Trial by Iron (Ankara, Letty, Jarvan)

[Tiberius Raal]

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ISD Intrepid - 1300 hours
Hyperspace

"Major Raal?" A voice enquired, waking the officer, who had been asleep on cold metal the floor of the turret of his AT-TL, an All Terrain Tracked Landship.

Tiberius Raal sat up and, though still half asleep, deftly dodged the manual traverse crank he had been about to strike with his forehead. After so many years, hazard avoidance had become a matter of muscle memory. These colossal, unorthodox armoured vehicles were a relic from a different time, but they were incredibly tough. Designed to operate in conditions where neither Walkers and Repulsor-vehicles could, the 75 ton durasteel behemoths were armed with fearsome mass driver cannons, capable of firing a variety of projectiles at whatever target they rumbled toward on their huge tracks.

"Just a second," He called, grunting as he pulled himself up through the hatch above him. When he looked down, he saw a young Ensign gawping at the tank, prompting a laugh.

"Never seen one of these before, eh kid?"

"N-no, no sir. Wha-" the young man caught himself mid-inquiry, his attention snapping back to the Major and saluting him.

"Major Raal, I'm Ensign Tailor. The Captain asked me to inform you that we'll be entering the system any moment."

"Thank you, Ensign," he said, chuckling and returning the salute, "At ease, son. Has the Victory made contact?"

"Yes sir, their shuttle will be docking in hangar fourteen shortly after our arrival. Your personnel are onboard as scheduled."

The personnel Tailor spoke of were his new crew. A Lieutenant Ankara Vydian and Sergeant Letty Weldegrave, who would be taking the drivers and gunners seats respectively. He had read their files of course, both experienced in their respective fields, yet neither had been inside an AT-TL before. Unfortunately, losses over the years had left experienced Landship crew in short supply. They needed new blood, and Vydian and Weldegrave were it.

"Excellent," Tiberius replied, glancing at his watch, "Go greet them and direct them here, then inform the Captain the Landships will be ready for departure by 1800."

"At once, Major," The young Naval Officer replied, saluting again before hurrying away.

The ensigns footsteps had barely faded when another, louder set made their way toward him; the clanking footsteps of a droid. Tiberius scowled. He had never had a droid on his crew before and was somewhat apprehensive to say the least. As part of a tank crew, you were more than comrades. You lived and fought through hell with them, each relying on the other to survive. The Anaxsi was doubtful whether a droid could understand that bond, let alone experience it. Climbing down from the turret, he stood with his arms behind his back as the metal humanoid approached.

"Sir, I am V9-61, I was ordered to report to you."

"I was expecting you. Can't say I'm too happy about a droid on my crew but..." The old tanker paused, rubbing his grey-stubbled chin, "You were part of McLusky's crew, right?"

"Affirmative, sir."

There was a strange note of sadness in the droid's metallic voice. McLusky's tank had been hit in the same battle where had lost his own crew; a missile hitting the ammo rack. Aside from the droid, the fireball that followed had left no survivors. Tiberius crossed his arms, inspecting the droid, who was covered in his fair share of scars and dents. He sighed, shaking his head as if he suspected he might regret this choice at some point.

"Well... he always said you were reliable. Soon you'll get to prove it, Tin Can. Now, go fill the ammo racks and make sure all the auxiliary system pre-checks are done. Estimated completion?"

"Processing... thirteen minutes and twenty two seconds."

"Get to it then."

As the droid went about his task, Tiberius cast his gaze back across his vehicle. 'Anaxes', named for Raal's destroyed homeworld, was one of nine that AT-TL's parked up in the hangar. Once they had been resupplied, they would board the two large dropships occupying hangar six. There should have been more of the great metal beasts; unfortunately the rest of the Regiment's compliment remained on Coruscant, either lacking crews or in the process of undergoing repairs.

[Jarvan Trask]

With the brush of a hand a swathe was cut through the steam blocking the mirror, and through it an unfamiliar face could be seen looking back. With deep bags infiltrating underneath the eyes and wrinkles creeping up on the borders of his eyes, there was an age and weariness that had come as a surprise. There were more scars, more bruises. A body that was a map of pain, as scars crossed new over old like the streets of Coruscant. Ever building on top of itself.

Eyes refocused on an object in the background; a suit of armor. Black as night, it's soulless eyes looked back from it's body helmet as it hung threateningly from the rack. It had an innate weight, and a malice to it. So threatening a thing even when empty. It stood in such stark contrast to what had come before. The white and orange are gone. No pomp, no ceremony. No medals or pips. Just secrets and violence.

While most of the armed forces found themselves serving on half-staffed starships on never ending patrols across the border and frontier worlds where their biggest complaints was being bored, some instead found themselves drowning beneath the workload. There were still battles to be fought for the hearts and souls of the Empire. Rebellions to crush and insurgents to execute. The Imperial Knights formed the vanguard against the lazy corruption, and at their backs providing support was Cerberus Squad.

And their successes had seen them elevated.

Leaving the sanisteam and his quarters behind, now fully engulfed in the familiar feel of the black light armor, with his helmet tucked underneath his arm, Lieutenant Trask moved through the corridors and turbolifts of the Intrepid. He had a new mission, with no time to rest from the last. Overseeing the support of a heavy armor division was not outside of the purview of the Storm Commandos, but it was very irregular for his unit. A platoon of Stormtroopers had been supplied underneath his command. There was a familiarity to it that lifted his soul.

It felt like old times.

Now there was just one thing left on his docket; seeing the armored division that he would be supporting with his own eyes. There was a comfort that came with familiarity, and he wanted to know what he was working with. Who he was working with.

Spotting the major standing among the steel behemoths he made his way toward the older man. There was a rugged experience to his face, and a focus in his icy eyes that put him at ease. It was the look of a man who had carved his career out on the battlefield. Not some stuffy suit in a comfortable office in the spire of the Imperial Citadel.

"Lieutenant Jarvan Trask, Storm Commando Cerberus Squad." A tight salute was produced on muscle memory in recognition of the superior officer.

[Tiberius Raal]

Tiberius turned at the sound of boots falling on the hangar's floor plates, snapping out of his momentary reverie. He waited as the Lieutenant introduced himself and then quickly returned the offered salute with a smile on his face.

"At ease, Trask," Raal said, holding out his hand for the younger officer to shake, "Major Tiberius Raal, A Company, 59th Armoured. Pleasure to meet you, I've heard good things about your unit. I appreciate this kinda op isn't in your typical wheelhouse, but I'm glad you'll be the ones backing us up."

While it was an affliction that plagued many Imperial Officers, posturing was not in Tiberius' nature. While he respected the rank structure to an almost infallible degree, he also understood the close bonds that formed between those who went into battle together. Being a member of a tank crew had made this bond even more apparent, spending so much time in close proximity with those who kept you alive. Lieutenant Trask was, by all accounts, reliable and efficient; both qualities that survival often depended on.


"AT-TL's; All-Terrain Tracked Landships," Raal explained, gesturing toward the Landships around the bay, "I wanted to see if you had any questions on how we operate before the briefing at 1700, make sure we're both on the same page."

Producing a dataslate from his pocket, he handed it over.

"That's as many non-classified operations reports and debriefs I could get you from previous engagements. Sorry there's so few, typical red tape bullshit; when there's a limited number of the TL's left, Intel has a habit of being overzealous with the redacting."

[Ankara Vydian]

Ankara's day had already been running for many hours by the time she got ready for her new assignment. Even though she had chosen the Army over the Navy, finding her way around the behemoth destroyers of the Galactic Empire was second nature; and she always made sure she stayed in perfect shape. She was so proud she had been assigned to Major Raal's unit. She had heard about him before, as well as study his record, thoroughly impressed. It was the first time in a long while that she was going to get to a semblance of front lines instead of being holed up in some distant border base.

The short-haired blonde smoothed her uniform once again, and the brief of a smile curved her lips as she applied her rank insignia upon her breast pocket. She stared at her reflection and squared her shoulders. She was proud of serving the Empire, and saw no task as beneath her; but she knew that being tossed from one hell hole to the other was the constant price to pay for coming from a Rebel family. She had grown up on Abregado-rae, and from a young age she had been told how the Empire was the evil. As a gullible child, she had trusted her parents. Things had changed in her early teenage years. Certain events got etched in her brain, memories still haunting her at night; and she knew she couldn't support her family's ideals.

She had run away at fourteen, during the war, smuggling her way around until she made it to an imperial locality. Fighting tooth and nails, she had enlisted during the last years of the civil war when she was seventeen. Her family name was too well known given her parents' terrorist actions and her father's bragging attitude. But it had already been too late to change her name, and she also looked like her parents enough that her bloodline was evident for anyone remotely familiar. The ISB had already probed her brain enough times that there was no reason to play the whole secretive game.

When word had started to circulate, her superiors and comrades had put her through hell and back, testing her, wanting to make her the bad guy, when all she wanted was doing things right. She had never let the animosity deter her; and she had given her everything to the Empire since she had received her first uniform.

And she was damn good at what she did.

That ruffled the most feathers, and two years before she had finally made it to the rank of Lieutenant, much to fellow soldiers' ire.

Such thoughts were on her mind as she made her way to the hangar, where her sharp eyes easily fell upon the AT-TL's; All-Terrain Tracked Landships. To say she was looking forward to operate such beasts instead of the rusty older generation tanks that were scattered at the border would be an understatement. She was a damn good driver who had pushed old tanks beyond their limits, as well as ramming her way into enemies with no hesitation if need be.

She walked up to the Major who was speaking with another man. She slowed her pace just as they were finishing a short exchange, and then she stopped and offered a crisp salute to the Major when a pause occurred.

"Lieutenant Ankara Vydian reporting for duty, Sir," she offered sharply. No unit was attached, for she had been in limbo for two weeks until brought here, meaning she had just been driving loading vehicles around various imperial bases.

[Jarvan Trask]

Taking the older officer's hand he shook it with an equal amount of force. Trying to dominate others through a handshake was a young man and desk officer's kind of game. It was clear that neither of them had the inclination or the time for that. It was always a welcome sign, especially in an officer he would be supporting and working under. Egos tend to get people killed on the battlefield.

"I'm curious about any overt weakness or vulnerabilities."

His job was, ultimately, to oversee a ground forces operation to support the armor division, and that primarily meant keeping the enemy from getting into a position where they could strike back at the armor. No doubt the AT-TL's had reinforced armor at the front for head on engagements but likely thinner armor or vulnerable sub-systems at the back. That meant sweeping higher ground to remove enemy forces with anti-tank munitions biding their time to hit the armor from behind; as well as forging ahead to disrupt sappers establishing mines and other barriers of movement for the armor.

Jarvan's pre-planning was interrupted by the arrival of another officer. A lieutenant and a woman. Two things together that were not a common sight. Her uniform was Army. No doubt another support detachment, or one of Raal's own. There were a lot of jokes and infighting between the Stormtrooper Corps and the Imperial Army, but Jarvan had nothing but respect for the troops. He gave her a courtesy nod and tightened his grip on his helmet. The uniform of the Storm Commandos spoke for itself. The Black Scout Trooper armor was difficult to miss.