Star Wars: Empire's End RP (IC)

by **Abbeyverne** » Wed Dec 02, 2020 5:54 am

Star Wars: Empire's End
A Star Wars Roleplay

(OOC)

The Galaxy, 4ABY

It has been six months since the Battle of Endor. The Alliance has made great advances, taking most of the mid rim and gearing towards the core, taking the important world of Kashyyyk. The Empire has fractured, remnants of various sizes throughout the galaxy fight and lick their wounds. The Hutt cartel collapses, with Tatooine falling to power-hungry mining corporations. Crime is rampant as the lack of a formal galactic government breeds chaos.

The alliance, recognizing this need, creates the New Republic with the Declaration of a New Republic. The New Republic Provisional Council is established on Endor to create a replacement government, and the alliance fleets are reorganized into the New Republic Defense Forces.

The New Republic approves work on the MC-90 cruiser and the E- and K-Wing starfighters, and several Imperial Remnants, including Kuat, continue construction of the new Incursor-class cruiser.

Now the conflict spins toward a battle for Fondor, and more importantly, what lies above: Fondor Station, a shipyard vital to the Imperial war effort, where hides a dark secret.

Jeremiah Dawntreader
XB-4723
--------

“So, what are we gonna do today?” Asked Päto, XO of the new command ship, the ISD Dawn. Crew members moved about the bridge, making repairs and improvements, generally a snapshot of what was going on throughout the whole ship.

“After we’re done setting up in here, I want to contact the NR,” replied Dawntreader, “I’m guessing that their gearing up for a big attack, and we want in.”

“Finally, some action. It’s been six months of nothing since Endor. I was about ask if we were gonna go to Tatooine just so we could have a good fight.”

“No. No interest in messing with the crime bosses. But Imps…”

“Okay, comms are ready! And the Twilight’s Gleam is hangared in our bay 1, we don’t have much space left though.” The commlink indicator light blinked on.

The recipient, an ensign on desk duty, spoke, “New Republic Defense Forces, Command. May we help you?”

“This is Commander Dawntreader, of Twilight Flight. Please convey this message to whoever is in charge: Judging by what we’ve heard from you folks, it appears you are getting ready for another major offensive. My fleet served at the Battle of Endor and we’re ready to help again. We’re sorry we couldn’t help at Kashyyyk, but our fleet needed service. Anyways, count us in for your next big push.” Turning off the communicator after receiving acknowledgment from the ensign, Jeremiah turned to his XO, “So, how is our readiness looking?”

“The Dawn is at full readiness, as are two of the Incursors and the Immobilizer. We are waiting on the other ISD; Dusk, and the Incursor; Concorde. All other ships are fueled, crewed, and fighters are docked. Several of our ships are equipped with the improved flash shields, and all batteries are charged and ready to fire.”

“Great. Inform the others we will be deploying soon."

Ardus Kaine
Reaper
--------

Kaine relayed his orders, “Move the Defiance, Adamant, and Death’s Head into position. Target: Fondor. They shall go to collect certain items from the station, then return. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” responded the respective captains, executing a quick about face and briskly walking down the hall, minutes later departing from the hangars.

Kaine looked out the bridge of his super star destroyer as three star destroyers peeled off from the fleet and formed up, jumping to hyperspace as one.

by **Ormata** » Wed Dec 02, 2020 6:09 am

I heard my country calling, away across the sea,
Across the waste of waters, she calls and calls to me.
Her sword is girded at her side, her helmet on her head,
And around her feet are lying the dying and the dead;
I hear the noise of battle, the thunder of her guns;
I haste to thee, my mother, a son among thy sons.

TITAN COMMAND
ADM. HALDER, SUAN
H.I.M.S. DOMINION, UNCHARTED SPACE, L-13
COORDINATES: 5.402, -330.241

The empty stars hung like candles upon the canvas, the steady hum of lights about the well-lit office, and sat at the wooden desk in one corner was the Admiral herself, datapad in hand. Fingers scrolled over the various fleet reports, the fuel information, rationing, maintenance reports, so on so forth. Minor engineering casualties were kept at levels lower than her, major casualties filtering up to that level, and so her list there was blessedly brief. The Palantine was experiencing reactor issues, leading to her being scheduled for dock with the station for inspection and necessary repairs, while the Verdant had a plasma fire on her port main battery and as a result had vented that area of atmosphere. Inspections were still being performed on the damage and what had precisely led to such a fire. A small handful of support craft were in drydock with a variety of issues, some stemming from their initial retreat from the New Republic and the patchwork repairs since. All in all, from her fleet and command a total of two Victory IIs, one Carrack, four CR90s, and one Raider were damaged in one way or another and therefore were not combat capable.

The Admiral sighed, setting the datapad on her desk and leaning into it, fingers instinctively templing. They were drops in the shallow bucket, drops she otherwise couldn’t afford but really couldn’t prevent. The scattering of Imperial fleets and vessels had caused the ships themselves to miss dock periods, miss repairs, and many crews had taken to attempting the same repairs themselves with whatever they had on hand. Many ad hoc things were now, finally, coming loose. The forward posted squadrons were not impacted by this issue, but her own defense fleet was impeded by such losses. The Victory II was a modern enough vessel, capable of standing toe-to-toe with many Republic vessels, and their loss would be felt in the escort squadrons for her main capitals, while the rest were valuable additions to the screens and convoy escort fleets. Their loss was most unfortunate. Thinking it through, she gave pause to such immediate concerns; the losses to the defense fleet was poor, true, but with the twin Executor class warships she held supreme control in the department of mainline capital ship support. Such supercapital grade warships were not known to the New Republic as well, something she wished to keep in mind. It was useful to have such a massive surprise for the enemy. About the window stood that same fleet, the Megador in view with her plain, Imperial gray hull on full display. Running lights blinked slowly, pulsing as miniature stars on that canvas, while smaller Star Destroyers were placed in view as minnows to her shark.

The whole of Titan Command was not present, though, not by any means. Sixteenth Squadron, under RADM. Freeste, was down in the Diamal System in preparation for strikes against the New Republic. She trusted Freeste enough to perform the task at hand; the man was not as aggressive as she, but he was certainly adept at commanding fighter-based fleets. His actions in the Clone Wars, in command of a squadron of Acclamators out on the Outer Rim, spoke of that. He’d outfitted them as light carriers, striking and exiting battle at will while utilizing such strike craft in deadly, concentrated attacks against the unwary and overly aggressive. His force was much the same, small and focused about the strike craft within his command. A total of two Venators, one Victory II, two Victory Is, three Carracks, four Imperial II frigates, eight Ton-Falks, twelve CR90s, four DP20s, and seven Tartans with the full complement of over 1,300 fighters and bombers made up his force, a strong enough squadron to break most New Republic task forces which weren’t expecting it guarding a system which didn’t warrant a fleet large enough to destroy it. It would stand, that’s for certain.

Of course, such things assumed that Fondor fell which was, in Halder’s personal opinion and in the opinion of some officers, unlikely. It’s orbital defenses were nothing to be snickered at and it’s fleet was substantial enough for most attacks. Unfortunately, the resources present at Fondor itself in terms of it’s shipyards gave a massive target to the system itself. To her knowledge, the fleet numbered some few Star Destroyers and a number of medium sized warships while the escorts were numerous. Unfortunately, as for the Moff in command of it’s operations, she knew him by name and reputation only; he was of the usual Imperial style Moff, a man consumed more by administration and money than by the guarding of his own territory, a man who held the New Republic in such low esteem that he let his own guard down. While it would suffer for now under his administration and may not survive an assault it would otherwise, Fondor would prove to be something of a large speed-bump to oncoming New Republic forces. It was unfortunate that she did not have a tool to remove him for someone more capable, but for now the man had to stay.

A light knock on her door broke the process, Halder looking up with her eyes only to see Lieutenant Peetrum. His long, young face was pensive, stance inquiring and paused as though a stature of a stork, the gray uniform about him tight and clean as befit someone formerly of the I.S.B., while a plain red folder was under one arm. Noting that she had taken notice of the knock, Peetrum popped to attention and gave his report.

“Afternoon, ma’am. New report from the Esstran sector which may interest you.”

Something interesting? Doubtful, at least in Halder’s mind. Things were rarely so interesting, though then again Peetrum had a certain viewpoint of the world. To him, even minor details were interesting. Crew transfers and the scheduling of personnel movements were interesting, the outfitting of vessels interesting, delays due to pirate attacks on construction of fighters were interesting. To him, they each revealed a fraction of the greater picture, a picture he constantly strove to understand and influence. She feigned boredom, tone bland and unimpressed, while a single raised eyebrow betrayed the interest Peetrum had devilishly cultivated in her. His lust for details was nearly infectious, but only nearly.

“A new warlord, Lieutenant?”

“Of a sort, Admiral. Read for yourself.” He crossed the distance of the office somewhat fast, long legs striding to eat up the distance while the Lieutenant somehow maintained that stiff, formal posture. Peetrum held the folder out for her to take which she did, opening it up and reading as the man came at ease before her. His own eyebrows raised, though less for interest of what the folder itself read but more for her own reaction. He measured the importance of things by the Admiral’s reaction to them once she understood properly what she was seeing, and in many ways drew happiness from distributing such information to those who could do something about it. The officer kept himself at ease, though, hands clasped before him and back ramrod straight.

She started reading. At first it was fairly standard information, something about a Nineteenth Fleet of the Imperial Navy which had defected in the area. Strange, considering what was there. All that stood in the Esstran sector, to Halder’s knowledge, was...Horuset, Dromund, Ziost, and some other smaller, less important systems. Of course it was one of the Emperor’s pet projects, his little undertakings. He’d always had an interest in artifacts from the past, something which Halder knew of only through talking to officers who had to deal with such events. They talked of special agents whose talents most certainly did not always lay in the command of ships and men, nor really in talking at all, agents who were bastards by most accounts. Arrogant, violent, and hyper-focused was how most characterized these. According to the folder, Nineteenth was to aid in the...excavation of an ancient city on Dromund Kaas in the Dromund system, accompanied by an agent of the Emperor’s. He’d proclaimed himself a Sith, taking on the ancient title of Darth, and had apparently made the attempt to brainwash his crews. Those under his command were so swayed by old tales of failures and dead men that they abandoned the Emperor and the Empire for a fool. Of the many things Halder expected, a fool who hearkened to the long gone days of the Republic and Sith was not quite among them. He was a fool, too, for thinking that he could brainwash so many. The I.S.B. seldom bowed to the force-user.

The Admiral’s eyes had changed, reading slowly at first before they darted along the pages in interest, leaning forward against the flimsi as she did. He possessed a Bellator class, the Rage, as well as eight Imperial I and Imperial II Star Destroyers, ten Victory IIs, and twenty smaller craft of the common Tartan variety. Overall a smaller fleet with the exception of the Rage, though the Darth, calling himself Herlucan, possessed a sizable ground force. It didn’t matter, though, not really. The ground he’d taken was unimportant and poor, the result of which being that Halder didn’t quite care to really take it. She would be content with a Base Delta Zero for such planets as Ziost and Korriban. Of course, it was not within striking distance for Titan Command in any way and as such was outside of her operational sphere.

“A Sith? Will the Kumauri Empire pay us a visit as well? Perhaps Xim might join in?” She scathed, shaking her head and adding, “The fool. Keep me posted on this man. His eccentricism will likely prove his downfall.” Haldar chuckled, closing the red folder and holding it back out for Peetrum to grasp. He did so, smiling at the resulting reaction. It was entertaining to see her in such a manner.

“Of course, ma’am. In addition, the Tetan Civil Authority has contacted us for a treaty.”

The Tetan Civil Authority. Halder pursed her lips at their mention. By and large a breakaway warlord state which had declared general independence following Endor, they occupied both a large fleet as well as multiple important Deep Core states. They could also blockage Byss which would limit the usefulness of any possible forces there; the Admiral had not been capable of reaching them by normal Imperial channels and, though she knew a substantial fleet was present, she did not know of it’s precise composition. It had been classified beyond her when she had still been a Captain. Nevertheless, the Tetans were on fairly neutral terms with the Imperial Remnant and could yet prove useful. She wanted them either where they were as a neutral party to the Imperial Remnant with no recourse to turn to the New Republic should needs arise or as an ally, complete and total. The opinion was still held that, while the Empire had fractured into warlord states with overblown titles, they could yet be convinced to work together, to aid one another, and to one day reform into that same Empire. It was a process which would take time but...it was better than the alternative. The alternative was full civil war. Halder had full intention to crush the New Republic into either surrender or a desirable peace but the rest? Those who had turned their back upon the Galactic Empire to seize their own power, own territory? They may yet be reasoned with.

“A treaty?”

“They request...a nonaggression treaty between our forces, a mutual defense treaty for the same, open movement throughout the Deep Core, and in return they offer a small fleet of warships with crews they state are...desiring to continue service with the Imperial Navy. They also would confirm that the Tetan Civil Authority would provide convoy escort throughout the Koros run.”

It was quite the deal, even if the fleet was full of lemons; effectively the Tetans wished to confirm what Halder had always intended. Should the systems under Empress Teta control come under siege or, stars prevailing, fall to any sort of hostile force it was without a doubt that the Admiral knew that same force would be hostile to her as well. Those systems were worth their weight and more, an ecumenopolis and mining systems within the Deep Core. Even if they were useless dust balls with barely a hint of population or resources, the placement alone of the systems made them important. A force there had the potential to strike behind the normal defensive lines and emplacements of the Core systems, had the potential to constantly be present and tie down forces which may otherwise be employed. Halder desired a nonaggression treaty, too; in her mind, neutrality existed between most Imperial successor factions until otherwise stated. A confirmation of that was quite agreeable in her mind. Open movement within the Deep Core was not something she could entirely grant, however, but the words themselves spilled easy enough. Her permission was not the permission of, say, Byss.

The fleet was interesting to the Admiral. It was a sign that not all was as it seemed with the Tetans, that there was yet some small form of dissent within their people and military. Not all Imperial desired to serve with that government, that Tetan Civil Authority, and they were trying to find a way to both placate a friend as well as get rid of whatever dissidents may be present. She templed her fingers again, nodding in tune to her thoughts. It was possible that some vessels which had been taken by the Tetans had merely been present within their drydocks undergoing repairs and as such did not have crews which were convinced over to their side; effectively they had taken the ship with less than no permission, but really Admiral Halder couldn’t argue the point. What court or authority might reprimand and punish them for such an action, by what power might convince them to give all their captured and stolen ships to the proper authority, Halder? No such thing existed, not anymore, and so the point was really quite mute. All it meant was that a number of Imperials were within Tetan custody and rathered to still be with Imperial Navy, that’s all. She considered it all; they were vessels within the Deep Core and as such likely had crews associated with that sector of operations. Less fighting and anti-piracy patrol, so somewhat experienced in those operations, but the discipline should be of a strong quality in her opinion. They could be retrained and relearn their jobs, get the “Yes Man” mentality out of their systems, and become proper officers, sailors, and marines.

She looked up at the LT., eyes narrowing.

“A fleet? How many?”

Peetrum drew out a datapad, tapping several times before he came to what he wanted. Angling his head just a tad and clearing his throat, the man’s tone still held just a glimmer of amusement as he began to read through the listings of vessels by their class, ensuring that he didn’t get any of the numbers wrong like an idiot might.

“A total of three Dreadnaught class heavy cruisers, five Carrack class lights, and fifteen Vigil class corvettes. Not the largest number of vessels.”

“No. It’s not.”

The Dreadnaughts would be good for rear line units and, if she had the opportunity to do so, would be useful on the front lines when their systems were suitably upgraded to more modern standards. That would be an extensive refit, however, especially considering that they were nearly universally obsolete in most of their systems such as their reactor, weaponry, and sensors. Their hyperdrive was inadequate for the pace of battle as well, being only a Class 2 when the majority of the fleet was outfitted with Class 1. It would take a heavy amount of modification to bring them up to par indeed and, even then, it was no guarantee that they would be worth the cost. New Republic vessels and their crews liked to tinker and develop, standardization hard in a fleet of misfits and traitors, Mon Calamari ships being notoriously variable in their capabilities and modifications, and the direct result was an enemy whose next vessel, normally a pushover or your equal, was just enough more than that to provide the ample edge. The squadron of Carrack light cruisers would prove valuable as such small vessels were good at punching holes in an enemy corvette screen; their small size and title as light cruiser belied a far greater durability, their armament a competitor towards larger vessels. Halder looked forward to using them in combat, though in her opinion they required a heavier punch than what they currently held. They needed something more, something the engineers had been working on. In any case, it was a welcome addition. The Vigil patrol vessels would be good as picket vessels and keeping presence in less important systems, anti-piracy work, things of that nature.

“But...it’s a start. Most definitely a start,” the Admiral finally murmured, looking up at Peetrum from her desk. “The Tetan Civil Authority has a treaty, then.”

“Very good, ma’am. I’ll convey the message.”

He kept standing there, though, standing and frowning slightly about the corners of his mouth. Halder looked up at him, noticing it and the little details about the man. She could see his feet shifting just a bit between a few degrees, arcing back and forth like wipers, the little motions of his fingers as he held the folder there. Peetrum had bad news, she could tell, bad news for a bad time. Sighing, the Admiral spoke up. She might as well be direct with him since he’d done the same in the past, and keeping secrets was worse than making them known.

“Well? What it is. Spit it out.”

“Reports indicate that 4th Fleet has lost contact with one of their Victory II class frigates. Argus was on patrol before she went dark in the Steelious system. My local I.S.B. agent suspects desertion.”

Desertion of whole frigates, that was something which Halder never thought she’d see occur in the Imperial Navy. Some Planetary Defense Force, sure, she could believe a Captain deciding to gallivant on his own and run around, but not the Imperial Navy. Apparently the discipline in the organization had...rotted away, much as she hated to think of it, and the duty found was now lost. Of course, many had seen the Emperor as a symbol of the Galactic Empire, the Empire itself, almost worshipping the man. His cult of personality didn’t help such matters. When the Emperor died, a lot of what people thought was the Empire died with him. Halder leaned into her hands, rubbing at the temples, whistling out air. No, it hadn’t yet died. One man couldn’t spell the end for a whole state, whole country, a whole set of values. To her the Galactic Empire meant hard work, meant striving up for something better and more worthwhile, it meant duty and it meant the completion of the task ahead. One man couldn’t embody all that and take it with him to his death, no. She wouldn’t let it. The Emperor had demanded much when he was alive, he couldn’t demand she surrender her honor in his death.

The loss of the Argus was not a massive thing, the Victory II frigates being of a limited capacity to engage enemy vessels, but it was what such a loss represented. If a whole vessel can desert, what does it tell the rest? What does it imply? It shows that the authority of the Imperial Navy and Titan Command specifically did not extend to it’s ships, that vessels can come and go, that it had no authority. It spoke of underlying issues which led to the Argus, her Captain, and her crew feeling that they could simply leave. That was a problem, one which had to be examined carefully. For the vessel itself, though, a concrete response had to be made.

“Dispatch the Hellion to find and capture those bastards. No executions or interrogations, however; I want to question that Captain myself.”

“Aye, Admiral.”

TITAN COMMAND, SIXTH DEFENSE SQUADRON
CMDR. HANWEA, ZAYNSAN
H.I.M.S. ADVANCE, GIJU SYSTEM, L-13
COORDINATES: 3.068, -354.823

“Captain on the bridge!”

“Captain on the bridge, aye, all stations Captain on the bridge.”

“Log it.”

The light taps of boots on deck plating rung out as Commander Hanwea strode onto his bridge. The Advance’s layout did not lend itself well to grand egos or grand designs, small as it was with trenches set into each side and sailors set about at work. Before the bridge stood the Giju system, a planetary system which was once in control of the Heralgic. It was their home system and homeworld, in fact, something which did not escape the Commander’s notice. Most certainly a useful system to hold and be in control of as the facilities and factories there produced war materials for the Empire. Of course, that could quite quickly change. The Heralgic had chafed under the Imperial yoke, their rights often refused. In Hanwea’s opinion, it had been a travesty of an event, one all too often repeated by the Empire. They could have cultivated something akin to loyalty but instead bred resentment within the local population. Fear could only lead them so far and, in his opinion, he could not allow it to fully occur. Of course, Halder agreed.

Commander Hanwea himself had had the pleasure of speaking to the Heralgic representatives and to the local Moff in control; he had subsumed himself towards the good graces of Admiral Halder. The Moff, one Renric, lacked some of the most basic necessities of a Moff. He had no major fleet to speak of, just some few small vessels to police his space, and the result of such was submission towards Titan Command’s authority. Through this, the Commander was able to summarily enact some few changes to keep the Heralgic in line with the greater Empire. Their rights were restored under Imperial law to the equal of humanity, despite the Moff’s protests, his own authority subsumed to a council of elected Heralgic leaders; in effect, he no longer had command save for that of his own small fleet, though the Heralgic did agree to give authority back in some limited sense should war come upon them. The output of the factories in Giju would still be set aside for Imperial production, mainly starfighters and their associated equipment, but at a far less margin than previously. The Heralgic could actually make a profit instead of subsisting themselves off of the Empire.

All in all, Hanwea was satisfied with his job there and had already sent the report up the chain of command. Inquisitive eyes surveyed the bridge itself, pausing on some few, before he nodded in satisfaction. His bridge was operating well, just as it should, with none of those furtive little motions that belied one problem or another, usually navigational though sometimes related to a variety of engineering difficulties. There was no scribbling in the log, rapid and desperate, that would speak of an overload of information. No, all was pretty calm and smooth, just as it should be. The Captain took up his usual comfy spot, one hand on the console out to the right of the bridge next to what was normally his seat.

“Hammer Seven-two this is Price, dock order confirmed.”

His ears pricked up at that, checking his chrono and the bridge chrono just to be certain the man wasn’t going somewhat insane or had lost track of time. No, it was still some hour and a half before they were scheduled to switch out the patrol squadron. The Commander looked at his Officer of the Deck, the man who’d confirmed the dock order, eyes narrowing and tone sharp, clipped.

“Issue, Mr. Urad?”

“Seven-two’s got a bad case of the three-shakes, sir. Requested to come in. I rotated in Glen One-three for temporary replacement.”

Three-shakes? What a shame. It was one of those diseases that no one, absolutely no one wanted. A sharp intake of air by Hanwea spoke of precisely how much no one would want it and precisely how much sympathy he felt for Seven-two.

“Keep me apprised on it. I swear if that spreads…”

“Oh well aware of it, sir. Nasty business.”

“Quite.”

TITAN COMMAND, OH-FIVE-TWO SQUADRON
LT. NORWHE, ELVIKEYS
DIAMAL SYSTEM, L-13
COORDINATES: 10.115, -342.49

“Orbital this is House Two, all conditions normal, over.”

“House Two this is Orbital, all conditions normal aye, out.”

Clicking his comms off to Watcher, Norwhe sighed; it’d been a long hour in the seat, that was for certain, and it’d be an even longer three hours to go. Combat Air Patrols were annoying like that but, as anyone could see, they were more than important enough. It was obvious really. The Alliance and it’s mutant offspring, the New Republic, preferred their snubfighters over capital ships and the best antidote to a starfighter was another starfighter. Constant patrol and vigilance, as such, was paramount. Nevertheless it was a thankless task which was most uncomfortable, especially for Norwhe; he stretched out his neck as much as he could in the bulky flightsuit, taking one hand off the controls to give some semblance of free movement for his fingers.

“House Two-one, House Two-three, remember the golden rule: It’s longer if you think about the time.”

A dry chuckle as he clicked on the squadron comms. Of course it was Trilet who started the quipping about long time and CAP time dilation or whatever he liked to refer to it. The man’s Tatooine twang came over loud and clear over the comms, that farmboy style he sort of basked it. Sure, some of the ladies weren’t so impressed by it but those that did existed in some smaller areas, some of the stranger planes of existence, and it was those areas Trilet most definitely enjoyed.

“Sorry not all of us are so used to staring at absolutely nothing, Two-three.”

“Oh-ho-ho, the old man talks. We’ll get you into the retirement home one day, don’t you worry.”

Old man? Norwhe snorted into his helmet, shaking his head as he switched hands on the stick. He wasn’t that old; at least, he wasn’t that old to retire. He’d been at some of the later battles in the Clone Wars, sure, and by the most common measure was an Ace four times over, but that wasn’t really the point. He was a Lieutenant by virtue of his desire to stay in the cockpit and by virtue of his former allegiances; being a Confederate did that to you, though in his total defense working for the Trade Federation had been a pretty sweet job. It just sucked by other accounts, such as the fact that the whole war was completely and totally lost. That bit.

“I’m not that old and you’re not that young.”

“Aren’t you near ninety?”

“Point?”

“Two-one this is Two-five, red light on my number two. Diagnostic running.”

“This is Two-one, copy that. Diagnostic runs for five minutes at red we’ll inform Orbital.”

“This is two-five, roger.”

“Roger roger.”

“I hate you.”

A moment of silence passed, one of those where you just sort of flew about in the circuit planned and kept an eye out. Diamal wasn’t all that active as far as commercial traffic, not at all, and what few cargo ships which were moving up to Abregado-rae or down to Fondor lazily passed by the system and the Imperial vessels within it. In the distance, silhouetted by the planet itself, was the Sixteenth Squadron itself. The twin Venators, with their distinctive dagger hulls, hung there in the void with engines idle, burning, and Norwhe could only really sigh. There was a moment in his life when he’d see that shape, that hull, that bridge and would be afraid, concerned, or as eager as an Akk, depending on what was happening at the time, and now he could only look at it and think of the rack he had on her, the hot meal he’d get once he was out of the damn flightsuit, and the comfort of a toilet. It was a decent enough ship, the Watcher, though there were times when he wondered how much man was replaced with metal under their skulls with how robotic some officers acted. It was stifling in some ways, though nearly to be expected.

“Red light cleared, Two-one.”

“Copy that. All units, maintain four-zed throttle, maintain formation.”

The flight continued it’s long patrol, on and on, and Norwhe hoped the time would pass quickly.

by **Arthurs Corner** » Wed Dec 02, 2020 8:04 pm

The Tetan Authority Star Destroyer Revanchist: Somewhere along the Koros Run

Ancient Tetan Proverb from Works of the Great One
For those who sieze the day and their role let the greatest of all glories in the galaxy fall
For those who let their roles and the monotony sieze them, let a fall befall

The Victory Star Destroyer Revanchist hummed, a soft, smooth vibration, not unlike the purring of some monstrous feline. The decking, redone and rebuilt only 5 months ago now, was gleaming with a soft polish. The monitors and displays were of the highest quality of the Tetan shipyards, and the soft gleam of the shield globe encircling the ship was in stark contrast to the dead nothingness of space behind it.

It was on this well polished, clean bridge that Vice Admiral Gustav Ludendorf planned the future of Teta. Before him lay a vast collection of holographic displays. Supply routes, convoys, the allegiances of every world in the core and mid rim (though this map could not always be trusted for accuracy, given the state of the Empire these days. In the center was the holographic display of his current objective. In the center was a model of his own ship, the sharp shape of the Victory superimposed across nothingness. The Revanchist was unique in its design, built using experimental hull plating developed at the shipyards of Fondor, which helped to mask the ships radiation and electronic signature. This material, nearly as dark as space itself, gave the Revanchist a dark and brooding appearance, like some monster out of a primitive species darkest myths. This appearance was not helped by the dim red light which the ship was constantly under, partially to keep their stealthy approach, but mostly because Ludendorf’s eyes had been extremely sensitive since his three years spent in the undercity industrial archologies of Teta, and despite twenty years away from them, light conditions like this were the only places his eyes felt comfortable. He splayed his fingers 30 degrees, and the display panned out to show his full tactical display. He saw the formations his Vigil escorts were taking around the craft, and where two other Tetan capital ships, these of the Victory II class, had taken up a roughly triangular position.

Like him these ships were running quiet, their engines nearly extinguished, and their lighting minimal. Even the bridge seemed quiet, apprehensive, even though sound could no sooner reach across the void and alert enemy ships than could the fear and stress that almost visually wafted around the room. These men and woman were mainly veterans, former officers of the Imperial navy stationed above the Tetan system during the Battle of Endor. They had thrown their lot in with the Tetan revolutionaries during the uprising, as had Ludendorf, and now here they were, about to raid an Imperial convoy, most likely manned by men and woman they had only months before fought alongside.
Another section of his display showed an alert, and he jerked a finger, bringing the memo to the front of the holoprojected screen. It was a memo from the independent Imperial fleet known as Titan command. Once under the command of Admiral Blitzer Harrsk, a man Ludendorf had met once on Coruscant, seeming bold and impetuous to him- more likely to serve his own interests than that f the people he served. Titan command had not stayed long under him though, a military coup had deposed him of his command and vowed to use the force to further the aims of the Empire, though what the new Admiral, Suan Halder, a woman respected and even feared across the many commands she had served. She was a loyal soldier, and stubborn as a Mustafarian lava beetle. But she was a cunning admiral, and would except an imperfect world if necessary.

It was for this reason that Ludendorf had sent her a proposal for cease fire between the two “Imperial” states. She would surely see that fighting over the Tetan system would be a folly that would tear them both apart. He reached down, and opening the memo file, was relieved to find that Halder was open to negotiation on the matters. The admiral seemed concerned at the size of the task force Ludendorf was lending them as part of the deal, and he could understand that. As he well knew, that force had been assembled using the oldest and most finicky ships in the Tetan forces, including some of their dreadnought Heavy Cruisers, which had been old when Ludendorf was still an Ensign. The ships were crewed with the POWs captured during the uprising against the Empire. Ludendorf had no desire to keep those thousands of men, most of whom simply loyal to their own homes rather than his as prisoners, and he hoped that under the Titan Command they could either find more solace in helping the Empire, or get a chance to return to their home worlds.

Another section of the treaty yet to be fully hammered out were the trade tariffs imposed upon the ships travelling through the Tetan system. The Titan command was a mobile force, and as such had no natural income they could guarantee to split as tax revenue. This could be resolved though. Piracy and the eventual gain of territory would slowly fill up the coffers of the command, and a form of advance loan, with guarantee of repayment of some sort could be arranged for now. Another issue was in what free passage would mean to a nomadic fleet group. Perhaps upkeeping negotiations could be made to ensure berths for Titan ships at Teta, and a promise to assist any Tetan ships should they be in a critical position. Overall this treaty could ensure a great future for the Deep Core, the beginnings of a new Empire (under Tetan dominion of course, he thought to himself).

As he looked through his files he saw multiple other log reports of movements across the galaxy. It was a busy place to be, especially after a galactic level collapse this sudden. While he was reviewing political documents he may as well finish the job. The next file on the list was a report from an intelligence agent on the planet of Dromond Kaas. The clearing of the forests around the ancient Sith Kaas city was ongoing, and she had received confirmation that the entire 17th fleet guarding the sector had either been destroyed or taken into the newly appointed Darth Herlucan. Ludendorf remembered stories of Darth Maul told around campfires when he was a child, and rumours while he was a Tetan revolutionary that Count Dooku was part of that ancient dark religion. Then of course, there was Darth Vader, feared across the entire Imperial military as the fist of the Empire. A force that would crush whatever it encountered.

For Ludendorf himself though, never having encountered a Sith, the upstart seemed a ridiculously pompous ruler, establishing his base on the ruins of the ancient Sith Empire and taking an entire well-equipped sector force for his own personal gain. According to the spy, the Sith Lord had taken to spending his days in the former palace of the Sith Emperor, and his troops scoured the ancient grounds for relics of the Sith religion. The only thing Ludendorf could make of it was that the galaxy really and truly had gone insane.

There was another report on problems with Imperial garrisons near the Corporate Sector. Ludendorf did not think much of these, the Sector Authority was small, only a few thousand star systems at the edge of the galaxy, and they were self focused, intent on ripping their worlds apart in search of money. They could be a nuisance in the long run, but for now they were simply another force eroding Coruscant’s authority over the rim, leaving the former Empire ripe for Tetan dominance. The more pressing matter would be securing an alternate route for some of the manufactured goods that the worlds of Ession produced for the Tetan shipyards. The flow of war materials would have to be rerouted from the mega forges over Kuar; some losses in civilian products would have to be accepted as a result, though these could be made up elsewhere with the upgrade of many of the smaller mining colonies on the outlying mining worlds. The Deep Core was barren, but among the nebulas and dying stars were thousands, million, maybe even billions of worlds left as depositories for massive mineral wealth, and it would be Teta’s job to harness that power into a massive war industry the likes of which had rarely been seen across the galaxy.

New Republic fleet movements were a more pressing matter. The sixth fleet was moving towards Sullust, intent on skirmishing with a fleet under an unknown force Ludendorf had little information on. This fleet was large as New Republic forces go, being anchored by a massive Lucrehulk battle carrier, along with captured Imperial cruisers and Rebel produced Mon Cal cruisers and Sorosuub battleships. Another small New Republic task force had been seen entering the system some months earlier, but from all accounts they seemed to be setting up mining operations over Bespin now, though they were still being monitored carefully by the Tetan Intelligence agency. The New Republic was, of course, the most pressing enemy. They would need to be destroyed if Teta was to reform the Empire with itself at the core, and they would need to be destroyed utterly. Once Teta annihilated the Rebels, then the conquest of the Empire could begin.

The rest of the reports seemed small and nearly meaningless. Reports of extremist Rebel factions hitting Imperial worlds with massive terror attacks, more Imperial splinters across the galaxy, the main Imperial remnant moving across the board, desperate to hold on to whatever power it had left. Some of these he filed away to other departments of the Tetan state. The terror attacks would go to the propaganda divisions to be used against the New Republic in later missions, and would hopefully dismantle their lies about whatever utopian goals they had. The information on the Remnant went to future military planning, for when a strike was necessary against the core to ensure Teta remain independent. Other reports were similarly deposited to hundreds of committees, sub committees and assemblies that would decide Teta’s next course of action.

He returned to the task at hand. The ships of the Imperial convoy Alpha- 3451-15 would be arriving shortly, and he was ready to begin the initial preparation for the attack. He signalled to his escorts to spread out, letting his fleet extend across the area where the convoy would be appearing. He panned out once more on his holomap, to where he could see the Interdictor cruiser, far into the backlines. He pulled up the commlink, and began to speak to the cruiser. “begin preparations to activate the Gravity Well Generator,” he stated calmly, feeling the rush of adrenaline course through his body, “The convoy is nearly here and all vessels are in position.”

Within seconds a response came, cool and brisk, “very well sir, all systems are prepared, gravity well generators activating on your mark.”
Ludendorf checked the timer on the holomap, four minutes remained until the convoy arrived. Within the next two the gravity well generator would fire up and when the timer reached zero the battle would begin. He began checking the status of his escorts, making sure the TIE fighters were prepared to launch and that scouting squadrons were already deployed and out near the projected vector of the convoy. He established links with the captains of the other two Victory class Star Destroyers in the fleet, Captains Jennings and Hallwart. As the link established the holoprojectors around the table began to flare into action. Blurry holographic features began to establish themselves as they took the shape of the Captains, who saluted to Ludendorf and began to read off the pre battle status reports.

Jennings was an older man who had served with the Republic and then the Empire. He was a close companion of Ludendorf’s who had been with him since his time onboard the Judiciary, on which Jennings was his communications ensign. A brilliant man, Jennings had performed admirably under fire, and when the promotion to the Annilhus came, Ludendorf had transferred him to the ship, with a promotion to Commander to boot. From then on the two men had moved hand in hand up the Imperial ladder, serving together in the Anoat sector, where they were responsible for destroying over thirteen rebel outposts and seizing nearly 900, 000 tons of stolen goods. After the battle of Endor Jennings had been promoted to Jr. Captain, and Ludendorf, now a Rear admiral, had come to his promotion. After the fact Ludendorf had offered him command of the Judiciary, now an escort in the 216th Deep Core force. Jennings had accepted, and over the years he had been an invaluable assets in campaigns to root out Rebels. He had commanded the Judiciary, and then the Imperial II frigate Relentless admirably, and when the Tetans had revolted against the Empire, he had been one of the Imperials to throw their lot in with Ludendorf and the pro Tetan forces. After that he was given command of the Victory III class- Invictor, and assigned to Ludendorf’s personal battleline.

Hallwart on the other hand was a native born Tetan, and a member of the Keto family, though distantly related. As such he had been sent to the Tetan naval academy as a child, and trained to serve in the Imperial forces around his home world. He was assigned to this battlegroup for political reasons, though he was a fine captain as things go, admired by his men as a model of Tetan royalty and grace. Hopefully, Ludendorf though, this battle would give him a bit of experience in leading the troops under his command.

Both men finished their reports and saluted, before Ludendorf began to give them an updated overview of the battle.
“As both of you are well aware,” he said, “utmost caution is required in this operation. If this goes badly we could have the entire Imperial Remnant at war with us, but if this goes well the bounty from the assault could fuel the Tetan Military research department for decades. We must destroy or capture every ship in the convoy, and every member of the crew must be either killed or taken back to Teta with us. We have no room for error, and no liability for fault.”

He looked over at the timer, and saw that only 1 minute remained. On his screen he saw the interdictor activate its gravity wells. He turned away from the two captains, who were busy marshalling their own forces, and directed his attention at his bridge. His men had powered up the weapon systems, and the blue glow of the consoles contrasted sharply against the red lighting. Then, with a flash of blue light that doused the entire bridge in what was incredibly agonizing light for Ludendorf, the convoy was yanked suddenly out of hyperspace into the waiting guns of the Tetan armada.

The battle was a short affair, quick, relatively painless for the attackers, and bloody for the convoy itself. The two escorting Nebulon Bs had quickly been overwhelmed by the Vigil escorts, while the singular aging Dreadnought had proved no match for even one of the VSD III star destroyers. The husks of the burning escorts now floated through the inky blackness of the scene, their hypermatter reaction mass spreading with a brilliant glow across the horizon. TIE boarding shuttles and Vigil class corvettes cut across the scene, searching out and clamping onto the last destitute cargo ships, taking them quickly and bringing the crews and supplies back to the waiting Victory class Star destroyers.

An hour or so later, with the cargo secured and latched down in the hold, the Revanchist and its escorts calculated the coordinates of the Tetan system and made the jump to lightspeed, leaving only the broken remains of ships and the husks of cargo vessels in their wake.
During the trip back to Teta, Ludendorf was in constant communication with Lord Captain Frimius Deloran, who was leading a diplomatic mission to Fondor aboard his Recusant class Cruiser- Investment. He was attempting to negotiate the transfer of personal and material from the Fondor yards to the Tetan ones. The negotiations had gone sour thus far, the leading officials of Fondor too stuck in the ways of the old Empire to consider anything bold. But Deloran was sure that given a few more days they could be convinced to give up at least some supplies to the Tetan war machine.

By the time the fleet arrived in the Tetan system Ludendorf was more exhausted than he had ever been. The running of an Empire’s military forces was draining, and suddenly he wished that he could simply pass along his reports to the next up in the chain, as he had been able to do in his days under the Empire. This was not the rush of action that got his old blood flowing, nor was it the glorious push against Coruscant he had envisioned upon hearing his call to arms. Instead it would be a war of a thousand small cuts upon Coruscant’s rule. An alliance with a warlord here, a convoy disappearing here, a skirmish here, until finally the day came when Tetan ships stood above the spires of Coruscant and proclaimed that Teta would be the dominant power of the universe.

Until that day, Ludendorf thought, he would simply have to make do with the tasks at hand.

by **Lotrisia** » Thu Dec 03, 2020 12:55 pm

Sullustan Sector Squadron
Geosynchronous orbit of Ord Ibanna
MC80 Liberty-type Egality 
Office 3

The storms of the gas giant whirled in concert, painting their own skies in shades of grey and golden brown. Mining platforms, colours long since faded in the howling of the wind, skimmed, sorted and packaged the gasses that passed through them in uniform efficiency, turning wisps of vapour into cold, hard credits. In orbit far above them, the lights of a fleet blinked, seemingly oblivious to the tempest raging below them. In the largest of them, a single figure brooded in his office. While his desk may have been clean, it was piled with a metaphorical mountain of readiness reports, diagnostics, and the occasional bureaucratic excuse. Dozens of tabs confronted them as they fingered the button for their monitor, prompting a quiet groan. The figure in question, one Commodore Atherus Trayarck of the New Republic Navy, was more and more beginning to regret the existence of administrative work. His fleet was just small enough for him to hear of every broken strut and stubbed toe, but big enough for it to be an inexorable hassle to deal with. Of course, he had a number of assistants to deal with and sort the plethora of flimsies and digital files, but the Commodore was never known for letting something as inconsequential as reality get in the way of his grumbling.  

 Important things were addressed first. An action report surrounding an engagement with an Imperial Vindicator near Cmaoli Di. It had returned hails querying intention with turbolaser fire, prompting the MC75 Solemnity and her escorting fleet to turn it into a rapidly expanding cloud of vapour. IFF didn’t belong to any major Remnant factions, and the lack of an avenging force coming to lay waste to the system seemed to confirm the ship’s independent nature. Why they’d fired in the first place was a mystery, but they were at present too dead for interrogation. One of the Solemnity’s escorting CR90s had taken a heavy turbolaser shot that had managed to burn through the shields. Damage wasn’t catastrophic, but she required a few weeks in drydock to weld an engine back into place. In a completely lifeless system, a Nebulon B on patrol had come out of hyperspace straight into an asteroid. 2 month’s time in a shipyard and a new forward blade, by the looks of it. Trayarck sighed. How they’d managed to hit the only asteroid in 300 000km was utterly beyond him. One would almost think they’d aimed for the damn thing, considering how perfectly they’d lined up with it. Apart from that, it was for the most part business as usual for the Sullustan Sector Fleet. The Rejuvenance reported nothing of interest on her patrol, while the Stormchaser was in the final stages of working up with her attendant escorts, including a few entertaining but ecologically irresponsible weapons tests on the mountain ranges of a lifeless planet. Best to keep that bit a secret from high command. Fighter squadrons were reporting the usual maintenance problems, especially the Y-Wings assigned to the Stormchaser and Rejuvenance. As they aged, they were becoming something of a nightmare to maintain, and Trayarck was trying his best to get them replaced with the more modern B-Wing, which carried a significantly more powerful payload anyway. The old V-Wings and Z-95s, relics from the Clone Wars, weren’t much better either. They were both significantly behind the technological pace compared to their newer stablemates, and they broke down nearly as much as the Y-Wings. Good for patrols, and cheap to acquire, but little else. The costs in spare parts alone could probably have bought him an entire fighter wing, though probably one just as likely to break down as the last.

3 hours into the Commodore’s battle with his own admin, a knock on the door finally put an end to his suffering. Looking up, he saw the expectant form of Captain Lorth Derion waiting just outside. Captain Derion was part of the younger generation of New Republic officers, hailing from the Outer Rim world of Lothal. He was one of the few human officers to command an MC80 in the New Republic fleet, a source of considerable pride to him. The position had previously been held by a Mon Calamari, but she had been evaporated by an Allegiance’s ventral heavy turbolaser during an attack on a dockyard facility at Sluis Van. Trayarck had been lucky to be off the bridge at the time, and had quickly organised a retreat after that. Then-Commander Derion had shown considerable aptitude commanding the ship during their hasty getaway, and Trayarck had promoted him into the position. An eminently competent subordinate, quick and able to think on his feet. Trayarck liked him considerably. As of right now, he was standing to attention, holding a flimsiplast sheet in his hand.
“Intel report for you, sir.”

“Well, it’s about damn time. I was wondering if Command had forgotten about us,” the Commodore grunted, grumbling even as he held his hand out for the report. Judging by the lack of any urgent stamps, it seemed that he wasn’t going to have to rush into battle quite yet. Better to take his time reading it then. Trayarck’s eyes flickered over the report, drinking in its information. The 6th fleet was prepping to launch attacks on Eriadu and Sluis Van, two major production centres in the nearby region, and were asking for support from his forces for that. Easy way to get capital with High Command there, and it’d help strengthen their position in the region. Excellent news. There were also fresh reports of Imperial activities coreward along the Rimma Trade Route. Those were worrying. The forces gathered near Fondor were in an excellent position to launch an offensive against Sullust, and if the reports were accurate, they easily had the forces to break through the planet’s defences. Titan Command was the most worrying one. An experienced force of that size could prove to be a major threat.  

"Admiral Halder, the commanding officer of Titan Command. What do you think of her?” Trayarck asked, cocking his head in Derion’s direction, who had been standing at ease while he read.  

“Well, she certainly seems to be capable. Keeping a big fleet like that in one piece, especially in the aftermath of Endor, takes a lot of skill, sir.”

“Seems a bit inexperienced, doesn’t she? Going from a Captain on an Imperator to what should be the purview of a Fleet Admiral is a hell of a jump.”

“Well, I’d definitely be struggling if I were put in her position, sir. She has capable subordinates, but if those are taken out from underneath her I think she’ll flounder a bit.”

“Sounds like an opportunity to me,” Trayarck mused. There were yet more reports of breakaway Remnant factions carving their own chunks off of the Empire. Good news to any NR officer. Halder was dangerous, not just for her fleet, but for what appeared to be concerted efforts to create alliances between the disparate Imperial factions. The Empire still outgunned the New Republic handily, and any reunification would prove to be disastrous. She was a threat that would need to be addressed in time, and any potential weaknesses would come in handy.   Further down the report, the sigil of the 6th Fleet marked out intel specific to the Sullust system. It detailed the possible presence of an Imperial base on Sulon, a planetary moon of Sullust itself. That was definitely a concerning development. It noted the discrete passage of Imperial freighters to and from the suspected base, as well as the commanding official, an Inquisitor named Jerec. Trayarck’s eyes widened at that. The presence of an Inquisitor alone was frightening enough, but that wasn’t his primary worry. Even the greatest force user would die under a turbolaser bombardment. No, what worried him were the forces Jerec brought along with him. His fleet was small in number, just 4 ISDs, but at its head was the Vengeance, a ship which had caused the Alliance to Restore the Republic a number of problems in the past. It was a notoriously impractical ship, with far too little reactor volume for its length and surface area, but its sheer size was a quality of its own, and it proved a more than a match for most Rebel fleets. Trayarck himself had never faced it in battle, but he was wary of engaging a ship with that amount of firepower without serious support.   

“Captain Derion, contact Admiral Liu Bao Rui of the 6th Defensive Fleet over Sullust. Tell him the Sullustan Sector Fleet will be willing to offer any and all assistance necessary in engaging Inquisitor Jerec’s forces.”  

“Yes sir,” the Captain said, already turning to leave. After he was gone, Trayarck walked over to close the door behind him, before opening a cabinet and pulling out a flimsiplast file stored inside. The brief on the front of the file was fairly short.

It read:  
Commodore Trayarck,

New Republic High Command is aware of your activities surrounding the funding of an illicit mining operation on the planet of Ord Ibanna. Punishment has not been passed, however, as it is believed that the New Republic stands to benefit from the organisation you have set up to finance and protect your operation. Within this file is a dossier containing known points of friction between Remnant groups, with another detailing potential ways to exploit these points of friction to help create divisions between Imperial Remnant factions, as well as training regimens for your operatives to achieve this end. This operation is to be kept completely secret and off the books. Failure to follow these orders, or disclosure of the nature of this operation to any individual not specifically cleared for knowledge surrounding its contents, will result in you being stripped of your rank, court martialled, and executed, in accordance with the Protection of Classified Information act.

It was not signed.  

The dossier itself was detailed in its contents, describing rivalries between established power bases, personal grudges, and the potential weak points of individual leaders. The second dossier provided assessments of the aptitudes of the 57 Special Operations instructors sent to help train operatives from his organisation, which intentionally had no name by which to refer to, but which had already gained the nickname “The Commodore’s Men” from its members. The brutality of the operations authorised had at first shocked Trayarck. Blackmail, false flag piracy, bombing campaigns, assassination, threats, all of which were not only allowed for but specifically detailed in optimal ways by which they were to be carried out. It was a roster of actions that even the Black Sun would have baulked at. He had long since known that the New Republic wasn’t as squeaky-clean as it gave the impression of being, but it was a hell of a revelation all the same. He was essentially being forced into taking charge of a terrorist organisation. Any fallback for the operation would fall entirely on him. He ran the risk of getting executed for war crimes by his own command chain should the operation get blown open. A good incentive not to get caught then, he thought darkly.

The Commodore’s Men was designed to function as a group far greater than the sum of its members. Manpower-wise numbered only a few hundred operatives, not even enough to crew a large corvette. Once operational, those operatives would split off into small cells, similar in style to the Rebellion’s operational divisions, which would then split off to do separate tasks. None of those cells knew his identity, a product of his keeping operational secrecy while running the group as a mere mining operation. The only members of the entire organisation who knew his identity and rank as an NR Commodore were the 57 instructors and the foreman of the tibanna platforms, a Duros named Tib Calder. The instructors themselves were set up in various locations across the nearby vicinity, including a large number of small stations, one abandoned deep space mining facility, and an old Rebel base on a deserted planet called Crait. The cells had started training 7 weeks prior. However, the operative cells were just the tip of the iceberg. The cells in question had no idea that they were working for the New Republic, and a significant portion of them were under the impression that they were working for one of the various Remnant factions, allowing them to sow even further discord even in the case that they were captured. Trayarck had been thoroughly impressed by that little touch. Through a series of intermediaries that had been carefully linked to the finances of various major Imperial Remnant factions, accounts had been set up to enabling the hiring of a vast number of assassins, saboteurs, slicers, mercenaries and various other flavours of criminals-for-hire. These accounts were directly supplied by the substantial profits generated by the operation at Ord Ibanna, which had been allowed to continue running, but were now shunting their profits directly into the aforementioned accounts rather than Trayarck’s pockets. Those finances were kept secret to the best of the New Republic Intelligence service’s considerable abilities, and were as good as invisible to outside probes. The projected readiness point for their first operations was in a month’s time, they assured him, from which point the organisation would begin spreading around High Command’s discontent with a very large shovel.

1 month, then all hell breaks loose on the Empire.

by **Tysklandia** » Fri Dec 04, 2020 6:48 pm

Note: Last section added

--------------------------
The Imperial Remnant
Taskforce 117 & The Kuati Oversector
--------------------------

The Galaxy, Early 4ABY

Six long months... It has been one hundred and eighty days since the calamity at Endor. Where hundreds of thousands of the best and brightest in the Empire died in a single day. I can't begin to count the friends that died aboard that accursed battle station. Our government lies in ruins, and as I predicted, the succession has been contested and various moffs have already begun to refuse the authority of Coruscant. Some or even as short sighted as declaring outright independence or performing actions that would, in more sane circumstances, be declared treasonous.

Sometimes I struggle to blame them... High Command has been useless and Reports from Coruscant are conflicting and it seems they hold little sway over anything beyond the system itself. I should know better than to listen to rebellious propaganda and I know first hand about the disastrous results of their misguided ideals, but I know many are swayed by it. The Empire represented order, structure and stability and by our folly at Endor, they have ensured the loyalty of many in our own circles can now be questioned...

But High Command seems blind to this reality, they continue to call the enemy an "insurrection" and have declared many of the Moffs and captains who are ignoring their direct commands "Traitors", with orders to bring them to justice. The situation has gone far beyond such a simple solution and the remaining loyalist navy simply no longer has the capability to execute these commands. This is no longer simply a large insurrection, no longer a matter of rebels and opportunists. This is a true civil war that spans the entire galaxy and I truly fear this war has the potential to outshine the Clone wars in every way.

Thousands of worlds have joined their "New Republic" and thousands more are aflame in open rebellion against local governments and garrisons. Most of the Mid and Outer-rim seems utterly lost, either to the New republic, various petty warlords, criminals, Cartels or scum of various kinds. Chaos has gripped the entire galaxy and it is but a matter of time before it reaches the very heart of the Empire.

- Excerpt of the personal Logs of Admiral Farren

Tapani Sector
Fondor
Grid: L-13 CO: 25.261, -369.618
==Taskforce 117==

It had been a long haul for the 117th, their voyage through the besieged and collapsing southern galactic arm was fraught with peril. When the ISD Bulwark led the rest of the beleaguered fleet into Fondor’s orbit, a collective weight dropped from the shoulders of the tens of thousands of weary Imperial men and women who had been lucky enough to join the makeshift retreat. They had reached allied lines. They were safe...The initial welcome had been somewhat cold however, Fondor had suffered more than their fair share of disruptions in shipments since the chaos had gripped the Imperial supply lines after the battle of Endor and the local Moff was not agreeable to simply lend his aid without recompense. The negotiations however, were short. Farren had an abundance of munitions and fuel to spare and in return, his ships would receive priority service. After mere hours, dozens of ships of the taskforce were docked across the various orbital shipyards for long overdue repairs and maintenance.

Farren’s short, but brutal campaign through the southern colonies and outer-Rim had been harsh on several of his ships. The Star Destroyer “Nitsa” had suffered more so than others, requiring extensive repairs to ensure the integrity of its superstructure. Over a dozen other ships were in need of various forms of repair and resupply, something that Fondor could well provide, for the time being. With the repairs of his task force likely requiring a lengthy amount of time, Admiral Farren had the opportunity to engage in several meetings with the local Moff to discuss the situation and to update himself in the chaotic dance of politics happening in the Core. Corrussant did, after a request for information, send orders for task force 117 to protect Fondor against an expected attack from the New Republic, according to intelligence. But it did seem there were many Imperial elements across the Core busy with other pursuits…

There were already major separatists at play, something Farren had hoped not to see this close to Corrussant... Teta in the deep Core, Pentastar in the northern Rim and mayhaps half a dozen other warlords all across the galaxy. Alongside them, there were worrying rumors about large-scale deserting Imperial pilots, officers and even entire ships disappearing from patrols. Some simply want as far as to lay down arms when faced with advancing New Republic forces, hoping for clemency... All combined, critical portions of the Imperial war machine were being siphoned away at a time where they could ill-afford it. Left still uncertain as to which steps to take, or god forbid, forced to decide which warlord to serve if Corrossant failed to establish control of this mess, Farren decided to accept the orders from Corrussant for the time being. He would remain at station on Fondor and defend the System with the forces he had at hand, at the least until his men had rested and his ships had been repaired properly. Maybe he could avoid making difficult choices until then.

What he had left in proper operational state, he organised in three separate patrol groups and held the rest in reserve over Fondor, acting as security for his other ships in drydock and aiding the local defense fleet. Soon enough, elements of the 117th, organised in the patrol units, had departed almost as soon as they received the command, in order to keep an eye out for the New republic attack that was rumored to be soon at hand.

- - - - - - -

Orbit of Fondor- Orbital Dry-Dock 3B - Hangar bay 07
Admiral Hellen Farren - Baroness Saara Doln - Agent Arlissa Daaru

"They are approaching now, sir."

One of his guards, a rather young lad that served in the Navy troops aboard the Bulwark, informed Farren of the impending arrival of his guests. The Admiral glanced towards him before nodding, indicating he understood. Saluting in response, the trooper turned around, before marching back towards his post, his steps echoing through the bay. Farren turned back, continuing to stare into the star filled expanse that was visible beyond the open Hangar bay doors. A Sea of darkness, dotted with a collection of tranquil stars spread out as far as the eye could see only occasionally interrupted by a passing TIE patrol, or cargo hauler that passed the view of the bay.

The entire Hanger had been hastily evacuated upon the Admiral's request, various fighter craft were left strewn about the bay in various states of disrepair as they had been ordered to halt their work immediately. Beyond the dozen Navy troopers keeping guard at the entrances, there was not a technician, pilot nor droid in sight. This left the metallic chamber eerily silent, leaving Farren alone with his thoughts as he awaited the arrival of his guests.

He was still in doubt whether or not this meeting was a wise idea... There have been many rumors about the Emperor and Vader throughout the years, including some about their supposed collection of pet projects and personal assassins. One of these rumored men had seemingly dragged an entire fleet into secession alongside him somewhere in the outer Rim... But why then, would one of these rumored individuals come to him and demand to speak with him personally? Even if this person was who she claimed to be, was it not folly for him to speak to her at all? The only element the rumors of these individuals had in common was the destructive nature of these agents, deadly to friend and foe alike. If it had simply been his choice, he would never have agreed to this...

His musings were cut short as a collection of ships loomed closer to the Hanger bay deflector shield. A Tie Reaper, escorted by a trio of Tie escorts, 2 Interceptors and a Defender specifically approached at speed. All four ships adorned in multiple red stripes and the markings of the 117th, ensuring that Farren recognised them immediately as Saara Doln and members of her famed Imperial 455th Tie Fighter Wing.

As the reaper gently made contact with the bay's deflector shield that ensured the stability of the atmosphere inside, the two interceptors broke away, disappearing swiftly out of sight to the left and right respectively. Only the defender followed the reaper into the hanger itself. The reaper moved itself into position gently and commenced it’s landing procedure. The defender followed suit, settling into a prepared docking frame that had been placed nearby. The whining noise of their Sienar Systems Ion engines slowly dying down as their engines deactivated. This allowed Farren to muse on for a few more seconds before his quests would disembark, allowing him to remind himself once again as to the reason why he was even entertaining this dangerous stranger.

She had not contacted him directly, a smart move as he would have never trusted her if she had attempted something so brazen... Instead, she had tracked down Saara soon after her squadron had docked for refits in one of the maintenance yards on Fondor. Saara was one of, if not his most trusted confidant. Beyond her stellar record and skill as a fighter pilot and instructor, she had never once broken his trust... She was one of the few friends he had left after the disasters of the past year that had claimed so many of the others. Saara had declined to expand on what had been discussed during her meeting with this agent, or what they had discussed specifically, but she had vouched for her and requested for him to meet this "Arlissa" and hear what she had to say as soon as possible.

A metal twang interrupted his musings once again as the boarding ramp of the reaper settled unto the Hanger bay's metallic floor. And soon after, his guest disembarked. Farren could not help but be somewhat disappointed. Certainly, she was an attractive young woman, but he had somehow expected something more... exotic. The tall caucasian female that approached him was dressed in what seemed to be simply a standard ISB Uniform, something that failed to make him feel more at ease.

“Admiral Farren, I must say that I expected you to look more rugged, considering your reputation.”

Her tone seemed strict, somewhat monotone. A standard for the ISB, he supposed.
In the corner of his eye, he noticed Saara climbing out from her Defender, the process being somewhat less swift that simply disembembaring from a dropship.

“Arlissa Daaru, I presume.”

She nodded in kind, before making it somewhat obvious that she was scanning the room, noticing Farren’s security detail at the far end of the bay.

“Send your men away, what we are to discuss has consequences too dire to risk so easily.”

Farren couldn’t help but suppress a smirk as he found the request somewhat ridiculous. Glancing at his men, several dozen meters away, he had no intention of leaving himself unsecure with this unknown variable.

“I do not think that will be necce-”

“Helmar… She’s right. And trust me, if she wanted us dead from this distance, nothing we could do is going to stop her.” Doln’s interrupted as she finally strolled up to them, her helmet cradled under her arm. Her tone barren of the usual mirth and sarcasm she tended to portray when they were in private conversation.

Farren glanced at Doln for a moment, seemingly analysing her posture and deeming her to be serious about her statement as she took a position just behind him.

“Very well... “ With the simple press of a button, he activated the Com Link attached the cuffs of his Uniform. “Leave us.”

After but a slight delay, one of his men responded. “Copy that, Admiral.”

Within moments, his men filtered out of the Bay, taking position on the other side of the access doors. From their, they could still ensure their relative privacy.

“Now, what is so important that secure Imperial coms or the presence of my own men can’t be trusted.”

Arlissa assumed a military posture, as she took a glance at the Admiral, his dress, posture and demeanor. Making no clear effort in making it seem anything but obvious.

“Your ISB dossier is interesting, Admiral…” Arlissa replied. Farren’s eye twitched as he felt a chill travel down his spine, not enjoying the sudden direction this conversation had taken. “Do you know why?”

“I’m Sure you are about to enlighten me…”

“You were deemed too much of an idealist. Too critical of some of the more… Controversial elements of our Emperor’s policy. Contradictions between what we promised and what we did never sat well with you.”

She procured a small Holo-Emitter and held it in view. Upon activation, Admiral Farren’s ISB file flickered into view. Various observations and intercepted private conversations scrolling by automatically, rather rapidly.

“It is why you were sent to the Rim. You were deemed Ideal enough to be useful, but too dangerous near the centers of Imperial government, the risk for political difficulties deemed to high.”

Farren glanced at the hologram. He knew the ISB had far reaching powers and likely spies aboard every ship, but he saw messages and observations he could hardly believe they could have had access to. Sensing she had firmly grasped his attention, Arlissa flicked off the hologram with little warning and continued.

“This is why I came to you, Admiral. You are an idealist, you see the Empire as what it can become. What it promised to be. Not what it has been.”

Sensing that she was building up to something grand, Farren interjected, wishing to cut straight to the point. The conversation had taken a rather dangerous tone rather quickly. And years of being careful and restrained in his actions and criticisms, in order to avoid visits such as this made him desire for this conversation to end as quickly as possible.

“Where are you going with this?”

Switching the source of her holo-emitter, it sprung back to life. This time, showing a heavily redacted list of instructions, to the point of being practically illegible.

“I have come here to ask you to commit treason, Admiral Farren." She paused, for but a moment. Allowing the absurdity of her statement to sink in fully. The akward silence that followed caused Farren to glance back towards Arlissa, initially not believing he had heard something so absurd from a person who claimed to be what she said she was. This action caused their eyes to meet for but a moment and Arlissa continued.

"And to save the Empire from itself.”

It was then that Farren noticed the title of the holographic image, displayed in bright, neon red lettering: "Operation: Cinder"

The Kuati Oversector

The Phoenix Program

After receiving worrying reports from the New republic’s push in the Rim and the loss of Kashyyyk so soon after the disaster at Yavin, Grand Moff Kuras realized more radical solutions were needed to increase the effectiveness and future success rate of the Imperial fleet. Not just the forces under his command, but for all loyalists, for those fleets were still largely supplied by the shipyards under his purview.

In his eyes, further collapse of Imperial unity and loss of vital supply lines was simply a matter of time, more so than a possibility or a worst case scenario. Because of this, he had surmised that the effective nature of all military forces under his direct command needed to be analysed, secured from internal dissent and restructured to ensure their effectiveness and loyalty in the war to come. But after selecting a handpicked staff to perform a clear and honest analysis of his forces, time was needed before there were results to review.

Equally as important, in the eyes of Kuras, was to properly re-organise the important Trio of shipyards under, what was in practice, his direct control. The worlds of Foundry, Rendilli and Kuat were still stocked with supplies and resources, but were largely still constructing Imperial II’s and other models that the Grand Moff and other officers in his inner circle felt as somewhat unsuitable for the current state of affairs Manpower, fuel and ammunition could perhaps better be spent in other ways than centering the fleet around the, albeit effective, Imperial Class Star Destroyers. Grand Moff Kuras did not expect his supply lines to remain unmolested for long, so he desired to make the best use of every resource he had.

Kuras had long been an open and critical opponent to the Tarkin Doctrine and with important Imperial High Command personnel absent, assassinated or otherwise powerless to act against his proposed reorganisation, he could finally act against the fleet doctrine it had enforced upon the Empire. Meetings were held with Kuat Drive Yards, Sienar Fleet Systems, Rendilli Stardrives and several officers of the Imperial department of Military Research that had come to take orders from Grand Moff Kuras personally. These meetings had the clear objective to find ways to fix several glaring tactical and strategic advantages the rebels seemed to have in the current conflict.

Although the meeting was highly secretive, the results of this meeting and the resulting actions were difficult to hide. Whilst all partners were ordered to present several new designs, requests for upgrades of the existing fleet were prioritised. It seemed Grand Moff Kuras, ever the logistician, wished to make the most use of the ships and resources already in his possession. This would, to many, not be a surprise as he had a record of revitalizing older programs and continuing to work on projects others had abandoned, for reasons he deemed foolish.

The shame of the failed Nebulon Project, along with subsequent theft of hundreds of half-completed and partially decommissioned frames of this mothballed ship class, had been a thorn in Imperial Navy and Kuat drive yards reputation for years. These frames were then often modified and created into frankenstein like warships by criminals and the ARR.

The Nebulon’s redemption story has bolstered Kuras' reputation, both with KDY and many officers in the Imperial Navy, who had come to accept the usefulness of the ship, once it began to be distributed throughout the Navy.

In the year 1 ABY, Kuras had ordered for the Nebulon project to be pulled from mothball and ordered dozens of the ship to be commissioned for his own sector fleet, rapidly using the last of the mothballed frames not yet pilfered by criminals and diverting resources for the rapid mass-construction of an already tested and prepared design. These mid-weight frigates would end up serving as near perfect additions to the patrol fleet of the Kuati oversector, slowly replacing the aging arquitens fleet upon which the Imperial navy was still heavily reliant. Soon enough, all the way through 4 ABY, Nebulon Class ships would slowly be dispersed through the Imperial fleet, Those Kuras wished to curry favor with, often receiving priority deployments of the still relatively rare vessel.

And with Kuras no longer hamstrung by men such as Grand Mof Tarkin, he could finally review many other sidetracked and rejected projects from KDY, Rendilli and Sienar that he had always believed to be of great interest.

All in all, the results of this meeting were two major sector-wide edicts, known as the “Emergency Naval replenishment Program” and the “Emergency Army replenishment Program”, both led by the IDMR. Both of which involved many overt orders and commissions to Sienar Fleet Systems, Rendilli Stardrives, A reformed Rothana Heavy Engineering, Blastech Industries, Kuat Drive Yards and others. Beyond superficial knowledge of these secretive meetings, Spies of all kinds would be remiss not to notice the shifting priorities across the three vital shipyard worlds in the Kuati Oversector. Imperial Star destroyers near completion were suddenly subject to partial dismantling, several other, more barren, keels were dismantled and replaced by multiple other, often smaller KDY model warships.

Kuati Oversector
Kuat System
Grid: M-10 CO: 186.813 , -59.958
Executor Class Dreadnought “Annihilator”
Deck 44-D - Conference Room 33

The vast holographic emitter dominated the room. The lights were dimmed overhead, causing the holographic representation of the Galactic core to bath the room in a thick red glow. Grand Moff Kuras’ himself was joined by only a handful of his most trusted officers, as they stood on one end of the emitter. His Marshal flanked him on his Left and High Admiral to his right, along with an officer from the IMDR and various others spread throughout the room. They stood in uncomfortable silence as they stared at the various reports that popped over the important systems visualised on the Holographic image. The news it portrayed was far from comforting, but at the least they had expected as much. High Command had been falling apart for months now and disarray was reaching an uncomfortable peak. Disobedience and desertion had reached critical levels and a solution needed to be found, before complete Imperial collapse was made fact.

“We can’t continue like this…” The High Admiral muttered, breaking the tense silence in the room.
He manipulated the control panel of the emitter, switching the flow of information in the Holographic display, adding various visualisations of fleet elements to the various systems shown.

“Halder had drained most of the loyalist in the southern Core, Kaine has achieved control of the northern Rim and most of the forces within, The Tetan seperatist have cut off the Deep Core and their are a dozen of smaller fleets that have cut communication with High command.” He continued undeterred by the lack of immediate response by the others in the room. His voice was harsh and filled with frustration.

“As long as massada sits in Corrussant, we have no point to rally around, this situation will only get worse! Nobody believes he can direct the war effort.” He finished his plea, emphasizing his point with some poignant hand gestures.

A tense silence washed over the room once more. Grand Moff Kuras was leaning on the edge of the table that held the emitter. His gaze washing over the display and the various worlds and fleets depicted upon it. His voice was calm and collected as he provided his response.

“The succession is moot if few, if any, of the Admirals and Moffs agree to it, this means Massada is worth little. We must get as many Moffs, admirals and generals to negotiate an official succession or at the very least reach a provisional government and revitalize a centralised command structure” Kuras pushed himself away from the table and indicated towards the worlds depicted as under their direct control.

“Our position with Kuat, Rendilli and Foundry, if we can hold it, gives us bargaining power with any fleet commander that can be negotiated with. And if we can keep Commonor and Brenthaal fortified, we can secure much of the eastern Core against a coordinated invasion, that will give us a louder voice in any talks to come.”

“What will make these negotiations any different than the others?”

There had already been several attempts of such meetings, the failure of the first few of those catastrophes had caused much of the fracturing already. The open critique of the Scar-covered Marshal said that much.

“Either we wait for the situation to deteriorate to bring them back to the table, or we give ourselves a position where not negotiating with us is not within their best interest.”

Replying, once again in his calm and collected manner, Kuras motioned across the hologram, indicating along the Permillian route, leading from Brenthaal to Corrussant.

“But waiting isn’t to our best interest… The Chandrillan blockade is not strategically significant, but it’s an embarrassment, a symptom of our ability to stand and fight slipping from our grasp. Fixing the issue would be a statement. But more interesting to us would be…” Motioning directly towards the remainder of the route to corrussant and emphasising his choice with the circling of it, he continued. “Gaining influence across the Permillian route.”

“Retaking Chandrilla ensures the security of the Permillian route to Corrussant. This allows us to gain influence with Grizmallt, Alsakan and Corulag. This in turn opens them up to supply us more easily and more importantly, their security would depend on us as much as it does Sector Zero Command. It might bring them to the table.”

His collection of attendants observed the string of systems indicated, Chandrilla being a region that bordered Brenthaal, that had been rolled into Kuat Sector Command during the Chaos since Endor.
The Marshal was the first to interject as he realised the difficulty of this plan.

“The Stormtrooper Corps doesn’t have enough reserves to secure Chandrilla quickly. And you’d need the Army to control the planet for any length of time. We already have active situations on Commonor and Uquine, the Army reserves are minimal at best.”

Everyone in the room knew why sector Zero Command withdrew from Chandrilla’s surface. Minimal local support, alongside rebel blockade runners had ensured continuous strikes on Imperial garrisons for months. It was a quagmire, a swamp that would swallow armies whole, for little strategic benefit in the short term. If not enforcing strategic defeat by direct combat, then they would achieve the same by damaging morale, supplies and sabotaging production. As they did until Sector Zero Command withdrew from the planet.

“We can withdraw significant forces from Kuat and Rendilli, their orbital defenses are significant and close enough to reinforce should a situation arise.” Kuras replied calmly, seemingly already anticipated that particular issue.

“Capturing the major spaceports and the capitol would bring the local government to the negotiation table, we will provide them generous terms, even partial autonomy if that is what it takes. Chandrilla itself produces almost no industrial goods, they will suffer without trade for medicine and goods, reports state that they are already suffering under the blockade. The rebellion can’t supply the entire planet with the goods they need. I believe they will come to terms quickly, if we are generous and if it lifts the blockade.”

The marshal’s grimace showed that he had doubts with that optimistic plan, but he nodded nonetheless. Something had to be done and if someone had to bleed, It almost always ended up being the Army regardless... “Diverting forces from Kuat and Rendilli would give me the men I need, IF the Corps joins in.”

“They will, I will make sure of that.”

TL;DR
Task Force 117 stays at Fondor in defense. Sends out patrol squadrons for Early Warning.
Arlissa warns Admiral Farren about Operation: Cinder
Building more ships in the Kuati region
Organising an assault on Chandrilla (Added on 07/DEC/2020)

PS: I struggle with character based. I'll need some time to practice.

by **Draos** » Wed Dec 09, 2020 6:14 am

Etti IV
ExO Fein Zal studied his datapad reading the latest reports about a potential fight between the Imperials and Rebels taking place at the important ship-building world of Fondor. He pondered to himself how he can turn this news to the advantage of the Authority without getting actively involved. Unable to come up with any solutions he sighed this was his chance to fully make the Authority free from the Yoke of the Empire so that he can keep the tithes they usually provided within the Corporate sector and his pockets. However, he dared not support the so-called New Republic either for they may try to infringe on the Rights and Practices the companies that ruled this area of space held dear.

by **Abbeyverne** » Wed Dec 09, 2020 6:46 am

New Assignments

Jeremiah Dawntreader
Dawn
--------

Dispatch: New Republic Defense Forces, Command

Greetings, Jeremiah Dawntreader.
Having reviewed your service records and deliberated, we have determined you and your fleet are allies, and helpful ones too. Enclosed is the strike plan for our next attack. We hope to see you there. The force will likely be led by the Sixth Fleet. Please respond with your intentions.

Jeremiah studied the message on his holopad, periodically letting his eyes flit upwards to gaze outside. Viewed through the bridge windows, XB-4723 appeared small against the Incursors and the Dusk sitting there, idle. A squadron of X-Wings flew past the bridge. Further back, the Maw itself, a well of chaos, yet a beautiful sight from afar. He turned about, his cape flowing behind him. He called for his XO.

“Yes, sir?” Responded Päto, strutting down the corridor between trenches in which the crew, clad in their black fatigues, sat, monitoring various ship functions. Crews still busted around the Dawn, readying all matter of equipment. The hangar bay had been completely refurbished on the command ship so the Twilight’s Gleam would have plenty of room.

“Ready the fleet, form up and we will make a practice run. Our men must be able to work in formation, this is a new element, and they must be drilled.”

“As you wish.”

Outside, the Consortium’s ships all moved into position, leaving the hangars of the asteroid and lining up with the ISDs to be ready to engage. They all jumped in unison, their target? A collection of old CIS ships, abandoned near the Randa system. They had been using the junk ships as targets for the better part of the week. Appearing over the wreckage, the Destroyers unleashed their devastating firepower, as did the Incursors several seconds later. All weapons were using ionizing shots to avoid decimating their targets, or, accidentally, another friendly. The corvettes of the fleet broke off, coming in close were boarding parties could engage and in position to fire from their turbolasers. Their weapons would be no match for the CIS battleships, dead or not. Withering fire from the Consortium’s Imperial ships could break down even the best shields after a time, and their fighters, now swooping out of the bays on all five ships would make short work of shield generators and turbolasers in no time flat. With the demonstration over, the ships return to formation, starfighters returning to their ships, and stars run like water as the fleet returns to XB-4723.

Towards Chaos

Pentastar Alignment Force
Near the Foless System
--------

In unison, three daggers appear, sliding into formation in the darkness of space, their grey hulls contrasting the uniform black. They are Defiance, Adamant, and Death’s Head. Aboard Adamant, Admiral Austis Kay turns to the comms sergeant. “Inform the Grand Moff we have arrived at Waypoint Echo. We have encountered no difficulties as of yet,” she orders.

“Yes, Admiral.”

Kay is about to turn away, then she faces back at the noncom, “And relay to captains Yun and Oelberg that we will be staying here until we receive orders to move in,” she faces the rest of the bridge crew, “Launch patrol squadrons, and begin scanning the area for enemy vessels at routine intervals.” She stands back and surveys her crew. They are misfits, the dregs of the Academies, those who would not go on to fame. She sighs. Imperial doctrine put the best all together, and so all perished together, on the Death Stars, on the Executor, and even on the sanctuary moon. Her forces are depleted, which is the story throughout the Alignment, and she assumes the rest of the Empire, whatever it is.

Ardus Kaine
Reaper
--------

An ensign shuffles up, saluting, “Grand Moff, sir, Task Force 34 has arrived at Waypoint Echo, they are awaiting your signal to proceed.”

“Good. We will let them wait, all will fall into place in due time.”

“Yes, sir,” the ensign replies, almost a question, though he dares not phrase it as one.

“The Admiral must be tested, and I am sure this will be an effective test,” the Grand Moff states, as though it is in some way an answer, “Only the best will reform our Empire.”

“Yes, sir,” and the ensign steps out of Kaine’s quarters, thoughts spinning through his head. What was up with the Grand Moff? Was not Admiral Kay one of the best? He pushed them out of his mind and returned to his station to convey the message.

TL;DR:

TC receives confirmation of Fondor attack from NR High Command.
TC runs mock attack with new fleet formation.
A force from the PA arrives at the intersection of the Corellian Trade Spine and the Shipwright's Trace on it's way to Fondor.
Kaine is looking to test the group headed to Fondor in some way.

by **Puertollano** » Fri Dec 11, 2020 1:54 pm

Yar Togna Outpost, Partisan Territory

The noxious gasses of Yar Togna blanketed the planet in a thick smog, toxic and unbreathable to most races except for the Tognath. Since the beginning of the Rebellion, Yar Togna has stood as a planet untouched by the Galactic Rebellion, despite its position firmly against the Empire. This is in part due to its inhospitable nature, relatively small population and distant relation from the rest of the known universe. However, Yar Togna was now one of the Outposts of the notorious Partisans, a militant organisation hell-bent on the destruction of the Empire and all it stood for. Beneath the fumes from the clouded surface of Yar Togna, were snaking tunnels and military outfits, manned by a community of Rebels, armed to the teeth and too fringe for the New Republic. The subterranean eco-system that they call 'Home', operates as a hospitable climate for many of Yar Togna Outpost's non-Tognath residents, who with time, are beginning to outnumber their native comrades. Yar Togna had become an extensive military cell, but it had not seen combat with the immediate destruction of the Empire. This state of peace would not last forever.

The alcoholic beverages and death-sticks were aplenty the night of the destruction of the Death Star, but the Imperial Remnants were still as strong as ever. Murrea Jos, the Commandate of the Partisans, based in Yar Togna, held his head in his hands. The distant cheering and partying continued into the night, but Murrea was stuck contemplating the future of the Partisans and its efforts in creating this new world. A Lorridian entered his quarters, one of the many religious refugees from the Battle of Jedha. Its long red robes, swaying from side to side, until it came to a stop in front of him. The Lorridian had maintained a vow of silence for its duration since arriving in Yar Togna, but that was not to be. "We must do something," it murmured from under the thick gown. Murrea Jos simply looked up to the Lorridian, puzzlingly. He gestures for the creature to take a seat opposite him, kicking the chair towards it from under the desk. The Lorridian carefully takes a seat. "Why do you speak to me, Silent One," Murrea asks, curious about its break from its vow of silence.

"It concerns me, and my people, the rise of the Imperials once again. Like they attempted to eradicate us at the Battle of Jedha, I fear our Brotherhood is on the edge of extinction. The Brotherhood of Beatific Countenance cannot survive with a swift and decisive strike in the heart of the remaining Imperials," it explained.

Murrea Jos thought over this request. "It is funny that you ask such. New intelligence tells us of a battle of the planet of Fondor between the New Republic and the Empire. All forces are needed in the fight, and we have never been ones to turn that down," Murrea said, while unlocking a draw in his desk.

"Then war it shall be," the Lorridian said in reply. Murrea Jos took a Blaster from his drawer in the desk, he nodded to the Lorridian to dismiss it. He would allow the partying to go on a little longer, but soon the rag-tag starfighter squadrons of the Partisans would be scrambled to help in the fight.

A communication was sent to the New Republic's Sixth Fleet.

[COMMUNICATION TO THE NEW REPUBLIC]
SQUADRONS OF X-WING STARFIGHTERS SENT TO SUPPORT THE NEW REPUBLIC'S 6TH FLEET AT FONDOR.
NEED NOT REPLY.

Murrea Jos, Commandate of the Partisans.

by **Ormata** » Tue Dec 15, 2020 2:15 am

I heard my country calling, away across the sea,
Across the waste of waters, she calls and calls to me.
Her sword is girded at her side, her helmet on her head,
And around her feet are lying the dying and the dead;
I hear the noise of battle, the thunder of her guns;
I haste to thee, my mother, a son among thy sons.

TITAN COMMAND
ADM. HALDER, SUAN
H.I.M.S. DOMINION, UNCHARTED SPACE, L-13
COORDINATES: 5.402, -330.241

"As you can see it's all rather self-explanatory."

Halder nodded about it, reading as she was the report detailing the Tetan response. By and large it was a rather formal language, one she had yet to master, saying something tangible in the midst of a vast sea of words and phrases which meant nothing. It was a politician's response, politician's words. It did say some things which were tangible, though, namely a desire to iron out the hard details on what things as free travel meant throughout the Deep Core, how they would deal with the issues of berthing vessels at Tetan docks, so on and so forth. Halder found it somewhat hopeful that they thought there was a chance Titan Command would move so far north they could use such docks, but really it was just formalities in her thought process. It was less of a probability and more of just the thought counting. Her eyes traveled up to Peetrum, lips pursed.

"We'll send a representative to deal with that...bureaucracy I think."

"Who did you have in mind, ma'am?"

"Send Indle."

Who would be best to send to a bureaucrat's den than a former bureaucrat. She had someone in mind before, true, but he was also one of those few who had, at the time of his civil life, little compunctions with the slave labor which had gone on under his purview. Indle was one of her chiefs of staff in some ways, a man with a number of good connections whose ear was always to the ground, but he had initially chafed against her newer policies. He disliked being wrong was one such little reason towards this, but overall it was hard to give such men power by either direct means or association. He cast a bad light on an already badly viewed Empire. Yet...Indle knew what he was doing. He was a competent administrator, good enough diplomat, and a smooth enough talker to deflect most criticism. He was also well connected. It could work. Indle had not been too busy since his attachment to Titan Command, mainly working about keeping some areas recruitable for the Empire.

"I'll set about informing him then, ma'am."

"Has the Tapani mission made much headway?"

"Less than expected. Most of the Houses are eager to keep conditions peaceful but they're unwilling to supply forces. On the other hand, they range from desiring neutrality with the New Republic to being outright hostile to their ideals, though in usual Tapani fashion they either bluster or are quiet about it. Few have stated their willingness to allow vessels to dock."

Of course. The Tapani, noblemen in an era where nobility was increasingly uncommon by both rulers and the ruled, were two-faced at the best of times and duplicitous liars at the worst of times. Their most well known member had supported the Confederacy during the Clone Wars, dying then. Their motivations were readily understood, however. They desired to keep face, keep power, and continue to be as wealthy as or wealthier than their ancestors. Privileged in every way, snakes in most others, some had bankrupted themselves in their support of the Empire while others likely had bet on the Rebellion creating a power vacuum they could fill. They were, put plainly, Tapani in most senses of the word and yet...in theory, at least, the Noble Houses did not represent all Tapani. The Freeworlds had some amount of say, small or no, although they were practically under the nobility's thumb.

"And the League?"

"Just as divided. They still look to the central worlds for orders."

Hmm...her envoy there was proving to be ineffective, likely because he was unused to the web Tapani nobles liked to weave, did not fully understand the fractious diplomacy which was required. He'd said that he would, that he could adapt to the environment and was used to intrigue; CAPT. Tarie was an upper class Coruscanti, one of the merchant guilds who wielded power on their own before their holdings were seized by the New Republic. He had, it seemed, perhaps been wrong. She required someone a bit more acclimated to that specific situation...Freeste. it was rather obvious, albeit would be awkward considering his command's station and his own personal standing to the Tapani but it was a start worth investigation.

"Inquire as to RADM. Freeste possibly heading up that mission. The Tapani would be worth having with us fully, not half-assed neutrality. Don't remove him from his post just yet. Just look into it."

Halder considered what else was on the table. The other issues which were at hand mainly included the Giju system with the Heralgic; they posed a valuable commodity for Titan Command and for the Empire in general, once which Halder was intent to preserve. She had sent a small fleet in to augment the local Moff's forces, using that aid as leverage to draw up new treaties with the Heralgic. The man to head the mission, one CMDR. Hanwea, was quite able in his job. He was unafraid to take charge over the situation, despite his rank, and was to some degree a political man. She needed the Heralgic under control, producing for the Empire and happy with it to boot.

“What about the Giju mission?”

“CMDR. Hanwea reports that Moff Osel has relinquished normal control of the system to local Heralgic officials in exchange for nominal production of manufactured goods for Imperial forces and that he’s granted full rights to the, ah...Heralgic, ma’am.”

“Full rights?”

“Full rights.”

Halder grunted in exclamation; Hanwea had, effectively, given the aliens entirely what they desired in exchange for the usual order of affairs. It was an interesting move, considering it’s intent to placate the locals, one which seemed to work. She accepted the small sheaf of flimsi, reading through the report in whole with those quick, darting motions of the eyes. They would be producing arms, ammunition, supporting equipment and foodstuffs at a lesser rate than what it was in the Empire’s heyday, but in her opinion some things had to be sacrificed to ensure the survival of the whole. Securing the planet peacefully was far better than threatening it or invading it, creating enemies later on. Continuing to read, she came upon the portions specifying the rights themselves. They were indeed full rights.

“Interesting. Commend Hanwea for his good work. Keep him in the system, however.”

"Are you sure that's wise, ma'am?"

Halder looked up at him from her seat; while Peetrum wasn't a hardliner COMPNOR man, it was hard to break free from those tenets. The alien was less than the human, they said, but it was evident they had been wrong. At least, it was clearly evident to Halder that they were. Admiral Ackbar existed, for one thing, and the Imperial Navy had borne defeats by Mon Calamari and other species. Despite the enemy's terroristic actions, Ackbar had not engaged civilian targets and as such could earn some measure of respect. Her response straightened the man's back just a fraction.

"We can no longer afford the luxuries of arrogance, Lieutenant."

“Aye, ma’am.”

He shuffled the reports in his hands, a little array of red, blue, and gray folders, before drawing out a gray one. Clearing his throat, Peetrum’s mouth was plain, attempting to hide the sourness in the depth of his throat. Looking back up at her though, he held it out as he spoke, exchanging the gray for a red.

“A list of vessels reported missing or unaccounted for, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Is that all?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Very good. Dismissed.”

As Peetrum came to attention, folders in one hand, before about-facing and striding out and away the Admiral looking through the compiled list. Flipping through, she found that the largest vessels which had been registered as completed and manned, never as destroyed, and now as gone were rather extensive. One Star Dreadnought, the Vengeance, as well as several battlecruisers and nearly two dozen Star Destroyers of various classes. The amount of smaller vessels was likewise larger than what would be comfortable. She nodded to herself about it, mouth awry, before closing the folder and setting it on her desk. What a shitshow, came the thought. The largest of the bunch, the Vengeance, was an interesting case study; she typed it up on the console, looking through such things as deployments, last known locations, and last known commanding officer. The vessel was last known to have been operating in the Southern Rim, areas near Bespin and the like. Strange area for patrol, especially for a vessel like that. Jerec...the name didn’t strike any bells, so she typed that in as well. An Inquisitor. Great. By all the stars she disliked those force-users. Another sigh, another second.

Halder checked her chrono: fifteen minutes. A good enough time as any to get moving. Getting up from her chair, the leather creaking, she retrieved her jacket and cover from the coat hanger before slipping it on. Nimble fingers clasped down the buttons, hand smoothing out the fabric, and a brief look in the mirror confirmed that the rank plaque had indeed kept where it was, the piece of flimsi behind the fabric holding it in place. Donning her cover, she strode out from her cabin, taking a left down the long hall.

It was quiet down the length, only the crisp clip-clop of shoes on the hard floors echoing down it’s length. Two Stormtroopers stood at each far end, zero-g gear already donned and blasters held low save for when the Admiral approached. About twenty feet out, the two snapped to attention, both giving a salute to her as she passed through the doors. Fifteen minutes and they were to discuss the oncoming campaigns against the New Republic, strikes on Sullust and Bespin. She considered it imperative that they seize the initiative from the enemy, that they place them on the defensive and strike at their ability to make war. Without Sullust’s Surosuub shipyards or Bespin’s Tibanna gas, they could better strangle the New Republic’s support of their war efforts and force them into a status better akin to the Rebellion to Restore the Alliance. Of course, Halder knew that they wouldn’t be able to do such a thing but they could, at the very least, get close enough to it that the domestic reforms she intended to help enact would counter their efforts in terrorism.

What she was not looking forward to, however, was just a few select individuals who had eluded her. General Craste, her overall commander of ground forces within Titan Command, was a solid individual, but he wasn’t one of those select individuals. Director Wallster of the I.S.B. was one issue. He was a COMPNOR man through and through, a humanocentrist of the genocidal flavor who would doubtless find issue with Halder's olive branch attempts. A believer in the old ways, the man did not view the alien with any favor nor dignity. He was something to be removed, yet only removed in a certain way. She wasn't a tyrant or warlord. There were rules to be abided by. There were ways things had to be done. Rear Admiral Tonnen likewise disliked her methods, though he was of the opinion that Titan Command should only focus it's attentions inwards towards the core, subjugating those who wouldn't submit. An ardent admirer in the Tarkin Doctrine, he had been hampered by incapability while ubduly aided by familial connections; his family was Kuati nobility, she recalled, though their power had waned once three sons were found in support of the New Republic and their assets were seized. It was disgraceful. The issues didn't halt in the upper chain, however. Though he wouldn't be present, Senior Captain Berl was another issue; as a former logistics officer, he’d come into command of one of her smaller commands, a frigate squadron. Overall, while he had a penchant for organization he did not have a penchant for thinking on his feet, for aggressive action. His war was one of strict plans and orchestrated movement, not one of actions by individuals. It was only through the Uniform Code, the law of the Imperial Navy, that he had not yet been moved. She'd avoided disaster by posting his squadron near the core of her own, keeping a close eye on him. The same applied to the other two.

She came upon another door and another pair of troopers, both again saluting before one leaned in to open it. A call was made to attention by some junior officer, an attache by the door whose cheeks still had baby fat. The conference room beckoned as the Admiral strode in, the long rectangular table sitting in the middle of it all, boots lightly sinking into deep blue carpet as she made her way about the table. The men stood about that table, some in the field green of the Imperial Army like General Craste while others bore the gray of the Navy, and each had a good number of medals upon their chest. She walked behind them, hands clasped behind her back, before standing beside the seat.

"Be seated," came the order, the assembled shuffling down and most, if not all, leaning forward onto the table. She seated herself as well, the junior officer in the corner clicking on the small audio recorder. It'd become policy, at one point or another, for such meetings to be recorded. If they weren't, claims might be made afterwards by the more duplicitous. A man standing to one side of the room, gray uniform and a Captain's plaque, smoothed out black hair, cleared his throat. Behind him, a galactic map began to illuminate about the plain wall.

"Gentlemen, all information pertaining to this operation, hereafter referred to as Operation High Tower, is classified. The aim of the operation is a sweeping action by the 3rd Battleship, 15th, and 16th Squadrons, under the command of Rear Admiral Laurens, from the Diamal System, down through Fondor, and punching into New Republic space rapidly before engaging the enemy...here, at Sullust. There, they will engage and destroy the New Republic defense fleet. Overall, preference is given to taking control of the shipyards but destruction may be acceptable. From there, the 16th Squadron will move via...this route, here, and on to Bespin. There, they will secure Tibanna gas stores. Current leadership of Bespin's primary capital, Cloud City, is considered hostile; a ground landing is considered unavoidable. Estimated time from Operation start to Sullust capture, two months. Estimated time from that period to Bespin capture, one month. Questions?"

The first to speak was General Craste, leaning in to the table as he inquired. It was quite obvious where his interests lay, considering the man's responsibilities. "Sullust's government. What is I.S.B.'s opinion on the overall disposition of it towards Imperial forces? Has it shifted since their official declarations?"

"Directly aligned with the New Republic. If anything, their ties have only strengthened in light of the victory at Endor. Sullust has maintained a prominent role in the rebellion's efforts; while it possesses a small standing army, militia numbers are anticipated to be high in any ground assault scenario. Likewise, the Surosuub shipyards are constructed vessels for the enemy war effort."

"If they do not surrender," interjected Director Wallster, "it is I.S.B.'s opinion that saturation bombardment is the best cure. It would devastate local morale, destroy their fortifications, and leave our own intact."

Halder stared daggers into that man, face taut and severe. It was that short sighted arrogance which she despised with a passion. "Orbital bombardment is not on the table, gentlemen. I am not going to let us hand the New Republic another propaganda victory."

"We cannot afford leniency towards these aliens, Admiral. With all due respect, we're well capable of dealing with these issues."

"With all due respect Director, you are not. Your failures, the past failures of your institution, have compounded this rebellion into being. One orbital bombardment convinces a dozen worlds to side against us, a billion citizens to take up arms, and gives certainty for their cause to our enemies. They fight harder and longer because of it. They break far slower. Alderaan's destruction is more than enough proof of this. Orbital bombardment is an unacceptable answer."

Director Wallster went quiet at this small diatribe, eyes wide and staring, cheeks pale in the pale yellow lighting. He was shocked, shocked at the quite public needling, at the fact that a mere Admiral had done so. How dare she, his face said, and not an ounce of effort was made to hide it. Yet, as the conversation continued, his shock would lessen and reform into that mask of concentration and thought, of considerations for hard choices.

"A ground assault is far too protracted for our forces," mused the General, "I am certain we can defeat their defense fleet. I am not so certain of their army. If we needed to level the field, limited strikes and air support may be the answer. The Sullustians would start an insurgent campaign, however; keeping control would be costly. To counter such requires a large number of enforcers we don't have."

"I wasn't aware the Imperial Army was so timid," replied Rear Admiral Tonnen, sneer playing about his eyes and snarl about his mouth, "through fear, we can yet bring them to heel."

"Through fear, we can incite yet more insurgency against us. Fear isn't our answer. It's a brittle weapon at the best of times. Besides, they've aready defeated the DS stations twice over. What do they have to fear?"

Halder had leaned up against the table, eyes closed and listening while her templed fingers stretched back and forth, back and forth. It was quite plain to her which argument had greater merit, which did not make the Tarkin assumption that it is better to be feared than loved, that the populations of the galaxy if made to quiver at the notion of Imperial forces would never rise up against that Empire. She spoke in that soft cant, chiding almost, with some amount of devilish humor.

"We may not need to take the planet itself, gentlemen. Demonstrations that they are not invulnerable may be enough and the deployment of such a large force so willingly may place the New Republic into delay as they attempt to re-gauge our strength. We would not be able to take and use the Surosuub shipyards, true, nor Bespin's vast resource…but it may serve the cause just the same."

"You believe we may turn this into an talent show for the galactic populace? That we must woo them?"

"We're fighting to convince them of our right nature, Rear Admiral, the scope of the galaxy doesn't quite allow for anything else. Subjugation only takes us back into the vicious cycles of rebellion and terrorism. We must break their legitimacy or suffer the same. The first step to this is the elimination of the enemy's conventional forces in order to force them back into the insurgent Rebellion while also cutting down their support and arguments with homefront reform. From there, they will wither and die from a lack of public support."

Director Wallster interrupted yet again, head snapping up and clenched fist resting on the table. The man's own tone was accusatory, inflamed, passionate, the same sort of voice Halder had heard three times before at COMPNOR rallies. He spoke fast, too, fast and hard in his accent.

"Homefront reform? You speak of treason. You want to do what the Rebels desire. You're aiding them!"

"The elimination of their chief complaints while also keeping power in check and in line weakens them on a moral, idealistic basis. I merely wish to cut them down to that size. A good start would be the granting of full rights to such beings. Treason would be failing to preserve this Empire."

"You can't do this. You don't control the Empire. You can't."

"I won’t. They will. But that is the future, Director, and negotiations with such other powers doesn’t concern you. I believe this meeting is over, gentlemen. Dismissed.”

by **Strala** » Thu Dec 17, 2020 9:13 am

New Republic Imperial I Star Destroyer Emancipator: Orbiting over Sullust

The admiral's chair creaked as he sat down. He was a man nearing his sixties, and if he hadn't joined the Rebellion and later on the New Republic, then he would have long retired from the Navy. He was sure that he could become a professor at one of the naval academies, and if that didn't work out, could always live off his savings and potential pensions that he could have received from the Empire. Alas, the Empire had to turn out to be a corrupt and tyrannical government that went against everything that he had fought for in the Clone Wars.

He served with the new order, but it never felt right. The years he had spent on the front lines of the clone wars felt pointless now that the democracy and republic that he fought to preserve was destroyed by itself. The Emperor, former Chancellor Palpatine, was a cruel man, who oppressed all species that weren't human. His successors, however, seemed far better. If he wasn't already part of the Rebel alliance, then he would have joined Titan command. They truly wanted to end the xenophobia of the Empire along with restoring democracy.

If only I didn't have to do any of this blasted paperwork. This was the bane of officers everywhere, and as your rank increased, so did the amount of paperwork you had to do. When he was a captain in the Guard d'Azure, he had to turn in reports about what happened in his patrols. Since he is an Admiral, he has to read the report of every single captain and pilot in his fleet. Thankfully the reports were mostly tame in comparison to what Commodore Trayarck had forwarded to him. He was just as baffled as the commodore was when he read that a Nebulon B managed to hit an asteroid while exiting hyperspace. Whoever entered the hyperspace coordinates needs to be replaced with someone more competent. As for his fleet, it seems that the Eriadu Authority was getting angsty again. The Sixth Defense fleet had over 50 minor skirmishes with them just this month alone, leading to several CR90 corvettes and Nebulon Bs damaged. It was a worrying thought for him since the Imperials could be able to encircle Sullust and the Sixth Defense fleet if that was the case.

A knocking on his door broke him from his thoughts. "Admiral, may I enter? We have received transmissions from both New Republic High Command along with a message sent by a small band of rebels from the partisans that used to be under the command of Saw Gerrera."

"Of course." The door opened, and one of his aides walked in, handing over two flimsiplast sheets. One was marked by the New Republic High Command and the other was unmarked. On the one sent by high command, it informed him of the upcoming battle of Fondor, where his fleet would be in charge of a group of pirates or smugglers that decided to join the New Republic. Just reading that put a sour taste in his mouth. He had fought against and alongside them when he was part of the Guard d'Azure and in the Republic Navy, and he quickly learned that they were equally horrible as allies as they were enemies. One moment they would fight alongside you, and the next they would have their ships fire upon yours, demanding payment for them to stop. The moment any trouble started to show, they would flee, and once the battle was over, they would return demanding the rights to scavenge for whatever they wanted. He would be damned to allow them to fight alongside his forces, even if they did have an Imperial Star Destroyer. "Lieutenant, please inform High Command, that I do not wish to have a group of pirates or smugglers attached with my fleet. They can join the battle if they want, but they will stay far away from my forces and will be attached to one of the other fleets participating." Now, what about the partisans. It seems that they also wish to aid him by sending in an undisclosed amount of X-wings and pilots. Now that was something he could use, especially if these pilots and partisans were talented. "Lieutenant, please inform the leader of the partisans that I would be glad to receive their aid. Please inform them that I would like for them to meet us at Fondor instead of Sullust."

"Yes sir. Is there anything else you want me to do?"

Admiral Liu thought about it for a moment before responding. "Yes, I want you to inform the forces readying to strike at Sluis Van and Eriadu to stay put. I want them nearby incase any Imperial attack is launched towards Sullust. The defense of Sorosuub facilities and shipyard is vital for New Republic war efforts, and the loss of the shipyards would cripple our efforts in this theater. Please inform Rear Admiral Striker that he will be leading the group that will be attacking Fondor. Could you also inform High Command about the possibility of an Imperial attack on Sullust, and ask them to send some reinforcements to this sector when requested." Having said that, he motioned for his aide to leave the room, while he got started on writing two letters.

To
Commodore Trayarck,

The Sixth Defense Fleet would like to request that you send ships to help support the forces that we willing to send to Fondor. If it is possible, we would like for you to send one of your MC75s along with several other smaller ships. They will be subordinated to Rear Admiral Striker who be in charge of all naval forces from the Sixth Defense Fleet in this engagement. Please respond as soon as possible.

From,
Admiral Liu Bao Rui.

To
Rear Admiral Striker,

You will lead the ships sent by the Sixth Defense Fleet to Fondor. The Sixth Defense Fleet will be sending, the Liberation, Intrepid,Freedom, two Victory II-class Star Destroyers, one Dauntless class Heavy Cruiser, two MC75, five Dreadnought class Heavy Cruisers, seven Nebulon Bs, three MC60, four MC40a, six MC30c, two Quasar Fire Class Escort Carrier, one Liberator class Carrier, twenty CR70 class Corvettes and fifteen CR90 class Corvettes. Several X-wing and Y-wing squadrons will also be sent with your force, although they will not be attached to any capital ships.

From,
Admiral Liu Bao Rui

by **Tysklandia** » Fri Dec 18, 2020 4:42 pm

--------------------------
The Imperial Remnant
Taskforce 117 & The Kuati Oversector
--------------------------

The Galaxy, Early 4ABY

Imperial Remnant
Fondor System
Galactic Grid: L-13 CO: 25.261 , -369.618
Orbit of Fondor
Orbital Dry-Dock 3B - Hangar bay 07
Admiral Hellen Farren - Baroness Saara Doln - Agent Arlissa Daaru

The Bulwark was just barely visible from this distance. Slowly meandering some kilometers away from the orbital docks, drifting in the sea of black that was space. It’s familiar dagger shape was broken up by the handful of specs that were likely its escorts, drifting nearby. Farren stood at the precipice of the deflector shield that held the vacuum of space at bay, his mind parsing the information he had just been given as he stared into the dark. The small holo-emitter he had been given by Arlissa was clenched in his right hand, the death grip he had on it attempting to exact some form of vengeful anger upon the information the device had shared.

He turned back to face the empty hanger bay, before dropping the emitter on the floor. A resounding crack followed as he slammed his foot down upon the handheld device, destroying it.“How much would Kaine risk to retrieve these weapons?” His voice betrayed little emotion, Saara noticed from her position a dozen meters away. She had placed herself on a supply crate, her flight helmet discarded nearby. Arlissa had said her piece, she felt no need to intervene beyond having vouched for her.

Arlissa then turned back to Farren from her position near the Reaper landing craft, from where she had allowed Farren time to parse the information the emitter had provided. “I do not know for certain, Admiral, Kaine is a complex figure, a master in the game of politics. He desires power beyond anything else.” She motioned towards the shattered emitter at Farren’s feet. “Operation Cinder and those weapons would be a tool in his arsenal, little more. I doubt he would perform the Emperor’s will, simply because it was his command. So I doubt he would risk operational security or defense to assault Fondor in force.” Her voice retained its monotone performance, her quasi emotionless responses were becoming somewhat unnerving to Farren. Even though he himself was known to be stoic, this woman seemed to resemble moreso a droid than a person.

Folding his hands behind his back, farren slowly walked back to the center of the hanger, where Arlissa and Saara were waiting, taking in a few extended breaths to calm his nerves as he began formulating a response to what Arlissa presumed to be Kaine’s plan to retrieve those weapons.

“The territory of the Kuati Oversector, the strength of Titan Command and the position of the Tetan separatists ensure that a large bulk of Imperial forces and territory remain out of Kaine’s grasp.” Farren surmised. “These weapons could be used to weaken these factions or even Corrussant itself.”

Arriving at the spot where the Defender and Reaper craft were resting alongside their respective pilots, Farren continued his analysis. “If the Core is left is disarray, Kain can use the chaos to assemble more influence and power. I assume he will attempt to retrieve these weapons during the expected rebel assault on Fondor itself, this would reduce the risk on his own forces and limit the chances for anyone to intervene successfully.“ Turning to Arlissa, he motioned to her to request her opinion on the matter. “Does that seem feasible, Miss Daaru?”

Exhaling audibly after taking a moment to parse the information, Arlissa turned to Farren, who seemed to physically embody the principle of an Imperial Navy Officer, with his uniform in immaculate condition, his textbook military stance and calm analysis of his opponents objectives. But many of those same officers had proven to be unable to handle the rigors and uncertainties that came with war. The success of the unorthodox tactics of the rebellion had shown as much. Arlissa was in no mood to allow conventional Imperial tactics to grant Kaine his intended prize. “It does seem a reasonable assumption to make, Admiral.” Arlissa replied, but continued with the critique she had apparently been waiting to give. “I would propose that this information insist you assemble your forces in full. Your patrol groups have lowered your operational forces here significantly, a proper task force sent by Kaine will overwhelm your single operational destroyer, never mind what forces the rebellion will bring to bear to provide distraction.”

Farren smirked as he turned around once more, to glance at the bulwark still visible through the hanger bay opening across the void. “Do not worry too much, miss Daaru. I can assure you, I will prepare for Kaine’s arrival to the best of my abilities.”

. . .

Soon after the clandestine meeting was concluded, shuttles were launched from the Bulwark, heading towards the various patrol groups in the nearby systems and the spaceport on the surface where a portion of his forces had landed.. It seemed orders were being passed around that could not be trusted to be sent via normal Imperial comms.

Kuati Over Sector
Brenthaal System
Galactic Grid: L-9 CO: 60.499 , 35.894
Deep Space assembly point for Taskforce 881

“The 36st will arrive within the hour, sir”

The report from the communications officer broke the repetitive slur the bridge of the Gravitas had found itself settling into. The 332nd Squadron it led was to be the speartip of the newly minted taskforce eight-eight-one and had been ordered to the fringes of the Brenthaal system, awaiting the arrival of the newly minted 728th Troop Squadron.

“Ensure they drop from hyperspace on waypoint Gamma. Have the 993rd wing escort them around the asteroid belt towards our position.” The Vice-Admiral responded dryly, noting with satisfaction as the communication officer barked his affirmative response immediately. He ensured the message was being sent before turning to address a guest that had just arrived on his bridge. The sharp faced woman, dressed in dull grey battle-armor, adorned with the code-pips of a general in the Imperial Army, was a strange visitor to the bridge of an Imperial warship, to be sure.

“Now we just have to wait on your stragglers, General Balaara.” His tone was dismissive, the insult just vaguely hidden. Balaara was used to disrespect from the Navy. She and the rest of the Army were often considered but an afterthought. The dredges of those in Imperial military service. Those not skilled or intelligent enough to pilot a starfighter or serve as ship crew ended up in the Army, or so the common belief was.

The fact that a section of her troops were still stuck on Commenor had been an issue difficult to solve, something that was threatening to ruin the existing timetable of the entire operation. It had given a spark to the ever present critique any navy officer or pilot had for the dregs of the Army or even the Stormtrooper Corps.

“My men will be here soon enough, Vice-Admiral. They do have a busy schedule, fighting the war and all that.” Her response was less subtle, the annoyance at the riposte visible on his visage. Balaara had long since given up in gaining the respect of the other branches by speaking their language. She intended for her achievements to force that respect to bear.

The Vice-Admiral turned towards the viewing deck, near the thick transparisteel that secured the bridge from the various dangers of space. Motioning Balaara to follow him, they walked up the raised catwalk that gave view of the lower deck, where various officers busied themselves with all the actions necessary to keep the Gravitas operating properly. Arriving in front of the opaque barrier, they were rewarded with a view of the endless black sea, and the few dozen ships of the eight-eight-one that had already assembled and were floating gently in a loose formation around the Flagship upon which they stood.

“All fun aside General, you have reviewed our rules of engagement?” The Vice-admiral asked his question simply, his tone indicating his malcontent. He himself apparently dissatisfied with the limitations they had been given.

Balaara crossed her arms, glancing at the various warships that floated nearby, including several of the large transports that already held a large portion of her fighting men. “I have… They are less optimal than I had expected.”

“Less optimal? Our restriction on preliminary bombardment is near total. You’ll be landing on contested ground and I will be subject to counter-fire until your deployment is complete!” His voice carried across the mostly silent bridge, the officers busy on their stations and smart enough not to interrupt two senior officers bickering amongst themselves. The Vice-admiral ran a tight ship, or Balaara hoped he did. Lest this information travel too far. “ This has the hallmarks of a massacre in the making, all for this backwards agri world, filled with politicking fetishists.” The Vice-admiral's frustrated voice was clear, making little attempt to hide his opinion on the nature of the operation at hand.

“I care little for why Grand Moff Kuras sent us here, Vice-Admiral. But if he wants control of the planet, I’ll ensure he has it.” Balaara’s response was confident and short, true to her reputation. The Vice-Admiral glanced in her direction and sighed, crossing his arms before getting to the gist of the conversation. “Well enough I suppose, If you believe your men are to the task...But I have reviewed your battle plans, your requests for air support are excessive. At the numbers you demand, all the wings I have will be spent only twelve hours after the operation begins.”

“Exactly, I wish to shock them into submission. Use our overwhelming firepower to its full extent. I intend to gain control of all important spaceports and landing sites and complicate any effort for an organised defense, within those twelve hours.”

The admiral nodded as he processed the statement, before turning to Balaara and pressing her on the strategy. “I fear they won’t submit so easily. They already forced an Imperial retreat once. They will try to do so again, no matter the initial shock.”

Balaara agreed, having been briefed of the possibility by Imperial Intelligence analysts. But she had adjusted her plan to account for it. “I expect as much. After the initial landing and the securing of our primary objectives, I intend to give them breathing space to organise a counter offensive.” The Admiral seemed surprised to hear that, given the quizzical look on his face. it seemed foolish to give the enemy the opportunity to strike back and give him ample time to do so as well. But the general expanded upon her reasoning quickly enough. Her confident demeanour apparently undiminished as she seemed confident in her plan.

“During the time they prepare said counter-attack, we can deploy artillery and replenish our air wings. If we crush their counter-attack utterly, I believe they will be willing to negotiate terms to avoid further fighting on their hometurf.”

The Vice-Admiral nodded in understanding, although he seemed not entirely convinced. “A risky plan… And if they are not willing?”

Balaara took a moment to think on that question, before turning around and starting her march towards the exit of the bridge, responding ominously as she departed the beating heart of the Gravitas.

“Then we bludgeon them until they are willing.”

TL;DR
* Taskforce 117 is preparing for the assault on Fondor by New republic forces and is setting a trap for Kaine's forces
* Hidden in the outskirts of the brenthaal system, an Imperial taskroce is assembling for a suprise invasion of Independant/rebel held Chandrilla, currently blockaded by Imperial forces under command of independant Moffs/Imperial High Command

by **Ormata** » Fri Dec 18, 2020 5:48 pm

I heard my country calling, away across the sea,
Across the waste of waters, she calls and calls to me.
Her sword is girded at her side, her helmet on her head,
And around her feet are lying the dying and the dead;
I hear the noise of battle, the thunder of her guns;
I haste to thee, my mother, a son among thy sons.

TITAN COMMAND, OH-FIVE-TWO SQUADRON
LT. NORWHE, ELVIKEYS
DIAMAL SYSTEM, L-13
COORDINATES: 10.115, -342.49

“House Two, House Two, this is Orbital, RTB, RTB, over.”

Norwhe checked his chrono; it couldn’t have been time to hit the barn, surely it couldn’t be? He was right in that regard. They still had several standard hours to burn and no relief in sight. Was the squadron getting underway? Were they finally moving out from the shallow little hole that was the Diamal System? He sucked on his teeth about it for a split second. No relief in place, no-one moving to take their place, so it wasn’t as though they were simply shifting posture or moving to a different system. No, it smelled frantic. It smelled urgent. He could sense it in Watcher’s Comms Officer, the speed of the words, the precision of the words. It was most definitely a now thing. A strike? Entirely possible. The whole squadron would be pushing out, then, and that'd be a pain and a half. It could be some sort of environmental anomaly but his sensors would be going wild in that case. No, far more likely to be a strike.

“Finally moving out from this dung-heap.”

“Fierfek I have been dying to get some action.”

“Only action you’ve gotten is gunning those banthas.”

“Do you need an eye exam my man? Have you seen the side of this ride?”

“He is pimpin’.”

“Didn’t ask you.”

“Didn’t need to.”

He clicked on his squadron comms. Of course they were dying for a fight, being the good little TIE pilots that they were, and of course they’d figured out the same thing he had but frankly he didn’t need the random chatter at the moment. They could have that when landed on the ship. Norwhe spoke fast and brief.

“Silence on nets.” Click. “This is House Two, copy your last as RTB, over?”

“House Two, this is Orbital. That is affirm, out.”

“Told you, lead. Gonna get a few more markers for myself.”

Norwhe clicked back to squadron comms, shaking his head with a light little chuckle. “RTB, RTB, we’re going back home. Increase throttle to seven-zero. Chow’s still open, by the way.”

“If it wasn’t, I’d still be fine. Got to have connections these days.”

“Pffft.”

The flight of tiny little dots swung back around, speed slowly increasing up to seven-zero throttle as they evened themselves out, and the squadron grew closer and closer in their view. The slate gray hulls of the Venator closest, the Watcher herself, beckoned better than any old Confederate hulk Norwhe had served on before, long ventral hangar opening up just a bit as though to beckon them in. They took up the line, each little TIE/IN cutting between the armored doors easily and settling themselves down. As he came in, Norwhe could see to the left and right, just there in the corners of the eye, flight crews prepping their own craft, the TIEs being serviced and fueled, final checks for some of them, while the ordinance men moved small stacks of bombs and proton torpedos down the long line on their carts. Of course, that sort of thing were mere colored dots and thin figures, but he could tell all the same. Black and gray jumpsuits with yellow vests moved across the deck in groups, the maintenance men seeing to their craft, while purple dots and long, red-yellow-red lines were fuel lines being connected to their craft, lowered from the overhead. Long gray boxes were ordinance men moving down the long line. It was a scramble, left, right, and center. They were being scrambled for action.

Sithspit, there goes chow, he thought.

As he set himself down, the LT. thought to himself on the various little things that could be happening. Docking arms hooked the TIE in place, hatch opening above him as the contfols slowly dimmed their red lighting. His mind jumped about briefly before the man took a hold of it, clambering out of his cockpit and saying mentally we’re getting the brief anyway, hell with it. Jogging along the rails, he could see fuel lines already getting attached to his own Interceptor. Full strike? Full strike. A grimace as Norwhe took his helmet off, cradling it in one arm while sliding his fingers through matted, short hair. Sighing, he looked about and saw the squadron forming up in a crude little huddle, already out of their ships and below him. Norwhe jogged to meet them, down the metal grating and past a hull technician.

“Careful now, gramps, don’t want to pull anything.”

“Hello to you too, jackass.” He sat himself down on one of the nearby crates, surveying the carnage about the hangar. They certainly weren’t half-assing on anything. He could see conc missiles, those long cylinders with the red-white-red stripes set into little open air holders, the proton torpedo packages in their loading boxes, heavy and nearly armored, heck in the distance Norwhe could swear he saw someone moving a minelaying set over to one of the Ye-4 gunships, the big boys. “Your connection didn’t pull through, did she,” the LT. said, deadpan, looking up and smiling just a tad.

“Eh. Damage control stuff, I think. Serious business.”

“Unlucky.”

The 1MC across the ship echoed then, a bullhorn that crackled and sparked. An older voice, one aided by a half-dozen surgeries and a metal voicebox, growled over it, the sparks and cracks doing little to hide his displeasure. The man's cant was jagged, fast for just a handful of words before a pause mid-sentence, then fast again. "Assemble all squadron leaders in the briefing room." Then the 1MC clicked off, leaving Norwhe to clamber back up to his feet.

"Have fun," called one to his back as the LT. jogged off and through the hangar to the briefing room. In the corner of his eye he could see others doing the similar little thing, jogging down the way to the briefing room. It was located roughly in the middle of the hangar’s length, down some bulkheads to portside, and as could be expected that passageway was a good amount of traffic. Flight crew moved back and forth, some carrying thin plasti bags with drink cans for their fellows, some with fabric cases that they brought out to the hangars for tools and the like from their shops, and a good many pilots moving into the passageway to get to the briefing room. He rubbed shoulders with a good many, flattening himself against the bulkhead to let those with the more cumbersome bags to pass. It was most certainly a cacophony of different conversations, though, each man having a talk with a singular other about such things as they couldn’t get the right drink for one person in the team, that they tried and tried to find a certain part, and others just talking about talk. Norwhe couldn’t really hear them, though; he’d learned to just block out the sounds of random people, their idiosyncrasies, their general noises.

Norwhe filed in with the rest of them into the briefing room, every one having a flight suit already on, helmet in the crook of the arm, and they got themselves seated down in the rows where any seat wasn’t occupied. It was oddly quiet, some just waiting on the briefing while here and there a pair would quietly whisper to one-another, leaning in to talk. He couldn’t quite make out what each was saying, though of course there wasn’t really any need to. There were things one needed to know and then there were things one could know, the latter being just a distraction. The leather seat next to him groaned and Norwhe instinctually half-turned his head, smelling the cologne as he did so, the hot caf. Well, wasn’t she just a darling.

“Have fun?” she asked, whispering it and leaning-in like all the rest with caf cup held out for Norwhe. He accepted it, taking a swig and feeling it burn down the length of his throat, burn against his tongue, and it was a good burn. Pencle wasn’t the sort to half-ass making good caf and she’d been the one he’d relieved before the watch. Blonde hair fell down from her head, kept in a neat little bun, and the woman half-smiled with a chuckle to boot. “Scuttlebutt is Fondor.”

“Fondor?”

“They’re movi-”

From the back of the room came the call “Attention on deck!” and the room stood up faster than any one man had ever had the right to, stood up and stood at attention with backs straight and eyes forward, with hands to the sides of the uniform and thumbs down the creases of the pant leg if they weren’t holding onto a helmet, though they didn’t stand up for long. It was just as the last pair of knees finished up and the last legs went straight that a tone came from the back of the room. It was a familiar tone, one which Norwhe had heard before and before again, one which was somehow both comforting and menacing. The digital amplification of Commander Kincaid’s voice lent it an air of always being over comms channels, the growl deep in his throat never truly being removed, and the man growled it out now.

“Be seated.”

The whole of the room sat back down, Norwhe getting himself and his cup of caf situated. He felt somewhat lucky that he’d been holding it loose, holding it and letting it turn about as the man had stood up, and he took another long sip from the hot liquid. Steam warmed up his face, through it the picture of the Flight Officer himself walking up to the front of the room through the aisle. Kincaid struck an odd picture, the gait of him offset from a perpetual limp about his leg, one arm glinting dully with the crude mechanical replacement he’d been given, his neck covered by a wide place of metal which gave him voice, and over half a face covered in burn scars. He clambered up before the assembled officers, beginning his talk.

“Lights,” and they dulled as a holopic came to life before them. It was of...yes, if Norwhe was to hazard a guess, Fondor itself. The shipyards were present, as were the static defenses, and he could count a rather sizable force. “Gentlemen, as you all have likely heard the New Republic have finally made their move. Multiple fleets are converging on the system, either to take or destroy the shipyards present there. Their current objectives are not yet known. Whatever this is, it cannot be allowed. We’re being given the frag order to push into the system and eliminate any and all New Republic forces in the area. The status of Imperial Remnant forces which may arrive is unknown; their status as friendly or no will be determined on our arrival. What is known is that a large force, Task Force 117, in the area is consisting of two Star Destroyers and a heavy support contingent while the system itself already holds a Star Destroyer, the Dauntless. Intelligence suggests she’s docked at the Fondor yards. The Task Force, as you can see here, is by and large combat ineffective.”

“We’re jumping in the system in two groups, here for Group A,” a tap on the holopic, far to the system’s galactic south and above the orbital plane of the planet, “and here for Group B,” another tap, a bit below the orbital plane but still overall in the galactic south. “We’re set in Group A. Intelligence anticipates that enemy fighter compliments are less than half of our own, hence the split in forces. Once the carriers dump their compliments, they’re bugging out. We’re going to be striking from those two points, attempting to draw out New Republic fighters into either a full, committed strike into one of our groups, thereby opening up their flank, or into splitting their forces into striking against both groups at once and getting cleaned out. Primary strike is expected to be the Ye-4s; protect their wings.”

Primary strike to be the Ye-4s...Norwhe’s eyebrow rose by this statement. It was a clear contradiction to the standard operating procedure of Imperial Navy starfighters. What was standard and expected was for the TIE/LNs to push in, soak up the enemy’s initial firepower, and to turn the entire scenario into a giant furball for any squadron with superior coordination to move in and mop up what was left. Pushing in the heavy anti-starfighter guns with the better shields was outside of that concept. Kincaid wanted something different than the loss ratios, he realized. He wanted a clean sweep. That brought a smile to Norwhe’s face as he took another sip of his caf. He could hear Pencle take in a little, sharp intake, a little whisper with “stang”; she would be in that first wave, no questions asked.

“Once engaged and destroyed, we can perform our own strike against the bastards. Missile strikes from the Tempestuous and Martial will coincide with our own bomber missions, opening up their corvette screens and anything else maneuvering to incercept. If necessary, the Carrack squadron will hit-and-fade. Bomber squadrons, your target at this point is their engines and hyperdrive systems. Pin them in the system and we have all the time in the world.” He cleared his throat from the long diatribe, looking back at the squadron leaders.

“Now, the enemy fleet composition is by and large made up of Mon Calamari cruisers, MC80 type, which number less than half a dozen total as well as a number of escorting heavier cruisers, Dreadnaught and Dauntless mainly. Large numbers of Corellian corvettes are present, CR70 and 90, but you’ve run the simulations and run the drills. They’re fast, they’re deadly, but they’re not invinvible. Pelting at full speed their maneuverability drops significantly and their armament carrier is mainly light, especially the CR70s, with limited firing arcs for the anti-starfighter weaponry. Closing distance from their front or rear and they can’t bring their laser cannons to bear. Keep that in mind. The Ye-4s with shields ahead full will be able to shrug off their fire and they’re more than likely to concentrate on the gunboats. Everyone else, keep on your toes.” Kincaid looked down at his dossier, shaking his head and mouth going wry. It made Norwhe get a concerned. Kincaid was cool as ice, normally. It took a bit to worry him.

“The New Republic has captured several vessels as we all know. Several of these are anticipated to take part in Fondor, to include at minimum one Immobilizer 418 class and one Imperial I class Star Destroyer. More may be present. Rear Admiral Freeste has tasked the 4 SO BDE with the capture of those two warships. They’re deployment with the Gamma shuttles will be by two Raider corvettes, another supporting; they want to push in with the shuttles magnetically attached to the corvette outer hull, SLAM’ing in to close the distance and shooting the shuttles right across the Star Destroyers’ hulls at terminal velocity. It’s a ballsy move, make no mistake, but the old man feels that he needs to make an example out of rebel thugs who think they can just take warships off of us. Nothing’s better, in my opinion, than a direct boarding through their kriffing bridges and hangars. Oh-fourteenth and one-seventy-third will provide fighter cover for the corvettes; it’s expected that you’ll be held in reserve until the enemy fleet is engaged with us, then slip in with their fighters either destroyed or already engaged. You’re fighters are being loaded up with one-shot ion torpedoes, same with the transports. Hit those ships first or our Stormtrooper friends will have a very, very short day and your glory’ll go to waste. You and the transports aren’t expected to stick around for the fireworks, so bang out fast.”

Holy sweet mother was the thought that came to mind for Norwhe; they were going to push in Star Destroyers, the New Republic, and in response the fleet was just launching transported filled with some of the most elite troops right across their bows, skimming the shields and coating those warships with Zero-G marines. It was a hell of a technique, that was for sure, one which could only be compounded by the knowledge of internal structures they’d be given, by the intrinsic weaknesses of the Imperial I design that the Rebellion had taught to the Empire through taking apart warships. They were going to make an example; he just hoped that it was be an example which would be in their favor.

“Launches will occur in,” he checked his chrono, “two standard hours is the last approximation for entering the Fondor system. All pilots will be ready to launch in one-point-five hours, launch immediately following our exit from hyperspace. Questions?”

A moment of silence passed as some either had blank faces, others shook their hands, and absolutely no one for once had the gall to say “No”. It was annoying for people to try and say that, speak for others. Norwhe just drank his caf, reveling in it before placing it near his foot. He didn’t quite feel like trying to balance it again when the Commander left the room. The sound of one officer chewing his gum was a din in all that silence, the guy pausing mid-chew and raising his eyebrows, waiting for it to finish up. Kincaid took a look about it, at his officers, nodding with some amount of satisfaction and a smaller grin playing about his face.

“Alright then, good,” he growled, chuckling a bit. “Clear my sky. Dismissed.”

Nevermind, then.

Norwhe leaned back down, picking up his caf with a free hand while raising himself up from the chair, Pencle rising just the same with her own caf, and they all filed outside into the flow of traffic. The LT. was a bit slower than most of the guys about him, though, seeing as how he was gently nursing the hot, steaming plasti cup, and so Norwhe sort of just lagged behind the rest. They made their way out, though, out into the open hangar just as the massive, overhead hangar doors were closing slowly. He stood off to one side, taking another long drink, and Pencle stood next to him to get out of the way for traffic.

“Congratulations I suppose. Not often you get a job like this.”

She was quiet for a second, talking low among the cacophony of the hangars such that Norwhe had to lean in to hear her. It wasn’t a good thing to hear. “I don’t want a job like this. Killing rebels is one thing; making me a meatshield is another. I’m playing the role of a kriffing sponge, Elvi, and you know it.”

He winced. It wasn’t often that she used his short little name, not in a long time, and those were days long, long behind both of them. It was too long since Norwhe could just relax about, since he was the black sheep in the squadrons or the exotic little spice that a lot of the ladies felt they had to get just a taste of. It had been too long and he didn’t need those reminders in his life. Most of those ladies were dead, dead and buried, and he didn’t need to add her face to those. He didn’t need that association. And yet, though...she was right. She didn’t like it and had a right not to like it. In some ways, the Ye-4s would be the shield for the rest of the squadrons and fighters, for the bombers too. In other ways, they were the bigass scythe they’d use to cut right through the New Republic like butter. Those gunships carried armament in spades, not to mention they had all the extra equipment bolted on. In another way, though...they were the bait. He knew it. She knew it.

“You’ll get through it. I know you will because if you don’t doubtless you’ll haunt me and being on a Star Destroyer to haunt some poor schmuck isn’t what you want either.”

“Thanks a lot,” came the reply, good amount of snark with it. Norwhe didn’t blame her. She took a long, long drink from her caf, looking down into the empty plasti cup to see that it was all empty, and her eyes just sort of stared into it, stared into it looking for something almost. He sighed, then, shaking his head at it all, at the whole damn thing.

“I’ll see you after the smoke clears, OK?”

“OK.”

He turned, walking off to his own squadron, though that little pit in his stomach just didn’t seem to go away. Was hard to tell someone how things were, how things could work out, when they were as set in their ways as Pencle was. She was used to more aggressive action, true, but half the time for those the TIE/INs on her wing would surge out ahead, would take all the attention, and she had the position of being judge and jury, not on the line herself. It was definitely a different feel to it all but...no, Norwhe has confidence in her. He remembered how she was when newly pinned, compared it to now, and by and large Pencle would do fine. She had enough experience under her belt. She did, really; he paused himself, thinking on whether or not he was combing through the facts and pieces of information or just trying to justify himself, trying to salve those little, aching fears. It'd been a while since he'd flown with Pencle. It'd been too long. Norwhe sighed as he walked, looking over to see the cavernous hangar doors coming closed, the light turning to a sliver before they shut resoundingly.

He'd need to trust her. He'd need to, else he worried too much about one pilot and not enough about the mission. Damn it all, the man thought, mouth wry with that sour feeling. He'd need to trust her and her crew to gst back alive, trust his squadron to intervene when they got swarmed, trust the other squadrons to do the same. He simply would. Norwhe kept on walking, though.

by **Lotrisia** » Sat Dec 26, 2020 3:14 am

1 Month after last post 

Sullustan Sector Squadron 
L1 Point of Sullust
MC80 Liberty-type Egality
Corridor directly adjacent to briefing room

The clunk of the Commodore’s boots on the floor of the corridor tapped out a marching beat as he strode through his ship. His height lent him something of an imposing figure, prompting many junior crewmembers to instinctively press against the walls as he passed. A Commodore in motion was less a circumstance and more a force of nature. Only someone suicidally brave or terminally stupid would consider getting in the way. Hurrying along just ahead of him was Captain Derion, a man who was taking careful pains to remain ahead of his commanding officer. Trayarck’s stride was almost cruelly long, especially compared to Derion himself, who was almost 20 centimetres shorter. The door hissed open at his prompting, revealing the expectant eyes of the senior officers Trayarck had assembled for this briefing. Captain Corlif Durn, Commander Itera Bezar, and Commander Cha Vebb, commanding an MC75, a Dreadnaught and an MC60 respectively. They all knew the reason they had been gathered here, having received their orders previously, forwarded to them from his office a few hours ago. They’d been expecting it for longer still. Everyone had known that Fondor would eventually be the target.

“Attention on deck!” Captain Derion barked. There was a sudden rush to stand to attention as they noticed Trayarck coming in behind him. Inwardly, Derion grinned, but he was careful to keep it off of his face. Pissing off fellow officers was hardly a good life choice.

“Well, we all know why we’re here, so I’m not going to waste our time on needless formalities,” Trayarck said, characteristically gruff. He drew a small drive out of his breast pocket and keyed it into the holotable in the centre if the room. The hologram flickered into life above it, displaying a planet surrounded by a cloud of dots, most concentrated in an equatorial ring, some of which had cones clearly designating fields of fire emanating from them. Those were obvious to the assembled officers as being defensive platforms. Looking at the faces of his officers, Trayarck didn’t see any surprise.

“You will all be receiving a copy of this intel map. Study it until your eyes start bleeding, then study the damn thing all over again. You’ll need it. Now, as I’m sure you’ve gathered, you’re going to be our strike element present at Fondor. Admiral Liu Ba Rui asked for our contribution specifically because of our unorthodox strike tactics. As such, you won’t be operating in formation with the rest of the fleet the New Republic is sending. In fact, the only orders you’ll be getting from them amount to “go break things”. Captain Durn, you’ll have a lot of operational freedom there. I picked you specifically because you and the rest of your force are damn good at this sort of attack.”

Trayarck pressed a key on the holotable, highlighting the dots circling further away from the planet, in orbits far above those of the menacing defence platforms. Small markers denoted them as being various forms of infrastructure supporting the shipyards below. Fuel depots, geosynchronous docking platforms, even a smattering of small drydock platforms. A good portion of the dots were further away from the planet than its own moons, emplaced to save freighters the fuel losses of lugging cargo up and down the planet’s gravity well. The job was instead being handled by specialised tugs, which were far cheaper to run. Before he’d joined up with the Rebellion, Derion had been a pilot on a tug similar to one of those, though in his case it was over the ecumenopolis of Denon, not a shipyard. He knew personally how vulnerable those dinky little ships and depots really were.

“The target you’ve been assigned is everything green here. Yes, I do mean everything, and no, you don’t have to get all of it for this to be considered an operational success. We can all enjoy a good target-rich environment like this one, but don’t let that get in the way of surviving this. You’ll be taking constant fire from the planet’s defences, and you won’t be terribly helpful to me as vapour in orbit of Fondor. We’ve chosen the high orbit infrastructure specifically because it represents a fairly weak point in Fondor’s industrial chain. Destroying them should slow Fondor’s production significantly, at least until they repair the damage. Our operation is essentially a contingency plan, intended to make sure that, in the case the 6th Fleet can’t achieve its objectives, the Imperials are denied its use for a period of time. Luckily for us, The exact specifics of how you carry out this attack are going to be up to you, Captain Durn, but that is the general thrust of this operation. We have already discussed your plans in this operation.”

He stepped back to let Durn step up to the holotable. The Duros motioned to a long blinking line she had keyed into the display.

“I plan to make the initial attack fairly quickly. We will drop in further away than the 6th Fleet will, and we’re going to lag behind them as they make their approach towards the planet. Then, when Fondor’s defensive fleet has engaged them, we’ll make a dash past them. Our path is going to describe a 270 degree arc around the planet, which should give us firing solutions on most things in the planet’s orbit, but should keep us well away from the defensive fleet itself. We’ll be accelerating away once we hit the 180 degree mark, and then arrowing away from the planet. Our force is too small to make much of a difference in the engagement anyway, and we’ve been given the green light to leave provided that the situation doesn’t get desperate for the 6th fleet. The only thing limiting how much damage we can do to the planet’s infrastructure will be the accuracy of our shots, so I’d strongly recommend drilling your gun crews before this fight. If we can get this right, we should be able to shut down the shipyards for as long as it takes to repair everything we’ve broken. While we aren’t going to be dealing with a defensive fleet here, we’ll be taking a lot of fire from the defences of the planet itself, which is forcing us to stay in a high orbit. At the ranges we’re at, we should be able to dodge the majority of their fire, so stay sharp and keep the formation loose. Now, from what we’ve been hearing the local Moff has been sloppy with maintenance and training, so I don’t expect too much trouble from them, but we shouldn’t get lazy because of that. Our Y-Wings are going to be spreading wide and hitting targets closer to the planet than we can safely engage. X-Wings are going to be operating as escorts for them. A-Wings are going to stay with the fleet, to guard against any attempted attacks, preferably while we make an escape. We’re certain that reinforcements will be making an appearance at a later stage during this engagement, and I do not intend on staying to greet them unless absolutely necessary. Once we’ve made our little arc around the planet, we’re going to head away from it, towards mining facilities in the system’s largest asteroid belt. Similar deal there, though we should be able to operate with less danger since I doubt that any serious forces will give chase while a major battle is ongoing closer to the planet. This, however, is a secondary objective. Worst comes to worst, we make out initial run and get the hell out of dodge. If all goes to plan, we’ll have cost the Empire a lot of time and even more credits in replacements for the infrastructure we broke.”

Captain Durn turned off the display and went to sit with her Commanders. Derion nodded appreciatively. It had been a good briefing. Fairly short, but concise, and it had illustrated most of the major points surrounding the planned engagement. Of course, Captain Durn would have to repeat the briefing for the rest of her attendant fleet, but it never hurt to practise before that, even if it’s in front of the big brass. As Trayarck dismissed them, Captain Derion thought back to his own engagements, especially that frantic rush over Sluis Van that had got him promoted in the first place. He wondered when the war would next come back to find him.

Office 3

Trayarck locked the door, and turned to face his old nemesis. Its stared back at him. The admin computer, its blank screen soulless and empty, glared at him. Striding over to switch it on, he found it blissfully clean. Of course, clean was a relative term in the Commodore’s digital footprint, with a smattering of reports in the system’s files. The entirety of the Sullustan Sector Fleet, including the ones shortly to join the 6th fleet for the assault on Fondor, were marshalled at the L1 point. Their readiness reports made up the bulk of the figurative paperwork on his desk. Solemnity and Stormchaser reported nothing out of the ordinary, and indeed seemed to have their fighter squadrons in fairly good shape maintenance-wise. He’d put out the order to run their complements up to shape in the prelude to their attack on Fondor. Knowing the Imperials, they’d definitely be trying something very soon, and he wanted to be fully ready for it. As he delved deeper into the reports, trying to figure out solutions to the myriad of problems lain on his desk, the flimsy-last printer he’d had surreptitiously placed in his room suddenly coughed into life, spitting out a large number of flimsies. He knew exactly what they were. Making sure that the door was locked, he picked them up and laid them out on his desk.

The cells were doing excellently. The Kuati cell’s sabotage training was nearly complete, and initial operations were weeks away. Operations on Denon were slow, but steady, and were actually somewhat ahead of schedule, which could come in handy going forward. The small cell operating on Abregado Rae was struggling somewhat to operate, but were nonetheless beginning to gain steam recruiting the planet’s limited criminal underground for their plans. All of these were overshadowing by the operations of the only two groups that were considered ready, both of which had stamps marking them as belonging to Operation Noble Flame. Both the Tetan and the Coruscanti cells had been the first to be set up, and had operated on accelerated schedules relative to their more stately counterparts in other systems. Their reports both consisted of a single sentence.

“Ready to begin operation”

It was time.

2 hours later

Empress Teta system
Northern Hemisphere
Accommodation block 31567A
Floor 92 

Sergeant Trix Madella gave off every sign of being a distinguished Imperial officer. Her uniform was crisply pressed, her hair was neatly done, and her accent was impeccable. She even had the walk down too, a sort of slow-motion strut that just oozed military precision. Of course none of this was true. She worked for New Republic intelligence, under a unit so secret that it didn’t even have a name. Her act, and the extremely official-looking documents she had procured authorising the operation she was running on Teta, had convinced her little cell that they were acting under the orders of Coruscant and the loyalists still upholding the Empire as it had stood under Palpatine, helping bring the renegade Tetans to justice. They'd even managed to fake a signature by Mas Amedda for her. They had been planning for the operation they were about to embark on for months now, and were completely ready to carry it out. They had the opportunity, and they had the means. Now, all they needed was the final confirmation. It came as a single word.

“Execute”  

She gathered her small cell in their meeting room. There were 4 of them, not including herself. 2 impressionable idiots, who she really couldn’t be bothered to name. Atrios Seteen, a former garrison officer who still retained some of weapons training, who’d been instructing the aforementioned idiots to handle weapons, as well as helping instil them with some more good old-fashioned Imperial patriotism. Not that they really needed it, to be perfectly honest. Any idiot willing to go get themselves needlessly killed for an Empire already on the decline already had an obnoxious amount of patriotism running through their system. Lastly, Varras, the one handling the weapon sitting in the stasis chamber in the centre of the meeting room, which all of them were staring at. While it had been provided free of charge by NR special operations, getting it onto the planet under the noses of the watchful Tetans had been more difficult than all other elements of the operation combined. Contained inside was a minuscule charge of fullerened antimatter, just 15 grams of the stuff, containing just a fourth of a gram’s worth of antimatter. It had a yield of nearly 12 kilotons when released, which, while pocket change next to military turbolasers and warheads, was still easily enough to level a block. While inert at room temperature and pressure due to its containment within the fullerene molecules, it would explode with incredible force when exposed to heat or high pressure, as the antimatter broke containment and annihilated with its surroundings. Made up of fullerene molecules surrounding a single anti-helium ion, it was one of the safer, and cheaper, ways of storing the unbelievably volatile antimatter charge. It was actually stable enough to play with in one’s fingers, or to store in a brown paper bag, but no one wanted to risk a kiloton-yield oopsie. It stayed in the stasis chamber until absolutely necessary

As the members of the cell filed into the room, she noticed them staring at the case in the centre of the room. None of them knew exactly what it was, other than that it was some form of bomb. She’d hinted at the idea that it was fairly low in yield, which was true in a certain sense of the word. They just didn’t know what it was low-yield in comparison to.  “

Our orders have come through from Coruscant at last!” She exclaimed, getting a reaction of visible excitement from the idiots two standing to attention in front of her. It wasn’t even a lie for her to say that, one of the relays for the order was situated on a comm satellite in the Coruscant system.  “

We are finally going to put our plan into action, and strike at the very heart of these renegade Tetans. Private Godrick, you’re to be the one carrying the payload. You are to wait in the apartment we acquired some days ago, number 32D. At 22:40 exactly, our target, a Tetan noble, will be travelling along the road below your position. As he passes below you, you are to throw the payload out of your window to land near him. Anywhere within 10 metres should be sufficient to kill him. You must then leave the apartment, and head to the bolthole in the lower levels. Corporal Seteen will accompany you to ensure the mission’s security. Private Ream and Corporal Varras, you are to stay here and secure the headquarters. I will be making contact with another group of Imperial operatives, to grow our operation. Is this all clear?” 

A chorus of yes’s and nods followed. Private Godrick looked ecstatic to finally be striking against the Tetans, who had been vilified nearly as much as the New Republic in his eyes. The rest of them were similar energetic. They’d been waiting for this moment for months on end. Sergeant Madella watched as Varras carefully removed the antimatter bomb from the stasis chamber and placed it in the carrying chamber in Godrick’s bag. The private and corporal, dressed in civilian clothes, filed out of the tiny headquarters they’d created at the beginning of the operation.   She quickly packed her bags, being careful not to leave anything behind. Changing out of her Imperial uniform into generic slacks and a worn jacket. She’d already booked a ticket out to Denon, but she had no intention of using it as anything other than a trail to throw the inevitable investigators off. She left the headquarters to salutes and stoic faces. They had no idea that it was the last they’d ever see of her. She continued through the dirty, ragged corridors, but instead of taking the turbolift up, she went further down into the depths of the city planet, taking care to place her blaster pistol on show for anyone thinking of trying something stupid. She came up to the exfil team who was waiting for her.   

“Ready to leave, sir?”

“Let’s go” She said softly. After following them through the labyrinth of streets that made up the lower levels of Teta, they came to a turbolift, leading directly to a spaceport. Inside was a nondescript YT-2400, waiting for her. As they lifted off, she thought about the mission she’d been sent to carry out, and the poor misled fools following her orders even now. Amazing what some contacts and an official uniform could do. She almost felt sorry for them. Almost.

by **Arthurs Corner** » Tue Dec 29, 2020 6:58 am

The Tetan Royal Shipyards: Orbiting the city of Cinnabar, Empress Teta

Ancient Tetan Proverb from Works of the Great One:
The glories of battle lie in the warrior never forget that,
But the strength of the warrior lies in the bureaucrat that keeps him fed.
The best army is that which has the best logistics and bravery.

Moff Rix Illian was master of all facets of the Tetan economy, but some days it felt as though he was helpless in the face of the endless reports and decisions that kept the Tetan forces fed, and the supply lines through what remained of the Empire running. It was him who maintained the privateers that fought day and night to break the Imperial blockades around the core and bring advanced manufactured goods from the industrial worlds of the Mid Rim. It was him who had organized the local Krath cult on Corvanni IV to Rebel against their local rulers and divert the entire Imperial 13th army away from nearby Foerost so that the Tetan revolution could proceed without the Empire’s forces crushing them. It was him who had secured the Nobles support and rallied the destitute workers of Cinnagar, all beneath a single flag of progress and sovereignty. While Gustav Ludendorf had led the Tetan sector fleet to capture and disable the 67th Byss taskforce in orbit it had been Rix who led a destitute batch of Imperial defectors and Rebels to destroy the main Imperial loyalist stronghold in Cinnagar, and after victory was achieved it was Rix who had drafted the first documents outlining the parliamentary systems that now governed the worlds of Empress Teta.
Now though, his job was to maintain this Empire he had built, to manage the supply lines intersecting the 7 worlds of Teta and manage the flow of ore from the mining worlds of Kuar. He made sure the distributors on Cinnagar got the food shipments from Keera, and that the border outposts down the Koros run were checking in. He considered himself the most important man on Teta, and knew quite well that it was one of the more pompous things he had thought in his life, but in a way it was true, wasn’t it; without him the power of the legislature would be meaningless, and without the supply chains the navy would collapse in on itself. In the end everything came to Moff Rix Illian’s desk.

Today the concerns had to do with supply. While the navy had brought back a score of new gadgets from their raid on the cargo ships bound for Incom facilities on Fresia, the shipyards needed more, especially for finishing the hulls of the specialist Strigida class cruisers that were being developed in secrecy on the edge world of Kirrek, these ships would allow Teta to extend its tendrils down the major traderoutes of the galaxy and destroy the very ties that kept Coruscant’s dominance secure. Another concern was the defense of Teta itself. On paper it was a nearly unbreakable fortress, its massive orbital shipyards, hundreds of thousands of kilometers in total, along with the dozens of military stations, some older than the systems name. In all the system had always been a bastion against the outside galaxy. But the defenders were not equipped as well as they should be, and the month of revolution had left its toll. The Central Committee of the Tetan Dockyards were requesting additional fighters to replace the hastily retrofitted freighters they had thrown into duty for dockyard defense, but aside for a few squadrons of clone wars era Headhunters, and a wing of Aggressive Reconnaissance fighters brought out of the mothballs for them the Tetan navy had no ships to spare. But today, Illian thought, he may have a solution. The Corporate Sector Authority had recently announced intent to sell off products of its companies to anyone able to cough up the credits, including access to its fighters like the IRD, IRD-A and TIS Zeta 19. Illian had already bid for them, and hopefully with the force willing they would succeed in gaining access to this force, allowing them to properly arm their defenses against the forces opposed to them.

He turned to the text to speech recorder by his desk and began to dictate a message to the Corporate Sector offices on Etti IV. “Dear ExO, we have received word that your corporate offices are still receiving requests for military hardware by concerned parties, he stated bluntly to the machine, “We would like to extend an offer towards that point. My name is Moff Rix Illian of the Koros sector of the core, though whether or not the Empire still respects my authority is to be questioned. What you need to know is that I come representing the Civic government of Empress Teta and surrounding system.”
“We know that, like the rest of the galaxy, you are primarily concerned with the well being of your people and matters of your own defense, but we can assure you that, aside from the products bought, we will deprive no military belongings or personal of the Corporate Sector Authority during this transaction. The items in question are five fighter wings of the TIS Zeta 19 models, preferably squadrons BD-7843 through BD-7903, which my agents have informed me are in the best conditions. In exchange we will be providing 3 million tons of refined Doonium from the Kuar orbital shipyards, renowned across the galaxy for its durability and purity. We hope that these terms will be acceptable to you, and that this transaction will proceed as smoothly as possible. If approved, freighters bearing my seal will be arriving at Etti IV in three weeks to collect them. We will require staff to load, but outside of that the transfer will go untouched by CSA officials. Sincerely, Moff Rix Illian, offices of the Tetan Dept. of the Economy.”

He stopped the recorder and transferred the message to the orbital Holonet relay. Within a few days he expected he would hear a reply from the Corporate offices on Etti IV either rejecting or accepting his offer.

Another hour went by, another hundred papers came by his desk, as the day went by he scanned the Holonet, looking for any indication of fleet movements around the galaxy. It seemed the Republic forces were gathering at Sullust according to an ISB report he had gotten access to using his security clearances (technically retaining his position as moff had its advantages) and seemed to be preparing for a push up towards the core. He filed this away as urgent and sent it to Vice Admiral Ludendorf. The Admiral had better know what was coming.

Later in the day, when he left the office complex to grab a meal in the nearby district before he returned to the variety of meetings and functions he would have to fill, he took in the sounds, sights, and smells of the city, this segment of the city world of Cinnagar fully controlled by the trade unions that had risen alongside the nobility to push the Coruscanti aligned forces out of Empress Teta. The city had sustained heavy damage in the attack, but you could hardly tell now. The buildings, some of which still bore the craters of heavy artillery fire, was awash in banners and flags. Some, mostly faded, bore the sigil and logos of the nobility, and a few still flew the Imperial sigil. But far more flew the maroon, red and black of the trade unions, the Republic sigil in the center, turning slowly into a gear, the symbol of Tetan industry. Around the sigil sprouting the wings of revolutionary spirit, exactly like the ones tattooed to arms of Tetan commando units and infiltrators, a design of famed artist Janise De Lamarque, whose poems and paintings about the Imperial worker had sent her to the spice mines of Kessel ten years earlier. Illian had suggested that feature; he had met Lamarque 20 years ago when he was but a young man on coruscant, about to take his first position as aide to governor Lorm Geering of the planet Devaron. She had stayed for five months on the planet, as the guest of the governor, and the two had shared much of their time. At one-point Illian had thought that perhaps they could have become more than friends, but in the end he had been advised against by the governor- even at that time her anti Imperial actions had gained her quite a reputation in Imperial circles. Even know he wondered how his life would have been different had he disobeyed the governor and ran off with her, leaving behind his future in the Empire and pursuing a life free of Imperial rules.

the parks of the Korostad buildings, the city of Cinnagar, the Empress Teta system

He sighed, and looked up into the smoggy, dark air, seeing the spires of the Korostad building in the background. Imposing and bright, it was the ancient hall of the Tetan nobles, and had served as the center of Tetan culture for generations. Even the Empire’s attempts to reduce Teta to another drab, dry copy of Coruscant could never touch those ancient halls, which dated back to the times before the Empress Keto herself. The rest of the Tetan Civil government kept itself there, isolated, and aloof from the common man here below, but once the duties of full governorship had been removed from him Illian had come here, to the drab, unseemly industrial districts, and had his office built in the center of one of the largest and most crowded population centers in Cinnagar. As he walked down the streets people seemed unconcerned, and almost unaware that one of the most powerful men in the system was right there beside them, eating the same food (mostly), walking the same paths, and working a similar set of hours. A few vendors and regulars waved at him as he went by, and he replied in kind, using the old saying, “may the Empress protect” to greet them. He turned a corner and went into his favourite Café, a 200-year-old shop owned by the Oto family. The owner, Maurice Oto, was behind the counter as he entered, exchanging stories with a man who looked to be in about his mid-70s, grey nearly obscuring his naturally ginger hair. The two were discussing the recent fleet movements around the Fondor system. Of course, their information was nearly two weeks old, and filled with flaws, but such could only be expected of what was mostly the word of mouth of the Tetan noble sent as ambassador to the system. Illian’s next meeting was with that very ambassador, to discuss the next steps he would be taking to ensure his safety in the coming days, but for now Illian simply approached the two, a broad smile on his face.

“How are my fine comrades today,” he stated amicably, giving a small salute to the two of them. They returned in kind, the rings of the Tetan auxiliary force shining on their index fingers.

“Well, if it isn’t the bleeding Moff ‘imself,” the older man proclaimed, “Moff Illian, please, take my seat.” He stood up and backed off a few feet to show he meant it.

“No, no,” Illian replied hastily, helping the man back into his seat, “there are no need for titles and concessions here, we are all just men making our way in the universe.” He pulled up a chair from the table behind them and sat down at the counter.

he ordered a small meal and ate in silence with the rest of the people in the café, making small talk with the ones he knew, and making introductions with the new ones. Once done he paid the owner using the state deposited credits, leaving a technically illegal under Union regulations- but realistically tolerated, tip. he back out onto the dusty streets of Cinnagar, feeling the warm heat of the star Koros beating down upon him. Hailing from the planet of Obroa Skai, which was just within the outer limits of the habitable zone in that system, he had lived a life bundled up beneath layers of cold gear and synthetic furs. But here on Cinnagar, deep in the habitable zone, and heated up by the exhaust of a trillion forges, the people lived in loose, cool garments and lived in open, ventilated homes. It was a world of life, of energy, of commitment. Nearly a trillion people lived and worked in Cinnagar, a population rivaling that of Coruscant. But unlike Coruscant with its thousand level slums and sinkholes of despair, Cinnagar kept a fairly clean, industrial, almost regal feel to it. Its citizens were a proud people, united in common interest and goal, and for all the Mining Guild’s many faults, it had kept a tight ship on Cinnagar.

Illian thought of all the planets he had lived on; Tired old Obroa Skai, an ancient and decrepit library world where he had studied the works of ancient Ithorian philosopher Ishan Imana and Xims despotica. Then the world of Coruscant where he was sent as a young boy barely 10 years old to attend higher education, where he watched the Clone Wars rage around the galaxy, and even right at his feet. The same planet where, as a 15-year-old, he discreetly protested the measures restricting the freedom of the Empire’s people, before slipping away in the night to resume his studies at the Imperial academy the next day. The same planet where the Empire finally realized that young Rix Illian would be too much trouble for the academy alone to fix, and where they decided only the tutelage of a staunch loyalist could set him straight. So, from there he went to the planet of Devaron, sparsely populated and wild, with a noble and ancient people. As the aide to moff Geering, Illian had seen things no young man should ever have to, send orders no human should ever have been forced to give. He had watched as the Butcher of Monterrelian Siat destroyed cities and decimated the planet, and then delivered the message exiling him from the planet forever. He buried his fiery nature and protests deep inside his heart, vowing to one day be a better ruler than the cruel governor he served. When the Empire thought him truly broken they gave him his own governorship, over a broken, decrepit factory world in the mid rim. The people had been oppressed for generations, first by the Republic’s corporations, then by the robotic armies of the CIS, and now by the very soldiers Illian himself was to assume charge of. Illian vowed to change that, forcing change upon the planetary government, and showing a side of himself hidden for years. He showed the planet a compassion that they had not seen in hundreds of years. And for this, he was punished. Barely three years went by before he was pulled from the planet and reassigned as governor of a dust ball in the outer rim. The planet he had made better was subjected to the rule of the cruel Count Vidian, and eventually sterilized when it attempted to join the nascent Rebellion. Illian spent seven years in the rim, jumping from dirtball to dirtball, serving as a fall man for failing moffs, and keeping the Empire’s measly forces in charge. Then, Yavin, the Death Star’s destruction and a purge of Imperial ranks. Suddenly they needed moffs, and plenty of them, and with hundreds of systems turning to Rebellion, a soft hand seemed a better touch then a cruel sycophant. Rix Illian was made a moff, and assigned to Empress Teta, where it was hoped he could keep a revolution among the disgruntled factions from occurring…

And look how well that turned out, Illian mused, they never suspected that the Trade Unions would unite behind the Imperial moff, or that their waning influence would convince me that there were better ways to serve my people than to serve the cruel bastards on Coruscant. That was the root of the problems, he had surmised over the years, the government on Coruscant, no matter how centralized or decentralized, never gave thought to the people. The Republic, the Empire, and from all accounts, this New Republic, all focused on broad strokes and sweeping legislation. What Moff Rix Illian wanted was for the people of Teta to be free to pursue what they wanted. Gustav Ludendorf and the nobles could push for control over their new Empire all they wanted, but in the end it was the people of Teta that kept the ships flying.

When he returned to his office, he booted up the holoprojector and began to transmit to the Foerost system. Moments later the blurry holographic image of Lord Captain Firmius Deloran appeared before him. He seemed to be aboard the Recusant Cruiser Investment, the banks of computers and other crew bustled behind him, a mixture of droids and officers in the robes of the Tetan Merchant Fleet. The captain himself wore an ornate uniform of Imperial style. Its colour a deep turquoise, though ornated with many gold medallions and ribbons. He was a youthful man scarcely in his thirties, but he carried a aging and regal stance, indicative of his perceived self-import.

“Moff Illian,” he said, sounding annoyed, “glad you could finally join us.”

“I was unaware I was running late,” he replied, making sure his voice was even despite the anger welling in his throat. “Was the meeting not scheduled for 1400 hours?”

“Well, yes, yes it was.” The noble seemed taken aback by the bluntness of the response, the lack of parrying or deflection, “but as you can see, the time is 1401 now. A man in my position can hardly afford to waste so much…”

Illian cut him off, saying, “yes yes, of course my lord, but I myself was likewise engaged with the matters of the state. Now, may we please continue to your status report on the Fondor shipyards and the fleet movements surrounding it. In your last report to CentCom you reported the forces under the Empire were gathering and arming for open combat, have you any more information on that?”

The noble seemed flustered and on edge, but he straightened up and faced back towards the projector. “I have been in discussions with military officials from the station, but so far all I have been told little. They continue to insist it is simply a military exercise being undertaken by the systems defense forces. However, I have done some digging in… less than optimal ways and uncovered some urgent information. My… let’s say agents, have uncovered evidence of New Republic and Imperial forces assembling near the edges of nearby systems. I would hasten a guess to surmise that the system is poised to become involved in actions of great severity in the near future.”

Illian sat back, thinking. This matched the sensor information he had been receiving from the Sullustan Sector, indicating a massive New Republic taskforce preparing for action. Which Imperial factions would wish to strike at Fondor remained a mystery, but he knew the Kuati forces were within fairly close proximity, and it matched the extent of the Titan Commands campaigns to the south?

“How long will it take you to arrange to leave the system,” he asked. “The situation is proving itself to be untenable, and I do not believe we will gain much use out of an alliance with this shipyard if it is reduced to rubble by this battle.”

“It may be quite a while before I can arrange us passage,” the Moff tittered on, “The officials have locked down all shipyards and set the system to red alert. I would hasten caution caution my dear friend, we are in no position to try and push advantage on the locals, just today they have pulled in two more cruisers from outlying positions to watch the shipyards themselves.”

“Very well,” Illian replied, “put your ships on red alert, if a battle begins and it looks like it may reach the shipyard themselves you will take any actions necessary to make it out of the battlefield intact, even if that mean firing upon the forces of the shipyards. Am I understood Lord Captain?”

“Crystal, Moff Illian.” Then the comm blinked out and Moff Illian was left alone in his office. He recorded the records of the conversation and sent them, along with all relevant information relevant information relating to the forces involved. He sighed and put his head down; of all the men to be involved in this situation it had to be Lord Captain Deloran, a man who could barely keep his wits about him during the combat drilling required by the Tetan Merchant Fleet, much less during the heat of a combat situation. Under his command was not only a light cruiser, but 10 Vigil class corvettes and their escorts, a large taskforce for its role, and one meant to act as a show of force to the Empire. Now there was a chance every one of those vessels would be lost, a massive blow to a faction just coming into its own following its glorious days of revolution.

by **Lotrisia** » Tue Dec 29, 2020 11:31 am

3 Hours after last post

Empress Teta system
Northern Hemisphere
Apartment Block 63462D
Room 4 stories above planned Ambush point

The streets below bustled with the traffic of the late evening. The sounds of the gentle commotion below reached up to the open window Corporal Seteen was keeping watch out of. Behind him, Private Godrick stared at the bag containing their payload, fidgeting slightly. Stupid kid, Seteen thought, shaking his head gently. He’d been so excited to be the one carrying out this mission. Now he could barely keep himself from falling asleep, not even 2 hours into their wait. Another of those fools with their heads filled with glorious charges against the Empire’s enemies. Seteen had seen what service was really like. Months of sitting around on garrison posts, with nothing to do but stare at rocks and hope for something interesting. When that something did come, it came in the form of blood, tears, and pain. Years serving the Imperial Army, and all for what? For him to sit here, waiting to assassinate a man who should have been a loyal servant of the Empire? The depths he’d sunk to. Duty was still duty nonetheless, and he didn’t begrudge Sergeant Madella for assigning him to this job. She’d made it clear that he was the only one she trusted enough to make sure this was done right, and make sure he would.

In the distance, figures in white glimmered. While to many citizens they represented the heavy-handed fist of the law, to Corporal Seteen those Stormtroopers could well have been clad in solid gold. Their target was here.

“Private! They’re here!”  

Private Godrick scrambled to his feet, striding over to the payload and lifting it delicately out of its bag. It was a small ball, about as large as a Stormtrooper’s helmet, though somewhat more spherical. Its surface was almost complete smooth, except for thumbpad that armed the device, keyed to a singular person. In this case, that person was Seteen, who was nonchalantly watching the approaching nobleman and his guards. The crowds on the street parted in front of him, though a few had to be pushed out the way by the attendant Stormtroopers. By the looks of it, they were on edge. He would be too, if he was on escort duty to some schmuck insisting on walking through crowded, vulnerable streets every evening. Some bullshit about “being among the people”. Far too easy for someone to do what he was about to do to them. Godrick walked over to his spot by the window clutching the bomb, his body buzzing with nervous energy. Taking care not to draw suspicion from the guards, he slipped away from the window.  

“Hand it here Private” 

“Yessir!” Private Godrick said, still eager to please.

Idiot.  

Godrick carefully passed him the bomb. He pressed his thumb to the pad on the sphere, taking care to align it with the little pointer at the top. It hummed ominously, and the light next to the pad glowed red. It was armed. From what he’d been told about the weapon itself, he reckoned it was some sort of micro-fusion device. Sergeant Madella had told him it would only be enough to kill the nobleman and his guards. Seteen wasn’t so sure. He intended to be at the door when it blew, just in case it hit a little harder than he’d been informed. He passed it back  

“It should detonate when it hits the ground. When it does, I want us to already be getting out of here. I have no intention of being in the area when investigators arrive.”  

When they did, they’d find no evidence in this room. It was plastered with faked fingerprints, and he’d taken biological detritus off of a bus and spread it around the room. No evidence here. Private Godrick waited next to the window, peeking down into the street. After a tense few seconds, the first of their target’s guards passed below their window. Seteen gathered up the bags, preparing to leave already. As he stooped to pick the one that had carried the bomb up, he heard Godrick. 

“Death to the Tetans!” the young man screamed, hefting the bomb in his hands. One of the quicker Stormtroopers managed to get a shot off, but it hit the wall above their window. The payload sailed out of Seteen’s view. He whirled round on Godrick, who was already dashing for the door.   

“You idiot!” Seteen snarled at him.

Famous last words.

The bomb’s trigger registered the impact as it hit the floor 2m away from the leading guard. It sent a small signal to the detonator, a minuscule incendiary charge situated next to the payload, made up of two hypergolic fluids in separate vessels. The barrier between the two fluids was lifted, and they mixed, reacting rapidly and producing a small spurt of flame that was channeled sideways, directly into the tiny payload of fullerened antimatter situated at the sphere’s centre. The flame itself was barely a puff, not even enough to cause a serious burn. However, the antimatter that was released from its fullerene prison by the flame could do substantially more. It instantly annihilated with its surroundings, triggering a chain reaction that caused the entire payload to annihilate almost simultaneously. In total, the entire sphere contained just 0.125 grams of antimatter, trapped within 5 grams of fullerene molecules. Despite their tiny mass, the few grams cost more than a corvette-sized freighter. Possession of antimatter was punished by death, and for good reason. The explosion those scant few granules caused measured in at 5.25 kilotons, and created a fireball 150 metres in diameter. Godrick’s nobleman target, Private Godrick himself, the Stormtrooper guards, Corporal Seteen, the thousand or so pedestrians travelling on that stretch of road at the time, and the apartment blocks surrounding them all, with everyone inside, were instantly incinerated. The shockwave was funnelled along the road itself, blowing away people like leaves in a storm. The transport which had been awaiting the nobleman’s arrival was thrown directly into a neighbouring building, smashing directly through the wall and imbedding itself. Overhead traffic was knocked from the sky, though much of it managed to avoid tumbling to the ground below. Anyone in direct line of sight of the explosion within around a kilometre received third degree burns. A mushroom cloud towered over 100 metres over the scene of destruction. Despite all this, the seismic shockwave from the explosion did surprisingly little damage. Teta’s buildings, like those of any ecumenopolis, were capable of withstanding impacts measuring up to low megatons without collapsing. An explosion as small as this one caused few problems to the high-rise building around it. When the smoke cleared, however, the damage was horrifying. It wasn’t the first time Teta had come under attack during the course of the war, but it was certainly one of the worst.

The authorities, though shocked, reacted immediately. The buildings around the blast area were swiftly evacuated, while the fires left by the fireball were doused. More importantly, the Tetan military pored tirelessly through all the evidence they could get their hands on. Breakthroughs were quickly made. CCTV footage was stored at the base of the massive block, almost a kilometre below the explosion. The drives were completely unharmed. The footage was damning. It showed the whole event, including the two responsible parties entering the apartment. Their trail was quickly tracked back to the building the had first left, Accommodation block 31567A, nearly 121 kilometres away from the site of the attack. A mere 11 hours after the dust of the blast had settled, Tetan Stormtroopers broke through the door of the rooms where it had all been planned, just as the New Republic’s operatives had hoped. Private Ream and Corporal Varras were taken completely be surprise, and didn’t even have time to get to their feet before they were knocked off them by stun blasts. Evidence, including detailed plans, logs of the habits of Tetan nobles, and a stasis chamber, were all taken in, along with the two unconscious suspects. They woke up in a strange, cold room, filled with terrifying instruments and blank faces. The two who perpetrated the attack were dead. These two were about to wish they were.

by **Abbeyverne** » Mon Jan 04, 2021 7:38 am

Free Reign

Jeremiah Dawntreader
Dawn
--------

Dispatch: New Republic Defense Forces, Command

Admiral Liu Bao Rui requests you operate independently of your fleet. Please confirm.

“How rude of the Admiral. Clearly he is not aware of our service records. Nonetheless, I hate operating attached to the regular military types. Päto, respond that that is fine with us."

"Yes, sir."

"Well. I suppose we'll be heading to the rally point soon. Get the men ready."

Pirate Attack

Pentastar Alignment Force
Near the Foless System, Adamant
--------

Proximity alarms shrill throughout the bridge, consoles blinking red to warn of approaching hostiles.

“What is going on!?” Shouts Admiral Kay.

“Several pirate cruisers have entered the system!” an ensign shouts over the din.

“Launch fighters, battle stations, get the barbettes ready NOW!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Below them, TIE fighters spew from the ventral hangar of the Destroyers, ready to counter the two old Munificent-class frigates that have appeared, and their Z-95s. Explosions rock the enemy as the heavy turbolasers pelt the old relics, but their fire returns as well, and their fighters are making headway. “Inform the Grand Moff,” shouts Kay, “Task force 34 under attack, requests backup!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

The distress call echoes throughout the galaxy, to the office of Kaine himself.

Ardus Kaine
Reaper
--------

The ensign returns, saluting, “Grand Moff, sir, Task Force 34 under attack, they are requesting reinforcements!”

“No, this is my test for them, to prove their mettle.”

“Yes, sir,” the ensign replies, leaving the room with his head spinning once again. He sends the reply himself.

Pentastar Alignment Force
Near the Foless System, Adamant
--------

“Request denied!?!?” Kay was furious. Outside, the battle still rages, the enemies Headhunters are close, dangerously close, but her ships still stand, and the enemy is taking damage too, one of the old CIS ships is certainly hurting, it’s batteries have stopped. Still, the fighters! They can do significant damage, and they are hurting her TIE supplies. She signals the hangar bay, “Launch the cruisers, they can do some damage to the pirates.”

The Gozanti-class cruisers ease out of the hangar bay, opening fire. They are able to do significant damage, quickly destroying five Z-95s. The enemies remaining Munificent begins to pull off, the fighters following suit, and quickly jump out of the system. The Imperial forces breath a sigh of relief. They count losses, the Adamant is down 37 fighters, the Defiance; 21, and the Death’s Head, 32. With their TIE supplies diminished, the fleet jumps once more. Target: Fondor.

TL;DR:

TC receives word they will be operating independently.
Kaine’s TF34 gets hit by a pirate attack, loses many of it’s fighters.
TF34 is now heading down Shipwright’s Trace towards Fondor

What NR forces may know about TF34:

Kaine has forces inbound.
A Pentastar Allignment fleet was just attacked near Folless.
The PA forces suffered heavy losses of fighters.
There is more than one ISD in this phantom fleet.

by **The Cattagines** » Wed Jan 06, 2021 11:54 am

Bridge of the BCN Liberator:
Hartono watched as the puffs of flame and smoke continued to blanket the black inky expanse of space. A cylindrical object passed by the bridge, a single simple engine firing as a pair of her V wings roared into view, simulated blaster bolts arcing out of their gun ports. One impacts dead center on the cylinder and the target drone comes to a stop as it begins broadcasting the signal announcing it destroyed. The Marshal looks down from the window at the targeting readout, of the 36 simulated strike craft trying to breach the Liberations flak screen, only 9 were left, then 8, then 6, and soon enough zero. She glanced at the clock as it flashed to a stop, an announcement ringing out across the ships intercom. “Enemy craft destroyed. Stand down, stand down. The bridge crew looked at one another for a moment, and Hartono felt their eyes turn to her. They new the time was good, very good. She looked around and nodded. She tapped a button on her console and a naval whistle sounded, she waited a moment before speaking. “Efficiency improved by 8% on that run, and 39% over the course of the drills... in addition, that was the first time we competed the targeting drill faster than the imperial wartime average, exceptional work everyone.” There was clapping and cheers, she looked to her XO. The Wookie bellowed an affirmative from the fighter squadrons that they had acknowledged the result, and were moving to land. “Shi, let Opal squadron know to come to the briefing room after the other squadrons are dismissed. You have the con, dont scratch the paint” The wookie nods and she flashes him a smile as she exits the bridge. She’d celebrate later, but right now she had more work to do.

Opal filtered into the room about 5 or 10 minutes after the Marshal had arrived. The pilots mostly wore what rebel pilot uniforms could be put together out of what they found, though a few wore older clone wars era flight suits, though they complained often about those. They only came in one size after all. “Ma’am” Opal lead said with a nod, his drawl as apparent now as ever. “Yall got a job for us I takes it” Hartono nodded “Indeed, you and your squadron are going to be joining the Prauf for a little tour. We don’t know too much about what’s been going on out there since the blockade ended but we do have some information. There are rumors of a Rebe-New republic task force stationed on Jabiim. You’re going to fly escort for that Vigil as it attempts to pick up some diplomats from each faction so we can normalize relations. Better to establish ourselves on our terms.” there are looks between a few of the pilots, not everyone wanted to reveal the Coalition to the wider galaxy. “In addition, I’m transferring the flag from the Liberation to the Homeland, and that ship is to be referred to as the flagship. That got their attention, Opal lead spoke up “Ma’am the victory 2 is a good ship, but it’s not a significantly better command ship than our other options.” She nodded and saw similar concern in the eyes of the squadron. “Don’t worry, you know me well enough to get I understand what I’m doing. If we’re smart about this, Bracca will stay a safe place for all of you. Get to your ships at 1700, and may the force be with you.”

by **The Cattagines** » Tue Jan 12, 2021 8:50 am

Anaxes, Azure Command headquarters

The room was deadly quiet as the man from Kuat finished his proposal. Around the holotable sat a few other high ranking imperial officers. Admirals Kiez and Wermis at the head of the table, with other ranking imperial officers beside, prominently a man whos white uniform denoted him as a member of the ISB. Kiez himself glared daggers into the envoy sent from Kuat. The captain had just offered a proposal to them all, that the Kuati armies could be deployed to Chandrilla in order to ease the burden of resources being used to blockade the world. In exchange, Kuat desired lines of supply from the core to be reopened and would offer to sell their resources and shipbuilding to the Azure Command.
"How dare he, how dare you?"
"Sir?" The captain replied, looking nervously at Kiez, who had stood up now, a fist clenched atop the holotable, which displayed the current state of the galaxy, the tumorous expansion of the New republic marked in a bright red, and the quickly dwindling territories of the empire in white, while even more warlords and traitors were colored blue.
"Those resources are not his to give away or sell, they are the EMPIRES!" Kiez said, his voice filled with venom and shouting by the end of the sentence. "Now more than ever, the empire cannot allow governors or Moffs to pretend like they are above the imperial mandate." There were nods from around the table, mostly. The ISB agent looked to Kiez, an eyebrow raised, he spoke next.
"While this is of course true, we must understand that with the situation as is, Im sure the moff is worried about the resources he needs in order to maintain his position" The captain from Kuat nodded
"Yes of course sir, he is simply worried about what he needs to defend his... I-I mean the Empires territory" Kiez narrowed his eyes, the glare enough to blast through durasteel.
"Leave us captain, we will have our answer later." The captain nodded, he must have realized his mistake and had no desire to stay any longer than he had to, with a crisp salute he twirled on his heel and left the room, the stormtroopers at the door straightening to attention as he passed. "You two, escort him to his quarters and make sure he remains there" The Admiral said with a wave of the hand, which signaled them to follow behind, leaving the Azure officers alone.

"Arrogance, not an uncommon or unwanted trait in a Moff, even so... this attitude towards us is worrying" Wermis said, after the captain had been gone for half a minute. The assembled officers were largely in agreement. "It has quickly become apparent how easily it has been for the various administrative regions of the empire that seemingly havent become controlled by warlords to treat others as separate entities."
"Agreed" The ISB agent nodded "Without a strong central figure like the Emperor, previous internal divisions are quickly becoming external." There was a grim attitude among the assembled officers, the way the wind was blowing was clear, Coruscant was in open revolt, the Rebels were always advancing closer to the core, and now warlords were declaring themselves the 'true' successors to the empire. Kiez looked at the map on the holotable, eyebrows furrowed in anger.
"We cannot accept this deal regardless of its efficacy, admiral" the ISB agent continued. "Chandrilla is a powerful agricultural planet, if they become administrators of it, or even attempt to, it will be a big step towards self reliance for the Moff." Wermis shook his head in response, a heavy sigh leaving the man.
"A step perhaps, but not the last one. They need the raw industrial power of some core worlds, either in our possession of the Rebels, Chandrilla alone isnt enough. We must not give way to paranoia."
"Paranoia is justified in an empire where more and more worlds fall to traitorous warlords" Retorted the ISB agent, the two beginning to bicker as other voices began to chime in. Always bickering and argument now, the emperors will replaced with the ambition and aspiration of lesser men and women. The Empire was beginning to come apart at its seams.
"No more!" Kiez shouted, slamming his fist down on the table, silencing the bickering. The others were surprised as they looked to him, but they were silent. They would listen to him now. "We compromise and retreat, we concede and withdraw. The individual ambitions of so called loyal officers and governors are becoming more important than the will of the Empire, we will not tolerate it any longer."
"Sir, are you suggesting we attack the Kuati territories?"
"They are not Kuati territory, they are imperial territories. The Moff of Kuat will either obey the orders of Imperial command, or we will be a traitor. Commodore Zapal" His eyes swiveled to the woman sitting 45 degrees along the table from him, she straightened up.
"Admiral?"
"Assemble a fleet, take the Dominion, the Morningstar, and the Eviscerator along with escorts. Move them into the territory under the administration of this Moff, and broadcast that he is ordered, in the name of the empire, to assemble his armies and fleets, and surrender their command to us. The Empire will make better use of his so called fleet than he will, do not start a fight if you can help it, but do NOT back down. Am I understood Commodore?" She nodded and shot a salute his way, she seemed to perk up at the idea of finally doing something rather than sitting around. She was always eager for a fight.
"Yes Admiral"
"Then go, make the empire whole again" He said, watching as she stood and quickly exited the room, almost at a jog. His eyes returned to the holotable. "Make us whole again"

by **Abbeyverne** » Wed Jan 13, 2021 12:12 pm

The Departure

Jeremiah Dawntreader
Dawn
--------

Jeremiah turns to Päto, “Well, we approach Zero hour. Let us move out!”

“Finally! I was beginning to thing you had gotten cold feet!” Punching the correct buttons, he activates the inter-ship comms. “All units, prep to jump to Waypoint Aurek.”

Outside the viewport on the bridge, the Incursors, the Dusk, and the corvettes began to form up, falling into formation. Jeremiah spoke into the comlink: “Jump on my mark… Mark!” On cue, the stars began to stretch into lines, the doorway to war opening one again, consuming the fleet as the journey began.

The Arrival

Pentastar Alignment Task Force 34
Fondor
--------

The ships of TF 34 appear, a trio of arrowheads, piercing the space above the planet, and it’s all important station, in high geosynchronous orbit of the small, green world below. Kay begins a string of transmissions, first to the station, “Fondor Station, this is Adamant, of PA Task Force 34. You have a shipment for us?”

The reply crossed the void, “Yes, though we aren’t quite sure what it is. Does it really merit a whole task force?”

“I am unsure. I too am clueless about the package. We are sending a Gozanti to pick it up.”

“Roger.”

Next she sent word to the Hangar bay, “Gozanti two-one, report! Initiate launch sequence, you are cleared.”

“Roger Admiral, ma’am.”

The final message was for the Grand Moff, “PA Command, we are arrived at Fondor. The shipment will be in our possession momentarily.”

Ardus Kaine
Reaper
--------

The ensign returns once more, saluting, a practice which has become a bore to him, “Grand Moff, sir, Task Force 34 reports they have arrived at Fondor.”

“Very well,” Kaine replies, not turning his chair which sits facing a hologram of the fleet, his attention rapt on something, what? The ensign cannot tell. Was his commander, the leader of the Pentastar Alignment, on spice? He was thoroughly confused with the sudden change in demeanor of the Grand Moff.

TL;DR:

TC rolls out, ready for battle.
TF34 is now at Fondor

by **Flarbinia** » Thu Jan 14, 2021 6:51 pm

Ithor's Liberation. Orbit Over Sy Myrth
"Your Planet-- Your Home-- is being drowned in blood! For Three Thousand Years, We Were Loyal To The Republic. But did they send aid during the Brainrot Plague? Did they react when the Trandoshans invaded? Where were The Jedi When Lythian Pirates killed your parents... and mine? The Republic ignored our cries for help until they learned that beneath all the mud, our planet had a heart of ore! Now, they want to control the ore to prevent us from profiting from trade with the Confederacy Of Independent Systems! We will let the Jedi Generals know that we will fight to be free! We will fight to defend our planet! We will send the Jedi home in caskets!" The holographic recording of Alto Stratus said in a booming voice as a Wookie with an eye patch covering his right eye and a rusted shoulder pad with the fading emblem of the CIS entered Jebb Vid's room, the room being bare save for a desk with a holographic projector and chairs due to being stripped of its Imperial trappings and the ornate decorations that were worth more than an Imperial Captain's salary. "Yes, Cacco. I was listening to this old thing this old thing again. Try as we might to deny it, we are both Separatists at heart." Jebb Vid said to the Wookie as he turned off the holographic, the Wookie responding to him with a low growl before handing him a datapad. "Yes, I know. We are officers of the New Republic and as NR officers, we can't afford to dwell on the past. You know, when we joined the Separatists, we weren't expecting to lead a platoon, let alone an army. You, exiled for using your claws in self-defense and me, an idealistic young Ithorian who had the rotten luck of being the supporter of the CIS on a planet loyal to the Republic during the Clone Wars." Jebb said to Cacco as he read the report. "Give the order. We head to Fondor at once." Jebb Vid said to Cacco before heading to brief his men.

by **Arthurs Corner** » Fri Jan 15, 2021 11:17 am

The Tetan Royal Shipyards: Orbiting the city of Cinnabar, Empress Teta

Ancient Tetan Proverb from Works of the Great One:
The ancients call the perlimian the arrowhead, for it pierces deep into the unknown
We Tetans also hold an arrow, but ours points not to the unknown but into the heart of the galaxy
An arrow to the soul of the Republic, a dagger at the galaxies heart, a path to Coruscant itself
Never forget the lessons of the Hyperspace War my children, Teta is the bastion of Coruscant, and if need be, its assassin.

The baton swung down, drawing another trace of blood from the prisoners forehead. The stun baton flashed again. His body writhed under the current, but the guard was unrelenting, pushing the baton as close as he could to the prisoner’s forehead. The prisoner, who had been identified as Petrus Ream, screamed in agony as the electricity burned red scars into his forehead. It had been three hours like this, Ludendorf watching as the guard drained every ounce of resistance from the youth. He suppressed the instinct to put on a grim smile. This… boy, barely in his 20s had helped plan and organize the most devastating terrorist attack in Tetan history. He had been responsible for the deaths of nearly 20, 000 civilians, including an estimated 6, 000 children who were inside a school building scarcely 20 meters away from the bombing. Already the twisted and blackened remains of the building were being turned into a monument, a symbol of the devastation and death this attack had brought to the Tetan people. The other terrorist was in a similar room to this, though run by the Tetan loyal ISB cell rather than Ludendorf’s own office of Naval Intelligence. He had heard rumors of the types of tactics the ISB used on their victims, and in a way pitied the other bomber. But he cast such doubts out of his mind; these two were getting all the mercy they deserved- even a swift death would be more lenient than what their actions decreed their fate should be.
Already the Trade Unions of the Aaraba district of Cinnagar, where the bombing had occurred, were demanding that the perpetrators be released to them to be dealt with as the people saw fit. Rix Illian was doing his best to keep their anger in check, and had convinced them to hold off until the interrogation was complete, but once it was over the two miserable terrorists would see the justice of the people they harmed brought to bear upon them. Others had been executed in the early months, corrupt Imperial officials, the worst of the unrepentant army officers who had, even under the kind rulership of Moff Illian, oppressed the people under them. Ludendorf had not watched the hangings, unable to stomach the brutality of it, he could fight and kill in battle, and see an enemy dead at the end of a blaster, but to kill in such a fashion as a hanging was sickening to him. He focused once again on the interrogation at hand, putting such thoughts aside for later. He had a job to do now.

Pulling up a chair he sat before the restrained prisoner, who was now panting in pain. The boy looked up at him, eyes tearing and fearful. Good, Ludendorf thought, he is scared and hopeless, just where I want him. Gesturing at the guard, he asked in a brisk and clipped voice, “get this man some water, and then check on the other bomber, I want to make sure the ISB is treating him… well.”
The other gestured an affirmative and then stepped out into the hallway. Ludendorf turned back to the youth and clicked his teeth disapprovingly

“Well young man,” he said, trying to keep his voice as calm and confident as possible, “I believe the situation you are in is colloquially know as a clusterfuck. Two of your co conspirators are dead, and you and your comrade are currently sitting in the cells of the Korostad complex. Even if you were to escape, you are in the center of a 300 square kilometer complex, one of the largest military bases this side of Anaxes, with 10s of thousands of Tetan soldiers who would be more willing to shoot you than return you here. Even if, an already impossibly slim probability, you managed to escape the base, where would you go. Your face is on every news screen, you are one of the most infamous people in the history of Cinnagar now, the likes of Uliq Quel Droma and Sith lord Naga Sadow. you have nowhere to go, nowhere to run, no way out but telling us everything we need to know. So I must ask, who was behind this plot?”

The boy slumped, for the first time beginning to realize just how far gone the situation had gone south. Ludendorf smiled internally, he had him right where he wanted him now. He got up, and began to head to the door, but as he had expected, the faint croak of a voice stopped him.
“s-s-stop,” called the voice hoarsely, and then broke into wretched coughs before continuing, “I-I’ll tell you what I know.”
Ludendorf turned back around, and pulled his chair over, leaning against the back of it. “Go on,” he said, “who provided you with the weapons and directed you at the target?”
The boy coughed once more than began, “There was a woman,” he said, “I never knew her name. I… I… I don’t know who she was working for.” The lie was apparent on he face even before he uttered the words.
“I know you do. You will tell me who, if not now then later. But we both know you don’t want to go through another session in here, so you will tell me, right here- right now, who she worked for,”
The boy coughed and then started. “It… our… our orders came straight from Coruscant. I know nothing more than that.” He slouched back, defeated and broken.
Ludendorf’s world spun around him as he struggled to understand what the boy had said. In the deepest reaches of his heart he had always known the Empire would not be content with his secession, but he had never imagined, could not imagine, that they would do this. The bombings, the deaths of all these people… How could a power he had helped maintain, had served since its infancy and had fought tooth and nail to keep intact do this. How could an Empire of law order the deaths of 8, 000 children just for the sake of opposing him.
Anger rushed inside of him, rage boiling away the last vestiges of his calm demeanor. He chuckled softly under his breath, letting the anguish and pain flow over him. For the first time since the Clone Wars ended he felt as though his people had been attacked. He turned and walked out of the room, aware that the prisoner was looking up in horror and shock. He waved for the door to shut behind him and leaned against its shut surface, sliding to the ground.
This could not go unavenged, he thought, they have attacked the people of Teta, they have shown a symbol of their strength. They have proven they are our enemy and the enemy to anyone who will not side with them. We cannot let this attack, this atrocity, stand. He stood, slowly, surely, his posture straighter than ever and his face composed. Yes, he thought, they would pay for this. Maybe not today, not tomorrow, but soon enough Coruscant would be faced with Tetan ships above its skies and an ultimatum that they surrender those who perpetrated this to the justice of the Tetan people.
He pulled out his commlink and called the ISB operator in charge of the prisoners. Before the man could speak he began, “you have twelve more hours to interrogate the prisoners. Once that time is up you are to call an assembly of the Union heads and release them to their custody. Tell them they have my approval for any form of punishment they wish to undertake upon these terrorists.”
The man started to form a response, but before he could Ludendorf shut off the connection and began to make his way towards the main facility of the Iron Citadel. There were battleplans to draw and forces to muster. Coruscant had poked the sleeping Gundark, and it was time for them to feels its claws raking along their spine. If the perlimian was an arrow pointing to the unknown then the Koros run and Empress Teta were a dagger to its heart, and know that dagger would strike with a brutality and force unseen in the planets history.

by **Lotrisia** » Sat Jan 16, 2021 6:52 am

Station Cluster C
Low Orbit of Sullust
NR Logistics Station
Requisitions Office

“What do you mean three months to procure that many?! We don’t have three months to spare! The Empire could show up in three minutes time, are you want us to wait a quarter of a year?”

 To say that Trayarck was annoyed at the clerk standing in front of him would be an understatement of enormous proportion. He was positively simmering. It’s quite likely that the only thing preventing him from calling in a torpedo strike against that miserable little bureaucratic office was that he was currently standing in it. Even then, it was still cutting it close. The clerk, obviously terrified of the officer standing in front of him frantically called up a manifest and showed it to him.

“Sir, all the slots for available ships in the surrounding sectors. There’s nothing I can do unless I push other fleet’s orders down.” 

“Right”

 Trayarck lifted the datapad and scanned it, noting requisition orders by large fleets like the 6th and 4th Defence fleets. As he scanned further down, his eyes narrowed. He jabbed at the device, causing the clerk to flinch slightly.

“Look here.”

 The sudden calmness in the Commodore’s voice was somehow more terrifying than the anger. He placed his finger under a number

“The Anoat Sector Fleet has 153 corvettes of the size I’m asking for and you’re sending 24 more to them. I think we can both tell that they’re doing fine with the number of corvettes they have.”  

The clerk nodded quickly.

“Now, their order is going to get delayed a bit, and those corvettes are going to come over to my fleet. I don’t care how many boots you have to lick to get that done, that’s what’s going to happen”

Trayarck paused for a second, then turned to somehow glare even harder.

“And if I don’t get those corvettes in the next week, I’ll bring my own corvettes over here and turn this bloody office into vapour!”

He turned on his heel and strode out the door. By the time he’d reached his familiar office aboard the Egality, the notification that the Sullustan Sector Fleet having been assigned its new corvettes, arriving in a few days, had already reached his desk. The clerk had worked fast. Then again, having your pants scared off of you by Sullust’s very own walking tower of irritation was often excellent for short-term productivity. The new additions turned out to be pretty good ships. 6 C70 Chargers from back in the Clone Wars, 15 CR90s in military retrofit states, and 3 CR70s that had been augmented with mil-spec sensors and comms. The first 2 types were solid corvettes in general, but the CR70s would have to be exclusively for ECM and targeting. They didn’t have nearly the firepower to get thrown in against fighters and sloops. It was a pity they wouldn’t be arriving sooner. The little force he was sending to Fondor could've definitely used more, but he just didn’t have the units to spare until those corvettes got here, which would still be after they’d left to prepare operations. As such, the Rejuvenance would just have to make do with what it had. The corvettes still weren’t enough though. He needed to expand his frigate and corvette forces far more, but the New Republic just didn’t have the ships to spare for him. With one of his Nebulon Bs in drydock for another month because of that asteroid, and 3 split off to go with the Rejuvenance to try cover for the lack of corvette cover, he only had 2 of them operational to go between 3 capital ships. More were needed, desperately. He’d received authorisation to request ships from neutral yards to try stop the problem, but he’d have to requisition the funds to pay for that too, which meant he’d have to go back to the Logistics Office and ask very nicely.

Bugger.

Commodore Trayarck’s struggles with bringing his screening forces back up to scratch were only one aspect of the troubles that had him in such a foul mood. He was nervous. The operation back on Teta had gone smoothly, and from what he could tell, according to plan. Two of the bombers had been atomised by the fireball. The other two, obediently guarding their headquarters, had been snatched up by the Tetan military, who were no doubt busy interrogating them for who they were and who’d sent them, just as he’d known they would. Special Operator Madella had made good her getaway, and had been in hyperspace halfway across the Core when the plan’s explosive finale had come into effect. He’d finished debriefing her down on Sullust an hour before he’d gone to the Logistics Office. She’d been sure that she’d left no hint of being anything other than an Imperial officer, but until there was no doubt that the plan had gone through perfectly, Trayarck would be nervous. It was rather obvious why. If the link back to the New Republic was discovered, they’d be just about ruined. He’d be disowned by his own command chain as a lone radical and executed for war crimes. Not exactly low personal stakes then.

The rest of the operation was seemingly moving along apace. The Coruscant cell was helping stoke up riots and hysteria on the Imperial capital, and was generally being a bit of a nuisance. That one wouldn’t be too much of a loss should it get taken down, so he wasn’t very worried about it. Other cells were also beginning to near operational readiness. He didn’t have anything that would have quite the sheer impact of his first operation, should that one go to plan, but they’d help all the same. From what he could see, the Empire’s underbelly was beginning to rumble. The obvious tension between Teta and the Loyalist forces of the Empire had been the first place they’d struck, but other tensions between even solidly loyal factions were also beginning to brew. Moffs, Admirals and Generals were gradually beginning to butt head over issues of resupply, chains of command and requisition orders. It appeared that the tightly bound, well-oiled machine that had kept the Empire’s military going even as its political flaws began to tear it apart was now beginning to fracture. It was slow, of course, but he intended to speed things up just a little bit. For now, however, he’d simply have to tend to his fleet and wait for news.

The list of independent shipyards considered trustworthy enough to order from proved to be extensive. Many independent operations had sprung up in the Rim in the wake of the Empire’s hasty retreat back to the Core. All of them were desperate to grab a share of the market big vendors like Kuat had dominated in earlier years. Scanning the list slowly, many of them proved to be only middling in quality. One yard, though, caught Trayarck’s eye. Not for any particular quality in the ships they’d starting putting out, mind you, but rather the unusual demand they made that they be paid entirely in refined tibanna gas. He brought the small report on them onto his screen.

Bracca had been a shipyard during the days of the Republic, seemingly one of a rather high quality too. They’d help service the GAR fleet during the war itself, providing frigates and destroyers like Victory at an impressive quality and rate. However, that ended when the Empire took over. Stuck with a fleet and army vastly larger than what could reasonably be maintained during a period of peace, even for a state as militarised as they were. Many of Bracca’s mothballs facilities were turned into dumping grounds for thousands of old Venators and Victories, and the shipyard’s engineers were pressed into service scrapping them. Eventually, the old shipyard stations became abandoned and under-maintained, while the engineers who had formerly staffed it were stuck on the surface, forced into what should have been a short-term job for years. Endor, however, changed all of that. With Imperial forces fragmented and confused, it had been relatively easy for Bracca to declare independence and strike out as a new shipyard. They seemed to be making a large portion of their money out of selling ships from their mothballs stocks. A stock that, the Commodore was pleased to note, included a decent number of Nebulon Bs. As he started looking for their contact information, however, the light on the flimsy printer brooding the corner of his room flicked on. It coughed up a single flimsy, then went silent again. The text on the flimsy wasn’t a situation report from a cell, but instead had three short lines of text. Unsigned again.

Commodore Trayarck , 

It appears that a certain terrorist attack on Teta was performed on the orders of Coruscant. The union is deliberating on the punishment the two survivors will receive.  

Excellent work. Command is most pleased.

by **Flarbinia** » Tue Jan 19, 2021 1:55 pm

Briefing Room. Ithor's Liberation.
"You all know why I have gathered you here today. The Liberation of Fondor is at hand and I have been ordered to head there with every ship under my command." Jebb Vidd said to the assembled pilots as the map of Fondor appeared on the screen, the Imperial forces silhouetted in red and the New Republic forces silhouetted in green. "Sir, with all due respect, is Command out of their mind? Not only are we outnumbered and outgunned by the defending Imperial Fleet, but most of us will be going up against Interceptors in ARC-170s or Z-95 Headhunters. We will be flying into a slaughter." Tokox Lamur, a Cathar who had fought under Jebb since the Clone Wars, said to his commander as he stared at the map. "Yes, I know. I have personally requested X-Wings three times since Endor, but as far as Requisitions is concerned, we are low on that list. I understand your anger and frustration. You all paid for the liberation of the Phellem Sector in the blood, sweat, and tears of friend and foe alike, only for the New Republic to consider you a low priority when it comes to resupply and rearmament. Fortunately for us, we are not the only fleet that will engage the Empire. Now that we have gotten that out of the way, your objective is simple: the Y-Wings will be attacking the defense stations with the fighters acting as escorts." Jebb Vidd said to the pilots before heading to the bridge.
Barrison. The Corporate Sector
"Yes, R3. I am well aware that my usefulness to Prince Xizor may come at an end any day now, but where we will go once we've survived the betrayal? Phaeda is still under Imperial occupation, Black Sun has replaced the Hutts as the most powerful criminal organization on Taris, and if we land on Lothal, the only thing stopping the Ohnaka Gang from handing me over to Prince Xizor would be the intervention of the Broken Horn Syndicate, who will also be after the price on my head. That leaves us with two options: hide on Dxun or join the Rebellion." Ruhr Draay said to his Astromech as he headed to the spaceport in Canto Bight, the cargo hold full of Ryll that, if things go smoothly, high rollers will be smoking all night long.

by **Tysklandia** » Sat Jan 23, 2021 7:01 pm

OOC: Many thanks to Lotrisia for playing Fondor in this post!

--------------------------
The Imperial Remnant - Taskforce 117 & Imperial Fondor
Battle of Fondor
--------------------------

The Galaxy, Early 4ABY

Imperial Remnant - Task Force 117
Fondor System
Galactic Grid: L-13 CO: 25.261 , -369.618

T: 00:00:00
Fondor

After what amounted to a few weeks of rest and troubled re-organisation, the Imperial Army detachment on Fondor had become a shell of its former self in terms of combat readiness. During their time on the surface, there had been hundreds of desertions and conflicts that required the involvement of military police. Something that could simply not be avoided. The Imperial army soldiers were stuck here, whilst the fate of their own homeworlds was in doubt, many would even herald from worlds that had already rebelled or otherwise been claimed by warlords or worse…

It was becoming almost untenable to keep them in line without a proper path forward. It was unter this pretext that Admiral Farren had ordered them to board their ships and to bring them into Orbit, to alleviate the issues their deployment on the surface of Fondor had been causing the local moff. Albeit this had to be done under the watchful eye of his own Navy troopers, aided by detachments of the Stormtrooper corps to avoid more scuffles and lower the risk of revolts or protests during the boarding process.

The thousands of men had begun to assemble on the massive landing zones of one of Fondor’s many spaceports. The aging Acclamator class assault ships had already begun to spool up their engines, disembarking one after the other as their holds filled with the disillusioned masses of the Imperial Army.

In orbit, the Star Destroyer Nitsa was still held firm by the external docking cranes of drydock 3B, her crucial repairs still underway. But the most rudimentary of repairs had been completed, allowing her, in theory, to travel safely once more. Under the guise of reactor tests as a part of the repairs, the Nitsa was powering up it’s reactor and primary systems, whilst in truth, the crew was preparing combat stations, under the guise of Helmar Farren ordering a readiness check.

The Bulwark required no such excuse, as it and several of its remaining escorts were already moving to enter an escort position, once the acclamators joined them into orbit. It was so that Farren achieved operational readiness, without alarming the local Moff, or the arriving Pentastar force.

---

T: 00:01:23

Orbit of Fondor
Allegiance-class Star Destroyer Paramount
Vice Admiral Kirav Tranto

A little grey wedge silhouetted against the docks. Standing at the window of the Paramount’s bridge, that was all Vice Admiral Tranto could see of the ship he privately deemed the “problem child” of his fleet. The Eviscerator herself was a good ship, but her crew had proven to be a complete nightmare. Outright brawls, sloppy coordination, sub-par efficiency and to top that all off, a captain who was completely incapable of handling them. The ship had consistently failed to pull its weight in the simulated exercises they’d practiced over the months they’d been posted at Fondor, and had generally become a headache to have to deal with. Had this been a few years back, he’d have had the entire crew of that ship thrown back to basic training and had a genuinely competent ship brought in instead, but those days were gone. With Imperial High Command in disarray, and fractures rippling through the Empire in the wake of the Emperor’s death, he was stuck with what he had. Worse than that, he’d been forced to split off the rest of his attendant fleet of ISDs to go help secure Devaron. He hadn’t dared to send the Eviscerator for a job like that, so he’d sent the rest instead, retaining only the Eviscerator and a screening force, relying on the 117th’s ISDs to help him defend Fondor. Those two ISDs and their attendant fleet were a good unit, and Admiral Farren was a trustworthy man. Vice Admiral Tranto knew he could rely on him.

T: 00:02:33

Orbit of Fondor
Orbital Dry-Dock 3B - Hangar bay 07
Imperial Agent Arlissa Daaru - Major Aaron Dane

The bay was buzzing with activity, as shuttles and various craft of the 117th were unloading and loading supplies and goods as a part of the deal Farren had made with the local Moff. Excess fuel and ammunition had been promised to the Moff and Farren made a point of keeping such promises. Albeit, it also acted as a proper cover for a more nefarious plan.

As dozens of Navy crew and stormtroopers milled about the vast metallic chamber, Major Aaron Dane noted the uncomfortable atmosphere that seemed to fill the room as he observed them from the far side of the Hanger bay. His scar-covered visage, a reminder of the dangers of thermal detonators, was made more unnerving by the gruff facial expression that the veteran had etched on it.

“I still dislike this plan of yours…” He spoke in a soft, gruff tone, ensuring it did not reach unnecessary ears.

“I do not need you to like it, Major. I simply need you to act upon it.” Was the clear reply of the Imperial agent that stood beside him. Although young and reasonably fair, her stern gaze and ISB uniform ensured few dared to look her way twice. He turned to her, noting that she was also staring intensely at the various men at work in the hanger. Her gaze had an uncanny way of making anyone that was the recipient of it feel deeply uncomfortable. It made men shiver and feel as if they were being judged at some deep, incomprehensible level.

This… Arlissa was a mystery to him, an unknown variable that had apparently only arrived the day before. A person who spoke little, but always listened and was always observing. Dane disliked those kinds of people, the kind that was always scheming and planning things. And more often than not, it was men like him that were called upon to enact those aforementioned plans. For good or for worse.

But no matter if he did not know her, the Admiral had asked him to work with her and her credentials were solid. And so he had agreed, although he was having second thoughts now that she had shared her rather radical plan.
Dane’s opinion of the Admiral was conflicted, but he trusted him. When things began falling apart after Endor, he had been furious when Farren had decided to abandon his outer-rim stations. Pulling troops and ships away, leaving the various uprisings and rebellions to fester. All to flee to the safety of the core. He had believed it to be cowardly, he had even contemplated it might have been treasonous back then and mayhaps, have acted upon that belief. But as Farren threw his forces into battle to relieve and link up with other outposts and scattered Imperial remnants, saving tens of thousands of men, Army, corps, navy and citizenry alike, all at the risk of his own, he had accepted that his actions had not been cowardly. And had the rebellions and revolts grew from a flame to an inferno, he had realised that it would have been impossible to hold the region with the forces they had. He might not agree with what the Admiral had done, but he had come to understand.

But as he stared at Arlissa, reminding himself of her plan regarding these “weapons”, Moff Kaine was procuring, he had begun to wonder what plans the Admiral truly had in the long term…

“If you have questions, Major. You have permission to speak freely.” Arlissa’s sudden, somewhat unexpected words broke Dane from his stupor. averting his gaze, he continued the observation of the bay.

He struggled with his reply as he observed his handpicked men retrieve several weapon crates from a shuttle, practically unnoticeable amongst the various other crates being unloaded. He had served the Empire in the corps for almost a decade now and he had never questioned orders, he had performed various acts others would lose sleep over and never looked back. But ever since Endor, doubt had begun to seep into his mind at the most unwelcome of times.

“Kaine has broken from the Empire, I understand that he is a traitor, But...” Dane choked on the words, decades of training, indoctrination and heartfelt beliefs made him choke on the words he had intended to say. ‘A traitor to whom?’ were the horrid thoughts whirling around in his head. Dane had been present during the few meetings Admiral Farren had organised between him, General Kane and several other officers amongst their group. The news from Corrussant wasn’t good and if one read between the lines, there seemed to be little hope that there would be a proper form of unity any time soon.

“We all have a choice to make, in the dark times ahead, Major Dane.” Her reply was soft in tone, uncharacteristically so. Sympathetic even, in a way he had not assumed she was capable of.

“You could choose to abandon all hope. To let the inferno of chaos burn away all that we have sacrificed to build.” She didn’t face him, continuing her observation of the room as she spoke to him. “Or we could stand tall in the face of that chaos and strive to preserve what we can.”

She turned to him, her eyes boring his, accompanied swiftly by that uncomfortable feeling that he was being judged by some otherworldly force. “Heroes are only born during harsh times, Major Dane. And we are in need of many heroes in the times to come.”

T: 00:23:09

Orbit of Fondor
Orbital Dry-Dock 3B - Hangar bay 02
Major Aaron Dane

The Hanger bay was an utter flurry of activity as docking cranes, forklifts and dozens of loading personnel guided the large, sealed crates into the Gozanti that had nested itself into the pressurised docking berth.

Security was tight, almost unreasonably so. Likely due to the secretive nature of the weapons involved. Dane had handpicked but a handful of men to prepare this stunt and under Arlissa’s careful eye, removed any indicators, tags and markings that would lead them to Farren, at the least, anything that would do so quickly. With the entire station busy with organising approach vectors for ships, cargo, repairs and of course, the preparations for an expected rebel attack on the system, it had been relatively easy to sneak themselves into a rear portion of the hanger bay section, that gave a good view of the entire area.

Security might have been numerous, but the guards inside the hanger weren’t exceedingly attentive. To be expected, Dane mused to himself. They were deep inside an Imperial station, with multiple star destroyers nearby and up to a thousand stormtroopers aboard this station alone. An insurgent would have to be mad to make an attempt at an installation like this.

‘Poor bastards…’ Dane muttered as he waved over a pair of his co-conspirators. They sneaked their way over to hide behind the large shipping crate that Dane was using to keep himself out of sight from the activity and security centered around the Gozanti. Dane viewed over the bay, noting several positions where more weapon crates had been placed in preparation to be shipped. Motioning initially towards the Gozanti’s loading bay, before pointing to three other positions in the bay, Dane gave the command to attack by pumping with his closed fist, his men nodded in response, acknowledging the command in silence.

Still obscured from view by the cargo crate, one trooper kneeled down, lifting the heavy PLX-4 launcher unto his shoulder. The other, working in a well drilled unisun, slammed in the missile-cartridge a mere second later. The loader checked the weapon for another moment, before tapping the shoulder of his counterpart, and stepping out the way.

In a swift motion, the trooper pushed himself to a crouching position, twisted himself around the corner of the loading crate and aimed for the gozanti loading bay. Smart targeting wasn’t necessary at this range and Dane had ensured he had picked one of his more experienced men for the job. Two seconds was what he needed to train the weapon in the correct direction and pull the trigger.

The only warning the loading crew and security detail likely had of the sudden attack was the loud and abruptive whooshing noise of the proton missile travelling the hundred meters orso into the open loading bay doors of the Gozanti craft, before a rippling explosion ripped that portion of the craft to shreds.

As the shockwave still rippled through the hanger, the launcher was swiftly pointed to a secondary target and fired once more, and then a third, before the last missile was fired in swift succession, each finding their target without difficulty.

In a swift and practiced ease, the launcher was discarded and Dane rushed his men back through a nearby bulkhead door, obscured at the least in part by various cargo crates and machinery. The rippling explosions were already spreading fires and the total devastation was immense, with rubble and debris strewn about the entire area. Although it was to the merit of some of the nearby troopers that their position had been identified by some of the more awake security forces and they were put under sporadic blaster fire.

But the security in front of the bulkhead door had already been subdued by stun-blasts from two other men that Dane had deftly ordered to secure their exit. In the few seconds that it took them to rush through it, none had the chance to score a hit on their sudden attackers before the bulkhead door was shut and disabled by a swift shot into its control panel.

T: 00:23:19

Orbit of Fondor
Orbital Dry-Dock 3B - Technical cabinet 71B
Agent Arlissa Daaru

Arlissa had picked the most secluded room aboard the station that she could find that had access to the computer systems. From there it had been child's play for her to release her ID10 droid into the computer systems. With the chaotic nature of the Empire currently and her position in the ISB, it had been easy to conjure some older codes that provided access in the station’s more secure systems. It wouldn’t take long before they would find her if she decided to create havoc, but that wasn’t her intent.

She only ensured ID10 had access to the system to al-... ‘and there we go…’ Arlissa mused, breaking off her internal monologue as light vibrations flowed through the station and alarm signals began to flare, drowning out any other noise. Her counterparts had performed their part and the station had reacted by activating it's various security systems and alarms.

“Cut the security systems, now.”

With deft preparation and some older security codes in hand, ID10 had all it needed to create a cascading failure in the station’s communication, security and camera systems. Causing them to go dark. The blaring alarm halted abruptly and would likely cause more chaos, especially with communications not functioning for at least a minute or two. It wouldn’t be long before the station would catch on and reboot their systems, but minutes was all Dane’s men would need to disappear inside the bulk of the Dry-Dock station.

It’s job completed, ID10 disengaged from the computer panel and Arlissa calmy exited the room. Mingling into the worried crowds and personnel of the station as she made her way to Hanger Bay 07.

T: 00:25:33

Orbit of Fondor
Bridge of the Imperial Class Star Destroyer “Bulwark”
Admiral Helmar Farren

Farren ensured his relief of an operation well done wasn’t noticeable to his otherwise panicky crew. They were struggling to get a grip on the situation, parsing dozens of conflicting messages that were being transmitted by stations and ships all across Fondor’s Orbit. The Nitsa had already been ordered to detach itself from the docking cranes, under the assumption that she was a prime target for further saboteur attempts. The rest of the ships under his command were equally ordered to assemble, supposedly until the perpetrators were caught and dealt with

In the meanwhile, a message had come in from Arlissa, detailing that Hanger 07 was safe and secured. A previously agreed upon code that ensured that the operation had succeeded and the Major had ensured they had not been made.

Dry-dock station 3B itself was unable to provide any proper answers, something Farren had expected and a good sign that they had no idea that he was behind the whole ordeal. But nonetheless, he had demanded his crew to pester the station to demand answers, even offering soldiers to help a complete search.

“Still the same response from the control station, sir. They are awaiting directives from Orbital command. ” His communication officer addressed him directly, struggling to cajoul the Control station of Station 3B to give any useful information.

“I assume they are trying to contact the Moff… Do the same, propose a full sweep of the orbital defense stations for other sabotage or enemy strike teams.” Farren replied calmly , his answer perfectly fitting within the military playbook. As his communication officer continued to pester the Fondor’s defense grid with messages, Farren moved to take stock of the situation, taking interest in ensuring the Nitsa and the escort ships were forming up properly near Station 3B. The Pentastar strike team wouldn’t take long to react and he wasn’t really sure what they would do in this situation, he preferred cautious preparation and to await their reaction.

“Tight-beam the fleet and Vice-Admiral Tranto. I would propose readying duty stations across sector. If there are rebels aboard, they will attempt to escape, we will need to have interceptors on station if this is the case.”

His Comm officer nodded once more and continued to send off the messages Farren dictated to him, the rest of his crew already starting scanning sweeps and preparing the Gravitas for combat, just in case.

T: 00:32:09

Surface of Fondor
Fondor Moff’s residence - Hardened Command Centre
Moff Servus Ulen, Governor of Fondor

In the beginning, there was a word, and that word was “Panic”

The command centre Moff Ulen was taking shelter in was in chaos. The Moff himself was hardly in a better state, though he was doing his level best to hide that. The first he’d heard of the catastrophe that had happened up in orbit was as he was being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night by his security team. He’d been hoping to feel refreshed before his inevitable meeting with Kaine’s forces. Instead, he was sitting, bleary-eyed, trying desperately to prevent the entire planet from having a total cadenza. Hardly the peaceful night’s sleep he’d been hoping for.

As he managed to draw himself up and put the command centre back into something resembling working order, clearer reports of what had just happened finally started to trickle in. Someone had fired a missile at a transport up on Orbital Dry-Dock 3B, crippling it and destroying much of its cargo. The station’s onboard fire suppression system had thankfully managed to stop any truly catastrophic explosions from going off, and the Gozanti in question had been quickly tractored outside, averting further damage to the hangar bay itself. The perpetrators, dressed in the uniforms of Navy troopers, though with no insignia to identify them, had managed to escape cleanly, helped along by the fact that the entire station’s systems had been crashed by someone in possession of official security codes. That they were professionals was obvious by their conduct, and the efficiency with which they had acted. There were no traces of them to be found. For all intents and purposes, they had disappeared into thin air.

The fleet, of course, hadn’t ignored the live weapons fire happening right next to them. Expecting further attacks, they’d hastily detached from the stations and put distance between themselves and any facilities from which an attack might materialise. Vice Admiral Tranto and his Allegiance had reacted with their usual professionalism, with much of his fleet going to a ready state and requesting further orders. Of course, it would’ve been too much to hope for to think that all of them would have reacted the same way. His remaining ISD overreacted spectacularly, putting itself to full battle stations and shooting up into a higher orbit to avoid any potential fire. This, naturally, burned ridiculous amounts of fuel, and by the time they’d calmed to reasonable levels and slunk back to take formation alongside the Paramount, they’d run through nearly a sixth of their total fuel at the time. Thankfully, the Golan stations emplaced around the planet’s shipyards had reacted calmly. Once things had managed to calm down a little, Servus had ordered the fleet to maintain their current positions and readiness states until they could be sure that no further attacks were forthcoming. At the same time, he’d ordered the station where the attack had taken place to be extensively swept by investigative units. If there was any trace of the ones behind the attack, he’d know of it.

And now, he thought, the damages. The Gozanti that had taken the missile hit was a total constructive loss. Not too terrible, they were easily replaced. The hangar itself had some plating warped, but that could essentially be buffed out. He’d lost nearly 60 crewmembers and a total of 14 Stormtroopers in the attack itself, which grated a little more. Crew could easily be recruited, but Stormtroopers were becoming a valuable commodity as Imperial supply lines contracted. Those three irritations, however, paled in comparison to the greatest effect. That Gozanti had been carrying part of Kaine’s special order, which he’d sent an entire fleet over to collect. The Moff had no idea what the fleet was doing now or how they were reacting to it. Probably badly. He’d received the order for the project back when the Emperor was still alive, a few months before the debacle at Endor. He’d been sworn to total secrecy on the project itself, but he’d been able to have a look at the designs. Large reactor satellites surrounded by 6 attendant arrays, powering them directly. The actual arrays were themselves essentially a single emitter surrounded by a circular radiator, which had been specifically designed to fold down the middle, in order to better-fit them into a ship’s hangars. Their effect was quite simple in concept. Weather manipulation technology had been kicking around for millenia, and was ubiquitous across most wealthy planets across the galaxy. without it, the clear skies of Coruscant would end up becoming a thick layer of choking smog in mere hours. Everyone had known that a system powerful enough to control the weather of an entire planet would be dangerous if not controlled. It took a real monster to think of weaponizing it. That was exactly what the system, dubbed “Cinder” by its creators, turned the target planet’s atmosphere into a weapon, creating enormous storm cells that would devastate surface-side buildings. It was supposed to be part of some contingency plan for the Empire, but Moff Ulen was almost certain that Kaine had no intention of using them for that purpose. He didn’t care either way. The late Emperor wasn’t the one parking 3 Star Destroyers over Fondor. Now, he was going to have to tell those same Star Destroyers that part of the cargo they’d come to collect was a fine vapour hanging around outside one of his hangars. It wasn’t a conversation he was greatly looking forward to.

by **Abbeyverne** » Sun Jan 24, 2021 10:28 am

Fire Across the Galaxy, Part I

Jeremiah Dawntreader
Dawn
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Twilight Flight travels through the blue vortex of hyperspace, preparing for the battle ahead. Men scurry about, readying systems and fueling starfighters.

Pentastar Alignment Task Force 34
Fondor
--------

The bridge of Adamant was in disarray. Their communications to Fondor Station had gone unanswered after the alarms went off, then the alarm shut off, and their Gozanti was being towed outside.

“What is going on down there?!” Admiral Kay shouted, directing her rage at the comms sergeant on duty. Outside the viewport, the Gozanti was just finishing being tractor out of the hangar, and as it cleared the shields, it became visible that… the nose was on fire? “I want a direct link to that idiot Ulen, now!”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll get right on it, but there may be a problem…” The poor non-com responded.

“I am fully aware there are many problems right now! Which one is this?”

“Um, we were having trouble contacting the station a few minutes ago.”

“Well the Moff is not on the station, so GET ME A LINK!”

“Yes, ma’am.” The sergeant, sufficiently scared out of his wits, turned back to his station.

“Oh, and then get me connected to Reaper. We’ll see if he’ll listen this time.” She directed her attention to the next crew member over, “Send the men to duty stations, and prep to launch fighters. I don’t like what’s going on.

TL;DR:

TC is en route to Fondor, will arrive at about the same time as the NR forces.
TF34 is in disarray, but going to duty stations.
Admiral Kay is requesting a holo link to Moff Ulen.