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  1. HC-42 nodded as Emma Three Nine gave the instructions. Seemed like a simple enough plan, but he calculated the defenses of Mon Calamari would be tight given how recently it was seized. He hoped he and his squad would have enough support for the capturing to succeed. After all, the Sith weren't going to give up their precious new shipyards without a fight. But now wasn't the time to worry, as his squadmates needed to keep their confidence. The group of droids and cyborgs had been trained to fight in the simulation, and now they were going to use that training in the field, whether they liked it or not. HC-42 also couldn't help but be excited to pay the Sith back for what they had done to his own world. He could see the same determination in the eyes of Gwal, Sasha, and Leep, as they too had their world subjugated by the Sith. HC-42 turned to Emma Three Nine and said, "Understood. Any further instructions, ma'am?" He then waited for a reply. The Battle Droid was about to do what he was programmed to do- fight. This Rebellion was the means to liberate Charros IV, no matter how many gruesome battles it took. And once he was with his creators, he could bring them what they desired from their technology- salvation.
    2 points
  2. “We simply cannot guarantee any good outcomes outside of two hours. Though this is isolated from the Sith Main fleet detachments, we need you to get to or get as close as you can to the ground based shipyards. Cause a little chaos as needed and then our marines land and relieve you.” She let her gaze flitter up to the ceiling where far overhead the Rebel Fleet was emerging from hyperspace. “Or you can insert alongside the rest of the army as needed. I don’t want you taking extemporaneous risks with your lives. The decision is yours.”
    1 point
  3. Emma stood beside the rest of the commanders and HC in the briefing room buried within the bowels of the Misericordia. When there was at last quiet, she looked around, catching each eye and photoreceptor in the crowded chamber before she walked up to the holomap that spread out across the room. Her eyelids flickered for a moment as she downloaded the tactical battle plan then spread her hands across the star map. The galaxy focused down to the outer rim, focusing even further into a small star system with large and developed shipyards. The Planet itself, which sat comfortably beside the shipyards, was a waterworld. Largely ocean, with a few scattered floating cities. It was a familiar system, one that had seen very recent conflict. Mon Calamari “Unsurprisingly and as many of you have guessed, we are beginning an assault of liberation on the world of Mon Calamari. Outside of the strategic resources of the shipyards, High Command has decided that they can no longer tolerate the enslavement of so many innocents. As such we have two main objectives: seizing the Shipyards and Planetary Infrastructure.” Her pale red eyes focused on HC. “The Shipyards are in two sections. The Assembly Yards, which are under water and along the planetary equator. And the Testing and fitting yards which are in geostationary orbit above the yards themselves. Not quite the great yards of Kuat but still plenty of danger to planetary populations if you accidentally destroy either of these installations. Command sees that as an unacceptable outcome. HC you and our team will head planetside to assist in the capture of the yards. We are to be relieving ground assets that are prepositioned for this invasion. The rest of the teams will be engaging the yards and Golans.”
    1 point
  4. The combined fleet arrived over the rocky asteroid like planet of Kessel. Misericordia, in its dark paint scheme, barely registered against the dark background of the stars. The rest of the fleet stayed their distance. They were nearly ready to depart for Mon Calamari and the freedom of the galactic rim.
    1 point
  5. Jackson pushed on till the end, the mantle hanging from his shoulders fluttering and waving as its owner stopped somewhat perilously close to the edge. He barely felt when the girl was subdued and even less when Leena took her and fled, so focused was he on winding a tight latticework around the pit. Once it was in place he began to fill in the gaps; weaving the force through his framework in alternating directions. The Jedi took a deep, visible breath, and the barrier plunged downwards. The Padawan had been around long enough to know that just plugging a hole was a one-trick pony, and buried horrors always had a way of resurfacing. The Pit being case in point. The only real way they would ever be rid of it was to destroy it. They had to rip it out by the roots, purge the infection that it carried. Well. That was one philosophy, at least. Bloome was somewhat of a data-hoarder, having dedicated an entire stateroom on his ship to storage for such things, separate from the rest of his scrap. If it were up to him they would uncover the source of the miasma and contain it, in the hopes of it being a holocron or something similar, though the decision wasn't his to make. Instead he would be doing what he said he'd do by plugging up the hole, all the while searching for the exact source. With some support they might be able to completely contain and extract the thing, and decide what to do with it once it was no longer posing such a significant threat to the planet.
    1 point
  6. Beth wrinkled her nose at the Large wolf like man when he spoke of unifying the galactic alliance. Like the Imperial Remnant needed the cancer that had been the GA military. But those decisions came from far up the chain of command, and now the Imperial Remnant had been renamed and reformed and she was now forced to deal with the ‘cream of the crop’ of the galactic alliance on the daily. Well at least they had slime good commanders such as Slaughter and d’Outremer. But she would have much preferred to keep wearing the black instead of this spasted orange. But her thoughts did not matter. There was a galaxy to save, then after they restored the Imperial Throne, they could deal with the consequences. Hopefully they had all seen the failings of Democracy as well as she had. “Glad we could have you Howlster. Hopefully you weren’t too put out by the horrifying defeat of the New Republic and Galactic Alliance. We need every grizzled veteran we can get for this fight.” She winked, then motioned for the both of them to follow her. She addressed the Jensaarai’s concerns next. “We have the manpower for the event, though you will be the forward vanguard of the attack. The rest of the fleet is coming from Nar Shaddaa as we speak. Troop ships will be coming into the gravity well two hours after infiltrators. You Will be inserted by civilian means to scout the area and assess weaknesses. Starliner Ghesesset will be your in transport. We have a scouting vessel on the outlier of the system. If you run into trouble or wish to call it off…” She pointed to a series of Comm packs. “Those are your communication packages. It is certainly dangerous. Are you willing?”
    1 point
  7. The Mantis had stood, his limbs hanging loosely at his side, staring down the weapons leveled in his direction. Concern had not been high on his list of responses. The rebel soldiers were doing their job. On a world like this one could hardly blame a fella who was wanted for his mere existence for being a bit jumpy. From behind his enclosed helm, The Mantis raised an eyebrow in interest at the arrival of the hulking canine. If he had to guess, the Jensaarai would have figured him for a bounty hunter of sorts. But still, the being had the same name as The Mantis did and he himself could be considered an odd specimen by some. Who was he to judge. Given the fact that the guardsmen obeyed the wolfman, The Mantis figured he was a rebel of sorts. So was he, he pondered for a moment. The Jensaarai had thrown their lot in with this ragtag band of upstarts and idealists. There was something about them. Clambering with ease from the speeder, The Mantis dropped to the packed earth and made his way into the prefabricated command structure, down the hall to a spare service room set up almost like a cafeteria eating area. He offered a nod of thanks to the much larger wolfish rebel. Otherwise, he was content to remain in the silence of the cramped room, his eyes scanning the walls; diagrams, a few odd maps and starcharts, nothing too exciting really. The comment about the Jensaarai from the wolfman took The Mantis by surprise. Not many usually knew who or what they were. When Lt. Andromina entered, The Mantis stood from the benched sear he had occupied, stepping forward to extend a hand to tightly and quickly grasp the pilot’s before releasing and stepping back. As the ranking rebel spoke, The Mantis fell into step as they left the hall and walked down the hallway. He walked in silence allowing Mythos a chance to speak first, which he did as they entered the official briefing room. With a hiss, the Defender removed the faceplate of his light Jensaarai armor helmet, the suit adapting to the pressure of the world about them. He tucked the faceplate beneath his armpit, his rugged Corellian features offset by his bright green eyes. With a low baritone, The Mantis spoke, after they entered the briefing room and Mythos had said his piece. A sight smile played across the Jensaarai’s face; surely the woman knew what she was asking. “I am Mantis.” he spoke by way of introduction. Any mention of the Jensaarai was left unsaid. His people’s anonymity was one of their greatest defenses, even as he wore his customized armor beneath his gray robe. That same robe he lifted to reveal a complete set of throwing knives held against his armored waist alongside his collapsible staff. “I am not a soldier or a Jedi. Espionage is my area of . . . ability. Like him,” he inclined a thumb towards Mythos, “I can just,” he circled his hand in the air, opening his fist in a trail of fingers before closing back into a fist as if signing a universal idea of disappearing. Taking the chance to redirect the conversation, he opted to pepper the lieutenant with a few queries of his own. “An interesting location to plan an invasion of such a contested world.” Shooting a glance around as if for emphasis he continued, “I am hoping there are more than us and a few marines. No offense sir,” he shot an apologetic glance to Mythos as he spoke. “I’ve heard stories about what has been going on at Mon Cal. Dark stuff. What are you thinking? Do we have any rebels planetside already? Getting there should be easy enough. Mon Cal has become the new Nar Shaddaa. What kind of defenses do they have set up?” The Mantis stepped up to a table bearing a holographic rotating display of the watery world in question. His eyes scanned the fluxing world map. Was this real time? Glimmers of ships in orbit blipped in and out of sight above the world. The Mantis was not by any means a one man army. He was a stealthy combatant. Protecting protectors, moving unnoticed amongst the shadows, aiding the Alliance, those were his tasks. By them, he was bettering the cause of his own people. The Sith Empire was too big a threat to be ignored. They were coming for them, the Alliance, the Jedi, anyone who might be a threat. Masters of camouflage and stealth, even the Jensaarai were threatened by the ever growing horde of evil.
    1 point
  8. The Shipyards and Defense Fleet of Mon Calamari remained oblivious to the Languedoc and its scans. The starlanes that had once bustled with the traffic of a thousand different worlds and the freight of a booming planetary industry now only held the odd collection of junker ships crewed by the scum of the galaxy, side-by-side with Sith naval patrols. Criminals and worse had come to Mon Cal, and were slowly infesting the now open skies and empty docking bays with their rusted heaps and retooled "freighters". The blue surface of the planet was marred with spots of greasy black clouds like open sores on skin, marking where cities and their new industries pumped pollutants into the air in the name of efficiency. Dominating one of the main repair bays, droids and repair ships swarmed the armored hull of the Black Bracer. New sheets of durasteel were layered on top of old, and the clusters of laser batteries poked through like spikes. Beside it, the Broken Bullet and Moon Beetle sat in their own docks, crates of missiles being loaded in as the final steps in the extensive repairs the two had required. And, hidden from site, Our Velvet Ire watched the repairs from behind its own scanner spoiling array. The Strands had committed some of their forces to Mon Cal's defense, no doubt seeing opportunity for their brand of scheming and power in the corrupt planet and its industries. Commanding the defense was Captain Jaden Jorik. Mercenary, thug, survivor... And lackey of Nok Morliss, supposed ruler of this world. His master was absent, and the rumors he'd heard weren't encouraging.
    0 points
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