Star Wars: Revanchism (Knights of the Old Republic Era) IC]

[HeySeuss]

(OOC is here.)

Summary of the Mission Briefing:

Duro is an occupied planet with vital strategic resources, including the Duro Shipwrights' Guild orbital shipyards. IRSOG is to spearhead the operation in an attempt to take these orbital facilities and use them against the Mandalorian forces on Duro.

IRSOG 37's task is to overtake the orbital traffic facilities at Duro, which control access to the orbital shipyards, and allow in other Republic Forces to assault the Mandalorians in other oribtal facilities. 37 was requested specifically for this mission because it has a high number of Jedi personnel; the Mando have yet to meet prepared Jedi in actual combat in any great numbers. While in the past, they have encountered Jedi here and there in their invasions, they have not seen Jedi on the offensive.

37 is assigned to the Fenris, an experimental Foray-class corvette with upgraded stealth abilities; it is able to mask its identity and evade detection as necessary, though the first wave will come in a Mandalorian-made Teroch-class gunship, armed with valid authentication codes. The Fenris will remain on station for fire support, command and control and other functions for IRSOG 37 and the main invasion force. This boarding party will include Commander Ossun, who will take control of the facility's systems to maximize the effect on the enemy and assist in subsequent naval operations.

Duro's orbital traffic control facility is a space station that controls radar and defenses for many of the shipyards, taking it for the Republic means that the guns can be turned against the Mandalorians as well as clearing the way for the Republic assault craft. Enemy presence is unknown within the control station.

This was the war the Masters didn't want to fight, the fight the Masters feared. The Jedi were the tip of the spear in the liberation of one of the Republic's most vital worlds, Duros. It was the highly polluted home of one of the first spacefaring species and one of the first planets in the Republic. It was in the Core, the center of the Republic itself. The Mandalorians were in this far, to where the most powerful and influential worlds and citizens were. Corellia itself was next if Duros was allowed to stay in Mandalorian hands, and the high profile nature of the world meant that a victory here would be resounding -- it would send a message to the flagging morale of a Republic shuddering under the weight of this terribly destructive war.

The shuttle was cramped quarters; mostly Jedi and some IRSOG soldiers in the seats, but there was only so much room and the plan seemed to call for a small number to assault in force; the Jedi were ready made for it in close-quarters with their light sabers, but it still felt a bit malicious, as if the Republic planners decided to throw the newly-arrived Revanchists into the cauldron here and now to see if they could do it or not. They were simultaneously pinning their faith on the legendary abilities of the Jedi and punishing them for sitting out the war until it got to this point, until it got into the Galactic Core, the very heart of the Republic. It was a backhanded compliment, and a sign of their desperation, really. The Mandalorians, at first, probed and fought very limited engagements that lulled the Republic into a sense of complacency, and then struck with everything they could mobilize against a Republic that reeled under the scope of the onslaught.

The interior wasn't merely cramped, it was also low-oxygen; Mandalorians had air supplies in their armor, and the appearance of heavy damage that would show up on scanners to verify the code they'd send, as well as the commo in Mando'a, as handled by Noldor's droid, would allow them emergency access and entry to the station. The damage was real; the life support actually was knocked out by the Republic forces that ran across this ship when it tried to raid Corellia. When repairing it for this mission, Republic mechanics slyly jury-rigged the hyperdrive so that it would appear functional. The Fenris would arrive, release the Teroch gunship and the latter would limp into the orbital port facility. If the Mandalorians bought it, it'd look like the gunship arrived on its own power, just barely, and would not notice the much larger blockade runner that ran powered-down so as to keep the sensors from picking it up...well, anything short of a focused scan with a CGT array.

It meant that everyone that needed oxygen was wearing a breather mask, and there was no artificial gravity in the ship. It made for an uncomfortable ride in, but the point was to get the drop on the Mandos, and that meant taking risks on a deteriorating rust-bucket of a shuttle. The risk, after all, was amply justified by the lives saved if IRSOG did it right. There were fourteen seats total, between crew and passengers, and room in the cargo hold for more, but they didn't bring more, largely because lifeform scans would pick up more and more would be viewed suspiciously. Rather, they went in as the number of Mandalorians that had been aboard when this thing was shot up, and hoped that this would pass scrutiny.

There was tension in there, and it wasn't merely the non-Jedi looking at the Jedi in askance. The tension came of knowing that if the gambit didn't work, if the Mandalorians didn't buy the poodoo patty, they were going to get disintegrated in space by the orbital defenses.

That is when the comm systems came alive with the sound of Mando'a, a language that maybe some knew or some didn't, but the droid knew best.

The query was, as far as most could tell, regarding identity. Then the response from the droid, using altered programming that allowed it to credibly simulate a human voice, then the counter-question regarding why the ship was late. Then the security codes, the explanation, the scans...

...it all felt like hours, but it took minutes before they were cleared, but told to head to the dock in traffic control, before they were actually tractored in. The portholes in the ship showed Duros, a dusty tan and pink sphere, the remnants of a distressed ecology and then the new ravages of the Mandalorian slaughter of the populace surrounded by the orbital shipyards, which were being used to refit and retool, or even produce, what the Mandalorians would need for an offensive against Corellia, another of the prominent core worlds.

It was a massive array of ships in the docks. It was overwhelming.

Then, too, there was the actual orbital traffic control station, retooled as a defensive nexus by the Mandalorians; they'd done the job quick and dirty, because they didn't expect to be staying on Duros long after jumping off to Corellia, and so they'd slaved the automated defenses that existed before to this one location to free up manpower. They knew they were creating a vulnerability, but they assessed the probability of attack as low. They figured on-site security was good enough.

They didn't anticipate Jedi.

The station was blocky and asymmetric, a hexagonal dome made of slab-sides and angles with little beauty to it. The docking area for it extended out with many different tendrils, most of them empty but a few bearing gunships of the same class as the ones they were in, albeit in better condition. That was, after all, the point. The ship crawled in with an audible chonka-chonka-chonka sound audible to those within the cabin that was hardly reassuring, trusting the Commander to pilot the limping, wounded ship in. It was one thing, perhaps, to crash a ship in or otherwise employ a ship that was repaired, it was another, and a feat of skill, to do it with a damaged one intentionally, rather than as an emergency measure.

Of course, there was great relief when the ship finally pulled into a landing bay; through the portholes, they could see the tan-painted durasteel bulkheads and the buildup of cargo containers and supplies, as well as the control room for the hangar bay itself, with its sealed shutters and its security doors; they had to break into their to get into the system and start opening doors. There were great air vents, higher than a normal being could jump without a pack, pumping sweet air into the hold, but no one was sure where they came out at.

The ship's engines cut off with a groan and a whine that sounded unhealthy, and it was doubtful they'd start again without considerable coaxing, but the dilapidated ship's job was already complete; they were in. The hydraulic bay doors opened to reveal beings inside, and it was to the shock of the advancing Mandalorian security team that several of them lit lightsabers and came on at full speed, in a sudden, shocking rush, in the fray with the speed that few beside force-users could muster.

The Revanchists just struck their first blow in the war, at the tip of the spear.

[JudeMcMayhem]

Noldor stepped out of the crashed gunship, lightsaber drawn and activated.
“Engage the enemy!” He yelled, stating the obvious, but he was the commander so he had to do these kinds of things to confirm that he figured.
His fellow Jedi and the specially selected troopers sped past him and addressed the security team that was sent to welcome them aboard. Noldor assessed the battlefield, from what he could gather the surprise was complete, the first skirmish would be won without a doubt and required little guidance from him. The next steps however were critical. They’d first have to occupy the hangar’s control room in order to be able to open the doors to gain access to the insides of the station. As the first security unit was being eliminated a second came running in from the east. Noldor had decided that the entry point would be referential point south. And from there they’d use compass logic to make movements and locations clear.

Leaving the initial Mandalorians to those engaged with them Noldor signaled Gem and a few others to engage the new arrivals. If they took up position and opened fire the Jedi would be outflanked and most likely slaughtered. He ran straight at them as they took up position behind some crates. Noldor grasped the center crate with the force and pushed it back half a meter to throw back the Mandos who had only just rested their backs against them for cover. He leapt over the crate and chopped one of the Mandos shooting hand off, then ducked to avoid a bash to the head by a Mando behind him. Noldor quickly spun his lightsaber around and made a slicing motion past the man’s right leg, severing several muscles, making the leg practically useless. Those who followed him were taking care of the rest and Noldor made his way back to the gunship to issue orders. While the rest kept fighting Mandalorians or tried to make their way to the Hangar bay Control room, Noldor decided it would probably help if he issued a general, yet crucial, command.
“Someone get to that control room!” He yelled, hoping this would increase the efforts of taking the damn place. The staff was probably engaged in a game of who can press the panic button fastest right this moment. Why did he have such thoughts? Noldor was not in his element, he had to make quick decisions without being allowed time to think about it first, it was making his brain hyperactive and it wandered places it usually didn’t.

Noldor went over his plan again, trying to spot obvious weak spots he could anticipate or avoid altogether. The unit would split into three and storm out of the hangar bay in a three pronged attack, the eastern and western prongs were merely a distraction, whilst the northern prong would try to keep itself unseen for as long as possible while they made their way to the central control room in the heart of the station. He had picked Ihna Zhiss for his unit as her record proved that she was experienced in infiltration, which was vital since they’d have to avoid all possible attention.

[Joshy]

LeTan adjusted his breather mask for the hundredth time. It wasn’t new and unused by others. As Le had worked his way into ranks of the IRSOG-37 he began to acquire equipment that had no previous owners. His psychometry was difficult to control without ample time to focus and concentrate his will. While on their way to the landing zone Le kept getting flashes of vision through someone else’s eyes. It was vague and distorted. He focused on the feel of his tight battle armor, the tightness of the mask itself, the weight of the weapons on his belt and what he was about to do. Le looked from his fellow non-Jedi to the Padawan, Jedi knights and then to their Commander.

Some of the non-force sensitive seemed agitated. This was their first serious mission to be carried out as one group that included the Jedi. Personally Le understood the animosity, but he did not feel the same. He had worked with the commander once upon a time, in the days when he lived for nothing but the next payday. As the ship skidded across the hanger floor Le along with everyone else was jerked around in their seats. As gears began to squeel to life the restraints hissed and unlocked allowing them to stand. He was anxious to get out of this rust bucket. Crash landings always reminded him of KaiLe. For just a second before the doors began to open he was back in the wreckage…He snapped out of it after just a long moment. Le had to focus on their mission. The first objective was to secure the room. He would then move east with his squad and assist Viros the Miralukan Jedi Knight.

As the gears roared to life lowering the hatch the cargo bay was thrown into harsh relief. Le had his vibroblade drawn and as he darted out of into the hanger already pressing the ignition on the pommel. A sweet low hum came from the blade as vibration sped along the edge. With the extra cutting power Le was able to slice through the Mandalorian trooper’s helmet and deep into his skull. Blood spurted as he slipped the humming blade out and turned it off. He heard similar sounds behind him. He imagined several of the Jedi acting similarly. There was a tingle at the base of his spine. This was not the first time he had this feeling. He dropped to one knee and slipped his blaster out of it’s holster in the same movement. A split second later there was a blast of red energy just above his head. He turned and fired. More Mandolarians were streaming into the Hanger from adjacent rooms. Le watched as the heavy ordinance soldiers destroyed blaster turrets around the room. Le was able to incapacitate a few of the enemy, however he was forced to kill more than he would have liked.

Le cleaned his vibroblade and sheathed it. He watched as several Jedi and soldiers alike resettled their gear. He made his way quietly to the eastern corridor exit. No one was coming. The noise must have not reached as far as Le thought. There would still be a larger force to fight in order to regain this station. Le hoped that many would surrender, but he had no illusions about this. There would be many more lives lost before the mission was completed. It looked like they caught a break, at least from this end. All hell would have broken loose if the alarm had been raised. Le swept the dreads out of his face and readjusted his breathing mask a little. He hated the thing. With blaster in easy reach he waited for Viros, Gem a human padawan, and one of his fellow IRSOG-37 soldiers.

[Jester]

Bic shot out of the ship like a Tatooine podracer, with great waves of force spilling out behind him as the momentum pushed the padawan past the initial security personnel and straight into the thick of it. The hum of his lightsaber filled the air and he brought the tip of his weapon through the neck of a mandalorian and then quickly jabbed the shaft of energy through the belly of another. Adrenaline coursed through his body. It was the first time he had ever used his abilities with the purpose of violence, and as his mind lingered on the thought, his eyes scanned the area directly surrounding him to see his fellow Jedi and soldiers lock into engagements of their own.

The “warriors” had little idea of what was going on before half of them lay slain on the floor of the docking bay. At a distance one soldier had managed to get his blaster out and fire off a round into the mass of bodies and flailing limbs, just hoping he might hit something. Bic’s saber shot out and buzzed when the bolt was deflected toward the ceiling. Twirling his blade, the padawan gathered another current of force and catapulted his body at the soldier, leading with his shoulder, and slamming the man back a good fifteen feet.

“Someone get to that control room!”

“Aaagh!” Where had the battle-cry come from? Weren’t Jedi supposed to be impassive, contemplative individuals, even on the battlefield? Bic heeded his commander’s order almost immediately, pushing the culmination of the energy encircling his body straight into his legs. He leaped clear over everything else, leading with his legs straight toward the overhanging control room window. He watched in slow motion as the eyes of the dock workers expanded in disbelief. Bic cringed when his boots slammed into the hard glass. Obviously made from harder stuff than he had anticipated; still though, a crack spread over the surface as he felt his body slipping downward. Reacting solely on instinct, he reached a hand out and was thankful when his fingertips hit the small space of the outer windowsill.

Using the remaining energy he had from his jump, the young Jedi swung his body by the tips of his fingers and reached up with his other hand to slam the length of his saber into the glass. It shattered inwards and in a feat of acrobatics he hadn’t believed himself capable of, Bic launched the whole of his body up over the side and into the control room. The three men occupying it were far too slow to move.

The padawan’s hand shot out, grabbing one man by the shirt and tossing him over the edge. A second reached for his blaster, but was vaguely surprised when he looked down to see his hand missing. A boot smashed into his jaw, causing the mandalorian to stumble backward, screaming in pain at the full realization of his severed limb. The third had actually managed to get a shot off in the middle of all the chaos, but Bic lazily deflected it as he walked toward the remaining man. “How many more are coming?” The Jedi asked.

The mandalorian said nothing and spat at Bic’s feat before aiming another shot. “Right,” the padawan nodded in vague understanding. You could kill them, but you could never make them talk.

The screaming man in the corner watched as the supposed warrior of light cut down his comrade before turning to him. A sudden guilt passed through the young man’s mind as he took his fifth life since stepping off the ship. Bic’s lightsaber shook in his hand as he disignited it. “So, this is battle?” He wondered aloud. Moving to the shattered remains of the control window, he looked down at his fellow soldiers. “The control room is ours!”

[benjaminrk]

Gem's blood was pumping so hard though her head that she could hear her own pulse. Before the door opened in the ship, it was the calm before the storm. She tried to remember her master's words about relaxing and focusing. Be at peace.
But then the doors did open, and the storm began.

Her master lead a few of them out into the hanger bay. She had seen him deal with criminals before and had imagined that he too had to focus when sparring against her in training fights. But Gem had never seen Noldor at his very best. She had never seen him battle real soldiers in a real war before.
As he ran out of the ship, Gem followed behind him, her lightsaber ready.
They all hide behind crates and the next second her master Noldor pushed the crate, a few of the soldiers were behind, and jumped at them.

The last thing Gem wanted was to be a burden, and she wished to prove to her master that bringing her along was no mistake.
Quickly she ran after him and witnessed him slice enemies down like weed. Based on his precision and speed she could understand why an enemy might fear him.
Gem jumped forward towards a mandalorian and activated her saber. In a blue flash it buried itself into the stomach of him. Everything turned to slow-motion as she looked up on the soldier and saw the life leave his eyes. This was the first time she had killed someone. A strange feeling, but the heat of battle prevented her from lingering. She pulled the saber out and swung it again. A mandalorian was hit strait across his chest and dropped instantly.
Her master retreat, probably to supervise the hangar battle, but Gem ran forward.
A mandalorians stormed in. He seemed somewhat organized, and not quiet as surprised as the ones Gem had just encountered. Across the room he started to fire upon the Gem and her teammates.
Gem raised her saber and deflected a blast coming at her. It was a heavier weapon, and the blast almost took her off her feet. He was in the opposite end of the hanger which was almost an impossible range for a lightsaber.
“Sith spit!” Gem mumbled and deflected another laser coming at her.

Gotta stop him, gotta stop him, come one Gem!

With her saber still activated she jumped on top of one of the crates. Now using all of her skill she started to jump from crate to crate while lasers flew past her like rain.

Focus! Concentrate!

She was getting closer and closer to the shooter, but meanwhile his lasers also came closer and closer to hitting her. Finally she launched from one of the crates and into the air.
With great precision she threw her saber at the mandalorian. Slicing strait through him the saber hit the floor behind and deactivated.
Gem landed, rolled onto her feet and breathed out.

[SGT Loco]

- Commander Ossun inhaled deeply and slowly, gently feathering the throttle of the jury rigged Mandalorian shuttle on its approach to the station. The ship settled into its new course, and Markus exhaled with equal control. Piloting the ship was simple enough. Flying a damaged craft was an emergency skill practiced by any experienced pilot worth his wings. Markus was above simply being a skilled pilot- he had little doubt that he could pilot the protocol droid sitting next to him if you strapped an engine to its arse. No, the trick lay in convincingly piloting a ship that was not quiet as crippled as it seemed, and making it appear as if it was still being operated by a Mandalorian pilot. If Markus had zipped in as if nothing was wrong, and headed straight for a landing bay smoothly and elegantly, the Mandos would have vaporized them on the spot. The crusaders did little that was smooth or elegant, and crusader pilots were a beast that the Commander had become intimately familiar with over the last few years.

- The craft drifted lazily into its assigned berth, Markus pronouncedly making it list towards port side as its patched up engines violently vented smoke into the hangar. He set the ship down roughly, but not too roughly so as to spare his passengers. Through the thick plastisteel windows of the Cockpit he could see the hangars security team approaching their stolen ship. It was what he had been expecting- not a large force, the way they held their weapons slung lazily showed they expected nothing but another raider crew limping back after nearly being vaporized. They could see him, he knew, though the protocol droid had been ordered down out of sight at this point. The stolen Mandolorian faceplate and breather mask he wore were permanently impassive, and he made in indecipherable greeting type motion towards the security team as it approached. Unlike much of the team below him- especially the Jedi- the breathing apparatus did not bother him, and the Mandolorian mask differed little in fit and function than the masks issued to Republic pilots.

- The pilot ran through the post flight drill quickly, shutting down the engines for what was likely to be the last time and activating their internal firefighting mechanisms- despite the Republic techs work, the engine temperatures had been rising steadily toward dangerous levels throughout the approach, and an ill timed explosion now would undoubtedly kill all of them. He took another deep, controlled breath as he did this, and looked out again at the approaching security team, who were now so close to their impending doom that they would have little time to recognize it before death came. Markus held his finger down on a button on the console, and spoke, his voice echoing through the passenger compartments intercom system;

"Ramp coming down."

- Ossun hit another button on the console. There was a hiss as the pressurized seals around the exit broke, and what little atmosphere remained on the ship was rapidly vented into the hangar. The ramps hydraulic supports failed, dropping its full weight to the deck with a resonating clang. The Mandolorian greeting party jumped in surprise, but failed to ready their weapons with any meaningful speed. Markus watched as the Jedi leaped out at the head of the sudden assault, appearing as bolts of lighting lashing out from the shuttles ramp. It was artful in violent sort of way Markus thought as the Jedi opponents fell with a dancing of sparks and flashes of multicolored light, panicked flashes of blaster fire bounding off in random directions as they were deflected. He recognized the gleaming green sweeps of Noldors saber as he launched out of the ramp, alongside the bright blue hue of his padawan. Another Jedi launched himself eagerly into the fray, dashing for the Hangar control room.

- The aged Commander watched impassively as the young Jedi made their first steps into a world they did not understand... He had met them all briefly before they had embarked upon this mission. They were all much younger than he- most were hardly more than children. His friend Noldor, given command far beyond his experience, was struggling with the weight of responsibility- though few could see it through his courageous facade. The others were eager. Too eager. Many had never tasted war, or loss... He did not resent them, as he knew some did. Rather, a part of him pitied them, because they knew not the scale of what they were involving themselves in. He also recognized that the Republics survival hinged upon them turning the tide, just by providing the Republic with a spearhead to rally behind. They were a symbol to follow, to drive the invaders back into their own space. And they needed that now more than ever, with Serroco torched to the crust, Duros occupied, and Correllia and Alderaan only a short hyperspace jump away...

- Markus turned his attention back to his task as the quick mellee swirled beneath him. He quickly set the ships functioning scanners to probe the rest of the station, then activated the manual controls for the ships prow mounted cannons. He took hold of the control sticks and pulled down the targeting screen, rapidly adjusting the settings and bringing the guns around to the starboard side. He settled the sites on the gunship sitting in the next berth, a sister to the craft the boarders had limped here in. Markus fired two quick bursts into the ships engine compartment, then spun the guns to port side and settled on the next target without waiting to see the damage done. Destroying the sitting craft was not necessary- he only needed to prevent them from being used against the Republic fleet, which was sitting a safe distance away from the Planet, waiting for the signal to begin the main attack. This task complete, he shoved away the weapons controls and read the scan results while he settled his personal gear.

- For this mission, he'd been put in the charcoal colored fatigues and light battle armor of a typical IRSOG solider. He had his personal blaster and sword at his belt, and to supplement this he grabbed a blaster rifle from a rack behind the pilots seat. The scan readings showed little more than a reinforced skeleton crew for the station, and likely the crews of the docked ships he had just disabled- all mostly centered around the defense apparatus and the Hangar bays to the east and west, along the outer ring of the station where the Mandolorians were undoubtedly fitting ships for their next planetary invasion. As expected, most communications signals were emanating from the control room that his task force had been assigned to take. Inter-station comms were being passed from the individual control sites located with the guns and other hangars. War droids would have been Markus' biggest concern when attacking with a strike force this small, but the life signs scan he had run would be useless for detecting those. Hopefully fate was smiling on them today...

- Commander Ossun swept down the steep ladder from the cockpit into the passenger compartment, checked the power levels on his weapons, and adjusted the reception on the comms device he was carrying. It was a single channel device, larger than a normal unit comm unit, with a direct link to the Fenris- lurking nearby to accompany the fleets attack. The last sounds of battle in the hangar were fading out as the Jedi and Soldiers won victory over the hangars meager defense. Markus stalked down the ramp with the last of the boarding party- he was in no hurry to join such a fray himself- that was best left to the younger and more eager, if possible. His task was to get to the primary control room and use the station against the planets defenders- that meant not getting shot up on the way. Noldor was standing near the bottom of the ramp, reiterating the strike forces task to them. Markus called out to him- the address was almost conspicuously devoid of any mention of title or rank- not out of lack of respect for the Jedi, but simply because the units rank structure was... well, unclear.

"Nothing we didn't expect Nolder. We made a bit of noise, and the station is already buzzing with communications signals, though it doesn't appear that they're clear on anything at this point. I kindly suggest that we move quickly, before they mount an organized counter attack. The Mandalorians will be surprised, but they're not amateurs- they'll recover quickly."

[aje656]

Saris's boots hit the ground running as he jumped off the transport, pulling out his lightsaber as he flew through the air. He thumbed the ignition button, the electric blue blade extending out with the unmistakeable snap-hiss sound. He took a look around the hanger bay when his feet hit the ground, he was the fifth person out of the ship, but there was still plenty of Mando's to go around. Saris felt a small wave of anticpitation, tinged with fear, roll through him as he ran forward, towards the nearest Mandolorian soldier. He, or she, was tall, and wearing the typical armor of a Mando. The soldier must have seen Saris running towards them, because it turned towards the young Jedi, leveling a blaster at him, aiming for his chest.

Saris knew he was supposed to be in control of his emotions at all time, a Jedi had to act when needed, without hesitation. But this was his first time in real, unrestrained combat. He'd been in a few small scuffles on his various missions, but it was nothing he couldn't of handled, and wasn't even really dangerous when it really came down to it. Just a few people who had had a little too many Bantha Blaster's one night. Saris couldn't help the fear, previously hidden away, surge upwards. Time seemed to slow down slightly, he saw the blaster being raised toward him, the bolt flying out of the barrel. Saris knew he only had a split second to react, training honed reflex's bringing his lightsaber up, the blade deflecting the bolt up and off to the left. It hadn't even stopped his forward momentum. He reached the Mando, deflecting two more blaster bolts on his short journey forward. The soldier switched tactics, attempting to beat him down with the heavy stock of the blaster. Saris sidestepped, bringing his lightsaber upward, cutting through both of the Mando's forearms. He brought his lightsaber upwards as much as his arm's let him, then Saris brought it back down, hitting the soldier's shoulder. He felt a small bit of resistance, then the blade was through, traveling diagonally down. It exited on the opposite hip, the soldier's body separating into two asymetrical pieces.

Saris was stunned. He looked blankly at the body in front of him, which had moments ago been a live, possibly human being. He had never killed anything before, it was so...so easy. That thought scared him a little bit. Taking another's life shouldn't be like that. In fact, Saris hadn't even really thought about the actions his body was taking, he had been a reactionary being. The Mando trying to kill him, so he had killed the soldier before he had another chance to. Saris thought it would be different, at any rate. The Jedi Knight was pulled from his thoughts as he felt a prickle on the back of his neck, his danger sense warning him of an impending attack. He whirled around, deflecting another blaster bolt off of his lightsaber. Saris didn't have enough time to close the gap this time around. He reached for the Force, and extended his right hand outwards, his attacker when flying into the wall, hitting it with a crunching sound. He didn't get up. Saris mentally berated himself for being so stupid, they were in the middle of a battle, he couldn't be off thinking about the person he had just killed, there was a time for that, and it wasn't now. He forced himself to push his thoughts and worries aside, focusing only on the battle, as much as he could. The young Jedi Knight leapt forward, heading for the closest opponent.

As soon as the battle had started, it was over, the Jedi and IRSOC soldiers routing the Mandolorians in the hangar bay easily and with no causulties on their side, other than a few bumps and scrapes. Saris deactivated his lightsaber, hanging it back on his belt. He had personally killed four Mando's in the battle, but an image of his first kill kept popping up into his head, watching his masked opponent fall in front of him. Since the mission had reached a brief lull, his fellow operatives still making sure everything was still in the right place, Saris decided he had to know who that person was. He walked back to the spot where the body laid, undisturbed. The young man slid down into a crouch, lifting the helmet off the head. The mask revealed the young face of a woman, not too much older than Saris himself. She didn't look the part of a Mando, she had to be one of the soldiers that had been recruited under pain of death. "Stang." he said in a low voice, standing up and turning away. He thought it would help to know his victim's identity, but he was wrong. Very wrong.

[benjaminrk]

Gem was acting almost on pure instinct without sensing either fear or joy. When you jump into a pack of soldiers, you don't have time to think. She had recovered a lot better from the impact than the soldiers trying to get to their feet, but barely remember how she had gotten there.
A jump? A few force push? She wasn't even sure what she had just done. Everything was going so fast.
Standing on top of a dismembered opponent she pulled her saber out of his torso. Something moved in the corner of her eye and she swung her saber again. A guard cried out and dropped dead.
But she barely managed to register that he was dead before a big fist slammed the side of her head and threw he sideways. She was seeing stars and by the time her vision returned the guy had picked up his weapon.
In a terrifying second she realized she had dropped her saber again.
He fired his blaster and in the very last second she made a back flip. She could feel the heat flying right past her face. Next second he fired again and she made a jump to the side. Then she pulled out her hand and from a distance used the force to push him backwards. It worked and he fell.
Gem didn't hesitate and ran forward all she could. The soldier was down, but not defeated.
Already now she could see him get back up and raising his blaster. He raised it higher and higher until the running padawan was right in his aim. And just then Gem jumped up and buried her knees right into the guys face. he fell backwards like a rag-doll.

Finally!

Gem got back up and stood before the downed soldier. Now looking for her sword she left her gaze from her defeated opponent.
And that was when it happened. His big man size boot kicked up right into her stomach.
Totally unprepared Gem lost all the air in her lungs and fell back down in pain. Seeing the soldier stand up she knew it was over. She felt the mandalorian's blaster pointing at her and waited for the blast.

But when the blast came it wasn't directed at her. Someone behind her fired and hit the soldier right in his already broken face. In a dust of smoke coming from his head he dropped dead.
A slight feeling of relief shot through Gem as she stood up and dusted her cape off. That had been close. Too close.

Now the shooting had finally stopped and the hanger was suddenly so silent.
Then Commander Ossun came. In a calm voice he said “Nothing we didn't expect Nolder. We made a bit of noise, and the station is already buzzing with communications signals, though it doesn't appear that they're clear on anything at this point. I kindly suggest that we move quickly, before they mount an organized counter attack. The Mandalorians will be surprised, but they're not amateurs- they'll recover quickly".

Gem had no choice but to agree on that. From what she had seen the mandalorian did recover quickly. Quietly she looked around the place to see if everyone was alright.

[SonofJET]

Viros sat patiently, calmly amidst the fellow members of the small assault team. His expression was blank and unreadable, although the breather mask that had been fitted snug against his face helped conceal whatever emotions he could have worn.

It hadn't been a surprise when he'd been assigned to the group. Far from it. His skillset, although not a result of his own choices in training, was of use. Thus, he was employed.

Cause and effect.

And he had no reason to fight it. He wanted to help. There he was.

Before embarking with the strike team, Viros had been introduced to the other Jedi in IRSOG 37.

Some, like Saris Achler and Noldor Shiavin, he had met during his time at the temple, and had built a preexisting relationship with.

Others, like the young Padawans Gem Atari and Bic Fayar, he had just met. Curiously enough, he had been told that he had the honor of looking after both of them.

Gem would be under his command while they ran the distraction towards relative East. He had given Noldor his word that he would do his best to keep her alive. He also swore that he wouldn't coddle her. She would be watched, kept alive if he could at all help it. But she would have to operate under her own judgement and abilities.

Bic would have a closer, more involved relationship with Viros. His fellow knights had expressed a concern over the boy, and wondered whether or not it would be wise to let him operate without a supervising Master. He accepted the role with a gesture. A nod. The boy hadn't seemed aware of Viros' attention.

A benefit of being without eyes. One never knew when he was watching. The thought brought a faint, concealed smile to his breather-covered mouth. He was always watching. Even when he wasn't trying to.

When the hatch opened, and everyone so eagerly leapt into action, Viros straggled with the IRSOG troops.

He was more than confident of the abilities of a squad of Jedi, Padawan and Knight alike. However, the experience was all among the soldiers.

He had a deep respect for them. Charging into battle with no "unnatural" talents, no blades that could cut through nearly anything. They had their weapons, often made by the lowest bidder, their training, which far surpassed even his own in terms of applicability in combat. And they had each other. These troops were the best of the best, and they knew that they were safe as long as they looked out for the men to their left and right, and those men looked out for them.

So he stayed with them, glued specifically to the right flank of the Squad Three heavy weapons specialist, a surprisingly well-mannered soldier who introduced himself as Baron. The man spoke with a smooth, confident voice colored by his Coruscanti accent. The origin of his nickname seemed clear enough. But he was easily twice the size of any nobility Viros had ever encountered. None of it was wasted.

The first wave of Mandalorians fell quickly to the combined Jedi sabers and blaster fire of the Republic assault. However, as more Mandalorians arrived, they spaced their fire, took into acount the types of enemies present, and acted as Viros had been taught to excpect. They even exceeded his expectations. They were devoted to their cause, clearly, and he almost felt bad when they fell.

Would we have such a fearsome reputation if we acted as they do? He thought, stepping off the ramp with Baron and thrusting his empty right hand forward in a blur of motion, slapping a stray bolt of energy away from Baron's head. The Force flowed through him as strongly as it ever had, adding further doubt to the Council's claims. Could he fight in a war without succumbing to the Dark Side? He believed so.

But the war was just beginning. And there was much more of it to fight. He would see by the end whether or not he owed the Council an apology.

The battle went on, although he was far from engulfed in it. He provided assistance to the troops with his abilities, deflecting the shots of the Mandalorians that managed to get close, and throwing the occasional Force push into the fray. Too soon, it was over, and everything had calmed down once again, save the blaring alarms that started to spread throughout the station.

Viros patted Baron on the shoulder and offered him a nod. "I'm watching out for the members of my squad, Baron. You included."

"Sorry for being blunt, Master Jedi... But I have a hard time believing that from a guy without eyes." Baron said, a grin audible on his voice as he breathed in relief. Viros could feel the anxiety flowing out of him as he allowed himself to hope. The first push had gone well, and his hopes were high for the mission as a whole.

"A man may see how this world goes with no eyes, Baron." Viros said, patting his shoulder again before going to regroup with the other Jedi.

As he approached his fellow Jedi, Viros pulled back the hood of his robes, exposing what little skin was visible beneath the combined cover of his goggles and the rebreather, before pulling the latter free and allowing it to dangle from his neck.

He stood next to Noldor and nodded in greeting, grinning as the wash of his bright aura shone in what amounted to his vision. He seemed troubled, but he would adapt. The situation was unusual for them all.

"From what I can see, everyone is fine on our side. The troops are fit, and our young ones performed well." He said. The sight of a Miraluka wasn't colorful, but it was accurate. The Force didn't lie, and it was a far more reliable form of perception than eyes.

[HeySeuss]

In the low-lit passenger section of the gunship, Ihna Zhiss had her doubts; the doubts of herself, her masters, the Revanchist cause, and these swirling, conflicting considerations and promptings seemed to pull her in so many directions; it was made all the worse that her padawan was Echani and her disquiet was probably written all over her for him to read like one of those holo-books he so enjoyed.

The least of her doubts, insignificant by comparison, was the shuttle, dilapidated, badly patched up, a combat jury-rig job meant to convey the actual impression of a damaged Mandalorian shuttle limping home. She could see the others in the shuttle, huddled in their seats, trying not to sweat despite the chill of the failing life support, and generally trying to hide the tension; it was a first time for everyone. A first time in this kind of war for the Jedi, a first time to openly defy the Masters and go forth to the fray, and a first time alongside these green, though skilled, reinforcements for the IRSOG soldiers.

The chugging of the engines was actually soothing to her, it gave her mind something to fixate upon in preference to what her mind would occupy itself with were she not distracted. She found some sort of peace in just contemplating the sound of that engine giving its all, even as she noted, on the periphery of her conscience, the scene out the porthole, the first impression of the station they were to take by guile and determination, the job the pilot of the shuttle, Commander Ossun himself, was doing. His feelings were tightly controlled, but she could read the effort he was investing into the performance with the ship, and could respect it. On the other hand, a part of her hated the lack of control on her part, having to trust to another's skill so thoroughly. It was one of her several flaws and one she'd never truly relinquished. She was not cut out for delegating jobs to others; it was her instinct to rely on herself, to turn inward for the answers. So a part of her seethed and waited for the moment when her life would be in her own hands once more.

She stood and readied herself, with the others, for the imminent landing. The non-Jedi had to hold onto something, brace themselves; the Force users used their intuition and instincts to keep their balance, and were ready that much faster when the ship did grind to a halt. There was only a moment to really glance at her padawan to make sure he was readied as well; it was possible to reach out with the Force, but he was Echani, and his posture, the subtleties of it, tended to tell their own story. But there was precious little time for any sort of conversation, because the hatch clanged open, and the lightsabers came alive, illuminating the chamber in a riot of colors. That didn't last long; they boiled out of the hold of the gunship toward the Mandalorian security party in a rush, using every ounce of speed they could squeeze out.

Zhiss actually was behind the others, at least at first. The initial sensation she experienced in the Force was a disquieting one; two frag grenades sailing toward them all, and she used the Force to bat them away harmlessly, lest they detonate in the midst of some of the Jedi, the Padawans or even the regular soldiers. Given that extra moment to assess her targets, she picked hers using the Force, sorting through its impressions of intentions and confidences, and then used it to push herself into a soaring leap that ended with the lightsaber brought down on a Mandalorian gunner with a repeating blaster, in a good cover position, an instinctive sort of strike that served well enough to cover the ground, so that she didn't wind up having to fight her way through to the blaster-wielding Mando, deflecting shots the whole way in. There was no time to debate the kill, the morality of it or how this sort of situation, because her partner was a little more with it and reacted with more alacrity than some of his comrades to the surprise of having Jedi burst forth from one of their own ships, lightsabers ignited.

It was the Force that told her all this, and guided her motions as she brought the lightsaber around in line with her shoulders, though using her wrists to bring the blade down to deflect the first strike of the Mandalorian's cortosis-weave vibro-sword. But the Mandalorian may have been prepared with a cortosis-weave weapon, but he wasn't used to how Jedi fought, or the weightlessness of the lightsaber, which required a high degree of training to control safely.

Elegant, simple, she brought the lightsaber around using the momentum from the parry of the Mandalorian's weapon and used the spaced hands on the hilt to create an even faster cleaving, clean and efficient-- she was not one to waste motions, and her technique reflected the lack of flourishes, the emphasis on precision. She knew, by the tremors in the Force, that others were killing their opponents at a fair clip, but much of her sense extended to her padawan, another reluctant warrior in the fray, though there was little to her actual manner in combat that betrayed the reluctance; instead, there was the coordinated ferocity of her form, the economy of motion that came of rigid self-discipline over the course of her entire life, since being taken from parents she could not remember during her infancy.

Then, it was all over, and her lightsaber went out instinctively, her fingers knowing where the hidden buttons were to disengage it.. There was a relief, initial, that it worked, and that as skilled as the pilot was, the fight was already over, though there was the distinct smell of ozone and meat in the air, something that they never really told you about. In a minute at the most, she'd been exposed to more blaster fire, explosions and similar dangers than she had in the rest of her, admittedly short, career.

In any case, they were in, now they had to split up and go deeper in, or so went the plan. She glanced at the air ducts and considered them; the place was not designed to repel Jedi, and she tended to embrace the philosophy that a lightsaber made a great way to open doors. Uarda would not have approved, having spent years trying to curb her of a ‘lightsaber first’ mentality, and yet here she was, considering the idea of moving through pipes and cutting exits as needed.

This wasn’t chasing down some smuggler or enforcing laws; the Mandalorians whose emotions she’d sampled were in turns fanatical, scared to death or ecstatic at the adrenaline. The wall of sensations hit her and took her aback, especially as she had a moment to sort through them while Knight Shiavin and some of the others, in command of various elements conferred. It didn’t bother her so much to be somewhat excluded from that circle; she had enough on her hands with her Padawan learner, whom she glanced at the periphery of her vision, if only to confirm the Force’s impression. In some sense, she regretted dragging him into this war. In some sense, she regretted coming to this war. In another sense, however, she was flushed with the exultation. This was the Galaxy’s great threat, and she was upholding the Jedi ideal by defending the Republic from it.

“Well, there it is Sor,” she told her Padawan laconically; she wasn’t much for long conversation or a lot of philosophy, given her natural state of being. And there it was; the immediate situation washed away the doubts. Clear-cut need overrode existential doubt. It wasn’t a lesson the Masters would like, but they were, after all, the ones who set her on this path whether she liked it or not.