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Delta73 last won the day on March 30

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About Delta73

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  • Birthday 12/26/1991


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  1. Delta and his company pushed off in a mighty rush, slightly in front of the Marines as they exited their pods. The complete lack of intensive fire from the Mandalorians gave Delta some pause until a stream of crimson laser bolts began to light up the ground in front of him and behind him. Rocks kicked up by the fluctuating gravity from the moonfall and shattered by the crimson rain pinged off his armour as another wave of red rose up to meet the mandalorians in answer from the charging marines. Fire and Advance. A dash of a dozen meters, then cover behind scant rocks and covering fire for those charging next. Some smoke grenades went off and up ahead and Delta could hear a startled grunt and yell from his Lima comms. Frostwin beside him seemed to stumble and fell to his knees before falling into a shallow crater. No laser trail. Spast The wave of melancholy hit Delta like whatever unseen sniper bolt had just tagged Frostwin. But training took control of limbs left numb by the shock of sadness that had just washed over him. He turned his sprint to his side and grabbing the protruding legs of his friend, he pitched the man fully into the crater, tossing his blaster pistol into the hole as well before he jumped in himself. He could feel more than hear the crunch of Tares Blacktorin jumping in beside him. Ducking her helmet low to keep cover in the shallow crater that was ringed by debris and the rusted spiky thorns of exposed durasteel duracrete reinforcements. “I can get up, stop it Tares, I can ge-” Frostwin had taken off his helmet to clear his visor as Blacktorin shouted for him to lie still. “No I just trippe-” Blood began to drip out of his mouth in a singular stream that turned into red froth on the edges of his mouth. The man’s eyes drifted down to where Tares was pushing on his armour, seeing the cracked and busted plates that covered his stomach he let out a curse then almost instantaneously, his head lolled to the side. Blood dripping freely from his mouth to pool in his lap. Tares strangled back a cry as her hands were soaked by the sudden downpour of blood. “Release pressure for a moment so I can expose the wound. Break out your medipack. Now” Delta could hear nothing but the pounding of his heart in his ears and the vibration of the long dagger in his hand that had been activated from its withdrawal from its enclosing sheath. He took a deep breath that tasted like dust and retrohaled air and flicked the switch on the back of the blade’s handle. The vibrating immediately ceased, stifling the danger that a slight slip might encounter on Frostwin’s life. With another inhale of stale air, he sliced the jumpsuit under the man’s armour from beltline to neckline. He pulled away the jumpsuit and burned, cracked plastoid and let another curse spill out of his mouth. Burned and blackened guts poked out from a torn and ugly hole that had been the man’s stomach. Kriff Blacktorin beside him also cursed as she ducked back down in the hollow of the crater as the sounds of the advancing Marine from Hotel Two thundered by them. He had been foolish, putting themselves out in the open like that, and now his good friend had paid, or was paying the price. The reading on Delta’s HUD still showed a weak and thready pulse, which told him that Frostwin had a chance. “HypoSyringe of bacta, and three clotting agents now.” Bloody hands pressed the implements into his, and Delta set to work as the charge of Hotel Two continued. A body pitched over the side of the crater, landing with a crack of bone on duracrete next to Blacktorin who yelped in terror. Delta sat undisturbed by the commotion as he emptied the hyposyringe and powdered clotting agents into the guts of his friend. He took a large section of gauze and began to pack it in 'z' strips into the wound. Careful to not jostle the man's organs too much. He wrapped the wound then waved Blacktorin to him. With the bacta and dressing applied there was little Delta could do but take his revenge. He looked into her 'T' visor and he grabbed her shoulder armour firmly. Shaking her so that she would remember the message. He kept the regret out of his voice and spoke sternly to the girl that had accompanied him for nearly a decade. “Apply pressure. Stay with him. I’ll be back little love.” He slapped the top of Blacktorin’s helmet, leaving a dusty red handprint before he grabbed the fallen marine’s rifle which was still grasped in twitching hands and charged himself out of the makeshift foxhole. The Marines themselves, having charged and taken cover on the edges of the caves, began to concentrate fire on what they thought may be the sniper’s nest and the large man in armour who was holding the line single handedly. Delta knelt and let a stream of bolts depart the rifle towards the large man before he continued his sprint towards the caves.
  2. A solitary curse from Frostwin preordained a whole stream of curses that even made Delta’s eyebrows raise half a centimeter. “Flares dispatched from enemy positions, multiple flares fired from multiple positions. Enemies confirmed dug in.” Frostwin’s rough voice grated through the internal speakers of Delta’s helmet, as the older man crawled back inside shaking his macrobinoculars to ward off the majority of the moonfall dust that was sticking to anything with any amount of electrical charge. Delta could feel it bunching at the seams of his suit and if he tried to brush it off the blasted dust would just stick to the fingers of his gloves instead. Delta growled as his grey blue eyes watched the command view map projected at the side of his HUD that was being routed down from the signal corps to the general channel. Those Marines were coming, but not nearly fast enough. He looked back at Frostwin and Blacktorin who were looking out of their makeshift cave with as much concern as could be shown from immovable ‘T’ shaped visors. Delta extended his hand again for the cleaned Macros’ and when he had received them, he whispered a prayer and crawled back out next to the prepositioned antenna. He set the Macrobinoculars down beside him on the bare duracrete and while keeping himself ducked down behind the fallen rubble scrabbled at his wrist mounted datapad. He found the external cable and pulled it from its sheathing and with a yank he pulled out the slack from the small compartment. He reached above him to the mounted antenna and pushed the cord into its reciever, re-connecting him to the main communications channel. He thumbed his receiver to another command channel that was labelled for the Ishi Tib Marine Company. His HUD flashed the channels until he landed on the right one. Channel 33-1. Coded. Encrypt: ON “Hotel Two, Lima One.” Static blasted his ears as his comm transmitter found its repeater on the overhead Victory Star Destroyer. A solid tone sounded then static again. A muffled voice then responded. “Go for Hotel Two command.” Delta kept crouched next to the fallen rubble that made the entrance of the cave as he brought the Macros’ to his visor. “Your drop zone is in a possible killzone, be wary for incoming fire on landing. You will be dropping right on my position. Signal Lima One.” The voice sounded exasperated. “Hotel One copies, can’t you clear a path Sunner?” Delta felt his blood pressure rise at the slight from the Sith captain on the other side of the comm line, but he kept his voice cool and steady. “See you in thirty se-” The rock right next to Delta’s face suddenly exploded in molten fragments that bit under his helmet’s collar. Though doing no deadly damage the sudden sharp pain caused the clone commando to drop the macrobinoculars and fall flat on his face. Was that energy discharge? No blaster trail. But it was no micrometeor, he had seen a moonfall some kilometer away, but no corresponding impacts next to him. He chalked it up to a missed blaster shot. It was better to be safe, and his position was now illuminated with flares that told every type of sniper where enemies were hiding. Perhaps he hadn’t seen the shot. But the fading pain in his neck told him all he needed to know. Micrometeors didn’t melt stone into chunks like that. He cursed and pulled his blaster pistol from its leather holster, beckoning to his two officers. He flipped comms back to Lima’s subchannel with a single button press. “Possible snipers, as soon as the drop pods hit, we move with them.” Small explosions echoed all around him as a dust storm was kicked up by the two dozen drop pods landing on the uneven ground. With the whipping dust obscuring anything three meters in front of them, the trio of Lima One command staff sprinted from their hiding towards the next patch of tumbled rubble in the direction of the Glory Bound.
  3. The rangefinder in his HUD continued to stutter between somewhere like a kilometer and any other number of meters. The IR reflector was hitting the massive amount of dust kicked up by moonfall and giving all kinds of off readings. A direct assault was simple suicide, so Delta’s crew were slowly moving from one crater to the next out of the direct fall of the meteroic dust and fragments. The noise was deafening, but with the impact of another rain of pebble sized rocks and dust that pinged off his armour it was time to get back under cover before larger chunks hit. With a grunt, Delta shoved the small Tares under a fallen duracrete slab the thickness of a landspeeder and he and Frostwin ducked underneath themselves. The roar of sound and explosive impacts of duracrete on duracrete forced Delta to turn down his noise amplifiers in his helmet. Muffling the sounds of the environment and filling his helmet speakers with the sounds of static filled comms. The length of time it had taken to even move less than a klick in moonfall was preposterous. They could have just sprinted the two kilometers to the objective but if anyone had set up an E-web they would be running straight into a killzone the size of a swoop track. Better, if significantly slower, to move on an angle towards the downed skyscrapers near it. Then pick their way when more units had joined them. Hopefully the delay wouldn’t disappoint the dark lord all too much. Tares groaned, which interrupted the external comms with an override from their internal comm net. She had been smacked with a bit of moonfall a few minutes before and was still in significant pain. “Spast that hurt.” Came her soft pained voice as she flexed her bruised shoulder. The armoured pauldron had softened the blow of some small falling duracrete, put it was very likely she had suffered some significant ligament strain or tearage from the blow. Moonfall was deadly, and Delta continued to curse the drop zone they had received from command. Lima One was scattered all over this side of moonfall, and having made several hastily constructed squads, as far as Delta could hear through the static filled comms they were also heading towards the objective. Still too far to hook up with his small three man unit, but it was still enough for morale to know that at least some of his unit had made it groundside and were making their way to him. “Commander, possible movement near objective. Cluster of downed ‘scrapers.” Frostwin swore then ducked back into the cover of the duracrete slab. “Definite contacts, squad strength.” Frostwin set his macrobinoculars down on his lap and pulled a soft cloth from his belt pouch to wipe at the lense, while Delta crawled over to him and extended the comm link antenna from behind his helmet. A new voice flooded his ears from Sith TAC comm. “-ima-one Command from Queen Actual.” Delta gulped down a breath of dust smelling air. “Go for command.” “Supply drop for you from Queen Actual with Marine company Hotel-Two.” Ishi Tibs? They were sending a bunch of amphibians into this dusty hellhole? “Drop them outside of the current moonfall, my location is outside current orbital disintegration, but still heavily impacted, there are enemy contacts on location of objective. Possibly dug in.” “Copy, Leave your antenna in location and a supply and marines drop will be on you momentarily. Mark enemy location with flares. Also Queen actual has a favour to ask.” “Anything.” “...She wants to know if she is pretty.” Tares stopped adjusting her shoulder and Frostwin stifled back a laugh. “God damned right shes pretty, most gorgeous woman I've ever seen, but the fur suit her better.” Hopefully the honesty wouldn’t bring a turbolaser strike instead of marines. He cut communication and pulled the magnetic attachment off the back of his helmet. He slapped it onto the durasteel rebar next to the entrance of their temporary shelter. Turning to the two others he tapped the side of his helmet. “Ammo check. We will need to hold this position until the marines arrive. Then we will begin assault.” He pulled his DC-17s out of its holster and checked the readout. Fifteen shots with its current charge and two more magazines in his belt. Tares and Frostwin were much the same, except Tares had more ammunition since her sidearm was an older model E-11 carbine. No grenades for any of them, But Delta did have his flare gun. “Let’s begin.” He leveled the flare gun to where Frostwin indicated. Adjusted for lob and wind conditions then depressed the trigger. The white hot projectile rocketed into the air where it burst over the Glory Bound with blinding red light.
  4. The prow of the Victory II star destroyer Hellkite pushed through the thick atmosphere of the destroyed city world. Though the HellKite was made for atmospheric entry in order to cover mass landings of imperial troops, this push was to cover the insertion of special operations company Lima-One. The Cŵn Annwn, the Devil Hounds of the Spider. Nestled under the curving hull, the dropships of Lima-One detached. Heralded by a single bombardment to soften the defenses of the entrenched mandalorians, the dropships sped through the heady atmosphere like a hundred shooting stars. Delta maintained his breathing and glanced at the three other members of his command drop pod. Frostwin glanced back and grimaced, they both had been through enough and these drop pods were just the latest in the things that could go horribly wrong. Frostwin had come over to Delta’s attachment from the St Cathryne during the reconstruction of the Black Sun military, it had been voluntary. And Delta couldn’t help but regret the hell he was putting his men and women through. Once more into the line of fire. Once more into hell. The hull of the drop pod shuttered and a solid sound of something hitting the outside of the pod reverberated through the cramped quarters. The young woman to his left in the pod yelped at the sound and gripped her crash webbing in anticipation of what she thought would be impact groundside. The altimeter on Delta’s green HUD was still spinning towards zero but they were far from it, and now the impacts were becoming constant. Either they had run into a meteor fall from Hesperidium, or Hellkite had broken up overhead, or- The impacts became a shriek and tearing of metal and a bright flare of light punctured from the centre of the pod to blast out of the roof. Mass Drivers! Delta screamed a curse and her could feel his adrenaline kick in. Battle awareness, long trained, moved his arms and hands without thought or instruction. He pulled the command lever beside him and the pod broke apart midair. He exhaled sharply as the crash webbing ripped away like paper and his hands connected to his belt, hitting the jump controls as he moved his head from left to right scanning for his podmates. Tares Blacktorin and Gerald Frostwin were tumbling about like so many discarded sheets of flimsi as they struggled to right themselves in the horrid fall from 30,000 feet. He let his breathing stabilize and he blinked three times rapidly for the HUD controls to come to life. He selected admin controls over his podmates and activated them with another blink. Thankful at least for their integrated suits. - Stabilize - His overarching command stopped their suits terrible spins and rapidly fired their repulsor jets, slowing their decent enough so that they could regain control. Their voices came through the comm static in bursts, mostly expletives until he switched to Sith Guard frequency to hear what was happening. Unexpected resistance. And a whole lot of it. He switched back to Lima One command comms. “Blacktorin, Frostwin, prepare for heavy resistance on the ground. Lima One’s been split up. Weapon drop is at least 8 hours out due to combat. We use what we drop with." “Uh sir-” Came Blacktorin’s young voice, which did little to calm Delta’s nerves. “Our infantry weapons were in that damned pod.” That was true enough. And now Lima-One’s command unit was going to land far from allied reinforcement with naught but sidearms and survival packs. In a kriffing shitshow. “That’s true Tares, looks like from trajectory it's only two klicks to Group five. Over hostile territory. Easier than the kessel run at least.” Firing the last of their repulsor packs, they landed in a smoking crater near the main objective, a hole that led to a power generator. It was still some kilometers away, and it was time to get going.
  5. - The hazy lights of Coruscant filled the expansive bubble of Delta'scockpit viewport, almost drowning out the bright greens of the forward projected HUD on the viewport itself. He rolled his clear dark eyes and let out a sigh that triggered the microphone inside his helmet. He reached up and without looking twisted a red knob to its brightest settings and the HUD flared back into focus. “Don’t blast us with static Delta, I’m just liable to just drop a Proton bomb if you blow my sensitive ears out again.” Laughter echoed through his headset in response to the Weapons officer behind him. A friendly enough clone from the fortieth pod in cycle from Delta’s own. Younger, with a different training protocol that stressed rapid preparation instead of disciplined soldiering. Jokes aside, corporal FC-2254-LL2 was likely to do just what he had promised. Delta had heard of it. Undisciplined soldiers were always trouble, and these new rapid breed clones were the most trouble of all. He grimaced under his helmet, thinking of how little they must have learned in the two years from embryo to grown man, At least Delta was only double aging, he was what? Twelve years old now? He suppressed the thoughts that came with that and glanced back down at his control board. Right in time for the ARC-170-AO to glide its nose into the thickening mesosphere. The control yoke shuddered under his black gloved palms, his eyes scanned his control panels as he depressed the yoke and brought the large modified starfighter towards ground. The thick currents of the Coruscanti atmosphere pulled at every trailing edge of the bulky airframe, buffeting the ship in a mayhem of directions. The harsh sound of static filled his headset as the last member of the crew, the young Jedi Apprentice chimed in her own laughter. Delta grinned in response, causing the other clone to moan his own response of laughter. It was time to dive. - There was no laughter this time. Delta looked around the command cabin of the dropship as the Hellkite emerged with the Sith Grand Imperial fleet. This was a very different coruscant then the last he had visited. He stood and grabbed the handle above him. His voice was hoarse as he barked his order to his command over the comms embedded in every mask like helmet. “Buckle up, check your partner’s jump pack, check your blasters, weapons, we drop as soon as the fleet commander clears a way for us. You bastards ready?” The cheer strained his ears but he grinned from ear to ear as he checked his companion’s gear. -
  6. Delta73


    “Well welcome Bakra.” Delta raised the mug of ale still clenched in his fist in a slight salute. “Did you fight against the Imperial Remnant when they took Nar Shaddaa from the hutts or are your only commitments for cash?” He chided a laugh and took a long drain from the cup before setting it back down and looking thoughtfully at the other man. “It is of no matter, the Black Sun has folded into a non military group so I took my troops and came here. I have had a long standing working relationship with the Dark Lord so I was welcomed to some extent.” He adjusted his collar and checked at his split lip with the dab of a finger. “And what skills do you bring to the Sith Navy?”
  7. Delta73


    “They respect me because they must, I have never lead them wrong, not in two decades.” Delta gestured to the other man to have a seat. “I am Delta73, at your service. Tell me what warrants your presence among the forces of the Sith Lords?” His name was famous, the name that had sunk cloud city, killed a million civilians at Alderaani Towers at Coruscant, and slaughtered the Naboo Royal family. He was curious who this mercenary was and what had brought him into this service. He took another long sip from the ale and looked back up at Bakra
  8. Delta73


    The unfamiliar voice so close behind him made Delta spin into a crouch off the seat. But before any fight could commence he burst out into laughter that was mimicked by his crew. He bowed his head in thanks and took the package from the Sith Imperial and shook his hand. He placed the package down behind him on the table then slowly turned to face his crew. Their faces told the story. Mostly a mix of fear and anticipation, but there was a lot of defiance in their faces. As if to deny that he could even think of being demoted, executed, or whatever the dark lord had planned for him. Delta could feel that same mix of emotions in himself, so much so that he dared himself not to open the package at all until after the event was done and he was safe in his rooms. But that was the way of the coward, and every bit of that had been beaten and flogged out of him a century prior. The decision came naturally, face physical fears head on. And so the clone commando lifted the package and stared at it. The envelope was of a grey-brown paper and was strangely bulky, a dark blonde eyebrow arched over his steel blue eye and his fingers broke the seal. Two fingers dipped in and removed the flimsiplast first. The translucent flimsi was scarred by dark red lines of writing that he quickly scanned then passed to Teres to read out to the rest of the crew. He set the package down and picked up the duel cylinders judging their weight as the young woman read out the command to the crew of his Marie. “Your Rank RC-A2532-D73-” Her red eyebrows furrowed as her slightly tipsy mind tried to read out the long complicated number letter combination that made up his old name in the clone wars. “-Is captain where you will command a company of soldiers. Duty report is 0500.” She trailed off, her voice becoming questioning. “Is that it Prince?” He smiled, still staring at the two cylinders in his hand. “Captain now and It is indeed.” He held out his other hand where she dropped the flimsi. He rolled it up between two fingers and dropped the plasticine film into his half full mug of ale where it dissolved on the alcoholic foam. Leaving only the insignia of the spider in a halo of red where the ink remained captured on top of the drink. He looked back up to his bridge crew and nodded. “That means you all have to be up in five hours right?” They all slammed their hands onto the tabletop and saluted their eyes wide with anticipation. The commotion from the noise died down as they began to pack up and leave until only Teres remained. She leaned a tired head against his shoulder and he pulled her close for a moment before ushering her off as well. Then he was alone at the table. His heart racing and his continued to look at the two cylinders. He could be useful, he could serve. A smile played itself across his face until it tugged painfully at the scabbing wound on his lip. There was a chance here. A chance to start again. And not many people got the opportunity to change their lives. He tucked the cylinders into his pocket and took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before he exhaled. His eyes fluttered open and strayed down to his mug, where the blood red Spider stared back.
  9. Delta73


    Strike. Block. Parry. The classic rules of swordplay applied to the not so friendly fight with fists and feet. Only when it devolved to ground fighting, did all rules change. So an open palm strike to the upper face of a Sith woman was enough to elicit a cry of pain before Delta swept her ankles and tossed her onto the circle of tables. It brought a soft cheer from his men and women who still stood beside him in their little shrinking circle. But then it was back to the brawl, Delta’s eyes ever looking towards the throne of the Sith Emperor. The King of the Stars as Telperien had christened him. Another set of crewmen, some kind of Sith Imperial Flight corps breached the ring and made for the smaller group of embattled Black Sun. Delta’s eyes found the leader, a large man with three chevrons tattooed on his hands. He was holding back, but was clearly the one who had goaded his men into a fight. End it quickly. “Dubrillion manoeuvre!” he whispered to the three men beside him who informed the rest as the wave of pilots fell upon them. Delta pointed at him with a bloody finger. “Forever sergeant, do your own fighting!” He shrugged laughing at the man’s roar of indignation and fell back to the other side of the ring, letting him pass through the crowd of Black Sun who made way for him. That was except for the well placed foot of a corporal who knew Delta’s command. The large pilot fell right where Delta placed a stern kick to the side of his head. Ending the fight before it began. The man groaned and was silent. Delta dove back into the fight with a blow to the stomach to one of the grey uniformed men then kicked him aside. The pilots fell back in short order and Delta swung his arm out to his injured men and women. “Now friends let us eat and drink, we have bathed this battlefield in hard won blood.” He laughed and grabbed a mug of ale. “And so it is consecrated.” He downed the drink and spat a mouthful of blood onto the decking. Grinning at the burning in his wounded mouth from the alcohol. His men cheered and they took a seat at the large table. He clapped Teres on her back and laughed again as she winced. She sighed and drained her mug as well, letting some of it spill past her lips to wet her crimson uniform. “How long have you been with me Teres?” She laughed again and shook her red haired head. “Since I was a child you rescued from Black X-1. It's been over a decade since you and Crosa-” Black X-1. That dirty criminal lab that had striven to produce the alpha variants to the Rage viruses. They had been striving to produce what? A virus that was going to genetically target some kind of trait in humans. Why couldn’t he remember this. He had killed them all with Hoverich by his side. Using some kind of vicious gas. Had he really just killed indiscriminately for no reason? That was your entire personality for years you moron. “-Hell I was even the youngest knight in the crimson twelve before half of us died at Dathomir-” He cut her off with a hug. It wasn’t a romantic thing. It was an emotional embrace. It was a smothering hug of a man who was glad to have at least one person by his side through all this. He wished he could have hugged Ailbasi goodbye. Why hadn’t he? Depression? Pride? All foolishness. He took a deep breath whispering a thanks to Teres and turned back to his drink, the smell of her hair and sweat still thick in his nostrils. What did it smell like? - It smelled like dust and fear. Dust that had filtered through a close sealed republic military issued air reservoir. It stuck to his tongue and filled his mouth with its plaster. The soft breathing of the Jedi beside him lulled his senses to the outside world as he fought at the dregs of sleep that pulled at him from all sides. A look at the dim chronometer in his HUD told him he had been awake for nearly thirty two hours, and a quicker glance told him that the Jedi had also fallen asleep in their hidden shelter under the enemies nose. An hour of rest surely wouldn’t hurt. His arm pulled the sleeping jedi closer under his cloak and she mumbled something in a sleepy tone before snuggling into the dust and the armour at his chest. He smiled slightly, scanning the horizon where sentries patrolled from their firebase. Surely a moment of sleep couldn’t hur- - The crack of his forehead hitting the mugs edge brought him out of the daydream. Teres laughed and slapped his back. “No time for sleep Prince. There is still quite the party going on.” He managed a laugh and drained his cup again, cold blue eyes searching the crowd, as if looking for a matching set of steel blue eyes and a sea of freckles. He shivered and hunkered back over his mug of ale.
  10. Delta73


    Blood tasted like warm copper in his mouth as a split lip dripped blood onto his white teeth. The Pain from the blow had already been wiped away by the surge of adrenaline that pulsed through him with every second. The next punch flashed towards his face from the other direction and Delta bobbed his head under the blow, following up with a swift jab that caught the other man on the tip of his chin. Pain flashed from the two knuckles as they kissed bone, but the lights in the other man’s eyes snuffed out as he was knocked out where he stood. He dropped slowly slamming his head onto the decking and going into a seizure. The brute of a man writhed there for a moment before Sith medico arrived and dragged him to the sidelines. The battle of the Sith in black jumpsuits versus the Black Sun in their crimson red flight uniforms stretched the entirety of the makeshift arena. A gladia display, but one that brought Delta so much joy that he was grinning from ear to ear, despite the blood. The brutality of unarmed contest was a thrill he did not often get to experience, though he trained for it constantly. It was some sort of contest between the crew of the Marie and the general Sithari army. And though Delta’s men and women were good, they were not used to the brawl. He shook out a hand and dove into the fight at his right. A younger woman from the black sun was getting pummeled by a Sith woman and was busy kneeing the black sun agent in the back. Delta’s heavy fist blow stopped the sith cold and she slumped to the side. He shook the strings of hair that clung to his knuckles and he barked a laugh. “Get up Teres.” He pulled the agent to her feet where she swayed for a second, shaking her head before clapping him on the shoulder. Her red curls bounced and stuck on the blood that leaked out of her right ear. “Just a little longer, then this will be over.” She nodded then shouted for him to duck. The girls shout, was drowned out by the explosive sound of a fist hitting him in the base of his neck. And her shocked young pretty freckled face, stained with blood, disappeared in an array of stars. - Perhaps relying on teenage soldiers was like a bad idea. The tone of voice betrayed the sneer in her voice, that Delta did not even have to turn his helmeted head to see her disgusted expression. “Now now, we can hardly judge the separatists when both of us also walk a battlefield little one.” His boots made little sound as they walked through the ruins of the outpost. He knelt beside a body of a young teenager who had taken the fragmentation from a mortar and had bled out clutching his rifle until the harsh dusty trench had turned to slick mud from his blood. “What do you think? Thirteen? You only outage him by what three years?” Kailens voice was hollow as she stepped over another equally young body. And how old are you then Delta? I'm A jedi, and I am much better prepared for fighting then these children. He grinned into the tight helmet, almost triggering one of the HUD readouts. “Aww well, eleven. You know, growth accel and all that.” This was their first mission after all. How could she even know. And her gasp gave him some degree of pleasure. What? He turned. His Illuminated T visor meeting her blue eyes. “What? Do you think we three million just volunteered and grew up on Kamino waiting? We were bred for this, you know that.” Were those tears? He couldn’t tell. The anger and shock on her face was enough to reward his little outburst but the dust of Melida/Daan could mimic tears well enough, he would need to get her a helmet too if they lived very much longer. Cries and movement on the horizon told him that death was very much a possibility, and one coming fast. His DC17 came up in one hand and he crouched beside her. One hand pushing her down onto the pile of bodies. Then he pulled his cloak over them both. Blink. Illumination on his suit vanished. All he could hear was her choking breathing. - Blink His head felt like it was filled with spiked gravel and he spat out a mouth of blood and rolled to his side. Teresa was also laying beside him on the cold decking receiving a boot in the chest for her efforts. He growled and lept to his feet again. Another day. Another fight. Another World, another day to die. Another day to fail at that too.
  11. Putting myself on the list as well.
  12. Delta73


    The rings of Kuat were beautiful, man made creations that amazed him as much as they had when he had sat aboard an Acclamator a hundred years before. Half finished Star Destroyers sat suspended in the rings, flashing lights from a thousand pinpricks of welder’s tools making the dagger like carapace almost shimmer. Two of the hulking empty drydocks were assigned for refit and renewal of the Black Sun Star Destroyers. Yellow bug like tugs were already escorting the two destroyers into their berths and Delta stood silently as his command crew packed their equipment away into their personal luggage. They had all said their goodbyes, some he would see again, he would likely be able to keep the massive amounts of wealth, and the slaves safely stored aboard the Marie. He didn’t know though, and that ship was still personally registered to him and not the Black Sun, so perhaps, should any luck return to him he wouldn’t loose that as well. . But this journey was sacrifice, for now he willingly gave everything over to the Sith lords. Perhaps it was that self destructive streak that had not only lost him the first love of his life, but all of the love he had ever felt. Qaela despised him, and Ailbasí likewise. “See ya Cap. Gods bless ya." The last crewmember saluted his captain’s back and strode away, softly crying. Leaving Delta alone on the bridge, a statue in iron and crimson, left with ghosts and memory. - “So what, you like special forces or something?” Brilliant white smile, red padawan braid, old for that? Aren’t padawans supposed to be children? “I was, my squad was lost on ‘Nosis just like that master of yours due to incompetence from those masters further up the chain than your own. I mean who even thought it was a good idea to use ARCs as general infantry.” Blue eyes narrow to grey slits. Do jedi even get angry? “You have quite the opinion for something so mass produced. Let’s start again.” Hand extended, small, delicate, missing smallest finger, wrapped in bacta bandage. Late stages of recovery. Likely from a blaster wound. “Kailen." He took the hand in his. “RC-A2532-D73.” Shake “Great what a personal name to know you by.” Release. “Just call me Delta. They all did.” Clear blue eyes blink at Kuati rings then back at him. - The bump of docking forced Delta from his reverie. It was time to begin again. His hand pressed the clasp at his neck and the blood red cape pooled at his feet. Mandalorian iron sections followed to fall onto he ground in the pool of fabric. Personality, individuality lay in discarded mass as the clone commando walked from the bridge in his jumpsuit. Carrying memories instead of armor for his next assignment.
  13. Any jovial quip that Delta had for his ex lover died on his lips with the tone from the dark lord, and he simply bowed. He squeezed his eyes shut. “As you wish my lord.” “Commander, they have cut the transmission. I do not think your response went through.” He took a deep breath and nodded then straightened. His bridge crew looked frightened, some looked defiant. The teenage kuati who he had tried to sacrifice to Nyrys stood with wide green eyes the lights on her cybernetic unit blinking away. Well there goes the child army and the silliness. He thought wryly as he gestured for his team to join him, all of them circled around and he held up a hand to stifle any outrage at what the Dark Lord may have said. “We have a journey ahead of us, one that is unavoidable. I must face this punishment, and You are my most trusted. Direct us to Kuat and any that wish to depart my service can do so there. For now. Let us enjoy our last days together.” In an almost somber note, the Black Sun Armada departed into hyperspace.
  14. Clear blue eyes stared at an increasingly red display board that was projected beside the zoomed in star cluster map. So many losses for a useless poorly thought out plan that only he could take the blame for. His clenched fist slammed onto his command chair’s black sideboard. Causing some of the crew to jump in anticipation. Perhaps fearing an order to return to the battle, or others fearing being pushed out the airlock in a fit of Kommanderesq rage at the defeat of the Black Sun forces. It was true, the Black Sun had not been this furiously defeated since Delta had taken command of the organization. Not since Ronin Wartide and his disastrous assault upon the New Republic and Empire both some twenty years before. That blow of morale had caused the Red Dawn Mindian rebellion and the dissolution of the first armada after the attack at tatooine. And looking on his crew’s eyes, their furtive glances told Delta all he needed to know. The Black Sun should never have been a military organization. No such structure could be held by criminal masterminds, and the lack of military planning on the rest of Black Sun’s part confirmed it. It was time to dissolve the armada for a final time. And for Delta to become a new figure. Not one draped in gold, but a commander for the new Sith Empire. If they would have him. “Place a holographic transmission to the Spider. Priority Alpha.” In moments he was standing on the holographic transmitter, “My Lord, it is with sorrow I must beg your apologies for placing the new empire in such a dire situation.The Black Sun can no longer function as an independent military operation as we do not have a command structure in place beyond myself and the other Vigos. I request that the surviving fleet of the Black Sun come under the protection of the Sith Empire, and I humbly request placement in your empire. Reflecting my past service, I believe I may be most helpful on the battlefield, but I await your orders. The Fleet and your Blood Prince will await your discretion.” He would not beg for a place in the empire. For he was a proud man. To his own folly.
  15. Damn the cruisers Delta stood at the holomap table, his red cloak marking him as the commander from the immaculately dressed if nervous bridge crew. His bright blue eyes took in the scene and his inevitable defeat was written all over his face in a grimace. He pointed to the TAC officer who stood straight, her eyes looking at his hand as he spun the finger around in a circle pointing up. She clicked the heels of her boots together in a smart gesture of acknowledgement then strode to her console. The Blood Prince next looked to the rest of the crew gathered around the holomap his eyes found the chief weapons officer. “Concentrate fire on the Steadfast as we make our retreat towards the Sith fleet.” The officer nodded and relayed the command to the rest of the fleet and batteries aboard the Holofernes. “Comms.” This was said to the nervous redheaded girl whose cybernetic unit forced her cap back at the rear. She nodded. And Delta spoke his order. “Command the Victories to slow and turn, keep the enemy fighters and bombers off our rear as well as the remaining fast frigates from the Jedi. And Command the Saint Cathryne to stick with us, using her cluster bombs to keep the rabble off us until we reach the safety of the Super Star Destroyer.” He looked to the GAC, who commanded the starfighters. “Scramble everything we have left to cover our retreat. Do not force and engagement, I doubt the Jedi want very much to loose more men on the eve of their victory.” And with the orders given, the remains of the Black Sun fleet pushed out from the encircling Allied forces, the two untouched star destroyers flanking the MC30c and the Marie using its afterburner package to dart into safety. The victories held their location, sacrificing themselves for as long as they could to allow the rest of the fleet to escape. One would likely surrender when the Star Destroyers were outside of danger. And Delta couldn't blame the captain for that. There was one thing that haunted him from the battle. The Black Sun Armada was crushed, and the Black Sun was now defenseless and at the mercy of its allies and enemies.
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