The shuttle carrying new recruits, and some returning soldiers, landed on Tadath’s surface in the early morning. Some of the recruits jumped out of their sleep when the ship touched ground, others made some cute snorting noises.

“Oh, yes, Abalar, just start thinking recruits are cute. Before you know it you’ll be giving them pet names and taking them for walks,” she thought to herself.

Abalar was already up at this point of course, grabbing her stuff and heading down the barely lowered ramp—just like she had done in the countless missions before this. Her plan for this morning was simple: she was going to take a quick run to her room in the barracks to make sure Corvin hadn’t invaded her room, then she was going to stop by the SL’s office. With any luck, Garryll would be where he was supposed to be, not gallivanting off somewhere. She had important information and their next mission stored safely underneath her jacket.

Her stop at the barracks proved that Corvin hadn’t invaded, much to her disappointment. It would have pleased the sergeant to no end to throw his barely clad body into the hallway and closed the door on him, leaving him in the hallway. However, she was on a mission, so she didn’t bother checking where he was. She had to discuss important things with the SL, and quickly made off in that direction.

Abalar entered Garryll’s office. His head was bent over a multitude of scattered paperwork, and he seemed to be searching for a particular illusive sheet. The SL was so rapt by his present task he didn’t hear or notice Abalar come in.

“Third drawer on the right,” Abalar said.

“You sure?” Garryll said, without looking up. He did, however, move to search in the drawer.

“Absolutely.”

Garryll opened the drawer, and sure enough, the illusive sheet was there.

“Thank you,” Garryll said, finally looking up. “How did you… oh, so you’re the new recruit.”

Abalar didn’t know if he was being serious or not, but Abalar was also not wearing her rank, so she was going to mess with his mind. After all, if he had managed to get this disorganized without her, he only deserved it.

“Yessir. Private, uh, Cabular,” Abalar said snapping a sloppy salute, which earned her a roll of Garryll’s eyes.

“Alright, well, welcome to Blackjack. Head over to the barracks and get settled. You’ll be having the old ASL’s room. We are going to receive an assignment at some point today, so be ready for a debriefing. You are dismissed.”

Abalar remained rooted in place. She didn’t even throw up a salute.

“Uh, recruit? That’s when you salute and leave.”

“You’re such a nerf,” Abalar said.

“Excuse me?”

Abalar could barely keep a straight face.

“It hasn’t been two months yet, and you’ve already forgotten me. That makes me feel so loved. Next thing I know, you’ll be telling me you’ve gotten a replacement for my ASL position. Which you haven’t, have you?”

The next series of facial expressions that played across Garryll face was absolutely priceless: anger to confusion to bewilderment to surprise to joy to embarrassment. Abalar couldn’t help but feel some pride.

“Abalar!?”

“Who else would it be? A female Rizzit?”

Garryll contemplated this for a moment. “You’re right. So, what brings you out of the reserves?”

“Other than the fact that I want my ASL position again?”

“Yes. You know I want you as my ASL.”

“Oh, well then, I have a whole bunch of goodies. Gather the squad, I’ll debrief you as a whole. This assignment is hot out of whoever’s mouth.”





Abalar pressed the screen of her datapad, and a holographic planet popped up in the middle of the room.

“This, children, is Balmorra, a four mooned planet in the Nevoota System. We will be going here for our next mission.” Abalar started. “A highly important intel provider, Oran Crast, has stopped reporting, and as the planet has a remnant presence, he is presumed dead. Of course, there is still the possibility of him being alive, so it will be Blackjack’s mission to investigate. This means no heavy artillery and cumbersome battle armour. We are going in relatively light, as the planet is apparently relatively uninhabited outside the main cities. “

She saw Corvin make a face. “Yes Corvin, light armour and no chain guns.” She then continues on with the debriefing.

“You should all know that this is the home planet of Balmorran Arms, one of the best and highest producing droid manufacturers. So, it is expected that we will run into at least two groups of the latest model being produced by Balmorran Arms: the SD-9 series battle droid. Of course, if we do, our only option will be to run. These guys are deadly.”

“What do these SD-9 droids look like?” a male private asked.

“Who are you?” Abalar said, in an impatient tone. Of course she didn’t mean to sound impatient, as she wasn’t, but Abalar didn’t like being interrupted.

“Private Second Class Razorsedge, ma’am,” he replied.

“Don’t bother with the ma’am business, its unnecessary. But to answer your question Private Second Class Razorsedge, these SD-9 droids are huge, dwarfing pretty much every normal sized race.”

Razorsedge mouthed a silent “O”, and nodded slowly. Abalar hoped he didn’t get cold feet. She had yet to fight with him, so she had no idea who he was as a person or how he fought. Abalar was going to look up his personal file later, after the debriefing.

“I’ll continue on, shall I?” Abalar asked the room. When she got no response, she did.

“From the information that was gathered before the disappearance of Oran Crast, we know that there is a huge operation that is cranking out these SD-9 droids out like no tomorrow. This is bad news for the Empire, as none of these droids are going into our hands. Also, Oran said he was close to obtaining the plans for two new unnamed, but even more deadly droids that will be going into production sometime in the new year.”

Abalar pressed some more on her datapad and a series of images appeared then disappeared from the holoprojector, majority of which were of the SD-9 droids. Other pictures included Oran Crast, the capital city Bin Prime (even though they weren’t going anywhere near the capital, or any of its cities for that matter), and the five kilometre span of plains they would have to cross to get to the production site, and last known location of Oran Crast.

“Unfortunately, the production site is not located on these plains. That would be too easy for Blackjack. Instead, it is located here,” Abalar said, pressing once again to pull up and cross section view of a deep canyon. “May I present the Balmorran Arms Theta Production Site, responsible for cranking out the nasty SD-9 droids. The facility itself is built mostly underground, with the only easy accessible part emerging from the canyon face. However, there is a catch; this canyon is over two hundred meters deep and the production site is located near, but not entirely at the bottom. The only way down is to scale the face. It is too narrow to get a ship down even ten meters, so once we land in the plains, that’s it. We are on our own.”

Abalar took a deep breath. She had dumped a lot of information on them.

“So, that’s it. I’ve taken the liberty to send you all the relevant information you’ll be needing for this mission. Remember, no heavy armour or artillery. And no breaking anything! There are enough droids to wipe our sorry asses all over the Balmorran plains. DO eerything in your ability to stay hidden.  Corvin, please try and avoid getting shot. I’ve been away for over a month, and, well, I’m a little rusty, if you’ll excuse the pun,” Abalar said flexing her cybernetic forearm and hand. She still hadn’t gotten the fake skin over the cybernetic limb, and the presence of the cold metal was almost comforting now.

“Oh, for those of you minions that may have forgotten me or don’t know me, I’m Sergeant Abalar, the ASL. Don’t make me mad, as I am the squad medic. You wouldn’t want my hand to accidentally slip when I’m stitching you up, would you?”

Abalar grinned evilly. She suppressed the evil laugh that automatically followed the grin, but still drummed her fingers together. Yes, instilling fear in them would work just fine.

OOC:

Following links should provide all the general information you need:

http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Balmorra
http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Balmorran_Arms
http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/SD-9_battle_droid

I'll also be making up a short wiki page on Oran Crast, so we all know who we are looking for. It'll get done long before we reach Oran.

"Going in light." No chainguns, nothing to blare their presence the enemy and just beg for an airstrike...finally. But the light armor was a minus. They were gaining in offensive edge in surprise and speed, but they would also be more susceptible to attack.

"Everything dies" a voice in his head whispered. He had no suitable reply. "One day death will find you."

"I have hidden from him so far."

"All things die, even the light goes out."

"Yes, but the dark still lingers.....and lives. Who is to say I am the dark and not the light?"

"Ryan, Ryan, there is still light in you, for all your talk."

"No, it's gone....all of it....Nar Shadaa made sure of that."

The voice in his head chuckled, "We shall see, Ryan, we shall see." And then it was gone.

Ryan had paused in putting on his armor during the mental discussion with himself. He now resumed, donning chestplate and grieves, bracers and gloves, leaving the helmet off for a moment now. Korr picked up the 8 gauge he had used on the last mission, it had proved very useful. At his belt hung the customary DC-15s and M4 bull stopper pistols. Ryan picked up a vibro bayonet and attached it to the end of the 8 gauge, he looked at it. Pretty formidable.....not much in the way of shots per second though.....although it didn't really need a high rate of fire anyway, seeing as how just one of the rounds would leave you on the ground with half your upper body missing....or something close to that.

Not that he really needed to worry about the enemy that much, it wasn't like BlackJack ever did. The attitude displayed towards the enemy by BlackJack was contemptful and full of disdain. It carried an arrogance that would one day be fatal, although when that day would be, Ryan didn't know. Some day, the BlackJacks would get themselves into a bad situation because someone just went charging in guns blazing. Some would say Ryan was the epitome of that definition, they didn't know him very well. When Ryan committed to going in guns blazing not only had he thought the entire operation through in his mind, but in his mind it was already done....all that needed doing was the physical. Mind over matter, as they said.

Speaking of minds, Ryan wondered what the blazes was up with the ASL. She was certainly back in the rip and roarin' blackjack mood, but something was a little....off. Her mind perhaps? Korr couldn't pinpoint it...yet. He had a certain gift for reading others, something he had probably learned from his father. Unbeknownst to him, this was also the reason for his half aristocratic bearing...or perhaps because of it, Korr had been trained to be able to act like a holodrama star as well. His emotions could flicker to whatever he wanted them to be. That ability was dulled though, very dulled. The life he had lead and what he had done, witnessed, and let happen changed him in a way that was perhaps, unalterable. In other words, his ship had been lashed down to a path from which it could not course correct.

His train of thought leapt to a different set of rails. Last mission he had been very sloppy, almost stumbled on a battle droid without knowing it. Then there had been the affair with the rebel patrol. If Neil hadn't been there, he would probably have come out of there with more than one wound. Neil Astor had proved quite the help on that last mission. Although Ryan usually saw people as a means to an end, the kid had had a lot of potential. He somehow reminded Ryan of himself, which was ironic. Neil Astor was everything Ryan was not. Neil had ideals and a code of honor. Ryan had a loose flowing mercenary code that he had easily tied in with the stormtrooper oaths. Neil was loyal to the Empire. Ryan was loyal to his paycheck and his friends. Neil fought because he wanted to restore order to the galaxy. Ryan fought because he was payed to do so. Neil was the Ryan that had not seen his father murdered, that had not had to tread the undergrounds of Corellia and Nar Shadaa from a young age, that had not had to deal with the Hutts when he was sixteen, that had not killed ten men by the time he was eighteen, that had not become a ruthless killer by the time he was twenty, that had not lost his soul.

Ryan blinked. He was expecting the voice in his head to come back again. He usually battled with himself when he uttered phrases in his mind like the last one. That had not lost his soul....Ryan was a lost soul. He was a ship that had lost its bearing. He had no home, no family, no country, nothing. Land and family is everything. But that was not himself speaking. That was that other being inside his head. Ryan had friends, he had money.....what else was there? Indeed....that was the question....

Korr's thoughts were interrupted for a moment, by the prompt entrance of the giant whiphid sergeant, Orobos. "Death cometh slowly." Thought Ryan to himself. Orobos was a giant organic death machine, his battle prowess on Arkania attested to that much. What was strange was that the Whiphid was walking with an unsure air, holding a piece of blue paper and looking around a bit indecisively. Ryan recognized the blue form as the paperwork required for their light armor. It was a bunch of legalese that essentially said "If you use our armour and it is destroyed, or lost, the following so and so guarantees that they will repay x amount of credits." Incidentally, Blackjack usually had to fill out more than twice the amount other squads had to of that kind of paperwork. Ryan thought with a bleak trace of something resembling a smile "Now why blackjack would ever have to do a thing like that?"

"Sarge." Ryan gave a slight dip of his head to Orobos as the Whiphid passed him.

"Ah, perfect, can you write?"

Korr's mouth didn't betray a hint of a smile, although something in him remembered what it felt like.

"Yes, sir."

The Whiphid nodded twice. "Good, can you fill this out?"

Korr grabbed the blue form from the Whiphid's hand and stared at it, "Just tell me what to write, sir." He got out a writing utensil and sat down at a nearby table.

OOC:

WC: 1,130

When Garryll departed to go check on the newly acquired climbing gear, or at least Abalar assumed that was the reason for his departure, she was left with the two navy personnel and the Sabacc game. During her previous life as a cantina dancer, she knew the ins and outs of the game, and could even hold her own against a professional. Being an exceptional visual learner, and a woman, Abalar could multitask her job with the intricacies of Sabacc. This went for all cantina games played of course. She even learnt several professional “plays”, only taking a couple practical tries to master it. Secretly, Abalar wanted the boys to ask her to play. She was running low on on-hand credits, and no woman in their right mind would complain about extra spending money.

“Well don’t just stand there looking all awkward Sergeant,” Korvu said, with a big grin. “Feel free to join in. We play with real credits though, wouldn’t want to unfairly sap you of your precious pay.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t,” Abalar said, acting coy. “I’m not very good, and I’m technically on the job.”

When Abalar mentioned the lie of not being very good, both men seemed very eager to rob Abalar of her hard-earned credits, despite Korvu’s assurances.

“Aye, well your whatcha-call-its… troopers aren’t here yet, and your squad leader isn’t present per say. You’ve got no one to tattle-tale on you, and Godby and I won’t tell a sole, will we Godby?

“No sir-ee.”

Abalar sighed, as if they had just convinced her to jump of a bridge first, playing down her willingness to sweep the floor with them. After all, she was just a small little blond medic that didn’t know anything.

Within two minutes, she had lost twenty credits purposefully, to boost their egos and get them to play high stakes with her. Within the following eighteen minutes, she had won two hundred and thirty four credits. She would have sucked them both dry, for neither liked to be beaten by a girl, but the first of her troopers, namely Razorsedge, was arriving.

“Well, I’d love to give you two boys a chance to win back everything, but it seems that not only I have to get back to work. Shouldn’t you two be prepping for our departure now? I would like very much to leave as soon as possible.”

The two men didn’t really have a choice. They picked up on her subtle suggestion to get their butts in gear, and promptly scaled the ramp, making their way to the bridge. She turned to the trooper, quickly pocketing the loose credits. Abalar of course was not in her armour. Long ago, when she was a recruit with Jester, Abalar had learned that it was okay not to wear the stuffy, constraining armour on the trip over, as long as she was readied before their re-entry. Not that it was any discredit to Razor, but Abalar noticed that he was in the full suit, carrying his helmet in the crook of his arm. He noticed her ever studying gaze that currently lay on him, and in response nervously shifted his helmet and weapons with a roll of his shoulders. Abalar held back a smile when she guessed the reason. He thought she was insane. Poor private. She was going to make an effort to sit beside him all the way over to Balmorra. Abalar preferred that he feared her than disrespected her.

“Hello private, I see you’re geared up and ready to go,” Abalar said in a super friendly voice and a huge smile. She of course wasn’t, dressed in her brightly coloured civilian clothes, and weapons no where to be seen. She was going to have to get her labour droid to bring them over for her. Buying that thing was one of the best investments Abalar had made. Her bare cybernetic arm was completely visible as well, which calmed Abalar. She knew she had cheated death recently, so Death wasn’t going to come knocking on her door again any time soon.

“Um, hello ma’am,” Razor said. He was visibly uncomfortable with not only the drastic switch in her personality, but with Abalar in general.

“What did I say about the ma’am business?” Abalar said, never loosing the ecstatic tone to her voice.

“Uh, sorry, it’s just that…”

“Oh, think nothing of it,” she said, cutting him off mid sentence. “Just hurry along and get your things on board. I think we shall be leaving soon.” Still the tone continued and her smile grew even bigger. It was surprising how much fun Abalar was having messing with his head. Poor private.

He quickly scooted along, keeping his head down and avoiding eye contact with the sergeant, and disappeared into the bowels of the Toilet Flush (no pun intended guys). It was then she noticed her labour droid entering the hanger, carrying all of her equipment, and her meddroid trailing behind it. This was going to be her first mission with these two babies on ship, so if there was a medical emergency, the Toilet Flush could just fly them over for her, and crisis solved. The meddroid would be especially useful for haematology and surgeries, as she was unpractised with these two aspects.

“Get everything in its place, BLX-6,” Abalar said to the personable droid. “Including the meddroid.”

“Of course master,” BLX-6 replied, obviously happy that Abalar was calling it by its preferred name.

She shook her head as it disappeared into the Toilet Flush. Only she would have bought a droid second hand that had never had a memory wipe. The droid had a preferred name for goodness sake! It had specifically asked her to call it BLX-6. Only this would happen to her.

When the rest of the troopers had shown up, Abalar boarded the Toilet Flush, wanting to check that every thing and everyone was in its place. The charismatic labour droid had managed to not break anything and, in fact, had neatly stored everyone’s stuff as well. If he were a dog, Abalar would have given him a treat.

“Why thank you BLX-6,” Abalar said.

“Thank you master. May I sit up with everyone else? Oh how I love to look at stars!”

“Only if you promise to look but not talk.”

“I promise I won’t talk.”

“Or make any noise of any variety?”

The labour droid seemed to think this over for a moment.

“Yes master, I promise.”

“Good. Very well BLX-6.”

“Hooray! Thank you oh so very much master! Let me hug you!” the droid said, making toward Abalar at a very slow shamble.

“No! Bad BLX-6!”

“Just one hug? Oh please oh please oh please!”

Abalar immediately booked it out of the hold. Stupid droid. She pitied whoever it came upon next. Thankfully, it was incredibly slow, so everyone would have no trouble out running it. Abalar hoped it snuck up on Corvin, only in a friendly, professional way of course. BLX-6 would not break any bones in the hug, but he did have the odd habit of walking ten meters during the hug, not releasing its victim until it had done so. However, at the BLX speed, this could take up to ten minutes, depending on how much he liked hugging the victim. Abalar headed to the farthest point from the droid, which happened to be the bridge. She figured that her hiding could double as a pre-flight inspection as well.

After finishing with Orobos' paper work, Ryan stuffed on his helmet and headed to the ship. He preferred to wear the armor whenever possible. Wearing armor made you ready to jump into action at any moment. If you left your armor off during the flight, well, anything could happen. The helmet was not as necessary though, but Ryan didn't want his face to be too well known. It added intimidation too. Ryan picked up the brown, knee-length coat he had worn during his days as a merc and threw it on over the light armor, then started towards the ship.

He was right behind the newer recruit, what was his name, Blade, Edge Razor, it was Razor, when Abalar came down the ramp with a huge smile and said a few words in an overly friendly voice. Ryan gave a mirthless grin. Crazy ASL. He nodded to Abalar on his way into the ship.

At his hips were slung twin DE-10 blaster pistols, fitted with a flash and sound suppressors. They were heavily modified. Nuclear powercells gave them the same capabilities as the DC-15s, allowing them to recharge the amount of shots. An optional pistol scope could be attached to each, Ryan declined that modification. Their stopping and range capabilities resembled the renowned Death Hammer pistols. Strapped to his right thigh was a Czerka Flashfire Ion pistol.

The hold was fast filling with BlackJacks now. Ryan noted Garryll and scowled at the man's outfitting. Gates had two pistols and a submachine gun, as well as a black trench coat. The few differences in color, primary weapon, and the fact that Ryan's left holster was cross draw for his right hand didn't matter.....Gates had stolen his blasted outfit.

Ryan looked around. So was Razor.......he snorted and sat down on a bench, closing his eyes and remembering a day long ago, a different time, a different place, a different life...

Three years ago:

The clang and clatter of metal against metal resounded through the large circular arena. Above it hung the ceiling with lights that cast a distinct red glow about the arena. Encircling the room were long viewports of transparasteel that were set high up near the ceiling, while dark walls lined the lower part of the arena. In the center of this circular arena were two figures. One was clearly a human male, dressed in a tight fitting grey shirt, with sleeves that were narrow and tight at the wrists for freer movement of the hands, black vest, black pants, and knee length space-black boots. His brown hair was wet with sweat and stuck to his forehead. Green eyes glared out from beneath a noble brow, burning with a strange tenacious light. Perspiration dripped from a thin, straight nose. A brown, unkempt beard ruined what might have been a regal looking face. In his hands he held a long, slightly curved sword. His arms were bent at the elbows and the blade ran horizontally, parallel to his eye level at head height. It carried a single razor-sharp edge that ended in a wicked-looking tip that was pointed directly at the second figure. This second object shone dully with a gleaming metal carapace. Its entire body was of metal and it held a straight-edged vibrosword in its hands. Red photoreceptors stared out of a skull-like face, looking impassively at its opponent. Clearly a droid. In a sudden flurry of movement, the droid whipped it’s blade in a lightning-quick underhanded stroke at the human. The blade barely seemed to rotated in the human’s hands as rotated his wrists and brought it round in a small counter stroke, stopping the vibrosword in midair.

Ryan Korr, bounty hunter, smuggler, and all around mercenary for hire held the beskad in his hands. He was trying to recall what he had been taught in his brief stay at Mandalore. Although many of the Mandolorians fought with wide sweeping strokes and powerful blows, but Ryan had been trained by a swordsman who fought in quite a different way. Wide powerful strokes could waste energy. They were good for an offensive attack, yes. However, in a defensive position they left you open to a counter-strike. Ryan had been taught that defense was always the most important in a sword fight. An all out offensive would quickly tire you and if you couldn’t break through your opponent’s defenses before you tired, then you wouldn’t last long. What Ryan’s trainer had taught him was to do small, extremely small, counter strokes that would block the attacker’s blade where you wanted it to stop. A strong overhead cut could be stopped by maneuvering your own blade in a small arc, propelled only by your wrists and fingers, to block it in a counter strike. The key was timing. Mistiming would have to consequences of blocking too late or too early and you might find yourself missing a limb or two. Ryan had been out of practice with his blade. Admittedly, he preferred to use blasters. But he had found in his latest encounter that blasters were not always handy. Something he had learned often as not. So here he was, practicing with a blade he hadn’t used in a while. Beskad, strongest stuff in the world, supposedly. It was heavy, but well balanced. It wouldn’t snap in his hands, like some vibroswords could beneath a barrage of offensive blows. The slightly curved edge gave him a unique advantage. In a thrust he could literally turn the curved tip of the blade in a myriad of different directions that could slip around an opponents guard and leave a nasty hole.

“Defense first!” was what his trainer had always said. When facing a new opponent you always wanted to stay on the defense. This gave you the ability to see how good they are, before you went on an offensive attack. It gave you a chance to feel the waters. And it allowed you to tire the opponent out before going on offense. Now though, Ryan faced a predicament. He was facing a droid opponent. One that was on an average setting, but something that was not organic. And therefore, it could not tire. Taking this into account Ryan knew he couldn’t stay on the defense forever.

The clash of blades continued. The droid was still on the offensive, battering away at Ryan’s defense with authority. Overhand. Underhand. Thrust. Backhand. Round-house. Overhand, Overhand, Thrust. Backhand, Underhand, Thrust. Thrust, Backhand, Thrust. It was a veritable barrage of combinations. Korr’s blade rotated in quick semi-circles. It blocked and parried the incoming attacks with a ferocious speed of it’s own. Ryan was careful to keep his arm relaxed. Keeping a stiff arm made the arm absorb the blow and left your entire arm jarred. A relaxed arm and precise counter-swings allowed for the counter-swing to absorb the blow, not your arm.

“One..two..three.......one..two..three.” Ryan’s thoughts flowed along, following the count of the counter-strikes. He tried to keep half his mind on the count and half on his surroundings. The flurry of blows were coming in fast. When the droid gave a straight thrust, front leg coming forward in a stamping motion, Ryan saw his opportunity. All this time he had stood his ground. His legs never moving. Now, he swayed to the side and brought his sword across diagonally, pushing away the blade, while the droid’s foot was still in the air. His body was now facing the droid’s blade and body from the left side. Ryan side stepped towards the droid and brought his blade around in a circular motion towards the droid’s now off-balanced front leg. The machine managed to revert the blade around and block the incoming blade, weakly. With superior momentum and power Ryan’s blade smashed into the vibrosword and then carried both blades into the droid’s leg. As the droid was supposed to emulate a human swordsman, it’s knee buckled and went to the floor, despite the fact that it’s hardened metal knee could have taken much more. Ryan took a step forward and brought himself chest to chest with the droid. Then the pommel of his sword smashed into the droid’s head. It stumbled back. Ryan followed up with a high-low series of sweeping blows. They were powerful and Ryan felt his muscles straining as he swung the blade again and again.

Thrust, thrust, parry, overhead, thrust. With his first thrust he almost touched the droid’s chest. The second curved around to tap the droid in the shoulder. In correspondence with its settings, that shoulder went limp as if Ryan has actually stabbed through it. He parried as the droid tried to swing a cross-cut at his left shoulder that would have cut him from shoulder to hip. He twirled his blade in a smooth arc, stopping the blade in the air. With a sudden movement, Ryan’s right leg was snapping forward and connected with knee he had already battered against. Again, the knee buckled. Ryan went for an overhead at the machine that was now on one knee. It parried with a horizontal block. Korr turned the curved blade around the blocking sword and tapped the droid in the neck. It promptly collapsed. Ryan put his sword point down and leaned against it, breathing hard. He took a look up at the transparasteel and thought he caught a shape, or shapes moving behind it. The door to the arena opened-

Ryan's head snapped up, his eyes open. He was on the ship....waiting. No, not waiting.

"BlackJacks, ten minutes to arrival at destination. Get ready." Gates called back.

Korr checked on all his weaponry, he realized he had left his E-11 back in the hold. He walked towards the door. It hissed open. A labour droid stood in his way.

"Greetings sir."

Ryan grunted an acknowledgment.

"Sir, I said greetings."

"Yeah, whatever."

"My, my, my, someone is in need of a hug!"

"What?" Korr asked, his head turning around as he passed the droid, just in time to catch a glimpse of outstretched arms. "Oh, kriff, get off me!"

"Hug, hug, hug, hug."

"Blast you." Ryan said as the droid set him down at the end of the hallway.

"Have a good day, sir."

"Yeah, kriff you too."

Korr stalked over to the hold, snatched his E-11 and then stormed out, brushing past the labour droid on his way out.

"Sir, do you want another-"

Ryan turned around fast, but how the pistol appeared in his hand, no human would ever know.

"My, my sir....don't you think you are being a tad-"

"No, I've killed more than fifty men."

"Aw, someone needs another hug."

The droid advanced on him. Ryan gave the thing a shove and it smacked into the wall.

"Sir!" cried the outraged droid.

Ryan stalked into the area where all the BlackJacks were gathered. Ryan turned to Abalar.

"I'm filing harassment on your droid...and assault.."

Gates cry of, "Get Ready BlackJacks!" drowned out Abalar's response.

Ryan Korr, alias Specter turned to the mission at hand. He twirled his pistol and holstered it, checked his E-11, then stepped up to the boarding ramp.

OOC:

WC: 1,872

They looked odd not in red. The patchwork colors of their combat jackets, trench coats and light body armor was less obvious as they loped across the flat plain of Balmorra. Each soldier was a Stormtrooper, and the punishing pace they set wasn't too taxing for men and women who had run ten-K's in Basic as a morning workup.

The night sky's stars weren't particularly bright, and the night-vision view through the tiny HUD attached to his helmet's upper lip bounced crazily. His helmet was extremely low-tech and its only concession was that it was largely open; a short blast shield lowered to the bridge of his nose, and the HUD played along its inside.

Blackjack marched, in a long, broken line that was commonplace on beach invasions or other assaults on fixed positions - close enough to provide covering fire, far enough apart to avoid a mortar or grenade from killing all of them. They were breathing heavily, their breath hot enough to mist in the cool night air and follow them like short tails.

"Remind me...again," Corvin huffed into his comlink. "Why...we can't...have just dropped in closer?"

"Because," Abalar replied. "This is the...mechanized capital of the galaxy. Do you honestly...believe they wouldn't have...any sensors for infiltrations?"

"Yes! Because that would make it easier!" someone else sputtered.

"Cut the chatter, boys," Garryll said, working hard not to spit the words out without a pause. "We're almost there. Hand signals from now on, use the comms only within ten feet."

The Elite Stormtroopers of Wildcard's Blackjack squad lapsed into silence. Ahead, the plain was split in half by a thin canyon; they were approaching it side-on, so it extended for miles in either direction, a massive hole in the ground. They slowed their pace to a brisk walk, but began to come closer together, and crouched half-over to minimize their profiles. Gates' trench coat slapped against the back of his shins, yet another reminder that they were not on a Blackjack special - i.e., a mission where there were a plethora of explosives, RPGs, tanks, chainguns and screaming charges - and instead, were on some covert mission that Abalar had signed them up for.

Silently, he shook his head. Didn't matter if they were out of their element; they'd get it done. Change of pace was always good, and this type of mission would keep you on your toes. All at once, they were upon the canyon.

It was still very dark, and a harsh wind blew across the featureless terrain. The canyon wasn't too deep; about two hundred meters. On the wall of the canyon below them, the entrance to the massive battle droid factory hummed. It was moderately well-lit.

"Alright," Gates whispered into the comlink, each of the Blackjacks leaning over the edge to peer at the construction at its center, "Get the climbing gear out. This won't be too hard of a climb, but you fall, you're dead as Vader."

Wordlessly, the Blackjacks pulled their climbing harness and standard-issue climbing gear from a backpack. It was rather low-tech, but the set of tools and ropes had stood the test of time; thick, strong ropes, battery-powered grapples that would open or close based on if you wanted to attach or detach it from the wall, and the harnesses themselves. Gates ditched the now-empty backpack, and pulled the harness on. It was rather uncomfortable, and was snug in some unpleasant places. The other Stormtroopers followed his lead, pulling on the simple cloth devices.

The ropes looped into one of the three hooks on the harness, and the top was tied to the grapple. After a few quick tugs, Gates was sure of the device's stability, and stuck the grapple, point first, into the rocks at the top of the canyon wall. A press of a button later, and the grapple's prongs opened up, securing it against movement. He tugged it a few times to make certain it was secure. Ranged across the lip, the other soldiers secured their own gear and mentally prepared themselves for a harrowing bit of climbing.

"Alright Blackjacks, let's get down there proper," Gates whispered into the comlink. "Try not to fall."

With that last nugget of wisdom, he walked backwards off the canyon lip, and began the climb down.

Blackjack had learned the lessons of Basic well; disciplined, quiet descent; no loose metallic gear to make all-too-audible "pinging" noises, little loose rock disturbed, and no radio chatter. There was, of course, the whispered curses of adrenaline-high troopers in a dangerous combat situation. The further they dropped into the canyon, the darker it got, the few, scattered stars in the blackened sky being blocked by the lip of the canyon.

Corvin was right next to Gates, removed from his usual position on point for the simple reason that he had more guts than sense; Specter had dropped down first, fast-roping down to drop onto the top of the facility, its surface jutting out from the side of the canyon. At its front gates - a bold, twenty-meter across doorway - the way was well-lit, and several of the older Balmorran droid-series were patrolling. The only sentient being was in a little booth, inside the light-metal fence. The wily PSC flashed a tiny pen light up at the descending Blackjacks. Three times in a one-second span, the signal for "all clear."

Gates pumped his fist up and down, once. At that signal, the Blackjacks dropped down at a quicker pace, jumping off the rocks and moving as quickly as possible while still retaining some semblance of silence. In record time, they were all boots on the ground. Abalar waved her hand, index finger up - spread out and stay quiet. Abalar walked bent-over to minimize her already small silhouette, and soon, Blackjack's officers were kneeling next to one another, speaking face-to-face in undertones.

"Looks clear," Gates said, poking his head carefully over the raised lip of the building's roof. The lights were bright enough to blind his NVG's, so he clicked the HUD icon to deactivate them. A dozen droids, a mixed bag of SD-1's to -3's, all older, stupider models than the behemoths that Intelligence suggested the Balmorrans were making prototypes of. "Take the guard, make him let us in, motivate him not to sound the alarm, and then we're golden."

"This gets hairy," Abalar cautioned. "And the whole mission is shot. I don't know about you, but I don't have a spare turbolaser in my back pocket if the shit all hits the fan, and they start sending more modern SD-series after us."

As they considered how they would sneak up on the guard and get inside, Corvin crept up to them. "Boss, there's a maintenance hatch or something over here. Could be a way in?"

"That solves that problem nicely," Gates muttered. He and Abalar moved over to the hatch. Orobos, the squad's combat engineer, was scanning the hatch with a small device.

"No active signatures, sirs," he rumbled. "There are no electrical devices guarding this hatch. Should be easy enough to open."

At Gates' nod, he produced a small hand-held blowtorch and set to work on the hatch's small lock. A few seconds' work burned it away, and the Whipid Stormtrooper pulled the half-melted lock off, and lifted the hatch, revealing darkness. Gates racked a round into his SMG and flipped his NVG's back on, revealing a ladder in the grainy, greenish glow of night vision.

"Who wants to go first?"

Corvin raised his hand. Gates gestured at the ladder, and the reckless Corporal slid right down. A few seconds' wait, and Corvin was flashing the tiny penlight he'd borrowed from Specter back up - again, three times in quick succession. Gates slid down next, the smooth metal sliding easily underneath his combat gloves. He reached the bottom, and moved out of the way for the next Blackjack.

The room they'd dropped into wasn't particularly large, but it did had several doors. Abalar slid down a few seconds later, and held up a datapad. Its surface was illuminated and it showed a map of the facility, based on previously toured Balmorran battle droid factories.

"There's a major security station right here," Gates whispered into their short-range comlink. "Right turn, twenty meters, left turn, five meters, right turn. Security station should be two men, no battle droids."

He licked his lips. "Deadly force authorized."

OOC:

Alright, here's the post. Not the longest ever, but, gets to the point. We'll be moving to the security station (a relatively small room with two security guards inside. It will have access to a large portion of the facility. We'll get there, kill the guards, and use the station to search for our contact. We can also tap into the communication hub and contact our ship, thereby figuring out a reason why we're going to have to scrub the mission and GTFO.

If there are any questions, PM me, and I'll get back to you as quickly as I can.