A New Dawn [Dorn Force]

[John Glayde]

John Glayde carefully manipulated the controls of the Astral Queen, on loan from her owners once again. Lieutenant Luka had been somewhat reluctant to allow the ship out of his sights again, given the unfortunate effect that the exposure to Raxus Prime's atmosphere had on the ship's hull last time it had been borrowed, but Amos had gone to bat for him, and for that Glayde had been greatful. Unfortunately, the burly Sergeant had declined the invitation to join him on this particular endeavour; if nothing else, it would have been more reassuring to have Amos sitting in the navigator's seat behind him, rather than the irritatingly talkative Oran Jsorra.

Fortunately, the Corporal had finally taken the hint that Glayde wasn't in a particularly chatty mood, and the last few hours of their Hyperspace voyage had been blissfully quiet; the fact that Glayde had spent much of it sitting in one of the ship's quad laser turrets might have played some part in that, of course.

Now however, necessity had forced the both of them back into the cockpit. An ominous dial ticked away on the display in front of him, counting down to what the nav computer informed him was the optimum safe distance to drop out of Hyperspace. The calculated route jarred with the military instincts in his mind, which wanted him to push the limits of safety and manifest back into real space as close to the planet's gravity well as possible: slip in past the bulk of the planet's defenses. Unfortunately, their mission called for them to be discreet: their cover called for them to appear as if they were a harmless civilian freighter - one of the reasons that borrowing the Queen had been such an advantage to them.

John sighed, and flicked on the ship's intercom. "Reverting from Hyperspace in fifteen seconds," he announced, hearing his voice echoing back at him through the corridor that led to the cockpit. "Stand by." More controls were flipped, switched and otherwise manipulated; silently he mouthed the words of an old Alderaanian nursery rhyme that he'd learned long ago beat out ten seconds perfectly. The console counter reached zero just as the last words escaped him in a breath. A slight hint of a satisfied smile tugged at his lips as he haulled down on the lever that would cut power to the Hyperdrive. Ahead of him, the dizzying swirl of blue snapped and shattered, colours melting into streaks of blinding white before peeling back to reveal the reassuring star-peppered blackness of space. The emerald orb of their destination loomed, the curve of the world just breaching his vision at the base of the cockpit viewport.

Behind him, he heard the comms come alive with chatter from Ruuria's orbital control; for once, Jsorra made himself useful and handled it discreetly. Glayde meanwhile leaned forward, grabbing into a recessed alcove in the console ahead of him and pulling out an earpiece. Fitting it in place, he toggled on the Queen's auxiliary comm array, switching over to the coded frequency that Intel had prepared. "Echo Niner; this is Delta Niner," he spoke, willing silently that the array of encryptions and countermeasures that the Alliance had put in place would hide their signal from the prying eyes of orbital command. "The kids are asking if we're nearly there yet; are we still go for our dinner date as planned?"

[Serasai Onashi]

Serasai Onashi idly fiddled with the ear-piece that he had been given as Glayde's voice hissed with a slight bit of static through the tiny speaker. The communications device would have been uncomfortable, but due to his background, it was merely a minor annoyance, like a fly that buzzed around him, but could not distract him.

The A280 (http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/A-280_blaster_rifle) he'd been given was definitely battered and had seen heavy combat before. Onashi was not surprised, but got a good feeling from the weapon; it felt as if it wished to fulfil its purpose as he wished to fulfil his. He checked the charge once more, and mentally counted out how many extra packs he was carrying with him.

Once done with that, he closed his eyes and began to meditate, mentally and spiritually preparing himself for the upcoming battle.

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

"You have a natural talent. Got to be one of the Force-damned best shooters I've ever seen. I could drill a thousand men over and over again, could run them by the book until the end of time and they wouldn't be half as good as you are. But you aren't a soldier, kid. You have no business being here and even less business even trying to get into the 5th."
"I can do it! Just give me a chance! I swear to you...sir. I can help the Alliance. I-I need to. For Corellia."
"....fine. You want in, I can get you in. I can teach you what it takes to be a soldier. The rest though, will be up to you. Just don't go mouthing off to the wrong people. I'm putting my ass on the line here."
"..."
"Tur'enne..."
"Sir?"
"Don't frak this up."
"I don't intend to."

A breath of air was let out sharply as her eyes opened and moved around the room as the earpiece came to life with Glayde's voice - something which tore apart the strange memory she was experiencing. The interruption dragged her out of the half-sleep Charles had allowed herself. No point in letting a good flight go to waste, after all. It took a few moments to brush the cobwebs away mentally before silently cursing herself for letting it get that far in the first place. The hell was she thinking about that old stuff for anyway?

Charlotte forced herself to relax upon realizing the tenseness that was starting to form in her shoulders. Her mind was shoved back away from the past and more towards the task at hand, going over everything once more as the ship shook ever so slightly again. If anything she was determined to not let herself doze again.

[Serasai Onashi]

Onashi had finished meditating by the time Tur'enne had awakened.

He never attained that state of 'emptiness' that the warriors of legend attained, in all the years of his trying. Even so, he always focussed on his breathing, and patiently dismissed the thoughts that buzzed through his mind like flies, or the even more distracting tiny little ka, which came during the wet, hot summers and dined on one's blood. He killed each thought: picturing them as little ka, and metaphorically smacked them until they died.

Thoughts of his mother and father, aging and listless; thoughts of his wife, who had at the time of his leaving had not begotten him a son to carry on his name; thoughts of his mistress, and her lithe form and dark eyes; thoughts of Tur'enne; thoughts of the men he had killed. Each one was ruthlessly crushed by a fist of wilful indifference until the only thoughts running through his mind were of the feel of the blaster rifle in his hands, the beating of his heart, and his part in the mission he was taking part in.

He opened his eyes, and saw Tur'enne asleep, or in a state close to it. There were a few men back home in the mercenary companies who slept before battle, though it was frowned upon due to the fact that it could make one sluggish. She then opened her eyes quickly as Glayde's voice once more sounded through the speakers, and glanced about the room, as if to make sure none had seen her.

"Sleep well, Tur'enne?" he asked, his mouth quirking up into the familiar smirk. He knew the expression made his question seem more caustic, but he had called upon it so long and so many times that it was always the first one on his face. Despite that, the question was an honest one. He wanted her to engage her mind to brush off the last vestiges of whatever had caused her to drift off.

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

"Not when I can help it."

The comment, and even the wink that followed weren't exactly characteristic of her. In fact the moment they were let slip was quickly followed by another that instantly was chiding her for it. She wasn't one to shy away from flirting, heck, given the right circumstances it could be downright fun. But typically it was reserved for someone she actually meant to move on with...or the occasional closer friend, just to watch them squirm a bit at the awkwardness of it. Maybe it was just another side of her antagonistic nature, some part of her being overly curious to see just how many not-so-subtle pokes and prods she could direct at Onashi before the mercenary cracked. It was a challenge. She liked challenges.

Challenges were good at keeping everything else from taking the main focus in her mind. She half wondered if Onashi had picked up on all of that during the short time the squad had been together and maybe that's why he'd said something in the first place. Nah...

"But since you asked...no, not really. Hyperspace and nap time don't quite make a great mix for some reason."

[Serasai Onashi]

The egg that was Lieutenant Onashi did not crack, this time. In fact, his only response to her flirtatious retort was a slight upturning - a twitch - of the corners of his mouth. One side (the left) more than the other, of course.

And then, she replied, somewhat seriously. Onashi wasn't really interested in the conversation, but knew that in the absence of emptiness before battle, a warrior should simplify their thoughts to as few as possible, to lessen distraction. He'd been particularly good at doing so, enough to be picked to give lessons in meditation and self-control to the newer recruits in the companies. They'd hated him; he was the only one who made them fast, drinking only one cup of water and eating one fish and one bowl of rice only, and then would send them off to train. More than a few fainted due to hunger, until they learned how to control their minds on the tasks at hand and ignore the grumbling, gnawing feeling in their bellies.

Onashi didn't say anything in return immediately, but quirked an eyebrow at the woman in a show of bemused curiosity as if to ask her, Indeed?

"Then why do you fall asleep while in Hyperspace?" he asked finally.

[John Glayde]

"Alrighty, campers -"

Glayde's voice played vanguard, preceeding him down the corridor that connected the cockpit to the main body of the ship. As he walked, he plucked the power pack from his blaster, holding it up so his eyes could scan the power indicators. A few shots shy of full; that'd be enough for the bar fight he dreaded his team dragging him into. Hopefully, some miracle would allow them to skip over that particular eventuality, but from what he knew so far, the group hardly played well with others even at the best of times.

He stepped into the recreational area, gaze settling on two fifths of his teammates. Where's O'Hurn? his mind thought instantly, mere nanoseconds before it concluded that he was probably in the cargo bay, tending to his blaster rifle. An almost habitual preparation for the Pathfinder it seemed, no doubt he'd opted to engage in the activity there to avoid the scrutinising observations of Serasai Onashi. Even Glayde, who prided himself on being a pragmatic and accomodating man, found the mercenary's presense, and choice in literature, to be a little creepy.

No doubt the final member of their team - a Corporal and Urban Combat Specialist, named Natan, or Nadal, or something like that - had sought refuge elsewhere in the ship as well. Since his attention had already been drawn towards him, Glayde chose to direct his orders at Onashi specifically. "Find the others," he instructed, coming to a halt, "And get them to help you unload the speeders." In order to avoid the awkwardness and complexity of having to obtain transport - or, Force forbid, walking - upon their arrival, SpecForce had managed to source a quartet of speederbikes to help them move around the planet; two single seats, and a pair of twins. Between them, the six members of the team would be able to get where they needed to go: and hopefully when they showed up at the rendezvous, they'd look like a bunch of mercenaries rolling into town, rather than some military contingent showing up. Unfortunately, though their was physically space within the Astral Queen for all four vehicles, moving them in and out was a little more complicated; hence the team effort required.

Glayde's sudden halt had compelled Jsorra, following dutifully at his heel, to collide into the back of him. He unleashed a sigh, rolled his eyes, and then swallowed his frustration before turning to their resident technician. "Finish locking the ship down, but perform all the pre-flight preparations that you can. If we have to leave in a hurry, I don't want to be wasting any time."

He span back to the remaining member of the team. "And, uh -" His mind stalled, searching for a task to assign to Lieutenant Tur'enne. "You. Come outside and -" He frowned. Shrugged. "Help me supervise?"

[Serasai Onashi]

Protocol, both in his native companies and in the Rebel Alliance, had the soldier of Onashi's rank stand and salute the officer of Glayde's rank. Onashi used to follow that rule stringently. Now, however, he merely listened quietly as the man handed out orders.

"Alright, alright," he said, standing and stretching. For good measure, he rotated his shoulders, twisted his head into a number of rather painful looking positions (as if he was going to twist it off), and then rotated his torso sideways as far as it would go; first to the left, and then to the right. Each movement elicited a number of pops and cracks from his body, the joints realigning themselves loudly. With a satisfied grunt, he pulled his pipe from a hidden pocket along with a small pouch, and sat down while he filled it.

"What should I do if I don't find them?" the Lieutenant asked while stuffing the last bit of leaf into the bowl. "Other than unload the speeders myself, of course."

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

Captain Glayde had interrupted her from being forced to actually answer Onashi's question. She almost may have considered thanking him for it, but then again, this was Glayde and Charles pretty much would have rather shot herself in the foot with her own rifle than ever thank him for anything.

She listened to the orders being given, half insulted that she wasn't expected to be helping move the heavy stuff but in the same moment finding that supervise thing to be overly amusing. So when Onashi asked his little question she couldn't help but respond before the Captain had a chance to.

"What? Didn't bring one of your novellas to keep you entertained?"

The smirk she gave him was one of those kinds only females ever seemed to be able to pull off. Every man must have known the type...the kind that were mixed with playfulness and that genuine hint of cruelty. Charles delivered it perfectly before spinning around, letting the smirk drop for a moment enough to deliver a nod to their commanding officer and then went to wait outside while the speeder bikes were unloaded.

[John Glayde]

The whine of the engines died with a sigh as the speeder bike came to a halt; Glayde vaulted from the saddle, and kicked down the stands that would hold the bike out of the dirt before he killed the repulsorlift generators. The bike would hardly be a challenge for a determined enough group of thieves to steal, but at least disabling the anti-gravity cushion that lightened the craft might serve as some small deterrant.

Their motley crew was a mildly amusing sight; Onashi had somehow managed to call shotgun on the remaining single-seat speeder - probably some threat related to his favoured literary style, Glayde was willing to bet - forcing the remaining members to wrestle over who got to drive, and who rode pillion. Despite losing out on control, the gleeful expression on Tur'enne's face - no doubt a direct reaction to the dour and disgruntled expression on O'Hurn's - suggested that she was making the best of it, and was enjoying the frustration that having her clinging to his back was clearly causing the Sergeant. The other pair looked as miserable as each other: the Na-something Corporal irritated at the constant fretting and panicking in his ear; Corporal Jsorra pale, shaking, and looking somewhat ridiculous in the large pair of goggles he'd insisted on wearing, "In case I get something in my eye, go blind, and am then incapable of completing my part of the mission."

Glayde crunched his shoulders, and cocked his head from one side to the other. The rendezvous point was a dim and dingy cantina; the sort of place where the odds of being overheard were slim, and where you could get away with shooting the eavesdropper involved if you were. Fortunately, the arrival of six apparent mercenaries wasn't an uncommon sight, and was likely to only attract attention if one of the other crowds of thugs was in a particular mood for an altercation.

Keeping his voice low, and his instructions minimal, Glayde turned to his team. "Stow the bikes," he instructed, to no one in particular. "I'll find our contact and meet you in there. Blend in, but -" He winced, imagining the kind of trouble they could wind up with if his teammates attacked the cantina's alcohol supply with the expected SpecForce gusto. "- don't get too blended, alright?"

[Serasai Onashi]

It was funny, Onashi decided to himself. It seemed the worse conditions got during missions, the better he reacted; the more things to distract him, the less he actually became distracted. It wasn't reasonable and didn't make sense at all, but that was the way it was. The muggy tropical weather of the planet enlivened the mercenary, and he parked his bike with an equanimity that he rarely showed; either he was sarcastically depressed and/or rude, or he was sarcastically cheerful and/or abrasive.

Glayde's orders were something he welcomed. The mission had started, and he didn't really need to play a mercenary. He was one already, after all, and he had brought something to pass the time while in the cantina: a datapad with a book he had coveted for some time, but for various reasons had not been able to get: Uueg Tching's Sayings.

The galaxy was a font of wisdom and information, and he was going to soak up as much knowledge as he could while he still lived. But he also loved to read, and would read anything he could get his hands onto.

With a smooth motion he pulled the datapad from a pocket of his armour and tossed it absently into the air, whistling a tune he had heard somewhere, but hadn't cared enough to actually listen to. After a few steps, he turned back and levelled a beckoning look on the others.

"By the time you all get into the cantina," he said with his usual smirk somewhat muted, "All the alcohol will be gone. And what will we do to pass the time then?"

[Maxx Elgrin]

Currently inside The Arthoped...

Ruurians were insectoid creatures that grew like any ordinary insect, except these grew into 1.1 meter tall mindless drones that like nothing better to do then fly around for a mate to screw and then have a nice bowl of leaf later. In this particular established, the mindless Wing Fliers were banned since all sorts of beings in the galaxy could partake of refreshments and food who really didn't need a dinner show of two bugs frelling. People tend to loose their appetite.

The highly intellectual and creative Larvae, who also happened to govern this planet, were the only members of their species allowed inside. They could converse as civilized beings.

It was here that a boyishly handsome human sat to share some blue liquid substance with a native Ruurian. They spoke as old friends would after being separated by at least 5 standard years. To the regular observer, it was nothing out of the ordinary. Yet to a well trained spy, the sentence structure, body language, and word play meant an exchange of information. The seemingly random twitching of the Ruurian's antennae were actually directions, a quick scratch of the nose was a query to how many guards... But it looked so simply ordinary and none present took notice or cared.

Rager'ith would be Elgrin's last contact to speak with before the rest of his team came for the briefing, and this Ruurian was quite helpful in securing loyalists inside the Imperial processing plant to gather Intel on security, troop movement, and layout of the surrounding area and inside. As supposedly loyal Ruurian was to the Empire, quite a few sympathizers have cropped up since the increased Imperial presence.

Another drink was bought by Rager'ith and slid over across the table. Elgrin had to shake his hand free from the sweating glass, but all the untrained eyes in the room missed the Rebel palming the access card into the duster's sleeve. With a pleasant smile by mouth or by bulbous eyes, the Ruurian stood up from the flattened stone slab that were used as seats for his species and shambled out of the cantina - which left a quite cheerful, but introspective Elgrin, sipping his drink and checking his wrist chronometer.

A dramatic sigh came. "Where the frell are they?"

[John Glayde]

Glayde battled his way through the crowded cantina, negotiating his way through the swarm of people that had collected between the entrance and the doorway; apparently too lazy to shuffle around to the perimeter of the establishment for fear of making the distance to the bar too great to effectively stumble there for a refill. He adopted an objective tactic, steering closer to the less desirable and more pungent patrons. The Ruurians in particular seemed to be avoided by many of the more human-like species; in most places, the outsiders tended to keep away from the locals where possible, but here the visual disparity between the two groups made the divides even easier to spot; and navigate. Unfortunately, the plan did not come without its risks: the elbow of his jacket already carried a film of some sort of sticky, mucus like substance that he'd collected when it brushed against an unpleasant part of a Ruurian's anatomy.

A surge in the crowd knocked him off course yet again. He threw out an arm for balance, which unfortunately landed in an inconvenient position atop the chest of a somewhat rotund and portly Twi'lek. He snapped it away in an instant, wincing. "Sorry," he muttered.

A twinkle sparked in the green-skinned woman's eye. "No need to be, handsome," she purred, her tattoo'd brows arching in an attempt at seduction. Her mouth curled in a smile. "You can touch me as much as you like."

Glayde responded with a thin-lipped smile of his own. "Uh, no thanks."

Her expression changed in an instant, morphing into a scowl. Her voice changed too, harsh and agressive all of a sudden. "What's that supposed to mean?" Glayde recoiled from the sudden sound of her voice, and found himself with a shoulder pressed against the firm chest of an apparently quite muscular man. "You some kind of jumped up, non-human hating Imperial scum?"

Glayde glanced over his shoulder, his periferal vision catching a glimpse of the Twi'lek standing behind him. He swallowed, hard, his hand straying towards the blaster at his hip. Still, it wouldn't do to back down; not if the appearence of mercenaries they'd gone to such pains to cultivate was to be maintained. He squared his jaw, gaze turned straight into the beady eyes of the seductress. "Not in the least," he replied in a casual drawl, allowing a quirk of smile to form at the corner of his lips. "I just have a rule against a close encounter with anyone who'd exceed the cargo capacity of my ship."

The Twi'lek's eyes widened, rage twisting her emerald features. Her gaze switched to the other man; her son, it seemed. "Did you here what he called me? What are you going to do about it."

A smile began to break on the man's features, a deep chuckle emenating from his lungs. A hand clapped Glayde on the shoulder. "I suggest you run," he offered, in a loud whisper, "Before she decides to eat you."

A shove propelled him in the right direction and, under the cover of the domestic dispute, Glayde swiftly made his escape. The crowd had fortunately begun to thin, allowing another sweep with his eyes to land upon the familiar, battered old duster that Captain Elgrin had worn the last time the two had met. His shoulders sagged a little in relief as he paced over, easing himself carefully into the seat opposite. He gestured towards the jacket. "You should really think about getting that cleaned."

[Kyran O'Hurn]

Kyran stowed his bike with the others. Close enough to the bar to be quickly accessible, but out of sight from anyone who might want to take them for a joy ride.

Lagging behind the rest Ky was the last one into the cantina, and as soon as he entered his senses went to a heightened state, taking in everything he could while maintaining a relaxed look about him that came from years of experience. It was training that allowed him to spot the subtle hand off that was occuring in one corner of the bar, probably the purchase of some local narcotic for a few creds, and the overly amorous couple in another corner.

As he made his way to the bar he started to keep track of the various things he noted and assigned them a threat level. For the moment nothing was jumping out at him, too the degree that the couple in the corner was highest on his list. It wouldn't have been the first time an intelligence unit had used the idea of a couple looking for privacy in a dark corner as a rouse.

Stepping up to the bar he waited until the tender walked over to him.

"Ale... Whatever's cold."

The bartender nodded and Ky caught the extra look that he was given, a look that was directed toward the left side of his open jacket. Whether it had been exposed or if the bartender was just looking for a weapon, Ky adjusted his jacket to ensure that the DC-15s blaster pistol in it's shoulder holster was safely out of sight before the beer was placed on the bar in front of him.

Tossing a couple creds on the bar, Ky turned around and leaned against it while taking a long slow drink, his eyes going back to scanning the crowd, while he tried to blend in like a worker after a shift enjoying a beer.

[Maxx Elgrin]

He looked positively petrified at the insult. Lips puckered in protest as he swallowed back a potential retort - but then eyes brightened with mirth! Arms extended in greeting as one hand slid across the table to shake Glayde's hand. "Good to see you, Mate, but I have to ask what the frell took you so long? I can only dally around here acting bored for so long."

Elgrin removed his hand and leaned back in his chair a bit to the side so his knee could rest on top of the other. His arm provided enough support so that a hand could comfortably hold up his head. "Luckily one of my last contacts showed up a bit ago. You got that in your favor."

[John Glayde]

By comparison to Maxx's relaxed pose, Glayde seemed tense and uptight, like some kind of Cadet under the scrutiny of a ranking superior. Then again, even a Hutt would manage to look a little stiff under that comparison, and Glayde wasn't even sure they had spines.

"You know what its like," he offered, tone casual and offhand. "Finding somewhere to park on a rock like this is like trying to muscle in on a Gamorrean buffet."

He offered a wry hint of a smile, but it didn't last long. While meant as a complaint at his personal inconvenience, Elgrin touched on a particularly valid point. Hanging around in a place like this for a protracted period was bound to attract attention: particularly from the locals. Anatomy aside, even on a human world it was easy to spot who didn't belong, if you kept your eyes open long enough. Here it was perhaps worse: the way things had been going on Ruuria, chances were that anyone who wasn't a native was either a spacer, or an Imperial. Local authorities tended to pay a fair bit of attention to those.

"I trust that, if that was the last of your contacts," he mused, directing the flow of conversation directly towards its main point, "You have everything we need for the mission?"

[Maxx Elgrin]

His well known wide, toothy smile said it all. "It's me. What do you think?"

As a waitress shambled by, Elgrin scooped up a drink and left quite a generous pile of creds to make up for its loss. It was frothy, green, and quite vile looking.

"Here! It's on me!" As the Rebel slid the six inch mug over, the palm of his hand was covering up the data chips he had acquired during his meetings. "Layouts, sympathizers, access codes... you name it's there."

[John Glayde]

"I don't know about that, Maxx." A flash of lopsided smile spashed onto his features.

His words hesitated as he regarded the drink that Maxx had procured for him; John couldn't be sure if his selection of the most disgusting-looking beverage was mere coincidence. It probably wasn't. He jabbed a finger at the glass, the vibrations disturbing the congealed ooze that lurked in the drink's depths. Was that a raw egg floating in there?

He raised the glass, palming the chips that Elgrin passed over as he did so. His nose wrinkled with reluctance as he breathed in a hint of the ale's obscure odour, and with a wince he settled the ale back on the table, slipping the data device into an inner pocket of his jacket.

Effort renewed his grin. "I have a pretty creative imagination; I'm sure I could name something you haven't managed to find out, given enough time."

[Maxx Elgrin]

Maxx waved that comment away with a roll of his eyes and crossed his legs, loosely settling back into his chair. "You wound me," he jested. "If I didn't know any better, you were trying to hurt my feelings."

The lackadaisical smile faded away since he and Glayde could do this verbal repartee could go on for hours, because it has.

"Don't you have to go save the galaxy or something?" he commented, tapping his wrist chronometer with a wide eyed grim expression, that was merely playful mocking. "You know my code in case trouble ends up finding you."

The Smuggler uncrossed his legs, sighing as he stood, "And I know it will."

It always did. Gladye and his company, if he had to place a number to it, 9.999 ad infinitum to 10 - they had to call Elgrin to bail their asses out of various messes. Incarceration, their getaway ship wouldn't work, they were pinned down, Grygor the Imperial Spy that broke out of his holding cell and tried to choke Onashi to death... It was never dull.

[Serasai Onashi]

Onashi absently rubbed his neck as a memory of Grygor ran through his mind. That had been fun until the violence had started. The violence had been fun too, but was over far too quickly to be really enjoyed. It wasn't his fault that the man couldn't even stand hearing about blood and gore, despite the fact that he was an Imperial spy. Once Onashi had heard that snappish command to stop speaking about one or another certain battles, he was like a krayt dragon on the scent of its prey and kept going, curious about what the man would do when he finally snapped. His curiosity was finally satisfied when the man's hands wrapped around his neck and began choking him.

'Oh,' he'd thought at the time. 'He'd choke me. This is uncomfortable.'

Life was never dull, he thought, once more in the present. Not in this line of work anyway. He downed some more of his ale, absently wishing that he'd been able to drink something harder. But not before a mission, or else he'd get lectured again by the Captain. And then likely he'd have to deal with Colonel Dalgas and his damned intuitive eyes; that man didn't even need to say anything, heck Onashi didn't need to have done anything, and the Colonel could still make him feel guilty.

Wishing to think better thoughts, or at least, less troubling ones, Onashi turned to the nearest member of their team. He could see them out the corner of his eye, but he wasn't sure as to who they were exactly, and didn't care who they were anyway.

“How long has it been so far?” he asked.

[John Glayde]

"Don't worry," Glayde grunted at Maxx. "I won't go disturbing you unless I'm left with absolutely no other choice."

He let the statement hang for a moment, for the double meaning to properly hit home. Despite his inferance however, knowing that the Captain was there as a failsafe did offer a small shred of reassurance. They were still a relatively virgin team, and those early missions had generated a number of 'teething problems'; with any luck the dreaed Grygor incident wouldn't be repeated, but the men and women currently under his command - no matter how competant and skilled in their respective fields - certainly weren't the staunch and efficient soldiers he'd grown accustomed to as a Storm Commando.

His eyes floated to the mug of sludge that Maxx had procured. "Thanks for the drink," he muttered, gesturing a hand towards it; momentarily, his mind wandered to the possible ways in which Elgrin might occupy his time awaiting what he no doubt presumed was their inevitable cry for help. Thoughts sparking on something that seemed particularly likely, he mentally cringed away. "Try not to catch anything infectious this time, okay?"

[Maxx Elgrin]

Elgrin stood to his full height, adjusting his duster collar with both hands and a cheeky grin in fond remembrance. "It was well worth it. You really have no idea what a Rodian can do with that mouth of his."

It also cost him a week in the hospital, and three weeks of quarantine, due to an outbreak of Danezian Flu that was only spread through bodily fluids. "Or I guess her's in your case."

With a wink, he turned around and flashed Glayde a shooting hand up into the air. "Good luck. You're gonna need it!"

[John Glayde]

"Yeah," Glayde muttered to himself, as he began to meander his way through the crowd of locals. "We're going to need it."

Eyes sweeping the bar, John sought out the nearest of his team. His eyes settled on a figure at the bar; Onashi. Damn. Loathed as he was to strike up a conversation with the spook that SpecOps had lumbered his team with, he needed to start the task of gathering up his unit somewhere. With a reluctant sigh, he pushed his way through the swarm of patrons between him and the bar, and gestured towards the serving droid for another drink.

"How long has it been so far?" Onashi asked, apparently detecting Glayde's approach in his peripheral vision.

Glayde folded his arms across his chest, using an elbow to prop himself up against the bar. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant," he threw back, a slight edge in his tone. "Am I keeping you waiting?"

[Serasai Onashi]

Onashi didn’t reply to Glayde’s annoyed remark. Instead, he smirked a bit, visibly amused at the way he got under the Captain’s skin. Sometimes, he didn’t even have to try to annoy his compatriots in their little company; they just seemed to get annoyed by a small remark.

Tur’enne was the only one who really didn’t seem to get put off, but verbally sparred with him whenever she felt in the mood to. That was most enjoyable; both the sparring and the knowledge that she wasn’t so easy to push off balance.

He grunted, and then said, “Ah. It’s you. We’re ready to go, I take it?”

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

Charles had every intention of behaving, mostly. But the same could be said for just about any mission she had ever been on. Especially a mission that required them to stand about in a bar for any length of time. Or any mission that required really standing around anywhere for any length of time.

She had chosen a spot away from where the others had settled, Onashi was at one end of the bar, the two Corporals seemed to have found a spot to loiter about together, and O'Hurn was a respectable distance away from her as well.

Though striking it out on your own did have it's drawbacks...

"You sure I can't buy you a drink?" The man had been at it almost as long as they had been standing around and Charles had been doing her best to politely turn him down, going so far as to almost portray the timid girl act.

"No, really, I can't, sorry. I've already told you... I'm here with some cousins of mine and they're on some business or other and they told me that we were going to leave any second and..."

"You aren't very good at lying, sweetheart. You know, I bet that if I was one of those boys from the Empire with a uniform and all you'd be all over me. Bet I could have you out the door and back at my place with just a word or-"
Her patience with the guy had been running thin to start with. So yes, while Charles had every intention of behaving... the man's little speech was cut rather short by her fist colliding with his jaw. Shortly followed by the other after he had lost his footing and Tur'enne had taken the only proper action of following him to the ground with full intention of giving the man every reason to take a visit to the city's hospital.

[Kyran O'Hurn]

"Frack."

Kyran's beer hit the bar hastily and with a thud and a splash of the amber liquid coming out of the glass all over bar.

He had only seen it out of the corner of his eye, but the flailing arms of the guy as he fell to the floor was enough to catch his attention.

"So much for keeping a low profile." Ky thought to himself as he made his way toward Charlotte hoping to get her out of the bar before she did something that ended up catching the attention of the local law enforcement.

Or at least that was the plan until he saw another pair or burly looking men also heading in the same direction. Speeding up just enough Ky pushed his way through the slight crowd that was starting to move over to where the commotion was happening. The crowd almost slowed him down too much, as he arrived just as one of the two interlopers was reaching for Charlotte who had her back to them.

Reaching out Ky caught the man's arm before he could grab the young officer and pushed him back slightly into his partner who was standing behind him.

"You don't want to get involved here." Ky spoke in a flat tone trying to avoid any intonation of aggression in his voice. Not surprisingly his warning was received with a fit of laughter from the man he had just pushed.

"Oh yeah? And you going to stop us?" The smirk on Ky's face told the man the answer to that question. "You and what army?"

Ky had a choice. Bluff or fight, and considering that he was here to try and keep Charlotte out of trouble, a bluff seemed like the better option. Pulling the left side of his jacket to the side slightly he showed the two men the pistol hidden under his jacket. At the same time the look on his face turned cold and he stared at the man like he was trying to bore a hole right through him. "Imperial!"

The bluff could go either way. He didn't have any kind of fake identification that could back up the bluff, but the Imps were active enough on the planet that it would at least put the thought in the guys head. And apparently that was enough, as the man put his hands in the air in a sign of surrender before backing away slowly.

Turning enough that he could both see the men walking away and Charlotte out of the corner of his eyes, Ky reached out and firmly grabbed her shoulder.

"I think we better go."

As Charlotte spun around he could see her mouth opening to say something, something that was likely dripping in sarcasm about how she didn't need his help. But Ky caught sight of Glayde and Onashi heading toward them and turned his head and looked directly at Charlotte with a non-verbal "don't" that was enough to stop her before she could get a word out.

Turning around Ky started to head for the door before Charlotte could change her mind and say something anyway.

[John Glayde]

"I'm ready," Glayde said with a slight sarcastic lilt, fingers massaging his forehead as he answered Onashi's question. "If you were actually ready on time for anything, I think I'd die of shock." He sighed, not bothering to wait for any kind of reaction or retort from the mercenary, assuming that he'd get the hint and follow along in his wake. Not that Glayde would particularly mind if he didn't of course: any excuse to ditch the recovering spook that Command had lumbered his makeshift unit with was welcome.

Speaking of his makeshift unit - Command had informed him that a remaining asset for his operation that would be waiting for them somewhere on-planet. Said operative had already been deployed on a mission when the remainder of the team had been formed, but had been diverted to Ruuria to rendezvous with them; and the datapad that Glayde had just recieved from Maxx apparently contained the details on where they could be found.

Another sigh played out from between his lips, already resenting whoever had picked him out for this mission. Far too much legwork, he mused, making a bee-line for the door. A flash of relief sparked as he saw Tur'enne and O'Hurn already heading the same way, saving them the effort of having to hunt them down. Before next time, he decided, I'd better learn how to delegate.

* * *

Glayde glanced back at the datapad, confirming once again that the address provided by Elgrin did in fact correspond with the barely standing deathtrap of a structure in front of him. While granted, such a seedy and out-of-the-way motel was as good a place as any for a covert rendezvous - right up there with seedy taverns, and out-of-the-way bars - he couldn't help but wonder if the major consideration here had been the conservation and protection of the SpecForce Operations Budget.

With a grunt, he stuffed the 'pad back into his jacket and strode up the driveway, that turned out to be more like stepping stones than a coherant, structurally-intact path. As he walked, he rehersed the prepared excuse for his presence; apparently, his contact was booked into a room under the inspired alias of "Mrs Glayde". She was allegedly his wife but, given the motel's location and pricing, the person at the front desk would likely assume that he was a businessman off to see some secret mistress or prostitute.

At least the alias provided him with a little extra information about the identity of their remaining member; barring some unorthadox costume choices on their part, the operative was likely female. After Glayde had sent the team back to the ship, he'd studied the intel from Elgrin at great length, and while Maxx had provided his usual high quality and detail, he had been somewhat let down by how frugal Rebel Intelligence had been with revealing the ancillery details; her gender was about all he could discern.

The cover story turned out to be unnecessary; the receptionist was unconscious when he arrived, and reeked of booze. Leaning carefully over the desk, he'd checked the motel computer for the correct room number, swiped the spare key card, and headed on over. The room was on the upper level, accessible by an outdoor stairway and raised walkway that appeared to have some sort of dead, mutilated creature rotting on it. Classy.

Counting the doorways that passed, most of which seemed to have had the numbers stolen from them, Glayde found himself outside the right room. His hand reached to swipe the key card through the sensor, but he hesitated; situations reversed, Glayde would probably be positioned somewhere on the room beyond with a blaster poised to cut down anything that came in uninvited. Deciding it was still a little too early in the day to have a gun pointed at him, Glayde pocketed the card, and jammed a finger into the chime.

After a slight hesitation, the door slid open with an unnerving groan, revealing a tall, slender figure on the other side. Recognition flashed across Glayde's face; his eyes blinked in slow motion, throat struggling to find his voice. "You're my missing operative?"

[Mara Tallen]

Gear covered nearly every surface of the tiny room, except for the bed, where she'd spent the last two days, curled onto her side.

She needed time, and the brass seemed hell bent on not giving her any.

She'd lost her partner of two years and to them it had meant nothing. For her, it was as if she'd had her heart ripped out of her chest. Jack had never been a romantic interest - he'd been her best friend. They'd come up through the ranks together in the 6th. He'd recommended her for her first promotion, he'd had her back when the rest of their squadron had found out what she was. And now her only support in the entire 'verse was gone.

Instead of going back to Corellia with his body for the funeral, she was stuck here on Ruuria. Pulled in for a secret mission that needed someone with her unique abilities. Knowing there'd be a team relying on her had been the only thing that kept her going the past couple of days.

Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she added Jack's dogtag to her own with a short piece of black chain looped around it, and set them around her neck again. If she kept busy, she thought, she'd be able to get through this and then take whatever time she could to visit his family. Mara was in the middle of adjusting the scope on one of her smaller grenade launchers when the bell rang.

The weapon sat soundlessly on the floor as she reflexively checked the shatter blaster on her hip. Unholstered, it sat light in her hand as she opened the door a bit and blinked in the artificial light as it flickered horribly.

"You're my missing operative?"

The voice hit her senses like a sledgehammer - she hadn't heard it or seen the handsome face with it in nearly three years, since she'd first been stationed on the Valiant. It pulled a soft, delicate smile to her features as she stepped back to let him in.

"That I am...and they didn't tell me I'd have you to answer to on this little shindig here. Long time no see, John." she purred, the natural tone to her voice accenting each syllable.

[John Glayde]

When you knew someone as - intimately? That was probably the delicate term - as Glayde had known Mara, you could tell when something was wrong. There were little signs in the way they stood: shoulders not quite as square as usual; arms loose and purposeless; their eyes not quite finding the same focus they usually did. Sure, she tried to hide it, and she met her efforts with some success; but this wasn't some run-of-the-mill guy, nor some two-bit interrogator. This was John.

Wordlessly, he stepped forwards, arms gently folding her into an embrace. "Long time no see," he echoed softly, arms falling into the places that were so natural and familiar to him. He drew away, just far enough to find her eyes again. "I'm sorry Mara," he said gently. "What happened?"

[Mara Tallen]

The embrace took her right back to the day she'd been shipped out with her unit three years previous. The two of them standing in what had been her quarters, the scene of many a tryst, both of them silent. They didn't need words. It was part of their arrangement. Even if she'd long since fallen for him, there was nothing she could do about her orders, so she'd remained silent.

But that wasn't the case now.

Her hand flicked the door closed and tossed the shatter gun to land neatly on the table nearby, before both palms rose to rest on his shoulders. Mara had somehow forgotten to breathe, and when she did it was a deep, ragged sound.

"Lost Jack four days ago. Ambush on our position near the front. I'd been lacing the tree-line with mines, and was on my way back when they hit. I got there in time to catch him as he fell."

Her voice sounded hollow even to her own ears, and internally, she cringed at what John would think of it. He'd always known her so well, and had been able to read her moods and expressions with startling accuracy since the day they'd met.

"Gods how I missed this..." she murmured under her breath, a stray thought finding voice amidst the scattered remains of what was once a self-filter. Fingers flexed of their own accord as they traced the long-familiar lines of his shoulders and absently smoothed out the soft fabric over them.

[John Glayde]

"Mara, I -"

Thought was gone. Logic was gone. Any notion of their intended timetable disappeared from his mind, along with any better judgement about what was going on. It had been three years: three years apart, of other people, and other things. Whatever feelings had been there before were dim and distant memories now; and yet, back into them they stumbled, as if not even a single day had passed.

There should have been reservations in his mind. Should have been reluctance. But their wasn't. Their relationship had always been one based on need, and right now, Mara needed this; needed him.

Fingers straying to her hair, he gently brushed a set of fingers down the frame of her face, ghosting across her cheek. "I missed you too," he offered back, equally soft. He could still see the sadness as he glanced up into her eyes; he didn't offer a smile, or any such other hollow reassurance. Instead, his eyes merely conveyed what words couldn't adequately convey.

He tried anyway. "It's okay," he assured, fingers once again caressing her cheek. "I'm here now."

[Mara Tallen]

Her voice caught in her throat at the touch of fingertips, her skin warming to the gentle touch. Their arrangement didn't matter...she couldn't have - wouldn't have pulled away for anything.

This was what she'd been craving, that she couldn't name.

She shuddered and closed her eyes, stepping closer, resting against his warmth, savoring it as she slid her arms around his neck. Mara rested her forehead against his, unable to speak in reply to his gentle murmurs.

There wasn't need to.

She sighed faintly and tilted her head against his fingers, forgetting to breathe as his touch trailed pure heat in its wake. A tender half-smile curled her lips as she slid a hand up into his hair and sighed. Her eyes closed as she captured his lips and tightened her arms around him, lost to everything except the sensation of having John in her arms again.

"Do we...have...time..." she purred breathlessly, breaking the kiss as she pulled him and walked backwards toward the bed.

"After all...these years...now you worry..." John managed to quirk a grin that made her heart race in response.

The backs of her knees hit the bed and they went tumbling back, landing tightly entwined as clothing flew in every direction. Mara purred wickedly as she trailed a line of kisses across his jaw.

"We're going to be very, very...late..."

[John Glayde]

Getting severely PO'd now - had to rewrite this post three times because of assorted computer failings. Grrr...

Some Time Later

Mara had been right. They were late - so late in fact that dusk had fallen, and Ruuria had begun the process of emptying the moisture from its skies. What had been a refreshing, playful wind earlier in the day had converted into a gusting afair, whipping up the mist of rain into a stinging frenzy. Glayde winced against it as he pushed forward, fighting through the weather with Mara pulled along by an arm in his wake. She'd probably get more traction if she changed, and dug in with her claws but, well: there were certain things that a man needed to do himself in order to preserve masculinity and pride, and battling through the elements was one of them.

They reached the underbelly of the Astral Queen, though her hull offerred little shelter from rain that seemed to come at them sideways more than from any other direction. A fist rose to the main hatch and pounded heavily, the sound reverberating through the entire ship. A few shivvering moments dragged on before the hatch groaned open, the ramp descending to open a maw into the bowels of the ship. Finally releasing his grip on her hand, Glayde carefully helped Mara make the first few steps onto the ramp and then, with a quick scowl in the vague direction of the weather, clambered in after her.

No one spoke until the hatch had sealed with a magnetic thunk, dumping a blanket of relative silence over them. That blessed relief from the noise outside was torn however by the panting contribution of Oran Jsorra. "Oh, thank the gods," he muttered, slumping forward a little, hands on his knees. "After you missed your check-in, we -" He hesitated, half-way to jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "- well, okay, I was getting kinda worried. When we couldn't reach you on your comlink..."

Glayde frowned, rummaging in a sodden pocket for the short cylindrical device to which Oran referred. He puzzled over it, inspecting the various controls. "Huh," he muttered. "Guess I turned it off."

"Turned it -" Jsorra stopped himself with closed eyes and a deep breath, forcing calm into his brain. As his eyes settled on the duo again, a flash of surprise sparked in his eyes as he realised Glayde had apparently duplicated himself and undergone major reconstructive surgery. "I don't know you," he accused, with norrowed eyes.

Introductions. Right. "This is Captain Mara Tallen," Glayde introduced, with a vague nod in her direction.

Jsorra's eyes snapped wide in an instant, every muscle in his body tensing him into an almost comical version of attention as he blundered his hand to his forehead for a salute. "Sorry, Captain... sir... ma'am," he flustered, tripping over himself in search of an appropriate address.

Glayde sighed, shaking his head. "Relax, Jsorra," he ordered, "Before you strain something." Dropping his voice low, he turned at a slight angle to address Mara personally. "Might as well get comfortable," he advised: "I don't want us trying to work in this rain. We'll brief at 0400, and move out in sync with dawn." A curt nod was the only response Mara offered.

"What about me, sir?" Jsorra asked, a hint of nerves in his words.

John paused for a moment, contemplating the question before pressing the comlink he'd been fiddling with idly into Jsorra's hands. "Fix it," he instructed simply. "I think it's broken."

[Oran Jsorra]

Callsigns -
- Delta-Niner = CO of Dorn Force
- Delta-One = Team led by Tallen (Tallen, Onashi, O'Hurn)
- Delta-Two = Team led by Glayde (Glayde, Tur'enne, Jsorra)

Why "Delta" and not "Dorn"? If we ever go on a mission with "Forn Force", the Dorn-One / Forn-One similarity could lead to confusion. Delta-One / Firecat-One (based on this (http://sw-fans.net/forum/showpost.php?p=328862&postcount=8) phonetic alphabet) is nice and clear.

* * *

Ohh, crap.

Jsorra twitched nervously, the muscles in one hand clenching uncontrollably, digging the fingertips into the flesh of his palm. Gloves thankfully prevented the nails from breaking skin; they did nothing to help his nerves however, serving only as a reminder of the ridiculous get-up into which he'd been dressed. I mean, seriously. Come on. Him? Infiltrator Gear? What the dren was Glayde thinking?

So, okay. He looked frelling badass. Not many people wouldn't have looked badass in the Rebel Alliance's covert, sneaky around get-up, granted: the helmet alone made him look like some sort of cross between a ninja and a Rodian assassin droid, if Rodian assassin droids were carved from pure awesome. But he felt that the way he carried himself - and the way the ribbed duraplast plates clung to and showed off his ass, abs, and lean sexy thighs - just set off the outfit completely; though he had to conceed that Lieutenant Tur'enne was probably a close second in terms of suit-induced sex appeal. Not that he'd been checking her out or anything. He was just doing what he was told; watching their asses. Bringing up the rear.

Haha. Rear.

Wait. No. Not funny time. This is 'Oh, crap' time. Ohh, crap. Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap!

But yeah. The problem was the other stuff. He had all of his tech gear in a utility pack slung over his back, which was kinda heavy, and hampered his movements, otherwise he'd totally be doing commando rolls right now. They hadn't even given a proper gun, either: just one of those hold-out Scout Blasters the biker Stormies used; he'd insisted on two, just to compensate. Glayde had scowled at that. Frak him. Frakking Captain Glayde, and his frakking plan. They'd even given him a knife - what the kriffing hell was up with that? What were they expecting him to do: run up with his heavy bag and stab the people that were shooting at him? Although, he conceeded, it would be kinda useful for levering off the access pannels on consoles -

Okay. Fine. The knife was okay. But what was all this other dren hanging off his suit? Were those; were they; oh, god. Explosives. People were going to be shooting at him, and he was wearing a frakking vest stuffed with kriffing explosives. Sure, this stuff was designed to only detonate when subjected to an electrical charge... but what the hell did they think blaster bolts were made of, huh? Magic and pixie dust? More like super-accelerated particles of ionised - ie. electrically charged - Tibana gas, propelled on an electomagnetic pulse wave. Yeah. Shove that in your kriffing pipe, and then shove your pipe up your frakkin' ass, Captain Glayde.

So, okay. The plan was good. Captain Plan-sucks was leading an infiltration team into the compound: a pretty much generic, standard-issue garrison base that the ex-Stormtrooper Glayde should be able to navigate them around, blindfolded. They'd get in, bust through what locks they needed to, and download the genius worm into the Imperial comm network that Oran had divised. They'd download a copy of the comm protocols too, just to make it look consistant; the Imps would change those protocols straight away, which would then kick the worm into life and stream a pre-programmed signal to a secure comm relay. It'd be encrypted... but unlike most Imperial transmissions, they'd know exactly what it said; codes are easy to crack, once you know that. Every time the protocols reset, the worm would transmit again: and voila, a fool-proof way to ensure that the Rebel Alliance could eavesdrop on whatever it was the Empire was doing in this neck of the woods. Talk about a genius plan.

The problem with the plan arose from who was doing what. It called for two teams: one of bumbling idiots to stomp around outside, make lots of noise, and generally scare the Sith out of the Stormies on-base, drawing them out of the compound and distracting them away from the other team; said other team would then break into the facility, and work their way to the cental computer core. Assigning that mercenary dipshit with the pansy romance novels, and that ape of a Sergeant to create the distraction made perfect, glorious sense: hell, it was probably all they were good for. The new Lady-Captain was gonna be leading that side of things and, while Oran would very much have liked to see what the magical properties of Infiltrator duraplast did to her ass, they'd been briefed that she was a Sixer, so 'blowing shit up' was pretty much her job description.

The Infiltrator team on the other hand; Glayde was leading that, and he was taking along Miss L-T-and-A, who was a damned Infiltrator, so that was just obvious. But for some gods-unknown reason, Glayde was insisting that Jsorra came along too. The reason he offered was that he wanted Oran on-hand just in case anything went wrong - like anything would! - with his virus, or with the interface, or something like that. To be honest, it sounded like bull: Glayde just wanted to make him suffer. Or maybe wanted to discredit him in front of the ladies; keep them for himself.

Yeah, right: like either of 'em would go for a guy like Glayde.

So, hence the nerves, and the twitching. Oran was the Eyes. The Scanner. Communications and Sensor Operator. Technician. Geek boy. Whatever you wanted to call him, he most definately was not a field operative. He should have been back on that Corellian bucket, ready to leap into action and run the fuck away if anything went wrong. Not a field operative. Not a field operative.

He blew out a breath, trying to drive some sense of calm into his brain. If he didn't take it easy, he really would wind up dead. Summoning up all his willpower, he compressed it into a ball and stuffed it down the inside of his arm, driving the fingers of his twitching hand into a wide spread. He forced his arm down by his side; felt his fingers contact with something firm. That was odd: he didn't remember walking by anthing. Ever the scientist, he patted gently with his farm, testing for firmness; but these damned gloves didn't let him gain any sort of useful data. Reluctantly making the effort, he turned his head slightly, eyes sweeping across to find boots, legs a--

"Ahh!"

He stepped rapidly backwards, hand snapping away as he retreated from where Tur'enne had been standing, facing aft right behind him. He stuffed his arm behind his back, perhaps subconsciously hoping that doing so might confuse her: leave her thinking that he was innocent because clearly, he didn't have arms. Yeah, right. Like that plan was going to work.

Glad that the infiltrator hid enough of his face to hide the fact that his face was flushing, he flashed her a sheepish smile that he forgot she couldn't see. "Uh - hey, LT." He offered her an appologetic shrug. "Sorry?"

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

She rolled her eyes. It was all she could do. Jsorra was one of the few who hadn't instantly gotten under her skin since joining Dorn and while somewhere a lingering try that again and I'll break your fingers off wanted to be said, it never managed to come out. Now if it had been the Captain... well, that was another story.

The guys may have been oblivious to it, but Charles wasn't a feckless nitwit. A man doesn't come in from the rain with a pretty little redhead at his side and say he was late for unavoidable reasons. So while she had gotten bored to the point where a card game with O'Hurn and Onashi had started sounding like a damn good idea, the two Captains had probably been off playing doctor? Yeah... niiiiice.

Though at least she would only end up dealing with Glayde for the rest of the mission... Which, with her little unspoken slap-on-the-wrist given to the Corporal, her attention reluctantly turned back to the Captain, waiting for whatever orders she probably would end up questioning somewhere in the back of her mind.

[John Glayde]

Glayde was on point, leading his demi-Squad through the sylvan wilderness that surrounded the Imperial compound. The air was close and humid; it and the bulky Infiltrator gear that he and his companions wore had conspired to form a river of sweat cascading down his spine like rapids. Hardly the most comfortable of environments for this kind of work; he probably would have been better off in his old Scout Trooper gear, what with it's thermal-controlled undersuit, even if it was decorated in the most idiotic colour scheme for a unit that was supposed to perform covert reconnaissance.

Maybe, he mused, carefully stepping a booted foot over a branch that was particularly likely to make noise if trodden upon, I can pick myself up one from the equipment lockers in there. You know, if I have a spare minute between getting shot at.

He sighed; while he had no qualms about his defection to the Rebellion. He understood the corruption in the Imperial cause; understood that it needed to be overthrown; that democracy needed to be restored. But the people at the bottom - the foundations of the regime that they were targetting in the hopes of bringing down the entire structure - were the people he'd lived with; died with. They were misguided idiots for the most part; just doing their job. Odds were slim that any of them would survive long enough to come to their senses. But you can't go into a gunfight shooting stun. As soon as they work out that you're not shooting to kill, they'll get brave. They'll get reckless. He grimaced. And then things get really bad.

He bit down a sigh, hand for the controls for the comlink built into his helmet. "Delta-Two to Delta-One; we're almost in position. What's your status?"

[Kyran O'Hurn]

Of all the assignments that Ky had been given through his career as a soldier he never got tired of this one. The mission was simple. Take a big ass gun... find a place with some good cover and make a shit load of noise. Yes he could handle that.

The KX-80 slung over his back would take care of the noise. It was a bit old but in good condition. Ky had already made the decision that if he didn't have to ditch the weapon he was going to haul it back and add it to his personal collection. But if he did have to ditch it, the A280 that he was carrying would get him out of trouble.

They had to be getting close, but only the new Captain really knew. he hadn't made up his mind about her yet. He never made up his mind about a superior until they went through a firefight together.

A slight smirk crossed his face, no matter the outcome, Ky was going to have some fun this day.

[Mara Tallen]

Too busy with her own preparations, Mara ignored the pointed looks and peculiar glances from a few of the rest of the team members. If necessary, she mused, she'd address them after the mission was complete and they were back at base. Wherever that was, given that she wasn't sure how long she was on loan for as she hadn't been given a return date.

She tugged open her large canvas bag and spread out her gear as the time grew nearer. It was a lighter kit than she normally carried as a Vanguard since it included no armor, but tonight wasn't a traditional kind of mission in true 6th Regiment sense. Tonight was more cover, distract, and kill as many of the enemy as possible.

Well. This Mara could handle.

Presuming that she'd be shifting at least once during the coming operation, she changed swiftly into a skin-tight black bodysuit, and laced her knee-high leather boots comfortably tight. Now for the noise makers. Staring down at what she'd brought, she nodded and holstered a heavily modified verpine shatter blaster on each thigh, the only weapons she never went anywhere without. Not the loudest, but there wasn't much that could beat the solid, charged rounds they fired.

Beyond those, she went standard Sixer Vanguard with a medium scale grenade launcher in two pieces that assembled easily, and a full complement of grenades and detonators packed neatly into half of the pack on her back. The rest of the low-profile pack was filled with a number of her special surprises...the things no demolitions expert ever went into the field without.

Mara pulled her auburn curls into a tight bun at that back of her neck to keep it out of the way before she accepted the earpiece and comm from Jsorra. Nodding to him, she motioned to Onashi and O'Hurn to follow her as the others left. "There's something Glayde didn't mention in the general briefing, since its on a need-to-know basis and has a high-level clearance. I'm half-Felacatian, which means that I can shift into a massive feline. No spikes, though, just a set of vicious teeth, claws, and a whole lot more muscle and speed. My gear comes with me if its being worn or carried. At some point tonight, I'll be shifting...there's nothing in the local area anywhere near my size, so try not to shoot me when I do it. Signal will be two quick beeps followed by a slow beep in the earpiece. Any questions?"

She waited briefly, looking to each of them, and cursing as her comm buzzed in her ear.

"Delta-Two to Delta-One; we're almost in position. What's your status?"

"Roger that, Delta-Two. We're almost there. Stand-by."

Smiling darkly she nodded to both of the men and took point as they slid silently into the heavy forest cover. "Let's go. We'll set up in an arc as planned, near the main entrance. Onashi, you take the left point, O'Hurn, on the right. I'll take middle."

[Serasai Onashi]

Onashi remained quiet, though his usual bored expression was lessened. He seemed absolutely unperturbed by the fact that the woman was half-whatever-she-was; most likely because he hadn’t a nerf’s clue what she had said anyway.

The walk to the main entrance was mostly uneventful. Being quiet wasn’t a specialization of his (those being kicking ass and perhaps taking names and numbers if the mood was right), but it wasn’t all that hard. Especially with the prospect of some good, loud, chaotic fighting at the end of all this sneaking around.

He moved to the left position as he was ordered, and stopped at the edge of the forest cover, waiting for the order to start making noise.

[Mara Tallen]

It didn't take long for Onashi to find his spot, and a second glance confirmed that O'Hurn was also ready.

Both were waiting on her orders.

Her own position involved a bit less cover than she would have liked, but enough to cover her gear and most of her if she was crouched to work on something however briefly. It would have to do, she mused, tapping the comm in her ear.

"Delta-One to Delta-Two...we're in position. Waiting on your go to start the party." Mara said, the grin curling her lips audible in her voice as her hands twisted the grenade launcher together.

"This is Delta-Two...you're good to go."

Another tap to her earpiece saw the line cleared and comm established with Onashi and O'Hurn. "We've got a green light...I think I should knock and tell them we're here." With that said, she settled the launcher on her shoulder and followed her own orders. A muffled thump was the only noise the launcher made, until a couple of second later when the grenade slammed into the front door of the compound, quickly followed by a second. The massive doors themselves were charred and dented inwards, and even the permacrete around the reinforced door frame was cracked.

"That should get some attention." she murmured under her breath, more to herself than to the others.