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Anaxes - Military Base

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Anaxes

 

Astrographical Information

Region: Core Worlds

Sector: Azure sector

System: Axum system

Orbital Position: 4

Moons: 1 (Azuria)

Grid Coordinates: M-12

 

Physical Information

Class: Terrestrial

Atmosphere: Type 1 Breathable

Primary Terrain: Plains, Forests, Mountains, Cities, training grounds, Azuria Proving Grounds.

Points of Interest: Navy War College, Anaxes Citadel, Pols Anaxes (Spaceport).

 

Societal Information

Indigenous Species: Humans

Immigrated Species: Few alien cultures

Primary Language(s): Basic

Faction Affiliation: The Galactic Alliance and the Imperial Remnant

 

Defense Rating: N/A

 

History: Anaxes has always been considered the “Defender of the Core” and was the last bastion and fortress world before Coruscant on the Perlemian Trade Route. Heavily fortified since thousands of years before the battle of Yavin, it was natural for such a world to evolve into the leading military and naval training system in the Old Republic. Though most ground based military were trained at the Caridian Academy, the Naval War College of Anaxes became the leading supplier of superior officers to the Republic military. Having changed hands several times throughout the galactic civil war, the War College is now used primarily by the Galactic Alliance, and with the signing of the Zinthos-E’lann treaty, the Imperial Remnant will now be training alongside the Galactic Alliance at the college. Bringing the next generation of fleet officers of both the GA and Remnant together. Anaxes is also the location of the Joint Military Command, where joint operations between the Remnant and GA are planned and executed.

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”Where the hell is the fleet?”

”Why are we alone out here?”

”Oh Force, we’re all going to die!”

”What happened to the [/i]Montressor? She was there when we went into hyperspace!”

”Sweet mother of mercy, is that the Garibaldi?”

Such was the state of the comms of the civilian ships that the Galactic Alliance fleet had been tasked to escort to Anaxes. Not quite up to the specifications of the advanced navigational computers of the military capital ships, two of the smaller ships had actually attempted to revert to realspace on top of each other. Their hulls complained at the violation of their personal space with predictable and catastrophic results for the passengers inside. No more than three minutes after the menagerie of freighters and passenger liners had reverted from hyperspace in a state of disarray, their escorts dropped into realspace in multiple positions in the system to form a perimeter around the seething school of refugees.

The Steadfast’s starfighter patrol, already dispatched to police the squadron’s airspace, was forced to fire across the cockpits of three of the freighters to encourage their crews await orders from Anaxes’ airspace operators, rather than make a solitary dash for any traffic corridor that they could force their craft into.

On the bridge of the MC90 Cruiser, Slaughter pinched his nose and scowled. His leg had been bandaged and constrained in a splint, but he was at least able to limp his way across the bridge with the assistance of a cane. “Dispatch rescue shuttles to the Montressor and Garibaldi,” he sighed, knowing what was going to be the result of a collision during reversion to realspace. “And have Jern-Cresh send repair crews for our ships. I’ll be in my office.”

Tremors of pain jolting up his leg with every other step, he managed to limp his way to his office without assistance and activated the holocomm installed in his desk. The Admiral was going to do something that he had hoped would never be required of him.

He was going to ask for the assistance of the Jedi Order.
 

((Jern-Cresh: Mangled acronym for Joint Military Command.))

Edited by ObliviousKnight

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The hyperlanes above Anaxes, among the fleeing refugees came a dozen probe droids. The refugees of Coruscant’s fall were fleeing the uproar of moonfall and the conquest of Kad Ha’Rangir, but they would not be safe, even in the great fortress world of Anaxes.

Anaxes, like it’s sister worlds Borleias and Chandrila would be scouted by a dozen probe droids. It was their fate as the bastion worlds of the Hydian Way. Whether or not they were detected would not matter. They were there to send a message to the rotting Galactic Alliance: The Mandalorians were coming, and they would bring lawlessnes and fire with them. 

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“I think that we’ve entertained our guests long enough. Cap, dispose of the trash.” The shipyards of Anaxes grew closer, and shuttles and barges were beginning to ferry supplies from the fortress world to the Alliance fleet. Chrysaetos was already in dry dock, a swarm of vacuum-suited techs and other craft working feverishly to restore the cruiser’s sublight engines. The Steadfast would be next in the repair yards and would require a full third of her turbolaser batteries to be repaired or replaced.

From the entire Galactic Alliance fleet, a small armada of shuttles, gunships, and freighters landed around Anaxes’ military installations and her orbital shipyards. Having expected to serve as a rally point for both the Imperial Remnant and the Galactic Alliance, the world had built up a tremendous reserve of munitions and materiel. With the Mandalorians having taken Coruscant and bearing down on at least three other Core Worlds, it seemed a shame in Admiral Slaughter’s eyes to leave so much equipment to be taken by the invaders.

Any equipment that was not secured was requisitioned by the Galactic Alliance. As for the rest, it was seized by Alliance marines and hauled away. No doubt that treating Anaxes like an enemy supply depot to plunder would cause a minor diplomatic uproar, but Slaughter had no intention to remain at the planet for any longer than necessary.

____

An obsolete model that was pinging away with active sensors, the probe droids that were dispatched to Anaxes were easy for the fleet to detect and the A-Wings of Hawkbat and Riposte Squadrons were diverted to intercept them. They fell upon the craft with aplomb, blazing away through empty space with laser fire.

One of the A-Wing pilots, a Flight Lieutenant Adrianne Zinthos (no relation to the Imperial Head of State), plinking away at one of the little spacecraft with carefully aimed fire, was barked at by her squadron commander to “stop treating it like target practice and vape the blasted things.”

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Anaxes... it was a world that Mythos had never held the pleasure of visiting, most of his time spent between Coruscant and the Unknown and Outer Regions during his time as an Alliance Marshal. But that was years ago. Now he sat here aboard Von Howlster's Reach, gazing upon the fortress world after making his decision to return to the Core, he knew he stood on the precipice of a new era, an era that would require those of his caliber if it was to survive the oncoming onslaught. With a grimace of his snarl, the Shistavanen grabbed his comm.

"This is former Alliance Marshal Mythos Von Howlster, requesting an audience with whomever is in command.." He spoke, his voice gurgled and raspy from the age old scar that crossed his neck. His ears coiled backwards as his clawed hand reached forward and he transmitted his identification. "Submitting encrypted Transponder Codes now, Badge Number 6266-008."

As he awaited a response, Mythos' gaze shifted out the viewport in Coruscant's direction, the glow of the fire in his eyes soon being covered by the mask he adorns as he grew ready. He couldn't believe the bold audacity of the Mandalorian Crusaders. They came into his home, ransacked the place, and now believed they could get away with it. Not as long as he drew breath. It was time for retribution, and he was the being that would deliver it. All the GA would have to do at this point was but to ask.

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The aerospace traffic controller of the Steadfast eventually responded; the ship was unknown to the Galactic Alliance, but the transponder codes were genuine for an officer several years ago.

”Land at Hangar Three and report to the bridge.” A teasing note entered the traffic controller’s voice. “You do still know your way around an MC90, right?”

____

Construction requisitions, panicky Senators, a thoroughly irritated loading foreman on the planet surface; these were all the mundane details that Slaughter would have preferred to leave to his executive officer or a staff officer, but the majority of the fleet’s bureaucracy had been forced to evacuate from Hesperidium and was still en route to the shipyards of Bilbringi. Some of these decisions were necessarily passed directly to the office of the Admiral. The hours continued and the drone of wheedling politicians was eventually replaced by the roar of plasma cutters and crash of micro-explosives; Slaughter’s vision began to cloud over and he found himself tempted to throw a datapad against the wall and smash it under his boot.

”Admiral to the bridge. Admiral to the bridge,” chirped a yeoman’s voice over a comlink, saving the report of abandoned munitions from its fate.

When Mythos arrived to the bridge, he would find it in a state of organized mayhem; a miniature magcon field had been deployed over a quarter of its canopy and engineers floating in the void just beyond, removing a cracked panel of transparisteel. A Twi’lek approached the Admiral and muttered a word into the stocky human’s ear; the man looked up from his datapad and gazed intently at the Shistavanen.

“Von Howlster. Admiral Slaughter.” The exiled Coruscanti had never met the Shistavanen, but he’d skimmed through his personnel file for a minute and gotten a measure of the paramilitary’s history. “I hope that the events of the last few days have brought you out of retirement.”
 

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Mythos grimaced beneath the duraplate mask he adorned as the Traffic Officer's voice teased, the aging Shistavanen chuckling beneath it as he grabbed the comm unit and gave a simple yet snide rebuttal. "Son, first time I walked the corridors of a MC90, you were likely still suckling your mother's teat." He chuckled once more through his cuspids before hanging it up and turning Von Howlster's Reach toward the Steadfast. As his gaze fell upon the war torn vessel, his suspicions were confirmed. It held the many scars of its age and stories, most notable the burns of the Mandalorian mounts, and his eyes only burnt with more fuel within the fire. Landing in Hangar Three, Mythos disembarked, placing his shield and folder upon his duster as he made his way to the bridge.

When he arrived, Mythos removed his mask as he looked on in a mixture of sorrow and rage. He placed a clawed hand upon one of its framing beams, closing his eyes briefly as if apologizing to the older ship for its defeat, before turning toward the magcon and Admiral Slaughter. As the towering beast made his approach, his face revealing a singular across his snout and one large one across his throat, he gave a formal but fumbling salute as the Admiral spoke. "Admiral Slaughter you say?" The Shistavanen jested briefly, his voice gnarled and congested as he sat his mask aside. "Fitting."

His face turned to a serious note as he stood there, his breathing deep for such a large form, the Shistavanen standing over two meters tall, and his rage was self evident even as his reached a paw up and wiped the drool from his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. "These Mandalorians... They come to the heart of a Galaxy I swore to protect, playing conquerors of a planet struck yet again by the hands of powerful Sith, and think they can get away with it under the guise of a holy crusade?" Mythos' tongue licks his chops briefly. "You'd be damned right that I would come out of retirement for that. This was my beat, my turf, and they've declared war upon it. Retribution is but nigh.

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“Probably there’s a ceremony for reactivating your commission, but we don't have time. Welcome back to the Alliance, Marshal. On me.” Without another word, the stocky human strode from the clatter and roar that had turned the customary order and routine of the command center into the organized mayhem of a construction site. He didn’t want some civilian contractors to overhear what needed to be said.

His ready room was only ten seconds from the bridge. He slumped into his desk with an exhausted thud.

“I need to be blunt, we’re hurting. We gave as good as we got when the Mandos hit Triple Zero, but everyone knows that we can’t survive a loss like that easily.” Slaughter thumbed a control on his desk and the atmosphere in the cabin grew stifling with the activation of the room’s privacy field generator. For the moment, the only communication devices that be of any use would be those hardwired into its circuitry, and even an outside eavesdropper would find it difficult to listen in on their muffled conversation. “We’re going to need to delay our satisfaction if we’re going to survive the next month. Your work with the marshals--you ever have to go undercover? Infiltrate a criminal organization to gather intel or get a source out?”

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"Probably for the best... Mythos snarled in a raspy voice as he took in behind Slaughter, his gaze shifting as his towering form began to fall into old habits. "I've never been one for formalities. Grunt work is my specialty."

As the the privacy field generator powered up, Mythos remained standing. Mostly due to the fact that most furniture rarely held up to his weight and stature, but also to the fact the Mythos wasn't much for sitting. He was Shistavanen. He was a warrior, a hunter, and it was his nature. As Slaughter spoke, Mythos could see and smell the duress within him, only amplifying the seriousness of the threat in which he spoke of. He could sense that Slaughter knew first hand of which he spoke, the smell of his wound still fresh.

"I suspect it was one of the Mandalorians that gave you the wound on your leg?" His raspy voice came across slightly concerned for the admiral, but more curiosity than anything. Raising his head to reveal the scar that ran across his voice box, Mythos continued as his gaze returned to Slaughter. "The first of many I recieved, a small undercover op I undertook portraying what my species are known for, a hunter. What do you have in mind Admiral?"

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“Like I said, delayed satisfaction.” Slaughter glanced at the fourth wall, and for a brief moment, felt as though he had been in his office, speaking to the same person--a wholly unsettling sense of deja vu. A Force-Sensitive--or even a more thoughtful character--might have experienced a mind-melting episode of existential terror and gone running off into the corridors of the Steadfast, but Bruce Slaughter was merely a grunt who had received a field promotion to a station perhaps beyond his talents. He merely glanced at the bacta patch on his leg and tossed back a glass of lukewarm water that had been lingering on his desk since Coruscant.

“We’re going after the Imperial Head of State: Raven Zinthos. She was taken captive by Black Sun and their Sith allies after their conquest of Kuat.” A holoprojector in his desk flashed images of the IMperial Head of State: a surprisingly small woman for one wielding the awesome power of her office. With her enlarged eyes, she appeared almost as an overgrown child. Next, the image of a plinth-like space station. “Unfortunately, she’s being held in a space station that we know relatively little about: Dark Sun. Some significant fortifications, but nothing the fleet can’t handle--the problem is that it’s primarily civilian--headquarters for multiple megacorporations, arms manufacturers, banking syndicates, the like.

“It’s obviously a trap. I’d prefer to get her out without committing the fleet, but even then I’d like to have someone on the inside, someone comfortable infiltrating a criminal organization. You have three critical objectives for this mission: we need information regarding the location of Zinthos within the station; we need to know if the Sith or Black Sun fleets are nearby; and if and only if opportune, to rescue Zinthos.”


____


The transmission from Borleias having been received from their facilities on that world, several of the better-repaired ships orbiting Anaxes broke orbit and vectored for a hyperspace route towards deep space.

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Mythos grimaced when Slaughter mentioned the Imperials and their head, his disdained taste for them stemming back decades. And the GA's formal Alliance with them had been like pouring salt into old wounds for the Marshal. But politics and formalities had never been the Shistavanen's strongest suits. He was a being of orders and actions, nothing more, nothing less. That was just his way.

"Forgive the lackluster, Admiral." Mythos spoke, his raspy tone little more than a growling whisper as he watched the images before him unfold. "I'm not too keen on Imperials, or even those carrying the name. Too much bad blood befalling Coruscant and the Core Worlds under their name even if these prove themselves to have been different."

Mythos brought his clawed paw up his mane, open handily stroking the long locks of fur that would have been a beard had he'd been born human. Despite his dislike for the Imps, he knew what Slaughter was asking of him with understanding. With the Sith Empire on one side, and the Mandalorians on the other, the GA needed whatever allies they could afford at the moment. As stubborn as he was, Mythos also lived by an unspoken creed among the Marshals, a simple but truthful one: The Enemy of my Enemy is my Friend, for a time at least.

"But your right. We of the Galactic Alliance cannot afford to forsake any hand we need to keep close to the vest. Consider me aboard. What's my cover?"

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The flight of TIE defenders arrived beside the vectoring Galactic Alliance fleet transmittign a friendly Templar IFF. These were the most elite special forces unit in the Imperial Remnant’s Navy. They had fought and killed Sith on Kuat, and were now joining the fight for returning their empress. Their Commander, Beth, signalled their intention to dock on the capital ship to preserve fuel and coordinate with the GA military strike teams.

“Prepare for harnessless landing on the flight deck boys and girls. No racks like on the Star Destroyers.”


Her voice was a bit hoarse but she had recovered mostly from the wounds she had suffered on Kuat. When the Templars with their red painted solar panel’s had received permission from the GA, they landed on board the Steadfast.

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“You’re working with Aliastra Interstellar, an arms designer negotiating manufacturing contracts and conducting trials for a new carbine, codenamed ‘Borcatu.’” Slaughter’s stubby fingers activated a miniature holoprojector and passed it across the desk. The image was that of a boxy, inelegant blaster carbine--clearly a model that was optimized for ease of manufacture. “There are several arms manufacturers on Dark Sun and it will provide you with an excuse to carry a live weapon while on board.”

His lips thinned. “Yes, it’s real. Please don’t let the prints fall into Black Sun’s hands. We’ve briefed several intel operatives on the mission and your weapons--all excellent men, you will have your pick. You’ll have a clean transport--no connection to the Galactic Alliance or Imperials. But work as quickly as practical. The fleet will be going in regardless of your success, and soon.

“The Galactic Alliance needs the Imperials operational again, or… we’re looking at something like the old days of the Rebellion. Any questions?”


____

The Steadfast’s/ air traffic control responded within a few seconds of Andromina’s hail. “Permission to land granted, follow the beacons to hangar two. The Admiral will want to see you. Proceed as quickly as possible, we’re scheduled to push off in five.”

Indeed, several ships of the Galactic Alliance fleet had completed their repairs and were vectored towards a hyperspace route, and the flashing lights drifting away from the MC90’s hull indicated the completion of repairs.


((Steadfast, Fidelity, Phalanx, Kalidor, Surprise, Audacity, and Incisor take off and prepare to leave.))
 

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What appeared to be a semblance of a smile cross the Shistavanen's face as he took in a moment to remember the information, slipping the plans into his pocket, and nodding to the Admiral. Unpinning the badge that adorn his duster, Mythos slide it across the desk toward Slaughter. "Understood. Take care of the for me, won't you?"

Mythos chuckled as he turned to depart, his gaze shifting back only momentarily before he stepped out the room. "I only need one. Your best. Have them meet me in the hangar in fifteen. And with that, and a small stoop as he stepped outside, Mythos was gone.

Fifteen minutes later, Mythos stood near the ship that the Admiral had prepared and stood waiting for his newly appointed companion, dressed in all his gear and his mask once again adorned. If they were going to make this work, they were going to have to act fast, and Mythos held little patience.

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The Imperial special operations pilots ran briskly from their cockpits, each holding a small luggage bag with civvie clothes. But for now they were all dressed immaculately in the Imperial Remnant white dress uniform, with the red bloodstripes and shoulder boards of the special operations unit. Led by their lieutenant, they crisply saluted the deck officer in charge of the flight deck and marched into the turbolift.

Which carried them to the bridge, upon exiting the lift, Beth and her crew saluted the Admiral of the Fleet. Their eyes looking from the wolflike companion and the admiral himself. The fact that the 12 person team was entirely human was beginning to stick out like a sore thumb. But Raven's adjustment's to recruitment hadn't filtered up to the elite forces yet. So you could say the remnant was trying to get better.

“Imperial Templars reporting for action sir, where will you have us?”

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((Sorry, should have clarified in last post that the NPC is yours to flesh out.))

Knowing of Black Sun’s retrograde attitudes towards nonhuman species (most notably its dabbling in the slave trade), most of the officers briefed on the attempt to rescue Head of State Zinthos were human. He would join the Shistavenan in the YT-2000 freighter that had been scrubbed for the mission.

As for Slaughter, he limped towards the bridge to find that the breached canopy had been repaired and the tools that had been scattered by Anaxes’ repair crews had finally been cleaned up, just in time to receive Andromina and her squad of commandos. Uniformly human, still clad in their black TIE pilots uniforms, they were a stark contrast to the medley of species on the bridge of the Steadfast.

“I assume that you’ve been briefed. We will have your Head of State back and I’m prepared to shoot our way through Dark Sun to take her back. We’ll begin by establishing a blockade around the station and give them one chance to hand her over. If not… you’ll be in the first wave. I imagine that the Sunners don’t expect we have the audacity for this kind of attack. They’ll be in for a surprise.”

Feeling that his boast had probably fallen on unappreciative ears, Slaughter paused for a pair of awkward seconds and continued. “Sorry. You’ll be assigned to the Surprise as part of the first wave. She and Audacity will make a breach for your Templars and our marines to assault. We launch for the rendezvous point in…”

At that point, one of the hangar deck crew spoke into her station and a Coruscanti voice boomed over the ship’s intercom. “Jump to hyperspace in five minutes. Secure all stations.”
 

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A comlink on Slaughter’s desk chimed an urgent report. Holding up a hand to excuse himself, Slaughter listened closely, his wide face turning ruddy with ugly blotches as the communique continued. Finally, with great care, the Admiral punched in commands to summon Marshal Howlster back to his office.

“We’ve had a change of plans. The Jedi have already begun their attack.” Slaughter close his eyes and pressed his fingers into them until stars appeared in his sight. He sighed. “Marshall, your infiltration will obviously now be impossible, but I’ll need you to lead any boarding actions. Templar, our goal will be to achieve domination of Dark Sun’s perimeter--knock out any defenses, rout any fleet that might be stationed. At that point we demand your Head of State back. We board and start breaking things if she isn’t immediately returned. I’ll have a surprise for the Sunners if they think that we’ll be delayed. Any questions?”

A tremor ran under the floor at that very moment, indicating that the Steadfast had entered hyperspace, along with the rest of the armada.

((Ships leaving Anaxes: Steadfast, Fidelity, Phalanx, Kalidor, Surprise, Audacity, Incisor, Crescelle.))

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Posted (edited)

A brief voice/text transmission arrived for Beth Andromina on civilian channels. Its sender had no idea if the intended recipient would ever see it, or if it would be swallowed up by hyperspace travel or edited to the point of incomprehensibility by the Imperial Remnant's censors.

“Beth,

I’m still alive. Hopefully you can say the same. The Sith haven’t gone after Carida yet…. but… I have a personal errand that requires me to go to Coruscant. No, I haven’t completely lost my marbles… well, maybe. I left some information there that might be critically important, like ‘might get a few million people killed if it falls into the wrong hands’ sort of important. I’ll be able to sleep a lot better if I know that it’s destroyed or off Corrie. If you hear from me again, I’ve probably succeeded and I’m on my way to safety. If not… well…......." There was a long pause. "At least I tried.

I know that I can’t ask you to be safe. That’s the life. So shoot straight--and shoot first.

Soph.”

Edited by ObliviousKnight

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Just as Mythos began to climb the ramp of the ship, he turned toward his human companion as his comm link lit up, Slaughter's voice coming across loud and clear. If he had yet to adorn his mask, the poor son would have seen a fierce face claim the Shistavanen's usual bland demeanor. Clinching his fist tight enough to impress his frustration into the ramp's metallic hydrolic arm, his teeth gritted just as tightly, Mythos began his trek back toward Slaughter.

"Those blasted sorcerers will be the death of this Galaxy yet!" Mythos scorned in return, his tone raspy and harsher than usual as the frustration was found snarling out in spurts. "They preach peace and restraint, yet are the first to ignite their tiny laser blades. Hmph."

Despite the shift in the hanger as the ships emerged into hyperspace, Mythos's pace never wavered. Within a few minutes he had returned and was present before Slaughter once more. "I'll make sure to do the wrecking myself when we arrive."

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