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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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