Whispering Abyss

((Narrative backpost)) It had all gone according to plan. The double agent Hawke had planted in Keldabe had sabotaged defensive positions at the exact right time. The Sith troops, reinforced by Death Watch commandos, surged through the gaps, razing everything they could as they quickly surged to their goal: the spaceport. Hawke himself had killed a Mandalorian defender here and there, knowing enough about their armor to shoot them in their lesser-protected limbs to first cripple them rather than wasting rounds on their armor plating. With the spaceport secured, as well as the surrounding anti-aircraft weaponry disabled, the Sith could begin landing fresh troops and supplies directly to Keldabe, flushing the Mandalorians from their entrenchments. Hawke tried raising the Sith forces on comm frequencies, but was met with static. Each comm frequency he tried that came back with nothing, his stomach churned a little more. What had happened? Ab'ki was never wrong, she had foreseen victory. She had personally sent him here to... But that was the other thing, too. She was known to lie and sacrifice the unworthy. Those in her inner circles were supposed to be above such treachery, but whatever she'd wanted here was big enough to lay all her cards on the table. Hawke taking Keldabe wasn't an important critical keystroke in taking the system, it was a distraction. He was the distraction. Blaster and slugthrower fire began slowly intensifying outside the spaceport. Above, several ships began breaking through the clouds, none of Sith design. He was the distraction, and an expendable one at that. The battle began to rage, and slowly the number of his troops began to dwindle, and despite it all Hawke sat on a cargo crate in the middle of the spaceport and began to chuckle. He'd had such lofty aspirations, but this was how it ended, on some backwater little farming mud ball that the Mandalorians called home. It had all gone according to plan. Just not his plan. The one thing he could control, though, was dying on his own terms. Without another thought, Hawke put the barrel of his sidearm in his mouth and swiftly pulled the trigger, his light snuffed fast enough to not have to deal with the sound and the mess.

As the transport touched down, word reached Hawke that the first ritual site had fallen. The second was in a similar situation, the reinforcements crumbling fast. Defenses there were light, anyways, most were still concentrated at the main war camp, but only enough to keep the Mandalorians occupied while the surgical strike on Keldabe's spaceport was underway. If they could eliminate the anti-aircraft guns and secure a landing zone, the inbound reinforcements would have an easy foothold to flood the city and wash the warrior farmers from their lands in rivers of their own blood. Hopefully the breadcrumb trail from the ritual sites would lure them into an entrenched combat with the main Sith force, delaying their best fighting forces from returning to the city in a timely fashion. And everything hinged on a few key components. Asset Epsilon Theta was an inside man, a Mandalorian fighting hard within Keldabe, secretly loyal to the cult with a small splinter cell. They had all killed their fair share of Sith troops, leaving outside observers none the wiser. Terra had relayed instructions in her prior incursion into the city, and critical defense points were already wired with hidden explosives. As a red flare was shot up from the river banks, it was answered with the bright orange blossoms of myriad explosions. Hawke and the rest of the Death Watch commandos activated their repulsorpacks, and the assault began.

Steam rose from the forest floor and permeated both combat sites, a reddish sort of cloud, mostly what happens when blood is heated suddenly. The cultists were being slaughtered en masse, gladly giving their lives for a cause that didn't care about them. The waste was sickening, but what was truly sickening was grenade blasts atomizing or cooking large puddles of blood, leading to the sort of blood mist that would hang in the damp air and stain the armor of those walking through it. Some would fear it was a Sith trick, but the reality of the situation was far more simple and grim. The Death Watch commandos fought hard, meeting their former kin with every bit of strength and tenacious blood lust the Mandalorians offered up in kind, but the fact of the matter was they were outnumbered. Mandalorians closed in on both sites, but still the children remained, and still the chanters recited their liturgies through the cacophanous howls of raging combat on their doorsteps. Their faith was pure. The Mandalorians would fall. They would scrabble like rats against the great walls of the Sith, but they would be swept away with the floodwaters of blood and bile that the Sith would run through the streets of their enemies. Where one plan failed, another would succeed; where one chanter fell, a fresh, smoking hole bored clean through his skull, his brother beside him clung fast to the ideals that in the end, the Mandalorians would fall. For so Ab'ki had proclaimed, and thus it would be, nevermind the incessant forward momentum of their adversary. Meanwhile, Hawke had donned his own combat armor, joining the commando squads that were preparing to flank and insert. If this last gambit didn't work, all was lost. But only the Colonel knew that...others had suspected, but still held to the idea that his strategies would win the day. How naive and stupid they had all been. Hawke was beginning to see the truth in the thing through the multitudinous layers of falsehoods...they had all been played. This was a game, and he had played his part well. Feint, parry, attack, retreat, repeat. In the end, it only mattered that one won, and that one certainly wasn't him. But he wouldn't allow his blind misfortune to turn him from his duty...he was here, and he would make the best of it. Transport engines fired, and the commandos were on the move.

A stick snapping loudly under the feet of a novice Mandalorian combatant was seemingly all the warning they got. Almost as one, a battle cries sounded out in the forest, and from spots near the paths the Mandalorians had taken, shirtless crazed beings of every size and shape rose up, shirtless, mostly male, many covered in mud, all holding grenades of some type. Sensor netting covered in leaves had concealed the hiding spots of the brainwashed madmen, hiding between six and ten at a time in small trenches in the forest floor. Targeting the juggernauts and clusters of troops, they charged, fueled by insanity and hatred. Up ahead, closer to the ritual sites, more cultists concealed themselves in tree branches, and at the sites themselves a small group of death watch commandos awaited to guard the remaining cultists performing the ritual, as well as the most vital part...the sacrificial children. One particular cultist near Mellanie held an ovoid device in one hand, metallic and smooth, but a grenade it was not, despite the cultist thinking otherwise. Tripping on a root, the cultist slung the device accidentally, hurtling it well out of the blast radius of the thermal detonator held in the other hand, letting it fly in a neat arc to tink against her armor. Why the gods favored people with such luck, or even the very meaning of the sequence of events was highly unknown, but it was an interesting enough device that seemed to almost say, "Hey. Pick me up. I'm important." In time, she would come to realize just what it was and what it was capable of, but in the heat of combat, there would be little time more than to just wonder for a brief moment before stuffing it into a pouch for later. ----------------------------------------------- Meanwhile, blasts from the suicidal cultists had begun to creep closer to the command tent. Hawke was sweating bullets, knowing this was it. This was the master stroke that would work. Had to work. Ab'ki had foreseen this all, hadn't she? At least, that's what she said when sending him here...this was to be the victory that would bring the Mandalore system to its knees.

Hawke watched the forward movement on his hospitable intently. In retreat, his troops had left several sensor pods, along with a myriad of booby traps to include landmines, tripwire mines, monofilament wire, and gravity plates with thermal detonators. However, he knew it would only slow them. No matter, it would all serve his advantage in the end, giving him time to prepare and maneuver.

((LEEEET'S DOOO THE TIIIIME WAAARP AGAAAAAIN)) The day wore on, and as the minutes ticked by, Hawke looked more and more pale. The Inquisitor made himself seen, but reserved his gloating to smug looks he ensured Hawke saw. If the goal was to unsettle the Sith commander, the Inquisitor was certainly succeeding. No matter how many soldiers Hawke poured at the city, they held. For a moment, Hawke thought he could gain a foothold, but some large unidentified walker had strolled out of Keldabe and started laying waste to his forces, and it was all Hawke could do to route his own troops accordingly in order to prevent being pushed back. But now...he needed to. For now, Keldabe could breathe. It was time for unconventional tactics, and the Sith had them in spades. Already the cultists had begun their chants as the sun was setting, the Dark Side stirring between the two ritual sites. It wasn't something Hawke could really feel except for a slight gnawing feeling of dread in his gut. But if he could feel it, then so could the Mandalorians...and they were the ones who really needed to worry. Or so Hawke thought. If the ritual completed, all their lives would be forfeit, for the glory of the Sith. Something the Cultists had conveniently neglected to tell him...like he'd conveniently neglected to tell the mercenaries and pirates when he'd first sent them into battle. Smoke popped all across the fields of battle, creating a smokescreen and sensor baffling particle field to cover the retreat of the soldiers. For while they might have pulled back, the battle wasn't over.

Word was sent to Terra on where to deliver her hostages. The cultists were preparing, the sites already cleared. Two separate sites, spread several kilometers apart. As the cultists lit the fires and incense, the Dark side stirred, the unholy influences spreading like a plague across the surface of Mandalore. Black smoke spiraled up from the fires, but dissipated once several feet aloft, as if by some dark will. The Mandalorians would not have an easy marker to find and disrupt the cult. And while Hawke didn't understand and couldn't appreciate what the cultists were doing, he still allowed it, hoping they could somehow turn the tides. Many soldiers had died already, and if fighting like this kept up much longer, failure was in sight. And under Ab'ki...failure was not a pleasant way to seal your own death. He'd ordered the cultists armed with more than their rudimentary vibroblades, the savage zealots having access to grenades and blasters, if they wished. One site was to be protected by Terra, the other reinforced with a few of the more stalwart zealots the cult had to offer, who had already seen combat and each taken the blood of an enemy of Ab'ki. The Inquisitor referred to them as 'the blessed', but their situation was hardly a blessing.

Hawke thumbed a flashing comm button on the battle display, popping up a hologram of a forward observer. "Report." "Sir, 87% of targeted enemy emplacements have been destroyed or damaged beyond immediate usability. Six of our own artillery guns were too close to the skirmish and were targeted by the Mandalorians, now destroyed. Troops report heavy resistance moving forward, but forward progress is still being made. No report back from Red Company." "Have the artillery cease fire, mortar units can join with the infantry push or target fortified positions along the perimeter. Order the remaining artillery units to move their positions and go dark until further orders." "Sir?" "Don't question me, Lieutenant. I don't want a pile of rubble, I want Keldabe. Ab'ki wants Keldabe." "Yes, sir!" The hologram fizzled out, and Hawke sat back. He could destroy them utterly, but that isn't what Ab'ki wanted. If Red Company was successful in their mission, it would open up for a push to establish a foothold in the city itself, which would be highly useful in the near future. Still, the zealots that had come with him ensured him it wouldn't be necessary, as victory would be secured with a Sith sacrificial ritual. Hawke didn't place much value in the Force, but it couldn't hurt to let the zealots have their fun. Preparations were already underway, and Blackwraith was already busy securing sacrifices for them. Everything according to plan.

The wake up call was not gentle. Like rolling thunder, a cacophony of ear-splitting explosions rippled through Keldabe as the twilight wore on into morning. Artillery strikes from deep in the forests rained down, targeting specifically the emplaced artillery and anti-aircraft guns within the city, intending to cripple the long range capabilities of the Mandalorians. At the least, it would dull their teeth a bit against the main assault force the Sith began to employ. Moving strategically, trained and battle-hardened soldiers began crossing the field covered by snipers, a far cry from the mercenaries that had been sent in the day prior. Squads moved to establish hasty cover as they advanced so reinforcements coming from behind would be able to slip to the front lines unhindered and largely protected from light artillery like rockets and mortar shrapnel. The advance was slow, but methodical and seemed ominously unstoppable. Slowly, the field began to turn into a hedge maze of metal, machine blaster emplacements firing up and peppering the city perimeter as the range became viable. If the Mandalorains thought this was going to be easy based on yesterday's events, they were going to be sorely mistaken. Back in the command tent, Hawke eyed the holographic display of the battlefield keenly as he sipped caf from an insulated mug. All they needed now was a foothold. He still had a full hand to play, and the siege was still in its opening moves. If this went well, the city...even the planet would be his within two days, at most.

Major Wolfe hated this planet, every single thing about it made him long for a starship. He was originally born in space, and missed the clean deckplates and the smell of the recycled air. There was no sickening mud in space. But...he was here to do his duty, and he would see that through to the end. Terra approached with the rest of her ragtag team, still dirty and grimy from the front lines, and Wolfe did the best he could to stifle a grimace as he handed her a datapad outlining the details of her planned operation. "Beta team will be with you, ma'am. You are to assault Keldabe as the battle starts, not giving away your position until you hear the signal. High Priest Daystrom has requested that you return with a few targets, he has something...'special' planned, as he put it. Other than that, you are to hit hard and cause as much tactical confusion as possible, and if able, pass this message to asset Epsilon Theta." Wolfe produced a code cylinder for her, handing it over. "If contact can't be made, the drop point is detailed on the datapad. Operation Helter Skelter begins at 0300 hours. Questions?"

Flint narrowed his non dominant eye as he focused intently, tracking the enemy sniper through his scope. After a moment, she rose a bit, aiming an ascension gun, exposing her head. Slowly, Flint exhaled, drawing a proper bead, his finger tightening on the trigger. At the last second, he saw the grenade thrown by TeVerd falling towards him, exploding in the air and covering him and the bush he used for cover with lit, sticky, incendiary slime. The immediate sensations of his charred flesh caused his shot to go wide again, and he would never take another shot ever again. The screams echoed across the battlefield briefly before going silent. ------------------------------------------------- The mercenary forces were thinning, absent now in some spots on the assault line on the perimeter of the city. Groups of the mercenaries surged a final time, trying to gain a foothold in the city, while still others retreated to the treeline, met with blaster fire from the main Sith forces after they had made it into the forest a ways. After all, it was cheaper to kill the ineffective mercs rather than pay them for failure. It was unlikely they would be an effective bolster for remaining troops as it was, anyways.

((Versus Kaylani)) The mercenaries came, like an ocean they flowed from the forest, but as they neared the city their numbers had been shredded down significantly. Those who were sufficiently armed to suppress the Mandalorians, did, using heavy blaster rifles or disruptor rifles or even slugthrowers to push them back behind cover so the mercenaries could advance. Even so, mortar rounds quickly began to shred pockets of the advancing mercs, and they couldn't even return sufficient fire until they were within grenade launcher range. Very quickly, the line of attack became messy with blaster fire and explosions, bodies of both Mandalorians and many more mercenaries falling to the dirt with each passing moment. Drell was armed with a holdout blaster, his rifle ammunition spent long ago. The young man was barely twenty, and had signed on to the mercenary unit for action and adventure, but never imagined he'd be here, now. Somehow, he'd made it to the Mandalorian line, the rest of his team either shot or fragged behind him, their blood now watering the soil. Somehow, he'd gotten lucky. Still, he knew he would likely be shot if he turned back, as his commander had been killed and there was no way he could explain wanting to retreat. Taking a deep breath, he rose from his cover, and ran forwards, holdout blaster drawn. Somehow, he'd managed to flank and sneak up on one of the Mandalorians along the perimeter ((Kaylani)), and he hesitated. It was different shooting at them from far away. But up close and personal, this was a person. Another living, breathing being. "S-stop! Hands up!" A heavy blaster bolt then caught Drell in his neck, knocking him sideways off his feet and killing him instantly, his body merely a lifeless corpse by the time it hit the ground. Drell's luck had run out. War was hell. More mercenaries rushed their position, some armed with blasters, some with vibroblade weapons, some with both. A concussion grenade was thrown, and landed near the Mandalorian emplacement. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ((Versus Tresha)) Flint spat as he stared through his scope across the field, concealed neatly in a medium-sized bush. The idiots ran forward, he did not. They would die, he would not, of that he was confident. Of course, he would get his kills and collect his bounty. Methodically, he picked his targets one by one, all of them distracted by the rushing onslaught of mercs, none of them picking out the green lancing shots that arced from the woodline to catch their comrades in the chest or head. The high powered sniping blaster's bolts mingled in with the rest of the fire headed at them, and it was hard to really pick it out unless they were looking for it. And they usually didn't have a second chance to look for it. That changed, however, when Flint spotted a Mando on a rooftop, drawing a bead on her as she set up her own position. An enemy sniper. How fitting. As Flint pulled the trigger, a small creature running through the underbrush behind him startled Flint a bit, causing his shot to not be quite true, rather impacting the edge of the roof where the Mandalorian had set up. Cursing under his breath, Flint kept aiming, waiting for an opening. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Report, Captain." Hawke's voice was calm, reassuring. Captain Lear didn't share that level of calm being so close to the front lines for the first time, and his voice barely trembled over the explosions and blaster fire audible in the distance. The encrypted holocomm display flickered as a boom was heard near the command camp, though it was likely just another starfighter shot down from the battle continuously raging overhead. "Initial telemetry is clean, sir, we managed to track the salvos of several of their emplaced guns, to include many of their AA batteries. It seems the Mandos are far better equipped here than initial intelligence seemed to suggest, which lines up with your suspicions." Colonel Hawke smiled. This was good news. Soon, the Mandalorians would be nigh defenseless against his assault, and would be vulnerable to defeat well before any of their major reinforcements were expected to arrive. "Very good, Captain. Return to the FOB. Your next task will be to help High Priest Vennec assemble a number of ritual sites. He wishes to perform a forbidden sacrament that will hopefully gather the darkness enough to bring them to their knees, or so he tells me." "Yes sir. Thank you, sir. Lear out." The holocomm display fizzled out. Hawke didn't know exactly what Vennec was trying to do, but at the least it would provide a much needed morale boost to the men. A message also came in notifying him that asset Blackwraith had joined the battle. Hopefully she would realize quickly that this initial skirmish was a mostly fruitless endeavor, though if not Hawke wouldn't lose sleep. Though she technically ranked as his equal, she was already a part of Ab'ki's inner circle, whereas he was not, and he wouldn't mind her death as it would likely mean an opening he could possibly slip into. Still, he sent out a request for her to be told to retreat to the FOB. Tomorrow was to be a busy day, and everything was moving according to plan.

Night turned to morning, and the Mandalorians had not advanced out of their city. They were smarter than Hawke had initially gave them credit for, as he'd already identified several areas to set up ambushes for an advancing army and would easily be able to trounce them even on their home planet. But, that was not the case. They had fortified in the city, and as such the situation more or less demanded a siege. Well...a kind of siege, anyways. The situation in the planet's orbit was an interesting one. Mercenary starfighters had superiority one moment, and the Mandalorians rallied and drove them back again and again. Hawke marveled at their tenacity and staying power, bravely rejoining the fight again and again when they were horrifically outnumbered. The day was spent with starfighters and escape pods raining down from the heavens, usually resulting in an explosion, near or far. As nightfall approached, it became dark enough to look up and see laser cannons fire flash back and forth between the far off specks, along with the occasional large flash of a concussion missile or the like. Had it not been hundreds losing their lives, it would have been beautiful. Hawke found himself quietly contemplating the tactical map of the area, trying to decide the best method of initial contact based on the terrain. "Heresy grows from idleness, Colonel." The edges of Hawke's mouth turned ever so slightly downward as the familiar snakelike voice all but sent a chill down his spine. He spoke up, his eyes never leaving the map. "Heresy is not found in victory, Inquisitor, and victory needs no explanation." Inquisitor Shaadthorn, Third Priest of the Cult of the Whispering Abyss walked around to the other side of the table, stopping when he was opposite Hawke. "Yes, my dear Colonel, but you have yet to claim victory...and defeat allows for no explanation. May I remind you we are on the Lady Ab'ki's schedule? Your delay borders on questioning the Dark one's will." Hawke looked up, expression unchanged, but rage beginning to build in the back of his mind. "I assure you, Inquisitor, that I am innocent of that accusation. Mobilization orders are just about to be sent out now. In fact..." That was it...unwittingly, Shaadthorn had given Hawke the perfect opening gambit. Reveal your opponent by sacrificing as little as possible. "...In fact, a large contingent of the mercenaries will be the first into battle. We need not risk our battle-hardened soldiers against the Mandalorians without first knowing what they are up against. The Death's Gate will be their first test. They will be escorted by a pair of our acolytes, so as to better ensure their survivability and to more accurately asses our enemy." Shaadthorn snorted at the perceived impudence, but the Colonel's strategy was airtight. There was nothing to be done. He turned to leave, pausing at the door. "Just remember...there is no such thing as innocence, only degrees of guilt." The words stung Hawke, but he still couldn't help but smile. Anything to disarm the old weasel was worth its weight in gold. Promptly, he began sending out communications, readying the army. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- As quietly as they could, the mercenary hordes advanced through the woods, slowly taking positions along the treeline, waiting for the order to advance. That order, however, wasn't needed, as many large artillery guns began to bombard their location and all Hell broke loose. Raggedly, the mercenaries charged, shooting at who they could, attempting to dodge from what they couldn't. None of them knew this was likely a suicide mission, they had been led to believe the defending forces were much weaker. But they would be shot if they retreated, and shot if they advanced. The battleground began to soak with blood. And through it all, a group advanced, unphased by the heavy fire and explosions ringing all around them, and they would bring death with them.

The mercenary's ship stank of dirty laundry and stale beer. Colonel Marcus Hawke curled his nose as his eyes drifted away from his datapad towards what appeared to be a small pile of rotting food on the deckplate. He used to be in the Imperial Remnant, before the cult had tapped him for greatness. There, the deckplates would be near reflective, and the crew well-disciplined. At least these thugs were worth their wages, some of the meanest scoundrels the cult could afford. Hawke felt the ship shudder, and knew it had pulled out of hyperspace with the rest of the flotilla at the far edge of the Mandalore system. Picking up his pace, he made his way to the cockpit so he could brief the pilot. They were but a small splinter of Ab'ki's vast army, but this splinter was bound for the planet Mandalore itself, slotted to assault the city of Keldabe. And Hawke had been chosen to plan and execute the assault. He was almost peerless in the Remnant when it came to ground tactics and war simulations, and he intended to let his talent shine so as to appease Ab'ki and the Dark powers. If anything, he would likely earn a promotion in the organization, an esteemed place among the favored court Ab'ki kept in close company. Then he would be able to taste power, true power...but first, Keldabe. The town itself looked fairly defensible, resting on a granite hill with a large river bordering it on the west and south, and a thick forest to the north and northeast. There would be no burrowing under, it would take too long, but Darkness permitting a few bombing strikes might get through the Mandalorian anti-air defenses from above. But first, they would need a foot in the door, a beachhead to be able to reinforce themselves. That beachhead was the northern forest, dotted with just enough open fields to serve as makeshift landing areas while the Forest was thick enough to cover their advance until they were practically on top of the city. Artillery could also fire from the forest and move before return fire trajectories were calculated. It was a solid plan. Scouts on the surface had already combed the forest, identifying most if not all of the booby traps the Mandalorians had left for them. The Mandos were tough and well disciplined, but even the best army rarely goes back to check on traps. Hawke had a few other surprises waiting for them, but first, they needed to get to the surface. Thankfully, the mercenary starfighter groups had done their job, drawing the majority of the attention of the space borne defenses away from the main insertion point, which the small contingent of ships now swarmed to. The Mandalorians had alerts all over their star system to attend to, and it would be difficult to keep track of which group of ships was doing what. Thankfully, when they began their approach, the cloud cover was thick, and it was night. Perfect cover. Disappearing into the clouds, the mercenary ships began offloading troops and machinery into the forest several kilometers away from the city, and the men got to work establishing temporary outposts with command centers and comms relays. As Hawke finally stepped off his transport ship onto the moist soil of Mandalore, he smiled, inhaling deep the earthy smells with the fresh air. This would be a battle worthy of the history books.