer with a brilliant display of lights.

Scars and burns riddled the man's face, and pain had just began to set in shortly after he hurled his helmet. He looked down at the woman who he saw grow into a capable warrior. Twenty four years culminated into one bad fight with an over sized pig. "Obliterate the Republic scum that blocks Italia's guerillas from entering the base and be prepared to defend this installation until backup can arrive. Go now. We have no time."

"Uh... Mal, I think Cyar is broken."

But Mal had likely not heard, given the momentum he had coming out of the comm room. As his helmet hit the holo, all the other vode froze.

"You are not frakkin' tourists, this is not a frakkin' freak show, get your add out their like your Mandalore told you to!" She pointed viciously at the door, and the remaining vode quickly filed out. Tihasr fetched Cyar's helmet as Mal gave her the stim dose.

She then stepped over to Mal, stood at his shoulder over Cyar, and slapped him upside the head. She stood ready to bear any rage she'd incurred.

"Go get your helmet, dumbass, now is not the time for sentimentality. Right now you need balls, not sensitivity.

That was a mistake. Mal's recollections of the little pup that used to play with his late daughter were interrupted by the surprisingly hard slap from a subordinate officer. The huge man whirled around with surprisng speed and latched his massive hand around her neck. Mandalore could nearly touch his finger to his thumb, and his palm was nearly as wide as her neck was long.

He moved to lift Tihaar off of her feet with little effort and gazed at where he guessed her eyes were beneath that shark-mouth visor of hers. "I remember when I was a major," he said her rank in a derogatory tone of voice. "Learn your place, major, or I'll find someone who will. Kill the soldiers so the guerillas can aid our defense. Now."

Mandalore didn't have time for this. He set the smaller woman down and reached down to grab a canister of stimulant. If the stims didn't bring the girl he saw as a daughter back to consciousness, nothing would.

Tihaar's armor was designed to protect against such threat, so the crushing grasp was only vaguely uncomfortable. She crossed her arms as her feet were lifted from the ground, and her breathing remained slow and even.

"And your gun's bigger than mine so your place is out there killing things. I'll take care of Cyar."

Mal grunted in response as he set her down and rose to his feet. "Take care of her, then. When she's up you two had bett-" he was cut off by a long fit of wet coughs. "Had better be right behind me." It was disconcerting how quickly his condition took hold after the flow of meds had been cut off. He likely couldn't survive more than an hour outside of his armor. Pain racked his upper chest as he began to cough once again, but this time he forced himself to stop the painful whooping.

The mountain of a man clambered over to his helmet and dusted it off before slipping it over his head. Environmental seals hissed as his helmet clicked into place, and shortly thereafter a slight whirring told the man that his resparator was on and the meds were flowing. Relief flooded his chest almost instantly. "Tihaar, you aren't to say a word of that to anyone. Not Cyar. Not Ark. Not a soul. Do you understand?"

"Told you so," she said as Mal began coughing.

"Sure thing," was her much-too-chipper reply. He'd be given a hard time later, but for as defiant as Tihaar could be, she was just as faithful. Tihaar quickly turned her attention to Cyar, kneeling beside the woman.

"Rise and shine, sleepy head."

The Assassin

Dehja found herself not particularly caring about her failure or her mark at that given moment. This woman may have yelled a ill conceived jab at the obviously experienced spy, but that was hardly why she wanted her caught. A spy who had the devotion to initiate an assassination of a man on his own dreadnaught wouldn't divulge any information regardless of how much pain or leverage was inflicted on her. Capturing her meant that the Sith had one less operative in play.

Instead of attempting to slice through the door and lose valuable time, Dehja rushed towards the security terminal and began to feverishly type commands into the prompt. Every door on their current level and two below them sealed shut within a few instants, and their terminals seemed to detonate in a display of explosive electricity.

"This is what you're going to do. Unlock every door between me and her, and lock every one behind me. If she comes this way, lock every door behind her. If I can't subdue her, you are to vent the atmo in that section." Her orders were followed, thankfully, as she stepped through the door that the sleeper had locked.

It wouldn't be long before they met, and part of her hoped that the zealot would just take a cyanide pill.

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

“Militia lead, move.”

After watching the defensive turrets sleeping soundly for what felt like hours, it was finally time.

They wouldn’t know what hit them.

Without a word in return to the Mandalore, she gave her order. Moments later the lights across one half of the compound began to flicker off as ‘her’ men cut the lines or shorted power circuits. The moment it started attention was already drawn toward the affected area, the lazy Republic soldiers not entirely asleep on the job. Of course, the flickers of light as well as colored bolts that began to pepper the air from the teams nearest her side of the base was what really poked the hornets nest.

From the darkness the militia moved with a purpose…fueled by the hunger for freedom and aided by training and organization. A Mandalorian alone was dangerous, but when combined with others and working as one they were deadly, military or not. It was precisely this reason that the return fire so often missed their intended targets as teams of two and three pressed forward, watching each others’ six and never staying in one place for more than a few moments. The heavy turrets posted on the rise were enough reason to keep moving, just in case one of their number was stupid enough not to do so because of the infantry that was swiftly headed their direction.

Lia’s rifle recoiled hard against her shoulder as she paused to lead a target and take her shot, covering the forward motion of her partner, Conrad. It didn’t even phase the woman as she hustled after the brown and red armored form of the man with her. Before them the berm loomed up out of the darkness, only the razor wire and weapons of soldiers who’d made their way to the top of the protective (and glorified) dirt wall glinting in the light of the moon. There was, of course, the constant flicker of blaster fire as well. It singed her serape, blazing holes through it on occasion, but there was no direction that was acceptable except forward.

Someone in her periphery stumbled and fell, tumbling a bit before clutching at their shoulder as they scrambled to get their weapon and get up again. As much as it pained her to witness, she couldn’t afford to slow down. All she could do was trust that his/her partners would do their job and help. Each shot she took was time bought for both her teams and the soldiers on the inside, but it wouldn’t be enough. As a flash of light, followed by the distant screech of metal and a crash echoed on the night air, she knew that their distraction wouldn’t hold for much longer….not like it was meant to, anyway. Not unless something was done to bring the focus back onto them.

”Militia, push forward! Breach those berms, now!”

Dropping her rifle so that it was only held by one hand and hung on its strap, she reached around and pulled a grenade from her belt. Popping the pin, she paused long enough to lob the thing high, the detonation happening just barely as it reached the top of the berm. It likely hadn’t hit anyone, but whoever had been around there was likely checking themselves for damage. Borrowed time, perhaps, but any more time was better than none. It allowed her and Con to reach the berm and run along its base, making it considerably more difficult for the Republic soldiers to aim at them without exposing themselves further or getting caught in their own razor wire.

All along the berm the militia men were using grapples or spikes or (if they were lucky/rich enough) jet packs to try and get over. Her partner, however, stopped with her at the bottom of one of the turret defenses. Almost as one, the two of them produced small grappling guns, the grapples easily embedding into the dirt-filled wire and cloth barricades that created the ‘towers’ on which one of the turrets was stationed. As she was pulled upward by the grapple something flew past her, dinging against her shoulder on its way down before it hit the ground. Almost on instinct she tensed, her limbs pulling themselves in toward her body as much as possible with her upward motion. Some of the shrapnel from the explosion of the grenade hit harmlessly against her armor while other pieces dug themselves into her legs painfully, eliciting a pained hiss and groan.

Con growled as the detonation caught him unprepared, but if he was injured or not she could only guess as he braced himself with his legs and used one hand to grab hold of the wire. The men there had left the turret, focusing instead on the mandos (both Lia and Conrad, as well as one or two others) who were coming up the makeshift tower. Con did what he could to keep them busy with a stun grenade and some blaster fire as Lia worked on cutting through the razor wire that topped the turret tower, which was proving to be more than tricky as they all attempted not to be hanging targets. Thankfully her gloves took most of the damage from the wire, but by the time it was fully cut and they could get up and over the top her hands were bleeding in places.

Still, they were in.

Mostly.

The soldiers at the top wouldn’t let them up so easily, knocking one mando back over the edge of the tower even as he attempted to clamber up. Lia was having no easier a time, one of the men there bringing his blaster rifle around to aim directly at her face. Ducking on instinct, she allowed the barrel of the rifle to slide over her shoulder as she charged forward and tackled the unsuspecting man backward into one of his buddies. A round of fire went off in the confusion, a shout sounding somewhere below in the base. A blur of brown and red came through the corner of Lia’s vision, knocking one of the men over the side and onto the berm’s wire even as she twisted and grabbed hold of her opponent’s gear, using her momentum to pull him around and keep him off balance, sending him off the opposite side of the tower.

From behind her Con grunted as he dealt with a man who was audacious enough to climb the ladder up to the turret platform. As the man fell, likely breaking a few bones in the process, she turned to take up a position where she could easily take aim at the Republic soldiers stationed along the berm.

”Signal that we’ve taken this turret. We need men in here…now.”

Nodding Con moved around the ladder, allowing the other two with them to guard it and take up positions while he ducked down and used his com to beep out their current conquest to the others. Another, similar, message was starting to cut across the com as well from one of the other turrets…certainly a good sign, and hopefully not the last. Even as she shifted weight off of her injured leg a bit and took aim at one of the soldiers lining the berm something new, and much more important, caught her attention.

“Lia, you have five minutes before an army gets within spitting distance. I recommend fleeing, or trying to push up towards us. We’re on our way.”

”Aw frell. Rog’r that. Tryin’ ta get our men in ASAP,” came the reply as she flicked her com over again. ”We’ve got lotsa company. Everyone hustle to the call poi--“ Her words cut off as something clattered in behind her, making her (and the others) turn swiftly to look. Time seemed to slow, almost painfully, as the object registered in her mind. Already they were moving, but it was her foot that got there first, knocking the grenade down the ladder without a moment to spare as it detonated in mid air. ”--Hustle to the call points if yer not in already! An’ gain those turrets!”

Barking orders at the others to clear off the wire, she kept the edges of the turret tower clear of enemies as more of her men began to clamber into the small space and then down into the base itself. Grabbing a few of them, she vaulted over the edge of the tower and down onto the inside of the berm, fully intent on making for the next turret.