Besk learned an essential truth about Revan in the mission briefing for the Javku invasion: the Jedi commander was nothing like what the Mandalorians would expect from a senior Jedi.

The briefing room of the Incisor was dark, but for the glow of a holotank in the center of the room showing essential items of data in synch with the briefing. Revan was not there himself, but he was beaming the transmission from his flagship along with the relevant data for download onto PDA's. There were a number of Jedi and IRSOG troopers in the room, all taking in the data.

"The target of this operation is Javku, a heavily fortified target in the Mid Rim. It is volcanically active, arid and rocky. The primary industry is mining. It is currently a Mandalorian War Forge. To date, no attempt has been made to take Javku back from the Mandalorians because it is heavily fortified and resources have been deployed elsewhere. However, Javku is one of our theater goals."

The planet was a tan dustball, nothing special on the holodisplay or the downloaded PDA data.

"Javku's networked autoblaster and turbolaser batteries are networked from a hardened command facility at the spaceport. We cannot destroy them from orbit without destroying the facilities, which we must take intact."

And that was the reason that the conventional invasion had not yet happened

"Conventional invasion with shuttles and starships would create unacceptable losses from the planetary defenses and a protracted invasion with ground troops would endanger the war forges. We must have that planet. We have refitted ships with ion weaponry and concussion torpedoes suitable for planetary assaults in order to disable the automated network momentarily. The disruption will not last long enough to allow for a conventional landing without still taking unacceptable losses to our forces."

The other part, left unsaid in the briefing, was that Revan's resources were thin; he had the Mercy Corps, some Navy support and some troops, including one IRSOG, 37. There were militia volunteers that threw their lot in with the Jedi and other do-gooders, along with some military forces. The Repubic was leery of the new support and didn't have much faith in the willingness of the Jedi to prosecute the war. Revan's corps was a low priority, but it got some token assets. Notably, it got a shipment of spare escape pods for ships that had been diverted to elsewhere. The Republic's supply chain wasn't sure of itself, and the creation of a new theater of war under Jedi command created new complications.

But if they were unable to invade without acceptable losses, what were they doing? That made Besk frown.

"As you know, our personnel assets and equipment are scanty, but we have had some surplusses. Among them are escape pods not yet fitted to starships. For the purposes of this operation, we have modified a number of them to carry troops safely into battle, and others to carry mine deployment equipment and auto-turrets. The technicians have modified them to navigate their way down in formation and drop accurately in the designated area at maximum thrust until the last moment."

The specs showed modified escape pods.

"We refitted these escape pods on the basis of intelligence on Mandalorian methods, especially their use of Basilisk droids. These are designed to accelerate faster than the Basilisks, land within 500 feet of the designated landing zone and bring their payload into the fight safely..."

Shields, lots of shields, astromech droid brains on the carrier drop pods and battledroid brains on the ones that were designed to open up and act as automated emplacements. It was an extrapolation of some of what the Republic had learned in grim holding actions against a seemingly endless horde of Mandalorians; defensive perimeters, force multipliers. The Republic was so busy devising new defenses like the Vanjervalis chain that the thought of taking the offense and hitting a Mandalorian planet slipped the mind.

...using these pods, IRSOG forces will assault the Javku spaceport control center, breach it and fortify it against attackers. Weak points in the center's defenses are identified by intelligence, and I leave the methods of entry up to the best judgement of the ground teams. The support pods will disperse mines and lay down fire while the IRSOG forces penetrate the facility and disable or, preferably, subvert, the fire control computers for the planetary AA network. Once the mission is accomplished we will be able to invade with follow-on forces."

The rest of it was an outline of the benefits, since everyone in the room -- or most of them anyway -- had a strong sense of the risks. This was something a Mandalorian might come up with in part, except for the part about seeding the area with decoy capsules loaded with automated weaponry. It was offense-minded and tricky, using shock and assault tactics. The Jedi, the Mandalorian thought went, were unwilling warriors and too respectful of life to be truly effefctive strategists. They were not risk-averse.

The man wasn’t merely aggressive, he was a risk taker. It was distinct from the sort of cautious, ponderous, indecisive defender mentality of the Republic.

”Assessment of Mandalorian forces on Javku is mixed; it is a rally center, a basic traning compound for Mandalorian troops who are given an induction in Mandalorian culture and basic fighting skills. There are, in some places, veterans, but for the most part the opposition are not seasoned troops though they are well-equipped…”

That, of course, was a point Besk would have agreed with – as a traditionally trained Mando raised to it from birth, he knew there was a difference from the other end of the blaster; he was good, even by the lights of his people, and the beings the Republic troops were facing were numerous, well armored and aggressive, but they were not skilled warriors. They had a lot of firepower, a ruthless strategy to direct them and logistics on their side. That, of course, was the doing of Cassus Fett. There were, of course, special Shock Trooper units, that Besk had helped form and lead, but they were a different breed.

Perhaps Cassus Fett or Mand’alor would see it it, he didn’t know. He was unique for being in both sides of the war, he knew this wasn’t merely the addition of jetiise to the fight, adding their light sabers. This was an entirely different mentality. This was like the Mandos of old, getting in on a shock orbital drop, taking the unwary by surprise. Now the tables were turning. They’d planned to fight the Republic. They’d planned to fight Jedi who believed in compassion and humanity, who didn’t have the stomach for a war.

The rest was statistics; the war forges, enemy numbers and dispositions, the rally fields for training new Mandos, the POW's working in the forges.

"May the Force be with you, 37, Revan out"
---

The embarkment area of the Incisor was, this time, the escape pod room. They'd be dropping in pairs if only because the space was tight in the things. Besk, a veteran of basilisk drops, was not struck with nostalgia at the similarities, because there were not so many besides the basic concept. They'd be fired out of a tube at a much faster speed, packed in like Kodo eels pickled in a jar, and landed roughly with braking at the last minute. It promised to be at least as jarring as a basilisk drop.

Others were in the ready area, the armory, getting their equipment. For the Jedi, this wasn't such a big deal, but the IRSOG troops were loaded down with armor and the like. They seemed to be imitating the Mandalorians that'd givenn the republic such an awful black eye so far. Bigger, heavier, thicker...but slower. It was suitable for a defensive war from behind fortifications, a grim fight to hold on against an onslaught. Cassus Fett's methods gave Mand'alor (the Ultimate) fuel for their engine of war.

So there were the Jedi. There were the troopers. Then there was Besk. His preparations were similar to the others; weapons, equipment, armor. His was built primarily to protect the vital body parts, with a mesh-vacuum suit for the rest of it. Cobbled from salvaged Mando materials, integrating equipment he'd learned the use of while fighting in the Republic forces as part of an engineering unit. The result was lighter than the various makes of Neo armor, the regular line stuff as well as the shock trooper stuff, but it gave him protection where he needed it and target assistance above and beyond. Mando systems were rugged and made to last but Republic information tech was extremely sophisticated.

He'd always been one for experimenting around with new ideas. He was one of the men behind Cassus Fett, who came up with refinements on the innovations, a young protégé to discuss new ideas with. A good young leader that could execute these ideas in the field and provide feedback. In the early days of laying siege to the Outer Rim, he’d made a name for himself. The armor was one of those ideas they’d discussed. But then he saw the Mando Shock Troopers in action and realized what the problem was – they’d adapted to the static defenses of the Republic. They were able to outmaneuver men sitting in bunkers and trenches, but they weren’t nimble themselves, except relative to that low standard.

So he’d gone one better on the refinement. Lighten up the armor, maintain what worked, add to it. He’d had plenty of time in a Republic stockade to think of how to change things around, to think about all of it. He'd honestly had a lot of time to think on his deeper motivations. For a long time, there was a sense of shame and cowardice involved in not using armor, not fighting as what he was but trying to hide among the enemy. He only fought with half of what he had, contented himself to stay in his 'place.' Myrkyr, of course, stripped the caul from his eyes. He had to find another way, especially if he ever wanted Fett’s head.

He was in his own little place as he laid equipment out on the table, the things he felt would best benefit him on the ground. The fighting would be indoors, but once in, it’d be a fight to hold. There was a mix of the familiar, to the Republic troops, and the more exotic, bounty hunter type stuff. Things that worked in an ugly street fight on Nar Shadaa. That, of course, included a heavily modified disruptor rifle, highly illegal, instead of the typical Mando Assault Blaster. Sure, it kicked, but it was brutal at range and at close quarters, even if it didn’t fill the air with bolts. He got some of the loathing looks that Jedi and Trooper alike gave the weapon – highly illegal in the Republic – but this was wartime.

Once in a while, he could see a scowl out of his peripheral vision; he was the odd man out, a real loner. They didn’t have to understand his reasons – nor would he easily open up on them – as to why he’d have left the Mandalorian side ten years ago. There were Cathar around, after all, they wouldn’t hesitate to start a fight he’d have to finish. There were others that saw the visions, without connecting all the dots.

It was a roomfull of people, testing their equipment, attaching it to their persons or otherwise preparing themselves under the harsh glow of the lighting.

Then, to break the reverie of weapons maintenance and meditation, the PA system crackled on with a deep male voice, "30 minutes to drop. Prepare to board drop pods on the red light mark..."

The last item of kit went onto his belt.



@The Fated Fallen@Carrot@Jester@Skull@DeadBeatWalking@Vor@Sep@Heat@POOHEAD189@Cheef@Noco@LancerOfBlue@Ruby

Miran had never been suited to meditating. The quiet stillness always left him feeling unsettled, which was quite contrary to the activity’s purpose. IRSOG-37’s first engagement was just minutes away, and it was all the young padawan could do to still the restless thoughts of his wandering mind. Would the Order take him back? Would his family? Would he ever be able to face his master again? Meditation wasn’t the prescription he needed, action was. It was his master who had always professed that the primary catalysts for questionable actions were doubts: doubts of acceptance, doubts of success, and doubts of purpose.

Miran unfolded his legs drew in his surroundings. He felt invisible to the nervous silence that had settled over his detachment. With want for eyes to see, the miralukan felt. He felt the nervous twitching of a grunt’s fingers across the stock of his gun. He felt the measured observance of the sergeant across the room. Ironically, Miran even felt the calm exhalations of a fellow jedi as they accomplished what he had been too impatient to manage. The force was his guide, and it showed him all the things he assumed that eyes couldn’t.

The padawan focused on the feelings of those around him. Why linger on his own doubts when the doubts of others proved to be an effective barrier? Miran felt the weight of his worries drift behind a wall of conscious thought. His master had often told him that he put too much arrogance into what he perceived to be an uncommon understanding of the Force. Where others used it as a tool, Miran felt this action to be rudimentary. To truly know the force, once has to experience it passively. The fellow members of his species seemed to forget that they evolved in response to this very action. In remembering the distant memories of his youth, there are several images of one of his older brothers assuming a meditative state. If the purpose is to become better in tune with the Force, why not just feel?

Then, to break the reverie of weapons maintenance and meditation, the PA system crackled on with a deep male voice, "30 minutes to drop. Prepare to board drop pods on the red light mark..."

Miran’s empty sockets twitched in response to the change he felt in the room. Every small, terse movement was felt in waves through the force, and he could no longer assuage the doubts that had been weighing on his mind, for they matched to keenly with those of the men and women around him. What happens when you can no longer block out your worries? You defeat them. His hand fell to his lightsaber and he was curtly reminded as to why he was there. Inaction was simply something he could not tolerate; he felt too much to remain idle. Just as meditation and consideration had not helped in his preparations for battle, they would do nothing for the atrocities that were being committed by the Mandolorians.

‘Act if you must,’ his master had told him. ‘Fight your battles, defeat your enemy, and gain your satisfaction, but promise me one thing.’ He still remembered the sheer will of the older man as his presence had borne down on him. ‘When this war is over, take those “eyes” of yours and tell me if the future you helped make is worth what you’ve seen to get there.’

That had been the final words they had exchanged before Miran had left Coruscant on a republic transport ship carrying another half-dozen of his fellow knights and padawans. The only thing he could think was how could it not be worth it? Why give us swords only to keep them sheathed? Miran’s gripped tightened around the hilt of his lightsaber. Why call us knights and then expect us to flee from conflict? At their core, he understood Jedi ethics, but so often they felt impractical and isolated from how the Galaxy actually functions.

There was no more room for doubts in his mind. The will to act had overcome them.

"30 minutes to drop. Prepare to board drop pods on the red light mark..."

Private Kal Vonden of the Republic Army felt the words go in one ear, then out the other. He stood by the side of the armory, clad in his suit of armor minus a sturdy helmet which was rested on a nearby table. The soldier's eyes were upon his sniper rifle as he gently cleaned it, handling the weapon like a prized artifact. It was his closest companion, a silent friend. Kal swirled an old rag around the midsection, then towards the front of the scoped blaster rifle. To anyone else, the weapon looked almost brand new, but this procedure was routine for the sharpshooter. He'd done it many times before.

Internally, his mind shifted through different thoughts. The Jedi around him, an unfamiliar concept to the enlisted military man. His mother had told him of the Jedi in his childhood, brave yet peaceful warriors that used 'the Force' to aid them in their missions of good across the galaxy. Kal had never asked her why she seemed to speak so highly of Jedi, perhaps she was just entertaining his young mind with old fables, or she had personally seen them. Now it was just one of the many things he'd never be able to say to her. Mom and dad were gone, he never even got to bury them.

Kal thought back to a recent dream, he rarely slept a normal schedule since his enlistment, more so since the death of his parents. His hand stopped moving along his trusted weapon as his mind swirled.

---

He was back on Corsin, the beautiful jewel of its star system. He was standing on the beach, the same one Kal had ran across dozens of times in his younger days. He was barefoot, each step forward he felt the pebbles of sand shift underneath his footsteps. The sounds of his homeworld hit him like the thumping club music of Coruscant, birds chirping peacefully in the blue skies above him, waves gently crashing into the shores and the laughter behind him, his parents' as they stood outside his childhood home. Tall trees of green spread around it like walls of vegetation.

Kal stared into the crystal clear waters which surrounded the large island he lived on. The seas of blue rocked peacefully as gusts of wind blew the ocean's scents towards land. Nature seemed to sing deafly around him, tall grass swayed in the breeze. It was a picturesque summer's day, not a single cloud in the sky as the sun beat gently down upon him. He practically shivered as his head went through the dream. He turned towards his parents, smiles upon their faces as they waved towards him. The image struck him as something to be found in a tourist's pamphlet, encouraging people to visit the world.

Then it all changed.

The skies filled with grey clouds, the gentle gusts turned to howls. The heat of the sand under him rose, almost burning his skin. The oceans ran red as all the land's vegetation was as grey as the sky. Waves slammed into the shores, exploding like bombs. The birds above had been replaced with hulking Mandalorian ships, as they flew with terrifying screams. His home had been burnt the ground, the trees around it filled with flames in place of leaves. Kal's parents were gone, in their place only ash which was swept with the powerful winds.

He remembered waking in a cold sweat as reality returned.

---

Kal nearly dropped his rifle, one of his hands clenched into a shaking fist. He remembered his hatred for the Mandalorians, how so many others must have felt the same way. Then he breathed deeply, as the calm, cool Kal was once more in control. Dreams were not to be taken seriously. His grief filled mind was playing tricks on him.

Once more he resumed the ritualistic cleaning of his sniper rifle.

Being shot out onto a dustball in a modified escape pod barely bigger than himself to seize a gigantic war machine was hardly where or how Par''brishan'Zahed though he'd find himself supporting the war effort. He dreamed of fighting bitter battles on heavily populated planet, valiantly protecting those who could not protect themselves. Then again, he wasn't really sure what he had expected when he signed onto the Revanchist movement. Would anyone remember him? Would they call him a coward for fleeing to the Mid Rim, for abandoning from his duties as a Jedi? That was an anxiety that had been brewing in Par ever since he set his robes aflame in that Dubrillion fields, all those years ago. Fortunately, most of the Jedi recruits had seemed younger than him, idealistic Padawans and Knights with the same burning desire to protect others with their actions, rather than their ideals.

A cold feeling stirred in the pit of Par's stomach. He had seen violence before -- too much violence, some might say --, but he had never participated in full-scale warfare. He shifted uncomfortably; calling IRSOG 37's operation full-scale might be a bit of a stretch, and the words networked autoblaster and turbolaser batteries didn't exactly inspire confidence. Par took a moment to examine his surroundings. The sterile ship. The sound of Republic troopers and Jedi alike preparing for the encounter below the only thing giving the cold room life. The soldiers, some of them freshly recruited, sealed inside faceless helmets to become nameless war-machines that so eerily resembled their Mandalorian foes.

Mandalorian, too -- that was another word that caused his stomach to churn. They had been the ones to shatter the Order-instilled belief that Jedi were somehow above those blind to the force. The sight of his master succumbing to bolt after bolt after bolt of laser fire dispelled that illusion in seconds, as did feeling of the same happen to him seconds later. It took Par a moment to get that terrible image out of his mind, hand grazing over the part of his chest wehre the scars he gained that day ached with a phantom pain. He took a deep breath. "Thirty minutes to jump." Now wasn't the time to be getting second thoughts. His hand moved from his chest to brush over his set of lightsabers nostalgically; he concentrated on the comforting weight of the blaster pistol at his side. He had grown in six years.

He hoped it would make him ready for what awaited them below.

Like some of his other Jedi peers, Kyman ras Shevit sat, his mind at ease under the seeming shimmer of meditation. Probing outwards, he felt the unease that drifted in the room, as uncertainty and fear plagued the minds of certain allies. Such feelings he had felt multiple times, first when he learned of the Order's passive attitude towards the ravages of the Mandalorians, and then ironically when he learned he was among those chosen to be a part of the IRSOG 37. He had wished for the Order to act, and now that it had, he was a peculiar mix of optimistic and concerned.

But this would need to be pushed aside, and that he did; a true Jedi would not allow his will to waver and Kyman purged himself of these thoughts. Through meditation, he looked inward, feeling the Force flow through his mind, down his neck, and through his limbs. As if driven by a beating heart, it circulated through him. When he was but a child, Kyman did not understand it, but now, it was his life, as normal as his breath, as the feeling of a sun's light upon his skin. It was an inseparable element of his very being.

Slowly his focus shifted, down his right arm, and then to his four fingers. Lain on the floor beside him, his lightsaber stirred and then took a lazy flight, up into the air and then in orbit around his now-outstretched hand. For Kyman especially, this too was yet another extension of himself, and the presence of his warrior's weapon was itself calming. His long studies of Makashi, or Form II, had instilled in him a sense of belonging with his blade. It was the point around which he pivoted, the counter-weight to his stance, the object of his focus. Some would call it an archaic form, useful in times of war between wielders of sabers, but now with the hailstorms of blaster fire, the elegance of battle seemed lost.

Kyman however saw the finesse behind this war, the contest between the Mandalorians and Republic, and knew that despite the brutality of it, the sharp edge of the Jedi minds would be the deciding factor. In the arid badlands of Kalee, the wise warlord knew that sheer manpower nor direct force would maintain a tribe. No, it was refinement, true warriors, that would not only conclude a battle, but an entire war. The Jedi were that refinement, and even some Mandalorians had grown to understand this. Even amongst the 37 was a Mandalorian, no doubt a defector who saw the writing on the wall. And Makashi was the pinnacle of refinement, a form that was beautiful in the martial sense. Perhaps it was merely the historic significance that intrigued young Kyman, but now even a Knight, he held a deep appreciation for it.

"30 minutes to drop. Prepare to board drop pods on the red light mark..."

The words stirred him from his deepening meditation, and as he opened his eyes, his lightsaber fell into his hand. The curved hilt complemented his two-thumbed grip and for a brief moment he appreciated simply holding onto it. Shortly, however, he would become well-acquainted with its feel once again, but that was later and now is now. He clipped it back unto his utility belt and gave his next thoughts to the planet below.

Was Raven’s plan audacious or asinine? After a moment’s contemplation Ashara decided it was both. Was it bold and reckless to send a bunch of soldiers into a heavily defended region in modified escape pods? Definitely. Worse yet there was no room for a Plan B. If things went sideways, and Ashara was willing to bet it would, they would be on their own. This was what happened when those without real military training were put in command. But what was done was done and there was nothing Ashara could do about it. And who knew, perhaps she would be pleasantly surprised.

It was with these thoughts in mind that Ashara regarded her available gear. Should she wear her full suit of armor? Her gut told her that less would be better, but could she trust what her instincts were telling her? The armor was there to protect her from fire and, while she would certainly prefer to not get shot in the first place, having more armor was usually better while defending a position. She reached for her armor, but hesitated. Of course chances were that if she actually got shot her light armor wouldn’t do her any good anyways. The thought had her scowling and pulling away, only to pause a second later. Her armor would help protect her from shrapnel caused by explosives. She reached for her armor again, only to pause yet again as she considered something else. They were supposed to be fighting comparably lesser soldiers. Perhaps mobility was going to be more important than protection. But she wanted some armor. Making up her mind she grabbed the chest piece of her armor, she would cover her torso but leave the arms and legs of her armor behind. She then grabbed her two pistols and carbine. Her hand covered over her force pike, uncertainty over whether or not it would actually fit in an escape pod staying her hand.

“That’s asking for bad luck.” The comment drew Ashara’s attention away from her force pike and to a cluster of soldiers. One had applied tape to his boots and was writing his blood type onto the tape.

“It’s smart.” Ashara countered as she approached the trio of soldiers. “Don’t leave your well being up to luck.” She gave the soldier with taped boots and nod. “At least not when you have the capacity to stack the deck in your favor.”

“There is no luck, only the Force.” One of the soldiers said. Clearly he had been speaking to some of the Jedi.

“And yet the Jedi make a point of deflecting incoming fire with their lightsabers” Ashara countered. “I’d rather have a level-headed comrade watching my back then rely on something as fickle as the Force any day.” As much as the operation’s plan made her uneasy, she couldn’t let any of that uncertainly show itself to her fellow soldiers. Privates tended to suffer when their sergeants became antsy. “Now get back to your preparations. We don’t have much time till we depart.”

“Yes sir.” The soldiers said in unison. Ashara gave them one last nod before following her own advice, putting her utility belt on and strapping grabbing her force pike. She’d make room for it in the escape pod.

The anxious anticipation that had settled over the Incisor's pod room would have been palpable even to one untrained in the Force. Soldiers idly checked their weapons for what must have been the hundredth time, while bleary-eyed mechanics ran final tests and calibrations on the hastily repurposed escape pods. Even some of his fellow Jedi seemed to be perturbed, but it was to be expected. Many of them were still Padawans or had recently passed their Trials and those that had more experience came from branches of the Order that normally did not see a lot of conflict.

For his part, Aadras was calm and collected, keeping a firm rein on his emotions. He had also been afraid at first, when he initially joined the Revanchists. Afraid of what was to come and afraid of how the Order would respond, but that had quickly passed. Next came anger, a dangerous emotion, but one he been unable to suppress for a long, long time. And indeed, how could anyone, after having witnessed the slaughter on Cathar? All the Jedi in attendance had seen the same vision of blood and death, showing the Mandalorians mercilessly massacring an entire people.

It was an emotion he had wrestled with before, on his journeys through the Outer-Rim. Aadras was keenly aware of just how unfair the Galaxy was, but he had never been faced with a tragedy of such proportions before. What truly irked him, however, was the arrogance these Mandalorians displayed. Even before the war began in earnest Aadras had crossed paths with some of their kind in the far reaches of the Republic and they always held themselves as warriors. They spoke of traditions and honour, but in truth they were petty thugs, the only thing separating them from the pirates he had battled for years were their superior resources and equipment.

The Mandalorians targeted weakly-defended worlds that had no real army or fleet to call upon. They preyed on civilians, simple settlers and farmers, who barely managed to eke out a living in the best of times. When they struck against the Republic directly, it was on outlying worlds with undermanned garrisons, easy pickings for the likes of them. And, after all that, they dared to call themselves “warriors”? A true warrior did not turn their strength against those weaker than them, all the martial traditions and philosophies Aadras had studied acknowledged that.

In a way, Aadras had more respect for the lowlife marauders plaguing the Outer-Rim. At least they were honest about what they did; they accepted who they were, instead of glorifying their atrocities. Still, everything was fleeting, even such strong emotions and over the last few weeks he had finally come to terms with the Mandalorians’ hypocrisy, convincing himself that they were simply victims of their pride, as were so many other peoples and cultures.

Now all that was left was a steely determination, a cool fire he felt burning within him. There was no longer any loathing or anger, his mind was clear, as was his course. For the good of the Republic and the Jedi Order itself the Mandalorians had to be driven back. The Council might be blind to the fact, but those like Aadras had seen that this was the simple truth of it.

"30 minutes to drop. Prepare to board drop pods on the red light mark..."

He looked toward their designated pod, where his Padawan, Grozbecca, was likewise making his final preparations. The Wookiee had been given a chance to return to Alaris Prime, but would have none of it. He had quite firmly expressed his desire to join his brash Master and the other Revanchists in their stand against the Mandalorians. Needless to say, Aadras was proud of his Padawan’s bravery and determination.

He walked up to Grozbecca, reaching up to lay a hand on his shoulder. Despite his teenage years, the Wookiee towered over his Master and pretty much everyone else in the room. Aadras smiled, which was a rare occurrence, as he said:

“Remember your training, my Padawan, and trust in the Force - it will guide you.”

He stuck his head inside the pod to get a better sense of just how small it was. It was indeed very cramped, especially when he considered that he had to share it with his large, furry companion. Still, they’d been through a lot worse together and the uncomfortable descent toward the planet’s surface would only last for a couple of minutes at most. The hard part would come afterwards.

“Once we’re planetside,” Aadras continued, turning towards Grozbecca, “I want you to stay close to me. If we get separated, follow the others and obey the orders of the Republic officers. They may not be Jedi, but many of them have been fighting since before you knew what a training saber was. Understood?”

After receiving an affirming growl, Aadras glanced back to the room. The message received over the comms had spurred everyone into action. There was no longer any room for timidity or hesitation, the time to act had come.

Rad stretched in his black combat suit, it was somewhat resistant to shrapnel but wouldn't hold up against blasterfire, it never did. It was actually the same suit that the soldiers wore under their armour, he contemplated wearing a chest piece to protect himself though decided against it. He relied on his speed, always had. Wearing additional armour would compromise his movement, as other Jedi meditated and soldiers talked Rad left the ready room. He had his equipment he didn't need to remain there, there was an uneasiness between the two sides of this unit. There was the Jedi and the Republic Military, both aiming for the same thing but unused to eachothers presence. He wasn't sure if any of the other Jedi were what would be considered traditional but the difference between the soldiers discipline and the Jedi training was blantantly obvious.

As he walked through the corridors of the ship, aiming for the impromptu 'drop bay', he kept one hand on his pistol and one hand on his lightsaber. The anticipation was electric; there were those who wanted to prove themselves, those who feared for the upcoming battle and those with a serene sense of calm knowing that if they died they died for the right thing. He personally was confident, he was ready to do what needed to be done and to pay the consequences if there were any. Though that was how he lived his life as a Jedi ever since he had become his own man after he had passed the Trials of Knighthood.

---

[i][You can't keep living this double life Rad*] Many wouldn't have noticed, but there was a sad tone to the roars coming from the mouth of his former master, Rorwoorr.

"This double life is what yields results, why can't you see that? Yes I occasionally have to smuggle the likes of weapons but I get results. I let the pirate go but I take down the warlord, and without the head the organisation falls into disarray. I'm sure if the Jedi were to ever kill a Hutt the vacuum would throw them into complete and utter disarray." He continued to sweep through his movements with one of his lightsabers, unignited, in his right hand. Training would have been better while using it but there wasn't a lot of room on the small ship and he didn't fancy gutting it.

In the middle of a twist he brought his left hand down, using the force to unclip his other lightsaber and in one swift movement brought it up. Bringing the two hilts together he twisted them and with a click the two became one. Performing a flip he spun the hilt in what would have been a devastating move to anyone not quick enough to block it.

[You're getting good my former apprentice.] Rorwoorr stood. [Though, I am afraid while I don't approve of your whole double life I need to make use of some of the contacts you've made.]

Rad had to suppress a smile, of course Rorwoorr did. Why else would he have come out to him? If it was official Jedi business he would have simply recalled Rad to the temple rather than coming all the way out to the outer rim to see him. "Yeah? What contacts are those?"


_{*Translated from Shyriiwook}

---

"30 minutes to drop. Prepare to board drop pods on the red light mark..." Rad had been intending to speak to some of the Republic troopers, trying to bridge the gap between them and the Jedi but it seemed as if it was time to get ready and raring to go. He turned and walked up to his pod, which would drop him nearer the edge of the AO. Tasked and paired with several faster moving units to clear out positions that could give the Mandalorians an easy chance at counter attack, while clearing positions to allow the heavier units that would follow them to bunker down and form a defensive perimetre.

He took a deep breath, allowing the force to course through him. It fueled him, refreshed him like a cool current on the oceans of his homeworld. He was ready to go.

---

[Location:]

• Incisor - Bunkers

---

In the scramble on the Incisor, Leonora was taking a moment to focus her mind as she erased it from the senses of her Jedi comrades. Her mind sharpening as she collected herself while she felt the force during this chaotic moment. In the silence of her meditation, Leonora could feel it... Something that she never felt before as the strings that she felt was taught with tension as they intertwined the Incisor to Javku. A breath-taking feeling that seemed as if they pulled each other closer that she was curious to see if her other Jedi comrades could feel outside of the moment. The adrenaline, anxiousness, and suspense were no doubt something that fogged the minds of everyone right now but those who could see past it were awarded. There, however, was no doubt a tugging sensation inside of her that she tried to ignore as they got closer and closer... It would do be little help to be worrying about it as her thoughts slowed themselves down to a standstill. Clearing her mind of its worries for now as she exited out of the room that she temporarily used as a place to focus her mind. Picking herself so that she could head into the armory to get everything ready for what everyone was being called into.

---

[Location:]

• Incisor - Armory

---

With the door opening, she entered with the rest of her comrades as she blended easily within the ranks of the other soldiers. Looking at the faces of who she was going to be fighting with, she saw a variety of emotions ranging from anxiousness to fear and worry to even anger which was interesting... Their briefing with their commander was even more interesting, while she had never seen the famous Jedi leader before it was no doubt something. She could only wonder if Revan was what the Republic needed to stop the conflict from the Mandalorians. A question popped into her head, however, she instantly cleared her mind of that thought before it could lead into anything else...

"30 minutes to drop. Prepare to board drop pods on the red light mark..." Was announced through the PA system as everyone's scrambling and movement frenzied into an organized chaos. With everyone preparing and readying themselves for the drop through the pods, some already done and entered into pods which could only hold two comfortably at most. She paid no heed to the size of the pod as she slumped the armor over herself which she had disliked compared to her lighter apparel but this was a necessary precaution. Too many dangers presented themselves to wear anything lighter, but considering her strength anything heavier wouldn't do her good either so she was in between. Checking to see if she had everything else prepared and ready, she finished off her equipment check and began to make her way to the pods.

Private Lee waved to her to come share a pod as she smiled gladly for the invitation but before she could get anywhere closer to her, another person took the spot. Raising an eyebrow curiously, they turned their face to her as he stuck his tongue out teasingly, it was Hughes who she knew. Giving him a playful glare as the two laughed in the pod, she dramatically rolled her eyes before she waved the two love birds goodbye to find another pod. Looking around the room for a pod to join, there were many empty ones that happened to be open but they would be open for another. So best bet was to take one with another person already inside, taking a peak at the pods with a single person in there. Finding one that she knew wasn't like her Jedi comrades, she slipped in suddenly without saying much.

Entering the pod, she almost tripped against the... force pike? That was stuffed awkwardly into the pod which was amusing, looking at her companion for the ride. It was Ms. Lokdon who Kotan was going to be traveling with for the descend down. Giving a brief smile to Lokdon "I hope this half isn't taken" Leonora said polietely before setting down her things and locking what was needed into a compartment so that they wouldn't fly everywhere. It would probably be wise to hold onto something, as Leonora buckled herself into her seat and held onto something for bumpy descent.

The pod took willpower and self control.

Windowless, stripped down and jury rigged, it held two beings and their gear, in the form of weapons, munitions and other supplies. One strapped into a yoked seat with all sorts of reinforcement on top of repulsor-assisted gravity cushioning and environmental systems designed for on thing (theoretically); deliver payload alive, intact. Some would probably get hit. Others might malfunction. Knight Revan was clearly no humanitarian, the plan had all sorts of risks, not the least of which was of people sacrificing themselves. The risk was not careless, but it was a risk nonetheless. He could respect the Jedi's elan.

Besk had no illusions; battlefield expedient tech never was designed to work well, just to work. Before climbing in and strapping in, he attached the hose from his oxygen supplies to his helmet. He tied everything down and then he taped it too, because loose items would bounce around and cause a harm all of their own as they sped down into the amosphere, the forces of gravity pressing against them despite the attenuation of repulsorlifts. These pods were faster than any starship, smaller and designed not to be easily tracked on targeting systems. That was the whole point of the operation, but it wasn't reassuring to be trying these things out operationally for the first time. No one ever said if the engineers that put them together tested them personally. IRSOGs had turned into shock assault units, boarding forces and the like, but they were also designed to raid, to hit and fade. On the other hand, the Jedi were here and it was perhaps thought that they would add some teeth.

Then, trying to avoid thinking about this potential death trap, because he was Mando, not insane, he focused on strapping himself down in the one of the two heavily padded harnesses in the compartments. Basilisk drops, the inspiration here, were different. You rode the metal beast, you steered it, you watched the planet grow larger. This was more gestational and deprived, leaving a being sealed in with their doubts for company, at the mercy of the tech more profoundly than when he'd done it on a droid's back. It wasn't easy to conceal the impatience; he was eager to get this ride over with and feet on the ground, into the actual fight at hand. The waiting was interminable, the action was muscle memory.

It didn't show, as he was, of course, sealed behind a helmet. He checked the status of the systems on the armor to make sure it was sealed properly. If they lost atmosphere in this thing, he'd be alright. He'd advised his partner in this to seal up in a suit and go in with a mask; they were going into a place of blaster fire and debris, all of which could puncture the skin of their pods.

He tried not to notice the activity out the entry hatch; that was at the top of the pod, whereas the part that would face atmopshere was much more armored and didn't have any airlock or entry-way. A typical pod would have a heavily reinforced bottom with ablatives . It was, inevitably, the heavy part that would plow into the ground upon landing, still hefty even after the ablative coating was taken out in atmospheric entry. Here, it was reinforced with shields as well, intended to give it some armor against blaster fire and debris hitting at a faster-than-intended velocity.

The hatch closed with a clang. There was more rattling as the pod was put into place; the Incisor had been refitted to launch the pod at a faster velocity than before, with longer tubes that jutted out of the ship's hull. The details of the system were never communicated in the briefing because it was a briefing already brimming with schematics and other data, but it suddenly occurred to Besk that he would have felt better having some sense of how they were going to launch the escape pod. Magnetism? Repulsors? Rockets? Ion-engines? No idea.

Most escape pods would have windows of some sort, to allow a person in the pod to see out and perhaps signal to ships or assess the atmospheric conditions outside, but in a combat vehicle, windows were a structural weakness and were done away with. The interior was pitch black except for a couple of operating lights that allowed the riders to see around them, but there wasn't much to see. Then, there was a roar and shuddering as the pod was hurled into space at an extreme velocity. Even with the repulsor-lift attenuation and heat shielding, the gravity and the heat could be felt as they burned down. It was perhaps better to be unable to see any of it coming, the ground fire and whatever else was there, or to see the sphere of Javku grow alarmingly large as they plunged into the planetary gravity so rapidly. He occupied himself with numbers -- the number of detonators he brought, cataloguing the weaponry. They had to get out of the landing area fast, they had to keep it moving.

He shook in that harness, glad for the layers of beskar'gam and padding beneath that that he wore, glad that he had the means to survive a breach of the thin skin of the pod. As it turned out, though, none of that redundancy was really needed. The landing came with the rumbling of thrusters as the pod expended what little it had in the way of power to brake itself before it landed; it came down surprisingly soft and the seats disengaged as soon as it was down; the cabin, what little of it there was, was bathed in red light and announced, "15 seconds to hatch opening." That wasn't a lot of time to get to feet and ready a weapon, or to glance over to see if his partner was disoriented or not from the fall. Outside, he could hear the other pods hitting the ground. Some of them were loaded with weaponry; their thrusters roared and then they hit the ground with a bone-shaking force.

Then, suddenly, the pod split open with small, controlled blasts as the skins fell away, and he was already putting an armored boot on the ground, disruptor rifle shouldered as he moved forward. The fears of the moment were gone as soon as there was action to react to. He operated on the muscle memory, the immersion in the moment. He found a target and squeezed the trigger, feeling the recoil of the weapon even as he watched a blue-armored figure crumple. He was already looking for the next target as his drones floated around, picking the targets and relaying the telemetry to his rifle and his helmet. All around him, it felt as if the world were suddenly erupting as the auto-turrets opened up, using sophisticated republic programming algorithms to identify friend versus foe.

A sidelong glance caught the pods that didn't quite make it, or the trails of the ones that took damage and plummeted, potentially killing some. There was no place for sentimentality here, there was only the way forward, out of this killing ground. Once he found a place to hold up for a moment, he did, keeping up a volume of fire with his disruptor weapon while he calculated the next movement. They had to get out, but they couldn't just sprint across a field, not if they could help it...

The dimly lit darkness of the drop pod was a welcome respite after the frenzied activity in the Incisor's embarkment area. Aadras had never been one for crowds and he preferred the company of his own thoughts or that of his Padawan, so he found that the confined space suited him just fine. He looked at Grozbecca standing across from him in the other harness, already going through the motions of strapping himself in. There was no need to speak the question which was clear in the Zabrak’s eyes – “are you ready?” that steady gaze asked. For his part, Grozbecca was just as laconic, settling for a simple nod. Aadras couldn’t help but smile at that; it seemed that his personality was starting to rub off on the young Wookiee.

Aadras followed his Padawan’s example and fastened the belts of the harness, firmly securing his body in place. He’d only used escape pods a couple of times before and never in such a matter, so this was bound to be an…interesting experience. He had an idea of what forces to expect during their descent, but the construction of the harness, as well as the numerous safety belts he had to engage were more telling than any of the charts and diagrams he’d seen.

Still, the Force would guide them, as it always had. Soldiers may rely on their shields and armour, but what the Jedi would bring to this war would be unlike anything they had ever seen, as the Mandalorians below were soon to find out. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, closing his eyes.

The following events passed by in a blur. First, the hatch was closed, then a vibration and a shudder as the pod was moved into place. Next, of course, was the barrelling descent to the planet’s surface, accompanied by the crushing weight of the g-force which squashed them into their harnesses upon entering Javku’s atmosphere. Throughout this, Aadras was keeping his bearings and by his estimation they should be hitting the ground soon. Probably less th-

A feeling of danger overcame his senses, faster than thought.

”Brace! Danger! were the only two words he had time to relay to his Padawan via their telepathic link.

Then the impact of the blast came, sending their world spinning as the drop pod spiralled out of its trajectory. Many would have fainted at this point, but fortunately they were Jedi and their bodies were trained to endure such forces. It was still incredibly hard to keep one’s focus, however, and Aadras fought hard to suppress the urge to throw up as the lurching pod fell towards the ground. Their speed was decreasing nowhere near fast enough, which led him to believe that one of the thrusters must have been damaged.

He couldn’t risk them getting stuck into this death-trap; they’d have to escape and they had to do it in the next few seconds. Recalling the pod’s schematics, he glanced to the side where he saw the switch that unsealed the pod manually, while the ones that disengaged their harnesses were in easy reach just above their heads.

”Get ready to jump!” he used telepathy again to alert Grozbecca. It was hard to do it while simultaneously getting ready to push two different buttons and turn on a switch, but he couldn’t trust that his words would carry over the din of screeching metal and burning gases.

Reaching out with the Force, he pulled on the switch, causing the protective layer around the drop pod to peel away in a blast. A split second later, he pressed the buttons and the harness automatically unfastened itself, sending him flying into a freefall. He caught a glimpse of a brown tuft of fur somewhere to the right, but almost instantly lost the Padawan from sight.

Aadras used the Force to dampen his fall and hit the ground in a graceful roll. The verdant blade came to life in his hands even before he regained his footing and was soon put to use as blaster bolts started flying in his direction. He used another downed pod as cover, taking a moment to better orient himself. Grozbecca was fine, he could feel the Wookiee was somewhere nearby, bruised but alive.

Their pod had veered off course and crashed to the west of the landing zone, along with a number of others that had been befallen by a similar fate. He could see Republic soldiers trickling out of those damaged pods, dazed and disoriented from the impact, which made them easy pickings for the Mandalorians.

His Padawan would have to manage on his own, he was far better suited to surviving the ordeal than these men and women. Aadras dashed out of his cover and began swinging his lighstaber in wider arcs, hoping to draw some of the defenders’ attention. An unnecessary tactic he soon realised; as the only Jedi in the vicinity, he was already a prime target. He advanced toward the spaceport, directing the scattered troops he came across to take cover by the rocks. The planet’s terrain was on their side at least, the large number of rocks and outcroppings provided ample cover.

He heard shouting from one such outcropping, where a stern-faced human Sergeant was rallying her men and telling them to concentrate their fire. She turned her head sharply to regard Aadras with a scowl as he drew nearer. Whether she was about to say anything remained unknown, because he gave her no chance to speak.

“Sergeant, we need to provide covering fire for our wounded!” He gestured at the pods behind them. “The Mandalorians are picking us off one by one!”

“With all due respect, sir,” she shouted back, “the commander’s orders were clear. We are to assault the spaceport immediately! We must move!”

She was right, he had to admit. Javku’s defenders might be recruits for the most part, but Mandalorians were well-drilled and they would organise a counter-attack swiftly. Every moment they wasted out here was a moment the enemy would use to regroup.

“There’ll be no one left to hold the spaceport if we lose half our men here!” He hardened his voice and looked straight into the woman’s eyes. “We may be at war, but the Republic values the lives of those who serve it, we will not throw men away needlessly! Is that clear, sergeant?”

The woman gritted her teeth, but nodded in assent.

“Good. Get heavy gunners on those hills there and lay down suppressing fire! Split the remainder of your men in two groups. The smaller one is to go back and assist the injured, then bring them here and hold position. You take charge of the rest and provide me with covering fire. After two minutes,“ he held up his fingers in a V shape, “advance on my position. Understood?”

Aadras wasn’t sure that he was using the correct military jargon, but the Sergeant seemed bright enough to understand his intent.

“Affirmative!” She cried over the sounds of battle. The high-pitched screams of blaster fire came from all around them, mixed in with the rumbling of autocannons in the distance and the wailing of security alarms across the Mandalorian compound. All in all, it was hard to hear one’s own thoughts, let alone commands of any kind.

“Corporal!” The sergeant cried into her comms, fingers pressed to the earpiece. “Get Dax, Bannis, Lem and Tavora and go back to the drop pods! Help the survivors get to safety. The rest of you, cover the Jedi! We move out in two minutes.”

That was Aadras’ signal to go and he darted from cover in a mad rush toward the spaceport. He had based his plan not on any knowledge of tactics or strategy, but simple common sense. They couldn’t leave those troops to die and they certainly couldn’t give up the element of surprise, so Aadras had to bear the brunt of this assault on his own. A reckless plan, even by his standards, but its saving grace was that they were coming in from the western side of the spaceport, which wasn’t as heavily defended as the front. The majority of the spaceport’s defenders were gathered at the main entrance where they were giving stiff resistance to the Republic soldiers trying to advance through an open field. Once again, Aadras was grateful for the rocks they had on this side.

There must have been at least two dozen Mandalorians entrenched around the side entrance and, as expected, they focused fire on him. Aadras left the Force to guide his movements, trusting in it completely. One had to be calm, especially when in the eye of the storm, as that is what gave you clarity of purpose. In such moments of serenity, the knowledge of where the incoming bolts would hit came easily to him, giving him plenty of time to place his blade in their way.

True to Soresu, Aadras kept the lighstaber close to his body, but he found himself using the deflecting techniques of Form V instead. Form III emphasised deflecting an attack away from the defender, while Shien taught that an enemy’s attack must be turned against them. And so, not only did the enemy fail to hit him, but he also saw some of the armour-clad figures go down, felled by their own blaster fire.

He took no pleasure in the act of killing and the loss of life was regretful, but they had made their choice by being here and so had he. Perhaps the Mandalorians considered the Jedi as nothing more than peacekeepers and scholars, as so many others mistakenly did. But what they didn’t understand was that the unwillingness to draw a weapon did not mean that one couldn’t use it. They were in for a harsh lesson…