Warzone: Sarapin

The Rebel Calamari Cruiser- Imonsterg's Trust- In Orbit Over Sarapin

Captain Christof Ohlund's long strides made it easy for him to cross the long rows of Rebel soldiers, as they waited for the order to board the HTT-26 heavy troop transports and head for the planet below.

They were reinforcments for the Rebel forces currently on the lava-caked planet's surface, who were in the midst of a fierce war of attrition. Both sides had all ready suffered horrific casualties and the stalemate was rather surprising, considering how strong of a hold the Empire had once had on the galaxy's largest energy producer.

But the hold had been broken twice, Ohlund thought with a smile. Even if briefly.

The Rebel captain stopped at the end of the line, his eyes sweeping down the row of soldiers. He'd served with most of them since the Battle of Endor and he trusted them. A trust he didn't extend to the two latest additions of his company.

One of them was a Corporal, her brown hair streaked red and cut to normal military standards. She'd introduced herself as, "Maree O'Donnell", with confidence only a trained army specilist could have, but Ohlund didn't think she'd been in the military long.

Whoever this "Corporal Maree O'Donnell" was...someone was looking out for her.

The other transfer was a private named Joe Bidwell, . Like O'Donnell, Bidwell's hair was red and cut to military standards. He was a rather large man, musclar and didn't look like he took poodoo from anyone. Which, the Rebel captain noted, was probably why he was still a private. But something else about this 'Bidwell' character gnawed at Ohlund. He was cocky for sure, that damn smirk on his face said so, and Ohlund's instincts screamed there was something else about him. But he wasn't about to ask his superiors why.

Especially after a sergeant, following normal protocol, was admonished by a superior for attempting to assign O'Donnell and Bidwell to different platoons. The order was clear, and came down very quickly: Corporal O'Donnell and Private Bidwell were to stay in the same squad and NOT be separated.

It was an order Ohlund raised his eyes at, but obeyed none the less.

He had a battle to run.

"Listen up!" his raised raised voice echoed through the bustling hangar, "We've got a big enough hole to punch our way to the boys on the ground! Ground reports say the Imps've just gotten done with a major push through our trenches. They're running a little low on stamina, so what we're gonna do is hit the ground hard and try to push 'em back. Make sure your rebreathers are in working order. If one breaks, let the tech know, he'll fix it as quickly as possible.

"Everyone's got their orders! Squads A through C get on the first HTT-26. D through F get on the next one! Let's move out!"

***************************************

As Squad F started t'make their way onboard their transport to th'ground, Private 'Bidwell' smirked beneath his grey helmet. It was kinda nice t'be back in the army. Even if his mission was different from their own.

He slid down next to Corporal 'O'Donnell' and whispered in her direction, "Ya'd think some techie woulda made these helmets 'cigar friendly'."

The smirk on Joe Bidwell/Aurelias Kazaar's face could almost be seen through his helmet.

"Ready for ya first 'military' action, Kid?"

"You just concern yourself with keeping up with me" she parried back with a soft smile, "..Joe" she added, the smile broadening. It was such a regular, everyday name -- so incongruous with the reality of the man now taking his seat beside her. Aurelias Kazaar was anything but a regular joe.

She dropped her own helmet over her head - the fit comfortable with her new trim coiff. She brushed her bare neck with her fingers - the sensation still a tad odd after all her life with longer hair. Russard was still not completely sold on her new look, but she had to admit, she felt a deal more 'edgy' with it. Funny how appearance can effect the psyche.

"You clear on the objective?" she said to him in a low voice.

Of course Kazaar was clear, the question spoke not so much of Estelle seeking assurance of his knowledge of the task, but the reaffirming to him of her own. Since their closer relationship with The Black Man, the dynamic between the rebel partners had changed subtly. She felt it, but was not sure if Aurelias did too. Kazaar was an old war-horse - sure of himself, and of his purpose. He was sure of what he thought about things. Estelle was still new -- or rather, newish. She was not ignorant of the powerful influence the former bounty hunter had on her and she tried her best to come to her own conclusions and opinions on things.

Trouble was, Kazaar kept things simple. Everything was in Black and Blacker for him. And had been for a very long time.

But everyone knows, the life of an Intelligence agent is far more complicated than to be pidgeon-holed with such simplicity. Russard was still developing her own formula for doing her job and being able to live comfortably with herself while doing so. Kazaar knew her struggle and did what he could to let her figure things out for herself.

Must be frustrating as heck for him.

Looking at him all dressed and battle-ready, she knew the grousing about the cigars was not genuine. Well, not really.

"You like being back in the mix again, dont you?"

"Kid if I have t'sit in that damn hospital room, gettin' poked and prodded by nurses who take way too frackin' much fun in their job...I'm gonna go mad," Kazaar groused as he gave another smirk behind his helmet.

In truth, Kazaar was more than happy t'be outta the hospital. There was something creepy 'bout being stuck fulla tubes and being forced t'not have a smoke or three. Although when he'd been released, Kazaar almost strangled 'The Black Man' for fracking 'round with Estelle during the mission to Empress Teta. If the damned spook hadn't disappeared as quickly as he had, Kazaar prolly woulda. But he'd been denied the chance, so he'd just let it sit f'now.

'Course a part of Kazaar also 'got' why 'Othniel' had done what he did. And that was the scary part. The former bounty hunter'd used people before, but most of 'em were scumbags, not people who were his friends. But then he was pretty sure some of those scumbags considered the former bounty hunter their friend. So it was a two-way street.

Frackin' BlackOps.

He turned his attention back to 'The Kid', "I dunno how th'hell ya lasted two weeks in the hospital."

Estelle gave a nervous smile beneath her helmet, as she remembered her 'ordeal' at the hands of Ghlar Timandar and his thugs. Even if it was a part of her being and world-view, she still didn't want t'dwell on it too often.

A snort from Kazaar caused Estelle to come back t'reality, "Notice that extra objective we were given."

Their original orders, given to them by Rebel Intelligence Director Dasquian Belargic, were simple: infiltrate and capture the third largest energy processing plant on Sarapin, located thirty miles away from the planet's capitol Mount Corvost. A team of Rebel engineers would then relieve the spies and begin siphoning away energy for Alliance use.

But their mission orders had been altered en route to the Imonsterg. Now they were told t'destroy the plant if the battle between the Rebels and Imps went poorly. It'd reduce the Empire's energy production by thirty percent and both spies had a pretty good idea who gave 'em those orders. And it wasn't Belargic. 'Course Kazaar didn't give a mynock's wing one way or th'other. Any chance t'give the Imps an ulcer made 'im smile.

***************************************

The dropship *shuttered* as it entered th'harsh atmosphere of Sarapin. They had 'bout 15 minutes before they'd hit planetfall.

Kazaar checked the charge on his blaster rifle again and gripped the bar above his head. When he'd been in the Rebel army he'd never done anything like this, and th'constant shaking caused his stomach t'slightly roll. Kazaar threw a gaze to the army trooper perched next t'him and scowled. He sure didn't look like the entry bugged him. 'Course the soldier'd prolly done this more than a few times.

"Woulda been nice if they'd let us keep to ourselves f'this one, Kid," the Rebel spy jerked his head towards the soldier on his left, "I don't need two other bishwags keeping us company."

"Stow it, private" Russard answered back, "Ours is but to do or die, remember?"

Estelle was pullin' rank on him, and Kazaar knew she'd milk that option every chance she got. He realised she was actually enjoying herself. The shuddering decent didn't appear to bother her much either. Compared to their 'drop' to Trandosha on a previous mission, this little jaunt was a carosel ride.

"Besides" she continued, "an extra shot or two can only do us some good given our alternate objective" her gaze led off to the terrain that was rearing up before them.

"Its gonna get hot, Joe - I hope you wore aniperspirant"

Sarapin was the closest thing to a hell-hole Estelle could imagine. Its volcanic surface streamed with molten lava and its ash-laden air posed all kinds of hazards to the team, least of all the enemy entrenched in their strongholds about them. The one good thing was that atleast both antagonists were on a level playing field - if it was hot for the rebels, it was every bit as hot for the Imperials as well.

A huge dipping jolt alerted them to the close proximity of the surface as the pilot of the dropship labored to maneuver the craft in close.

Estelle leaned forward and knocked her helmet against her partners, "Here we go"

The dropship hung in th'air like a raptor for almost a minute, while it found the appropriate landing zone. 'O'Donnell', 'Bidwell', and the other troopers in Squad F rose from their seats, as the doors opened. Before the ship had touched down on th'ground, Estelle, Kazaar, and the others were on the ground.

"Corporal O'Donnell," the voice of Captain Ohlund ripped through the squad's earpieces, causing one of them t'curse and turn down the volume a bit, "Rendezvous with Lieutenant Gretzbeiro's squadron and take the left side of the trenches. I'm sending Squad D to assist, as well.

"Once you've cleared the trenches of any Imp activity, secure the trenches against further attack. We're in for a long night if we don't. More orders to follow."

"You heard the man!" Estelle/Maree's voice was secure, "Let's move out!"

The four Rebel soldiers raced from th'landing zone towards the front lines. Their trek caused them to pass by the bodies of various Rebels, who'd fallen victim to Imperial fire. One man, his body blackened by soot and flame, was missing both his legs. A nurse continued to whisper soothing words in the man's ears, but it was all ready known: he wasn't gonna make it.

The Rebels ignored the sights around them, focusing only on their job. Their booted feet pounded th'lava-made rocks and Kazaar was happy 'bout his comfortable boots taken from a now-dead Imperial officer almost two years prior. Sure as hell beat gettin' blisters. 'Course comfortable feet didn't matter when ya were dead.

They came to a halt behind a large formation of lava rocks and a Rebel officer approached them.

Lieutenant Correll Gretzbeiro had been on Sarapin since the early stages of the planet-wide war. He'd lost half of an ear when shrapnal from a Freerunner pierced the armored ring-guard on his helmet. But Gretzbeiro still had the wherewithal to lead his men back to the relative safety of the Rebel lines. His heroic action earned him a promotion and several combat medals.

"Corporal O'Donnell reporting in, sir!" Estelle gave a small salute.

"Good to see you Corporal," Gretzbeiro's voice was accented, but his Basic passable. He pressed a button on a small display, showing a graphic of the Rebel lines.

"The Imperials have taken Trenches 1-3 and sections of 4 and 5," the Rebel lieutenant pointed as ash started raining down from the dark sky, "I want your squads to take Trench 3, it's underguarded right now. My squad will handle Trench 2."

The ground shook as mortars exploded from somewhere in front of them.

"Understood?"

Estelle nodded and relayed the orders to her troops. Beneath his mask, Kazaar gave a smirk. 'The Kid' was really coming along in 'er training and doing a helluva job gettin' into her various roles. Sure beat havin' someone who could just do one thing. In this line of work, Kazaar'd always believed, ya gotta be versatile.

The Rebels slipped around the rock formation, running low as blaster bolts started filling th'sky. Someone from Squad D yelped as a blaster bolt caught him in th'chest. It was at times like this, Kazaar was happy f'his Personal Energy Shield. And Estelle's.

The squad came to a halt behind a man-made barrier and Bidwell/Kazaar whispered in his complink.

"Okay Corporal. What's the plan?"

Imperial-class Star Destroyer Otavjni
Flagship, 126th Battle Squadron (attached to 19th Support Fleet, Admiral Reiks)
Area of Responsibility: Tasaki Sector
Commanding Officer: Commodore Francis Itera IV

Order and stability. That is what the Imperial warmachine brought to the galaxy. People may hail to the ideals of freedom, of peace, and of equality. For twenty millennia the galaxy lived under usurpers, the Old Republic. From schools to merchant vessels their hideous creed of democracy was trumpeted and extolled, infecting the very souls of the peoples they ruled. Their weak and ineffective creed only survived by the virtue of their warfleets, that and the Jedi, the arrogantly self proclaimed protectors of freedom and peace.

But the beings of the galaxy did not desire deep in their hearts freedom, they desired order. Under the democratic, alien loving Republic, they believed they had everything they wanted, they had peace and prosperity. Yet beneath this shroud was the grim fact that corruption and infighting plagued the Republic. The sight of Stormtroopers on the streets, of the Imperial Fleet guarding space lanes, that was security, it was the knowledge that an Order prevailed, that you were safe to walk home in the dark. If a few aliens or dissidents didn't like that, that really was their problem.

But despite all the virtue of the Imperium and the support of its citizens, there were those who dissented. The mongrel Rebel Alliance, a group the Empire termed as an organized, though ultimately insignificant, terrorist organization.

And yet they still manage to put holes in my ships. Commodore Itera reclined in his genuine-nerf leather chair in the comfort of his private state room. Keen eyes skimmed over the endless flow of words of a datapad; in his other hand, a fine crystal glass of Necr'ygor Omic, ’43 vintage of course. Itera slowly took sip of the wine and set the datapad down his desk amidst a scattering of other datapads, his gray service cap, and the decanter of Omic.

“Good news, Commodore?”

Captain Horas Tian, Itera’s second in command, peered out over the holographic mountain view that spanned an entire length of the room. Crisp military uniform and a spattering of service medals decorated Tian’s left breast. A glacier creeped its way down the virtual landscape.

“As well as can be considered.” Itera ran a hand through his carefully regulated military cut hair. He stood and picked up the decanter. Perfectly polished jackboots clicked on the lacquered hardwood floor. “Repairs to the bridge of the Resolute have been completed.”

Several months ago an alliance fleet had made a move against Sarapin, much to the chagrin of Empire. The volcanic world was a key energy producer for the core worlds and any disruption would set the Imperial machine back, not to mention disrupt public faith. How the alliance had even managed to organize a strike force was beyond the high command. But the initial assault had been ultimately halted.

High command declared the conflict a war of attrition. Why, Itera had no reasonable idea. Underlings spouted nonsense about sapping the alliance strength, forcing them into a prolonged fight that they could not afford. In all probability the politicians and admirals couldn’t make their minds up and just left the situation rot. Naturally this left Itera with the blame if things went sour.

“Heh, perhaps Captain Jassek will stop his whining now that his precious little toy is back in the fight.” Tian turned from the simulated view. Gesturing with an empty glass. “Pound for pound it gives us an edge over the alliance…” Itera handed the Omic to the captain who proceeded to fill the crystal. “...though I suppose with our exquisite lack of starfighters fracks up our little soirée.

It was a frustrating affair, both the Alliance and Imperials fleets experienced the same hell, albeit in different ways. Skirmishes happened weeks apart and were short, brutal, and costly to both sides. Already the drifting husks of ships from both factions twisted and floated in orbit. Now, as always, both fleets retreated to opposite sides of the planet to lick their wounds. It was a grueling process and neither side ever received adequate reinforcements. The alliance because they couldn’t. The Empire because of high-echelon in-fighting.

Itera sighed, this would never have happened under Palpatine. Still he did not envy the troops groundside. The war had degraded into a barbaric form of warfare not known millennia with drawn lines of battle dictated by intricate trench work hewed from the basaltic lava flows. Neither side wished the destruction of the precious processing plants, so orbital bombardments were out of the question. This left soldiers with little vegetation, poor conditions for vehicle support, and no room for open movement which translated into bloody, close quartered fighting, whole sale slaughter in numerous no-man’s-land, and the thunder of Imperial gun-emplacements and rebel mobile artillery. Still, the Empire remained in firm control of Mount Corvast and her defensive fortifications and the terrorist scum held their landing zones. Lines fluctuated with one side gaining the upper hand over the other and alternating control of key structures.

“Everything matters, Horas, the rebel scum won’t win. Not when my ships are taking the beating, those treasonous scum will be ground into dust. I’ll make sure of that.”

Before Captain Tian could answer, a chime echoed from the speakers. Itera sighed and filled his glass before answering. “Speak.”

“Commodore our advance pickets show that the rebel fleet is mobilizing.” Right on schedule. Itera thumbed a switch on the wall and the peaceful mountain view was replaced with the scarred and burning surface of Sarapin. Indeed the shapes of alliance warships drew into focus around the curve of the planet. “The bridge is yours Lieutenant, move the fleet out, gamma formation. I am on my way.”

Itera picked up his officers’ cap from the desk and straightened his uniform. Captain Tian moved to set the decanter down then lifted his glass.

“To war.”

Itera raised his own glass to the toast.

“To the Empire…” The two officers downed their drinks. “…and to victory.”

"Listen up! Spotters just reported two dropships touchdown for the Rebels. We're getting some more targets to shoot." shouted Staff Sergeant Pheliss Lorn. Kappa squad's leader known over the comlines simply as GK-975

Pheliss' men held the lines at Trench 3. They'd been spread thin to cover the trench with the remainder of Gamma squad, the four men of that squad melding in with Kappa for a fighting force of ten men. Gamma's leader had taken a bolt to the chest plate and was taken away from the front to the MASH unit behind the trenches. The other trooper from Gamma hadn't been so fortunate, he'd taken a blast to the helmet and now sat against the trench wall slumped forward.

Kappa's GK-613 had been witness to the attack which had reduced the power of Gamma squad. He was standing in a fortified part of the trench dropping shell after shell into a mortar trying to keep the enemy line suppressed. It was working well, but not well enough to keep a sharpshooter from sniping two comrades. Soon the mortar would be useless as the supply of shells were running low.

Outside of the ash smeared white armour of the Imperial Stormtrooper GK-613 was known as Private Garth Carvey, a fresh recruit from Haariden. A world that was similar to Sarapin in terms of volcanic terrain. At times Garth almost thought he was on his homeworld save for near constant thunder of the warzone. Haariden however was not such a peaceful world either, plagued with its own civil wars and often being contested territory in the war between the Empire and the Alliance for the mineral titanite. A rare, additional, component in some forms of bacta.

War had shaped much of Garth's life since birth. So much so that he could not, or would not, have a life without it. He was a warrior. Garth served in his state militia, a faction which allied with the Empire during its conception. After several engagements in the Empire's war with the Alliance Garth chose to join the Empire and serve among its ranks as a trooper proper. His experience and background made him and ideal candidate for the Stromtrooper Corps. Shuttled away to Carida from Spaceport City for a few years of rigourus training and indoctrination exercises Garth graduated a Private in the Crops from the Academy. His first tour of duty stationing him on Sarapin, a month before this conflict had erupted. Now Garth stood in the lines of battle, waiting to take down his enemies.

The Sergeant's words broke through the sounds of the barrage of falling shells in Garth's helmet just as he emptied the crate of mortar ammunition beside him. More fodder. Garth thought as a wicked grin grew under his helmet. He picked up the Imperial Heavy Repeater that he'd set against the trench wall and checked the ammo count. Full load. Time to cut down some scum. Leaving his position by the mortar Garth headed down the line taking a position between two of his squad mates, GK-644 and GK-715. Both men were privates and Garth hadn't really spent much time getting to know them aside from their names and chatting in the mess hall. If they fought hard and lived through this battle he'd think about becoming friends with them.

All guns pointed toward the Rebel side from Trench 3, they waited for the Rebels to make a move. In the forward trenches where the other Imperial squads were clashing with the Rebels explosions and blaster fire flashed. It was an empowering sight knowing that fellow comrades were locked in battle and that soon the men of Trench 3 would be as well.

Each man stood equal distances apart, covering one man on either side of him along the trench. Their fire arcs overlapping down the length of the trench. They were ready. Figures obscured by falling ash bobbed up and down in the trench across from the Imperials minutes after the Sergeant spoke over the comlink. The rebels were moving. Soon they would expose themselves moving up and forward into the section of battered land. As they did so the Imperials squeezed their triggers and bolts of charged energy filled the air. The first kill in this charge scored by one of Gamma's troopers, far left, he caught a man open moving to cover. The Rebels pressed forward between whatever cover was available. Several steps further and they were in range of Garth's concussion launcher. He judged and then fired lobbing two grenades at the moving Rebels.

Battle had become a way of life for the men and women of the Constitution Task Force; or so it seemed since the fleet had arrived at Sarapin. A hit and run attack certain of quick victory had devolved into a constant game of tag between the fleets above the besieged planet. The battle on the planet was just as bad according to the few reports which had made their way off the planet. The constant stream of men and materials going down to the planet each day only backed up the reports.
Line Captain Hal Brisk sat in the command chair thinking about the situation he and the members of the 102nd Escort Line were in. Orders dictated they were to attack the Imperial fleet and break the blockade they maintained on their hemisphere of the planet. The same order they had been attempting to complete since the third day of the attack.

"Captain we have visual on the Imperial Fleet." chimed in Captain Brisk's X.O. from his weapons station. More then half the bridge crew were dead or injured at this point and the old Nebulon B frigate Horus was limping half speed and missing all but 8 of its Turbolaser cannons. The complete right side of the ship was without offensive weapons.

"Commander Haass, take us in nice and slow" Almost with a laugh he gave the order to move into yet another battle with the Imperials. The three gunships under his command moved off towards the Imperials at full speed. They had fared far better in the endless series of battles fought above Sarapin.

"Have the Glasgowtake the lead and move in and finish that damaged Strike Cruiser." Hal pointed to the Ship he intended on the halo projection. He and his group had damaged it severely in the last engagement. The massed Gunship tactics he and his Line had trained tirelessly on had worked wonderfully against the flanks of the Imperial Fleet.

"Captain Brisk, captain Moore reports his Line will move in to assist from below the southern pole. They have a present for the Imps." Hal listened to his communications officer report then began imagining What Captain Moore had going on. He and Moore had served in the same task force since he joined the Rebellion and both had served in the republic navy prior to the rise of the New Order of Palpatine.

"Very well mark their transponders on the tactical display. Have we heard from the Admiral or Captain Triwin? The Communications officer began sending signals to the Flag Command ship Rebel One and the Minotaur

"Captain , The Admiral and Captain Tosk are still managing the insertion of the Spec Ops on the planet. Captain Triwin and the Cruiser Line are moving into position In high orbit above the Northern pole of the planet. They estimate they will move in on the Star Destroyer squadron in twelve minutes."
The Com Officer finished his report and went back to monitoring system traffic. The Imperials had noticed their movement and the Channels used by the Imperial fleet were becoming more active. The battle to come would b a rough one. The Horus was the most powerful ship in the assault. Rebel One and Imonsterg's Trust were both wrapped up in the planetary assault.. Rebel One was finalizing its role and would join the battle as soon as she could get moving.

Captain Brisk looked over the damage reports from the previous battle and thought about the men and women who had already died here above this worthless planet. If he survived this battle all he had to look forward to was more damage reports and more dead men and women. Win or lose the battle for Sarapin was a blow to the rebellion in both Morale and body count.

Theirs was not an enviable postition, being that it was no easy task to assault trenched-in forces. Of course, position was dependent on one's perspective - the small band of rebels were much better off than their counterparts who had just been blown to peices by an incoming grenade.

Sheilded behind the rock formation, Estelle gave some quick commands, having assessed and decided upon their most favourable course of action.

"Peterson and Stesna, you two concentrate your fire from the direction of that grenade origin. I want it long and constant, and for any head raised above the ground to get a trough the width of the Yavin river through it." She nodded to Kazaar, "Bidwell and I will move north and flank downward on the eastern approach." Her voice was earnest, yet calm with no hint of uncertainty. "We will cleanse the trench and any scramblers you two will pick off. There will be no runners, is that clear?"

"Clear" came their unified response.

"Bidwell will light a green sparkler signalling our possession and you will advance then. Lets get the job done" she said and moved off.

The heat was terrible. Russard would have given just about anything to be wearing one of her father's bio-warfare suits which he'd so generously designed for the Empire. She had little doubt many of the Imperials they were up against at present were wearing them even now and were benefiting from the relief the suits provided. Ironic really, when she thought about it. Were she fighting for the other side, she'd have the top of the line, given her fathers influence - but then, that meant she would be fighting for the other side and that was a preposterous proposition. Estelle, now more than ever before, was convinced of the right of the Rebel cause. The idealism of her youth had matured into a deep sense of conviction that even the hardship of guerilla warfare such as they were engaged in at this moment seemed no real sacrifice in order to bring down the evil Empire.

Behind her, Aurelias scrapped his boots on the rough terrain and cursed the lava-baked surface. Glad to have him at her back, Russard counseled him to stay low.

"We can expect they will be expecting a flank attack" she said, slipping slightly on some loose shale. "You got any haymakers on you?"

Kazaar pulled two cylinder-like objects from this belt, and placed them on the dark shale next to the other. They were standard issue frag grenades, not as good as thermal detonators, but strong enough t'work in the trenches. Kazaar'd raised hell 'bout not being able t'bring a thermal detonator or three, but the orders from 'Bossman' were pretty clear: pretend t'be standard-grade Rebel soldiers...or else.

'Course, that hadn't stopped the former bounty hunter from sneaking along 'The Twins'. The Bryar blasters were currently strapped to his legs beneath his pants. Just in case.

Kazaar hesitated a second, his dark eyes scanning the trenchline f'any stormies who might poke their heads up. There...the Rebel's gaze caught a stormtrooper peeking out over the other side of th'trench. Prolly looking t'make sure no other Rebels were gonna advance from Trench 4 up.

Kazaar smirked. Frackin' moron, always check ya six!

It was something the Rebel spy didn't hafta worry 'bout. He knew 'The Kid' had his back...even when Trench 2 was 'bout two miles away.

He pressed a button and tossed both grenades into the trench.

"Grenade!" One of the bucketheads screamed and the Imperials dove f'cover. The explosions threw up lava rocks and Kazaar took the opportunity t'spring up from his kneeling position

"Let's go, Kid!" he pulled his vibroblade and leaped towards th'trench.

The distracting fire of Peterson and Stesna from the front of the trench positions soon gave way in priority to those soldiers within the trench itself, once Kazaar's grenades went off. The resulting confusion and carnage had the desired effect, and as the remaining troopers scrambled to meet this new attack, Russard assisted Kazaar's charge with staccato bursts of her blaster, knocking men down like bowling pins as he advanced using brute force and an exceptional adroitness with the vibroblade.

It was bloody going, and about as up-close-and-personal as battle got. Russard knew she would have the shakes afterward, an unfortunate blow-back effect of the adrenalin that was at the present moment surging through her system and allowing her to perform her duty. Kazaar would drown his shakes (if he still got them, or if in fact, he ever did get them) in a few shots of bourbon and a good cigar, though it was likely he didn't get such a visceral reaction any more. Estelle would work out to some classical music and try to tune in to the gentler and more civilised aspects of life.

Putting paid to any aspect of civil, however, Russard felt the heat of a blaster bolt whiz by and strike her in the shoulder of her armor, tossing her bodily backward in its momentum. Kazaar spun and pulled her up, inspecting her breifly and, satisfied the bolt did not penetrate to skin, turned back to stab his vibroblade deep into the visor of an on-coming trooper.

Russard re-righted herself, regaining her balance, and in like manner to her partner, shot off a blaster bolt to hit another trooper in his visor, dropping the poor soul to the ground with a steaming hole in his head.

The ground battle for Sarapin was a constant flux of advance and withdrawal with each side temporarily gaining footholds in the other’s trenches or one of the scattered processing plants before being violent shoved back. Veterans of the war, scarred and hardened, knew that the best time to take advantage to push the advance was, surprisingly, during reinforcement. Front line troops were overeager to get to the rear trenches, new soldiers had no experience in the field, the chaos of personnel movement left people with a lowered awareness and dropships were sitting ducks as they unloaded their soldiers and supplies.

But perhaps above all, when the air-raid sirens of Mount Corvast began to howl, heralding the beginnings of fleet movement overhead, a certain anxiety passed over the veterans. Imperial stormtroopers braced themselves in their trenches and dialed up their external audio dampeners while the rebels fashioned anything available into ear plugs.

It seemed a brief moment of paralyzed activity passed over the battlefield. Fresh soldiers turned confused glances towards their comrades.

And then the shields protecting the Imperial fortress flickered and every gun of the defense-grid opened fire.

Flak-cannons and auto-lasers filled the sky above the fields with endless torrents of energy and explosions. Alliance dropships that had not been able to make fast landing found themselves descending through a sea of death. The ground itself rumbled, sending loose volcanic rock tumbling into trenches as turbolaser emplacements launched volleys of plasma into the high atmosphere.

Sarapin Orbit

“Commodore on the Bridge!”

Itera stepped, immaculate and with perfect military precision, from the turbolift along the raised command walkway. Diligent crewmen tended their stations and tacticians huddled around the central holo projector. Everything smooth and purposeful, a well oiled machine as the Empire should.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Return to your post” The overseer of the bridge snapped a swift salute and turned to take his station in the crew pits. Itera gripped the rails circling the holo and scrutinized the image while Captain Tian descended the ramp.

“Status report.” The tactical display shrunk down to highlight the engagement zone. A concentration of green blips around a massive triangle marked the Imperial fleet while several smaller red clusters highlighted the rebel ships.

“Alliance vessels have broken formation into three groups.” Secondary holos flared into the air revealing close ups of the nearest rebel group. The Commodore recognized the vessels as the escort line that had shattered the bridge of the Nova.

“We have positive identification of this group only. Atmospheric interference is limiting our range, but mass clusters indicate that their cruiser line is cutting over the northern pole.”

Tian keyed up the data history of the combat Sarapin conflict. “That group will be held back, we scored hits on the engines of one of their dreadnoughts.”

The rebels were trying something new, splitting up there forces was a risky move. Itera’s gut told him that something strange was going to happen and not knowing what the two other rebel formations were up to sent a nervous creep up his back.

“What is the position of their command ships?”

“Neutral, Sir.”

That was good at least, they would be tied up for a while organizing their drop traffic. A minor klaxon suddenly sounded. Moments later visible blasts of energy could be seen tearing into the atmosphere from the planet’s surface.

“Cut that alarm. Alright, the rebel scum is pulling something new; get recon fighters on the unknown patrols NOW. They are not to engage under any circumstances.”

Itera clapped his hand together, getting the attention of everyone on the bridge. “Comms, get the Line-Captains on the horn, we are going to give those swine the same courtesy.” The Commodore and his command staff had worked out their own experimental formations since the last encounter.

“Helm, I want a 430 meter descent and 180 degree fixed roll. Keep in geo-sync orbit and hold our nose above our keel.” The Commodore got a few reserved glances, putting a Star Destroyer to close to planet would tear her apart, but faith in the commander overrode any sense of fear.

The view of the planet shifted as the massive Star Destroyer began her movement, putting her dorsal side towards the planet below. Ships from the supporting fleet lines began their own movement, with both attack lines shifting to either side of and above the Otavjni.

“Troop transports and their fighter escorts are clear to make their decent, stay behind Mount Corvast and you should be clear of enemy fire.” The bridge was a hive of activity now. “And for the love of the Emperor, all ships stay out of the defense-grid’s firing solutions.”

The Rebels pushed harder than Garth had expected, they wanted what was theirs and badly. So much so that he even noticed one troop pull out a blade and charge with surprisingly deadly results. That guy's got guts, and their gonna get spilled. Garth slipped into a break in the trench wall, caused by a shell or grenade before it was in Imperial possession, and stayed down. It offered him a clear view to aim at the Rebels and was still low enough so their covering fire wasn't a threat.

The trooper Garth had seen with the vibroblade was now lost in the clash, so he set his sights on one back from the melee firing rounds from a blaster. He leveled his repeater and braced himself against the rocky surface before firing a volley. Shortly after pulling the trigger he was rewarded with moderate success, a bolt took the trooper in the shoulder. When the wounded soldier fell back, almost immediately the thug with the vibroblade turned and pulled his partner up, granting the oppourtunity Garth desired.

He was just about to pull the trigger again when the comm came alive with Lorn's voice. "Kappa and Gamma units pull back and defend connections 3-2. Sigma HW is moving up to aid and supply. Be advised air defense system is coming online."

And just as the transmission ended, the sirens rang out. Garth immediately dropped his target, and instead of picking Rebels off, he held down his trigger unleashing a torrent of bolts in suppression fire at the enemy. Forcing them down while squad mates pulled back and moved past him, crouching under the fire.

"Get a move on!" He shouted while watching his ammo count sink. "Someone throw a smoke."

A soldier once beyond Garth's stream of fire turned and tossed a smoke canister down the trench. Oddly enough it was the Sergeant, but Garth hadn't taken notice until he tapped Garth on the shoulder to signal him to withdraw. Now they regrouped at the connection and awaited Sigma to move up with supplies. Immediately they dug in and took up positions to defend the connection.

"Get down!" Kazaar heard 'The Kid' shout and felt her hands yank at his arm, as the buckethead let lose a stream o'metal bolts towards their location. Estelle dragged her partner into a small crater and they returned fire as best as they could from their prone position.

His sharp eyes saw th'grey smoke billow from the grenade and Kazaar's bloodlust subsided. It was one thing t'jump into a trench, vibroblade swinging, when ya knew your enemy was there. When ya had t'charge through smoke t'get to ya enemy, it was pretty fracking stupid t'go in half-cocked.

The Brentaal-raised Alderaanian pulled the third of his five grenades and tossed it into th'smoke. There was an adjoining trench somewhere beyond th'smoke and Kazaar hoped t'take out a couple more stormies before his squadmates go to 'em.

The ground shook as th'grenade went off and Kazaar heard 'The Kid' speak in his radio headset.

"What was that? I didn't hear ya."

"I said" Russard repeated in more of a shout this time, "I haven't seen any of Gretzbeiro's detail" and then buried her face in the dirt, instinctively ducking to avoid the hail of exploding rock raining down on their heads.
Kazaar had remained still, squinting inside his helmet as debris battered down on his head. "Well," he answered when she looked up again, "I cant seem a damn thing one way or th'other right now"

Estelle belly-crawled forward an inch or two and tapped her comm, "Stesna, its O'Donnell - you and Pedersen eyes-on Gretzbeiro's men?"

"Negative, Corporal"

She thought a second, then spoke again. "We need to know whats up ahead, you and Pedersen move up and on the trench to your left -- repeat, your left--Cross infront of the auxillary trench. Be alert, we dont want to take out any friendlies"

"Will do" came Stesna's crackled reply. "Stand by for report."

Russard reached into a leg pocket for a new power cell, an awkward maneuver given her prone position, knocking Kazaar with her elbow as she reloaded, "Sorry" she said absently. "We move forward" she instructed, "but slow this time, okay"

She didn't wait for a reply, which was just as well as Aurelias was already crawling forward, coming up into a crouch and moving in a cat-like creep ahead of her.

Kazaar pressed his body against the lava wall and crept through th'smoke. He couldn't see anything and when he'd switched his goggles t'thermal imagery they didn't help at all. He let outta curse. Damn heat, throwing things off.

He was about t'slip around a crater, when something screamed a warning in his head. Kazaar stopped, just as 'The Kid' pressed her arm on his chest. She'd felt it too.

They peered through the smoke, which'd finally started t'dissapate, and saw th'thin laser beams coming from the other side of the trench. Trip mines. Bunch of 'em pressed 'gainst the opposing wall. The Imps were prolly hoping the Rebels would be dumb enough t'charge through the smoke and get caught off guard.

Kazaar gave a smirk. Too bad these Rebels weren't frackin' idiots.

He knelt down by th'body of one of the Imps he'd killed with his vibroblade and picked 'im up by the back of the neck. He nodded his head towards the beams and 'The Kid' nodded beneath her helmet before taking a few steps back outta the blast range.

"Stesna. Peterson. Go flat. Now." Estelle ordered as Kazaar tossed th'Imperial body foward.

B-O-O-O-O-O-M!

Th'explosions shook the trench, throwing everyone to the hard ground. One rock struck Kazaar square in th'face and he was forced t'realign his rebreather with a curse.

It was then he heard someone talkin' in his helmet.

"--is Sergeant R'marco to Squad D. Come in Squad D! We're pinned down by a Force-damned chicken walker in Trench One! Gretzbeiro's been shot and we need some support!"

"How th'frack didja end up in Trench One!" Kazaar spouted, ignoring the fact he was just a 'private'.

"Don't know and don't care," R'marco shot back. "Where the frack are you guys?!?"

Line Captain Triwin stood at the front of the command deck of the Minotaur looking over the tactical display. His Cruiser squadron had taken up a V formation with the Minotaur in the center location, flanked left by the Dreadnaught Tiger and right by the Carrack Light Cruiser Devine Sight. Far behind them undergoing repairs was the forth member of the Squadron the Dreadnaught Talon.

Lieutenant Doruu, What is the status with the Talon?

“Sir the Talon is adrift and reports the damage to her engines is terminal. She’s dead in space sir.” Triwin did not like the news. The old Dreadnaught Heavy Cruiser had been under his command since before Hoth. She had once been his command ship. The thought of losing her struck a deep chord in Captain Triwin. He would make sure the Imperials Paid dearly for her and her crew.

“Order captain Grant to transfer all non essential personnel to the Imonsterg’s Trust; Batten her down and await orders.” The attack on the Imperials was underway and he could spare no more time deali8ng with the Talon. She would have to wait.

“Helm, all ahead flank speed. Move us into position above the imperial group.” Triwin gave the orders then went back to watching the tactical display. The deck began to shake a bit as fire from the planet began impacting against the hull of the Minotaur. He was not as worried about the planet as he was about the strange maneuver the Imperial Flagship was making. Such an odd maneuver, he had never seen this done but he figured out what the imperial was doing.

“Com, Send a message to Captain Brisk. Tell him to watch out for the Imperator, She is up to no good and I think he is the Target.” Triwin went back to watching the Star Destroyer and its odd maneuver. Only a madman would try that with a damaged Ship. He would remember the move for later use.

"We can see 'em!" Stesna reported, referring to R'marco's men, his voice excited. "Frell!They got Imps all o'ver 'em!!

"Give me co-ordinates, soldier!" Estelle barked, impatient at Stesna's emotion. Her sharp tone pulled Stesna back a notch and he sputtered out the squad's beleagured position, "Uh-h, Six-oh-four North, Three-niner East of present position"

"We cant loose this trench" Kazaar admonished, knowing they had a tough choice. Estelle appeared to ignore his input, but it wasn't really the case. It encouraged her to know Aurelias appreciated the situation and was helping her make a decision.

"Stesna, Pederson, to Gretzbeiro's squad to assist" she ordered, adding, "I'm on my way."

To Kazaar, she spoke harsher than she'd intended, in order to brook no argument. "You hold this till we get back. We cant loose ground."

She looked quickly over the trench before launching herself up and over. "I wont be long."

"Sure, Kid," the Rebel spy groused with a smirk, "Give me th'easy job."

Kazaar knelt, his eyes staying level, and grasped th'butt of a heavy repeater rifle. He pressed his back against th'crater Garth'd hidden in earlier and checked th'charge on the rifle.

15 shots.

Wasn't bad, but sure as hell wouldn't help in this fight. Couple other rifles lay just outside of Kazaar's hiding place. He did th'same thing he'd done with the previous weapon. Slide out, grab 'em, slide back, and check their charge.

All'n all he'd ended up with 'bout seventy rounds of ammo. It'd held a bit but was still too frackin' little. Even if th'Imps kept delaying...which didn't make sense.

The true discovery'd happened when Kazaar found two tripmines, still in the hands of a headless Imperial officer. The Rebel made sure they were both deactivated, then tossed 'em both into the smokey haze of the trench. The mines *clanked* against the lava-trench wall and Kazaar slid into the wall-crater again.

Damned Imps...show ya frackin' heads will ya?

**************************************
Trench One

One place the Imperials were, 'showing their fracking heads,' was along the border of Trench One and No Man's Land. Sergeant Paolo R'marco crouched against his own trench wall and swore vehemently.

He still couldn't figure out how his squad ended up in Trench One. His squad originally was a part of the group assigned to Trench Two, but somehow they'd gotten separated from Lieutenant Gretzbeiro's unit and ended up here where the fighting was pretty intense.

When the Lieutenant attempted to provide support, he'd been ambushed by an AT-ST walker. One of the turbolasers'd shorn off Gretzbeiro's left leg at the knee and he currently lay injured next to R'marco in the trench.

"Help's on the way, sir," R'marco commented as he tried t'make himself just a little bit more smaller in the trench. "O'Donnell said her squad was moving forward. Did any of your men have rocket launchers?"

The Rebel Lieutenant winced as he thought, "Farender did, but he was struck in the chest by a blaster when we climbed over the wall."

The trench shook as the chicken walker fired another blast. Debris poured down on the Rebels and R'marco cursed again.

"O'Donnell! There's a rocket launcher near our position. Move your bonyass and take out that AT-ST! We can't hold out much longer!"

“Maneuver complete, Commodore. Orders?”

Commodore Itera clasped his hands together, now staring at the surface of the planet ‘above’ the vessel instead of the view of the stars. The enemy Escort Line quickly began drawing around the curvature of the planet.
His own Attack Lines stretched formed into an alternate delta formation with the smaller vessels taking position on the flanks of the cruisers. Resolute , the damaged strike cruiser, dropped lower in the atmosphere within the formations, screened from dorsal and flank assaults. The ship had been the target of the fast moving frigates and gunships and suffered heavily. Losing her would severely change the odds. The rebels wanted her badly and they’d have to close head on to get her.

“Sir, recon fighters reporting that their heavy cruiser line accelerating to flank speed. They’re abandoning one of their dreadnoughts. Itera shook his head, typical terrorist behavior; a true Imperial would never strip the honor of an officer by not allowing his vessel to fight...no matter the state of the ship. It was not proper.

“Guns, commence a continuous long-range barrage of all forward tower batteries along these coordinates on my mark.”

Itera drew a datapad from his breast pocket and uploaded a carefully calculated data set by the combined work of the squadron’s gunnery chief. An Imperator Mk I Star Destroyer had a rather limited design when her guns were considered. Her heaviest batteries were located along the base of the command tower instead of spaced along the hull as on a Mk 2. With the sloped hull of the heavy cruiser, her forward batteries had limited line of sight. In deep space, a star destroy would have to tilt nose-down in order to bring all her weaponry to bear. In open space this did not matter much; orientation had no real meaning in a gravity free field of battle.

But orbit was another story, not necessarily a disadvantage. With her dorsal to the planet’s surface, every gun had clear line of sight along the curvature while the rebel’s standard configuration would not give them full sight until much closer ranges. Itera’s tacticians had considered that the planet’s own magnetic and gravitic fields could provide another advantage as well.

The commodore lifted a comm. from a nearby console and opened a channel to the rest of the fleet.

“This is Commodore Itera; all captains execute order Alpha-Seven-Nu. Fighters are free to launch to deploy.” He set closed the channel and motion to his gunnery officers. “Mark.”

At once, the destroyer began to shudder as her turbolasers began firing in a staggered continues loop. The emerald blasts of energy poured away like a rainstorm. At first it seemed as if the bolts would pass just over top of their targets, and in space, they would have. But lasers were not pure light; they had mass and charged matter that could be influenced by external forces over extended distances. Forces such as Sarapin’s gravity well. The blasts began to curve down ward.

Otavjni was not the only vessel to act. The cruisers of both his Attack Lines angled sharply, facing a section of their broadside towards the oncoming vessels and opened fire. The rebel vessels would find themselves pinned in the crossfire between the flanking lines and trapped above and below by the Imperator’s guns and the planetary batteries.

The tactic was a cowardly one, but the rebels were forcing Itera to play by dishonorable rules. The tactic would last only until the rebel Escort Line drew to medium range, but hopefully enough damage would be caused so that Itera’s own pursuit line could chew apart the leftovers.

The grenade's blast took out the two most forward units of Gamma. The explosion sending their bodies back. Sigma pulled up from the supply trench, ammo crates slung over the shoulder by one hand, E-11s in the other. Two of Sigma's men sported grey pauldrons, marking them as Sigma's heavy hitters. They carried an E-Web unit between them, power cables dangling and sweeping the dirty, rubbel littered, trench floor.

"Sigma Squad's got your six. Ammo up!" Shouted Lieutenant Jacob Cormalla, Sigma's leader, and the entire platoon's CO.

Jacob Cormalla was born and raised on Imperial Centre, a high society type, he supported the Empire anyway possible, even by serving in it. It was no surprise that he ended up serving as an officer, his image to society wouldn't have it any other way. However an easy post wasn't in the stars when he was promoted to Lieutenant. They sent him to a place he'd thought as hellish. He did his job, despite loathing the position he was in.

One of Sigma's boys sat a fairly large weapons crate on the ground, explosive and flammable warnings pasted on the sides. Garth was the only one to step up to it and pop it open. Inside was the weapon Garth prized, the purifier, a flamethrower. He dropped the weapon he was carrying and pulled on the armoured fuel tank, strapping it to his back. He connected the projector and ignited the sparker.

"Let's see if they can stand this heat right here." Garth shouted to his squad mates.

Chuckles, and talks of insanity was the reply Garth recieved as he pushed his way to the intersection. Random bursts of blaster fire being shot at the Rebel position from other Stormtroopers at the connection. Garth spun out and fired a torrent of fire out into the smoke, the flame reaching through it and hopefully catching some curious Rebel swine.

Leaving the cover of the trench was akin to jumping from the frying pan into the fire and Estelle was feeling the heat.

Running in a zig-zag pattern to avoid laserfire was easier said than done, given the extremity of the terrain and more than once Russard slipped on the rocky shale of the planet surface. The last particular slide landed her with a thump on Pedersen's back as he crouched for cover with Stesna behind some twisted metal, which had formerly been a troop transport vehicle. The soldier seemed not to notice.

"They got R'marco's guys over a barrel" Pedersen shouted, as Estelle dropped eventually down beside him, righting her helmet with her hand. "We gotta take out that Walker or they're history" he yelled continuing, and blasted off a round of laser bolts in a brilliant fan spray, mowing down some ambitious Imperial troops.

"They got a rocket-launcher" she rejoined, jerking her head toward Trench 1.

"Well, why dont they use it!" was Stesna's unhelpful contribution. Russard and Pedersen just gave him a look.

"We get the launcher" Estelle shouted to the men, "We take out that AT-ST. Then we get back to Joe" Pedersen and Stesna nodded. "Lets go!"

And they were off running again, zig-zagging and sliding as before, but not quite so much. There were more holes to take cover in nearer the trench they got. There had been many, and long, repeated battles fought for this band of territory and the planet surface showed it.

Pedersen got to the weapon first and instantly took a laser bolt in the shoulder, which sent him cartwheeling off his feet. Stesna and Russard returned fire and killed two troopers who had been waiting for just such an oportunity as Pedersen had provided.

Stesna had the medkit and the task of checking Pedersen automatically fell to him. The rocket-launcher was Russards. Trained in the use of such a weapon, Estelle still lifted it with difficulty. It felt heavy and awkward in her hands, but she lined up the underbelly of the AT-ST. Then adjusted to the knee-joint of one of the legs. It was a more vunerable target, but much more difficult to hit. Depressing the trigger, the rocket launched straight and true, and with perfect timing that would have impressed her partner, it hit the leg, mid-joint, mid-step. And with an awful groan of metal, the AT-ST crumpled and collapsed beneath its own unweildy weight.

"Great shot O'Donnell" R'marco was relieved.

"We are proceeding to Trench 3, R'Marco" came Estelle's reply. "I got a man down, need evac with your wounded"

"Copy, O'Donnell"

Crouched beside Pedersen, she checked Stesna's field dressing and approved his work. Not bad.

"You gonna live, soldier?" she asked Pedersen, who grimaced a smile and nodded in the affirmative. "Stesna, stay with him until evac, then attach to R'Marco's unit. I gotta get back to our original mission"

"Will do, O'Donnell"

It took Estelle fifteen minutes to make it back to an empty Trench 3. Fifteen minutes -- a coffee break in some lives, an eternity in others.

"Joe" Estelle said in to her comm unit, with only dead men around to hear her, "Where are you?"

"Right here, Corporal," Kazaar's voice came through her comm. "Gotta couple 'friends' too."

O'Donnell/Estelle gazed over th'trench, her eyes noting the lava rocks somehow looked more blackened than before. Five stormies, their armor scorched and their hands held above their heads, shuffled forward t'meet the Rebel.

Behind 'em strode the figure of Kazaar. His own clothing was ripped by blaster bolts and his left sleeve had been burned by some kinda flame. But, Estelle noted with satisfaction, he was okay.

"Report Private," O'Donnell ordered as Bidwell/Kazaar secured the Imperials with binders.

*************************************

Twenty Minutes ago

Kazaar pressed himself against th'wall crater, as flames shot down the trench. The heat was unbearable and he was starting t'get pissed off. One thing was f'sure, Kazaar wasn't going anywhere until the buckethead with th'flamethrower was taken out.

He fished in his belt for one of his last two grenades, smirking as he saw the yellow-thatched sphere of a concussion grenade in his hand. If he could distratch 'em long enough, that'd give him enough time t'do his job.

Kazaar set a timer for five seconds, then tossed the grenade down the trench. Heat shot up his arm and Kazaar noted, with annoyance, he'd set himself on fire.

"Frackin' idiot," he cursed himself, as he spent a few minutes extinguishin the fire. "Ya ain't completely invincible."

His ears perked up at the muted *explosion* from down the trench and he prepared his assault. Kazaar pulled himself out of the confines of the trench and scuttled his way down th'ridge towards the Imperial position. Below him flames still shot from the flamethrower, but they were now ragged in their intensity.

The Rebel stopped next to the flamethrower-toting buckethead and smirked. The Imps were all clutching their helmets, trying t'blink out the bright lights scalding their retinas. Kazaar aimed his heavy repeater rifle and fired.

BAH-WOOM!!!

The explosion pitched Kazaar backwards, as the tank holding the flammable liquid explodes, dousing the unlucky Imperials with flame. Kazaar watched in amazement as Garth was hurled down th'trench, the back of his armor aflame. He didn't even bother watching where the buckethead landed, he was too busy watchin' his comrades roast in their armor.

Kazaar leaped into th'trench and slipped past the burning bodies. Behind 'em six Imperials were shocked by the sudden appearance of th'Rebel. One of them started t'raise a blaster and Kazaar shot 'im in the helmet.

"Anyone else wanna be a frackin' hero?"

The stormtroopers each dropped their blasters and raise their hands in surrender.

************************************

"'Bout then you called over th'horn and I started leading 'em out," Kazaar leaned against the trench wall as more Rebel soldiers started filling the trenches. The Imperials were escorted back towards the prison area.

"Excellent work, Private Bidwell," Lieutenant Gretzbeiro's voice came from behind Estelle. He was being held up by both Stesna and Sergreant R'marco and his face was still twisted in pain from his amputated leg. "Both you and Sergeant O'Donnell did an excellent job."

"Sir?" Estelle raised an eyebrow beneath her rebreather.

"You heard me, O'Donnell," Gretzbeiro gave a taut smile, "Your actions today have warranted a promotion and a commendation. Excellent work.

"Pick a second in command and secure the trenches. New orders are incoming. Move out!"

Kazaar nudged Estelle, "Nice work...Sarge."

The last thing Garth remembered before the excruciating pain was the sound of his tank exploding, the immediate thought of What the- as he sailed through the air, and a glimpse of the Rebel who'd made the lucky shot.

He landed hard on the ground, temporarily knocking him out. A minute later he awoke in pain as the flames from his burning pack melted down to his armour and began to heat the flesh under the black body glove. His body screaming in pain, he did so aloud. He rolled on his back and struggled out of the straps, the molten mess burning his backside even more.

Eventually freeing himself of Death's grip, he tossed off his helm and melted chest piece. The pain of the action nearly dropping him for the count once more. He did his best to suppress the pain he felt. His back suffered severe burns. Nothing I can't recover... "Ahhhhhhaaaahhhh!!!"... from.

Unarmed and exposed Garth was an ideal target of oppourtunity. Blinded by pain and rage at being bested he stood up and shook off whatever molten bits he could, ravaging what had been the perfection of his storm armour. Hopefully someone would take him out and end his pain, but the shot never came. He let out an unworldly, enraged howl.

Garth grabbed his cooled chest plate and pulled it back on along with his helmet. Fiendish in appearance, his armour was now twisted and black. All he needed was a weapon. He would exact his revenge on the Rebels.

The distinct lack of heavy fire told Garth that the Rebels reclamation had been successful. He'd have to cross no-man's land to the Imperial side if he wanted to re-arm and see a medic. And there's no time like the present

173rd Escort Line - High orbit, Southern Pole

“All Ahead Full!” Over its southern pole of the besieged Planet, Captain Moore franticly prepared for his assault on the Imperial Line. The odd formation of the Imperials was the last thing on his mind. He had a plan and the position of the Imp had very little to do with it.
“Bring us in on a vector thirty degrees to the Bow of that Carrack. Weapons I need a solution on the Carrack fast!” The stress on the two ships was tremendous. The Vagrant and the Alpha Strike moved side by side towards the Imperial Fleet. Fallowed by the Crippled Corvette Monarch. Captain Moore had used the Vagrant’s tow grappling cables to create a tow line between the two ships and the Corvette.
“Sir, the Alpha Strike reports her hull is beginning to buckle where the tow cable is attached.” Moore cursed under his breath. Just a few more seconds and he would have the velocity needed to achieve its goal. He had tried this before against a much larger target. Now his prey was a heavily damaged Carrack limping behind the group.

“Sir Alpha Strike reports….”

“Tell them ten more seconds and release! Moore cut off his communications operator then turned to look at the view port.
“Sir we have optimal Acceleration and angle. Targeting solution is set.”

“Very well release on five…..four….. three…..two….” The ship shock vilontly and listed from its approach angle and began an uncontrolled spin into the planets atmosphere.

“Emergancy Thrust seventy degree’s to port. forty degree down angle.” The maneuver of slinging the corvette at the crippled cruiser caused massive damage to the two vessels. More so it had flung the Vagrant off course and straight into the gravity well of the planet. The Vagrant lurched under the massive stress being applied by her thrusters. The forward view port darkened as fire from the atmosphere engulfed the Ship. Hull scorched and began flying off as the Frigate spun towards the planet, her thrusters doing little to right the course of the Ship.

“Abandon Ship!” Captain Moore gave the final order as he assisted his helm officer to the Starboard aft escape pod. The Vagrant entered the atmosphere and feel towards the planets southern continent.

From the Command Deck of the Alpha Strike Captain Kre’Tes watched in horror as the Vagrant broke apart in the atmosphere of Sarapin. He paused to remember his Flag Commander. Maybe he made it off. Reports were coming in of escape pods firing just before the first explosive decompression cracked the old war frigate apart. This was not the time. Command now fell to him and he had a job to do.

“Commander Radio Grey one and tell him the trap is set.” The tall Bothan sat in the command chair, His grey and brown fur lay flat from despair and sorrow. He then looked again at the vid of the last fire of the Vagrant dye out as it impacted the planet. Such a foolish loss of life on a foolish strategy. He hoped Captain Moore’s plan worked. As his thoughts returned to the battle the twenty seven remaining Y wings of Constitution task force shot by the forward view portal of the Alpha Strike.

"With me" Estelle told Kazaar, whom she knew was grinning at her beneath the helmet. Greitzbeiro's praise sat awkwardly with her and all she could manage was a gruff 'yes sir.' She -- they -- were not here to impress or advance a career. They were here with duplicitous motives and their task had not yet been accomplished. Reward and congratulations were premature.

The pair moved out of their superiors' range of hearing and Russard gave a curt summary of their situation.

"We need to separate from the main squad"

Kazaar nodded, "I'm way ahead of ya, Sarge. We gotta wait for t'right time tho"

"Dont call me Sarge" Estelle rebuked. "What do you suggest? It'll be kinda hard to bail on the task right now, but its not like we have all day to accomplish this"

"Gonna have t'find the right time," Kazaar stated as he stroked his masked chin, "'Less ya wanna do it the way I did it."

"How did you do it?" Estelle hoped it was quick.

"Got m'self thrown out for torturing an Imperial officer. It'll get ya kicked out quickly. 'Course it's on a prison ship..."

The Kid gave him a cross look beneath her mask, "I don't think we'll go that route."

That comment illicted a chuckled from her tall comrade, "Well ya did ask..."

"O'Donnell," the voice of Captain Ohlund caused the two Rebel 'soldiers' to give a firm salute. The Rebel Captain returned it smartly, "This your second?"

O'Donnell/Russard nodded, "Yes. Corporal, see to Stesna and Pedersen."

"Actually this is for him as well," Ohlund handed Estelle a datapad, "Our plan for tomorrow."

The plan was relatively simple, but simplicity seemed t'work pretty well. Rebel artillery, including a MPTL2 would bombard the Imperial trenches starting at 0300, focusing mainly on the forward trenches. At 0600, Estelle and Kazaar's squad, along with several other units, would cross the five mile stretch of No Man's Land and hit the northernmost portion of the Imperial trench marked with an 'A'. They would then fight their way south and attempt to take the second Imperial trench.

It was gutsy, but the Imps were hurtin'. Kazaar figured it was worth a shot. He handed the datapad back to Ohlund, while the Kid kept hers.

"You'll also get ammunition and another squad member," Ohlund slipped the datapad into his shoulder, "You have six hours to rest, although you won't have much once the bombardment begins.

"Any other questions? Good. Gets ome rest." Ohlund marched away and the two spies were left alone.

"Could be worse, Kid," Kazaar observed as the two made their way back to their mates, "I once had t'sleep inna frackin' cargo container forra few days."

His gloved hand tapped the lava wall, "This'll be real comfy."

Accumulated ash began to overwhelm the air filter built into Garth's helmet initiating warning beeps that demanded that the filter be exchanged with a new one immediatly or the mechanism would fail to provide cleansed air for the soldier to breath. Quickly Garth fished around his belt for a new filter but found his supply had been used up over the trek to the Imperial side. He cursed himself as the warning continued and moved forward, slowing his breath as he went to get as much life from the remaining filter as possible.

Soon he felt ash clinging to the back of his throat, a sense that sent him into a coughing fit that dropped him to his knees. Having lived on a volcanic world he'd grown accustom to the feeling of breathing in ash and his lungs had developed a greater capacity to compensate for living in such as harsh environment. But now even the evolutionary advantage began to fail him. He flung his now useless helmet off and a wave of heat washed across his face. It was comforting in a way, even though he continued to cough. Constriction began to grow around his throat and he dug his finger under the neck of his body glove to pull it away from his throat. Try as he might he couldn't claw the fabric apart so he grabbed for his knife and cut it in two freeing his throat from the chokehold.

Knowing that if he didn't get to a medic soon he would die he forced himself up and into a dead run for the Imperial trenches, they weren't far off. As he closed on them he could hear the familiar sound of clanking metal and the servos of a scout walker. Garth's vision began to blur and grow dark from lack of oxygen and by the time he reached the lip of the trench he blacked out and crashed down to its floor.



Darkness. Everywhere. Yet Garth looked down to see he shining, dressed in polished storm armour. It was eerie and it frightened him on a level he'd never experienced. Where am I?

"Everyone asks that." a voice said breaking the otherworldly silence which Garth hadn't taken in until it's very end, "Isn't it obvious? You're dead or rather soon to be dead."

"I can't be!" Garth shouted. He waited for the burn to rake his throat but it never came. The ash that stuck in his throat and lungs didn't exist to cause havoc. "If I'm here I am not dead... Not as I know it."

"Yes well, you've not experienced death until now so who are you to say what death should be like before it happens." the voice chuckled, "Don't try to think your way through this Garth Carvey. It's only a waste of whatever thought process you have left, which is a precious commodity here. Listen carefully. You aren't dead yet but you will be if you don't save yourself. You've got to keep your will to live. Keep breathing no matter how painful it will get."

"What?"

"Keep breathing Garth and you will live." the voice said trailing into a whisper at the end.

He did as instructed without questions, coded military discipline courtesy of the Emperor's Will, and breathed in and out. At first the feeling of his chest heaving was normal though as he continued the ash returned, pain grew and intensified with every breath he took. He forced his lungs to move as his senses were overwhelmed, telling him to stop. He held back screams of agony and his eyes began to water just as his sight again started to blur. Now without sight he closed his eyes and all that he could now make sense of was the breathing and pain.

Suddenly Garth felt something pressed over his face, an unexpected shock that made him open his eyes. His vision was still blurred but he could make out two figures hovering over him, one leaned in close to examine his face. Focusing on it he could make out the figure's features to be those of a human woman. Her mouth moved but Garth heard no words. Instead he read the lips as best he could understand to be saying: He's coming around.

2^nd Attack Line
Commanding Officer: Captain-of-the-Line Gregory Zachias

“Adjust firing trajectories to point-seven-seven-mark-two and be ready to cut fire on my mark.” Captain Zachias’s Line was the southern most of the Imperial formation. The Commodore’s gambit seemed to be working; the advancing rebel line was pinned with no place to move, but straight ahead into the stage-fire of the 1^st and 2^nd Attack lines turbolasers.

But they were drawing close and the tactic would have to end lest the Imperials wish to commit fratricide; which then would leave him to deal with the rebels that were no doubt going to hit him in the flank. At least this way he’d already have his broadsides ready to fire.

“Sir, we’re getting some strange readings.”

Zachias turned a concerned eye to the tac-screen. Atmospheric readings showed meteor chunks falling to the planet’s surface from just outside the curvature of the planet in scanning range. Which was impossible because the pieces where huge and objects of those sizes would have been picked up weeks ago. And that in turn would mean….

“Meteor composition is primarily metallic, heavy radiation from certain fragments…”

The captain shoved a very surprised aide out of the way and frantically grabbed a comm. from its hook. “Rho Squadron, get me eyes in high orbit, NOW!”

“…Sir?”

Ignoring the inquiry, Zachias moved to the helm officer’s station, studying the nav-map over the officer’s shoulder. Despite the continual pulsating thrum of weapon batteries discharging, the bridge crew watched with rapt attention.

“Sir?!”

“Not meteors, look at the shapes: everything is too angular…too symmetric.” Zachias traced a figure on the screen. “Get the engineers ready to us around in a hurry; we might have to club-haul us around.”

He ran a hand through his hair, and made his way back to the primary holo-projector. The captain gestured towards a few fragments. “Nothing naturally occurs like that. Radioactive fragments are escape-pods and reactor coil leaks. Those meteors (Zachias jabbed at the cluster of debris burning towards the surface) are a ship.”

Zachias rested his hands on the rail-guards, waiting intently on the report from his TIEs. “And I’m certain the rebels aren’t running they’re warship into planets without some reason or another.”
The comm. beeped and the commander of Rho Squadron’s voice broke through. “Resolute, Rho Prime. You’re going to want to take a look at this.”

The shaky recording from a TIE fighter flared to life in front of Zachias. A collective gasp rang through the bridge. The captain studied the image, bile rising in his stomachs. And the rebels called the Empire brutish and immoral…fracking hypocrites.

A sigh came from the Captain’s lips “Gorger doesn’t have chance, she’s limping too badly. Order her captain to set the auto pilot and angle her away from the fleet.”

Carrack cruisers were some of the toughest vessels in the Imperial arsenal, but even they couldn’t handle a collision. All that could be done was turn her enough so that the vessels wouldn’t glance off into the Imperial formation.

Anger quickly replaced any other emotion in Zachias’s voice. “They are down two vessels. Let’s bring the rest of them down.”

A bitter cry of war echoed in the chamber.

Hal watched as the last flames of the Vagrant burned out upon impact. He had known Captain Moore for many years and knew the price the rebellion had paid that day. The loss of such a man as Moore would be felt for years within the command personnel of the Alliance. Bolts of energy shock the Frigate as she moved towards the imperial group. Ahead he could see the three gunships of his command nearing the battle lines of the imperials. One shock violently as a luck strike from a planetary defense turbolaser penetrated her shielding and knocked one of her port turbolaser turrets off leaving a small section of the hull open to vacuum. The bombardment from the planet was ruthless,
But add in the star destroyer and its escorts now bombarding his group, the violence of the flak, and the fighters which now had begun a run on the Frigate. Captain Brisk had only once chance of living to see another battle.

Hit after never-ending hit slammed against the hull. The battle was one sided at this point and he knew that until the other forces of the group assisted him he was a sitting duck. He looked once more at a display of the area on the planet where the Vagrant had just struck then back at the star destroyer pummeling his ship.

“Captain we have a local contact bearing one forty four by two thirty five. It seems to be one of ours but she is not transmitting on any channel and she has no transponder active.” Brisk sat up from his momentary slump and looked at the data scrolling on the tactical display.

“Give me visual Lieutenant.” The display changed showing the battered hull of the Monarch. The ship seemed to be moving uncontrolled towards a crippled Carrack Cruiser.

“Why can’t we pick them up on scanners Lieutenant?” The frustrated lieutenant looked over his equipment once again.
“Sir I do not know. It could be disturbance from the planet. The ship is still in a high orbit and we have yet to detect any of the vessels of the 173^rd sir.” The strange interference from the planet seemed to mask the ships orbiting closely. It had caused problems before in the battles of the last few weeks. Many fighter attacks have used the planet to mask their whereabouts until they shot out of orbit and attacked with little warning. It had been a tactic used by both sides in this battle and would continue to be uses as long as the planet was under contention.

“Sir she is closing with the damaged Carrack and leaving high orbit. We should be able to see her on tactical in a second.” Moments later a triangle representing the battered Corvette appeared on the tactical display. The ship was closing fast on the Light Cruiser and looked as if nothing could stop her from ramming the ship. Seconds later twenty seven small stars popped up on the display close behind the Corvette.

“What the Frack is that!” Brisk shot out of his command chair and ran to the display. His steps were stable but he could feel the shudder of the hull beneath his feet from the constant rain of fire from the imperials. He looked at the display then turned to stare at his tactical officer.

“Sir we have Twenty seven contacts in close formation behind the vette. Transponders make them out to be elements of Grey, Green and Omega Squadrons sir.” The small Y-wings had fallen in behind the vette in close formation and rode its signal all the way till the imperials had little chance to react.

Moments ago Brisk had decided the only option for him and his command was to retreat and live to fight another day. Now with the heroics and tactics of his now deceased friend the battle lust inside him seemed recharged. The Gunships were now reaching the Imperials and out of the planetary flack. Captain Triwin had not been heard from yet, but if he knew the grumpy old space dog, he was only moments from unleashing some tactical miracle of his own. The closing vette bomber group was now within weapons range but the y –wing still maintained there safety behind the space hulk. It was apparent that the trap had been noticed by the imperials. More fire was now concentrated on the incoming vette and the fighters behind them. The time was now. The battle over Sarapin had claimed so many lives and equipment. The battle ended here and how.

“Lieutenant has Blue and Red squadrons close on the Bombers group and when they break to hit the cruisers have them launched everything they can at the Imp. The battle was playing itself out in his head. Just then the communications officer shouted over the sound of turbolaser impacts at the captain.

“Sir I have Captain Triwin on the com. He says we should save something for him sir.” Brisk half laughed then opened his com channel. The voice of the stalwart line captain had never sounded more excited.

“Hal, you plan on taking on that imp with your little stick ship. I was watching when that sneaky Imp tried to end you. Why don’t you go play with something your own class and let me and the real men handle that big piece of junk.” A low guttural laugh fallowed the friendly insult which Brisk was used to by now. The man had always made fun of him for his desire to command small ships. He loved the tactics and speed of the smaller escort ships and most times he saw more combat and logged more battle time then any of the Cruiser commanders. He knew cruiser win the battles but escorts win the war.

“Captain Triwin how nice of you to join us.” Brisk was interrupted for a moment as a massive barrage struck the underside of the Frigate. He straightened himself and began his transmission again.

“As I was saying, I was wondering if you were going to bring your waste of resource, slow as a wompa, can’t hit anything cruisers out to play of if you were taking the day off to have them washed and waxed.” The statement got an even louder laugh out of the Cruiser captain.

“I would watch out if I were you captain those cruisers on the other side there seem to be wanting your hide pretty bad. And they seem to be able to hit what they are aiming at.” The banter between them lasted no longer as an explosion on the command deck of the Horus ended the transmission and took out communications. Brisk had fallen and a piece of metal had lacerated his lower leg. He rolled over and tried to stand but could not.
“Medic!” Hal lay shaking as the pain from the deep wound set in. An attendant ran to him and helped him sit up. Another ran from the far side of the deck where he was looking over the dead body of the communications officer. Hal looked at the charred body of his lieutenant and could not stop his mind from wondering. If this is his last fight he could not go out like this. He can not die lying on the floor of his ship while so many others gave and had given their lives in far more heroic endeavors. The medic looked at his wound and gave him a pain booster. He ask the captain if he was ok and nodded back to Hal after he had nodded an affirmative. Hal looked at the attendant next to him.

“Ensign, help me to my command chair.” The attendant did as he was ordered then stood beside the chair in case the captain needed anything else. Brisk looked at the display then at what was left of his crew. The sound was almost deafening as damage crews put out the fire ignited by the hit. The display was fuzzy and distorted and the command deck was almost pitch black. The emergence lights exploded into life and the deck was lit up to show the extent of the damage. All around men and women were lying dead or wounded. The hit had taken out com and left the shields at twenty percent normal. HE knew he should call it a day but he was determined to see this battle thru. He looked from face to face as they all looked to him for orders. He stared deep into their eyes looking for acceptance and understanding. Looking for the will to fight on and die for their cause. In every stern and damaged face he found what he wanted. They all knew the job and after so much cat and mouse fighting it was time to end the stalemate one way or the other. The tactical display shuttered then went black only to come back online again. As it lit up the hull of the corvette Monarch exploded as it struck the Carrack Cruiser. From behind the explosion Y-wing fighters shot out around the furry of fire which was now the carrack and the Vette and began their torpedo runs on the Cruisers of the Imperial lines. The two X-wing squadrons moved in on the Star Destroyer and from the northern high orbit the Cruiser line of captain Triwin was now registering on the tactical display. As was the remaining ships of the 173^rd Escort Line. The day may bring victory or it may bring defeat but it will bring an end to the battle above Sarapin.

0815 hours: South-end Imperial Trench "A"


Estelle's chrono was hard to see. Everytime she tried to check it, the earth shook crazily around her and lava rock, dirt and stone rained down on her in determined peppered sprays from the explosions that just would not cease, making her duck and sheild her head every time. The Rebels had made their way across the no-man's land and had moved down the first trench, intending to over run the second. But the Imperials did not wish to relinquish Trench number two and their defensive retaliations were impressive. The Rebel squads had been halted in their rush forward.

Kazaar thudded besided her, his back pressed against the trench wall just as hers was. He tipped his head forward, bumping her's annoyingly and shouted into her face.

"Can't keep doin' this dance" he said, as if this was news to her. "Gotta make 'em quit tossin' those things that go-boom! at us"

No kiddin, Estelle winced at him. The same thought had crossed her mind a time or two. Yet, Aurelias kept yelling, "We gotta cut off t'head, kid, spill the brains" and he jerked his head over his shoulder.

Estelle twisted and stretched up on her toes to look over the crest of the trench wall. Aurelias was guessing that the co-ordination of the most virilent attacks were coming from about mid-way point in Trench 2, some distance behind where the most offence was actually being launched. It made sense, she supposed.

Russard twisted back and down, exchanging a look with her partner to see if she was following his thought correctly. "Extend our range..?" she asked, not really sure of herself. "Concentrate our fire behind the main force?"

"Worth a try" he replied, as casual you please.

It sounded logical. "Pass the word" she said, after a few moments evaluation, "increase the range of fire by thirteen degrees. Get the MTPL2 to conform as well. We'll hit them with everything all at once."

Estelle found herself longing to be back in the comfortable arena of up close espionage type of fighting, rather than this dirty, noisy and unfamiliar setting of leading others, mostly men, into the fray. Which, this line of thinking was a little disturbing in its own fashion. The Art Student of the Tarkin Institute was truly beginning to be lost to this rebel stranger that she had become.

Kazaar gave her shoulder a shove, thankfully bringing her mind back from its self anylising. The order had been given and they were awaiting her "go."