Bestine-In War's Wake

[Tear]

Occupied Republic Military Base- Bestine IV

“And they rose from the darkness unto the light in all its glory!”

“Hah, Bren I wouldn’t really take this for a religious event.” Squinting Tear held his hand over his brow to wait for his eyesight to adjust. The bright glare of Bestines sun somewhat faded, as the looming shadow of an AT-ST walker bounded by the bases perimeter.

Tear looked up, his back arching slightly, letting his eyes meet the blue sky above. Gray and white clouds mixed with charcoal pillars of smoke still. Even though the battle had been won and the last republic ship chased out over twenty-four hours ago, the lingering smell of death and destruction still carried itself in the air. Not only was the after math of battle still heavy on the surface of the planet but above in the weightless void of stars and planets as well. Gunner crews were having a field day taking out any debris at their leisure left by disabled or destroyed ships. The biggest piece of wreckage and needless to say, trophy was the mangled remains of the Artanis. Pieces of her hull floated peacefully around the area. Charred and black, they gave no misconception of what had occurred to cause her destruction. Some imperial salvage crews even managed to bring aboard pieces of the ship to sell off as momentos.

Wincing painfully Tear crouched down, dusting some dirt from the top step of a set of low stairs. Sitting comfortably down his elbows propped on his knees the Colonel looked over the forward courtyard of the base. Just beyond the main gate the Imperial army was busy running around to secure and repair defenses. They had arrived previously at the base right on Tears heels and had been securing the area since. Their arrival and reinforcement was a relief on the minds of Tears squad.

His operatives had been without sleep since they began their mission, almost three days ago. There had been two groups: a group of six lead by Lyntern to take the world shield generators. The other group of three lead by Ylor, who was overseeing the entire operation, took ion weapon control. They fought their way in, defended their positions against the bases security forces and again repelled a republic counter attack, while coordinating Ion cannon fire into the space operations above. Needless to say they were all exhausted.

“So what’s our next action?” Bren’lar groaned sorely as he sat, cautiously moving his bandaged shoulder to make sure it wouldn’t bump anything on the way down.

“Some rest for starters. After the army is done shoring up the bases defenses and making the needed repairs, they’ll come to relieve us.”

“Speaking of rest, Naomi is still working communications with our forces in orbit. That last explosion tripped by those republic troops took out the bases main corridors and fried our comlink relays. She says we won’t have communications up for another four hours.”

Tear nodded, “She’ll manage. But speaking of those republic troops, have our prisoners awoken yet?”

A sneer broke over Bren’lars lips, “Well the one has burns over most of his body, they’re bad too but the other two are in stable condition.” Bren’lar went quiet suddenly, his eyes fluttering to the dirt covered steps below his feet.

“Are you alright sir? I mean…I thought you got called back on another mission? Then you came back. We thought you were killed when you rammed your shuttle into that republic transport. Now you’re here again.”

He could barely hear Bren’lars words over the sound of rushing blood in his ears. Tears eyes continued to stare at the ground for a moment, watching droplets of blood rhythmically drip from his chin to spatter against the duracreet stairs he was sitting on. Tear straightened, smiling casually toward his friend, “I’m fine Bren. Don’t concern yourself over me. Focus on the tasks at hand, the sooner we get done with this, the sooner we can all go home.” Tear gave his friend a pat on the shoulder before twisting around and standing up slowly. He should have just pulled a mask over his face with the word liar etched in it, for all the good it did him. Tear couldn’t even convince himself of the same lie.

In the distance a series of low rumbles erupted. Tear turned around peering into the direction the sounds came from. The rest of the Imperials in the area were doing the same, staring forward like they were witnessing an amazing stellar event. There was a city just a few kilometers from the base. The Army must have found a pocket of republic resistance.

“This battle isn’t over yet is it, Colonel?” Bren’lars words were solemn, he knew the answer already but it didn’t stop him from reaching for the hope that maybe his commander who tell him wrong. Sadly that wasn’t the case.

“No…not yet.”

[Redic Scott]

General Ka'lay rubbed his eyes in the human way. He was tired from days of no sleep and the Bothan general was truthfully worried about their situation. As he straightened his fur, he looked around the briefing room and wondered how long they could hold out. He knew they would fight on no matter what, but as the New Republic Naval ships left the sky, the moral of the troops fell as well.

No one knew when the fleets would return, although Ka'lay had no doubt that they would. Until then, though, they would have to hang on and do what they could. The Army ground force was beaten and bruised, but it was not yet broken. As the General took in the weary faces and their sleep deprived features, he could also see a determination. These people were angry at what the Imperials had done without provocation.

He looked back at the holo map hanging in the air and found the two other underground hidden bases that were set up by his people. The hard part was communicating between the two, since he had to send out runners just to make sure the transmittions weren't monitored. On the map he could also see units moving around, setting up ambushes and traps. His forces where doing a lot to haress the imps, but they were also trying to conserve their ammo, since they couldn't be resupplied like the imperials. As he looked, he noticed two dots right next to the abandoned Army base. As he pulled up the unit, Ka'Lay saw that it was a special operations unit, the 23rd SOG.

"Colonel, what are these men doing?"

The human male turned toward the General and looked at the map. "That's Captain Wilinson's unit, they are set to strike at the Imperial Base that was set up at our abandoned one."

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

He lay on his stomach in the field and scanned the base with a pair of special binoculars. Next to him lay another man in full camo gear. The man was also scanning the base and was lightly tapping a sniper rifle that lay at his side.

"Sir, walker at two o'clock, 900 meters." Specialist Rondal whispered.

Captain Wilinson nodded and looked toward the walker then back toward the defensive batteries on his side of the base. He could also see an ammo/weapons depot, a radar installation, and two guard towers. As he scanned he thought about all the people these Imperials had killed on the planet and then he thought about all the imperials that he had killed in that amount of time. This would be his second mission after the Naval forces had left the system and this mission would let them know that the NR was still around and willing to play.

"You take the towers and paint the installation at three o'clock. I'll paint the walker, then the radar installation as well as the suppy depot."

"Roger that sir, lets rock and roll."

[Telan Desaria]

Former Republic Military Installation

Four kilometers south of Sextent
Bestine


The air was thick with every sound perceptible in the human auditory spectrum. All around was the low thrum of massive gravimetric engines as Kuat Supertransports battled physics to stay aloft. High above screamed flights of TIE Defenders as they claimed the skies of Bestine with their high-pitched whine.


Viscount Vinjent Desaria scanned the skies himself, a gloved hand shielding his eyes - watching the ubiquitous winged fighters rocket by at incalcuable speeds, he wished he had full use of his hearing. One all too close mortar round had rendered him unable to hear a TIE since before the Battle of Yaga Minor.


The Viscount turned from the azure heavens to the green and brown ground under his jackboots. He kneeled ever so deliberately and removed the leather casing inwhich his left hand rested. Almost whistfully, he pushed it along the loose dust of the planet's surface. Unlike his eldest brother, he was ever the infantryman - he had always felt connected to a world regardless of its location. Bestine was the next chapter in his life, and with the division he commanded, his next home.


" Are you well, Sir?"


Desaria turned to see Colonel Ransome, the division's Chief of Staff, hovering nearby with a look of great concern pasted upon his weathered face. Smiling, he replaced his glove and grabbed from the dust and reeds his visor cap, knocked off by a passing transport.


" Yes, Colonel. Just getting acquanited..."

[General Forlon]

The calm waters of Curatia Point were instantly Awakened into a frenzy of waves as 3 RT-7 Typhoon Gunships come swooping in from 1000 meters above the surface. Like giant Eagles swooping down for a meal the RT-7 conclude there decent just meters above the surface of the ocean below. Traveling are 500 Kph the 3 Gunships Move into formation and prepare to engage. 12 KM to there port quarter a small Becon Floats like a cork on the Water of Calamari. This is there target.

In the Command chair of Firefly 1 Colonel Thomas Hughes watches his instruments to see if any inconsistences occur in the performance of the New Crafts.

" Control one this is Firefly one. All is go. I repeat all is go."

In the Control room of the Training area 70 Km to the north 50 Calamri man the instruments and equipment which monitor the Tests and simulations which occur there. Standing Behind the main Control and observation console General Forlon stood beside Admiral Reshmar. The 2 watching with interest the data coming in from the test.

"Inertial Dampening is active and working like a charm Control. Its like we arnt even moving in here."

Colonel Hughes had been with the TR project and 3 corps since it's Birth. HE had been on the planing commission for the Tr series Fighter Equipment and the Man who had tested all Prototypes of that Equipment.

"These handle much better then the Prototypes Control. I believe the Modifications we made in the tail assembly worked better then we had planed.. We are a go at plus 4 KM. I will begin the Retro Test in 5 seconds."

General Forlon walked towards the Panel to watch closely the Numbers scrolling on the screen.

"Admiral It appears your Designs preform better then NRSF command first said they would. I admit I did not think your new Gunships would make it past the Drawing board but I see now I was incorrect."

Admiral Reshmar stood quietly watching the holo projection of the 3 Craft speeding across the ocean. Seconds later as if they had reached the end of some cord holding then the Gunships lerched forward and came to a stop.

"Breaking distance 12 Meters Control. We had alittle Rattle here but I believe it is just from the Compensator being set low."

The Gunships sat still for 5 seconds then shot straight up into the air at a 80 degree climb.

"1000 meters and holding command."

the three Gunships now moved slowly back to base cruising at 1000 meters above the Ocean.

"Control were coming home. Test was a success and were Good for Level 12 testing. Tell Forlon he owes me a drink. Hughes out."

A few of the Calamari Sensor operators look to General Forlon and make a guttural sound which some think to be a calamri laughing. Reshmar wanting to laugh himself keeps his composure. Frolon had been a opponent of his Tr series fighting equipment. He did not see a need for a rapid deployment group. HE had always been the Hit them hard type of General and the Tr program gave more emphasis on speed and deployment then power and strength.

"Forlon I believe you owe me a drink too."

Reshmar said to the General who by now was a wound up. He hated to be wrong. And being wrong to a fish made him even more Pissed.Reshmar Smiled and turned to walk out of the Room.

"Ill be in the Officers mess waiting Forlon."

Reshmar chuckled again then left the room. The Calamari could tell by the look on Forlons face he was not in a talkative mood and they all went back to monitoring there stations. HE turned and walked to the door.

"Fishman and his toys. What I wouldn't give for a nice desert battle right now. Sand should slow those contraptions down."

As he walked out the room the Calamari could still hear him talking to himself saying something about A frying pan and some lemon juice.

[Telan Desaria]

For a city with a just-completed trial by fire, Sextent was remarkably untouched. On either side of the boulevards rose tall buildings into the sky – though the largest was barely fifty levels, one could not help but feel as if he was passing through Xucphra City or Coronet. Perhaps ten ranks of repulsor vehicles could fit in the tower-lined traffic canals. Slowly but surely, businesses were dusting off their stoops and flinging open security netting. Droids of gold and silver and every shade of white bustled too and fro, moving dirt and debris as quickly as their gears would allow.


Here and there, however, lay the smoldering remains of a Republic assault vehicle. Most were tracked, some were on their sides, and not only one had been literally flattened by the leg of an Imperial All Terrain Assault Transport. Though the bodies had since been removed, the stench of blood and the charred air of a blaster battle filled the nostrils of all about.


Viscount Desaria watched all with a knowing pride: he was proud the advancing troops had conducted themselves honourably. He was equally proud, in an odd and far removed sense that the Republic had withdrawn without making a stand in the sprawling urbania. Three hundred thousand people of all conceivable races would have been irrevocably touched by the hand of war, a fate they escaped so marginally.


The tracked personnel carrier carrying the 116th Panzer Division’s commander shook as it rose and fell abruptly. The Viscount turned about to see the remains of an A-wing fighter lying across the street. For the pilot once therein, he bowed his head solemnly.

[Redic Scott]

The Captain looked forward and pushed a small button on his binoculars. As he did, an invisible, low power laser beam streamed out and hit the AT-ST walked around the perimeter. As he did, the sniper pressed that same button on his binocular set and a beam went out to hit a defense battery.

"Targets painted." Wilinson said softly into his mic and recieved a double click back.

That message was recieved 4 km away, where two missile teams waited, each asided to Wilinson and Specialist Rondel. The teams were hidden inside a dense forest and each team of 2 men had one launcher and one computer pad. The computer communicated with the missile inside the its launcher and told it where the beam was hitting and inputed the exect location of its targets. In seconds, 2 missiles raced away at supersonic speeds. They closed the distance in less than 6 seconds and impacted with their targets. The first missile, aimed at the AT-ST turned slightly to correct its path as the walker traveled.

As both targets exploded, the two spotters instantly shifted toward other targets and within a minute it was done. Missiles had been launched against the radar site, two defensive gun batteries, a walker, and a large weapons/supply depot.

Specialist Rondel already had his rifle out as the last missile hit. He took aim at the guards on the towers and fired at them silently. They had no where to hide and were take out with percision. However, as he passed from one tower to the other, he could see imperial guards dragging out an NR prisoner from one of the buildings. He made a mental note and continued with his mission.

Wilinson nodded in satisfaction and nudged Rondel. They both turned toward the trees and started to crawl away slowly. Their camo gear would help them get out of the field and into the safty of the forest.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Inside the city, what seemed like a normal man walked down the street. He walked behind the large transport carrier, but didn;t look around too much. He was retired from the army and had come to this planet to relax and live the rest of his life. However, that was over as the imperials had taken it. With the asistance of the NR army still on the planet, he had set up a few underground resistance cells.

When his people saw the carrier enter the city, they took pictures and reported it to him. They weren't going to take action since there were other targets in the city and a carrier wouldn't be worth it. Retired Colonel Ulimar, though, knew at once that it wasn't an ordinary transport. He saw the communication gear on it and knew it was for a commander of some sort. Now that would be a nice target, he smiled to himself.

At once they started to make a plan on how to get that vehicle and kill it. Now here he was, acting to carry that plan out, he only hopped it worked. As the carrier passed an intersection, Ulimar ran toward it, "Sir, Sir!!!" He screamed out. "PLease, don't go that way."

[Tiberius Anar]

Tiberius Anar was seated behind his desk watching the Sovereignty News's mid morning bulletin. The media was, under Propanganda Minister Blomberg, enjoying a period of unrivalled freedom. Blomberg had withdrawn most of the censors and officials from the offices of the main media outlets allowing them to work more freely- but despite this the news today was little diffrerent from what it had been under the Emperor. That was easily explained by the story currently running on the screen.

"...Imperial Forces fought a brief but victorious battle with defending forces. Imperial casulaties were minimal whilst they inflicted heavy losses upon the New Republic and Bestine defence forces. During the course of the space battle that took place in orbit a Mon Calmari..."

When the Sovereignty was at war everyone toed the line, even the media. This was especially true of Imperial victories when to criticise them was to risk public displeasure.

Anar turned his attention to the door from whence a knocking had come.

"Enter," he called towards the handcarved wood that separated him from his outer office. He keyed the vid screen to standby.

His Private Secretary entered, "Excuse me, Excellency," said Varro with a deferential nod, "The Supreme Commander of the Imperial Army and the Chief of the General Staff are outisde."

"Show them in," said Anar rising form his seat to greet his two guests.

[Jarek T'chort]

A light drizzle had accosted Jarek's motorcade as it pulled into the vast courtyard of the Chancellery, the armored limousines elegant and sleek. The portico of the Chancellery was guarded at intervals by the Crimson Corps, their dress uniforms immaculate.

The Supreme Commander of the Imperial Army stepped smartly up the tier of steps, past the guards, his attendants and bodyguards in tow. His uniform was the dark olive of the Imperial Army, mostly covered by a ebony trench coat - the black a nod to his days as head of the Storm Corps. An ornate Field Marshall's baton was clutched in a gloved hand, which was as highly polished as the Imperial Cross that hung on his breast.

"General Field Marshall T'chort," called out a footman in the red and gold livery of the Chancellor, "High Chancellor Anar awaits your presence."

T'chort and his aides fell in behind the footman as he led them into the cavernous bowels of the Imperial Chancellery, towards the waiting head of state.

[Tiberius Anar]

Anar was obliged to wait for a minute or so whilst T'chort and his team made their way into the Executive Wing where his office, along with those of his political staff, was located. He would speak to Varro about this- he prefered not to be kept waiting.

The double doors swung open to admit T'chort resplendant in his crisp grey uniform and escorted by an inordinate number of staff officers. Anar always felt somewhat underdressed around these people with their decorations- he often wonder whether he ought to start wearinf his own Crimson Corps uniform or perhaps his robes of office for these meeting but the damn things were so cumbersome.

Anar stood behind his desk without saying a word. He would make sure that T'chort and those like him knew their place- they would bow before seeing any acknowledgment of their presence.

[Jarek T'chort]

Just stepping into the room behind the footman, Jarek swept off his visor cap, planting it firmly under his right arm.

"May I present General Field Marshall T'chort, Excellency." Announced the footman, before stepping off to one side with the Staff Officers.

Jarek stepped forward, noting Anar's lack of acknowledgement. Though his loyalty was in no doubt, Jarek saw politicians as something of a hindrance to Imperial expansion - with little understanding of the military situation. Yet, he reasoned, that was why he was here.

With a sharp bow, Jarek pandered to Anar's ego. "Your Excellency."

Memories of one of their previous encounters, when Jarek had informed Anar of the attack on Bestine, sat uncomfortably in his mind, before being whisked away in preparation for the coming inquisition.

[Telan Desaria]

City of Sextent
Bestine


Vinjent Desaria stepped into the hall of the city’s administration building and entered the office of the Lord Mayor without any fanfare, only his announcement. Assembled before him were the captains of industry, commercial leaders, and social symbols of local life – the ruling group of Sextent and its environs.

“ Please gentleman, be seated.”

With the armored breast plate of an Army field officer atop his tunic, Desaria leaned back in the only empty seat in the room. He removed his helment and placed it atop his now crossed knees. Over twenty people had been crowded into the mayor’s office but there seemed to be no end to the empty space around the arrived Imperial officer.

The mayor, oddly enough, was the most composed of the mostly-female assemblage. “ For what time shall you be imposing a curfew?”

“ I see we are cutting through the formalities,” Desaria commented. He adjusted his collar and wished he had brought an aide or two into the room. “ I will introduce myself nevertheless. I am Major-General Vinjent Desaria and I have been assigned as garrison commander of this city. To answer your question, no curfew will be imposed.”

Several of those present, namely those Desaria recognized from his dossier as commercial leaders, leaned forward with renewed interest.

“ I know that you are not exactly happy to have us here. You were all citizens of the New Republic until one week ago and change is difficult. Now, however, you are all officially granted the title of Imperial citizen – “

“ Oh joy,” murmured Madame Valloure, CEO of the largest HoloNet provider in the region. The General continued on, unabated.

“ – and will be treated accordingly. With the exception of troop patrols through the city, I hope not to intrude too deeply into your normal life.”

The Mayor swallowed hard and folded his hands on the amber-tinted top of his desk. “ Forgive me, but an occupying army is now in our midst – our lives cannot return to normal.”

“ I can respect that. However, I don’t plan to go rampaging through the streets shouting propaganda and kicking in doors. On that note, there are a few doctrines I must enforce. The right of the people to possess arms will remain in affect, however I must revoke that of you to carry them. This is however with one exception – “

Desaria reached into his breast armor and removed a small data disc. He leaned over and handed it to a regally kept woman seated on the edge of the mayor’s desk. She was by her shoulder insignia, Chief of Police.

“ I will, with your acceptance, keep the police force on active duty. You may retain your arms. As well, according to Diktat 33859 from the Interior Ministry, all taxes for the proceeding one month are lifted and suspended. It is the suspicion of High Command that the Republic will counter attack this world. So let me spare you the double talk. I cannot assure the safety of this city. I can tell you I will not turn it into a fortress and see it reduced to ash. I cannot ask that you like us, only that you accept us.”

With that, Desaria rose. He left the group in silence, and returned to his command vehicle.

[Tiberius Anar]

Once T'chort had bowed Anar's attitude changed, he moved around the esk, his hand extended.

"Field Marshal," he said warmly, "Good of you to come."

They shook hands and there were brief introductions of T'chort's briefing team- two colonels and three captains all of whom wore the gold agguilettes of staff officers. Once that was done Anar crossed the carpet to the conference table that stood to the right of the door- his guests followed him.

"So, Field Marshal, how goes the war?" said Anar as he settled himself into a chair at the head of the table.

[Tear]

“Have you ever sat and paused for a moment. Thinking, did I blink or did the lights just flicker?” A series of hallow pops resounded clearly from Naomi’s shoulders as she reached backwards in a full stretch.

Ylor looked up, running his knuckles against his eyes thoroughly for a few minutes before blinking at Naomi. He then glanced around the shattered room of what was once a clear, clean, control room with polished floors and pristine white walls with sparkling clear monitors. Looking back down at the monitor he was using, which was of course, cracked and covered in dirt. The screen in question also managed to spit out a few random sparks as if it felt some sort of spite for the particular imperial.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Ylor responded in monotone as the lights in the room continued to flicker rapidly.

“Yeah…it’s probably just me.”

“It is.” Ylor found his lips curving into a foreign position before realizing, for the first time in two days, he was smiling.

“Alright try the com channel now. I’ve patched it together the best I could if it doesn’t work now it never will.”

“Initializing frequency.” His fingers plugged away at various keys with an unseen precision. Ylor paused for a moment. Listening, adjusting, and readjusting as garbled transmissions began to leak through damaged equipment relays. “I think its working Naomi. Communications are…” The room jolted suddenly causing the once rapid blink of white lights to flare and burst, showering the room in darkness. “…damnit.”

“You frelling piece of bantha loving @#$&#! Why the #$%&! I cant believe this I just spent the last frelling six hours fixing this piece of $#@&.” The room lit up suddenly with the hue of several red flashes.

“Lieutenant?” Ylor questioned staring blankly forward in the general direction of where Naomi was sitting.

A low hum buzzed through the room, accompanied with the harsh glare of spotlights as the emergency lights in the base kicked to life. Ylor craned his neck curiously as the light revealed the now standing figure of Naomi holding her smoking blaster inches away from her now destroyed terminal. “It’s broken sir.”

“I see that Lieutenant…Common lets go see what’s going on.”

Smoke wafted into the couples nostrils as they made their way through the dark corridors to the light at the end of the tunnel.

“Almost religious isn’t it?” Naomi asked coyly, a smirk sliding over lips as they reached the light and emerged from the corridors, blinking dumbly, as they adjusted to the harsh glare of the sun above.

“Not you too Naomi.”

Both Naomi and Ylor smiled with a crisp salute, finding familiarity in the voice that greeted them. “Sir.”

“Glad to see you two made it through the battle.” Tears figure rose from a sitting position on the steps below.

“Thank you sir. I’d say the same but I honestly don’t see how you manage to stay alive.” Ylor grinned as he reached out to taking Tears forearm with a yank into a hug. They were brothers. Not in the casual sense of the word relating to blood or family ties. But brothers in essence, they had seen combat together many times since Tear had joined the Empire and through it all Ylor had been there to help him survive.

“Naomi you’re looking…you’re bleeding.” Tear reached out, tilting her head toward the light, revealing a thick stream of blood mangled with her long black hair.

“I know, I haven’t had time to get it looked at.”

“Well,” Tear nodded toward the smoking ruins of what was left of the antenna relay atop the base. “You have plenty of time for it now.”

Ylor craned his neck back observing the still flaming wreckage of the relays. “I thought the republic had evacuated in their retreat?” Wisps of smoke caught a gale of wind and blew between the three like playful ribbons.

Tear looked off to the perimeter were an At-St walker stood smoldering. Repair crews were crawling over the mechanical beast like ants. “They did. For the most part anyway. From what the military commander of this division has been telling me the Army is running into pockets of republic troops who either decided to stay or were left behind. Either way they are putting up a resistance. This attack from what I saw wasn’t even a scouted or planned attack. Just a simple hit and run.”

Ylor turned away from the wreckage of the communications relay with a quizzical look sprawled over his soot-covered face. “What do you mean. They took out the communications antenna? That must imply some foresight?”

Tear shook his head and began pointing around to the smoldering craters that were their targets: former weapon silos guard towers and the At-St. “That right there was a republic storage bunker. Mostly republic ammo, food stuffs and the like, none of it suited our needs. Sovereignty weapons are interchangeable with republic energy cells. The foodstuff’s was a possibility for us but we have fresh lines bringing in our supplies. Now the communications relay would have been nice, but its necessity wasn’t crucial. Each division brings its own mobile command center. So with those two targets the Republic likely hindered themselves more then us if they ever retake this base.”

“The guard towers?”

Tear let a smile break over his lips. “Decoys. Deceased republic troops from when you took the base. I had the army set them up in Sovereignty uniforms and hung up in the guard towers. From their entry wounds it looks like the attack came from that tree line to the south. The army has also calculated the trajectories of the missile salvo that were launched from a few miles away. A town to the south, which was probably being used for the republic troops who pulled the hit and run as a base of operations has been painted from orbit, along with the missile silo.” The Colonel turned to face Ylor who’s puzzled expression had phased into one of pride in his people. “As I said, they were unplanned attacks.”

Moments later a rain of green bolts tore through gray clouds to rain destruction upon their respective targets. A series of very loud, rapid booms echoed from the distance as flashes marked the horizon. The town was a small one in comparison to most on Bestine. But its swift destruction by Imperial hands would eventually been uncovered by neighboring cities and it may push some citizens from neutral terms into actively helping republic resisting troops. This could not be allowed to happen.

Bestine Action report, via Ion Cannon base. Intelligence Order code 2642-14

In response to the request of orbital bombardment for site 232.

Three hours after the bombardment which I, Colonel Tear, ordered. A mangled At-St along with the republic troops that had been dressed in Imperial armor were sent to be laid into the ruins of the town that had been harboring Republic commandos. I also ordered a Republic Y-Wing fighter that had been destroyed by fleet actions in orbit to be brought down to the Town as well. This would imply a Republic bombing run had destroyed the town, not the Imperials. The faces of the republic troops being used were rendered non-recognizable before they were deployed.

Reason for order. Action taken for sake of discouraging the civilian’s of Bestine in helping Republic troops in active resistance.

[Jarek T'chort]

"So, Field Marshal, how goes the war?"

Jarek allowed himself a tight smile, his eyes flickering almost imperceptibly.

"The war goes well, your Excellency. The Republic Fleet over Bestine IV has been routed, as have the ground forces, though pockets of resistance remain."

He nodded to Colonel Merrit, a middle aged adjutant, wearing the distinctive red stripe of the Imperial General Staff down his jodhpurs.

"Colonel Merrit, Excellency. I have a full report on the military action so far." With that, he produced a data card, stepped forward and handed it to the listening Anar. Jarek's face was neutral, yet his voice belied a certain pride.

"Chancellor Anar, the co-ordination between the Navy, Intelligence and Army was first rate, it is due to the meticulous planning and superb quality of the men and women of the Armed Services that Bestine is now almost completely under Imperial rule."

[Jarek T'chort]

The sun dappled playfully through the canopy of the forest, casting shadows on the moss covered ground. The air was still, contemplative. Morning dew clung to bark and leaf alike, moisture that kept the shoots and foliage healthy and green.

Amongst the trunks of the forest, a recon Platoon stepped cautiously forward, blaster rifles locked and loaded. The only sound came from muffled footsteps, the clink of harnesses and the sloshing of water in canteens. The soldiers that moved forward were distinctly Imperial. Their coal scuttle helmets and flecktarn camo covers marked them as Imperial Infantry. Young and well trained, these men were the true backbone of the Imperial Army. While most beings in the Imperial space would never see a Stormtrooper or a Crimson Guard, the Imperial Trooper was a common sight, manning roadblocks or Garrisons, patrolling and enforcing Imperial rule.

The ground rose, slight hillocks and mounds became more common. Before them, the trees thinned out to reveal the sky, as still and serene as the forest was. Yet a smell, a pungent odur, pervaded the young soldiers nostrils. As the point men crept forward to the hill in front of the platoon, they spotted wisps of smoke, drifting upwards into the azure heavens. The Imperials reached the summit of the hill, the heavy E-Web squad gunners covering the riflemen. A grizzly sight met their eyes.

A light bunker held the hill, it's repeater cannon sighted along the road that swept down from the coast. About the bunker, several bodies lay sprawled on the ground, their uniforms and bodies dirty and burnt. The platoon Sergeant knelt, his rifle clutched to his side. With his free hand he turned the face of one of the dead upwards. He was met with glazed eyes, staring far off in the abyss, a young boy's face - he couldn't have been more then sixteen. Perhaps months, maybe weeks ago he would have been phased by what he saw, but the Sergeant was emotionless. Such was the product of war. These Republic militiamen had been hit by a Defender strafing run, caught in the open, they had been peirced by the searing laser bolts.

A sudden flurry of movement caught the troopers unawares, as a single crouched figure leapt from a foxhole to their left, racing toward the road and the trees on the far side.
A single blaster bolt from the Sergeant's sighted rifle caught him as he ran, toppling the Republic soldier. He fell, a gaping gory hole in his head, arms and legs twisted into a bizzare shape. A single streak of blood ran from his mouth, pooling on the rough metallic surface of the road.

Within an hour, the Imperials had moved on, the light bunker and it's crew of boys forgotten.

[Tiberius Anar]

"That is good news, Field Marshall," said Anar with allowing a smile to show his apporval. "But you say that Bestine is 'almost completely under Imperial control' and the colonel here speaks of 'military action so far'," he placed clear emphasis on the important phrases. "Am I to assume, therefore, that there is still resistence?"

[Redic Scott]

The holo picture moved slowly around in the Captain's still hands. It showed two people that weren't there anymore. Two people that he would never hug, kiss, or interact with. It showed two people who had and still do, mean the universe to him. He would have done anything for them and would still do anything just to be with them again. However, that wish will never come true and he would have to keep living the rest of his life without them.

Wilinson turned slowly, pinning one hand behind his head and faced the wall of his bunk. The picture now in one hand, held out in front of him. He knew he couldn't change the past, but he wished sometimes, that was with them when it happened. That way he wouldn't have to be alone in the cold galaxy. The Captain could still she the letter sent to him, informing him on the passing of his wife and child, floating inside his mind.

He closed his eyes and instantly he was there. He was back inside their old apartment, holding his beautiful wife as his eight month old baby slept in his crib. They were both moving and kissing as a slow song played in the background. The smell of her still intoxicating to him as he savored the moment of being with the person he truely loved. Then, just as it started, it suddenly ended as a knocking sounded against his door.

Wilinson jumped off the bed and placed the picture on his desk. He straightened his uniform and called out, "Enter."

The door opened and a Private saluted, "Sir, the team is back. They only found three survivors. It was a slaughter, the whole town was wiped out from orbit. The imperials tried to make it look like it was a Y-wing bombing run, we think."

The captain frowned, "Why is that?"

"Well, sir, they placed an old damaged Y-wing inside the town, like it was shot down, as well as some old AT-ST, and dead republic troops. We buried them before we left sir."

Wilinson shook his head. It didn't make sense. Why would they do something like that? He had seen the pictures and they look nothing like a bombing run. It was partly his own fault though, for placing his firing teams so close to the town. He should have known that they would trace the missiles back to the launch launch point and think that it was towns people that helped the soldiers. Wilinson told himself to stop thinking about that and start doing his job. He snapped out of it nodded at the Private.

"Anything else to report?"

"Well, one of the bunkers in section Delta Five hasn't reported yet. They have missed the last two schedualed reports. There is a team ready to go and check it out."

"Tell them to stand down Private. My and my team will go look."

"Yes sir." The man saluted and Wilinson returned it crisply.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Within the hour, Captain Wilinson and his team was dropped near the bunker and they started to make their way toward it. The team was spread out and had rifles at the ready. Their camo gear constantly changing as they movec through the forest and into the hill clearing. The captain pulled out his microbinoculars and scanned the area, zooming in on the bunker. He could see republic trooper bodies laying near it. They were blackened from laser burns and the bunker was the same.

The Captain could tell it was the work of heavy weapons. The glass spots on the ground were angled in such a way that the Captain could tell they came from the sky, probably a fighter run. He put the bino's away and motioning the team forward. They moved with percision, making little nose. The helmet they wore, told them everything they would need to know. It had a map, infrared screen, and image inhancing software. It also had encryped comm links.

As the team moved closer, they spoted the footprints on the ground and matched them to known imperial footware. They were standard issue infantry boots and the tracks were still pretty fresh. After stopping for a moment to get dogtags and spare charge clips, Wilinson commed their base and told them what had happened. He also requested permission to find and shadow the imperial troops, which he estimated was a platoon sided unit, by the number of tracks. Permission was gived and the team set off.

[Tear]

Soft blue moonlight saturated the land under Bestines night skies in every direction. Several birds as dark as soot fluttered quietly over forest canopy. Flying until barely visible in a horizon of hot yellows and dimming pinks symbolizing a dying sunset. Stars began to emerge and fall like a blanket draped over a dome shaped sky. It was…peaceful, tranquil, calming any other words you could use to describe a feeling of serenity.

A squadron of tie defenders shattered the content scene like a wineglass being smashed by a baseball bat. The sleek crafts cleaved relentlessly through the gray-feathered clouds heading toward some unseen destination. Moments later another squadron tore through Bestine’s night skies, causing a flock of birds to flutter in panic from their perches among the treetops. They’re late today, Tear thought as he watched the black craft speed off into the horizon line. Tear craned his neck looking up toward the blanket of stars that covered the sky. Many of the stars were moving and infract weren’t actually stars but starships. Mine layers, Tear noted as he continued to stare up into the night. That’s why the fighters were late on their patrol. They were busy escorting the minelayers that had begun to lay mines in orbit of Bestine.

The white bandages that wrapped themselves snuggly around portions of Tears body contrasted the midnight hue of the night. Several Troopers found it prudent to inform the Colonel he would be an easy target for any republic Sniper that may be waiting in the tree line. Tear would simply smile and nod knowingly, thanking them for their concern. Tear knew sooner or later an attack would come to the base and as such precautions would need to be in place. Imperial command had sent him several orders to hold and stay in position which only meant they also knew an attack would come and they would want their best there for when it did.

Tear tapped his earpiece initializing a communication to his team in the tree line and inside the base. “Ylor, how’s the web going?”

“As planned sir, we’ll catch our fly’s soon enough.”

[Malcolm Trippen]

Asgard - Bothan Assault Cruiser
Main Hanger Bay

"I'd like to begin today with an appology."

Malcolm stood, his newly issued dress uniform clinging uncomfortably to him. He hated formal occasions, but there where times when they were necessary. Like today.

"Too may times have I stood before you, telling you of how bravely our brothers- and sisters-in-arms fought to defend their country, their beliefs, and their way of life. This time, I will make an exception."

His eyes the only part of him allowed to move, Malcom glanced across the bay to where four caskets lay, flags representing the colours of their respective squadrons draped carefully across them. Inside lay four more people that he'd seen die...four lives that had ended when his had not. This fight should have been his last. He should not have survived. But he had. Why?

"These four people were not slain to further the cause of the Republic. They did not fall liberating a world from Imperial clutches, nor freeing its people's minds from the clutches of a long-dead Sith. They died in training. In an ambush."

Trip felt the words catching in his Squadron Leader's throat, the same anger choking up inside him. Until now, even he had not thought the Imperials would stoop so low as to prey on pilots at a training ground. But they had. Twelve TIE Defenders. It was a wonder any of the rookies had survived.

"I have always believed there is something to learn from every single thing that happens in this life. Each act teaches a lesson. What did we gain from this?"

The Commander's eyes narrowed, as he looked around the bay, taking in every one of his pilots, and every present member of the crew they served within. "Captain Treyva. Tristan Kordel. Luka Kinkade. Alida Diedrick." A look of pure determination formed on his face. "Four more reasons to go out there, and give those Imp scum hell."

He nodded to a technician, and slowly, one by one, a bed of repulsorlifts raised their fallen comrades, and sent them off out into space, one last flight as pilots of the New Republic.

* * *

Malcolm lingered longer than the others, staring out at the distant stars. He often came to places such as his, to sit and stare out at the cold empty expanse that had become his home. Out there lay endless wonders, beauty, riches, peace, and answers. But not here. All that he had was the twisted, deformed beast of war, and the endless mystery of life. He sighed.

A hand landed on his shoulder, dragging him away from his thoughts. A figure had appeared beside him, un-noticed. "I didn't see you there, Captain Maxis."

"I assumed not," the Seraph Leader replied. "You looked as if you were flying a solo mission, but had left your A-Wing behind."

Trip let out a slight laugh, but it did not linger. "Will this war ever end?"

"For us?" Korben nodded. "Eventually. One way or the other. In some way I pitty those pilots...their war is over. But then I remember what I'm fighting for."

"Which is?"

"Hope, Lieutenant." He smiled. "Hope that some day, there will be no wars left to fight, and men like us can sit at home, and tell our grandchildren about how amazing a life being a soldier was."

Trip quirked an eyebrow. "Grandchildren?"

"Grandchildren," Korben replied with a nod.

A sigh escaped Malcolm's lips as he pushed himself to his feet. "I guess I'd better get started then..." He smiled. "Which way to the mess hall?"

Grinning, Korben clapped him firmly on the back. "Come with me, Mr Trippen. Let me introduce you to my wingman...I think she's got her eye on you..."

[Jarek T'chort]

"Am I to assume, therefore, that there is still resistence?"

Jarek nodded at Anar's query.

"That's correct. It appears that while a majority of the Republic troops evacuated the planet, a substantial number have remained behind to carry out guerilla actions against Imperial forces."

With a thin smile Jarek lowered his tone menacingly.

"However, our newly formed Air Cavalry and counter-insurgency formations have been despatched to Bestine to deal with these...annoyances."

[Jacen Parami]

Asgard - Bothan Assault Cruiser
Main Bridge

Captain Parami sat and stared out at the space beyond the windows that dominated the bridge, eyes fixed on some distant battle long in his past. Despite being a child of Alderaan, Jacen was by no means a pacifist. He was a warrior. A tactician. A commander. A Rebel, he sighed.

Captain Parami had defected from the Empire years ago, after he, as First Officer mutinied against the Captain of the Victory-class Star Destroyer they'd served on...the Flamestar. The Rebels had welcomed them with open arms...

"New Republic," Jacen muttered to himself.

Two weeks ago, the unit he commanded had used the beaten out shell of his old ship as a holding ground for their fighter squadrons. It seemed like a waste for such a fine ship. But the Flamestar was old and broken. The fire in her heart had gone out.

There was a soft growl behind him. Jacen spun his chair slightly to face his XO - Lieutenant Commander Arla Key'va. A Bothan on a Bothan Assault Cruiser, he thought to himself. Novel.

The tall, slim, shapely, chestnut-furred Commander handed a datapad to Jacen, not even the slightest hint of emotion displayed on her body. Jacen had never seen a Bothan able to excercise that much control over her emotions before. It was rather intreguing. "These are the status reports on Dark Angel and Rear-Guard Squadron's latest engagements."

Jacen nodded, taking the 'pad, and glancing an eye over it. "We lost good men." He sighed again. "I don't like loosing good men."

"Or women," the Bothan added.

A rare smile graced the Captain's lips. "Or women." He stretched, and stiffled a yawn. "You have the bridge, Commander. I have paperwork to attend to."

"Indeed, sir."

Peeling himself out of his chair, and taking one last glance out of the windows, Jacen set off to the little datapad fortress he'd built on his desk.

[Telan Desaria]

Sextent City, Bestine

Field Headquarters of the II Corps, Imperial Guard


" I am unsure of what to say, Mon General."


Lieutenant-General the Viscount Vinjent Desaria let a smile cross his face. With a modicum of jocularity, he placed a gloved hand on the shoulder of his most trusted subordinate. " Say thank you. You deserve it, Almon. There is no one here I trust more."


" Oui, et merci. But I have never commanded a unit so large."


" Yes, you have. As my Chief of Staff, you have helped me numerous times run a division, and later a corps. Your modesty ensures your men will be more to you than fodder for cannon. This makes you an ideal divisional commander. No go, before I change my mind."


The older Balisite snapped his heels together and let the click resound in the dug-in and tent-covered command post. He bowed low and let his chest puff out with pride. Major-General l'Crosseaux turned and departed, the new commander of the 116th Panzer Division.


Being this high is going to take some getting used to. But we Desaria's always manage.


" General, Colonel Satson is here at your request."


Desaria turned and thanked his adjutant. While the II Corps Intelligence Officer was shown into the wall-lacking tent/redoubt, the Viscount removed his double breasted fieold-coat and placed his visor cap on a nearby folding table. He relaxed into a small chair as the Colonel arrived.


Now I find out just what is going on....

[Tear]

Solid footsteps resounded through the charred corridors of the former republic military base. The dull beats of steps were uniform and growing louder. Soot scraped under the soles of the heavy combat boots as they slowed to a sudden stop. Silence settled over the corridor and the room it led to like specks of dust falling through sunlight.

A sudden beep pierced the air as the door swung up, filling the room with bright white neon light, blinding its inhabitants as their eyes tried to adapt. They barely had enough time to raise a disoriented hand to try and block the light before the black figures tore into the room, fists and heavy kicks came hard to any movement regardless of intent. The two prisoners were quickly beaten for a moment before being dragged out of that room and into another.

This room was cleaner, the light centered in the ceiling cast down a soft, almost blue hue into the room. At the back sat two cold steel chairs with straps attached to the armrests and legs of each chair, both were close to the other. At the front of the room near the door was a simple wooden table with a simple black case sitting in the middle of it.

The two prisoners were flung into the chairs and binded tightly a few sparing punches were thrown into their defenseless and now bleeding faces.

“Enjoy your stay.” One of the men said with a smile as the group left the room, slamming the door behind them.

[Darriann Sollak]

"Oh I will!" Darriann shouted, his voice raspy. Pain struck his throat sending him into a coughing fit. Each cough intensifying the pain. Darrianns face was scared and burned. Flesh was torn on his left cheek, red with pain. He could barely turn his head to see probably the last soldier in his unit, Alan Tylonni.

Alan was roughed up as well. Not as many burns or scarings but, plenty of bruises. His nose was busted. Blood had hardened at the base of it. He moaned as he, also, looked over to see his commander. "Sir..." he coughed, "You think we'll get out of this?"

"Soldier. If you think we can, then we can. If you don't, we don't" Darriann replied before going into another coughing fit. "We've been lucky so far. We weren't shot on sight. Most Imperials wouldn't care if we were knocked out or not."

Alan tried to laugh but coughing was all that came out. The two men sat and waited for their interrogation to begin. It would be rough and they both knew it.

[Telan Desaria]

Lieutenant General Desaria looked up at the two-dimensional topographical map of the entire north-western continent - the continent upon which the city of Sextent and his own II Corps lay. That metropolis and one very similar to it were, aside from a few scattered villages housing no more than a thousand poeple, the only settled sections. What remained between them were valleys, untamed forests, mountains covered in vegitation, and the sprawling fields of a few super-farmers.


After taking the entireity of the area in with a sweeping gaze, he rose and moved to where the holographic projection hung above the ground. With a gesture of his gloved hand, he pushed through the suspended protons. " And you suspect them to be here?"


" Yes, sir." The Colonel covered his mouth and gave a quick cough. " More correctly, Intelligence expects any resistance, organized or otherwise, to take refuge in this region. Its sparsely located populous and overall undeveloped nature make it ideal for camouflage."


" And we are assuming how much now?"


" Colonel-General von Klemmerer and his staff have reviewed every after-action report submitted. Estimates stand between forty thousand and one-hundred thousand. Intelligence itself places the number at no more than sixty."


" And of that sixty, what is in my area?"


" This number is my own analysis. I would hyopthesize fifty percent."


Silence took hold of the Supreme Commander's brother by throat.


" Very well. Continue to analyze all data. I want to know just what I am fighting and where. Whomever the Republic abandoned on this world are going to want to fight and I want to be ready when they do."

[Tear]

The door creaked for a moment, parting just enough to give those in the room the refreshing smell of fresh air. The door paused in its half-opened position, concealing those behind it but the sound of whispers could be distinctly heard.

“ah huh…”

The door creaked again this time swinging all the way open admitting a blonde haired man, wearing a simple black uniform bearing no insignias or markings. The man himself stood tall, he looked clean as if he had just taken a shower or bath, and his hair was freshly combed and still wet, with a towel slung over his right shoulder.

He took a few steps into the room. A quirky smirk pulling at the corner of his lip as he looked down at the two prisoners who were eyeing him back with a similar curiosity. He didn’t say anything, simply closed the door behind him with a click and walked over to the table, placing a glass of water down that was in his hand. His fingers felt over the black leather case for a moment before the sound of a zipper being pulled open reverberated through the room.

He sighed and turned around to face the two men who were bound down. The mans cold blue eyes continued to stare at them, his index finger stroking his chin thoughtfully while his brow slightly furrowed as if he was contemplating something important.

“Name and rank?” The two men looked tight-lipped.

“I can assure you, telling me your name and rank wont weaken your position or cause you any significant consequence. I simply wish to know your names…”

[Telan Desaria]

Forty-five Kilometers North of Sextent City
Bestine


General Desaria released the macrobinoculars he clenched and allowed them to fall with a slight rattle onto his breastplate. Under his breath was loosed a string of harsh obscenities in the direction of a nearby mountain.


" With all due respect General," retorted Brigadier General Smutts as he read his superior's facial contortion precisely. " The accuracy ratings on this Corps' heavy guns are higher than any in the Guard!"


Lieutenant General Desaria snorted, grabbing a canteen from the side of the open-topped Sd. Kfz 261. " General, I understand that numbers read one way. I want them higher. Train them harder if you have to. Ammunition is in no short supply, so use live rounds."


" General, if the Rebels attack - "


The Viscount turned with steel in his gaze. " When the Republic attacks, we will be ready. Do not forget what that black stripe on your trousers means. You are an officer of the Imperial Guard, and so am I. If the Army troops I commanded on Yaga Minor can get to eighty-seven, we can hit ninety."


" Aye sir."


Brigadier General Smutts withdrew to the rear of the half-tracked command vehicle while Desaria advanced right up next to the E-web blaster mount. The object of his distaste, ridge 115-Beta, loomed before him. By the time the half-track jostled forward, another volley of high explosive shells were pounding into the rock face.

[Darriann Sollak]

Darriann pondered a moment before answering the man. Knowing that if he took to long another agonizing punch would probably come.

"Private Quin Anders." Lied Alan breaking the silence.

Darriann quickly followed suit joining in Alan's game, "Lance Corporal Ga'k Wallice. And you are?" He said with a slight hint of pain in his voice.

While Darriann waited for a reply he looked around for options. Escape was the prompt thing to do and with one man doing an interrogation, it seemed simple. He tugged at the ropes behind him to see if they slackened. What a foolish error the man had done closing the door behind him. Well no slack so Darriann waited for an opportunity.

[Tear]

A smile slide like silk over Tears lips as he turned around to reach into the black case. “Interesting. Oh and you may call me Nex necis or Nex, for short.”

Clanging sounds of various objects or instruments being placed on the table echoed randomly through the room.

“Did you know when my forces took this base they took it by surprise in a matter of minutes? Very quick, very fast, so fast in fact that your forces never realized what was happening. Allowing my troops to launch a surprise attack against your forces in orbit. Crippling them for our invading fleet.” Tear wasn’t sure if his two prisoners were informed of why they were deployed or what had happened since their deployment but he was sure the news of the New republic losses would weaken their moral somewhat.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking. Even with your forces in orbit being caught by surprise and were utterly …annihilated. The Republic would most certainly send a fleet in some sort of counter attack? Well they did, and they too were destroyed. So don’t expect a rescue anytime soon.” Tear reached back pulling a long curved blade, with several teeth etched into the inside of the curve, along the table for a moment before melodically tapping his index finger with it.

“Now, back to my original point of my forces taking the base quickly. As such, the Republic forces never had any time to resort to any sort of security measures, locking down systems, deleting classified or sensitive content from the data bases.” Tear took a step forward toward Alan the curved blade in his hand was starting to tap faster.

“Can you see where I’m going with this Lance Corporal or should I say, Sergeant? I cross referenced your images with the bases system, bringing up the personnel listing for the entire planet.” The tapping of the blade had quickened, racing with Tears temper as he ran over each point until finally coming to the conclusion that he knew they had lied.

Tear reached down savagely yanking Alan’s head back and pulling open his jaw. The curved blade disappeared inside Alan’s mouth for a moment. A muffled scream tried to escape the private’s throat but the lack of air only gave way to a deep-throated gurgle. Seconds later Tear straightened up the blade dripped in thick crimson. His blood-covered fingers gave a flick, flinging Alan’s severed tongue against Darriann’s chest.

“Should have just told me your name.” Tears face was no longer amused. His expression was cold and uncaring for the young man behind him whose mouth was flooded with blood.

“Now ill forgive you for that, but, you must tell me something else. There should be fallback plans for resistance cells to meet up and coordinate with other survivors or troops that had been left behind. Where are the locations for these meetings.” Tear dropped the blade against the table, letting the blood from the blade splatter carelessly. He picked up a long pin and with a flick to the base the sharp tip seared a sizzling orange.

“Speak up, I’m pretty sure your friend there won’t be answering.”

[Darriann Sollak]

Darriann kept a hard face. Why would this Imperial want to know the contingency plans. The planet is theirs they could, with time just scan the islands. Unless! He stared over at his partner who was in shock. There was still a chance for them to get out of this he just had to play prisonner. The hard face suddenly fell into a face of fear, true fear so the Imperial should think.

"Look. Just don't hurt me. I'll tell you where the cell is that I was to meet up with. Just don't kill me. It's a small island with a mountain, inside there's a bunker for supplies and a repair bay for fighters. It's 1700 kilometres east of the main island." He said frightened, Wonder what they'll think when they see blood stained beaches or more importantly nothing.

[Jarek T'chort]

Two mammoth DS111 Heavy carriers ascended into the greying Bestine skies, their load disgorged on the captured airfield below. As their repulsorlifts whinned into obscurity, the airfield was a flurry of activity. The airfield consisted of a number of large hangars and pre-fab structures, surrounded by hastily thrown up (through now reinforced) guard positions and perimeter defenses. The base covered almost a square mile, Imperial Engineers had worked tirelessly since the initial invasion to set up the base - leveling ground and clearing trees.

On the glazed asphalt that now covered the area, hawk-like Imperial AAV's (Airborne assault vehicles) were being fitted and weapons loaded, flight crews scurrying about the 'birds' performing systems and tweaks. The pilots, in distinctive grey/green flight suits, sat watching from the tarmac-side Caridan-themed cafe. Such tastes of home life usually wound their way onto military bases.

Lieutenant Colonel Schell, commander of the 1st Imperial Air Cavalry Squadron, walked purposefully across the tarmac, ignoring the peppering of drizzle that had rode in off the Quari sea, not three miles from the base. His aviator sunglasses were tinted green, covering deep set brown eyes and a thick forehead. His quick grin characterized him as an easy going commander, he was a man who men gravitated towards, he was a leader. However, his casual demeanor sometimes put him at odds with his regular Army or Guards colleagues.

"Dix! How you boys going?"

His NCO - a sergeant major, turned from overseeing the last ammunition stores being packed away into the hangars.

"Almost done sir, the grease monkeys are running final checks on the birds, we'll be airborne within a half hour."

"Excellent," beamed the Colonel, "but we have a nasty lookin' storm blowing in from the south."

"Yes sir, should make the flights more exciting." Returned Dix, his attention returning to the loading as his C.O. walked toward the cafe.

Within twenty minutes, the first AirCav patrols were in the air, patrolling the Quari coastline.

[Tiberius Anar]

"The Air Cavalry is untried, Field Marshal. If I might ask, what gives you such confidence in them?"

[Redic Scott]

The leather of the large bag dented and sprang back before being hit again and again. It was this way for over half an hour now and was swaying back and forth as impact after impact struck it. The black bag was wrinkled with many days of use, but still held strong and strudy.

The white bandage wrapped hand kept striking the bag over and over again as its owner moving from side to side avoiding it as it shot back at him. The muscular arm was surprisingly fast as was the massive bulk of Major Zitzev. As he moved quickly sweat flew from him and hit the floor and nearby wall as well as the massive punching bag.

As the Major excercised, his face was stern and focused. The man knew he was going to battle soon and was ready. As he punished the bag, the mission was playing inside his head. Every single detail was worked out and the men had practiced none stop. They all knew the importance of this and as always, they would be the first ones in and the last ones out. They were the best of the best and would prove it once more.

To Vladamir Zitzev this was another combat drop to add to the other thirteen he already had. He was a veteran of twenty three years of servive and could do this with his eyes closed. Even though he could do it blindfolded, he didn't get this far by being reckless. Vlad knew things usually don't go as planed and sometimes the consiquences are tremedious. The scars on his back, chest, and the long one on his cheek, told the story of when drops go bad. It was only with luck that he made it back alive, however, he could still see and remember the faces of those men that died under his command. The only thing to make it back from those men were their dog tags. Their families were told they died in training accidents and their files were sealed forever. That was the life of the Infiltators. No friends, no family, only them and their community.

Vlad let the bag sway as he stepped away. His practice was the same before all missions. It let him get into "The Zone" and helped him focus. His team only had a few more days for the start of the mission and every member was doing their own thing to prepare. Vlad put the soaked towel around his neck and looked around the empty gym, hoping to see it again after the mission. With one last look to went to the showers.

[Travis North]

Major, or rather Colonel, Travis North stood firmly in the hanger control room in the underbelly of the Aurora-class Destroyer. His eyes set on the newly arrived replacement fighters from the 2nd Wing, his Wing, in the Imperial Guard. The pilots climbed out of their shining TIE Defenders. They took a step forward and stood at attention giving a salute across their chests to their new CO. Travis returned the salute and waved them over to the control room. The pilots marched out in an orderly fashion towards the room. They then assemble in file according to rank. The unit commander took a step forward and gave a formal salute.

"Sir, Wing Commander Rin'd Seg." Her voice buzzed through the communicator equipped in the helmet, "The 2nd Wing of the Imperial Guard is at your command. What are our orders?"

[Jarek T'chort]

"The Air Cavalry is untried, Field Marshal. If I might ask, what gives you such confidence in them?"

"Not entirely untried, Chancellor." Responded Jarek, "they were used to great affect against the rebels on Tolea'Fuin."

Reminding himself that Anar had little knowledge of Military affairs, the Field Marshall nodded to an aide. The Colonel produced a small holoplayer, it's screen glowing a hazy blue as it powered up. A three-dimensional hologram of a valley appeared, with a medium-sized town nestling inside. The holo grew larger, now displaying a number of blue tags, marking Imperial Air Cavalry AAV's. The blue dots swept past the holographic town, blasting at the structures and disabling strongpoints. Finally, the holo cut to scenes of Airborne troopers quickly felling resistance and securing hostages. The demonstration finished, the holoplayer falling silent.

Jarek smiled, his eyes gleaming. "Your excellency, that holo demonstrates how effective the AirCav are, they are a fast moving, highly mobile force. Ideal for dealing with insurgency."

"However, it is inevitable that the Republic will launch a major offensive against our forces at Bestine." The smile fell away. "It is only a matter of time before they attack."

[Admiral Hagen]

Bestine IV shimmered in the darkness of space, quiet and subdued. Above the planet, the Imperial Fleet was moving. The core of the Fleet, three Imperial MkIV Star Destroyers - held the center, repair ships and personnel darting over the massive craft, putting right damage from the previous battle.

Admiral Hagen had shifted 'Dagger Squadron' to protect the coreward side of planet in readiness for the Republic counterattack. The newly arrived 15th Interdictor Squadron had joined the waiting craft, it's six Constrainer-class Interdiction Pickets waited in advance of the flotilla, gravity wells ready to rudely snatch anything that passed close enough from hyperspace and into the heavy firepower of the Imperial warships. Frigates and TIE Defender pickets played the waiting game too, sensors scanning incessantly for any sign of the impending arrival of the New Republic.

[Tiberius Anar]

"You may have more time than you believe, Field Marshal," said Anar with a knowing smile, "A serious counter offensive by the New Republic will require the approval of the Senate, such is their law. That body is presently in recess and it will take some time to recall the necessary number of Senators to hold a vote. And I suspect that such a vote will require considerable deliberation since democracy encourages such delays."

The Chancellor sat forward in his seat, his hands on the table top, his fingers inter-laced.

"Are we preapred for an counter-strike by the New Republic?"

[Jarek T'chort]

"Are we prepared for an counter-strike by the New Republic?"

Anar's statements about the trivialites of the Republic senate silently eased some of the tension in Jarek's mind, tension that he didn't even realise he had been retaining.

"Preparations have been underway since Bestine City fell, Excellency." Jarek assured the Chancellor, "we have substantial forces deployed in the theatre, with defensive positions and constructions are being set up as we speak."

Pausing to brush some imaginary hair from the sleeve of his jacket, Jarek continued.

"In fact, I shall shortly be flying out to Bestine to take command from Colonel-General von Klemmerer. I shall see to it personally that Bestine remains in Imperial hands."

________________

Some hours later, the Field Marshall sat aboard his personnal shuttle, lifting high above the clouds of Thyferra toward the orbiting Centurion-class Star Destroyer Relentless. Aboard awaited Grand Admiral Desaria, off to inspect the defenses of the contended planet. The Relentless would transport him to Bestine - and perhaps one of the greatest challenges he would face since Jarek's rise to head of the Imperial Army.

[Telan Desaria]

Continued from Post 1, Braxant thread

Centurion-class Star Destroyer Relentless
En route - Bestine



" Thank you Captain. Dismissed."


Referred to only by his last name - Agadir, the Captain of the Relentless bowed smartly and disappeared from the expanse quarters reserved for flag officers.


From within the depths of that cavernous room came the sound of jackboots clicking upon the deck as the pair's wearer moved deliberately from his chair. Golden epaulettes, hand woven by workers on Ison, rustled upon white fabric with the movement of the officer's tall yet lithe frame.


Good news is always welcome.


" RX?" spoke the figure as he sauntered towards the viewports, hyperspace whirring by in hues of blue and white. As an answer to his summons a small astromech twittered cordially and rolled close.


" Personal Log entry."


The droid warbled briefly as a series of command codes wound their way through positronic circuitry before a mircophone extended itself from the machine's cylindrical silver body.


" When we dropped out of hyperspace on our final course adjustment before arriving at Bestine, communiques were received from High Command. Marshal Prem has informed me that my brother is doing well in his new task as Corps commander and has been recommended for the Legion of Merit. I know Colonel-General von Klemmerer and can only imagine what he thinks of Vinjent. For such a man to have spoken a word of praise is measure enough of his performance. I am very proud.


" Of course, I still worry that he will meet a gruesome fate in the weeks and months to come. We have begun what is going to be a bloody and long war with the New Republic. Bestine is the first act in this galactic opera and I nurse the fear that my sibling will fall.


" I am going to Bestine with the Relentless and the Glorious to complete an inspection of Naval assets deployed there. I have as such assumed joint command of the two battleships which have formed an ad hoc squadron with their assigned smaller craft. To be totally blunt, I hope the Republic counter attacks while I am there. It has been some time since we faced a worthy adversary. However, as not to undermine the men's faith in Admiral Hagen, acting commander in orbit, I will not linger.


" Again - I can only hope they hit while I am there. May the Gods see to it. Perhaps my wish is morose, even morbid. Ares help me, I do love it so.


" End recording."


RX tweetered an acknowledgement and rolled into the darkness, his work done.


Grand Admiral Telan Desaria, however, had his work unfolding before him.

[Teleran Balades]

Among the never-ceasing traffic in the vicinity of , a flash of light and energy spike from a emergence from heralded the arrival of a massive craft. Just outside of the Interdiction field a 4 square kilometer platform materialized. The vessel had the shape of a huge cube with dozens of protruding cranes, repair slips, construction cradles, and tractor beam housings. Slowly the construct inched its way forward on its four Solar Ionization Reactors, passing the extreme edges of the minefield encircling key points around . Minelayers could still be seen racing from place to place deploying their payloads. The name Restoration could be seen painted along on either side of the cube. The Advance Mobile Repair Stations sole purpose was to refit all damaged vessels, even the hulking Star Destroyers could be serviced.

Tucked in near the Restoration, a second ship floated almost serenely, a hard feat amidst dozens of . Other than a dark-colored hull, the 60 meter long craft's sleek body had no visible markings or identification. The main body of the craft was in two parts An almost perfectly smooth top half hung over a lower portion and was connected in front by several pylons; about mid-way through the dual portions joined. Where the two hull sections met, a pair of stubby wings swept back, concealing the engine housings. The only visible weaponry were a sextet of turrets.

The unknown ship stayed nestled in by the gargantuan repair station, making its way undetected towards the hub of activity around the restored .



Captured Republic Defense Platform


Since the disable was brought back online by sovereignty technicians, the station had been turned into a command center for the orbital forces. The rooms here were more spacious than the bridge of any of the Destroyers, making it much easier for the fleet officers to meet. At the moment however, the only ranking officer present was Captain . Several other junior officers were i there as well.

For the first time in days was not stuck on ' bridge. The Captain sat behind a desk going over data from the battle earlier, studying the tactics the Republic warships had employed. Tel believed in analyzing every battle, the knowing the enemies strategies gave a fleet an edge in more ways than one.

A sudden tone from the desks -system drew his attention. The deep-throated voice of his second-in-command came through the speaker.

"Captain, an jumped in a few minutes ago, our ships are up first for refit."

A slight hint of in Alex's normally business-like tone peaked Tel's interest.

"Is there something else I should know about Commander."

"Yes sir, one of our fighters detected a second ship with the platform. It's unmarked."

Tel blinked, slightly confused.


"How did an unmarked ship get through our blockade?"

"You'd better take a look for yourself, Sir."

A -feed of the mystery ship floated above the desk. After a second groaned. He had seen one of these ships before and knew exactly who it belonged to. The Imperial Sovereignty . Tel opened a private channel directly to Admiral .

"Admiral, a Spectre jumped in with the AMRS ."

[Tiberius Anar]

Tiberius Anar stood gazing out of the window of his office. bathed in the blood red light of the setting sun. It seemed an appropriate description given what he had heared today. Despite the reassurances offered to him by the army's Supreme Commander- reassurances that his naval equivalent would no doubt repeat if asked- the Anar remained unsettled.

He turned and keyed the intercom, "Qunitus, have Under Secretary Gratz come over tommorrow. First avaliable slot."

"Yes, Excellency," came the crisp reply.

Gratz would be perfect for the job Anar had in mind. Knowing that, the silver haired man returned to his work.

[Admiral Hagen]

Admiral Hagen passed a hand through his thinning hair as he looked over the reports from the battle. Things were proceeding nicely, repairs were underway, reinforcements had arrived and the Antiphas was once more battle-ready.

However, within a few hours Grand Admiral Desaria himself would be arriving to oversee the defenses. Hagen had met Desaria a handful of times at various ceremonies and functions, the man was an aristocrat down to his bones, of higher blood then Hagen. But the Fleet Admiral was among a small group of officers who were firmly in the new Chancellors camp. In Hagen's mind, the only way for the Sovereignty to truly become a worthy successor to the Galactic Empire was to allow civil rule as in the days of Palpatine and the Grand Moffs. He respected all Desaria had done for the Empire, but now - now a new direction was needed, something he and others expected Tiberius Anar to give them.

The voice of his Captain disturbed his musings. "Admiral, report from medical, the female Republic captain we picked up died a few minutes ago."

"Thank you Captain. Prepare my shuttle, I will need to see Grand Admiral Desaria as soon as he arrives."

His chair beeped at him twice, indicating a message from Balades.

"Hagen here."

"Admiral, a Spectre jumped in with the AMRS ."

"Indeed, it's been leased to us by the Inquisitorate. I'm placing it under your command, it should be able to detect any attempt at infiltration by Republic stealth ships, Hagen out."

Standing, his face solemn, Hagen strode from the bridge, intent on taking a break for the first time since dropping into the Bestine system.

"You have the bridge Captain Maximus."

A brief rest would do him good, perhaps a drink to sooth the nerves - today had been trying, to say the least.

[Telan Desaria]

Bestine was a calm planet, or so one could say when gazing down at it from orbit. It had its cities and its rivers, its lakes and praries, its settled communities. And despite the battle that had clouded it two weeks before, it appeared calm.


So one must never trust his eyes alone - - only working in tandem can the senses see truth.


The Grand Admiral allowed himself a slight chuckle. Ever the militarist, he was not often given to lofty quips. Lieutenant-General de la Ruyter, Senior Professor of Philosophy at the Raltiir Campus, Imperial Academy, would have been proud.


" Grand Admiral, Admiral Hagan's shuttle is en route."


" Excellent. Have the galley prepare something - I doubt the Admiral and his staff have had a good meal for some time. I know I tire of battle rations."


" Of course, sir."


" Have them brought to my dining chamber - I will meet them there."

[Admiral Hagen]

The journey to the hangar bay of the Relentless had been without a hitch, bringing Admiral Hagen and his personal staff - Chief Hannity, a slightly rotund engineer, Colonel Varis, commander of the Fighter Wing and the much younger Lieutenant Halsey, aboard the Centurion-class Destroyer. His staff were some of the finest men in the Fleet, all of whom had served aboard the Antiphas under Hagen for almost 18 months.

A watch Ensign led the party through the thrumming hallways of the Star Destroyer, to the dining room of the Grand Admiral. Hagen stretched his gloves over his hands, giving himself and his staff a once over to make sure they were properly presented. The Ensign stopped, silently tapping the door controls, allowing them to slide open. The party stepped inside, boots creaking on the durasteel deck.

"Grand Admiral, may I present Flag Admiral Hagen."

Desaria was seated at the far end of a long ebony table, his white uniform resplendent. Beyond him, the stars gleamed in the angular view ports, giving a fine view of the Imperial Fleet in orbit. As Desaria rose, Hagen brought his hand up in a smart salute, as did his staff.

"Grand Admiral Desaria, a pleasure to meet you again sir."

[Telan Desaria]

" And you Admiral."


The Grand Admiral gestured to his right, the officers que to take up positions flanking him. Before each seat was a tall glass, nearly a quarter meter in height, filled with a ruby tinted fluid older than any man in the room. Aristocrats the galaxy over were famous for refined tastes and the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy was no exception, several bottles of near priceless wine following him whereever he went.


Hagen sat and removed his gloves. Appetizers steamed gently in the breeze of recycled air, wafting to and fro a pleasing aroma.


" Admiral, a congratulations on the conquest of Bestine. You did lose one Destroyer but the price could have been much higher."

[Admiral Hagen]

The mention of the loss of the Barzel sat uncomfortably with the Admiral. Though he had been privately almost contemptuous of the deceased C.O. of the Barzel, the loss of almost 70% of the crew had been a hard blow to take. Those men and women who now lay in repose, or those unfortunate souls who still floated above Bestine, were under his overall command. Despite the number of missions he had undertaken, Hagen felt something akin to guilt towards their deaths. He stirred himself, not allowing such feelings to show in front of the Supreme Commander.

"Indeed it could have been. It was quite hair-raising at times, but the Imperial Armed forces proved more then up to the challenge, sir."

Hagen sipped at his wine, allowing the aroma to seep into his nostrills.

"I trust the defense preperations are to your pleasure Grand Admiral?"

[Telan Desaria]

Grand Admirals were renowned for their tactical abilities and strategic foresight. Baron Telan Desaria was no different in many respects - he was a master tactician. He had, however, acknowledge his lack of strategic vision and thusly relied heavily on the Great General Staff.


With such tactical aptitude came perception, one that could pierce that clouds of smoke and flame on the field and the defenses of an officer's heart.


" During the Fourth Vong War, I made the acquaintance of then Colonel-General T'chort. He was ground commander on a world called Brentaal, fighting overwhelming numbers of Vong troops and their diminuitive shock troops. I arrived with reinforcements to push off their blockade - he had before been under bombardment from orbit.


" So as not to have my entire hand exposed at once, I sent in my van squadron - the 3rd of the Line, 1st Division of the Thyferra Sector Fleet. I arrived with the second wave and we drove the Vong from orbit. Over the course of a four day battle, however, the 3rd of the Line became separated from the main body of our armada. They were surrounded.


" Perhaps after an hour after their being cut-off, the reserves I had ordered arrived from Eriadu. Unfortunately, I had only one heavy squadron to work with and two daunting tasks. I could either rescue the 3rd from its entrapment or drive the Vong from the field. I was ill equipped to do both. The Greater Good demanding my attention, the Vong were decimated and only a handful limped away. In their wake, the 3rd Squadron of the Line was annihilated by Vong suicide skippers."


The Grand Admiral took a sip of his wine and let his eyes close. An image from his memory came to life, the face of Captain Renald Scintera, so young and eager at receiving the command of an entire Fleet squadron. Desaria pushed it away.


" The burden of command is borne by any and every Admiral. We do what we can and what we must without question or apology. However, every leader before us and every flag officer after us will toss and turn through the night, disecting the day's actions. It is not an easy lot to live, but one we do. Lives will always be lost in battle, but never more than would be lost were we not there to stop an enemy at the gates to our homes."


Desaria ravaged a piece of meat he had bayoneted onto the end of his hand carved fork.


" Your preparations for defense are well thought out. I expected no less."

[Admiral Hagen]

The room was quiet, save for the sounds of dining, the lower officers watching the exchange between the two silently.

Hagen mulled over Desaria's words as he chewed his steak, brow furrowed.

"The burden of command, Grand Admiral - indeed, I know this too well." He allowed a smile to form as he spoke. "I have always been of the opinion that minimising losses to the forces under your command is of great importance, as you have perceived, sometimes this worry encroaches upon my thoughts."

He eyed the knife in his hand, marveling the way the light glinted from the blade.

"All that remains to think about now is the Republic's counter stroke, this will be quite a battle, I predict."

[Telan Desaria]

The Grand Admiral inhaled deliberately as if the taking in of air prepared him for speach. Though physiologically it did, the act was more to allow him to finish chewing before speaking - aristocrats never spoke with their meals visible.


" It should indeed. Were I their commander, I would try to draw us out of orbit and out from the protection of our captured defense platform and the planetary ion cannon. We must prevent precisely that. No matter what their tactics, however, they will outnumber us. To think otherwise would be folly. We are dangerously close to the Core and major New Republic possessions. Skill, not numbers, will determine our fate."


Desaria refilled his cup from a bottle upon the shined table top.


" At last report, Admiral Dulles is in the Core and I would fancy a row with him greatly. However, we have battled before. I doubt they would send him anyway - he favors broadsides and engagements between battleships as I do. We have one advantage in such a department - our battleships are tried and true, powerful, and well lead - theirs are new and prone to mechanical failure.


" The Calamari field excellent ships but our designs can deal them a crippling blow. What do you think, Admiral Hagen? I remember you being something of a Fighter-Admiral, more likely to send in assualt ships and TIE Scimitars than engage at salvo range."

[Admiral Hagen]

Hagen grinned, the topic of conversation was much more appeasing to him.

"I am indeed a Fighter Admiral, I was always fascinated by attempting to expliot the weakness of Capital ships with fighter craft and the like, bringing down such might craft with a flight of assault bombers - there is something quite heroic about it."

He gesticulated with his hands as he spoke, describing how Scimictar bombers could attack weak spots on Mon Calamari vessels while the larger ships picked off the defenses of the Republic battleships.

"I have always been an advocate of long range engagement. By utilising smaller, faster craft - launched from Carriers and Destroyers, we can strike quickly at their lumbering ships and deal deadly blows - " he caught himself in his speech, "but, this is perhaps not as honourable as the way of broadsides."

[Telan Desaria]

The Grand Admiral grinned, his penchant for honourable combat, chivalry, and gallantry proceeding him as ever.


" I did not say that. As long as honour itself is satisfied, I acquiesce to the requirements of victory. Perhaps the greatest perk of being the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy is having my ryschatte and eating it too.


" Simply because I like battleships doesnot mean I won't let my fighter joc - *ahem* - pilots deploy. It is fact that fighters can do a great deal of damage to larger ships, and such is why I have had all Destroyers equipped with an Assualt Squadron to complement their TIEs already on board.


" I believe my greatest...qualm...with fighter engagements is their inability to attain permanent results. A fighter squadron can take a planet, but it cannot hold it. A battleship can do both."


Desaria threw up his hands in jovial resignation.


" As I doubt the New Republic is going to let either of us present our arguements to their arriving commander, we shall both have to do our best. Of course, I leave you with this reminder - the barrel of a gun on a quadturbolaser turret on this ship is wider than the diameter of a Defender's ball cockpit."

[Admiral Hagen]

The Admiral laughed, his food almost forgotten.

"This is true, Grand Admiral - I suspect that the Republic will be doing their uptmost to avoid and destroy both Destroyer and Defender."

His half-forgotten fork still clasped in his hand, Hagen gazed beyond the Grand Admiral, watching the Imperial Fleet manuver beyond the viewports of the Relentless. Nodding to his staff, the Admiral sighed.

"We are more then ready to meet the threat, the Barzel will be avenged. The Republic will certainly learn to fear our Fleet once more."

[Telan Desaria]

Desaria shared in the chuckle, sipping once more his slowly nursed liquor.


" Oh believe, my dear Admiral - they fear it already. All we need do is make them fear it more..."

[Tear]

Tear almost looked disappointed when Darriann appeared to break and give him the information he requested. That was fast, he thought to himself for a moment as he picked up a data pad and plugged in the coordinates with a few keystrokes.

“Excuse me for a moment gentlemen.” Tear turned around tapping the large durasteel door. Large clunks of metal locks sliding back could be heard before the door creaked open. Again whispers were traded between unseen agents just beyond the door and the bloodied data pad was traded off.

The coordinates would be transmitted to fleet command where they would run a series of scans and if they found signs of an installation the area would be on the receiving end of an orbital bombardment.

“Sorry about that. Just making sure I don’t have to remove any more tongues today.” Tear tilted his head with a sick sense of pleasure as cold blue eyes stared into Darrianns.

“But I’m the trusting type. So for your cooperation I will help your friend.” Cold blue eyes met Darriann’s for a moment before snaking away to Alan’s limp and near unconscious body. Bloodied fingers felt through Alans hair, tightening and wrenching his head back again, his mouth this time was already agape and full of blood. A free hand reached out to the table, fingers already dripping with blood, a tool the size of someone’s palm leapt from its resting-place on the table. Tear flicked the small switch on the dorsal of the device, in turn the tip of the device began to glow a molten orange. The tip was quickly plunged into Alan’s mouth. His screams reverberated loudly throughout the room echoing down the ruined hallways of the base like some restless spirit.

The aroma of burnt flesh quickly filled the compact little room in company of a short but thick column of steam swirling up from Alan’s unconscious body.

“There. Cauterized. Now he won’t bleed to death. See how being helpful has its rewards?” Tear tossed the hand held device carelessly back onto the table before walking over to it himself. “What else do we have in here…”

A small torch was set and lit. The blue flame hissed softly as it was compressed into tight stream. Several needles quickly found their tips flipping back and forth through the azure flames. Tear glanced back toward Darriann in an irritated manner.

“This’ll only take a second.” Tears eyebrows raised as he sucked in his lips in a vain attempt to hold his patience in check. He sighed in a huff and turned back to Darriann again.

“So…have any family back home? A sister perhaps? Dead mother?”

[Jarek T'chort]

A black and red banner floated loftily above the Pelenor Hotel, an old and distinct manor house on the hills overlooking Bestine City. A gravel strewn courtyard was the center of attention under the pale grey skies - for the Imperial Army had it's headquarters at this spot, the lobbies and guest rooms of the stately home now filled with equipment and Army personnel.

In the great dining room, the hand-carved table had been pushed to one side, with maps and data pads littering it's surface. An elderly gentleman, his breast bedecked with medals - a monocle in his right eye, stood with his back to the double doors at the end of the room, pouring over the latest dispatches from the various patrols.

"General Von-Klemmerer? Field Marshall T'chort has arrived."

The young Major spoke quietly to the General, who straighted his tunic and passed a hand over his hair before turning to face the doorway. The assorted personnel stood at attention, awaiting the Supreme Commander of the Army.

Jarek strode in, his greatcoat and visor cap cutting an imposing figure, even to the veteran General.

"Field Marshall, welcome to Bestine, I am Colonel-General Von-Klemmerer."

T'chort nodded to the man, noting the older soldiers harsh tone - an aristocrat, who was old enough to remember the days of Thrawn by the looks of it.

"Thank you General, how goes the war?"

"It goes well, sir. We are in command of the valleys now, our fire-bases have been set up - artillery now can range across the plains. All the major cities and planetery defenses have been captured."

Jarek removed his cap, running a hand through his hair as the General spoke.

"This is excellent - what of the resistance?"

Klemmerer sneered, expressing his distaste for the enemy.

"They have carried out a few hit-and-runs, attacked a village or two, but have not yet shown their true numbers."

"I see, I expect once the Republic attacks we shall soon see their true power. I expect a full briefing within the hour, but first I must refresh, the journey has been long."

T'chort and his staff strode from the room, leaving the old General to return to his planning. Dozens of heavy fire bases had been set up on mountains and hilltops, with artillery in their defended centers, ready to pour ordnance into the valleys below. The Divisions of the Army lay in wait in the towns and in the forests, for neither Klemmerer nor T'chort believed in static defense.

As evening drew in over the northern continent of Bestine, the Imperial Army waited with baited breath.

[Tiberius Anar]

At that same time a converted Correlian Corvette, painted blood red and bearing the golden crest of the Imperial Sovereignty, dropped out of hyperspace. It began to head towards the picket line surrounding the embattled world, broadcasting a recognition signal.

A portly man of middle years, Felipe Gratz, stood on the bridge of this vessel surrounded by members of the Crimson Corps crew.

He turned to the red coated captain, "Inform me when we are in orbit."

"Yes, sir," said the captain with a deferential nodded.

Gratz strode from the bridge.

__________________________________________________ __

About an hour later a small shuttle craft made the descent to the planet's surface. It carried Gratz and a two other men in its small passenger compartment. It made a bee line for Bestine City and the headquarters of Field Marshal T'chort.

[Teleran Balades]

Tel sat for a moment, confused. Why would the Iquisitoriate allow us to use one of their ships. The people in Inteligence are higly protective of who uses the spectres. Tel stood up and moved toward the door, heading in the direction of the docking collars. Which means they probably sent an Inquisitor to oversee how it's used.

Tel arrived at the airlock just seconds before the stealth vessel docked. He had seen a spectre before, but the circustances had been quite different, and very aggravating. When he had first defected to the Sovereignty, Inquisitorial staff swarmed over him like a group a ravenous nexu. Tel still held a grudge against them, even more so than most Navy officers. Then again, people can change.

A hiss of air from the equalizing pressure brought Tel's attention to the airlock. As the door slid open he moved forward to greet the new arrivals. But when the lead fiqure of the trio moving down the ramp came into focus Balades instantly stopped short, his hands clenched tightly. Of course they can be the same pieces of <smallfont color={hovercolor}>-Censored-</smallfont> they always were.

The Inquisitor standing before the airlock wore an expression that mirrored Tel's. But still mananged to speak without pouncing.

"Greetings, Captain Balades. It's good to see you again."

The mans voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Like wise, Inquisitor Valten."

[Tiberius Anar]

On the surface a similar meeting was taking place. Gratz's shuttle, having successfuly evaded the sporadic anti-aircraft fire from Republic troops still on the surface, swept over the landing area. It had once been a square surrounded by plush buildings but now it was little more than a rubble strewn open space in the midst of the destruction wrought by the heavy weapons employed in the Imperial assualt.

Gratz's could see a small group of officers huddled in the limited protection of a tumbled down wall. The Under Secretary scanned this group looking for T'chort's distinctive black leather coat but could see no sign of it. Clearly the field marshal had been detained.

The pilot, satisfied that the ground was clear enough for the shuttle to land, brought the craft back around in preparation for landing. A few moments later they were on the ground.

Gratz rose to his feet and made his way forward. The engines were barely stopped when he descended the exit ramp. As he exited the shuttle the wind whipped at his coat, causing it snap and crack like the banners that hung outside his office in the Treasury Building.

An officer dressed in an army great coat stepped forward. He was a lieutenant and wore the augillettes of a staff officer.

"Sir, I am Lieutenant Vorrs..."

The rest of the speech that he had prepared went unsaid as Gratz flipped open his id card, "I am Under Secretary Gratz of the Imperial Treausry. I am here at the orders of Chancellor Anar. You will take me to Field Marshal T'chort's headquarters and inform him that I wish to speak with him."

"But," the lieutenant was clearly un happy with this brusque treatment.

"Was there a problem, lieutenant?"

"No, sir."

"Then shall we?" said Gratz with a thin smile.

[Jarek T'chort]

"...unless they are able to land spec-ops forces at the generators."

"As I have said repeatedly, they are more then adequately defended General."

Colonel-General Klemmerer and the younger General Krill were leant over the planning table, their adjutants standing uncomfortably alongside them. The bad blood between the two was something that T'chort had to contend with since he had arrived. Something to do with a professional disagreement, he had gathered.

Sitting pensively at his desk, T'chort glanced up as an aide strode up, saluting smartly.

"Field Marshall, Minister Gratz has arrived."

Jarek didn't speak for a moment, his eyes narrowed.

"Assemble the guard." Turning to his compatriots, he grimaced. "Gentlemen, would you care to follow me outside?"

The two gave one last look of defiance at one another before falling into step behind the Field Marshall, Klemmerer adjusting his monocle as he walked.

Outside, a double row of Guardsmen had formed up, blaster rifles held against their armor breastplates. The three soldiers strode to the end of the ranks, hands clasped behind backs, as the armored landspeeder carrying Gratz appeared at the gates.

"What in blazes is this politician," Klemmerer spat, "doing here?"

T'chort turned slightly to face the elder man.

"I think the Chancellor has decided he does not like being kept out of the loop, so he sends a watchdog."

"How thoughtful of him." Added Jarek dryly.

The motorcade halted at the head of the parade, the side door of Gratz's landspeeder sliding open at the touch of an aides gloved hand. Gratz removed himself from the rather crampt military speeder with as much dignity as he could muster.

"Under Secretary," called T'chort, "welcome to Bestine."

[Tiberius Anar]

"Field Marshal," said Gratz with a curt nod. He switched his attention to the other military men, "Generals Klemmerer and Krill I presume? Excellent."

The under secretary gestured to the man and woman who had emerged from the speeder after him, "These are my aides," he said briefly.

"Field Marshal I am here at the orders of the Chancellor. I have a letter for you from his own hand that I am to deliver to you."

Gratz reached into his coat pocket and produced, an wax sealed envelope. Beneath the Imperial Crest and the simple heading His Excellency Tiberius Anar were the following words.

Field Marshal, my greetings to you and your men,

Given the momentous nature of your present undertaking I feel that it would be unjust, not to mention impractical, to expect you to keep me abreast of developments at the front. I have therefore decided to send, Felipe Gratz, a trusted official to act as my observer.

I would ask that you ensure that he and his aides be accomodated in your headquarters and that Gratz be given access to as much information as possible regarding the progress of the war. Furthermore I would ask that he be permitted to send regular reports to me. I trust that I can rely unpon your co-operation in this matter.

Anar

[Jarek T'chort]

Holding the letter in his right hand, Jarek skim-read the parchment, eyes moving quickly over the scrawled letters. Looking up sharply at the Secretary, he smiled perfunctorily.

"Very well," T'chort spoke measuredly, "you are offically recognised as liason to the Imperial Armed Forces, Bestine theatre."

Krill nodded, with Klemmerer performing a low bow, his bald head glinting in the sun, to the Secretary.

"If you will accompany us, Secretary," said T'chort, "you shall be appraised of the situation."

[Tiberius Anar]

"If you'll just sign this then, Field Marshall," Gratz said producing another document from within his coat, "Confirming my status."

I, Field Marshall T'chort, confirm that Felipe Gratz, Under Secretary of the Treasury, is the designated liason between myself and the Imperial Chancellor. He is to be given all possible assistance in his task.

[Jarek T'chort]

A barely concealed snort came from the aged Von Klemmerer, which he disguised as a sneeze, rather badly.

Jarek himself contained his temper. To him, this... almost condescending paper was rather an annoyance, no doubt Gratz would be quite a handful, if Jarek's experience of politicians was anything to go by. He summoned up a slight smile, speaking in a dry tone.

"But of course."

He signed it, eyes still on Gratz.

"Do you have any other important documents, Secretary Gratz?"

[Tiberius Anar]

"None at this time, Field Marshal," said Gratz apparently without noticing T'chort's tone, "Lead on."

[Christopher Munro]

OOC: This is probably going to end up being fairly lengthy, so I'll hack it into bits. Oh yeah, I tweaked the intro from my training thread to use it here...I'm kinda proud of it. ;)


IC:

"Commence final pre-flight checks."

The dark side of Bestine loomed menacingly towards the Imperial starship that sliced silently through the blackness of space. Night had fallen across the drop-zone. Down there, somewhere, the Rebel enemy was veiled in shadow. But its looming failed to menace Captain Christopher Munro. He merely reached above his head, and flicked the switch to test the night-vision enhancements for his HUD. For a brief instant, the cold steel insides of the Star Destroyer were drowned in an eerie green. Satisfied, Kit reversed the switch.

"This is the Dropship Atlantis. All systems operational."

Captain Munro let out a sigh. The worst part of any mission was the waiting. Kit had flown enough missions to know what his ship could handle. He didn't doubt the fact that the Rebels would make things a bit tricky for him, but the Imperials were dominant down there. There wasn't that much that the New Republic could do. Which meant this was going to be another of those boring behind-the-lines transport missions. He sighed. I get assigned far too many of those.

The comm clicked. "Atlantis, this is Control. Confirm five minutes to deployment." A rustle lept across the radio...chuckle-static, Kit guessed. "If you need to use the 'fresher, now would be a good time."

That warranted another sigh. He had no idea if Starfighter pilots found jokes like that amusing, but their ground crew certainly did. This was what Munro hated about waiting - the people he had to deal with. Retrieving his flight gloves from a pocket, and pulling them on, he silently thanked whatever part of his brain had made him think straight enough to join the Army.

"Your five minutes are up, Atlantis. You may launch when ready."

"Thanks Control," Kit replied. "I'll see you soon." His thumb slid off the comm button. "Unfortunately."

Grabbing the control yoke gently in one hand, he reached down to his left, and feathered the repulsorlifts. The dropship Atlantis rose gently from the deck. Edging the throttle forward slowly, the craft drifted forwards, and dropped gently through the magnetic field that held the atmosphere within the ship.

Firing up the spacial thrust engines, Kit rolled the ship, gradially orientating it so that his TLZ (target landing zone) hung off to ventral. Then, creeping foward into the planet's gravity, he angled the ship onto the entry vector, as ordered, and waited.

"Ladies and gents," he called over the intercom to his passengers, "We are now approaching Bestine. Passengers for death, honour and glory, please prepare to disembark."

* * *

Clouds whisped across in front of Kit as his ship dropped below them. "Hear anything, Phones?" he asked his Co-pilot.

"Nothing yet, sir."

Kit sighed, a combinination of frustration and relief. He wanted something to happen, but was glad it hadn't yet. Flexing his fingers around the controls, he watched the ground grow beneath him.

"Its a shame the battle's over," Lieutenant Shane Davis, Phones, observed. "This would be a lot more fun if the Rebels were still here."

"They're still here, Phones," Kit replied. "And don't worry...they'll be back."

"What makes you say th-..."

An explosion rocked the ship before Phones could finish. "Frell!" Kit yelled, slamming the controls across to the right, compensate for the quickly-sinking port wing.

"Weapons fire from the surface!" Phones reported. "Port stabalizer is loosing power...looks like someone down there has a PML."

"Portable Missile Launcher. Great," Kit muttered, trying to keep the ship steady. "Find me somewhere to land...we should be carrying a spare. Mike can hook it up." Kit growled, as the controls tried to leap left, and rip his arm out of its socket. "Radio base. Tell them we'll be late."

[Redic Scott]

Private Ulson scanned the sky for the tenth time in one hour and let out a bored sigh. He leaned back and turned toward the private beside him, "How did we get this job? There hasn't been any air activity in this area for four days."

"Keep your eyes open Greg, we're here to go a job, not have fun. If something happens we will be the first to know about it." Private Milon said as he checked the warhead magazine inside his launch system. Everything was ready to fired at a moments notice.

"Calm down, nothing is going to happe..."Just then something glittered in the sky as the sun hit it. "I think we got something, two o'clock high."

The Private lifted up his micros and scanned the air. As he zoomed in the image resolved into a Sentinal Shuttle. He wondered what they were doing in this area, but didn't really care. All he knew was that the shuttle would get a nasty surprise as it got closer.

"It's a Sent., moving into the area fast."

The other soldier was already looking into the scope of his launch system and aquired the shuttle, "Got it Greg."

He held his fire as the shuttle closed in and as it got into his missiles range he pulled the trigger. In a Whoosh, the missile left the launcher and climbed into the sky quickly. As it closed to within a few seconds, a laser guidence beam fired out from the launcher and guided the warhead to the targeted shuttle.

"Hit!! Its going down. Radio HQ and tell them." Greg was already scrambling for the comm system to report the hit.

[Christopher Munro]

Kit hooked the ear-mounted comlink on, and adjusted it a little so the microphone pointed towards his mouth. The Atlantis carried 54 passengers...these had been rather conveniently divided into 9 groups of six. Seven of these had been positioned on and around the downed shuttle, designated teams 1 through 7. The remaining two were designated Alpha and Omega, and headed up by Kit and Phones respectively.

"Alphas, lets move out," Kt called to his team, leading them slowly round the port wing. Somehow, Kit had managed to pull off a landing. The clearing was extremely convenient...he'd managed to get the ship close enough to the ground with its damaged stabaliszer so that he could switch over to the repulsorlift systems that activated when the wings folded up. Unfortunately, the clearing wasn't far from where they'd been shot from. If the Rebels were watching...

"If it moves people, shoot to kill, and pray that its a Rebel."

Patting the WO, inspecting the damage, firmly on the shoulder as he passed, Kit led his team across the clearing, and into the wilderness to the north.

[Redic Scott]

Lt. Samson stood in the middle of the spread out formation and looked at the blinking indicator on his data pad. Motioning everyone forward, the formation of 46 troopers moved through the forest once more. They slowly making their way toward the location of the downed shuttle and hoped to get there before the imperials could be extracted. It was be nice to get a prisoner or two and get new informations.

They were regular troopers and moved quickly, trying to make as little noise as possible. When they got closer, the platoon split up to approach the shuttles location from three different sides. They had their weapons ready and the sargents monitored the hand-held motion sensors, searching for any signs of motion.

"They're out there people, watch yourselves. The imps have had time to prepare, so more nice and slow. Be ready for anything." Samson said through the comm link attached to his cheek.

[Christopher Munro]

Their patrol had found nothing...Phones' was empty handed too. The area looked clear for now, but Kit had decided to take one last sweep round to the east.

Walking slowly, Kit's feet brushed around aside dry leaves and twigs, heel landing first, foot rolling slowly forwards to ease the noise pressure of each step.

Suddenly, through the gently moving air, Kit heard something. He raised a hand to stop his team, eyes slowly scanning the dark undergrowth around him. Careful to make no sudden movements, he waved for his team to move into cover, leading by example as he slowly and silently dropped down to one knee.

Lowering his blaster for a second, he reached up and sent a tapped signal through his comlink. Incoming.

Ears scanning the gentle breeze, Kit fought to locate the sound he'd just heard. It sounded like a distant voice...but it could have just been the wind.

A gust carried the sound closer...a human voice, male, from the sound of it. Kit's head snapped to the right, the sound located, 30 meters or so away. Nodding to himself, he waved to his team, silently ordering them to split up, two to the left, two to the right, and two to follow him down the center. Then, crouch-walking low, hiding their shapes in the shadow of the plant-line, Kit's team began to move.

* * *

The physical repairs completed, Mike had retired to the cockpit to tune the computer into its new stabalizer when Kit's signal sounded over the comm. I knew this wouldn't be simple, he muttered, reaching across the console.

He grabbed an earpiece and, holding it to his ear, activated the intercom. "All teams, we have incoming. Assume standard defensive positions...and Phones, watch your six. They'll hit us from two directions if there are enough of them."

Sitting back in his chair and staring out the viewport, he silently thanked himself for shutting off the external lighting. At least it'll give us some kind of cover... Then, with a sigh, he returned to his work, hoping Kit and Phones could hold off the Rebels long enough for him to get the Atlantis airborne again.

[Redic Scott]

"Motion at twelve, ten, and two o'clock. Picking up slow movement." Sargent Imolus whispered into the comm as the data pad on his hand flashed. He raised his blaster rifle and scanned the suroundings.

"No body fire until fired upon." Samson whispered as he raised his rifle and everyone crouched down. "Johun, Lumus, up the tree."

As he whispered, the entire platoon crouched down and scanned for targets. They took up positions behind trees and fallen logs, letting the motion come to them. Johun and Lumus threw they rifles over their sholder and climbed trees as the perimeter of the formation. They were the only two snipers assigned to the platoon and took up firing positions over the battle field. Their trained eyes swept the terrain in from of them for any movement, using their weapons scopes to zoom in.

"This is Lumus, I got movement in sector two." He whispered as a shape moved from tree to tree and noticed the shrubs moving. Zooming in to the max. he could see the shape of imperial troopers moving through the forest. He knew these weren't regular troops.

"We are up again air cav L.T."

"Copy that Lumus."

Moments later, the other sniper reported movement as well, but the real number of enemy troops wasn't known. He had to let them close in further and try to hurt them. "Grenade launchers up." Samson said and heard the men with mounted grenade launchers step up and get into firing position.

As the moments passed, the snipers kept updating the platoon and the enemy formation on the sides were targeted. Orders were passed out and the platoon waited for the go signal. The seconds passed so slowly that the L.T. had to watch his chrono to make sure time was moving. His heart was pumping hard and his blood was flowing quickly. He was nervous of what was to come, but knew he had to do his job and keep his men alive.

"NOW!!" He yelled as it lifted his rifle and aimed into the forest, toward the motion. As he did, there were mutliple whoosh sounds around him as grenades sailed into the air toward the closing side formations. As they left the barrles, new grenades were being reloaded quickly and every man on the line opened fire into the forest. Bolt after deadly bolt raced toward the imcoming forces. Even though they weren't targeted shots there were so many of them, that something would have to be hit. The grenades, however, burst 5 meters over the ground, covering a 10 meter radius with killer shrapnel.

The snipers picked targets as the grenades sailed through the air and squeezed off shots and exposed troopers.

[Karl Valten]

Uneasy silence filled the air between Valten and the extremely tense Captain infront of him. Underneath his calm facade, Karl was brimming with contempt for the man he was following towards the interior of the ship. Years of experience taught Karl not to start heated conversation so near others, especially not by soldiers that resented the Inquisition so much that they'd use any excuse to stun him.

Valten wondered at Teleran's disposition, using all of his skills as an Inquisitor to get "feel" for the captain; the emotions his body posture conveyed, how he would react in a face-to-face confrontation, and what his actions would be. Oddly enough, Teleran kept almost everything hidden. A slighty twitch of the corners of Valten's mouth was all that betrayed his amused thought. He's probably so used to us by now that he knows how to cover up. Not that that will help him much in the long run.

The Inquisitor followed Captain Balades through a door into a private meeting chamber. Besides the mahagony table and the plush chairs, the rooms furnishings were quite Spartan; and, Valten noted, completly devoid of surveilance cameras.

The second the door wisked shut and sealed with a click, both men immediatly dropped their acts. Teleran had a look of contempt, nearly to the level of hate, and glared daggers at Valten, The Inquisitor's own expression was an ice cold stare, the kind that made most people tremble. Neither man backed down, but Karl started up what woulld probably lead to an intense conversasion.

"Captain. I am truly surprised that you have been given a commision of such importance. How did you ever kiss up to Desaria?"

[Teleran Balades]

Tel clenched his fist, but restrained from lashing out. The disdain for for himself, and apparently the Grand Admiral, in the Inquistor's voice was all to obvious. It was not suprising, but it vexed the captain to think that Valten still held a grudge for events past.

"Inquisitor, my experience, skills, and patience have earned me a comision."

Tel moved around the desk to the view port lining the back wall. As he walked he could almost feel the steel gaze of the Inquisitor boring into his back. Balades focused on the planet. The swirling clouds covering the azure oceans of Bestine, had a slight calming effect on him.

"I have already proven my loyalty to the Sovereignty. The leader of our fleets trusts me, I don't see why you don't."

[Redic Scott]

A trooper screaming off to the right and spun around, falling face down on the ground. He was hit in the sholder and was grinding his teeth as the pain tore through him. As he started to get up a medic rushed over and helped him to find cover. A few other soldiers as lucky and were laying on the dirty ground, not moving. Their war was over and they would never have to fight again.

The Imperial troopers were well trained and had started to close in. The courage and will to fight of the NR troopers was the only thing that kept them in the fight. As they fell back, little by little they gave up ground, but they made the imps pay for it.

At the start of the engagment, the imperials lost a whole team to the grenade assault. Now there was only on launcher left, but the rest of the platoon were firing back with the guidance of snipers in the trees. The LT knew that this engagement had to be won for the moral of the soldiers and told the sargents that they would counter attack the imperials. With the cover off the single grenade launcher, the whole platoon attack one of the flacks the imps had send forth and overwhelmed it with number. They lost some men, but took the initiative back. Now the imps had to change their plans as the NR platoon advanced. They moved through the flanks, nothing attacking more than they could handle.

Soon the imperial troopers began to pull back toward the downed shuttle, leaving their dead behind as the NR advanced. Both sides left their dead behind as they moved trying to move faster and faster.

[Redic Scott]

The L.T. looked around and slung his rifle over his sholder. As he walked around, he could hear moaning and cheers as his troopers started to rejoice over their small victory and others got taken care of by medics. As the made his tour through the ranks he acknowledged everyone was and told them how proud he was of them. He tried to ignore the killed troopers that were awaiting extraction.

He couldn't leave those brave souls there and walked over to the dead. He looked each one in the face and knelt down, taking off each ones dog tags as he fought the tears. The LT knew that everything said men couldn't cry, but how could he not. These men were only 18..19.. years old. They had their whole lives ahead of them. Most had families, some even kids. They had died for their Republic and had fought bravely. Now, because the imperials had invaded, they were dead.

As he nelt there, the pain turned to hate. Hate for the empire and a desire to see it crushed and buried under the full might that he knew the New Republic would assemble.

"Settle down!!" He heard off to the right. "Stop him!!" Was what came after. As he turned, he saw an imperial prisoner start to make a run for it, but a nearby trooper threw out rifle butt and smashed it square into the man's stomach. He was knocked down on the ground and groaned in pain as the air rushed from his lungs.

[Karl Valten]

Karl's ice cold stare never left Balades's back as he walked by. The Captain was obviously stalling, Valten's direct confontration probably hadn't gotten to him, but anyone adressed with pure spite would be taken aback (even if he was used to it).

Karl almost smiled while Balades took a deep breath and, visibily, seemed to calm down. No matter what was shown on the outside, Valten knew that Teleran was not at ease within. The ability to read, antagonize, and manipulate people is what made him such an asset tho the Inquisition. And even more valuable when I'm dealing with personal matters

"Captain, I don't question your skills. You have preformed quite admirably."

Tel jerked around in surprise. Valten smirked mentally. A comment from someone who loaths you certainly would catch anyone offguard; a useful manipulative tool.

Valten, with a slow and deliberate stride, moved toward the Captian by the view port, stopping less than a meter short.

"However I am curious about your motives." Karl paused briefly, pretending to think for a second before continuing in an equivocal manner.

"Revenge is not an ample reason to justify your so called defection."

[Teleran Balades]

What ever control Tel had gained over his emotions shattered right then. He moved toward the Inquisitor with a renewed aura of anger surrounding him. How DARE he. Tel jabbed his right arm foreward, keeping the limb aimed at Valten's throat. The wraith-like inquisitortook a quick step back. He was completly aware of the vibroblade Tel kept sheathed inside his uniform sleeve. The captain's voice raised to a near shout.

"You have absolutely NO idea what my family went through. Because of the NR two of family were killed; a fact that they tried to cover up, for so called security reasons."

Tel's glared still stayed steadily fixed directly on Valten.

"Why do you insist on houndng me?"


And why do you assume that the Republic's treachery is the sole factor.

[Jarek T'chort]

/ooc - major bump, but I wanted to keep the Bestine war somewhat at the forefront whilst other operations are in progress/

ic/

Waiting for the inevitable Republic counter attack on Bestine, Field Marshall T'chort was to be found amongst the maps and charts most days and nights - pouring over the topography of the planet he was tasked with defending. Recent arrivals had bolstered the forces at his disposal, including the sorely needed fast attack boats, armed with heavy repeater blasters to patrol the numerous waterways and seas of Bestine IV. Seven Imperial cruisers had been handed to the Naval command, each armed with 15 inch guns, deadly against enemy vessels.

On land, the 21st Panzer division waited in the shadows of the forests south of Bestine city, reinforced with the 89th infantry division. Both were veteran fighting forces, designated with repulsing any Republic attack up the southern highways toward Bestine city. The City itself had been left largely devoid of fixed defenses until the arrival of large bore AA guns, which were tasked with stopping the infrequent Republic air speeder raids on the supply dumps in the city. Vast amounts of captured material - even simple booby traps, left by the retreating forces was now employed against their former owners.

North of the city, an amalgamation of three divisions formed the northern tip of Army Group Hetter - named after the peroxide blonde haired General who had his HQ situated deep within a bunker in the city. To Hetter fell the task of keeping the city in Imperial hands. On the strong recommendation of Secretary Gratz, T'chort had been leaned on to make sure the city was held against all odds - the propaganda uses of letting the Capitol city fall for the NR was too great a slight against the regime on Thyferra. Thusly, the mountain regions, where the leftover Republic forces were operating, were left without substantial reserves.

So, as T'chort chewed his lip for the millionth time in the day as he pondered the strategic ramifications of his decisions, Bestine was covered in an unnatural quiet.

[Karl Valten]

Karl didn't flinch at the Captain's agression. Instead, the stalwart Inquisitor just smirked. It was just to easy to get under this one's skin. Valten kept staring directly at Balade's, the smirk never leaving his face.

"You think too highly of yourself. You are nothing special and I am treating you no different than the others that defected with you."

This was the part of his job that he enjoyed the most. All Inquisitors were good at using information about people to get the to act or say what they needed to hear. Valten took a sadistic pleasure in it.

"Here you have been able to complete your vengance have you not? Thousands of Republic soldiers are dead at your hands."

Valten nodded at the salvaged remains of the Artanis visible from the viewport.

"It has happened many times before. A person seeking revenge is loyal to the core until his bloodlust is sated; then turns on those he has pledged alleigance to. Perhaps to become a warlord or criminal leader himself. It is inevitable."

[Karl Valten]

.

[TieFighterPilot181st]

New Republic Staging Area


The five ships of the 2nd Division of the New Republic's 12th Fleet drifted through space waiting for the final order to commence the assault. On board the flagship Bulwark, Colonel Yamagi stepped out of one of the simulators having completed another grueling practice run of the assault on Bestine using the estimates that Fleet Intelligence had arrived. Grabbing a Towel to wipe off the sweat he headed towards back towards the bridge. Several minutes later he arrived at the bridge which was a hive of activity.

“Any new news captain?” Yamagi inquired.

“None at all sir, we’re still awaiting the final confirmation order.”

“Very well then. How are the men and equipment coming along?” Tie inquired.

“Its coming along fine so far. The men are eager to take the fight to the Imps. The 537th has been practicing their infiltration procedures in the simulators and they're getting better. We've also been running actual evasion drills will them with one of our gunships playing the role of the tracker. Gunnery crews are working hard and their accuracy is some of the best I've seen. The missile technicians report everything is ok with the missile cells and we've run some simulations here on the bridge of an Aurura attack and we managed to knock out over sixty percent of the missiles."

"That is quite impressive captain. Keep them men up with their drills but give them the rest they need lest we dull the edge they have achieved. By the way tell the fighter squadrons on today's exercise that I will be leading them personally." Tie said.

"Yes sir." the captain replied with a grin, knowing that Tie planned to work the starfighter pilots hard.

[Teleran Balades]

Damn this Inquisitor. He's playing on my emotions and what I say; I can't win a verbal war with him.

Tel's thoughts were in disarray after the endless assault on his feelings. He couldn't help but acknowledge that there was truth to what Valten was saying. He had reached this own conclusion while he was serving with the Republic, hell, he'd even witnessed some of it during the last Vong War, it was disturbing that it had come for him in the form of accusations.

Tel kept even gaze even with the Inquisitor's. The ever-present sardonic smirk drove him mad. Tel clenched his fist and considered slicing karl's throat open with his concealed blade.

The second the thought crossed his mind, Tel recoiled away from the Inquisitor. His eyes widened in a sort of revelation. This was exaclty what Karl was trying to do. The Captain feared this ghostly daemon of a human. He didn't fear what Inquisitor could do, rather he feared the fact that Valten could control him so easily.

I have to get away from him before I end up doing something.

Tel raised his blade-arm towards the Inquisitor.

"You're bordering on Gross Insubordination, Valten." The Inquisitor in front of him looked as if he would actual burst out laughing. The Inquisitoriate wasn't subordinate to anyone except for the ranking officer of the area, and even then they pretty much had free reign.

Tel played his trump card. "Fleet Admiral Hagen assigned your ship and crew, which includes you, to me command. I "will have you arrested if so mcuh as come within 10 meters of me again."

With that the Captain stormed out of the room. Only when he was out Valten's sight did he allow himself to shudder.