Delta73

Pressurize! The scream echoed out from Lieutenant Blacktorin, crashing through Delta’s mind which had been trying to ward off a mass of nausea that had nearly overcome him. When he blinked the tears out of his eyes he could feel the whole world shifting, water bubbling, and the screams of the men he was supposed to protect. He slapped at his wrist and sucked in a breath of air as he felt the undersuit to which his armour was attached suddenly tighten as it pressurized. Built to withstand the void of space combat, it was not built for comfort and Delta sucked in another breath of the recycled oxygen. “Steady yourselves!” Then there was a swirling blackness that went on and on forever as his HUD cycled through its vision layers to try to make any sense of what was going on. But it didn’t take long for the impact to come. And when Delta hit, he could feel his legs crumple underneath him and his helmet struck hard enough on rock that it felt like his entire brain had exploded into a mass of stars. His ears rang for what felt like minutes as he pulled himself up into a crouch. He coughed and slowly shook his head as the ringing began to fade. Replaced by the distinct sound of static, blasting through his headset, intercut with moans and gasps. He shook his head again as his vision refused to clear. He blinked, and could feel what felt like thick water brushing against his eyes and beginning to drip towards his mouth. It was hot and he knew what it was before its coppered taste filled his mouth. Blood He groaned and pulled his hands up to his neck and with a jerk that caused his head to erupt into a million more sparks of pain and light, he pulled the helmet off. Immediately his nostrils were filled with a disgusting smell but that did not matter. He scooped at his eyes with muddy hands, brushing the blood out of them where it was beginning to congeal around his eyelashes. He coughed again, and scrabbled at his eyes again until he was able to wrench one of them open long enough for more blood to flow in. He cursed loudly and wiped at his eyes as he knelt in the destroyed mass of bodies, sewage, dead fish, and discarded weapons. He felt at his shoulder for the tube that connected to the water bladder in his pack and stuffed it into his mouth. It tasted disgusting, but in a few moments, he cleared his mouth with a spit and then, keeping the flow valve open with a pinch of his fingers, directed the stream of water into his eyes. That did the tick, and though blood still seeped down his forehead, he was able to keep it at bay. Only then did he take a moment to assess his surroundings. His men were his focus. No blaster bolts were spinning their way through the damp air so he began to assess the damage. He found his battered helmet and pulled the comm headset out of it, noting the where the upper section of the helm was completely ripped apart. He strapped it around his neck, and snaked the cord up into his right ear. “Sergeants, report.” A few reports and moans returned his call. No melodious voices of his lieutenants returned to his headset. Spast A glance up told him that the dark lord had survived, which of course he would have. And Delta could feel a flare of anger at the lone man. Again a question of why. Why was he here, why were his men here, if the Sith Lords could so easily overcome every obstacle thrown at them. Obstacles that had very likely killed a great many good men and women. Who did not need to be here. A few soldiers could be seen, their armour wrecked and broken, busily pulling other soldiers out of the muck and mire. And Delta joined them. There was no reason at this moment he needed to help the Dark Lord. The man could stand on his own against giants. He did not need help, but the soldiers of the Darkhand did. They were no supernatural beings. So Delta Began to search through the bodies and mire, pulling helmets up out of the mud where he could. Laying the bodies in a long, broken row.

Delta kept his hand outstretched to the little Jedi and kept a hidden smile on his face, its grim grin hidden by the impenetrable ‘T’ visor that made him just another soldier in a long line of soldiers. Another faceless enemy to the brainwashed Jedi Knights. She looked terrified, but then again all Mon Calamari looked wide eyed and open mouthed at all times so he couldn’t right tell. But then she was just a kid, a Jedi Kid, so dangerous and deadly, even if disarmed. Why was he showing mercy? He didn’t know, he never really knew, and as always the mercy blew right up in his face. Or in this instance, it illuminated brightly in his face. He watched her take in a breath and then his HUD auto dimmed, assuming the use of a flashbang or other bright phosphorus weapon as bright light illuminated the IR display to a pure white. And just as suddenly it was back to normal, and other than a few splashes, the jedi was gone. He growled under his helmet, and then sighed, looking left and right for any other attack. But none came, and his front line continued to kill fish in droves. “Is that all you can muster?” He said it softly, and it transmitted to his command channel and returned a chorus of confused and tired laughs from those within the command unit. He looked back to the captive Jedi and seeing him still restrained and Blacktorin’s slugthrower still pressed against his skull, he shrugged. "Captain. They have spit on your mercy.. When will you show them your rage?" The voice shivered up his spine and Delta could feel a smile slowly spread across his face. He saluted the dark form and turned to the soldiers surrounding Mjan. He was compelled into action, and a memory from the distant past called forth its knowledge on how to draw the Jedi out. “Alright lads, back up. Bayonets out and in hand. Lets draw them out.” A dozen helmets stared back at him then nodded as the soldiers holstered weapons and retrieved their bayonets. Standard issue for generations in most militaries, the long knives were designed as a weapon of last resort, and were more often used to terrify an enemy into surrendering than ever actually used in the heat of battle. But still the men were trained in them, and held them eagerly. “Truss him up, then crucify him.” Blacktorin smiled under her helmet as she kept her slugthrower trained on the unconscious Jedi Knight. A soldier took each of his limbs, and forced the corpse like jedi against the dark stone wall. Once stripped of most of his clothes, one of the soldiers pressed his legs under the water, another two stretched his arms out against the wall so he was sitting, arms outstretched, with the water lapping at his bare stomach. Then the gruesomeness began. Two bayonets were pressed against the wrist and upper bicep of the Sithari Jedi Knights’ arms. Then they were driven into the wall, through the flesh, bone, and muscle with blows from the rifle butts. The same was repeated on the legs, the slender knives cracked through to be buried into the rock surface, and causing a swirl of blood in the water. It was not a deadly thing, but the next was. Delta selected his own bayonet and placed it against Mjan’s stomach, using his fingers to find the location of his liver, before pressing the knifelike bayonet into the soft flesh. It slid easily, cutting through the liver and exiting into the curve of the stone wall. He pressed it further, watching a stream of dark blood begin to cascade from the wound into the muddy water. Then with a click, he turned off the vibration and let the blade stay in place, secured into the wall, a ninth tether for the now dying Jedi Knight. He stood and gestured for his men to move back. Their enemy restrained and helpless, bleeding to death in a lonely cave. Surrounded by those that hated him and everything he stood for. If they could have, the soldiers would have spit on the Jedi Knight, but satisfied themselves with a few kicks to his legs. But they moved back with a look from Delta. He whirled his bloody hand above his head and they turned away from the dying man. Leaving him alone in the darkness. The amplified voice of Delta73, commander of the Darkhand echoed through the dark tunnels. “You have maybe a minute before this Jedi Knight bleeds to death. Show yourselves or remain as cowards. I have had enough with mercy.”

Delta could feel his eyes tracking back to Blacktorin and the unconscious Jedi Knight. This had to have been a trap, no Jedi would have given up himself so easily and that fact nagged at his brain with as much force a deepset, muscle level training could give him. If they were trying to set up a trap in their midst, it would not do him much good since he was very obviously stunned. But did the Jedi have the ability to withstand such injury? One look at the red faced Jedi told him that the man was out for the count. Blood dribbled from his ears, the result of the traumatic damage to his inner ears from the sonic rifles and pistols that had taken part in his demise. Some buried part of Delta's subconscious felt pity for the man, a strange and lonely life dedicated to a religion that only got you killed in the end? What kind of life was that? A quick look a the lifeless hands saw no ring or lover’s bracelet and Delta felt a pang of remorse for whatever lay in wait for the Jedi at the end of the rocky tunnel. A long arduous torture in which he would eventually spill the location of his only friends? Maybe the promise of freedom, ending with a brutal death by a Sith Lord? Or perhaps a turning, a compromise that eventually left him a husk of his former self, too used up by hate to even realize his own despair? Delta could not guess the age of the man, but he knew that whatever his end might have been or whatever fate he would have, it would be a misery. Delta wryly made an internal note to never be on the wrong side of a rebellion, then frowned under his faceless helmet. Perhaps they would all meet the same end. But the barking voice of Jansen Trefey, the Sith Sergeant Major that had transferred in from the shattered 31st infantry regiment after Coruscant, woke him from his memories. It was a harsh voice that, though heard through the speakers embedded in the helmet, still carried his Savareen brogue. “Keep still lassie! Keep your hands where we can see them! We aren’t going to hurt yeh.” Delta grinned and pushed his way through the three rows of soldiers to see a mass of rifles pointed at a small Mon Calamari. The voice seemed to be a female and one look at her told him that there was little need to put her down. She was filthy, exhausted looking, and claiming to be a medic. Though she wore no uniform of the medical corps. Another plant in whatever trap the Jedi had set. But why would they sacrifice children like this so willingly? He sighed and stepped forward, turning the glowrod under his blaster rifle from IR emission to its regular setting. Filling the cavernous space with light that reflected harshly from the knee high water. Delta could see some of the soldiers' helmets turn to look back at him, and he knew in that instant that whatever training had been embedded into them, it wouldn’t sit well with them to gun down a child. He flicked his comm to its external settings and took a step towards her, keeping her covered with both barrels of his blaster rifle. “Miss. please turn over your lightsabre and you will not be harmed. None of us have any desire to kill you.” It wasn’t a lie either. He turned his comms back to the brigade frequency and whispered an order. “Deploy skirmishers.” And without acknowledgement ten of his men advanced ahead of the first line as it moved past the girl. Leaving her and their captain in between the lines of marching soldiers. The skirmishers were trained for this of course, and each man advanced with a partner. But they only got a few meters ahead before one of the corporals raised his hand in warning. Then shouted over the command frequency, the skirmisher’s rifles coming up to their shoulders. “Creatures in the water, Danger close.” “Back to the line, form up, at the double.” Delta barked the order at his men and they scanned the water with their rifles as they began to backpedal. One of the skirmishers fell, likely tripping over a loose stone, or perhaps having been grabbed and his scream filled their helmets. His partner tried to grab his hand but he was already dragged beneath the surface. So it had been a trap after all. And in the distance, at a divot in the tunnels Delta could see a writing mass of creatures splashing over each other to get at them. It took enormous patience for those in the front lines to not panic and begin blasting away at the creatures and the skirmishers but they had their orders. And the moment the skirmishers were at the line, the first line fired with everything they had, filling the tunnel with a mix of blaster bolts, flechettes, slugs, and sonics. Anything in the water that stirred would be mercilessly cut down. Delta could see a flash of burned scales and smiled. He looked back at the Mon Calamari and extended his right hand. “Come on little one. We will keep you safe, tell your friends to surrender so the red faced one doesn’t die here in a useless sacrifice, it's over.”

As the wave of bolts and shrieking echoes of the sonic blasts died away the room was left utterly silent. Here and there a pebble fell in cascade along the collapse, but in the IR reflection a solitary silver orb came silently towards the lines of the Darkhand. At his side, Delta could feel Blacktorin pull away from him as she began to run towards the orb, perhaps to what? Kick it like it was a laserball? Delta admired her courage and just as suddenly a wave of energy passed through his men, parting the lines like they had been crushed by a cavalry charge. His visor indicated another blinking frequency attached to his SCI and Delta smiled. Two men, privates Jhren and Helmsdorn, were tossed like leaves before the storm that was the Sith Lord. And their shouts of alarm echoed through the helmet embedded comms until a flash of light overcame the automatic darkening of the HUD and Delta involuntarily winced away. A swatch of stone and air was vaporized in a mighty arc that would have cut like a scythe through his men should the Sith not intervened with his skillful use of the force. Even the two privates, discarded like wrappers of ration packs, fell to the ground of the cavern relatively unharmed. Save for their pride and one rifle that had broken its stock in the tumble. There was a pause as Delta looked over the scene before him, a Sith, awesome in power, alone, and a crumpled form of a single jedi, laying in an ever expanding pool of salinated water. And from the speed of its rise, Delta could assume that this cave system was lost. There would be no good to come from going further, or clearing the rockfall. All they would likely find were a body of a drowned girl. He pushed forward, running past the shocked Blacktorin to the Jedi who was lying face down in what very well could e his grave if they didn’t rush to save him from drowning. He could hear the footsteps of several more commandos as they rushed to assist their captain in securing the prize. He was a small man compared to the bulky troopers that hauled him out of the dark water. Delta grabbed his hair and steadied his head, letting his HUD fully document the red face and the weird tendrils that spoke to perhaps say another humanoid species that Delta had not yet met. He tempted the use of an actual glow rod, not trusting the identification software to work with only the IR spectrum. Though far more detailed, he seemed to match the handouts perfectly. Delta looked up to the Sith Lord and saluted. Crisp and cleanly. The gesture carried the honour that Delta bestowed upon him and the thanks for the lives of his men. But with the water rapidly rising to the level of his knees Delta doubted that they could stay here for much longer and with a hand gesture His crew began to double back, searching for another cave system to reach the departed Jedi. Delta and Blacktorin kept close by the trooper hauling the fallen Jedi. Blacktorin kept her Slugthrower close, it's muzzle pressed firmly against the back of his skull. For she and Delta knew, that any Jedi assaulting the unit would not stop except under the threat of a murder. As a cohesive unit the darkhand began to move, the three lines of men searching every crevice for the slightest hint of life or new tunnels.

The liquid cable launchers pulled the commandos of the Darkhand brigade further into the massive tangle of caverns, launching them in groups from one side of the chasm to the other. Delta’s eyes searched the periphery of the cavern’s entrance as he waited for his men and women to form back up behind him. Seventy odd commandos in the caverns hunting the ghosts of the Jedi order, while the rest of the Darkhand fought and died topside. His eyes took in the long ago carved wall of the cave system, its stone still strong after what could have been centuries of unuse. The internal comm on his helmet chirped, Blacktorin’s voice, cool and soothing, spoke over the command net, Something only the Lieutenants and above could hear. “We are on their heels, let's get going.” Delta nodded his head and looked behind him. The unit of men were ready, blasters, sonics, flechettes, up and pointing towards the entrance where the Jedi had very likely gone.He waved his hand and together they began to move into the cave system. Delta led alongside Blacktorin while the rank and file, sergeants and privates moved in several fluid firing lines behind him. Lines that with a nod of the head could pour a wicked fire onto whatever they found. But it was the Jedi that found them first. The ominous sound of an old fashioned slugthrower’s rear hammer was surprisingly loud in the quietness of the cave, especially through helmets that amplified the sound of low level noises. But before he could react a voice shouted out from ahead and Delta and his first firing line fell into a crouch, rifles and carbines tracking for the noise. The IR lights of the firing lines and Delta’s own E-22 revealed a red faced Zeltron holding what looked like a slugthrower and a single thermal detonator. And a single lightsabre on her belt. She looked less than ten meters away and Delta cursed himself for not sending out a group of skirmishers that would have found this threat far before it reared its head to his company. The second firing line stepped up behind their crouching squadmates and doubled the number of rifles pointing downrange. Delta spoke softly into his helmet comm unit as he triggered it back to Darkhand company. His thumb sliding along the fire selector switch of his rifle as he did so. “Non lethals only are cleared for action-” But before he could give the command to eliminate the threat posed by a single unarmoured Jedi, a second one pushed past her and lowered her slugthrower with his hand. Also thereby eliminating the threat of her thermal detonator. There was no way she would not just frag them both with the thing if a single blaster bolt tore through whatever defenses they might have. Delta blinked. What was their plan? Then the man spoke as he planted his staff and moved to cover the woman with his body. A valiant effort and Delta mentally saluted his courage. He hadn’t been on the briefing, but a Jedi was a Jedi and these two were the bravest Delta had ever seen. For both were unarmoured, and undefended save for the single stave planted in the cave’s flooring. Their Lighsabres were even on their hips. It was enough. As tempting as the man’s offer was Delta couldn’t easily take it. They couldn’t afford a jedi to be conscious in their midst, even restrained. It was like inviting a Rancor onto a schoolbus, no one was that stupid. And Delta was far from foolish. He had no desire to risk more lives than he needed. So they didn't need to kill either of them. But they needed to eliminate the threat. And there was no time to negotiate. Blaster rifles, flechette launchers, slugthrower carbines, and Sonics were pointed at the human who had loomed out of the darkness like some great beacon of light. Well with dozens of rifles pointed at him, most of which carried IR glowrods underneath their forward grips, he did quite look like a man standing in a beam of sunlight. At least this Jedi and the girl behind him would have one more day in the sun. Delta nodded, squeezing his trigger as he whispered the firing order through their helmet comms. And like a wave, dozens of rifles discharged at the man and the girl behind him. Lighting the cave up in a storm of blinding light. If Delta hadn’t been wearing his helmet, his ear drums would have been ruptured by the accompanying blasts of the sonic weapons. Sonics screeched towards the two Jedi along with a wave of stun rounds fired by blaster rifles. The first to split and destroy eardrums and balance, the second to eliminate the threat completely. No Jedi could keep up concentration from unshielded ears and two dozen stun blasts.The commandos holding slugthrowers and flechettes kept their weapons ready and trained should the first assault fail. <<Capture Shot Requested on Mjan Sadow Iv-Adas and Sara Corion>>

“Be careful, if these are the jedi, they will be quick and ruthless.” Except the kids perhaps, those were only following their programming. Aren’t you following programming Ca’Aran? He dismissed the voice with a wave of his hand that caused the second lieutenant walking behind him to pause her steps momentarily, thinking that he was trying to motion her to slow down her pace. But seeing him not try to follow it up with more orders, she caught up to him, the IR light from her rifles glowrod making harsh shadows from the uneven cave system. The voice only taunted him once more, a peel of laughter that caused a shiver to trace down his spine. The dreamlike quality of the tittering laughter echoing in the back of his mind told the Clone Commando very little other than the force was moving heavily through the cave system He had nearly become adept at ignoring his conscience through the years, and ignoring the persistent spirit of a long dead lover was not much different. But it just solidified his hatred of those that used the force. What made them so special. But the answer was there anyway, some were born lucky and some were mass produced on a shitty waterworld in test tubes. There was a click from the helmet comm and the soft voice of Blacktorin came whispering in his ears. “I am hearing voices commander, not spirits, there are beings up ahead.” He raised his hand, halting the company in their tracks, but before he responded a metallic, grating voice boomed out from the guard frequency and with a touch of his finger to his wrist, the metallic voice was piped into his helmet. Definitely not Mon Calamari. He switched back off guard and nodded to Blacktorin, who took a long heavy barreled pistol from a holster and leveled it into the great expanse ahead of them. She pulled the trigger and a flare shot up into the cave to burst into a red static light that slowly floated down towards the ruins of a bridge, its attachments still groaning and falling. So the Jedi were more resourceful then some. And they were right on their heels. Delta triggered his external comm and the speakers that were buried in the facemask. Projecting his voice across the expanse and into whatever tunnel they had escaped into. “You have contacted the Expeditionary force of his Imperial Majesty, the high emperor of the Sith. Surrender the Jedi among you or you will all perish in fire and blood.” Let them think on that. He returned to the internal comm frequency of his unit. “Ascension attachments.” Almost as one, dozens of liquid cable launchers fired. The Sith would not be so easily foiled.

An old aquifer maybe? But the murky liquid that barely reflected the light coming from his underslung glowrod told him the real truth. The Jedi in classic form, had gone through sewage to escape from even confronting the Sith. If it had not been for his close interaction with Jaina Jade, he would have begun to question if they even existed at this point. Or if he was just chasing pale ghosts. “Command fall in, make sure your armour is sealed.” He looked out down the distant sloshing tunnels. “No open flames. Fire only upon target acquisition with enough units to overwhelm Jedi defense.” He took the first step, and sinking up to his waist in the murk, he grinned. Thankful yet again for the issued helmets they all wore. And behind him, as the lights from each glow rod was extinguished, the command unit for darkhand, alongside a detachment of Charlie company from the second infantry battalion moved forward. A long line of seventy-odd marines, wading through the murk in a ghost hunt, for a bunch of untrained Jedi. At least they could sanisteam their armour. As Landgraf and Blacktorin moved beside him so that they could all easily cover the large, expanse of tunnels, he let his HUD flicker through its filters. NOD returned very little other than a low green glow, and thermal optics did little better, being that the sewage was at about body temperature. He flicked it again to the IR spectrum and clicked his rifle’s glow rod to infrared and shouldered it. It worked ok, other than the static reflections that passed beside as the IR was scattered by adverse pockets of methane. He grimaced at the thought of Jedi waiting right around the corner, but he kept the rifle up. Ca’Aran Now why was she here? Sharp blue eyes reflected from one of the pockets of gas and Delta almost unloaded the rifle at it. But with a blink they were gone. He checked his suit seals, fearing that he might have been exposed to mind altering gaseous fumes but found no cracks. Landgraf yelped and looked around, her rifle tracing an unseen line of infrared light on the ceiling as she also checked her suit's seals. “Status?” But those eyes were there staring at him again. “I’m hearing voices, commander, its really creepy like.” Ah. He popped open the protective cover for his arm mounted datapad and clicked her face on the sheet that was displayed for his officer corps. He file flashed up in black and green on the small screen. But it his instincts were proven right on the second scroll through her information. She was Force Sensitive. He snapped the cover shut and looked back at her. “Keep your helmet on Landgraf, whatever the Jedi are doing down here, we are getting close.” She hunkered down next to an outcropping, and Delta moved to cover her. As did Blacktorin, who pulled herself up onto the outcropping itself and held out a hand to him. He took it and pulled himself up onto the duracrete partition. A tunnel of some kind perhaps? He kept his rifle towards the unknown as he adjusted his comm. He triggered his SCI, and after an excruciating minute of encryption the cool voice of the Devilfish breathed into his ear, broken by static. “Go for Darkhand Intel.” “Information, pin location, there is an apparition of some type in the tunnels down here. Let the Dark Lord know that we are close to something. I dont think it's the Jedi, but we may have found something better. Something uh...” He searched for the correct phrase. “...Darkside oriented? A place where the force is strong, it's effecting a lot of my men.” He would certainly not say it was effecting him. He couldn't. It would be seen as weakness. And out of all the traits a commander could have, weakness was not one. “Intel copies.” And with that the line cut. Delta took a long breath of filtered air and was hit again by a distant voice. The voice whose laughter sounded like a waterfall of joy and he could feel a tingle of painful memory move up his spine. He took another breath and waved his hand to tell his men to move forward but when he stepped forward his step came down on something soft. He looked down, then pulled at it. Holding it up in the offered light of a glowrod. A jedi robe?

Morjanssik, like many cities that had undergone extensive firebombing in the galaxies’ sorry history, was a chaotic bed of destruction and despair. As low fires gutted apartment complexes, and bodies lay in huddled ashes in the streets, the Sith Naval Marines made their pay. It was through the scream of TIE engines and the distinctive diesel smell of phosphate explosives that cut through the fine filters of his helmet that Delta and his Darkhand commandos made landfall. Explosive decompression bolts blew the bulkheads off the three sides of the drop pods and in squads of four the command team took cover in the middle of a large pedestrian fareway. HUD GPS told them that they were in the city itself, but none of the surroundings looked particularly familiar from the short briefings they had received. So despite making landfall, they were still no closer to finding or killing any of the Jedi and Delta let his frustration expel itself in a growl. “Move, bounding towards grid…” His clear blue eyes looked across the map point that was constantly adjusting as satellite and ground data was moved and reformatted to modern, updated maps. But some was still not in focus, likely from the destroyed infrastructure in the area. Likely where the Jedi had been. “...One-three-one. Repeat One, Three, One.” The command team beside him, spread out in its company of twelve nodded their heads in unison then bounded for the next burnt out landskiff. This one, however once held a family, who now lay in piles of fine bone and ash in the still burning rear seats. Blacktorin, let out a small moan that echoed over the command interpersonal lines as she knelt in the remains of a crib. “Spasted garrison forces.” Delta nodded as he continued to watch the mapping software update their location. “Territorials are KOS. Copy? A plague is one thing, but killing thousands over some Jedi they could have just called us in for? Spast em. We’ll show them how a real government works.” Or at least that’s what he hoped. And he almost got those hopes dashed right away as a pair of very scared Mon Calamari popped out a burned doorway and began to flee down the causeway in front of him. 12 rifles took aim and as a team they slowly lowered. Mother or Father with a young pre-teenager. Though it was always hard to tell with a species like the Mon Cal. Two national police, quarrans by the look of their tentacles came racing after them with stun batons. This time however, there was no hesitation. A dozen well placed rounds snuffed their lives out before they could even see the Sith commandos beyond their quarry. The bodies looked as if they hit invisible trip wires as their momentum carried their corpses in puppet like confusion as they tumbled and skidded before pitching into the drainage ditch beside the causeway. They did not move again. “Get inside!” Delta’s voice boomed through down the causeway, causing the pair to stop in their tracks, their large salmon like eyes staring in speechless fear. “Mother! Get her inside now!” She obeyed and the pair disappeared into another building’s doorway. Delta and his men moved on, eyes and blasters scanning building tops and side alley’s as they ran. They linked up with several more squads of the scattered Darkhand as they ran until they got into a heavily populated area, where the sick and refugees were clustered in front of makeshift barricades, manned by local police and territorial guard. He did not have to even think twice about the order, and when called out, the crowd parted like a wave. A wave that heralded a mass of concentrated fire from a TIE defender that screeched overhead with all the grace of a falling wampa. The barricades and those defending them melted under the withering fire and the Darkhand surged forward alongside the crowd. Finding one bright eyed Mon Cal who was walking calmly through the wreckage, Delta pulled her aside. “The Jedi ma’am, where are they?” before she could speak her flippered hand pointed down. Towards the gratings that covered swer line. So they were to be headed towards the sewers. Great

The screens on the centre console of the dropod flashed black, then white as the drop pods were being prepared for ejection. Their external power cables being removed by crew in the star destroyer and the pods taking over with their own internal generators. He looked across his command team. All stoic in their securely fastened helmets, their inhuman ‘T’ visors staring blankly back at his own. Despite the cumulative grins that were beneath them. He looked at each visor and nodded, they nodded back. “Loadout check.” The final check of weapons began, and frantic fingers flew over securing straps, and eyes looked into HUD readouts for attached weapon systems. Blasters were checked, then resecured onto straps on their sides. Tucked in beside their armoured thighs, in a mixture of leather and crash webbing. On the opposite thigh there was the familiar slug thrower, sonic weapon, or flechette launcher as was the common loadout for hunting Jedi Knights. The cyclical slugthowing carbine with its heavy thirty round magazines had been produced for the last fifty years. Their flecchette counterparts for even longer, and the ovular sonic weapons even longer still. Delta still preferred his E-22 blaster rifle, and when fired en-masse from multiple squads, no Jedi would live. But he still carried the venerable FWG-5 flechette pistol he was used to. Manufactured by Malaxan Firepower Incorporated on the distant machine world of Outremer, the pistol was nearly as old as he was. He looked down at it as he gloved finger traced the wooden grips, and he said a quick prayer. To what God? He didn’t know, perhaps he would give an offering to Kad Ha’rangir like he used to during the clone wars. But perhaps it was better to trust in the force, something he had no knowledge of, other than seeing it work miracles for people that didn’t deserve them. The momentary squeal of comm static filled his ears for a moment, followed by a tone that indicated the encryption handshake. “Darkhand One. Command.” The comm transmission jolted him out of his revery and brought him fully back into the present, his back straightening as the voice of the “Devilfish” came flooding through his ears. Propelled by the SCI implanted in the comm unit that was underslung on his pack, the winded cord snaking up to a port on his armour. He pressed the button beside his armour mounted datapad and transmitted in response. “Darkhand copies five by five.” The transmisson remained static for another second before the Sith Lord replied. “We may have identified target location by a saturation bombing being laid out by the territorial forces of Mon Cal.” “Bombing?” “Yes Darkhand, flight of bombers just whipped up hellsturm down there.” Delta narrowed his eyes. Local territorial garrisons always seemed to over react, and this time was no different. And while population was almost by definition expendable, the op required the Sith Navy to be the Good Guys to the local populace. He smiled for a second before responding. “Send a flight of TIEs to drop those birds, make it visual, and dispatch any EV pilots. We can’t let them kill their own populace for the hell of it. And drop us on location.” “Understood, TAU command, engage at grid one alpha.” A rumble of static and a chorus of excited affirmatives bounced through his skull from the large flight of interceptors. Who, having been biting at the bit for the better part of a hyperspace jump, kicked their TIEs into overdrive, whipping through the thick atmosphere and launching a hail of fighter to fighter missiles at the fleeing bombers. With a flip in his stomach, the drop pods jettisoned from the Star Destroyer as it hit the edges of the thermosphere over Morjanssik. Delta kept the communication open until he heard a mixture of pilot chatter that confirmed that the majority of targets were down. Tallyhos and splashes for a tangling fight that filled the air of Mon Calamari with explosions and the death of many a Quarren. It was with the first explosions in the sky of the dying bombers that the Sith Empire and its Navy made its not so friendly rapprochement of the Mon Calamari. The dark shape of a star destroyer could be seen and from it, seconds later, the sky filled with superheated drop pods that heralded a ground invasion. Like a thousand shooting stars coming from the dark shadow of a star destroyer, the drop pods fell towards the streets of Morjanssik.

With a dark flicker against the familiar stars of the Mon Calamari Home system, the leading elements of what was being called a ‘Peacekeeping Expeditionary Force’ by the brilliant minds in the sith media, emerged over the homeworld of the aquatic shipbuilders. The black ships, and their familiar dark wedges cut scything shadows against the close packed stars, and their signatures filled the command displays of any home defense force that the Mon Cal’s may have mustered. The dangerous black fleet billowed forth fighters in wave after wave, until hundreds of the mass produced fighters formed a protective screen around the command ships. Onboard the main command ship of this task force, the Terminus, great mechanical beasts of Juggernauts, AT-STs, and the smaller and more agile AT-PT were getting loaded into their drop ships. Mechanics moved like buzzing flies from dropship to dropship, checking and triple checking tie downs and engine cowlings, while stormtrooper companies ran to their compartments, following the darting lines of mousedroids. It was much the same in the secondary hangar bay where Darkhand was based. Soldiers and commandos stood in long lines, toes against the dark decking joiners. 3,400 men and women stood there, backs straight at attention. Helmets in the crook of their arms, staring towards the huge circle of NCOs and COs who were outlying drop plans on large dry erase holo boards. There were no speeches to be given to the men. This wasn’t a holofilm, and there were no heroes. Just thousands of nervous men and women, ready to die for something they did not even know. Many were happy to be here. To crush terrorism and the jedi that caused it, was a dream of the galaxy for a generation. Perhaps this time there would be peace. But all of them were sure that they were here for a good reason. Mini briefings had laid out the situation. The Sith were there as a peacekeeping force to fight terrorism and to continue a quarantine that the Jedi were busy breaking. The fleet? Well it was here as a guarantee. It was a guarantee that the Mon Calamari and the Quarren, who were known to be a stubborn people at the best of times and Rebel leaning at the worst of times, would accept the aid of the Sith Empire. They needed it after all. For who was better at containing Jedi? Delta held up large packets of holo prints to the NCOs, enough to issue to each sergeant at least in the case of a comms down situation. He pulled an example of each before handing them off. “Men.” Here he used the male wording, though most of the NCOs were actually women, but this was the military and that was acceptable. He held up the first of the Holo-stills, a grainy image of a RHTC-560 Hunter Trainer droid. It looked exceedingly dangerous and bristled with terroristic intent. “First we have this lovely thing. Then this.” He held up an even grainier still of a green faced Nautolan female. She was rather cute, but in the non descript alien way. “The first of what I believe are the Jedi Knights or their apprentices.” He tapped the image of the young girl. “Intelligence would very much like us to capture the younger ones for interrogation, but use your best judgement. It's better that you get a reprimand, or I do, then you go home in a box. Now here is a real treasure.” He held up the relatively clear holo still of a red faced Sith. “Sith intelligence is trying to ascertain what exactly this is. A body will suffice for ID. Put down from a distance.” He shuffled through the rest of the holo stills. A young Jedi of the Mon Cal race, A large Cathar male A Zeltron female. On this last he issued the normal warning, despite Sigrid Hensi’s grin. “Make sure to not take your mask off around the last one. Zeltron are notorious for their wiles. Don’t give them any advantage.” He looked from eye to eye as he handed out the last set. “Objective is the city of Morjanssik. We will meet there. And men.” He gave them a salute. “May the force be with you.” It was a rebel phrase of course, but his men needed all the help they could get, and as he watched them dash to their waiting companies he whispered a prayer. _____________________________________

“Tally-ho! Commander! Come look at this!” The overly cheerful voice of the petite redheaded executive officer of Darkhand Brigade piped up over the din of cleaning droids and general chatter. Delta glanced up with a smile as he looked for her short form above the cluster of other officers. He saw her waving her freckled hand, the long distinctive scar of replacement synthflesh near the elbow clearly visible, and jogged over. The group of the senior officers, of which Tares was a part, were in their red and black off duty jumpsuits, and gathered around the holonews station in the officer’s mess. Their eyes were locked on the screen, their jaws set in a mixture of astonishment and rage. “I don’t get it ser….” Said the red faced Zeltronian male. A recent transfer up ranks to the rank of sergeant major from Lion company. His scuffed nameplate established him as Jansen Trefey, someone that Delta trusted from his reputation, but could not have picked out of a crowd. “...Why would the Jedi attack Mon Calamari? Aren’t they at least friends?”” “Sergeant.” Delta answered, low enough to not attract attention but it brought every head swiveling his way. “We do not know the Jedi or their ways. There may be something very valuable there, or they could be kidnapping children to train at their temples.” This was an easy lie, and one that brought a score of grins from the NCOs who knew better. But it had its effect, the tension was gone, as were the questions, but Delta Answered them anyway. “I assume a team will be sent, and seeing that we have not moved from orbit, it may be us. See to your men, I will call a briefing if we get anything this side of Yaga Minor.” Below their feet the deck began to tremble in earnest, this conjoined with the red alert comm on Delta’s wrist told him all he needed to know. It was a message through the sci from Intelligence. Terminus was deploying and the Darkhand with it He looked at the message in its coded message and searched his memory for the cipher before keying it through the interface on his wrist. Mpp Feqgtias Became Mon Calamari And Delta’s grim smile became a solid grin of teeth and malice. Out of the pan and into the fire __________________________________________ Sith Naval Taskforce - Fleet Command Taskforce Experience Green - Assigned Callsign - Grave Imperial Kyber Class Star Destroyer Terminus |20/20| Commanded by Lord Girk Doma the "Devilfish" of Sith Naval Intelligence Assigned Upgrade: Axial Weapon Sith Naval Destroyer Group [Turbolasers] Taskforce Experience Green - Assigned Callsign - Devil Sith Victory II Star Destroyer Brimstone|9/9| Sith Victory II Star Destroyer Hellkite |9/9| Sith Naval Precision Strike Carrier Group Taskforce Experience Green - Assigned Callsign - Beast Raider-class Corvette Cretan |2/1| Raider-class Corvette Greetham |2/1| Raider-class Corvette Heliotrope |2/1| Phantom Raider-class Corvette Crusader |2/1| Raider-class Corvette Somerset |2/1| Raider-class Corvette Theodocia|2/1| Ghoul Gladiator-Class Star Destroyer Acheron |9/9|

Sith Command Interface: Installed in every comm unit and helmet of command level officers (Brigade and larger) and political operatives is a direct communication link to Sith High Command. In order to skip the bureaucracy and to call in assistance from above, these high power comm devices are able to directly contact the leadership team of imperial missions. Heavily encrypted, these expensive units can be used on a sideband encryption to speak uninterrupted across the galaxy to anyone in Imperial Command, Intelligence, or Party Leadership. Some say the units passively transmit data to high command listening nodes across the galaxy, where soldiers soft spoken words and private communication are read through for possible treason. "Radio command through the sci. We need heavy munitions."

The lids of his eyes were so very heavy. But as wakefulness pulled him bodily from a corpse like sleep, Delta could feel the light weight of arms wrapped around him and the warmth of a body pressed against his side. It was an experience he had lived many times in his black sun days, but there was something different here. There was silence in his mind. There was peace, he was wrapped up in a love that he couldn’t describe, other than it harkened back to his first. He let his mind drift for a moment. A dark tent on a backwater world. The smell of sweat, jokes about a lightsabre and disrespecting chain of command. What had been that world’s name? What campaign? Was it Kaikielius, or Christophsis the third time? Was his memory really that far gone? Filled with deviance and destruction for so many years that he had forgotten the only time in his life that he had experienced actual love? And like everything else in his life, he had brutally murdered that love with a blaster rifle. The thought of that caused a shiver to run down his spine, and he could almost feel the weighted recoil of the DC-15’s grip slapping his palm. That ripped every last bit of sleep from him with all the love of a bucket of water. His clear blue eyes snapped open and he struggled for a moment to breath. The arms around him tightened and a whispered voice sounded in his ear. ‘ “It’ll be allright.” He let himself fall back into the embrace for a moment, before moving his own arms to embrace her in return. He dimly expected for his arms to find no purchase but a ghost, but the scopped the small form of Tares Blacktorin into a fierce hug that lasted several seconds before he relaxed and pulled himself out of the mass of blankets. His eyes found the chronometer on the metal wall and he grinned. It was 0530 galactic standard time. He looked back at the tousle haired redhead who was following his every move with sleepy eyes. “Clothes on. It's time to get everyone up and ready.” She nodded, and within a few minutes time, he, her and the other officers were sharing quick mugs of caf in the quartermaster’s gallery as they tied their boots, and ensured their jumpsuits were tidy. All the while, the solders of Lima One were up and doing the same thing, encouraged on by the few sergeants that had survived the moonfall and subsequent mass slaughter in the caves and vistas of the fallen world. They formed up in their lines, some squads missing completely, some with only one soldier., some with only a sergeant. All were grim faced, all sporting wounds of some kind, but all enjoyed the five mile run around the Sith complex. Even the Mandalorians in their dispersed state enjoyed it. It was after breakfast that Delta called a meeting of the officers, commissioned and non commissioned, of Lima One. It was there that he told them of his promotion and the new degree of responsibility he had been given. He also very plainly asked for their advice. What squads, and companies to bring over to his command from other divisions. They decided on a company rearrangement, and with a call to the captain of the Hellkite and the admiralty, they were transferred to the Star Destroyer Terminus which could hold the entire brigade. Most of the executive staff and crew would still be made of Black Sun membership, but a few pure Sith soldiers made it along. Lima One was declared inoperable due to heavy losses and incorporated into the new Brigade with new leadership. Below is the compiled Brigade. DARKHAND General Staff Command: Delta73 Executive Officer: Tares Blacktorin (Black Sun XO from Lima One) Command Sergeant Major: Jansen Trefey (Sith Sergeant from 31st Lion company(Company destroyed at the battle of Coruscant)) Intelligence Officer: Sigrid Hensi (Black Sun Lieutenant from Lima One) Operations officer: Haylee Langraf (Black Sun Lieutenant from Lima One) Logistics Officer: Gerald Frostwin (Black Sun Lieutenant from Lima One) Sith Intelligence: Lord Garik Doma "Devilfish" (Sith Lord , Onderon)

The clone commando watched as the Lord of the Sith considered him, a very dangerous place to be for someone without access to the force. All the Dark Lord need do was to reach with the force and with the delicacy of plucking a harp string, gently tear an aortic wall, or brainstem, and that would be the end of a long lived life. Was it a well lived life? Delta himself did not know. Its latter 20 years had been filled with increasing opulence until almost a point of mockery. His thoughts trayed there again, as they often had in the last few weeks since his induction into the Sith Military. Had the opulence of wealth really set him so far outside reality that he thought himself invincible and his friends mere pawns to be tossed around like so many bits of trash? To be used and thrown away? He had done the same thing but merely hours ago, risking his men for nothing more than glory. But no, that had been for a purpose. This was no adventure with various fallen Lords of the Sith to commit galactic terrorism at the cost of millions of lives. This Empire meant something different. Its inception may have been dirty, but they were going to build a new galaxy, a galaxy without terror, without the frivolous senate to hamper and harm. This Empire would be built as something new, something distinct. The foundations of the galactic order had to be ripped up before a new foundation could be built. The Black Sun, the SCORPION initiative, Red Shadow, Alderaaini Towers, all had helped destabilize the galaxy enough to shake off its chains and be rebuilt. But there was no honour there, Delta had enjoyed every minute of the debauchery, the murder, the terrorism, taking each violent act as something that could reach his buried self. To even get a hit of adrenaline. Upon the reflection of it all, the last twenty years had been a decidedly half lived life. One without a real purpose, like a deathstick addict murdering a family to get pocket credits. Except his addiction had been on a galactic scale. That hunger for death and violence, terrorism and credits, seemed to be gone now, leaving in its place and empty and embarrassed void. Perhaps his long companionship with the Mad Hutt had affected him more than he realized. But the voice of the Dark Lord cut him to the quick, pulling him out of his reflections with a solid rebuke for patronization that left Delta wondering what in the seven hells had happened and just as suddenly fearing for his life. He kept his face stern and unmoving, and gave a half bow as an answer. Giving the Lord the high road and surrendering whatever point may have been made by the statement. The Dark Lord was right of course, he had a long way to go for redeeming the mistakes of the Dark Sun. And somewhere in the back of his mind, Delta decided he would kill Zalis if he ever ran across her again. He accepted the box with a firm hand, glancing at the medal placed within before snapping the box closed and placing it under his left arm. It was a shocking reward for the so little that had been accomplished, and his heart fluttered with gratitude as he finished his bow and made a crisp salute. “Gladly My Lord. Thank you.” He spun on his heel and walked from the Dark Lords chambers feeling his heartbeat thundering at his eardrums. He finished the short walk to the barracks holding Lima One and peeked in through the doorway. Most of the men and women were passed out in their cots, and a few, likely still suffering from the Medperanazine dose, were doggedly playing pazaak with a pile of ration dessert cakes as chips. He smiled as they half rose to give him a salute before he waved them back to their seats. He needed rest and there was no need to wake up the men when they were so fried from the mission. He returned their salutes and quietly walked into the sealed officer’s quarters. He stopped in the refresher and slowly stripped his armour from his pressure suit, and placing the dusty, bloody plates into the refresher’s shower unit, allowed the water to run over them as he stripped off the undersuit and tossed it into the laundry basket. He placed the small box on the counter and then stepped into the shower. The water felt so foreign to skin that had been in armour for the last twenty or so hours, and he made sure to soap up completely, inspecting for any signs of heat or friction rash before he finished the shower. He inspected the armour plates while they and he dried in the drying unit, before he stacked them in his locker and put on a pair of grey fatigues. The only thing in the locker other than a few personal objects transferred down from his bunk on the Hellkite. He plucked up the box from the counter and walked to his room, which though it was small and spartan, was still very welcoming. He almost laughed as he saw an asleep Tares Blacktorin tucked into the bedsheets. Her tousled red hair, giving her an almost angelic appearance against the white pillows. He almost considered ordering her out, but his heart wasn't in it. So he simply lay down on the coversheet beside her. Planning to say something very scathing and hilarious if she should wake up, but before he could, he was whisked away into dreamless sleep. Well almost dreamless.

The incense played across his nostrils, the thick smell of ancient myrrh turning to a sweet mulberry as it filled the room, giving it the royal and mysterious aire without the need for expensive finery. It also reflected on the Lord of the Sith in other ways, the thin tendrils of smoke played off into the arched ceiling, almost embracing the image of the Sith Lord in a white shadow. From a military or tactical standpoint Delta was impressed, with an application of the force, the incense could cause a billow of smoke in which the Lord of Assassins or his apprentices could strike from. Delta had seen such a thing before in the guise of a Darth Lucifer during one of the many times the Black Sun had fought the Sith Lords before the last battle of the Death Star. Though there the guise had ended with the not so subtle application of a blaster bolt to the forehead of a Sith Lord and the death of a half dozen Sith Lords. The Black Sun had been strong then, and Delta had fought beside the strongest. But like all things, strength faded with disuse, ignorance, and sloth. But the Dark Lord was right. The Black Sun under Zalis’ leadership had been a disaster, and Delta and his men had paid the price for her foolishness. Well, their foolishness. Delta could have spoken of course of all the victories the Sith Empire had accomplished only with the help of the Black Sun. But it was clear that the Dark Lord wished to gloat in his single victory at Dark Sun and though it caused a rush of defiance in the back of his head, Delta recognized it as his right. He let the remark slide down his throat unspoken and bowed his head. If the Dark Lord was asking for advice he would give it, it was a lesson that the GA had not learned, and the Black Sun had never had the opportunity to try. “You are the most sane of all the Dark Lords I have encountered my Lord. There have been no failures under your occupation of Onderon or the defense of your allies. Though I know we must not rest on our laurels of victory over these pathetic Mandoa’ade, I encourage you to begin the securing of the Agriworlds. Without the breadbasket worlds of Chandrila and Salliche our reign will not last and the people will starve or be moved to join this new Rebel Alliance.” He looked up, his pale blue eyes searching for the eyes of his Lord. “Give me the responsibility my Lord so that I may prove myself and my men from the disaster of Dark Sun.”

The sight of the Dark Lord and his entourage of strikingly beautiful women gave Delta a pause. He let his thoughts stray from the pure majesty of it all to wonder about the origins of such women, how they came to be trusted by such a man, and whether or not his adopted daughter Telperien was among them. He could not see her small, diminutive form, but the rumours that had perveyed the Sith Military spoke greatly about her ability of jumping forms. But none of the masqueraded women even deigned to look at him and he dismissed the matter from his mind. But he noticed even then that there was a strange lack of jealousy in the back of his head as he looked at the Dark Lord. There wasn’t pity or any of those proliferous ideals, but he had no desire to sit where the man sat. Had he really outgrown the Black Sun and that opulent wealth that much in one battle? But it was true, he had found his place again, not matter how painful the battle had been. He finished his bow and inclined his head, “Your victory against the leadership of the Mandoa’ad was enough to crumble any resistance. I admire your work Lord. I am merely a captain among hundreds." He also considered the foolishness of throwing thousands of troops into battle when the simplest solution was to simply assassinate the leadership, bombard and accept surrender. They could have spared countless lives that way. But he kept his mouth firmly shut in that regard. “ I have lost many my Lord. Foremost among them, my heavy strike leader David Senvys. A human from the Taipani freeworlds, and longtime companion from my early days of the Black Sun. Alongside him I lost Lilianna Ordvine, another of my old friends. Many others were lost as well, and you will find their fifty names in my report, my Lord. All perished honourably in the attack…” He looked back up. “On the power facility under the eastern approaches, either on the landing under fire or on the assault itself. A division of Ishi-Tib marines were also lost on the attack. They died honourably and for good cause.” He remained at attention, considering listing off the fifty odd names from his datapad but decided against it. He would not complain, no matter how useless or foolish the attack had been. That was not his place, his place was to protect his men and women. That was it.

“Eat while you can. Trust me.” The tremours underfoot told Delta all he needed to know about the damned planet. The ever hidden tectonic plates were still reeling from the moonfall, and microquakes were pulsing every couple minutes, causing the utensils in the mess to move on their own accord, bouncing and trembling across the low metal tables, buzzing and whirring with every aftershock. He looked at his black stimcaf that was showing the circular rings of the aftershock, receding as they were absorbed by the steadiness of his hand. He took a long gulp from the enamelized metal mug and set it down beside his plate of mass produced rations. A small part of him missed the extravagant feasts that he used to throw after such a mission while commanding the Black Sun. But he dismissed the thought just as fast. That hadn’t felt real, it hadn’t fulfilled his purpose. He had been designed to be a soldier, not some great schemer or criminal. He spat at the memory of the Black Sun. How could he have so willingly let himself be consumed by the desire for so much wealth when it never even felt good? He caught the eye of the petite redhead sitting across from him. His long time companion, Tares Blacktorin. He looked into her eyes and thought of how she had met him, or at least how he had met her. Fourteen years before,two years into a relatively uneventful career as a Red Dawn operative, then a part of the Bretchell’ subgroup that had broken off from the Black Sun proper over some formality or another, he had been dispatched on a special mission. A mission with one of his few close friends, the now deceased Crosa Hoverich, to destroy the deep black site of X1. It had been Delta’s first mass liquidation, and the thousand odd employees at the research base had died not so silent deaths. But it was those pale eyes that had looked back at him from behind a half closed door. The defiance in them had been inspiring, even in a kid. It had been the only time he had not followed orders to their exact phrase. Crosa hadn’t said a thing, and Tares had been the first in a long line of too-young recruits to the crew of the Marie. The look in her eyes now was different. It was not the stern look of a soldier that had followed him on a hundred missions, or the relaxed joy of a friend, there was something else there. Perhaps it was the runoff of the Medperanazine giving her ideas. But the look and the subtle smile on her lips was one that told a very different story. But could he really do that? His mind was made up for him however when an envoy announced himself at the table and Delta had to tear his eyes off her blood spattered, smiling face, and find himself staring at an emissary of the Dark Lord. His mouth went dry and he drained his mug until he could feel the granules of half filtered stimcaf beans touch his lips. It didn’t solve the parched throat, but it was enough so that he could at least talk, given enough effort. Tares stood too, fright showing across her pretty face. Then the rest of Lima One stood, the heels of their boots clashing together in a chorus that the new Mandalorians could not quite mimic. “The Lord Emperor calls for you Blood Prince.” That title called back a wave of memories that made the former black sun vigo shudder. Delta saluted, gestured for his men to sit, and followed the messenger from the hall. He did not look back. Only when he was out of earshot did he correct the emissary of the Dark Lord. “I no longer wear those colours sir, I am simply a Captain.” The man did not look back at him as he entered the hall, and Delta had never felt so underdressed as he did when he entered behind him. The bloodstains, dirt, grime, and sweat that covered his armour and under jumpsuit filled him with a certain degree of shame as he saluted the Dark Lord. “Your eminence, Captain Delta Seventy Three of the Special Operations Group Lima One.” Delta finished his salute and bowed. “I congratulate you on your victory Lord.”

A silent click on his arm mounted Datapad and the channel setting was reset to all Lima frequency. He reached a gloved hand up to his head and made sure the earpiece was still in place, threading down the back of his neck to connect to the armour mounted comm interface. All of his squad leaders had the same in place, as did every member of the company, their comm permissions being automatically updated and upgraded by the Hellkite’s AI computer which tracked the vitals and locations of every single member of her deployed companies. “Company, reload. Prepare for next engagement.” He looked to Natha, son of Pathe, sitting five down the long line of jumpseats in the Sith Shuttle. “Stay ready son, if you are needed for an engagement, we have a supply depot up ahead that will issue you weapons. But for now, watch and learn.” All of the bare headed company members began to check their weaponry, Delta included. Reloading the rifle’s long magazine and checking the power reading on his sidearm. When he was finished, he looked up into the freckled face of Tares Blacktorin who was staring at him as she worked her fingers along her shoulder wound. “Did he make it?” She gave him a curt nod and a smile that, behind its tired expression, held a kind of love. He smiled back and gave her a sheepish grin. They had a long way to go, but for now, they were a unit. _____________ The shuttle came to a rest on its landing arms, and the remainder of company Lima One strode out into the bustle of the work of the IRS. The Imperial Reclamation Service was quickly setting up a base camp and fabrication area for housing and quarantine. Delta sighed and slung his rifle, the rest of his company doing the same. He looked back at their Mandalorian counterparts, “Come with us, it's time to debrief and get some food.” He raised his hand above his head. “Company, fall in.” And as a unit they entered the Quarantine zone.

The commandos of the Lima One moved in a symphony of military precision, clearing doorways, covering and advancing in smooth back and forth lines. Moving from one cracked duracrete platform, to a covered stilted walkway to the next platform. It was hard work covering those last hundred meters. The massive Basilisks fired their cannons in a surprising shattering array, halting the progress of the commandos until heavy weaponry could be brought to bear on the large droid vehicles. A thermal seeking PLEX missile plucked one of the droids and its rider from the air with a flash of red light. The crashing sound of reverberating explosions thundering in their ears a second later. There was muffled cheering for a second as the limp body hit the side of the museum and bounced inhumanely into the vast abyss of the underlevels, spinning and cartwheeling, trailing a long stream of blood and smoke. Delta held up a gloved hand, silencing the cheering, and they advanced slowly towards the pockmarked exterior of the museum. Then the surrender order came, not from some great military action. But from the actions of a single man. A sith Lord, God Emperor, who had brought down the leadership by himself. Securing no glory for the Limas or for Delta himself. Delta could feel the rage burn at the back of his mind, the futility of it all. The worthlessness of a soldier compared to a spasted Sith lord. But his men were happy and pleased by it. He could see their shoulders heave from cries of joy and some in sadness for releasing the tension they had been under for over twenty hours. They slumped in exhausted victory. But through it all, their helmets stayed on. They would stay on until the prisoners were assembled and arrayed. With a single word from him and they reformed their companies, reshouldered their rifles and began to advance upon the Mandalorians. “Collect their weapons, separate them by sex and race, then sit them down. Take their damned helmets off.” The hundred so remaining Mandalorians, in their precious beskar'gam, or shoddy plastoid imitation of it in some cases, were so divided, and sat against the long white walls of the museum with their helmets at their feet. It was then and only then that Delta gave the orders for his own troops to take off their helmets. He twisted, pulled and placed the well worn helmet on its hook on his hip, and handed his rifle to Landgraf, who accepted its burden with some degree of reluctance. This was when the dirty work would begin. The necessary, but dirty work. He crouched in front to the first prisoner that he came across, feeling the weariness in his legs cry out in protest as he did so. The Mandalorian was a young man, barely out of his teens, with the triple hash of the Kyr'tsad Death Watch on his shoulder pauldron in bright red. The man looked up defiantly and Delta grinned widely. “Name?” “Natha son of Pathe sir.” “Good to meet you son, grab your helmet and stand by miss Blacktorin there. The short redhead. Stand at attention, tell her your name, age, and planet of birth, and wait for me to return. Got it?” Natha nodded his head and stood, taking his helmet, and walking to Tares Blacktorin, who recorded his information on her blood stained datapad. Delta looked at his men, tired and barely standing, but they looked on in cold amusement. Delta walked to the next sitting mandalorian, who bore the same marks of Kyr'tsad, but she would not meet his eyes, the shame of surrender mumbling her words as she answered his questions. “Name?” “Athena daughter of Hadriau sir.” “You will join Miss Landgraf over there, leave your helmet where it lays. Come now miss, don’t let the defeat get to you too much. Hip hop and chin up.” She went and stood, head downcast, near the black haired Landgraf, who looked back at Delta with eyes that showed no emotion at all. And it was in this way Delta divided the prisoners. The defiant and the arrogant to one side, and the defeated or crying to the other. Child soldiers though few, and mostly those that would have been on the crashed mandalorian ships, were sent to stand with the defiant soldiers who were Proud in their surrender. Delta held up his hand and the scattered squads of soldiers fell in beside him as he walked to Landgraf’s group. She strode forward, saluted and fell in line beside, the rest of the soldiers from Lima One, watching from their guardposts around the prisoners. Delta held out his hand to Landgraf who placed his rifle back into it and he checked its charge, a full fifty rounds of spin sealed tibanna gas and energy. His voice was low, but all could hear it in the still silence of the aftermath of battle. “Begin.” He brought his rifle up to bear on the mass of men and women, unarmed, in front of him. Some with tears still on their shocked faces. Those commandos beside him dropped into a crouch and as one unit, poured a relentless merciless stream of fire into the defenseless prisoners. It took seconds to finish the task, but Delta let his finger depress until the whine of the energy cartridge and lack of recoil brought his rifle down to his side. Then he turned and walked away towards the distant landing shuttles of the Sith fleet. He did not look back and he did not feel a thing. “The rest of you, fall in with my men and board the transports. You are in the Sith military now. Do not think of them. They are your past. We are your future.” ((Jax, join me on the transport and react to what you saw the company of Sith soldiers do. See if you can make several paragraphs of it.))

Flying debris pelted against his armour in waves, mostly small dust like particles that filled every crevasse in his suit, but some pea sized stones and then even larger chunks as well. He and his squads dodged most of the things that their HUD screamed at him to avoid, but several bits of transparisteel, shattered in some explosion or perhaps even in the original moonfall and not having been beat to dust yet, sliced deep gauges in their armour. Some men were wounded from the intermittent blasts of plastoid fragments, or duracrete chunks, but still they jogged on. The Medperanazine was having its daunting effect, slowing the desire to eat or rest, filling them with latent energy, and allowing them to run full tilt the several kilometers it took through the hellmaze Coruscant's ruins. The feeling was euphoric, the pure rush that carried the whole of the Lima One Commandos close to their objective with a certain heedlessness that upon any kind of reflection was very bad for their health. Delta knew that very well, but also knew that the only thing that mattered to the Sith and the Lords of the Triumvirate were the successes of the mission. That came first, then came the lives of those men and women he had shared the better part of a decade with. He would reflect on that, he was sure for many sleepless nights to come. “Stemmerpol report.” This was to the Medic, who nodded his helmeted head and snapped open the protective covering of his mounted datapad. He made several finger swipes then looked back at his commanding officer. “Stims come down in a little less than four hours. Then we can pass out another kit, but we are at crash time then.” “Solid copy.” Delta held up his hand and then directed his comm frequency to all of members of Lima One. “Take a moment to breathe, objective is close, beyond this block of scrapers. Keep low and together, Upon receiving fire, identify, report and engage. Understood?” The squad leaders indicated their agreement and Delta walked into what remained of the command units huddle. He saw a soldier, small, with a red dusty handprint on top of her helmet, and gave her a brief hug. Blacktorin returned it, and along with Landgraf, Katharis, and Linebris he walked the group to the edge of one of the giant empty buildings. They were his last remaining commanders from his shattered unit. The later comers had been separated by the initial drop and though having lacked positive engagement with the enemy, they bore their own wounds. Out of an initial strike group of over a hundred and twenty men, Lima One was reduced to just below sixty. All wounded to varying degrees but still very capable. Each squad was now composed of a heavy weapons specialist and three riflemen, and every several squads a medic or fire support team with their large transportable repeating rifles. Delta walked by each squad as they gathered in the darkness below one of the memorials to the old galaxy, a megalith of humanity that stretched near enough out of the heavens. Now empty of all life but a few service droids, relentlessly attempting to vacuum out all the dust. There was something symbolic there, but Delta was no great orator, nor did the men need such. His presence and sacrifice was theirs. And it was only a little longer until it was all over. He made sure every man had taken enough water, and when they had, he and they began their approach through the empty streets. Rifles up, weapons trained for the ever illusive Mandalorian. But in the back of his head, Delta knew the futility of it all. This planet was damned.

The frantic waving of the comms officer told Delta all he needed to know. He kicked his tired body into gear, pushing himself to make the last ten meters to the soldier without collapsing. Most of his units were still hunkered down, rifles and automatic weapons trained at the distant entrance to the power generator. Their cold faceless visors tracked his run, and he could feel their fear through the thin plates of durasteel and transparisteel. Would this be more orders to fight and die for an objective they were never going to see? Would this be the final orders telling them to get out of the hellhole of Coruscant? They couldn’t tell, but their hopes rose to a marvelous height as their commander plugged his comm cable into the backpack and listened to the broadcast. The Comm officer withdrew a durapad™ datapad from his side pack and after also plugging that into the high frequency data line showed his commander the running transmission from Hellkite. Delta cocked his head to the side and listened, paused a moment to watch the current objectives, then looked at the large swath of tired soldiers in front of him. Was this enough? Would this bring him back his glory? He activated the isolation feature on his HUD, allowing only Hellkite to hear his response. There really was not much choice. “Feed us coordinates, and transport.” He felt a pang of regret before he shoved it back down into his stomach. This would be his only chance to redeem himself, and he needed to make it good. Most of his friends were already wounded or down, and the issued helmets had just as dehumanizing effect to him as the enemy. Or maybe it was because he knew only his men could do the job. For his conscience’s sake he chose that last one and then deselected the isolation. He looked back down at the screen then killed the feed. He didn’t need to see another sith lord fight. He had seen it enough, and though he loved his Lord, he did not need to revel in the fact that he was simply fodder while the big players fought on the galactic chessboard. He handed the durapad back to the comm officer and turned to his men. He waved his arm around him and squad leaders came running. When he had a dozen soldiers gathered around from Lima One he reached up and took off his helmet. The stale air hit him first, then the smell of blown apart bodies and blood. But the gesture had the right effect, and one by one his soldiers followed suit. He looked them in their eyes, showing them his tiredness and his resolution. “We are once again called to do our duty elsewhere. One last hurrah, then we are homebound. Casualties are being flown out. New Objective is three klicks galactic north. Understood?” Sigrid Hensi, with the fierce blue hair and pale pink features of a Zeltron raised her fist in salute and question. She had been with him since right after Baspin’s fall, and had been the leader of the SOA aboard the Calpto and was currently in charge of the Anti-Vehicle attachment of Lima One. Her voice sounded parched and tired. “Men are wiped sir.” Delta nodded, his face looking even graver as he made another decision. “Squad medics pass out once dose of Medperanazine per soldier. That’ll keep us ‘til after op wrap. Understood?” She nodded, and the faces of his squad leaders looked apprehensive but agreeable. A single dose of high yield amphetamines would keep them on their toes and wipe out the exhaustion in the squads, but it also carried much more risks than most were comfortable with. Orders were orders. And so with stern looks under their ‘T’ visors, the medics issued hypos of Medperanazine as the soldiers packed up their gear for the tactical withdrawal from the caverns. As they breeched the surface Delta pressed the capsule to his neck and winced as the needle sunk home. The needle dumped three liquid ounces of concentrate into his bloodstream, and as it took hold he let the capsule drop to the dusty ground. New life sprang into his tired muscles as he placed his helmet back onto his head. He took two large breaths, letting the drug take hold, then he beckoned to his men and they ran back out into the moonfall.

The firefight was intense, the sound of ordinance popping through the sound dampeners on his helmet, the recoil of the blaster rifle as it kicked against his shoulder pauldron. Three lightly armoured Ishi Tib took the brunt of the automatic fire from the thickset mandalorian, bits of plastoid, mixed with blue black blood spattered him like clods of dirt. Marking over the dark red blood of his friend, and adding another layer of grime from the hours long conflict. Delta could feel the tiredness beginning to ache at his bones and muscles. When the firing at last ceased, Delta let the rifle fall into low ready, resting his arms and relying on the sling to take the rifle’s weight. “Lima One, Hotel Two. Lima One Command. Status report.” Squad leaders sounded off as the last bit of smoke and dust in the cavernous expanse settled down into the vivid, jagged lighting of rifle mounted glowrods. Some of which were unmoving and half buried by explosive debris. Delta made sure that his comm was triggered off, before moving up to gaze at the deceased Mandalorian female that he had escorted here. She may have been pretty once. He muttered a curse and walked up to the remnants of his squad. Landgraf was applying pressure to a nasty wound on one of her commandos, and he could dimly see the bright yellow of her eyes staring at him behind her ‘T’ visor. The reality was there, this was a fruitless mission, and would take more hours to complete and many more men. Men he did not want to give up for these foolish mandalorians. He set his Jaw and nodded to her. He strode to the tunnel entrance and assessed the damage to the enemy positions and how far the enemy objective was away. Only a mere several hundred meters, but it was through more killzones, more traps, more mandalorian fools. He pointed to one of the commandos who carried a heavy pack on his back. Giving the sign for him to bring his comm pack over to him. The man saluted then dutifully turned allowing Delta access to the high power comm station that would be able to penetrate the caves twists and turns and reach the main sith command fleet. Delta pulled out the comm pin connector and its wire from his armour and plugged it into the terminal on the pack. He looked at his HUD for a second, punched in the required key command for direct access and hailed his superior officer. The comm spun for an irritating amount of time as the device attempted an encryption handshake with the comm receiver on the Victory Class Star Destroyer Hellkite. It took almost ten seconds before the three beeps of the communication array announced that the unit had made connection. “Hellkite Actual, Lima One Command.” The voice that responded was filled with static and a little hostility. “Go ahead Lima One.” His blue eyes looked at the hand signals that Landgraf was holding up. “We are experiencing higher than accounted casualties. Requesting application of heavy ordinance. Structural integrity of the target area is minimal.” Several heavy strikes of siege torpedoes or nuclear busters would finish the job with more sincerity then another whole platoon of fresh soldiers would. They could bring the whole mess of duracrete down on the heads of whatever waited for them in the power generator with just a few well applied munitions. Lima One had taken enough losses, secured the objective’s entrance and scoped the area. This would surely be enough. “Understood Lima One. Sending your request up the admiralty.” “Lima One Copies, we await your decision.” Delta unplugged his comm cable and ordered the soldier to monitor the frequency as he returned to his command frequency. They needed to secure the area and prepare for a negative answer either way. “Secure the area and prepare for another push.” He shouldered his blaster rifle again and fell in with his men as they fanned out in the cavern to find any further resistance.

Delta shrugged his heavily armoured shoulders, as the woman began to talk about things she did not know. Inwardly he smiled, hidden behind his visor and helmet at her last refusal. It was pathetic really, refusing a chance at redemption with death so very near. But Delta could not find it within himself to care. Sure she was beautiful, but there was plenty of beautiful flesh available after a battle, and the Sith had the balustrades of their halls packed full with clingers on that had nothing but their flesh to offer. Delta could feel the lack of his own conscience like an empty page in a book. But it was better this way in the end. He had men to take care of and the mandalorians be damned. If they believed in Arasuum and Kad Ha’Rangir they would join them in death and entropy. For Delta had seen the real power, not in Gods of men and petty religions, but in the Spider. In a man in ascendance who had toppled empires and republics. When such a man existed, who needed gods? And that Spider demanded much, and offered his redemption freely. He had no need for other gods or morals. Strength through arms was enough for him. Mandalorians be damned. Their culture was the epitome of weakness. They had fallen apart at a death of a single woman at the hands of a Jedi Knight. A kriffing child. Delta could feel disdain take the place of pity in his mind, and a silent hatred rose in his chest. The hatred of a man looking on rats that had raided his pantry and were now stuck to the glue of traps and completely at his whim. The hatred that dehumanized, the hatred that Delta fully embraced. “Then die you fooli-” The woman fell to a crouch and Landgraf’s blaster bolt sizzled through the air above her head. The Ex BJlack Sun commando cursed and brought the stock of her rifle to her shoulder and dropped into a crouch to get a better shot on the escaping mandalorian. But it was too late. She had tackled one of the squid headed marines and pitched him into a trap. Delta held her gaze with a silent look of disgust. Watching her eyes until her body had been shredded by the explosive fury of several high yield mines. One mandalorian was down, three IShi Tibs, and now there was a hole in his forward defense those bastards would very likely exploit. “Covering fire! Prepare for assault!” There was only one reason to trigger the trap now. Landgraf’s cool voice carried with it a tremble of fear as she alerted the remaining elements of Lima One that had made it into the cave that they were about to receive some kind of attack. Half the support company had already dropped to cover at the first blaster bolt, the rest at the explosion that had taken the lives of some valiant marines. Then three positions opened up with streams of blaster fire and a few grenades. The bouncing explosives detonated in the front lines of marines and scattered them in an explosion of bright light and shredding shrapnel. Delta could feel a ping of metal off his armour as he fell prone and began to return fire. There seemed to be only three positions and their fire was meager compared to the large amount of sith troopers in the area, but it was enough to slow them down and nibble away at their lives. The bastards. Delta triggered his mic on with a press of his chin. Filling his trooper’s ears with his voice. “Marines, hold position and return fire, Lima One, ordinance on those positions.” Delta’s HUD clearly marked the positions of the three mandalorians and their bolts and fire easily marked them to those without the expensive HUD systems. Behind him two groups of Lima One were beginning their moves as the Ishi Tib poured their fire towards the positions. Clear the backblast area! The familiar call filled the interunit comms as the three separated two man squads checked the rear funnel of their HH-15 launchers and their spacing before firing a missile each at the enemy positions. One of the soldiers was hit mid firing and his missile went wild into the roof of the large expanse. But at least two were on target and the three kilogram explosive rockets would do significant damage, but the miss was followed up on by several underbarrel grenades fired by two soldiers in the ishi tib marines. As the explosions echoed throughout the caverns with blinding light, Delta stood and began his rush. “Push god damn you!” And as one, the mass of soldiers sprinted forward to exploit the work of their heavy weapon operators, to overwhelm and slaughter the few mandalorians. He stepped over the bloody carcass of the foolish girl, and led his men into the breach.

Delta’s eyes narrowed as the EOD team disabled the next placed trap, holding the woman in front of him like a shield of mandalorian iron and tender flesh. Elements of Lima One and Hotel Two were advancing in behind him, taking cover before letting the next line advance, teams of four branching out to clear adjacent tunnels as they wound their way towards the power generator. When the passageways began to expand out into a vast complex, Delta motioned to his team. It was important to avoid being flanked especially while in the heart of the enemy encampment, the generator was close and so it was time to switch tactics. He let him men pass in front of him as they advanced, spreading out into fireteams to cover the vast debris filled space. He motioned to Landgraf, and the female took the captive mandalorian in tow, her blaster rifle in place at the back of the woman’s head. If ever there would be an ambush it would be here. There had been enough time to set something elaborate up even. He let the dull red glow of his ‘T’ visor survey the stubborn mandalorian as he passed the woman over. <”I am Mandalorian, you can trust or not. You die uselessly or not. You have showed little honour or desire to be redeemed. Mock as you will. You can be saved or you cannot. You and yours can attack my men, kill a few then be disgraced. I care not. Your body will remain warm enough after the blaster discharges. Salvation and honour exists, but only for the victor. You have a choice, now make it.”> He motioned to Landgraf who grinned beneath her helmet biting off a laugh at her commanding officer. She was not used to seeing him so causally cruel. But the Ishi Tib Marines were looking for spoils. The laugh was soft but vicious as the heavy support company entered the cave, their heavy weapons wishing to be used against anything but moonfall. Lima One, the Devil Hounds were finally on location and they were eager for combat. The company had sustained heavy casualties, but they were a united enough force to be effective. And the objective was very close. Delta looked back at the Mandalorian then to his advancing companies.

The tunnel interior was thick with dust kicked up by recently fired munitions, traps, and the general explosive nature of coruscant itself after a moonfall. The dust made thick paste of the exposed blood that had covered Delta’s chest, covering most of the insignia that emblazoned almost every surface with the crooked spider of the God King of the Sith with thick red rust. The dust coated his faceplate and visor enough that he had to pause and pull an aide bandage from his belt pouch and thoroughly scrub over the ‘T’ visor to remove the dust as it began to seriously hinder his ability to see in the low light of the tunnels. A few of the Marines from Hotel two, keeping a judicious distance behind dimly illuminated the area in front of them with their weapon mounted lights. They pushed on a few meters until the woman froze and finally spoke. He slackened his pressure on her back and gestured behind him for one of the approaching Lima One commandos, whose voices he could hear echoing down behind him. His Mandalorian was rusty and antiquated as he responded, his voice rasping out of the mic grill of his helmet that was partially coated in the sticky paste of bloody dust. <”We come to restore order and to rebuild.”> He harkened back to the Mandalorian religion, one that had been drilled into him with prejudice by his ARC trainers. <”We cannot allow this world to lay in the arms of Arasuum. Or to lie fallow. This is the capital of the Galaxy, it should be the shining city, not a wasteland.”> He referenced the God of sloth, of whom the crusaders were very likely to despise as much as he. It was a gamble at finding rapport with the woman, but it was worth the shot. “Captain, Langraf and strike group three reporting sir.” Delta smiled as the voice boomed down the tunnel behind him. He held up a hand and pointed to the trip mine as he brought the mandalorian woman and himself backwards away from any blast as two of his soldiers went to work, checking the monofilament, then setting a directional charge against the exposed mine before retreating back behind the corner before the charge safely detonated the mine. Delta nodded his thanks to the EOD crew and began to push the woman in front of him again while his troops formed an advancing cover behind him. There were likely very many more traps ahead. <”Girl it does no one any good to die for no reason. The forces of the Sith are overwhelming, I promise there will be no reprisals if your men decided they wanted to be on the winning side.”>