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Nar Shaddaa


BLCKCLONE

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‘Rebel,’ he pondered the word in his head, trying it on for size. There was something about being designated a mutinous insurgent that the grizzled Imperial officer inherently disliked. The grimace on his usually hard-set face was only visible by the slight downturn of the corners of the man’s mouth. Something about being thrown in with the same pirates and scum that preyed on the hyperlanes of the outer rim was stomach churning. 
 

Standing aboard the bridge of the aged Hammerhead Cruiser , Divine Justice, Vice Admiral Nikolai Kolchak nodded to his helmsman, an equally grizzled Imperial navyman. “Take us to planet so ve can report for duty.” He instructed, “Captain Typho has con.” 
 

The naval veteran turned to leave the bridge, but before he got to the lift a voice gave him pause, “Sir you may want to see this.” As the ship began to swing about to begin her approach to Nar Shaddaa. There materializing in the viewport, the freshly minted medical task force Bloodsteele; a testament to the newfound outlook of the Empress’ empire and a sign of the times. Six frigates dedicated to fleet repair, rescue of personnel from disabled and devastated ships, and providing the best the front lines could offer when it came to medicine.

 

Vice Admiral Kolchak’s brow wrinkled. He had been told the fleet he had come to command had several newly constructed ships from across the empire. The view before him had not been what he envisioned. Coming back to defend the cores or the Empire, Kolchak had been secretly hoping that the time had come for him to take command of one of the legendary arrow-headed Star Destroyers. He had not been expecting, with his years of service in naval intelligence and fighting pirates, to get stuck guarding ships full of doctors and nurses. “It seems ve are in more difficult situation zan I vas led to believe. Vhere is Imperial gunrunners. I cannot believe medical vessels ran by smugglers.”

 

As the Hammerhead cruiser began to accelerate towards Nar Shaddaa and the awaiting medical fleet a swarm of gnat like ships began to approach from the distance. They did not seem to have any particular formation, nor did they seem to feel the need to yield to a larger vessel.

 

As Captain Typho began to veer the aged Hammerhead out of the way, the ship groaning and creaking with the effort, the ship’s comms lit up with echoes of laugher that played across the bridge, “Hahahahaha. G’day cap’n Imperial Gunrunner task force reportin’ fer assignment. Lets wipe some Sithsh** off the boots’ven the galaxy.”

 

A half amused smile flitted across Nikolai's eyes as he stepped back towards the command console. Depressing the comm button, he responded; “Vell zat is velcome if I ever saw one. Good day commander. Arrange ships and avait orders. Glad to have you.” Releasing the comm, Nikolai turned to Captain Typho, “Ve must appreciate zeal even if they are practically pirates.”  A chuckle escaped his mouth. These were more his type. He got all types in the Outer Rim, renegades, malcontents, and blood-thirsty sailors who made the holonews one too many times when on shore leave. A flurry of corvettes might be something the enemy would not expect from a seasoned Imperial commander; just what the Vice-Admiral ordered. Pirate hunting was more unorthodox and off-book anyways.

 

“But zey are not Mandalorians. I vas promised Mandalorians . . . “ Nikolai scanned the makeup of what he expected to be his newfound fleet. There definitely were no Mandalorians in sight. “Oh vell, if zey do not know ve are here; ve ought to tell zem.” Nikolai nodded to Captain Typho signaling him to notify Imperial Command they had arrived and to continue on their way towards the planet. “I vill be in room.”

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  • 2 weeks later...

Nikolai set the holofiles down on the small metallic desk jutting out of the wall of what had been deemed the commanding officer’s quarters. A bunk, a desk, and a solid-framed straight back chair; plus the coveted locking door to keep out nosey ensigns, were all the comforts a man could expect aboard a vessel such as this. Rumor had it the Empress had quite the quarters aboard her assigned ships though. The Admiral had never met the woman, just seen her at a few events or in passing. She gave the orders, and he would follow them to the end; but in Nikolai’s mind, such a person had no need to see how her will was actually carried out.

 

Sighing, the mighty man drummed his fingers in the holofiles as he looked up towards the ceiling. His metallic eye replayed the scanned documents before him as he pondered. “Barely better zen pirates,” he noted, “but zey are loyal and merciless. Perhaps pirates are vhat ve need now . . .” The thought did not sit well in Nikolai’s gut. He had seen how effective and ruthless the freelance raiders and rapscallions had been along the Outer Rim. He also knew they could turn tail at the first sign of overwhelming force. That was something he could not have. Going against a bigger and, dare he admit, more powerful, adversary, might require some unorthodox techniques though. It was a technique he had picked up during his time in Imperial Intelligence.

 

The Mandalorians assigned to his fleet though, he knew they would never back down from a fight. He might not particularly like the Mandos, but Nikolai knew better to doubt their abilities.

 

“Vithout scruples and Vithout mercy. Maybe dis is just what ze doctor has sent for order.” He smiled as he thought more and more about it.“Zey vil never know vat hit zem.” Spinning about in his chair chair, Nikolai stood and took the two strides to the comm beside the door. Depressing the button to call the bridge he spoke, “I vil be going to corvette Rebound. Notify captain to prepare for arrival.” Letting by go of the button he concluded to none bit himself, ”Until I know vat zese pirates are capable of, I vil command zem myself.”

 

——————-

 

Within the hour, Vice Admiral Nikoal Kolchak was disembarking to an awaiting crowd of decidedly unmilitary looking beings. Beards, piercings, tattoos, weapons from blasters to mine cutters hung at waists or on slings, Imperial uniforms with as many modifications as there were beings, apparently nothing was sacred. Still, at least they had assembled in what could be called an attempt at formation.

 

The Vice Admiral looked over the assembly with a raised eyebrow. It was together worse than and not as bad as he had feared.

 

Stepping up to great him with an extended hand, a rather grizzled looking man with what appeared to be permanent grease stains on his hands and face that matched those on his uniform, if it could be called that,!identified himself. “Cap’n Jobes sir. Pleasure to be workin’ under ya.”

 

Nikolai looked the man up and down before turning, ignoring the handshake, “Valk vith me captain.” He did not wait as the captain quickly shoo’d the assembked crew back to work and scurried to fall into step with the Vice Admiral. “I appreciate as much as next man some personal touches. Ve must remember zat ve serve Empress and Empire above all. I understand zat you and your men come from less zan militaristic backgrounds, but let us at least take pride in appearances.”

 

“Begging yer pardon Admiral sir, but me and my boys and girls weren’t exactly given mucha choice in all this. Still, we’re serving out of love fer the Empire and the Empress, sames you. Take us into comat along with those captured zealots in the Lifebloods and we’ll show ta we can put our experiences in the Empire’s pits te good use.” The captain had interrupted to voice his concern at the Admiral’s disdain toward them.

 

Nikolai stopped walking and turned to lock eyes with the captain, his cybernetic eyes twirling and clicking as it focused and recorded everything from the Captain’s suddenly worried look to his pulse visible pulsating in a protruding vein. “I have read files Captain. Your records speak for zemselves. Ve are not in pits. Ve are fighting trained enemy. Ve vil make zem suffer dearly. All i vant is zat ve look ze part. Historically ze Empire’s mere presence, stormtroopers to Star Destroyers, vas enough to placate entire systems. Let reputation do half battle and ve do rest. I am looking forward to seeing your crews in action.” He stopped and extended a hand, grabbing Captain Jobes firmly and shaking it, “Ze Sith vill never know var hit zem.” He offered his first smile since stepping aboard as the Captain’s mood visabky changed as he realized that he and his crew were not being judged openly as inept or incompetent. The Admiral just didn’t like their uniforms. Neither did the Mandalorians he knew; but if that was all, then they still could prove themselves. “So, we, uh, got orders then your admiral sir? Going to Corellia maybe? Taking a bite out a’ Onderon’s backside; stick that Spider with a spork?”

 

Nikolai smiled as they fell back in step towards the bridge, “Somesing like zat. Ve have orders. In due time, you and your boys shall earn keep.”

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The Captain and the Vice Admiral had barely stepped foot on what passed for a bridge of the Assassin Class CR92 when what Nikolai suspected was an officer, it was hard to tell with this crew, turned and with an astonished voice, “Sirs, The Empress’s flagship wants you aboard for orders, within the hour!” The man looked almost as bewildered as Kolchak felt. It was not every day one was summoned to such a vessel. Rumor had it she was aboard too.

 

“Now thats more like it! Lets get going Admiral sir! Get te blowin’ up us some Sithies!” Captain Jobes excitement fell to a sudden stop, however; as Kolchak raised a hand to silence him. “I vil go. Zis Rebound assassin vil take me zere. You, Captain Jobes, vil take me zere. Vile I am aboard, see zat men have new uniform issued.” Nikolai raised an eyebrow towards the man at the comms and inclined his head slightly while locking eyes with the suddenly dejected Jobes. “Show me on zis mission your boats have vat takes and next time, you join me. In new uniform of course.”

 

”Now begin docking procedures Captain.”

 

—————-

 

Exactly fourty-six minutes after the order was issued, the Rebound was docked alongside the much mightier Misericordia. Kolchak watched in awe as they were overshadowed by the much larger ship. It was what the Empire had been known for and what every junior officer dreamed of commanding. Outside their hull the eleven other corvettes, Imperial and Mandalorian swarmed, carefully watching their lead ship dock and wondering where they would be going next.

 

Stepping off the ship, Kolchak smoothed the leg of his Imperial navy uniform. Most officers travelled with an entourage. On the outer rim, such a thing invited danger while offering protection at the same time. Kolchak did not consider himself above such a show of station, but such a thing in such a place was uncalled for. Besides, he was not sure the Rebound could muster a fit looking escort at the time anyways.

 

Walking alone through the ship, Kolchak was offered several salutes and given a wide birth as he made his way through the vessel, impressed as he was by the sheer Imperial might of the thing. It did not take long to receive direction to where he was supposed to be and upon entering the room, the Vice Admiral slipped towards the back of the room. They were part of the Rebel Alliance now, whatever that meant. As far as Kolchak had been concerned, he was part of the Imperial Navy securing the Outer Rim before he got called back. The last Rebel Alliance had a sour taste towards the Empire. Kolchak figured it’d be wise to assess the situation before speaking out of turn. 
 

——————

 

FALLEN IDOL IMPERIAL FLEET
 

Imperial Gunrunners

Hit and Run Tactics

Experience: Green

 

REBOUNDS

CR92a Assassin Class Corvette Rebound 2/1

Crusader Class Corvette Lifeblood 3 2/1

Crusader Class Corvette Lifeblood 4 2/1

Crusader Class Corvette Lifeblood 5 2/1

RAVAGERS
Raider Class Corvette Ravager 6 2/1

Raider Class Corvette Ravager 7 2/1

Raider Class Corvette Ravager 9 2/1

Raider Class Corvette Ravager 2 2/1

KEEPERS

Raider Class Corvette Keeper 1 2/1

Raider Class Corvette Keeper 2 2/1

Raider Class Corvette Keeper 3 2/1

Raider Class Corvette Keeper 5 2/1


 

Reborn Allegiance

Destroyer Group: Focus Fire - Turbolasers

Experience: Green


JUSTICE

Hammerhead Class Cruiser Divine Justice 9/9

BIKADINIR
Mandalorian Cruiser Bikadinir 9/9

 

BloodSteele

Medical / Engineering Task Force

Experience: Green


RESPITE

EF76 Nebulon-B Escort Frigate Merciful Touch 3/3

EF76 Nebulon-B Escort Frigate Raven’s Touch 3/3

RESCUERS

Zebulon-B Frigate Mecha Metal 3/3

Nargi-class Pursuit Frigate Watchman 3/3

Corellian Rescue Frigate Majesty 3/3

Corellian Rescue Frigate Majestic 3/3

Edited by Nikolai Kolchak

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To say Nikolai was shocked at the sight of the Empress, his Empress, in rebel aligned  naval attire would be an understatement. Looking about the room, he quickly realized that perhaps his opinion of the men under his command had been premature. Still, they were under his command. The Imperial Navy had standards.

 

As he stood silently in the back of the room listening to the plans, Nikolai began to formulate in his own mind how he would explain the orders to the commanders of the vessels under his immediate command. Piracy,  that was basically what they were undertaking. Liberating vessels from the enemy; not a bad battle strategy all things considered. 
 

When the Empress paused, Nikolai careful cleared his voice,  “Beg pardon highness, but who vil crew vessels from system?”  He asked, not because commanding such a vessel was a desirable goal, but out of genuine curiousity. Surely she did not intend for the marines to commandeer the fleets to safety, did she? Glancing about at the myriad of uniformed sailors of differing creed and code he continued, “I suzpect ve vil be engaging upon arrival. I look forward to vhat ve accomplish together. May ze force be vith us.”  The Vice Admiral offered a slight bow towards Raven as he smiled slightly.

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  • 1 year later...

Aboard the Constantine, Nikolai Kolchak, Supreme Commander of the Imperial Allied Fleet, inhaled sharply as the whole of space was suddenly interrupted by the coordinated arrival of Sith armadas. Hundreds of ships hived with their buzzing hornets.

 

Slowly Kolchak exhaled as the bridge of the Constantine erupted into a well-ordered chaos. Each man, woman, and why droid knew their place and their job. The Imperial war machine sat silent, prepped and ready for the onslaught, guns primed as scores of Twin Ion craft were belched forth in response. Some streaked towards the planet on intercept courses for the first few forays of enemy exploratory forces. If they desired the surface, the skilled veteran pilots in their assortment of interceptors would act to ensure that it was at a high price, if at all.

 

Suddenly the minefields about the world began to shift in places. Warnings erupting signaling enemy usage of gravitational weapons and fields. It was sooner than he hoped; but watching the smaller, immobile mines dot the atmosphere with flashes of fire, he chose to act. With a signal, the Constantine hummed with energy, it’s own gravitational fields erupting outwards to balance the field and attempt to hinder incoming attacks and inevitable retreats by their attackers. Across the Imperial fleet other interdictors began to spin up as well creating an overlapping net between the  attackers and their quarry below.

 

Holding fast the Imperial faction took moments to assess the enemy laid out before them, analyzing for weaknesses, chinks in the armor. Already the battle had commenced as the Court of Madness seemed to take a racially motivated interest in the diminutive squirrel fleet of salvaging pirates and their gravitationally based weapons. With rabid screams as some of their needler ships burst into blossoms of fire and death, the Squibs drove into the fray, tearing at their foes with tractor beams as they surged towards the offending turbo weapons. They hoped to crack apart their attackers like a nut to salvage the desirable bits within. The deaths of their brethren fueled their ravenously rabid counter assault. Moving in support of the screaming rodents, sleek Hapan cruisers  and Mon Cal warships unleashed volleys of colorful energy against the Mad press as fighters tore into the fray in practiced formations. Other independent factions, called into service by Kolchak, also began moving to engage the swarming maelstrom of the Lord of the Krath, the massive Hutt cannon firing energy-wrapped explosive salvos toward the most likely command ship.  Rockets, missiles, and blasts of energy filled the void of space.

 

Staring at the unfolding battlefield, a twitch tugged momentarily at the Admiral’s face. He recognized some of the craft before them. “Inform ze Empress, ze Lady Nyrys has arrived.” He growled as he turned to the third fleet. “Ze ravager iz ours. Shields up.”   Several Imperial destroys began to move forward on intercept paths, creating a screen between the Sith fleet and the world below, prepping broadside volleys in response to any aggression.

 

”Get those refugees out of here!” The order was shouted from somewhere on the bridge. The hulking Kuati capital ships and Corellian and Kesselian  smugglers and attack craft moved to try and create an opening in the press of Sith forces to allow for escape by the innocents and refugees from Nar Shaddaa. On to fixed points in the galaxy and then forward to their rendezvous points; at least those that survived.    
 

Meanwhile, the Bothan and Imperial spy craft began to fill the space waves with streams of code as they invisibly began to attempt their assault of the sensors, computers and electronics of the enemy fleets. Invisible attacks in an attempt to tip the scales before the battle was fully met.

 

In the middle of it all, from his command post on the bridge of the Constantine, Nikolai Kolchak took it all in. He chanced a glance to the planet below and the countless readouts that ran through his eye. They were why these men and women stood in the gap. It was not about power or prestige. Looking about the bridge of his command ship, Nikolai knew each one had done things, risked more than they would ever admit, and even now would lay it all in the line again. They would stand in the gap, a shield for the innocent, a shield of freedom and will.

Edited by Nikolai Kolchak
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The Sauibian forces were obliterated in a mere instant as their pirated fleet of salvagers were shredded in mere moments. As the Captainiest Commanding Commander Captain Boss, Snufu, felt the gravitational forces rip his ship apart beneath him and tear at his furred limbs he died with a sense of awe in his eyes. Such power and magnitude that paled their own gravitational weapons. He could only hope that someday one of their own could harness such a power.

 

The Hapan fleet fared only slightly better, their sleek engineering and powerful engines straining as several were shredded piece by piece, a measley few tearing themselves from the dark side fueled singularity and straight into the withering fire of the remaining Sith fleet, exploding in plumes of fuel-induced color.

 

Feeling themselves drawn towards the singularity, their souls drawn to it by a dark fearful lust for the unknown. The naval forces of a dozen allied nations began to creep towards the rip in the fabrics of time and space, their engines straining against it. Some fought the draw, the furthest out wrenching themselves free. The closest vessels were drawn forward against their will plummeting towards their doom as they were torn asunder. Still, the weakest minds succumbed to the dark temptations and cackling manically gave themselves into the throws of their darkest passions. Fighting against those who tried to stop them, the fallen charged willingly into the Maw, gleeful at the tempting deceptions of lust.

 

The maelstrom grew so large, so fast, that it’s creeping touch could be felt throughout the system. Minefields, tossed about by warping gravitational wells and shadows were subjected to even more stress as they were drawn towards the black hole. Some spontaneously burst under the pressures, others were veered off course as the homed in on their designated targets hurtling towards Allied and Sith fleets alike like unguided torpedos of destruction and despair.

 

The ships that broke free, streaked about the edges of the maelstrom’s strongest grips using the gravitational forces to fling them and their payload at the remaining Sith fleet and into the warped fields in attempts to satiate it, force it closed, and destroy the source.

 

It was these same forces that wrapped their greedy fingers about the monstrous salvos poured forth by the Abaddon Star Destroyer and it’s entourage. As the Sith fleet unleashed their vomit of obliteration, they were sucked from their course as they plummeted onwards. In an instant the Damascus bore the brunt of the assault meant for their fleet. The entire Star Destroyer erupted in a dominoed chain of explosions that split it like a tin can spewing flaming bodies into the cold void of space.

 

This far from the maelstrom, the ships were able to correct their trajectories as the battle erupted in full. Chaos spit forth from all corners as Imperial carriers launched their full compliments of Tie Fighters, Interceptors, Bombers, Hunters and Aggressors like swarms of angry buzzing bizikian hornets as they swooped in and out of larger less ninble craft delivering their destructive payloads and driving any damaged craft  towards enemy command.

 

The fleet of Imperial craft, began to move to intercept, to engage the enemy where they stood. Point-blank defenses erupted, cycling unstoppingly as they joined the cacophony of turbolasers, cannons, and missiles filling the air. Packed ram ships lurched forward, their engines grinding as their momentum carried them towards the huge flagship of the Dark Lord Mavanger.  


Aboard his commandship, the Interdictor Constantine, the air became tense. Even Nikolai Kolchak’s spine stiffened as the alarms of the ungodly salvo of the Sith force painted a picture of certain doom. The maelstrom itself played havoc on their sensors and saving the ship from the initial surge of Sithly doom as the Damascus erupted in death. Reports were called out from stations across the room. Analytics, trajectories, field reports, losses, and all manner of reports streamed through Kolchak’s cybernetic eyes, feeding the information at warp speed to his mind as he analyzed it subconsciously. With a tap of his fingers, orders were beamed to his captains across the fleet, and then…

 

they arrived, cultists. Just as quickly they were set upon bu the forces of the Alliance. Seeing this a smile

played across the stern navyman’s face as he keyed a task force of his own, a carrier group, to move to intercept. Swarms of TIE craft setting upon the cultists’ crafts with ferocity.

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The full might of the Sith war machine seemed to be upon them. Here on this nondescript former criminal world, the fate of the galaxy hung in balance. The Alliance, led by the reformed Imperial Remnant, was gathered en masse to stand on the side of freedom and liberty for all. And as the weight of the Sith armadas pressed inward, they were met on every front by a countersurge of equal or greater resistance. Rumbling massive Imperial war machines stood alongside ramshackle hodge-podged defensive fleets from the last century, interspersed with sleek shadowly acquired rebel war ships and merchant marines. They stood together as one, their steal wills determined to prevent the wholesale slaughter of those below. Blow for blow they matched the enemy and met them, providing a wall of steel against which the enemy forces flung themselves. Both sides suffered greatly; but where the enemy was press-ganged into service, unwilling combatants driven by threat and fear, or zealous maniacs, the forces of the Alliance stood for something greater, something that they carried in their hearts; each man and woman having examined themselves in the crucible and come out pure. 
 

And so the assault continued, small pockets of enemy forces breaking the line from time to time as hole were torn in both sides, a dreadful deadlock threatening to extinguish them all should the balance not be altered, and then it was.

 

The Black Scarab’s arrival was a shock to many of the Allied Republic and Imperial commanders, wrongfully having assumed that the full might of the Sith were already in play. The scales had suddenly been tipped in favor of the invaders.

 

Aboard the Constantine, Supreme Commander of the Allied Fleets Nikolai Kolchak swore loudly and freely. This was a setback that he had hoped he would not see. Standing against the tidal wave of evil, every ship, every crewman, every commander had and knew their place, their task, their target to protect, to defend, to destroy.

 

This newly arrived fleet punched in without discourse, blasting a hole in the Defenders of the Alliance. In minutes, thousands upon thousands of lives were snuffed out and greater than the total gross domestic product of some core worlds was turned into flaming space junk. That was a blow that cut the Grand Moff deep, to see his men cut down. What pained him even more was the near constant stream of nuclear ordinance blasted towards the defenseless below. The Sith would turn their own generals to plate glass, he knew that for sure.

 

”Emergency frequency.” Kolchak bellowed, “Let zhem know what is coming down! Divert any available forces to intercept and stop that beast.” He pointed to the Scarab as it filled his port side viewscreen.

 

Fighter wings that were between runs broke away, intercepting missiles with blaster fire. Plumes of nuclear explosions filled the space above the atmosphere of the planet; but not even they were enough to stop everything. 
 

Robotic ramships already accelerating towards the fray altered their courses by  degrees, the mighty flagships of the Sith fleets their targets. They were all that could be spared. Kolchak worried, knew, that with this newly arrived Sith threat, they would not be enough.

 

As the Constantine shook beneath the enemy salvos, her shields held; but the Corellian-born refugee, raised amongst the Mandalorians, and honed by the Old Empire knew it was not going to be enough. They were outnumbered now, outgunned. All that they had was their devotion to a cause, a cause Kolchak and countless others were willing to die for.

 

So slowly, the Constantine turned it’s prow towards the Scarab, unleashing her own salvos of rockets and turbolaser fire. If they were to die, then Kolchak, his most dedicated men, and the Constantine would lead the last great flight of freedom.

 

((PART 1 response to @Delta73))
 

 

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The deluge of Sith ships and fire was pressing in on the defensive horde of Allied fleets. Yet still, they fought on, holding their own, holding the line, trading blow for blow overall. Overall, save for the Scarab and her fleet who, aside from diverted fighters seeking to lessen their barrage and an incoming slew of explosive-laden ramships, was left relatively unchallenged.

 

At the center of the Constantine’s bridge, Nikolai Kolchak stood. His lips were pressed into a thin line as his good eye regarding the looming warship. His cybernetic eye related scanned informations and assessments. It did not look good; however, Nikolai Kolchak was a Corellian by birth. Corellian blood flowed through his veins. It was not the odds that mattered, so long as there was a chance. They would take it.

 

The Constantine moved to attack position, her gravity wells gripping the area, a defiant message that escape was forbidden. This was where they stood and this was where one or all would die.

 

And yet, suddenly, in the chaos of battle, a new chaos emergee. The chatter of comms erupted as new voices, accents and languages filled the channels before being diverted to pre-prepared talk groups.

 

From behind the Scarab and her fleet, at the edge of the gravity wells’ range, space churned with bright flashes of blue.

 

Compact corvette-styled ships armed to the teeth, sleek custom Nubian warships designed for heavy battle blinked into existence as they charged forward into the fray their heavy guns roaring to life.
 

Alongside them, surviving Irregular Forces from Coruscant arrived, determined to avoid the fate of their own world. With a zeal that bordered on fanatic the vicious defenders, bent on revenge and thirsting for blood loosed salvo after salvo of explosive ordinance towards the Scarab. To punch a hole into the impenetrable carapace of this symbol of destruction, to take as many of them into the afterlife as they may; it was a lofty goal, a goal they would die to achieve. With berzerker screams they fell murderously to their task.

 

And yet more came, allied forces, hidden alliances and friendships amongst Kolchak, his spies, and their associates the galaxy over.
 

Lumbering Fondorian warships, thickly armored and shielded plowed into the fight, enemy fire being absorbed by theit defenses as their point-defenses sought to disrupt any that came to close.

 

Imperial trained Twi-Leki defensemen honed and accurate, ready for battle.

 

Powerful Wookies and their craft customized and designed for a primitive combat evolved to the spacelanes; but still, they carried an edge many advanced cultures had lostin their questing for advancement.


Wayward Mandalorian clansmen and their brethren born and bred for this level of destruction. Unafraid and thirsting for the devastation-worship of their gods.

 

Countless hive-mind-bound fightercraft acting as one. From the bowels of Mechis they erupted from hyperspace like a swarm of locusts. They would show no mercy, their calculations deeming the Sith a scourge that needed eradicated.

 

And finally, teams of Chiss forces, independent from their government, but wishing to see to the defense of the galaxy, to protect their own. Here, before the chaos erupted over their home. Their swift pursuit craft prowled the fringes, giving chase to any Sith attack craft that strayed from the herd.

 

And so, perhaps, the tides had turned. Kolchak’s thin pressed lips regained some of their color. So they had gotten his call. Turning his eyes beyond the battle to the peaceful stars of space, he knew something; something the odds did not tell him. There were more.

 

The Scarab would fall. The tables balanced once again. Kolchak could feel  the ride turning. Fresh forces to the fight. The forces of good would triumph at any cost. 

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  • 4 weeks later...

The defenders of freedom stood firm. Their turbolasers and blasters cut through the Sith fleet like a warm knife through bantha butter. Their backs were against the wall and they would not, they could not, fail. And yet, the Sith onslaught was relentless. The void of space was continually being fed like a unquenchable maw. Imperial and Alliance ships withered beneath the constant barrage. Some fell, willingly intercepting barrages met for the planet below, a planet that was ablaze. Others vanished in explosive silent gouts of flame and debris.

 

Even so, cracks were beginning to manifest in the enemy offensive. As floating wreckage accumulated on both sides creating a debris field to claim even more lives, star fighters zipped in and out in relentless unending dogfights. In the mass of Sith aligned craft, Allied sensors noted that even now, they were beginning to retreat 

 

Pressing the attack, the Alliance and Imperial forces rallied, driving into their foes with renewed vigor. Even now, there was hope.

 

In that hope though, there was pain. The bridge of the Constantine rattled as it absorbed incoming enemy fire. For now the shields were holding. That was not the concern, even as Nikolai Kolchak’s biomechanical mind whirred taking it all in. No, what worried was the announcement that the Misercordia had been ordered to evacuate. No reason had been given and readings indicated that while worn, she still had fight left in her.

 

And so, the Constantine and several other craft had diverted themselves from their assigned vectors and even now raced across the perilous battlefield towards the flagship of the Imperial Remnant. The vessel shuddered under the newfound attention of numerous Sith war elements. It did not matter. What did was the Empress, even more so the hope that was enshrined in her existence; the truth that freedom could be won. It was a flag that Nikolai Kolchak had fought too hard to seen carried to let fall now in these final

moments.

 

”Sir!” An alarmed voice called over the din of the bustling bridge. “The Misercordia is launching all escape pods.”

 

Kolchak’s eyes, both biotic and mechanic turned with renewed vigor to the mighty ship that was beginning to fill their viewscreen.

 

”They are not responding to hails. All attempts at communication are failing.” The same voice narrated, albeit with a level of concern in her voice.

 

Reaching to his starched collar, Nikolai pulled forth a simple stringed lanyard attached to a communications chip. A direct line to the Empress’ comms. The most encrypted channel in his possession. Something only the select too echelons even knew existed. Plugging it into his console, pointed to his communications officer, “Hail ze Empress.”

 

The woman nodded and spun back to her console. “Empress Raven. This is the Constantine. We are standing by ready lend aid. What is your status?” The comms fell silent, save for a light static that played across the bridge’s speakers.

 

“Empress Raven. This is the Constantine under Grand Moff Kolchak. Do you copy?”

 

Static.

 

“Misercordia, this is the Constantine. Please respond.”

 

Static filled the now nearly silent bridge as eyes turned from their stations to the viewports and to Kolchak still arrayed in his Vice Admiral’s uniform. The Supreme Commander and second in command to the Remnant and her forces stood like a statue, processing what he was seeing and hearing, and not.

 

The soft static in the air was nearly deafening, only broken by the voice of the comms officer. “Empress Raven. Misercordia. This is Constantine and Kolchak. Is anyone there? Please respond.”

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Like a bronzed statue, Grand Moff Kolchak stood at his command post amidst the bridge of the Constantine. The crackle of unanswered comms spoke volumes. That the Misercordia had begun evacuations all but sealed the verdict. And yet, it was not a finality that one could accept.

 

The Constantine shuddered under incoming enemy salvos as it rocketed  towards the jettisoning escape pods. If the Empress had managed to escape, it was their, no his, duty to see that she survived. So even as Qessax spoke, Nikolai knew what needed to be done. It was the prompt that was all he needed. He already knew their objective and the dangers it entailed. So too did the stern commander know the response of those under his command; each and every one hand-picked intelligence officers and seasoned veterans.

 

”Bring ze Constantine in close. Protect ze pods so zhat zhey might be rescued. Ve vill be ze veil of protection against ze enemy.” 
 

The Constantine barreled ahead, her shields glowing against the black of space as it intercepted incoming fire and moved to place itself between the enemy fleet and the defenseless pods. Meanwhile, the Victory I Star Destroyer Ancillary Justice and Nebulan-B Medical Frigate Merciful Touch moved in to provide additional coverage and began the taking on of pods. Each hoping that within one, the Empress may be found yet unscathed. Laserfire and missiles filled the air as the hodge podge rescue fleet poured forth return fire in the shadow of the drifting flagship.
 

 

Turning his head to surveil his crew, Kolchak noted the resolute determination by which each set about their task. The warning klaxon began to wail, indicating that the shields had reached a critical stage. Within minutes they would fail. He knew their hearts and minds, dedicated warriors and cunning adversaries; and so, even as he spoke, he knew that none of those under his command would falter. Keying the ship wide comms he spoke, his voice grave and gravelled, “Zis is your commander speaking. Anyone who does not vish to die such a death in ze zervice of ze lives of others is free to make vay to escape pods now. Zhere vill be no judgement. You have zerved vell. It has been honor. It vill be honor to die alongside you.”

 

Turning to Qessax, he offered a slight bow from his neck and waist in respect to the young warrior he had taken under his wing so many years before. “Live vell my brother.” Picking up the ornate baton that contained his recent promotion he thrust it into the Kaleesh’ hands. “Zee zhat zhis iz delivered under General Slaughter or returned to ze Empress god-willing. Safe yourself. Make haste to ze pods.” And with that, Kolchak turned to face his command once again. He leaned heavily on the console, the weight of their actions pressing in him physically as they weighed upon his mind. Not a soul left their station.

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The Constantine groaned beneath the barrage of Sith firepower. It moved to protect the pods of the Misercordia from the hellfire of the Sith fleet and bore the brunt of the assault. The wail of alarms filled the bridge.

 

“Sir,” called out the communications officer, “Heaven’s Taint has attained orbit. We have relayed the situation to them.” Even as the small bubble of life-sustaining atmosphere that was the Constantine began to fail, command of the fleet, the task of seeing the freedom and the Empress prevailed remained. Not a man or woman left their station.

 

”All power to shields.” Kolchak ordered as the ship began to drift, a shielding shadow in space. Only then, did he turn to face Qessax. “Ve are in emergency proceedings brother. Zpeak freely and quickly, zhen make your choice. Zhere are many lives zhat ve can save.”

 

New warnings began to flash and flare up as different areas of the Constantine began to vent atmosphere to the cold grip of space. Facing the mask-adorned warrior, Kolchak glanced over his shoulder, “All who are vital, to zhe pods. Make for zhe Ancillary Justice and Heaven’s Taint. Find zhe Empress!” He then turned back to Qessax, the urgency apparent in his one good eye as he planned to take command of the dying craft.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Neither Kolchak nor his crew took any note when @Qessax Jal Todda or the few other less dedicated departed. Their final task was at hand, once again, and they would pour themselves into it with all the zeal an dedication expected of those within Intelligence Command.

 

System alarms blared as the Constantine’s point defense lasers worked to rebuff the most lethal of enemy barrages.

 

“Hold ze line. Ve must protect the evacuees.” Kolchak’s voice boomed over the chaos. Even now, he was aware of the arrival of Imperial and Allied craft as they began to scoop up the countless pods from their flagship, returning barrages of fire as those on the fringes took it in turn alongside the Constantine

 

The Constantine’s shields glowed beneath the onslaught of the Raven’s Bane, holes erupting and jettisoning air, crew and cargo into the void of space as internal security measures sealed off portions of the ship. Those trapped within, doomed to an agonizingly cold death at the grasp of the void.

 

”Hold. For ze Empress.” His voice cracked with the air of authority as he felt the rising tensions across the bridge. They were surely doomed to die here, each lightyears away from their home. There was no greater honor than to die in the service of one’s liege, lest it be to die saving others from such a fate. To willingly lay down one’s life.

 

Beneath the onslaught, the warship’s shields finally breathed their last, their energized barriers collapsing until they could be repaired, revitalized, or recharged. All that remained was the thick metal plates to keep the interior and exterior, life and death, separated. Feet and inches of steels and amalgamations, the finest science had to offer, were all that kept this contained  microcosm of the Empire, the last stand of Imperial might, afloat; a wall, a moat, against the lawless infidels beyond.

 

“Hold!” It was all he said. It was all he need say. Any words worth saying had long since been uttered. Last wills and testaments long ago laid down. The scream of sirens filled the craft. Every man, woman, and droid knew that the end was near, that it may be upon them any moment. Still, they did not feel the subtle tug of G-forces as the craft began evasive maneuvers. It was because there was none. They knew their commander. They trusted him. They were as dedicated as he. Here, thousands would die to sage hundreds of thousands more.

 

With a telltale glance, a slow nod, Kolchak and his Chief exchanged a knowing glance. A code was entered into the cracking static of the command console. Any crewman not on the bridge was to evacuate to the escape pods immediately. They were beyond the need to repair anything. The ship was doomed. Anyone not immediately vital to keeping the craft on course, paralleling the Misercordia, were to flee, to make for the rescue craft immediately. 
 

Within minutes, Kolchak and a skeleton crew were all that remained; the most dedicated and loyal.

 

They saw it before they felt it. The Misercordia’s hull integrity was lost, swallowed by reactions within. The Constantine moved to close with the larger ship, to absorb the brunt of any blast that might echo from it. In doing so, they knew what was to come. 
 

“Gentlemen,” Kolchak spoke, his voice solemn as their ship careened forward, every eye on the bridge turned to him. Those at their posts still stood, attention diverted to the speakers thst channeled the Grand Moff’s voice across the dying ship. “An honor.”

 

A cheer of defiance echoed across the ship, across comms to nearby craft. As the explosive might of the Misercordia enveloped the Constantine. The shield of the craft shielded the vulnerable pods and warcraft beyond as the Constantine absorbed the brunt of the explosion. 
 

As fire and void broke into the ship and swept along her corridors, every system began to fail. In the final moments before all life aboard was extinguished, one final line carried from the ship. The cry of Imperial Intelligence, of Kolchak and his command.


“Ve are tip of spear.” 

 

 

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