The crystalline world of Agea; a shining blue gem in the void of space. Someone had once taken the time to calculate the total wealth encrusted in the many miles of crystal formations that covered the planets surface. The number had been very large. The planet had gone relatively unnoticed, in the years since The Republic had been mining stations had been active there had only been one minor and brief skirmish. Pirates, happening across the station made an ill-planned attack on the station. Blaster fire had refracted throughout the crystalline formations and the attack had quickly turned to a massacre.

The Surface: 10 km South East of Zeta Mining Station

“This is ARC squad Fury, reporting to battle group Sift”

“We have you on secure channel, continue report,”

“We have eyes on approach path to Republic mining station. Element of surprise appears to be lost. We’re seeing maybe ten platoons, repeat that is approximately Four-Zero-Zero in number, enemy troops. Enemy soldiers appear to be using mining tools to create defensive trenches across the width of the plains.”

“Understood, the south west canyon?”

“Our men there report little movement, Republic forces have decided to commit most forces to most open attack path. The canyon path is tricky, on foot it closes down to as little as three metres if the overhead shots did show turrets that route will be a death trap,”

“Thank you ARC leader. Orders coming in now. Full attack commencing, go to ground and await further instruction,”

“Understood.”

VSD Dominion

The Star Destroyer popped into real space directly above Agea, no pretence of stealth was attempted; the scouts had confirmed the mining base was aware of the immanent attack. Flanked on both sides by naval support ships, it moved into low orbit.

“All blasters are to be left behind, this is an order! Anyone carrying a blaster will go to the brig!” On the open docking bays NCOs were busy shouting orders at the troops filing onto the shuttles.

“If you do not have you assault rifle or submachine gun and ammunition get out of line!” screamed another sergeant. As the troopers filed into the bay they were handed their weaponry and lining up for their shuttle. “Remember you have one clip each of explosive rounds for dealing with armor.  Do not fire these on full auto you will lose your damn arms!”

On the gantry above the bay Major Raziel and Lieutenant Havock watched as their elite SCOPE platoon joined the forces assembled. “There goes another one,” Havock said, referring to another shuttle departing.

“How are we looking?” Raziel asked.

“AT-ATs have landed on the crystal plains; as soon as we have enough men down there we’ll start the attack. They’ve put the shield up as expected but so far no fire aimed at the shuttles,”

“Any word on reinforcements?”

“None, but they can’t be far away. Command believes we should take the base by nightfall.”

“So Blackjack stepped up for the canyon run?”

“Indeed they did. The red armour might be going to their heads. If they can get through they could really do some damage,”

“That’s true, you be careful in those mine shafts. It could turn really nasty down there!”

“Of course, if it gets too hot we’ll pull back. At the very least we’ll draw some men away from the perimeter and good luck with whatever you’re up to!”

“I’ll be down on the surface shortly. I feel I’m going to be needed soon, good luck.”


The Crystal Plains 13 km south east of base

The four AT-ATs begain their slow march towards the base, their blaster cannons had been refitted with twin vilcan chain cannons. The stormtroopers, armed with assault rifles, spread out in the region fifty metres ahead of the walkers. As they began their approach on the New Republic defensive line a small group of red clad SCOPE troopers set off on speeder bikes to the west, another took an LAAT to the north east.


http://www.nottingham.ac.uk/~ppxrr/crystal.png
Look at this link for map and overview^^

OOC:

Here’s the deal: The New Republic mining station is nestled in the crystalline formations (the size of mountain ranges) It’s well defended by turrets and the main approach is across the relatively flat crystal plains to the south west. The Republic troops (numbering in the hundreds) have used laser mining tools to gouge out a series of trenches across the width of the plains (~1km)

WRAITH SQUAD: You will be with the main regiment of soldiers (~1000 regular stormtroopers) moving with the main attack force across the plains. The foot soldiers will be moving ahead of the four AT-ATs and two AT-STs in an attempt to smash the Republic lines. The armor will provide heavy firepower, but you will need to clear the trenches and take out any hidden enemy firing position. Threats to our walkers are considered a priority.

RAIDERS: An LAAT will take you to rendezvous with ARC troopers who have been scouting the planet for a few days. They have found an entrance to the Republic mining shafts that run deep below the main station. You will lead several squad of commandos and using silenced submachine guns (the silencing is purely so you aren’t deafened by the noise) attempt to gain access to the Republic base. Miners may attack you with cutting lasers and machinery rather than retreating. Some corridors will be very cramped choke points, though you may also encounter vast excavations. Your main goal is to cause confusion and draw men away from the surface defences.

BLACKJACK: You have the crazy mission. There is a canyon in the crystal formations to the south west of the base. At times it narrows down to only a few metres and the terrain is treacherous. You will make a run down the canyon on speeder bikes. If you can make it past Republic firing positions your goal is to swing around and make a run at the Republic’s defensive lines from behind.

EQUIPMENT: On the surface assault rifles. You each have only clip of hi tech rounds fitted with micro explosives for dealing with armor, the rest is regular 7.62mm. Standard SCOPE armour (no temperature problems this HSC!) No Blasters!!

WARNING: There is a jedi padawan of the new praxium on the planet investigating crystals. You may see him in action later on in the story, but you are not to engage him at any time!!

START: I want one post from each squad leader to get their squads orientated BEFORE anyone else in their squad posts please!

OOC:

Blackjack

War is crazy, mused Garryll Gates, SCOPE’s Elite Blackjack Squad Leader. Aloud, however; “So here’s the plan, boys and girls.”

‘Girls’ was actually literally plural this time; there was actually more than one female in the lot this time around, and the squad was newer, better and ready to kick ass.

The assembled Blackjacks looked up from fiddling with their assault rifles, as did the scout trooper squads that were forming the rest of this crazy backdoor sneak. “We’ll be riding these death machines down this narrow, claustrophobic valley, fight our way through the Republic rear guard placed to defend this route, and then slice into the rear units of them.”

There were a few ‘hoo-ahs’ and other sounds of general agreement. “Now, Command has also issued these rifles-” he gestured with one of the standard issue 7.62mm assault rifles, larger and bulkier than the standard E-45’s or E-11’s- “for a reason. Lasers ain’t good for this rock. Or something. Who the heck knows? These things sound better anyway.”

A few more chuckles. Gates continued. “And this is the food of these weapons. Seven-point-six-two millimeter rounds, full metal jacket. Your rifle’ll fire one o’ these lil’ babies at 853 meters per second. That’s hella fast, in other words. It’ll cut through flesh like it’s butter, and it’s a lot less pretty than a laser. Hurts a lot more, too, and you WILL bleed out if you get hit by one.”

He slid the round back into the clip he’d taken it from and removed another, marked with a red cross. “And this is our spec load for the day, gents. Micro-explosive tech rounds. They’ll put a hole in body armor big as your fist. But they’re expensive. That’s why you only get thirty, and pick your darn targets. I don’t want one of these on a beeline for me.”

Crackling on a Scout trooper sergeant’s comm-pack alerted Gates. The man nodded at him.

“Alright, mount up.” He suited action to words and climbed onboard his hovering speeder bike. Around him, the Blackjacks and scout troopers did the same. Gates kicked his speeder bike’s throttle, and shot into the valley.

OOC:

Head for the objective, read Raziel's notes on the environment.

OOC:

RAIDERS

‘Why does he always feel the need to talk to me? You have almost killed him and he still tries to engage with you more than anyone else, it just beggars belief. Though maybe if you just keep quiet he will forget about you and annoy Havock...’ As usual Karash’s inner voice was complaining, on this occasion it was about Grahim. ‘... And don’t even start with me about Havock! She almost got us all killed, not to mention the stupidity of dragging that poor fool along with us ...’ Karash looked in Brights direction and got the same uncomfortable feeling he did at the start of every RAIDERS mission. ‘...Speaking of fools, it is good see we have been lumped in with the commando’s and ARC troopers; they will provide excellent cannon fodder when things go wrong and thing will go wrong, they always do’. 

“You heard the man, keep moving we are almost there.” Havock spoke referencing the ARC commander, whose words Karash had not heard.

‘Oh goodie we will get to go underground on a see-through planet, who the hell came up with that? They will see us; we will get caught in a pincer movement and then it will be you who ends up doing extra work, that is if we don’t all die. This is a ridiculous looking planet and they are ridiculous looking people.’ Karash looked around and saw a rather motley looking group that would surely all die, at least they all would if the RAIDERS had anything had to do with anything.

“I see you are your usual happy self.” The RAIDERS ASL, Skarr, attempted to joke with Karash.

“Yes I am a little sparkling crystal, same as always; if you will pardon the pun.” The sarcasm oozed from his voice.

“Knock it off you two, this is where things get interesting.” Havock looked over to the entrance of the tunnels.

“Interesting would be one word for it.” Karash spoke in a whisper.

She was right, they had reached the entrance to the mines, and they looked strangely welcoming. Though Karash was sure that the feeling would not last long... nothing ever did last long when it came to the RAIDERS.

OOC:

Blackjack

Right now, Corvin reflected, he could see why some troopers joined the scout divisions. Gripping the handlebars with both gloved hands, the Blackjack trooper was just behind Garryll at the lead of the speeder formation.

It had been a long time since IOT, but he still remembered the general piloting course with the 74-Z. Stabilizer controls were here, altitude pedals were there, and cannon triggers under the thumbs. This speeder wasn't all that different from the training 74, with only a few environment adaptions, the armament, and a lot less service separating the two.

His helmet display was a blur of light and colour, the visor catching reflected light from the walls, and readouts from the bike scrolling across the bottom. The world was a kaleidoscope of constantly-shifting colours, the other Blackjacks red-grey outlines in his peripheral vision. His helmet sensors told him the other scout lances were directly behind them, fanning into two lines and pressed almost steering vane to bumper.

Jagged crystals jutted out from the walls at sharp angles, some of the tips just inches away from his bike's sides. The wind shrieked past Corvin, tugging at his bodyglove and holsters.

"Stay sharp, Blackjacks. Keep in double-line formation." Garryll ordered over the com, his voice warped and laced with static despite being less than three feet away at the front of the formation. "Scout squads, report."

"Sergeant Gris here. Sidewinders are sharp...ready for action."

Corvin winced as the com interference got worse, and dialed down the device's volume.

"Gryphons reporting as ordered." came a second voice, calm and with the clipped tones of a Core World native. It sounded slightly strange to Corvin, who was more used to the twang of Outer Rim accents. "Ready and willing."

"Good to hear it." Garryll said, a distracted note in his voice. "Watch your altitude, and the walls. Those pretty crystals are plenty sharp."

The two scout leaders responded with affirmatives, and Corvin saw their bike groups press inwards.

Garryll closed the group channel with a click, and switched to the squad frequency.

"How're we doing, Blackjacks?"

"Holding up, sir." Corvin grinned, tightening his grip on the handlebars. "Think I'm getting the hang of flying this thing."

"Well, keep yo- mind the gap!" Garryll yelled, abruptly switching back to the group channel. Sure enough, up ahead the crystal-studded canyon floor abruptly descended into a seemingly-bottomless chasm before resuming  a dozen meters later.

Corvin swore, then stomped down on the repulsorpedal. There was a shudder, one awful moment of doubt, and then his bike shot up at an angle, it's high-pitched whine dopplering and stretching out as he flew over the gap.

Corvin braced as he pulled back on the bike's handlebars, leveling out a few meters shy of the canyon's top. Light played across his armour, bouncing off at strange angles. Everything up here was tinted a sickly blue, and Corvin swore that he could feel the sun even through his armour. Then he relaxed his grip on the pedal, and the bike dropped back to the canyon floor.

"Mind the gap." Corvin said, more to himself than to the squad. "Mind the frakking gap indeed."

The last Blackjacks swooped into position, sending up sparkling clouds of crystal dust on touchdown, with the s cout squads following. The biker specialists landed much easier, their speeders coming down in a smooth glide. One even waved, taking one hand from the guide bars to do so.

"Smug frakkers." Corvin grumbled over the squad channels.

"Let it go." Saphira Striker, the squad's new ASL, advised. Corvin wasn't sure how he felt about her yet, or the other newcomers. He'd crossed paths with most of them, but they weren't Blackjacks, not yet, no matter what Command said. "We've got a job to do."

"Ma'am." Corvin said shortly, pushing slightly harder on the accelerator. His bike coughed, stuttered, and then shot forwards.

The bike squads flew on, leaving glinting clouds in their wake.

OOC:

Wraith Squad

The leap frog up to the trench was relatively smooth until the last few meters. Once the Wraiths were that close, covering fire became spotty at best as not many troopers would fire on enemy positions so close to friendlies. This gave the enemy soldiers manning the trench the opportunity to lay down suppressing fire of their own, and at such close range the chances of Jegora getting shot were greatly increased. And so, his highly analytical brain whirring, Jegora decided that the best course of action would be to make Hond go first.

This close to the enemy position Jegora could see that the ‘trench’ they were trying to storm was more fortified than they had originally anticipated. Instead of just a channel cut in the ground, there was a slight rise in the crystalline surface followed by a three foot vertical lip. It provided perfect cover for the New Republic defenders, and it would be extremely difficult to mount the lip of the trench without presenting the perfect target to any other enemy combatants standing post along the edge. It was a suicide mission, and right then Jegora felt inclined to tell his superiors as much.

“Team three is set at the base of the trench,” Jegora began to report over his comlink. “But I don’t think this—”

He never got the chance to finish. Just ahead of him, only three meters or so away, the heads of three enemy soldiers appeared just above the trench’s lip…followed shortly thereafter by three matching rifle barrels. Next to him Hond growled a curse, and as one both the Stormtroopers scrambled for weapons. Time seemed to slow as Jegora tried to bring his bulky assault rifle to bear on the tangos, and he instinctively knew that there was no way he could kill all three before they could kill him. As he watched the enemy troopers raise their rifles to their shoulders, he knew that death was simply inevitable.

Hond was still swearing next to him, still scrambling. Jegora was still moving as well, despite his apparent and imminent demise. And then, out of nowhere, the entire section of trench containing the immediate threat exploded. Jegora had no other words for it. The crystalline lip shattered, showering the two stormtroopers with debris. And then, even through his helmet’s sonic filters, he heard the shrill whine of high-velocity rounds. As he hugged the ground, Jegora understood on some level that the AT-ATs had opened fire on the trench, but all he was really concerned with at that point was surviving.

Finally the relentless fire from the AT-ATs abated, and Jegora’s senses returned in a rush. The lip was gone, the immediate enemy threat neutralized, and Hond and Jegora were still alive.

“You have GOT TO BE SHITTING ME!” Hond was screaming into his helmet, the noise only partially dampened by Jegora’s own filters. “That could have bloody killed us!”

Jegora agreed one hundred percent, but he would never let the convict know that. He had other things on his mind, anyways. Now was the perfect opportunity to storm the trench.

Grabbing Hond by the shoulder, Jegora used a massive hand to shove the half-breed forwards towards the newly-made opening. “MOVE!” he shouted, and then took his own advice.

Bloody hell I hope the others are following, Jegora thought to himself as he crossed the threshold of the trench. After that there was no time for thought, and reason fled. Hond summed up the situation well as the pair entered the trench, right before the shooting started.

“Holy shit.”

OOC:

Wraith

Baptiste  rushes to the trenches with Team Two as Jegora and Hond were finishing off some Rebels. He shoulders his rifle, aiming down the sights, looking for anymore targets. He goes up to Jegora, lowering his rifle to the ground.

“Sir, the AT-ATs are half way to their mark, they are providing support fire where they can. The others are coming up behind me,” Baptiste says to Jegora.

“Good, means more of them die and less of us. Still have to keep pushing forward,” Jegora says.

Baptiste just nods because he was looking behind Jegora as he saw movement. Quickly bringing his rifle up, he side steps around Jegora and fires a single shot into the Rebel’s head. The Rebel was hiding among the bodies of his fellow comrades.

Such a coward and no honor to shoot someone in the back.

He looks back as Hond joins them and nods a greeting to him. Baptiste didn’t really like to say more then needed so he kept things simple. Being a Zabraki, his mind was only set on killing the rebels and taking the trenches.

He walked over to other side of the trench and peeked over a little as bullets flew past him. He spotted an artillery guns and a heavily guarded bunker.

We have to take that bunker and gun out could do some damage to the AT-ATs.

He turns back to Jegora to inform him that there was a priority target ahead.

“Sir, we got an Artillery gun and bunker a few kilometers away. How should we approach?” Baptiste watches his movements as he goes and assesses the situation his self. He seems to be taking in every possibility.

Even though I’m was freshly new to the squad I will to make my mark in it. He felt that Jegora was the type of person he could work with. He didn’t know much of Hond since this was their first mission together, but they were on the same team. He will wait and see how Hond can be of help.

It happened in the space of a moment.

There was a flash, a momentary crackle, and a sudden tang of ozone. One of the Gryphons slumped over onto his bike's controls, his chestplate and torso burned away.

"Cont-" Corvin started, only to be silenced by a shriek of metal. The now-unmanned bike had swerved alarmingly, slamming into its Sidewinder counterpart. Sparks flew everywhere as steering vanes scraped into each other, the Sidewinder pilot clinging grimly to his handlebars as he struggled to keep his bike under control.

"Trent!" Sergeant Gris yelled into the com. "Keep her steady!"

The Sidewinder pilot just clicked his com, his bike trailing sparks as stray crystals nicked its sides. The unmanned bike was forcing him down towards the ground, the now-deceased Gryphon's body pushing down on his own bike's right handle. Trent's bike had never been designed to support the weight of another speeder, and it was all the scout could do to keep the bike from crashing.

Another particle beam lanced by, missing Garryll by inches and shattering a crystal outcropping directly behind him. Corvin hissed in pain as stray fragments flew into his bodyglove, pinging off his armour plates and the bike's sides.

"What the frak?" the trooper swore, flipping off the safeties on his bike chaingun with one hand. The shriek of stressed metal from the connected bikes intensified as another bolt burned into the  canyon wall. "Those aren't lasers!"

Corvin could see the enemy. There were three of them, hundreds of meters ahead, wearing environment suits and repulsorpacks. Two were toting long-barreled, curious rifles while the third was frantically fiddling with a com-device.

"Disruptor rifles." Garryll said grimly. "Jammers, now!"

Corvin quickly moved one hand, flipping the switch in the middle of the bike's panel. Near the middle of the convoy, Trent's bike was starting to wobble, its control vanes groaning as they started to bend under the weight. Less than a meter away on both sides, his squadmates watched helplessly. The dead Gryphon was blocking any of the others from intervening, and any impact on the locked bikes would send them both spiraling out of control and into a wall.

Another shot flew past, barely missing the Gryphon's sergeant. The Republic snipers' aim was improving.

"Corvin, Striker." Garryll barked. "Your bikes have launchers?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yeah." the ASL responded through gritted teeth, glancing back at the damaged bikes.

"Fire on my mark, then trigger boosters. Rest of you, jump on my order. Got it!"

The rebels were less than a dozen meters away now, their shots skimming the troopers every time now. In moments, they'd hit somewhere vital on a bike, and in the tight corners of the canyon, it'd take others with it.

Corvin felt a shot sear into his shoulderpad, burning a long line into the armourplast coating and charring the skin underneath. It felt like someone had dragged a hot coal over his arm.

"Now!"

Corvin sighted, jerked his bike's nose up, then fired. The bike shuddered as both mounted launchers triggered, and it was all the Blackjack could do to stop it from flipping over. Saphira fired a moment later, and then the two Blackjacks flew up and over the sniper nest.

The grenades landed squarely in the middle of the group, riddling them with shrapnel and crystal shards. The bodies that fell from the outcropping and onto the jagged floor was barely recognizable as humanoid.

By then, the rest of the squads had also triggered their bikes' repulsors. The dozen speeders soared up and over the stricken pair, giving Trent the space he needed to break free.

The Sidewinder pilot jerked back on his bike's throttle, pulling it free with a shriek of metal as it shot back in a shower of sparks. The Gryphon's bike, now unimpeded, jerked forwards, flew end over end as it scrapped against a crystal formation, and exploded into a fireball and shower of crystal shards.

"You alright, Trent?" Gris asked, bringing his bike back down carefully. The other bikers followed, speeding down the canyon. Behind them, the wreckage of the Gryphon bike was smoldering merrily, throwing up sparks and smoke.

"A'ok, sir. Can't say the same for Cardinal though."

"He knew the risks." the Gryphon sergeant said, voice terse and controlled. "Status?"

"Seems we managed to block them before they could call it in," Garryll responded. "Better hurry up though. Won't take long for them to figure out something's awry. Full speed, Blackjack, and watch for more snipers."

"Boss," Corvin said into the private com. "You know they'll have set up in force, in case we pull something like this?"

"Yep," the Squad Leader said, tone cheerful. "Matter of fact, I'm counting on it."

"Really?"

"No, just always wanted to say that. We're Blackjack; we'll just smash through them. Keep watching."

Corvin pressed down on the accelerator pedal. The force was getting closer to the canyon mouth. It wouldn't be long now.

OOC:

Wraith

Chaos. It was the only way to describe it. Absolute utter chaos. Bullets were flying in all directions. Men clutched gaping stomachs where they have been disembowelled by misfired armour-piercing rounds, gazing in shock at their stump of a leg from where it had been blown off. Crawling along the ground were soldiers, half-dead, determined to avenge themselves and their brothers. And yet Wraith Squad fought fiercely through, unfaltering, their resolve still strong and all major appendages soundly intact.

Talohn was not used to warfare of this scale. He had participated in raids, yes. Small battles, likewise. But not a full-scale battlefield. He was unsure of himself. Hond, on the other hand, was revelling in the carnage. A wide snarl etched across his face, he darted from soldier to soldier, stabbing and shooting and killing. Jegora Fal was quite the opposite from either of them. Instead of disconcerted, he was focused. Instead of bloodthirsty, he was quite calm. The Cathar, Mai, seemed to be much the same.

Talohn focused. This was no time for morals or doubt. This was a time for doing what must be done. And if that means charging into a trench filled to the brim with tangos, then it must be done, he mused.

Another soldier charged through, tackling Talohn and sending them both sprawling onto the ground. The soldier grinned madly and whipped a knife from his belt, bringing it down upon Talohn's chest with both hands, safety and security abandoned in the bout of insanity. Talohn quickly grabbed his hands to stop the fatal thrust but the power behind the attack was strong enough to add a small cut to Talohn's collection. The soldier snarled. He raised his hands up again, but a sharp jab to the chin quickly knocked him off balance, allowing Talohn to draw a knife of his own. He thrust it upwards blindly. His aim was true and the knife buried itself into the man's exposed throat. Blood spurted wildly onto Talohn's face and the man shuddered and - as life left him - went limp, crushing Talohn with his weight. With a groan, he heaved the man's lifeless body off.

As he got up, he realised that Wraith had breached through the line of New Republicans and they had continued on. Few soldiers of the Republic were left and the troopers were finishing them off. Talohn saw a man huddled in the corner, cowering fearfully. Talohn raised his weapon.

"Please don't!" The man pleaded, dropping to his knees.

Talohn pressed the rifle to his head.

"I have a wife! A child!"

Talohn frowned. Despite his loyalty to the Empire, he could not pull the trigger. Despite everything he had said about morals, he could not do it.

This man could be me, he thought softly.

Don't be foolish. You've been through much more than him. He would have broken long ago, another, darker voice said to him.

How can you be sure?

He's cowering in a corner, said the voice matter-of-factly.

Talohn grunted. The voice was right. The man was a coward. He deserves to die. His comrades were getting slaughtered and he was huddling in a corner. How would he defend his family if he did nothing?

A flurry of rage flew through Talohn. He pulled the trigger and the man's head seemed to explode in a burst of blood. He pulled the trigger again. And again. And again. Yet the fury would not be quenched. He charged around the trench, putting a bullet in every writhing body, every crawling cripple. It was only when his clip emptied that the dark rage inside him disappeared. He stood in the centre of the mass of bodies, chest heaving and heart thumping.

He cast the disapproval emanating from nearly every part of his brain from his mind and decided to catch up with the squad.

OOC:

Blackjack

“New Republic troops in between their objective. They know we’re coming,” said one of the scouts, then emphasized his statement with a mocking whistle.

“No problem,” Corvin said, pounding his fist into his opposite hand. “Take ‘em from the sides and wipe ‘em off the face of the planet.”

“Right. We’ll break it into three plays,” Gates said. “Striker, you take the left flank; take Madman and a couple of the Scouts. Tanus, you take the other route, take Corvin and a couple more. I’ll lead the strike up the middle. Middle attack will go off first, flanks go ‘round and slice’n’dice. Half on foot, rest on bikes, harassing. Questions? No - good. Let’s get this done.”

The selected troopers took their pick of men and started to make their way up the valley walls. Gates looked at the rest of the troopers, and waved at the senior scouts to choose who’d be riding and who’d be walking.

A minute later, the teams moved out. “Give them a minute to get into position.”

Precious seconds passed. The faint sound of gunfire and explosions rattled across the valley; the main offensive was gaining steam, by the sound of it. “Striker in position.”

“Tanus in position.”

“Good. We’re moving. Let’s go,” Gates said. Scout troopers and the remaining Blackjacks moved up along the valley walls, guns ready. The scouts still on their bikes were idling back a bit. “Stack up.”

Guns were checked once more. “Go.”

The Stormtroopers and scouts stormed around the corner, rifles tracking for targets, finding them, and then opening up. The New Republic troopers were surprised, and dove for cover, returning fire blindly. A few were slow trying for cover, and fell, screaming, grasping at bloody craters in their torsos. Gates slid behind a rock. A Scout trooper stumbled next to Gates, swearing his face off.

“Oh shit, sonova! - oh. Sir,” the man said.
“Carry on, trooper. You trained with that ‘nade launcher?” Gates asked.

“Yessir,” the man said, then balanced his rifle on top of the rock. A second later, a heavy “thump” sound boomed from the rifle, and a grenade flew up into the rocks. Gunfire started coming down thicker as the explosion threw a few men off the wall.

“Be r-e-e-e-al nice if we could get some fire off us,” Gates said calmly, poking his rifle over the rock and rattling a few rounds up-range. Hell, I hope this bull-headed plan doesn’t bit me in the ass

OOC:

Wraith Squad

“KEEP MOVING!” came the cry from various sources throughout the trench. “DO NOT STOP MOVING!”

Jegora had every intention of doing just that. He had been in a lot of firefights in his time, but never one as bloody and as fierce, as primal, as the one he found himself in now. He had slung his assault rifle over his back long ago, abandoning it for his sidearm. The M-4 “Bullstopper” pistol lacked the range and accuracy of his rifle, but it more than made up for it in terms of sheer stopping power and mobility. And at that particular moment, Jegora didn’t have the time to worry about whether or not any of the enemy soldiers he had shot were actually dead. In the end, he decided it didn’t matter if they were dead or not, as long as they stayed down. If nothing else, the Bullstopper surely accomplished that.

Moving along the ledge, Jegora somehow ended up on point. He was the first Stormtrooper that the Republic soldiers saw, very often the first one they shot at. His instincts kept him alive though, letting him know when to duck, roll, sidestep, etc. To the casual observer it would have appeared as luck, but Jegora knew differently. These were expertly honed combat instincts, reflexes and drives that had been finely tuned over years of military service and advanced training. Jegora Fal was at the peak of his game, both physically and mentally, but all the same he had to wonder when it would all come crashing down around him. No one could perform at such an elite level for an indefinite amount of time, no matter their training or skillset. It just wasn’t possible.

Throughout the entire process of raiding the trench, the stormtroopers never stopped moving forward. To stop was to die, and if the enemy troopers were given any kind of chance to mount a counter attack against the invaders then they would most certainly be overwhelmed. All the same, the New Republic soldiers were kept off balance by the brutal attack, stunned into inaction by the ferocious onslaught of the infamous White Terror. Glancing around at the carnage they were wrecking, Jegora had to agree with the Corps’ oldest nickname; White Terror indeed.

Sidestepping a clumsy knife lunge from a desperate New Republic soldier just in front of him, Jegora brought the butt of his pistol down hard on the man’s elbow. He heard bones break, and judging from the enemy soldier’s scream it was no hairline fracture. Jegora didn’t let the man suffer for long, though. In one smooth motion he brought his armored foot around and smashed it into the man’s knee, shattering that joint as well. The man fell to the ground, limp, and Jegora promptly raised his sidearm and put a single .45 caliber jacketed hollow point through the man’s skull. His groans of pain were silenced instantly, but Jegora was already moving on to his next victim.

He was dispatching another poor enemy soldier when he saw what he had been waiting for: a heavy weapons nest, only ten meters or so ahead. It was roaring anti-armour fire across the crystalline plains towards the Vast Empire walkers, and it was heavily guarded.

“Mai, gun position, ten meters ahead,” he intoned over the squad radio, his voice devoid of all emotion.

There was a slight pause before his squad leader answered. “I see it,” the cathar responded. “Marka?”

Jegora saw the assistant squad leader nod over on his left. “Yeah, definitely anti-armour guns. Take it out?” he questioned.

“No other choice.”

OOC:

Wraith

Shoot, Move, Communicate. The watchwords of every Trooper across the galaxy, every soldier even. The lifeblood of infantry or any combat oriented unit. Shoot the enemy, Move to cover, Communicate with your comrades. It was that simple, should be that simple. This was not.

Shooting, moving and failing to communicate had become the standard, there was no way to communicate, at every moment, every step Hond's body and mind were bent only on surviving. No longer was he killing as he liked and taking as he wanted. He was struggling to survive. For no good reason.

The call of anti-armor cannons roared above the din, yelling angry to the beat of Vast Empire artillery and Republic mortars, the screams of dieing men pitching in for the refrain. It was a horrible cacophony through which Bloodhound could make little sense. He did not like this battlefield. These were places people died and were forgotten.

Bloodhound ducked into a fissure in the wall, some cover, not enough. He looked hurriedly about himself for better cover, unwilling to look down even to check his ammunition. He knew he had at least four magazines left, he ran a hand over his belt and checked the grenades by touch. They only carried a few, the actual uses of a grenade were rather specific and often the weapons were just unnecessary. Nice, but unnecessary. Bloodhound had two.

He looked to the bunker, finally. Wraith were looking to go in, they needed to get in, but it was fierce fighting there. They had managed to close themselves off from the breached part of the trench rather well, using boulders of broken crystal and empty crates that had likely held the cannons not too long ago. Bloodhound removed the grenade, tested it's weight.

Why not? It'll make life easier.

Might need it, do I really need it for this?

Yes.

Bloodhound tossed the grenade up once, feeling it's weight. He shook it. He didn't want to waste it. Finally he looked at it, shrugged to himself and pulled the pin.

"Fire in the hole!" He yelled, lobbing the grenade into the enemy emplacement.

It didn't land exactly where he wanted, but close enough. They were heavier than they looked. The explosion was just another in the rock ballad being played out all around him. In it's wake the Wraith Squad and what regulars there were rushed into the gap, Bloodhound not far behind. This was no longer the kind of fight where practiced combat drills were of any help, this had become a frantic scramble for survival.

One that Bloodhound desperately feared losing. He carried that unwillingness to die into the bunker with him. When his rifle jammed he pulled the Enforcer from it's holster and let the .48 caliber rounds do the speaking. Crack-crack-crack! it cried as he entered the bunker.

The canons still roared, Bloodhound swore, leaping over a dieing man to kill another before Hond himself could be killed; then sliding behind a stack of MRE boxes before he was seen. Concealment, definitely not cover.

So, where are you going now?

I have no idea.

The sounds of fighting as the last two Wraiths entered rose, the ones that had preceded Bloodhound had found cover, those that followed seemed to be left in the open. Bloodhound, peeked his head around the corner of his hiding place. It was utter chaos, the republic soldiers still manned the anti-armor cannons, others tried to fight off the Wraiths, other seemed to run back and forth with neither rhyme or reason.

OOC:

Wraith

Talohn dived blindly through the smoke still left wallowing in the air from the grenade, through the hail of bullets. Luck placed him behind a large metal box, no doubt carrying ammunition. The screams of the dying echoed in his ears, the explosions of mines and grenades and the discharge of bullets as they screeched towards their targets ever present in the carnage that surrounded him. No longer was this a battle of finely trained soldiers. This was a battle of savages. There were no rules, no mercy, no quarter. No one here relied upon their training. Only instincts.

The Republic soldiers were the loudest. The screams of defiant men, as their clips emptied from firing wildly in all directions, was deafening. They had no chance. No matter how many troopers they killed, one would take their place and the wave of white would surge forward. Yet they did not break ranks, they did not run. Something the troopers could admire while the slaughter continued.

Talohn peeked around the corner. And pulled it back sharpish as a bullet whizzed past his face. The soldiers were making a stand. They knew that if the AT-ATs would not fall, they would be destroyed and they were determined to not let that happen.

Talohn heard a burst of static from his comm, then:

"Wraith Squad!" he heard Mai say. "We need to get past!"

"We can't if they're just gonna mow us down when we try!" Talohn recognised Jegora's voice. "They won't let us peek our heads out without blowing them off first!"

"I don't care! We need to get rid of that gun nest!"

"The only way to get through is to charge them!" Talohn roared over the din of combat. "And that's suicide!"

"We need to get to that ne-"

"Shit!"

The expletive was followed by one of the few men with a launcher getting tired of the stalemate and swerving to face the troopers. It was obvious he planned on firing it, despite the enclosed space which would send them all to hell.

The trigger was pulled. The chaos got cranked up a notch.

OOC:

Wraith

The majority of the bunker erupted in fire and confusion. Shards of crystal flying in all directions at high speeds imbedded themselves into everything, including Honds armor and equipment. For possibly the first time since donning the white crap-heap he was happy to be wearing it. 

Most of the shards hadn't made it all the way through, Hond grabbed one of the larger ones in his breast plate and yanked it out. Gasping he looked at the red tip before tossing it away from him with disgust. This wasn't even thought any more, reduced to basic instincts and muscle memory the enemy soldier had forgotten his surroundings and fired.

Sheets of crystal were cracking and breaking, some falling inward, some falling to the trench below them, Hond tried to recover himself, the helmet had managed to save his ears from the ringing that shell-shock brought, but it hadn't saved the rest of his body. He was all pain and adrenaline.

Around him men and women and creatures of unknown gender and questionable parentage scrambled among each other, try to avoid falling into the widening gap in the middle without showing their back to the enemy; no one knew whether to keep fighting or try to survive the collapse, they all settled for various mixes of both. Hond pulled himself across the ground towards the anti-armor cannons.

They, at least, were still intact, the one pointed inwards had a toasted barrel, but the other two still fired down the battlefield. Hond wanted one, if only because on some basic level it seemed to mean survival to him; it was a driving need to have one for his own, and so he crawled, dragging himself across the ground with his arms to it's base.

The soldier manning it was shooting worried glances over his shoulder between bursts, but he missed Hond's form slithering painfully towards him. Missed it or didn't know what else to do but fire. Hond crawled around it to the mans seat, watched the look of horror on his face as he realized the white clad figure was reaching out to him from the ground, crystal imbedded in most of it's armor. He watched, frozen in horror as Hond brought the combat knife down into his leg, as Hond's left hand closed around the man's belt buckle, pulling him from the chair. The knife ripped free of the leg and as the man joined Hond on the ground the half-breed sunk the combat knife into an eye socket, where he left it.

Hond gasped for breath. The urgency had passed and he rolled onto his back, still gasping for breath. He wanted a cigarette, his mind needed to catch up. He was disoriented, confused and frantic for no reason he could place.

Oh fuckit.

Hond reached up with a shaking hand and unclipped the helmets chin strap, then pulled it from his head, letting it fall to the ground on it's own. He carefully removed a crushed back of unfiltered cigarettes from his belt pouch. He pulled out three before he found one that, twisted and bent as it was, wasn't broken. He lit it, inhaled, and for that brief moment everything seemed OK.

OOC:

Wraith Squad

Jegora couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but he supposed it shouldn’t have surprised him. In the middle of this bloody, vicious, fast-paced struggle for survival, Hond had removed his helmet and had lit up a cigarette. The half-breed was taking a break. Sidestepping another attack by a New Republic soldier, Jegora casually snapped the man’s neck, roaring with rage that had very little do with the enemy soldiers. There were very few times that Jegora’s anger got the better of him, but at that particular moment he couldn’t control himself. Without thinking he strode over to where Hond was taking his smoke break. With one massive hand he picked up the trooper’s helmet, and with the other he plucked the cigarette out of the half-breed’s mouth. Then, with no ceremony what-so-ever, he slammed the helmet down on the trooper’s head as hard as he could.

Hond was moving as soon as Jegora touched his cigarette, but he didn’t move fast enough to avoid the white plastoid shell that came slamming down around his ears. The half-breed twisted away, and Jegora let him. There was a cacophony of swear words issued from inside the helmet, but Jegora wasn’t too concerned. With a feral grin he pushed the trooper forward, right back towards the fight. Hond stumbled, still disoriented from having his helmet so jarringly replaced. When he finally righted himself, though, he turned and came straight for Jegora, oblivious to his surroundings. Jegora simply stood, ready for the confrontation he knew was inevitable. His rage was spent, and he had regained his composure. Once again his voice was ice, his decision making completely rational.

“What in the nine hells do you—” Hond began to scream, but Jegora cut him off.

“Be quiet,” Jegora said, his iron-hard voice causing the much smaller, much less composed trooper to at least pause in his wrath. “If we get out of this, you’ll have your chance to get even.”

Hond stood completely still, snarling silently. Finally the half-breed turned away, back to the firefight. Jegora gave a tight smile from underneath his helmet and followed the junior trooper back to where the rest of the Wraiths were mopping up whatever remained of the heavy weapons nest. The New Republic troopers were dedicated, but they had ultimately demolished their own position. Somehow the Wraiths hadn’t suffered any further casualties. In addition reinforcements were beginning to cross the trench at various points, stormtroopers and standard troopers alike, ensuring that the sections of the trench that had already been cleared wouldn’t fall back under enemy control. The result was a slight lull in the firefight, at least relative to the brutal chaos that had come before.

When Hond and Jegora rejoined the Wraiths, Marka was talking to Mai. “We need to descend,” he was saying.

Mai nodded. “More and more New Republic troopers are flooding the bottom levels,” the Wraith squad leader said. “They’re starting to take potshots.”

“Split up into two fire teams?” Marka inquired. Once again Mai nodded her assent.

“Jeg, take Atoll, Baptiste, and Cassus,” Mai ordered after a moment. “Set ropes, rappel down there, and clean them out. Understand? We’ll join you at the end of the trench.”

There was a slight pause. “I want Hond too,” Jegora intoned after a moment.

Mai looked at Jegora for a long time, and Jegora could imagine the glare she wore underneath her helmet. “Fine,” she spat finally. “Get to it.”