A Distant War (Closed)

[Jarek T'chort]

[following directly from the invasion of Cerea. (http://sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?s=&threadid=36812)]

Spar Sector

A pair of TIE Defenders raced past the bulk of an Imperial Star Destroyer as it forged it's way through the dark of space. The engines of the behemoth coursed through the star field alone, besides its patrol craft. Smooth, streamlined hull gave way to jagged city-like structures across the dorsal side of the Destroyer until the ships aft rose up like the elegant neck of some beast, ending in the distinctive command tower, topped by sensor domes and arrays. All instrumental in making this ship - and others of it's class - capable of holding entire systems under their control. The mighty ship slowed as it neared a pair of small moons, each one hung sullen and gray in space. The Garbos system was a way point of sorts, with several Outer Rim trade routes running through it. The moons themselves were fairly unimportant. The largest, Garbos II, held a middling sized spaceport, resplendent with small repair yards, cantina's and the beginnings of an urban sprawl around the port. Garbos was strictly independent, mostly because they were small enough to slip under the radar of the various powers in the Spar Sector.

As the Star Destroyer approached, several shuttle craft and transports dropped from the gaping hangar bay, drives igniting, beginning their approach toward the moon. A Squadron of Defenders preceded and followed them, the prong-winged craft shifting into escort positions. From the surface, a number of freighters and personal craft tore through the atmosphere, racing into space, away from the Imperial ships. Like rats from a sinking ship, they broke orbit and fled, leaving the moon at the mercy of the Imperials.

Imperial Star Destroyer Razor

The bridge hummed with the bustle of activity, crewer's going about their appointed tasks, mingling with the beeping of computers and whirring of instruments. The turbolift doors at the far end of the bridge slid open, revealing an Imperial in the gray uniform of a Commodore. A pair of black uniformed Naval Troopers flanking the turbolift snapped to attention as he strode purposefully onto the bridge. His eyes narrowed as he gazed toward the angular view ports of the bridge, looking beyond the tapristeel at the nearby moons.

"Commodore?"

Commodore Marcus Acram glanced around in the direction of the voice.

"Yes?"

Commander Zerit stepped up smartly beside the Commodore, boot heels clicking together. The younger man held out a datapad to the Commodore, his face neutral.

Acram took the pad, running his eyes over the report.

"Excellent, Commander." Acram murmured, a hint of surprise entering his modulated voice. "I congratulate you on completing repairs so quickly."

Zerit stayed neutral, but not silent. "Thank you, sir. The crew understand the importance of this mission, as do their officers."

The Commodore looked up, his face calm, but a hint of amusement about his eyes. "Indeed they do, Commander. Your zealousness has certainly been noted."

A frown crossed the man's face, not sure what to make of the remark, but he said nothing.

"Anything interesting occouring?" Inquired the elder.

Shaken from his thoughts, Zerit responded quickly. "Yes sir, several freighters and smaller craft jumped out system just after we arrived." A note of distaste sounded in the Commander's voice. "Their transponders read mostly as small time smugglers and the like. We let them go, as per orders. CommScan has detected three small colonies on the outer moons."

Acram nodded, all business again. "Good. What is the status of the raiding party?"

"Beginning their landing now, sir."

Walking past the crew pits toward the view ports, Acram rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "The Fleet should rendezvous here within the hour, which will be ample time to raid the dust bowl below. Our timetable should be unhindered."

Zerit nodded as he began monitoring the first reports from the surface. No resistance, the Tibanna stocks had been secured and the Detachment leader was starting questioning of the locals. Going smoothly, as it always seemed to, under Acram's command. He allowed himself a private smile at the thought of the middle aged Commodore, a man who had been in the shadows of High Command, never coming to the fore until he was chosen for this mission, on account of the other experienced Fleet officers mostly being diverted to the Republic or Federacy-ward borders.

As the TIE Defenders swooped back into the maw of the hangar bay below the Star Destroyer, the men and women of the Razor prepared themselves for phase two of their mission, the target of which lay unsuspecting, several thousand light years away.

[Jarek T'chort]

A cloud of dust rose wistfully into the thin air of Lwetto spaceport. The Garbos II spaceport lay abjectly between two mountains to the south and north, respectively. Low and diminutive structures dotted the landscape around the port, each building looking as dilapidated as the last. Yet, it was home to a sizeable population of beings, including a number of Advozsec. Which, of course, was why two Sentinel-class landing craft lay nestled on the rough duracrete of the spaceport landing area.

Captain Frost walked with a swiftness in his steps, small clouds of dust puffing out from under his boots. Fifteen years in the service had given him experience enough of worlds such as this. Out of the way, small, multi-species place - and always dirty. Filthy even. Frost clasped a hand about his utility belt feeling his holstered blaster slap against his thigh as he moved. With a sour look on his face, he reached his destination.

The Lwetto Assembly building was perhaps ten years old, built when the first smugglers had arrived on Garbos II and set up this curious outpost. The building itself was just as poorly constructed as the homes and shops that surrounded it. A rusting old droid stood beside the central archway of the building, a blaster rifle in hand. An SE-7i security droid, but very much non-operational now, as told by the gaping, blackened blaster damage to its chest.

A white-armored Stormtrooper waited beside the entrance way, a data pad in his gloved hand. The trooper looked up as Frost approached, as he did so, two other troopers appeared from inside.

"The prisoners have been secured," issued the filtered voice of the soldier, "Squad two-four is sweeping the outlying buildings."

Frost's expression didn't change as he spoke, "Very good Sergeant, I don't need to remind you of the timetable."

The Stormtrooper hefted his rifle as the Captain strode into the Assembly building, a man with much to do and little time to do it in.

Within the structure, a circular area served as the council of sorts for this backwards community - which in turn now served as a holding area for three young, bound, Advozsec males, their eyes sullen and black.

"Greetings," nodded Frost to the aliens, his tone as cold as his name, "We are acting on intelligence supplied to us by a member of your armed forces, recently captured in an attack on Imperial interests."

The oldest alien tilted his head sideways, the horn atop his head seeming to almost pulse.

"We are simple traders, we haven't been back to Riflor for at least a standard year."

The aliens voice was clam, modulated. Exactly what any 'simple trader' would not sound like when placed into Imperial custody.

Frost smiled cruelly, his teeth white. "Oh really? Well, we know different. You are Zar Tirlon, an information broker and intelligence agent for the Riflor government in this system."

One of the younger Advozsec shifted uncomfortably on the rough floor. The species' permanent frown seemed to deepen upon the trio's heads.

"If you arrest us, you know that it will mean war between our governments?" Sighed Tirlon.

"Of course," Grinned Frost, "We know that perfectly well."

The trio were dragged to their feet by the attendant Stormtroopers, the Advozsec faces near impossible to read. But, the eyes were fixed, dark and angry. In contrast to the Imperial officer who stood watching, whose eyes were alight. How he loved keeping to the set timetable.

A little while later, the distinctive blue glowing drive of an Imperial shuttle blasted from the dust bowl planet, driving hard for the Imperial Star Destroyer in orbit.

[Jarek T'chort]

A singular darkness flooded the sterile, empty, Star Destroyer holding cell. Empty save for a single 'fresher unit and a bunk. On the bunk lay a hunched figure, features hidden in the surrounding blackness. A single horn protruded from the forms small, round head.

Hil Geror clasped his hands together, gazing in the dark at his fingers. The darkness didn't bother him, he was used to such conditions - they were natural on Riflor. The dangerous and unstable volcanic planet often lay shrouded in thick cloud. Life was always difficult on his home world, the temperamental nature of the planet had forced the Advozsec to be hard, pessimistic creatures. When your own home could one day slip into a lava flow, you tended to think the worst. Yet, their own tenacity had saved them from being a footnote in history. Using advanced technology, forced by the need to stay one step ahead of their world, the Advozsec now lived in mobile cities and colonies. This enabled them to live with a measure of stability - though the giant metallic cities were not always able to afford protection against the wilder elements of Riflor's environment.

Geror grunted to himself. His head ached, his back ached, all of him felt sore and in pain. The Imperials had captured him over Cerea, immediately placing him under an intense interrogation, most of which Geror couldn't remember, drugged as he had been. He felt a wave of shame wash over him, he did not know what information he had revealed to the Imperials, but it didn't matter now. He saw nothing but death as he thought toward the future. Death for him, for whomever he had betrayed.

The door to his cell slid open with a hiss, followed by the lights flicking on. A pair of black-uniformed Naval Troopers stepped in, their faces hard. An Imperial in the uniform of an Intelligence officer followed. He smiled genially as he spoke.

"Good morning Captain. Time to go."

Geror nodded sullenly, raising himself and allowing the nearest Trooper to cuff his hands in binders. Shackled and thinking macabre thoughts, Geror was led from the cell, into the detention block. Two circular security stations guarded the turbolift doors, which opened, allowing the party admittance.

A short while later, Geror was once more seated on a chair before a trio of officers asking him questions about the Riflor planetary shield, of his family, of the Advozsec defense fleet. But the questions seemed to fall of deaf ears as he fell into drowsiness, the forms of the humans before him swirling into caricatures. Yet, Geror noted, he could hear his voice speaking in his ears, strangely disembodied and distant. He was telling them everything.

[Jarek T'chort]

"A week now. A full week with not a single murmur, rumor or whisper from any channel!"

The high pitch of High Admiral Herer's voice echoed in the expansive command area, causing some of the younger techs at work to flinch.

The Advozsec Admiral was the commander in chief of the Advozsec armed forces, a position he had wrestled from the civil administration below on Riflor some fifteen years previously. It was with great reluctance the civilians had handed over full control to Herer, he could remember the worry and the frowns of the politicians as they reluctantly passed the constitutional changes giving him full military power.

He answered of course to the Council, but they gave him more or less free reign. His current state of worry dissipate slightly as he remembered the those troubled days, when his small armada of vessels had battled against pirates and rouge Imperials all vying for control of Riflor and it's valuable minerals. Now, with countless victories under his belt, the aging Advozsec rested upon his laurels on board his command ship, the Fire of Ablom. It was a converted MC-80, refitted by the Advozsec after it's purchase from the Republic. Upgraded defense systems complimented the extensive work that had top be done in order to make the ship comfortable for the Advozsec from the species specific design of the Mon Calamari.

Now, surrounded with hook winged Viper fighters and a fleet of Dreadnaughts, Corvettes and Frigates, Herer was content. Save for one small problem. The case of a missing scout vessel and it's attendant ships.

"How is it possible for Geror to lose my ships? He had clear instructions which should have been followed to the letter."

His attendant Captains stood silently about him, their faces unreadable to a non Advozsec. The species was generally given to being rather more subdued, yet Herer had spent much time amongst humans as a youngling, giving him some of their mannerisms and tendancy to procrastinate.

"Still no word from the search ships?"

"No Admiral, none" Replied a stoic Captain, his complexion darker than the others.

Herer paused, hand on his chin. "Then we are at a dead end."

The dark Captain coughed. "It is possible he defected."

Herer's eyes became shrouded in shadow as he turned toward the Captain.

"Really, Captain Breg, I think you assume too much. Not a single Advozsec has defected in all my time as Commander in Chief."

Ignoring his superior's pride, Breg persisted. "Yet it is possible. There have been defections in the past, just none of this scale."

Pointing out the flaws of his superior was not wise, as the other Captains shrunk away from their colleague.

Herer had not attained his position by pride alone however. He was a clever being and recognized the sense in his subordinates words.

"Conduct your search. I must be kept up to date at all times."

Turning from the Captain's he stalked from the bridge, his brow furrowed.

[Jarek T'chort]

It was nearing seven in the evening on the remote outpost of Holdin. The massive communication relays of the moon jutted upward into space, the antennae vibrated slightly as transmissions pulsed into space, bound for Riflor. The moon held a trio of complexes, prefabricated, gray structures that dominated the landscape. In the ten years since their construction, the communication hubs had left the surrounding landscape pockmarked and blackened, due to shuttle flights and the emissions the complexes put out.

The Advozsec relied upon Holdin as their ear to the door of the galaxy. Holdin was out of the way, unimportant and only known to the highest up in the Advozsec chain of command, as well as a few members of NR Intelligence. Yet Holdin was vitally important to the security of Riflor. During the extensive military buildup in the years since the end of the Galactic Civil War, it had become necessary to have the very best intelligence in order to protect the Advozsec holdings. Holdin listened in on inumerable transmissions that it came across, pulsing them back to Riflor for decryption. It co-ordinated the growing Fleets of the Advozsec and worked as a base for the fledgling Intelligence agency.

An Intelligence agency, that Zar Tirlon had been a member of. The very same Zar Tirlon, that now lay at the mercy of Imperial interrogators. Imperial Intelligence had learned some five years before of the existence of this Advozsec listening post, but had never been able to extrapolate the location of it. That, of course, had now changed. Yet, beneath a powerful Planetary shield and Ion Cannons, Holdin was secure. Its secrets, as far as the beings who lived and worked there were concerned, were safe.

[Jarek T'chort]

Gavin Zerit sat at his desk cubicle, in the dimmed lights of his cabin. Short, cropped hair was as clean cut as the uniform that lay folded neatly on his bunk. The cold metal seat he rested upon made his backside ache, but he didn't care for that particularly. His eyes were on the computer in front of him. A single holo projection lit up his face in a bright shade of blue. His face was drawn, bags under his eyes. A frown lay upon him as he watched the holo turn three hundred and sixty degrees. It was a human woman, young, beautiful. More precisely, the raven haired Major Beth Yula. The Razor's indispensable senior sensor officer.

Zerit rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he watched the holo turn. His mind was light years away, deep in thought. The longer he had alone, the more he thought of the woman, operating number 183990. His chest felt tight, his stomach turbulent. A grimace appeared on his face before he swiped at the holo, shutting it off and leaving his face consumed in shadow.

His feelings for his colleague had been growing ever since she had stepped off of the supply shuttle and onto the hangar bay of the Razor. Of all the women on board the Star Destroyer, hell, for all of the women in the galaxy, Zerit had never felt as stirred. They had a good working relationship, an ever better off-duty camaraderie, yet Yula was a career officer, she wanted to go far - she would go far - Zerit corrected himself. But now . . . now it was interfering with his duties, with his very fibre. All the hard nosed Imperial training in the universe could not hold back his -

Zerit paused. What did he feel? Love? Yes, he supposed, it was love. Ever since he had left Thyferra for the Academy, he had not known such a feeling, nor thought of it. But now, things were different. If Acram ever picked up upon it, he would be on the next shuttle to Wild Space in the blink of an eye.

A sigh escaped his lips once more as he sat, thoughts on the object of his affection, standing in the portside crew pit. Zerit had his own career to think of - he was her senior officer. Acting upon what his head and heart were telling him was out of the question. Utterly.

No. Standing suddenly, Zerit turned to the door. Some perscription sleeping pills from a 2-1B would be sufficient to solve this problem. With a grunt, the Imperial Commander strode from his room, throwing the small holo disk into the waste disposal unit. As the door closed, two minds on board the giant Star Destroyer were locked in turmoil.

[Jarek T'chort]

It began as but a ripple in space, a distortion of the fabric of the cosmos. Star lines lengthened to infinity as seven massive shapes tore from hyperspace. The forms of four Star Destroyers and their support vessels lay motionless in the star field, before their drives ignited and they lumbered toward Garbos III. Waiting in orbit over the moon lay the distinctive form of the Star Destroyer Razor, moving slowly across the face of the moon. Codes and transmissions were rapidly shot across the void from warship to warship, shuttles darted between the vessels and pickets took up new positions.

Eight Imperial vessels made up the Fleet. A quartet of Star Destroyers, the Razor, Helmsman, Hammertong and the Sonata. Accompanied by two Interdictors and a medical frigate, the vessels were all newly completed ships, fresh from the Trebizond shipyards, hidden deep in Wild Space. As such, the crews had little experience, mainly conscripts from the Outer Rim who had never been in a battle. They were fleshed out with experienced officers and senior command crew, all with the task of forging the skills of the men and women under their command. These were not the highly trained Imperials of the Thyferran sector Fleet, or the Dagger Squadron above Bestine IV, but they knew their duty and would perform to the utmost of their abilities - their officers would make sure of it.

The military buildup of the Sovereignty had been years in the making and was proceeding at as fast a pace as ever. The massive funds brought about from Bacta production allowed the shipyards and academies of the Empire to produce a massive wealth of war material. Compared the New Republic, the Sovereignty was massively outgunned, yet controlled a smaller number of Sectors. As for the Republic, their fleets were spread thin throughout their territory, which meant that it was ample time for the Sovereignty to expand its borders.

Commodore Acram's forces had assembled over Garbos III, ready for the next step - the occupation of Riflor.

[Jarek T'chort]

"Time till reversion?"

"Five minutes, sir."


Commodore Acram bit the inside of his cheek as he watched the starlines race past the viewports of the Razors bridge. The hum of activity around him filled him with a certain excitement - a man of forty years whose heart skipped a beat at the prospect of the coming confrontation.

"Shields up as soon as we exit hyperspace, instruct the fleet to launch the fighter screen when we are within range."

Acram clenched his fist at his side, watching the veins and tendons move under his skin. To Acram, he envisioned his flagship - even his fleet - as an extension of himself. Mentally and physically, the man was strong, muscles and mind honed by working out, by meditation. Pride and strength in oneself, he believed, extended to those around you - it gave them faith and confidence in their superior, something he had worked hard to instill in the Imperial personnel on board the Razor.

He stood beside his command chair on the central bridge walkway, crew pits on either side, each filled with busily working techs and officers, and smiled. Each face he looked upon was young and fresh - but the years of endless warfare for the Empire had made these men and women fine tools of war. Now, these tools were at his disposal, they would give him victory.

"Report from our probe droids, Commodore."

Commander Zerit had walked silently up to Acram, the report held aloft in his right hand. Acram looked at his X.O. curiously. The eyes of the younger man seemed darkened, subdued. A tried ness seemed to have washed over Zerit in the past two weeks since Cerea had capitulated.

"Commander?"

"Sir?"

"Is there something on your mind?"

Zerit's lip stiffened, as did his posture. "No, I haven't been sleeping too well of late."

"I see." Lied Acram. Something was bothering the Commander, which in due time the Commodore would discover. "Carry on."

Zerit turned on his heel, back toward the starboard control station. Acram settled into his chair, watching as the starlines kept up their endless race to infinity.

"Entering real space now." Called the helmsman.

The stars mottled into distinct shapes as the azure haze of hyperspace was left behind, replaced with the ebony night of space. Directly ahead of the fleet lay Holdin, silent and cold, with not a clue it was anything but a dead moon.

Acram smiled once more, eyes narrowed. "Prepare for battle."

[Jarek T'chort]

The windswept moon of Holdin lay quiet under the graying skies, all too quiet for the liking of those inhabitants who lived and worked in the extensive listening post. Long range sensors had picked up a fleet of Star Destroyers dropping out of hyperspace, the angular warships headed directly for Holdin.

General Ireg strode through the bustling corridors of Holdin command complex, datapads clutched to his chest. His eyes were darker than usual, his face sullen. The Advozsec troopers who ran past him bore the same look upon their features - word had spread fast of the approaching fleet.

Ireg stepped into the operations center, a two-tiered area filled with banks of computers and instruments. Techs sat at their stations, all turning their heads as the commanding officer of Holdin station arrived at his post.

"What's happening?" He asked wearily, standing beside his executive officer.

"A fleet of ships dropped out of hyperspace seven minutes ago. They are all Imperial Sovereignty vessels."

Ireg grunted, calling toward the defense stations on the lower tier of the room.

"Raise the planetary shield, all troops to their stations."

"Our long range communications beacon was taken out before we could send a distress signal"" Reported his XO, the older Advozsec strumming his fingers against his desk station.

"Very well. As soon as the repeater beacon went down, Riflor would have been alerted that there was a problem." Ireg muttered, "All we have to do is hold out and wait for the rescue force."

The techs, most of them younger beings, continued their work, but their ears were turned toward their CO. A wave of uncertainty passed through them as they heard his blunt words.

Beyond, on the cracked surface of the moon, defense turrets and trenches were manned by blue-uniformed Advozsec troops, supplies and munitions being distributed hurriedly amongst the soldiers.

Hover tanks and speeders pulled out of storage bays roared to life, ready to dig in and await the inevitable Imperial onslaught. The shield was almost as strong as the ones that protected Riflor, the Imperials would have to land ground troops.

[Jarek T'chort]

Three drive engines of the Star Destroyer Razor glowed a brilliant orange in the swirling darkness of space. The warship engulfed the face of the moon beneath, it's turbolasers and tractor beams bristling from the jagged hull.

The other Destroyers took up similar blockade positions about the Holdin moon, keeping out of range of the planetary turbolasers and ion cannons. TIE fighters left the gaping hangar bays of the Imperial vessels, zipping in between the larger ships and taking up a picket line.

Marcus Acram stood in his ready room beyond the main bridge, his eyes on a set of datapads on the long table before him. The door at the end of the room slid open, revealing the pair of Fleet troopers on guard beyond the doors and the olive tunics of General Jaeger and Razor's newly promoted senior Army officer, Colonel-General Harv.

Jaeger was approaching his sixties, though still in good shape. His white hair contrasted with the bland gray of the ready room, giving the General a certain dignity. A lightly shaven beard and dark emerald eyes finished off a rugged face that gave nothing away.

"Gentlemen." Acram greeted them, both men taking up their seats at the end of the table.

"You have both read the reports supplied to us by our high ranking prisoners, creatures whose meager training in the art of resisting interrogation was feeble, at best." Acram allowed himself a smile which Harv returned, Jaeger did not.

"The question of taking Holdin however," the Commodore began grimly, "Is far more complicated. I would imagine that this operation is almost as difficult as taking Riflor itself."

"I have read the reports thank you Commodore, I am well aware of what the Army must do." General Jaeger stated dryly, his mouth upturned slightly.

Acram narrowed his eyes, not expecting the arrogance of Jaeger to spill over into briefings. Then again he had only met the man two days ago.

"Correct, General. You have read the reports, but now are discussing what shall be done." Acram bit out, his tone as condescending as the older General's.

It was Harv who played peacemaker.

"Indeed Commodore - we all have the same objective." He quickly turned to buisness, tapping a button on his desk to bring up a holo of the Holdin ground defenses - they were sketchy at best.

"Our probes have shown the ground defenses to be near entirely static. The Advozsec have not employed a mobile reserve, most likely due their penchant for pessimism - they see no need to delay the inevitable."

"Their southern eastern defenses are considerably weaker due to the rugged terrain, which makes it difficult to dig in. Our walkers would not have the same problems as the Advozsec do with the environment. Once in range, ground troops will disembark and secure the central landing area, then storm the shield Generators and Ion Control."

Acram nodded, impressed with his underlings meticulous planning.

Jaeger too, seemed pleased. "Excellent. Our tanks can begin an assault on the western flank as a diversion, drawing what infantry reserves they do have. Once the shield is down, we can land more troops."

"Then we are agreed." Acram smiled, this time Jaeger smiled back, his sabacc face not entirely cracking with the apparent strain. The two Army officers rose, saluting as they did so.

"Good luck gentlemen."

The pair left, headed for the launch bays.

[Jarek T'chort]

The short figure of Captain Jur appeared on the rim of the Advozsec trench below him. His battle helmet was a size too large, giving the Major an unintentional comical appearance. He began barking orders at the crouching troopers in the trench, their dark navy blue uniforms already beginning to soak up the damp muck of at the bottom of the dug in position. Such was the lot of the infantryman, whose role had stayed the same for thousands of years. Hefting blasters and repeaters over their shoulders the soldiers began to trot down the trench towards the forward positions. Some of the younger troops began to mutter amongst themselves, before a bark from Jur silenced them.

Finally they reached the forward trenches, holding the higher ground above the plains below. The plains the Imperial assault would undoubtedly cross.

"All right! Listen up!" Bellowed the Captain, his eyes narrowed and his pistol in hand. "We are expecting a large scale assault with walkers, infantry - the lot. Fight to the last power pack and to your last breath, if we go down, Riflor will be screwed."

The troopers, most of the experienced veterans, settled their rifle butts against their shoulders as they sighted the blasters over the trench tops. A heavy mortar section began to set up behind them.

Beyond the defenses, across the sizeable minefield, the distant drone of ships and landing craft wafted through the air to the trenches. Obscured by the hills and craters the Imperial landing was out of sight, beyond the shield, and more importantly out of range of the rocket batteries employed by the Advozsec. Every Advozsec who manned the outer defenses watched and waited, breath baited.

[Jarek T'chort]

The first sign of the attack came just after midday, when the winds were at their weakest. The whinning of artillery shells reached the ears of those in the trenches, rifles clutched tightly in their hands. The shells crashed into the ground, yet not upon the trenches. The minefield beyond began to explode in tandem with the falling shells, their sensitive sensors set off by the barrage.

Beyond the minefield, behind the protective cover of several ridges, waited the Imperial task force. Heavy hovertanks waited with their engines humming alongside resting elite infantry, Panzer Grenadiers, whose faces and feelings were not so different from those in the enemy trenches, a few miles ahead. The infantryman of the Empire had changed little from his counterpart in the glory days of old. The distinctive M90 stahlhelm topped the olive uniformed soldier, who in turn was wrapped in the usual acoutrements of warfare - entrenching tools, water canteens, ammo pouches and cooking untensils. Their comlinks and sofisticated helmet viewfinders and sensors were the only great difference from a soldier of bygone eras.

Armored half track carriers waited alongside the infantry, ready to carry them into battle in their bellies. Riding up alongside the tanks, the panzer grenadier would disgorge and fan out, protecting the armored vehices from enemy ground troops.

The order to attack came as fast as the artillery barrage had fallen upon the mines. Like a lethargic beast, the Imperial formations grouped together, gaining speed as they moved toward the enemy lines. Overhead, Stormtroopers on jetbikes zoomed past, the first wave, which would reconnoiter the enemy positions and provide sniper cover from on high. A single high explosive missile was slung below the lean looking bike, allowing it to hit armored targets.

Overhead, artillery continued to rain down against the defenders. Yet the enemy were prepared - their positions dug in deep and their own artillery ready to be brought to bear once the Imperials were within range.