Mandalore

[saberforce]

Tros and Caen had to speed up their movements, but kept quiet. Tros had abandoned his buy'ce and replaced it with Raeshe's. It was a fitting move, as outside of Caen, she was the last vod he could consider close. Within his own mind, he began to wonder if this war would turn many others to be in similar boats. As the two turned a corner, Tros had Caen slow down as he heard some words being spoken in an area that had just calmed down from fighting. Peering around the corner, he spotted a Mando (Mellanie) and the rumored Jetii.(Aryian) Realizing that the area was secure for the most part, Tros signaled for Caen to follow him out.

 

"Su cuy'gar. Copaani gaan?"

 

Tros and Caen both kept their weapons low so that neither would mistake them as hostile. Although, Tros kept his eyes narrowed behind his buy'ce, as he didn't trust anyone who wielded the 'Force'. They were always arrogant and below some of the basics that made up everyday life. He would trust him enough if Mand'alor trusted him, but that was about as far as it would go.

[Nonpareils]

This had all gone south in more ways than Kingsnake cared to count. Their Sith had been engaged by a seemingly wounded but capable Jedi, their team had splintered and were likely on a suicide run, and there was no retreat, the path had been cut off, the wound in the front lines resealed. Whether it was luck or skill, Kingsnake didn't care, but he wouldn't likely live to be able warn anyone else. As he snapped off a few more rounds, he saw Highwind crumple, taking a high energy shot to the head, followed by the bright flash of another grenade, a thermal detonator this time, which would likely have blown up the comms jammer Highwind carried. Which also meant reinforcements were about to swarm them. He spoke to his exo-skeleton clad squadmate, tearing off his comlink.

 

"Blackflame. Get into a building. This mission is a failure. Make them suffer if they're going to take you. If you can, steal a uniform off your dead and get out. Rally point Tau."

 

The Commander and the exo-skeleton wearing soldier split up, going into different buildings, hunkering down like their commando training taught. Stay away from windows, and kill when opportune. If able, get the hell out of dodge.

 

----------------------------------

 

Meanwhile, the three who were nearing the power station found minimal resistance on the way there, most of the Mandalorian resistance they had were behind them giving chase rather than in front of them. The generator building was large enough to track over the roofs of the other buildings they wove through, but as they neared, a large field filled with power transformers meant they would need to reach it in a dead sprint. Again, Wubbadub fired off a few rockets, enjoying the mayhem while it lasted, turning powerlines and cabling into twisted scrap.

 

-----------------------------------

 

Zalus struggled against the Jedi, the rage building in his blood as this...this cripple was managing to halt his advance. No Jedi were supposed to be here, much less a Jedi that could match him blade for blade, especially with his style. As expected, however, one of the Mandalorians had tried to take a potshot at him from his backside as he fought with the silver haired old man, and while Zalus had deflected the first shot, it was followed by a flechette round that a lightsaber could not reflect. It tore through the armor he wore, the pieces lodging in many critical organs. Zalus crumpled to the road, a guttural death gurgle escaping the crimson-stained lips underneath the helmet.

[Ary the Grey]

High above Mandalore, just above the skirmishes in space, a smallish figure winked back to realspace, still at a high velocity from the rigors of hyperspace. It did not track as friendly on either fleet, nor did it track as hostile, and merely seemed to be space flotsam that would burn up in the upper atmosphere. It was only after that didn't initially happen that any of the Mandalorian units bothered to report it to anyone, as it was aimed directly for Keldabe. The Sith ships hadn't planned on it, and it clearly wasn't a Mandalorian shuttle, so it would only be fortune if it damaged the city at all, and so they did nothing.

 

However, as it fell, several Mandalorian AA guns that had not been destroyed in the artillery barrage opened fire on the object, a few even getting lucky with their shots and almost directly impacting it, however none of the shots seemed to slow it down or phase it, much less break it up. Its armor was far too thick and even alchemically enhanced for the airburst rounds to do much more than add carbon scoring, though had they the time to score several more direct hits, it might have made the difference.

 

Down on the surface, a familiar itch was felt in the back of Aryian's mind. The light tonfa lashed out again and again, spinning, whipping to catch and deflect, feinting, thrusting...it was an intricate dance that Aryian was very comfortable with, the practiced staccato steps almost warm, like the embrace of an old friend. It was when the Sith moved unpredictably that Aryian knew something was up, and pushed himself away from the Sith in a backflip, landing further down the street. The Force was with him, and the timing was such that the Grey Master avoided the remainder of a flechette round that rendered the Sith into humanoid Swiss cheese. That was when Aryian heard the voice in his head.

 

[You are advised to take cover.]

 

The Force Barrier was quick, and thankfully so, as less than a second later a hypersonic railgun round from above splashed down, detonating at the feet of the Sith, ripping the cyborg's corpse apart. A few seconds after that, aided by repulsors, the large hulk of the spider tank Saladin boomed down and landed hard where the Sith once stood. A few of the Mandalorians shot at the large tank, their rounds harmlessly ricocheting away, Saladin's armor being far too hardy for small arms to have any real impact. Aryian barely recognized the thing, and couldn't even quite place its name. The large head craned, training its guns on the newfound assailants, unsure of who to target. It's booming basson voice played out over its external speakers, the volume set high so that the area could hear.

 

"[i am here to protect Jedi Master Darkfire. All those who would make him their enemy are also [i]my[/i] enemy. You are warned.]"

 

The shots petered out mostly, and Saladin craned back towards the old man.

 

[i would have your orders, Master.]

 

Some Mandalorians, unphased, called out to the Jedi, asking if he'd seen which way the others had gone. While he was unsure, the Force was still partially guiding him, and he pointed with two fingers down the road at two buildings across from each other. Otherwise, his attention was still fully occupied with the hulking monstrosity looming over him.

 

"I...Uh..."

 

[...Master?]

 

Aryian didn't think much, there was time for thinking later. "Travel northeast. Engage the enemy of the Mandalorians. Protect this city."

 

[Your will be done, Master.]

 

The tank lumbered off, though with measured grace, taking care to avoid structures and avoid further collateral damage from its movements. Meanwhile Aryian turned his attention back as best he could to the situation at hand.

[Kalyani Wartide]

Kalyani must have drifted off to sleep as when she woke she was disorientated. Seeing the nurse come back in carrying her repaired armour brightened her up considerably though it didn’t stop the accusation in her tone when she spoke. “You had a sedative in that hypospray didn’t you.” Kaly stated as she looked at the nurse. “You needed to rest to heal. I’ll check your wound and see how it’s looking.” The nurse placed the armour down and turned to wash her hands in the basin before approaching the bed to check her wound. Carefully she unwound the bandages and checked it over, giving a smile as she added, “That’s looking good.” Her hands were gentle as she did the bandage up again. Glancing at her timepiece she added, “The Doctor will be around after the evening meal which should be here any time now. We will change the dressing then and see if you’re allowed back out there. It most likely won’t be tonight but he might release you in the morning.” Kaly sighed as she leaned back against the pillow and muttered, “It’s a shame you don’t have a Jedi Healer around here. I’d have been back out there by now.” The nurse, whose nametag said ‘Sasha’ raised an eyebrow, “Know one do you?” Her tone was a little sarcastic, given how the Mandalorians didn’t like Force Users. Kalyani couldn’t help but grin as she answered, “As a matter of fact I do. Mum’s good friends with Master Healer Skye Organa.”

 

Sasha gave her a disbelieving look. “It's true. Uncle Kheldar organised for Master Skye to come and heal my Aunt Brina several years ago. They've been good friends ever since.” Kaly defended. Hearing the ring of truth in her patient's voice Sasha nodded, “Alright. I believe you. I didn't think the Jedi were around much these days.” Kalyani sighed, “No. That bounty on Force users sent them underground.” Their conversation was interrupted by her meal being brought in. Sasha helped her to get more comfortable so that she could eat one handed since her arm had been strapped up so she couldn’t use it. Luckily it was a hearty soup with crusty bread and Kaly got stuck in. She was hungrier than she thought. Sasha gave her a smile, “I'll leave you to it.”

 

Kalyani was just finishing the last bite of her meal when the Doctor and Nurse Sasha came back in. In no time at all her bandages had been removed and he checked the wound, telling Sasha to bathe it and put a fresh bacta patch on it once they were finished with the examination. “We will check your range of movement now and see how you respond - not that you should go climbing up onto any more rooftops in a hurry.” Kaly was surprised he had heard about that though she figured the medics would have told him of how difficult it had been to get her down. He took hold of her arm, gently rotating it both forwards and back, lifting it, getting her to do each of the movements he had done under her own power. While it hurt like hell, she pushed through the pain and was able to do everything. “Can I get released… please... I’ve got to get back out there.” The Doctor’s face showed conflict. He knew that they needed every able body out there defending Keldabe. There had been a lot of wounded brought in and they needed more beds than they had. At last he answered her, “I’ll release you. Only because we need the beds. You take care out there and try not to over do it. You’ll need your bandages changed in about twelve hours.” Kaly smiled up at him, “Thank you Doc.” After he left, Sasha bathed, repacked it with bacta and redressed the wound. She also assisted Kaly in putting her armour back on. Once in it, Kalyani tested her movement again, pushing through the pain. She was slower but she could do it.

 

Moments later she was working her way through the streets. Activating her comm. she noticed the jammers weren’t active now, so put a call out to Jaesko to see where to go.

[Mellanie Devanus Vevut]

Before the Jedi responded, a massive tank suddenly dropped from the atmosphere. Mellanie and Araac ducked as it blew up a mess of dirt and dust and rubble, then came forward again once it was clear the tank was responding to the Jedi's orders. Araac was silent, but Mellanie could tell from his body language that he was instantly enamored with the tank. It was no surprise to her when he clicked over to their personal com. "I so need one of those. It's like a gorgeous bes'uliik."

 

Mellanie smirked. "Maybe he'll tell you who his supplier is."

 

Two Mandos in black and red jumbled armor ran up right then and asked if they needed help. The Jedi had responded to Mellanie's question with the flick of a wrist, so she motioned with her blaster down the street. "Aru'ela headed that way. Trying to sneak through the lines. Gehatyc ramikade." That was all she needed to say. The other two would recognize the threat the squad posed.

 

She and Araac took off, pounding down the empty street, assuming the other two would follow. Suddenly, there was a large explosion ahead of them.

 

"Shebs! The power station!" Araac cursed.

 

The fight with the Sith had taken too long, and that, Mellanie realized uneasily, was exactly what they had wanted. The Sith had been one big distraction, and like fools, they had fallen for it. They were too far out. The jamming had cleared, and Mel opened a comm to any friendlies. "Aru'ela targeting the power grid in sector 34-esh. Three targets. If there are any snipers in the area, we have to take them down!"

 

"Copy," came a cool male voice.

 

"They're in my scope," came another, higher voice.

 

A shot rang out, and one of the three Mel had her eyes on dropped. She and Araac continued to plow forward, trying to get in range quick enough to make a difference.

 

___

 

 

Bes'uliik - Mandalorian war droid

aru'ela - enemy

Gehatyc ramikade - suspected commandos

 

[Terra]

The emerald streaks of volleyed baster-fire filled the evening air with the crackle of discharging energy. The pounding of the E-Webs mimicked the crashing the storm above them, and as the rain fell, death came with it in torrents.

 

The elevated positions of the weapons emplacements directed four solid streams of weapons fire at the shuttles, the gunners of Ionblast Heavy Team 426 rejoicing as their shots found a weakness in one of the shuttle’s armour plating, before sending the targeting information throughout the coordination network. The rounds of heavy blaster fire tore through the armour plating, turning the pockmarked armour of a shuttle formerly used in the transport of migrant labour into a slag of melting iron. As the armour gave way, the shuttle was turned into a wide field of debris in the air, which would disguise the Mandalorian descent.

 

It was a brilliant maneuver, to utilize the wreckage of one shuttle to disembark, but it was a costly one for the second ship. Their usage of a scramble-penetrating sensor array lit them up on all targeting computers like a winter tree during the celebration of the solstice, and the fireteams were not merciful. Before the grenades of the descending forces tore through the gunnery squads, their weapons would send the pilots of both shuttles to their afterlife. Terra’s eyes scanned the sensor arrays, and marked each shuttle by its debris, as she rested in the embrace of the dead.

 

...Why would they send shuttles in without air support?

 

The grenade attack caught Tez’Roda and the Ionblasts in complete surprise. They had decided to take a moment to celebrate thwarting the abortive attack by shuttlecraft, and in an instant their world turned into flames and confusion. All four E-webs were disabled with the attack, but the grenade launchers did give away the jumptrooper’s decent pattern, along with the heat signatures of their jetpacks.

 

Terra’s crimson eyes narrowed as she picked up the dozen mandalorians on the sensor array a second before the cameras. Ionblast’s firing squads were out of position for a literal air attack. She illuminated the four grenadiers with the sensor’s target aquiry, and let the squads compensate. For herself, she began to prepare her own attack, angling her own vectors to put her within striking distance. The Mandalorians would land thirty meters from her hiding place, practically right on top of the middle group of Ionblasts

 

Tez’Roda still had command of twenty-eight footsoldiers, but was without his heavy fire-support with the destruction of the E-webs. He had lost sixteen men and women in the first seconds of warfare, which was disheartening. The two southern squads were in the best position to strike at the descending troopers, and opened up with a volley of small-arms fire and their autorepeaters. The northernmost squad held cover, while the squad that was due to be landed upon scrambled for less exposed cover.

[Mirdala Ad'Goran]

If Mirdala had been able to hear her cousin’s low and raspy voice, she would have reminded the elder woman that her father’s actions were his own. As it stood, however, Tresha’s voice fell into the chaotic silence that enshrouded Mirdala who’d muted Kandor’s channel to be able to fully devote herself to doing what she could to help TeVerd’s recovery along through the Force.

 

She had faith that he’d make it through, but she wasn’t above hedging her bets. Her father had survived far worse within her own lifetime, two such instances came to mind. The more recent was how the hell he got past whatever attack had taken Hwulf from them, the other from when she was young. TeVerd was a survivor, but even the toughest had their limits.

 

Fett was working silently next to her. TeVerd had a collapsed lung. The medic working the first aid center had a needle jammed into the lung to relieve pressure, but it was an emergency measure. There would need to be surgery before bacta treatment, as at least one of the slugs hadn’t been located. It had been a few lifetimes since there’d been a Moon Knight that was a first aid expert, and Ageless physiology wasn’t identical to humans, but Fett had enough knowledge to assist the local staff and he had steady hands.

 

Vy’ika waved off the droid who’d finished removing the shrapnel from Tresha’s shoulder. “She can’t hear you, you know,” he offered, gingerly lifting her arm as he wove the bandage over the bacta packs. “The wreck did some damage this morning, but not enough to take up medical resources to fix. The assassination attempt didn’t seem to leave a scratch though.”

 

He reached into one of his pouches and withdrew one of the medical injectors and pressed it into Tresha’s neck. “If you hadn’t have done it, he would have. Don’t beat yourself up about it more than you are already banged up, okay?”

 

((Chris, I'll have a Rhys/Rahg Squad post up tomorrow. Some Mandalorians are being kriffing stubborn.))

[saberforce]

Tros felt a bit more duraanir towards the Jetii after his response, but didn't care much as the other, a vod, provided a bit more to his liking. She and the other with her pointed in the direction of a street. Caen and him began to run and follow suit, preparing for another fire fight, until the loud explosion struck. Tros was quick to do a thermal scan of the area, but heard Caen slowly get up and grunt. He was not as battle ready as he would have liked. Tros made sure to check on him as the other two made a quick scan.

 

"I'm so sorry cyare, I am not as good as Raeshe and the burcyan you had with her..."

 

Tros shook his head and made his rebuttal quick, knowing that they were still in a war zone.

 

"I would rather atiniir with you here. I am very briikase to be tome. When this is all over, I want you as my riduur. Now Let's move!"

 

Tros picked up the pace to keep up with the others. He was certain that the engagement was going to be a tough one, one that would bring forth a new challenge for him and Caen. As he ran, he pulled his A280 blaster riffle up and lined up a shot on one of the Sith troopers as he ran. Being slightly off his game, he had to take a few more shots then what he wanted, but the results were still the same. As he finished, he lowered his blaster riffle down and continued to scan the area thermally, which was a new feature he was still getting use to that Raeshe had on her buy'ce. It picked up something that he decided to shout at Caen and the other two.

 

"Resol bah ta'raysh coming around the corner, be prepared!"

[Tresha Ad'Nort]

"The wreck?" The amount of effort it took to voice the words sent her into a fit of coughing. The hypospray Vy'ika had injected into her neck lessened the pain in her shoulder, but the guilty millstone that dragged her down grew no lighter. "The assassination? What are you talking about?"

 

There was talk, early in the planning for the inevitable assault of Ab'ki, that Kandor and Mirdala might come under fire from elements on their own side. In part, Tresha had never truly believed it. To hear that such an eventuality had come to pass and that she was not even present to do the one thing she had stayed on Manda'yaim to do--namely, protecting Mirdala and Kandor, with her life if need be--only increased the curdling stench of failure.

 

"Me'bana?" she said, her words addressed to Vy'ika but her eyes on Kandor's back as he worked beside Mirdala.

 

Part of her was glad that Mirdala would not have heard her weak apology.

 

Part of her knew she would not have the strength to repeat it.

[Moon Knight]

ShadowFett glanced over at Tresha for a moment before returning to work scraping some debris out of one of TeVerd's secondary wounds and then cleaning it with a bacta spray. "Been a busy day, Tresha," he said. He'd taken off his gloves and gauntlets to improve his manual dexterity, but kept his buy'ce on for the extra information it gave him. He had 2277 analyzing the scanner data and the beskar'ad was busy painting shrapnel, cuts and contusions in his HUD for him to target next. His own elbow was starting to throb again from the crash, but he fought down the pain. He could get it looked at once TeVerd was patched up.

 

"Near miss from an artillery strike wrecked our speeder earlier," he explained. "Chanced upon some Kyr'tsad di'kute later who decided to try their luck. The kind of stuff we thought we might see before we leave."

 

He dressed one of the bullet wounds while the medic he was working alongside did another. TeVerd's readings were steady. As long as something didn't go horribly wrong he would recover. "What got you and TeVerd into this mess? Run afoul another of Ab'ki's merc squads?"

 

Mand'alor had faith that Rhys and Rahg would be able to take the squad apart that did this, but they were clearly well equipped, what with the number they did on TeVerd's beskar'gam. Frankly they were lucky the ancient Seeker was alive; he worried for Mirdala if she continued to lose aliit to Ab'ki's vendetta. But for him it was laser focus on the tasks that lay before him to make sure he was doing everything he could to get them all through this. Patch up TeVerd. Get back out in the battle. Protect Keldabe. Keep an ear to the ground to find Ab'ki the moment she showed her face in the Sector.

 

Paint the walls with her blood for everything she had done.

[Tresha Ad'Nort]

Pure tactics were always Kandor's specialty. Efficient to a fault, assessing every situation as a game of gains and losses, thrust, parry, riposte, success and failure. Normally, Tresha found a degree of comfort in the organization of Mand'alor's thoughts, trusting his judgment implicitly.

 

But after such a clinical assessment of the events of the morning, the Huntress found herself swimming in ethereal dissociation from her experience.

 

To dampen her connection to her own mind seemed to be the only way to keep the jade-eyed ghost at bay, but even that faltered at Kandor's question. Swallowing, she did her best to respond in kind, determined to keep her voice even. "Ad'ike," she said bluntly. "A whole care facility. Some demagolka shot them up, carried a bunch of them off. Scaled the cliffs and crossed the river. I didn't even know children that small could do that."

 

Of course they could. They were Mando'ade. Even that small acknowledgment swelled her with pride.

 

But relentless shock began to take hold. Her whole body spasmed inconsistently as though she were plunged into the frigid water of the Kelita. The image of Keldabe's neighboring river whisked an image of swollen features of diminutive size to Tresha's mind, bobbing up and down in the current as though she were watching for tadpoles under the surface. Uncharacteristically, fragmented sentences began to tumble out unabated.

 

"Golden hair, pink dress, drowned like an akk in the river. Kid dressed like jetii, stood true when she put a lightsaber through the roof of his mouth. A boy. Nine, maybe ten revolutions. Chest hacked open, decapitated, left on the cliffside. Little girl. Four summers. Green eyes like Dika's. Long, dark hair, clan Vizsla. I held her hand as Manda'yaim called her home. Flechettes. Bruises. All dead or left for dead. They were babies, Kandor. And she's still got more of them. I couldn't save them."

 

Her dark eyes flashed and her jaw trembled. "She's a demon, not worthy of the beskar'gam she wears, and she should be put down like the animal she is. I was careless, and TeVerd paid for it. I want her to suffer like she made them suffer. I want her ripped apart. Then I want to bring her back and kill her all over again."

 

She didn't bother to look at him. Even though he remained under his buy'ce, she could not bear the thought of meeting anyone's eyes, as though the monster that had been awakened within her would be seen for what it was.

 

The demagolka's eerie words dripped from her own lips as she turned away from Kandor, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and making as though to stand and search out her beskar'gam. Her tone was nonchalant, quiet, even: but the mercenary's blackened hate had awakened something in her that required sustenance, and the only thing that would satisfy the ghosts of the children that watched her with unnaturally large eyes was the letting of blood.

 

"Hail horror, hail death."

[Nonpareils]

((Unknown if Jax is coming back ~<3, moving on to keep the momentum going))

 

A sniper shot rang out, the high energy quarrel eating through Runtime's chest, the armor providing moderate protection, but not enough to prevent a mortal wound from a blast of that magnitude. The man crumpled to his knees and rolled forward with the momentum he'd been sprinting at, coming to rest in a gangly pile. He was alive, but that wouldn't last, and his body wouldn't provide him the strength to keep moving through all the pain. He managed to see an artillery shell take out Baby blue, almost as if by luck, as it was obviously aiming more for Wubbadub but she'd been unlucky in trailing him. Her mangled corpse was thrown sky high as she died almost immediately, the only thing holding her together was part of her spine and some skin and armor from her back.

 

Two seconds later, merely ten feet from the door, Wubbadub caught a sniper round in the back of his skull. Red company had pushed hard, and the Mandalorians would not soon forget them. If they were lucky, they would have songs sung to their bravery in battle, dying like honorable enemies. But for now, it simply served to showcase what the Sith forces still held up their sleeves.

 

-----------------------------------------------------

 

Kingsnake gripped his disruptor sidearm tightly, waiting in a small side room. There was one way in, and one way out. And he could wait. Come nightfall, he would have a much easier time sneaking about. And if nightfall came, then here was where he would make his last stand, and the Mandalorians would pay to take him out.

 

((You guys are free to take out Blackflame however you see fit in the next post. He is hiding in a separate building.))

[Ary the Grey]

Aryian followed the tank.

 

That, simply, was what the Grey Master did, almost absentmindedly, all the while trying to remember. Armiena had something to do with it, that much he knew. But...there was something else nagging at the back of his mind. Something to do with Fett.

 

The spider tank reached the front lines with relative ease, engaging the enemy with extreme prejudice, not only firing round after round of railgun ammunition into the fray, but stepping and physically crushing many troops it encountered, fast enough to catch all but the fastest runners of those that chose to flee instead of engage. In this way, it began to hold a whole sector of the perimeter all by itself with only minimal help from Mandalorian snipers. Nothing the Sith currently brought to bear was enough to breach Saladin's ridiculously thick armor, and thus any attempts they made to either assault or even mount it were fruitless.

 

Time passed, and all the Grey Master could do was stare. Something about a drill. An augur. Something in the back of his mind. Slowly, like aged molasses pouring from a jar, Aryian's own memories began to unlock themselves. The grand tapestry that was his mind had begun to mend.

[Terra]

Death followed the heavy rain as it began to fall onto the marshes in fast, cool droplets spurred from the dark clouds of a typhoon. Their armour absorbing the blaster bolts of the Ionblast company, and the dropping Mandalorian Commandos laid them to waste. The squad they landed upon were cut down in a hail of precise and concentrated fire, lances of crimson consuming life with the cold methodicalness of experienced shock troops. Collected with their beskar’gam dripping with mud, their comlinks were ablaze with killcounts and casualty reports

 

“Oya, Ves’rad, two on your left.”

 

A pair of rounds from the Commando’s blaster rifle dropped the olive drabbed militiamen into the swelling bog. Rahg’s eyes scanned his HUD as he watched his men and women pick apart their opponents with meticulous efficiency. The approaching squads were fully exposed without cover, and their abortive attack was thwarted.

 

“Rhys, looks like they are surrendering… Well the one that is left I guess. Their akaanir is gone.”

 

The two squads provided sweeping firing angles as the remaining olive-armoured man made approach, clutching a smoking blaster-wound to his stomach. The Mandalorians took cover best they could from counter-attack if there were any survivors. Their knees and boots sunk into the mud and peat, the black silt sticking to their armour like a hundred clutching hands. Beneath his buy’ce, Rhag watched the fire-haired man stumble towards them as his squads began to sweep the area for survivors. The man stuttered a plea

 

“M-my name is Tez’Roda… L-leader of the Ionblasts…”

 

Rhys snorted a retort, grabbing the man’s uniform by the collar and tossing him into the mud before them. Rockets of the dark sediment splattered Rahg’s armour from the man’s rough landing. Rhys motioned about them to the smoking corpses

 

“Don’t you mean former alor'ad, di'kut?”

 

The veteran of the Clone Wars ‘ words were less a question, and more a cool statement of fact. A whimpering cry drew the attention of the commandos as they made their sweep of the area. Whispers of horror flew across their comlinks as they witnessed what they had assumed to be a simple mound, was one of flesh. The bodies of farmers and innocents. As Rahg’s eyes looked over the tangled limbs and disembowled bodies, sound became mute and a ringing replaced it.

 

It’s like Jabiim all over again…

 

He was taken into the void of memory for a moment, and the whistle of blasterfire overtook him. The crunch of boots on sand, the whir of servomotors as battledroids cut through their lines. The smell of burning flesh. He still wasn’t able to eat baked Caerven Cakes as the smell reminded him of the burning. The burning. The screams. The girl who died in his arms as he begged her to cling to life for just a bit more ca'nara. The medilift had come too late for most all of them. The voice of lieutenant Ki’Darva came through the fog of the tinnitus and thoughts of horror.

 

“Haar'chak! Rhag… It’s a girl. She’s kadala really badly.”

 

Rahg’s horror turned to rage as the commandos carried a whimpering girl towards him, her tangled blonde hair amess and matted in blood. Her clothing was almost nonexistent rags, torn to reveal blood and bruises. Blood dripped from her shuddering form.

 

“You chakaar…”

 

His fist grabbed the man’s fiery hair as he yanked him from the mud. Instead of the flesh of a terrified face, all he saw was the glistening armour of a battle droid. His fist connected with the droid as he smashed it again and again. Knuckles crushed bone. Blow after blow.

 

“You”

 

A crunch and a whimper

 

“Kriffing”

 

More give on the punch, wet gasping

 

“Separatists”

 

Rhys yanked Rahg off the pulp of a man, and the body fell to the peat in a lifeless splash. He looked down at his armoured knuckles, and the oil from the battle droid changed into steaming blood. He shrugged Rhys’ hand from his shoulder and shuddered, feeling the frigid rush of adrenaline.

 

“My… Name is Vessa’Xa of… Clan Cadera”

 

The squads of commandos were on immediate alert as the voice crackled all around them. The voice was terrified and disembodied for only a moment. A hologram sprung up from each of the bodies of the dead Ionblasts, including the from the recently deceased Tez’Roda. It carried the lifesize image of a small girl in a damp and clinging nightshirt, a mess of tousled braids running down her shoulders. She was shivering, and her face was petrified in horror. Ad’nor Cadera beside Rahg put a gloved hand to the mouth of her buy’ce as if to stifle a gasp.

 

This is the ad’ika she brags so much about…

 

The girl continued between cries

 

“I… am… I don't want to say this!”

 

Her face twisted in determination before an armoured knee entered the hologram and slammed into her jaw. The voice that followed was cruel and feminine

 

“You will say it or the infant dies...”

 

The girl’s face began to leak a stream of blood from her lip and broken nose. Rahg could see Rhys’ shoulders set at the words of the woman. His words were of fierce defiance as the squad continued to do their sweep, transfixed in horror

 

“Demagolka…”

 

The girl began to speak again, spitting out a mouthful of blood

 

“I am… ten years old. I call… Kandor Fett, Mirdala… Ad’Goran… And Tresha Ad’Nort…”

 

Tears began to drip down the girl’s cheeks, to mix with the blood in swirling rivulets.

 

“I call them… Dar’Manda…”

 

The other voice returned with a cruel laugh

 

“Fair enough.”

 

A shot filled the feed’s audio with an eruption of static and the girl’s face caved in from a slug. It hollowed out her mouth and exited below her skull, blowing chunks of braided hair offscreen. She collapsed, shuddering to the ground with wheezing coughs of blood. A cry of horror arose from his ranks, and Ad’nor Cadera fell to her knees with a cry of rage and the helpless horror of a mother who would never again hold her ad’ika.

 

The sour sting of vomit clung to the back of his throat and Rahg removed his helmet to get fresh air. The air that greeted him clung to his nostrils with the stench of decomposing flesh. He emptied his dinner into the bog and closed his eyes against the horror. This evil had to be put to an end. He stood slowly, the raindrops cooling his overheated skin, washing away his sweat and mixing with his own tears of anger.

 

At least we rescued one…

 

He turned towards where Ki’Darva held the girl to find himself face to face with a demon. A vibroblade chewed through his throat, but he didn’t feel the pain. His eyes were wide as he looked into unblinking eyes marked with crimson and sulphur. They held no emotion other than the hunger of a beast. He had seen those eyes only once before, and they had haunted the nightmares of his childhood. As blood began to bubble from his throat he thought of The Great Shadow Crusade, and the nightmares that had been spawned from the holoreels into his mind as a child.

 

He didn’t feel his knees hit the soft and clinging mud. He saw Ki’Darva’s mangled body twitching in the rain. He saw Ad’nor Cadera’s limp form fall beside him with smoke rising from three holes in her chest. He couldn’t hear Rhys screaming through the comlink in his helmet as his hands let it fall.

 

The sound of jetpacks as a retreat was called washed over him and gravity began to pull upon him. He felt heavier than he ever had. The blazing ignition of a lightsaber and the screams of agony didn’t filter through as the world began to dim. The world was being replaced by light and It was truly beautiful. All he could hear was laughter, and all he felt was the embrace of love.

 

Cyare...

 

Life had left him before his bearded face fell into the mud.

[Moon Knight]

It was tempting to overuse the word demagolka. The Mando'a word was a reference to an individual, a mad scientist named Demagol, an infamous butcher and surgeon who had experimented on live patients including children. The name carried great derision among a culture centered around honor and family. It was easy to throw the term out to anyone who did questionable things as a way to heap scorn upon them regardless of whether their own evil acts were legitimately comparable in severity.

 

But hearing Tresha's description of what she had encountered reminded Fett that Ab'ki, as well as some of her lackeys, really were that twisted. His hands paused in the middle of taping down another bandage, the only outward sign to an emotional response that was otherwise hidden by his buy'ce.

 

He was no stranger to the horrors of battlefields. He'd endured much in his day, and experienced even more vicariously through the memories of generations of his predecessors as Moon Knight. But the wanton murder of innocents -- of ad'ike, no less -- in an act that could serve no tactical purpose but only to sate the murderer's depraved bloodlust... such cruelty and such cowardice were rarely seen in twenty-five thousand years.

 

After a moment he finished applying the medical tape. "Doubt Rhys and Rahg will let her off easy," he said stoically. The Omicron Seekers were exceptionally effective at their jobs, and Rahg had his own brand of cruelty which Fett did not ordinarily look for in an ally. Turned against the monster whose misdeeds Tresha had related, however, perhaps it could be put to good use.

 

He turned to face Tresha. "You've done all you can for now," he told her. "There's no shame in that. Only way we're going to see this through is if we keep our heads."

[Mirdala Ad'Goran]

The sound of rain spattering against the outer awning began to pick up as the low rumble of thunder pealed morosely across the city. Forcing Ab'ki to speed up her time table had the added bonus of bringing the outsiders to Keldabe at the height of their rainy season. Even now the Kelita's banks were swelling with furiously churning water that aptly mirrored the general feeling within the city's perimeter.

 

Within the first aid structure, Mirdala sat leaning up against Kandor as she dozed lightly. It had taken a fair bit of nudging from Vy'ika, but ultimately he'd been able to nudge her back and talk her into taking a break instead of burning herself out on trying to accelerate TeVerd's healing. At some point that afternoon, Vi'ika had wandered back in. Vy'ika was quick to put her to work with his own hound, Cinva, running medicines and supplies around the ever-growing structure that was now almost as much tent as it was building as the need for such spaces had grown quickly during the day's battles.

 

While in her trance, she'd felt the surges of guilt and flashes of anguished anger that had occluded Tresha's normally crystal clear and serene presence within the river of the family empathic stream. Wearied from her exertion with drawing on the Force to aid TeVerd, she paused just long enough to rest her forehead against Tresha's the same way the elder girl used to do when Mirdala was very young. While for all appearances looking like their cultural kiss, between them it had always been a way of Tresha helping to ground the much wilder Mirdala. With the last of her strength, Mirdala reached out to her cousin, sharing in her pain and helping the other woman regain her center so her body would be more receptive to the healing offered by the other medics.

 

As she'd settled against her husband, Mirdala wondered at how a day could seem so long on a planet who's rotation only made up nineteen Galactic Standard hours. Drifting in and out of what stolen sleep she could get, she shuttered awake with a jolt. Something that once felt whole and complete to her had suddenly and irrevocably changed. Her gaze immediately flashed to TeVerd and Tresha, but it wasn't until she saw Vy'ika's shoulders slump the pieces started to fall into place.

 

Wordlessly she rose and went to Vy'ika's side, feeling TeVerd stir to a reluctant consciousness as she did so. "Who?" she asked, her face pale as a vague sense of deja vu over took her.

 

"Rahg," her brother growled before shrugging off her hand and stalking out of the makeshift hospital and into the balmy wetness.

[Moon Knight]

ShadowFett had to force himself to take the downtime after TeVerd was stabilized, and he reluctantly brought up his elbow and received a sleeve brace that would go over his flight suit and help keep the light injury from becoming exacerbated before it could get a better treatment. The brace would limit the flexibility of his left arm a bit, but he didn't think it would significantly dampen his ability to use his assault rifle. Certainly not as much as injuring it further would. With the brace in place, he settled back down to watch TeVerd's vitals and take a brief rest to recuperate a bit of energy and support Mirdala and Tresha.

 

The first aid station was never silent, but it was quiet enough and they'd been pushing themselves for enough hours that he noticed Mirdala dozing off a bit after only a few minutes. He was caught again between his responsibility to get out there and fight and the biological needs of his body and Mirdala's to slow down instead of trying to make it through 12+ hours of combat without a break. The latter won out -- better to lose an hour here and there and then fight at one's peak rather than making hard contact while exhausted and getting killed.

 

Still the repose didn't last long, only long enough for Rhys and Rahg to plan and execute their raid on the camp of aruetiise that had perpetrated the crimes of which Tresha had spoken. The way Mirdala surged awake and went over to Vy'ika immediately told him that something had happened, which a moment later was confirmed as the death of Rahg.

 

He set his jaw. Rahg had been of a brutal and unwelcoming sort, and there was no love lost between him and Fett or Mirdala. But he'd been a professional soldier and had been since the Clone Wars. What's more, he had died defending Keldabe as the best verd could, and for that Fett respected him.

 

Fett got up and put his buy'ce back on, tapping into the team's channel and heading out the way Vy'ika had. He needed to know what Rhys was up against and if they needed an extraction.

[Terra]

The mud, cold and sticky beneath her bare feet, splashed in gouts of brown and black, matching the spray of lifeblood from the assassin’s vibrosword. She could feel the cool raindrops falling upon her bare skin, causing goosebumps to form, and involuntary shivering to begin. She would need to heat up swiftly. A smile cracked through her dour complexion as she passed the tip of her vibroblade through the thigh of a commando in jade and blue armour. Terra applied pressure to the crude handle, letting the silvered blade work as she dove between his legs. She could feel the blade skip on the man’s femur as it chewed through the Vastus Medialis, Sartorius, and the Gracilis before it bisected the femoral artery.

 

Her surprise attack had thrown the Mandalorian Commandos into disarray, and they began a hasty retreat towards the treeline. As the man fell into the bog behind her with a satisfying splash, Terra tossed her vibroblade towards the back of a running Commando, as he turned to check on his squadmates. The blade drove through the fuel line, and caused a spark off the armoured plating. As the Commando turned, his jetpack erupted into a fireball, sending him sprawling into his partner, who took the blow hard into the marsh.

 

Kicking up mud with each stride, the Echani demon sprinted for the fallen pair, taking a second to identify that they wore matching armour of black and red.

 

...Perhaps they will leave behind a few children to carry the scars of their deaths…

 

The smaller of the two scrambled from beneath the flames of the other and began to try and douse them with the kama she tore from her waist. Her movements were filled with panic

 

“Buir!... Buir!”

 

Terra leaped onto the back of the woman, using her momentum to toss the commando onto her face. Barely containing her laughter, the assassin ripped the helmet from the woman’s head, exposing raven hair in a tight bun. Terra dragged the woman’s blaster pistol from its holster as the commando struggled to turn to fight, or to ignite her own jetpack. The struggling stopped as Terra pressed the barrel of the blaster to the woman’s head with an icy kiss. A few shots kicked up gouts of water about her as the rest of the commandos began to lay down suppressive fire. A scream began from the burning man, muted by the seal of his helmet, but not by his comlink. Terra could hear it echo from the castaway helmet at her side.

 

“The young shall fall and the old will stand and watch their legacy die…”

 

She pulled the trigger, sending a energy-intense blast through the woman’s skull. Smoking ash began to pour from the woman’s slacked jaw as Terra made another tumble, returning towards her first several victims. She cut down a commando with her blasterfire as he tried to outflank her, her shot passing through the light plating protecting his throat, sending him into the mud. Most of the remaining commandos were now in the treeline, although greatly reduced in number. Terra picked up the helmet of their fallen commander Rahg, and faced it towards her. She aimed the blasterpistol towards the woods as she maneuvered herself to a position of better cover

 

She could see her own reflection in the flickering T-visor of the helmet. Her hair was matted with blood, her eyes a smoldering sulphuric yellow, holding their own bestial glow in the reflected light. Terra’s face contorted in a wicked smile, showing sharpened and crimson-stained teeth. Her voice was gravelly and acidic, marked with the growling undertone of an uncaged beast. The words of Mando'a came swiftly to mind

 

“You Dar’Manda are all the same. Too weak to even save your own ade..."

She could hear the sharp bark of orders across the helmet’s comlink, and she tuned her ears to them, as she pointed the helmet to the body of Rahg, and to where her blade was beginning to go to work. The wicked blade began to dissect flesh as she dug her fingernails behind the knife. Her fingernails were dirty and crusted with rotten blood. She embedded the knife into the fallen man’s neck as if it were a cutting board and ripped at the hem of skin.

 

Terra’s smile widened and she opened her mouth, letting her stained tongue lick across the T-visor, leaving a trail of blood on the reflective glass. She held up the detached face of Rahg, and smiled again to the camera, before dropping the helmet into the mud, where it would play towards the woodline, across the horde of smoking bodies.

 

From the trees, the assassin could see a large Mandalorian, armour a palette of red, blues and grey. He was surrounded by four other commandos, but what caught her eye was the small handprint on his left breast. She called out to them with a welcoming and mocking tone

 

“Come and collect your faceless dead, lest dar'yaim claim them…”

 

The lead raised his blaster rifle at her in the darkness, and the assassin performed a tumble through the mud as a blast of hot energy scorched over her back. She rose from her roll and snapped a shot at the group, smashing a blast through a smallish woman to the man’s left. She gripped at the smoking hole in between her beskar’gam plating and fell into the forest with a crash of snapping branches. Terra’s tone turned acidic

 

“You have cost another parent the hope of their child’s return. Your mark names you a father, or'dinii... Was he?”

 

She slipped into the darkness, and fired a shot into Rahg’s faceless corpse

 

“Were they all? Who will mourn all you’ve let die?”

[Mirdala Ad'Goran]

It hadn't taken long at all for things to go straight to haran once the two forces engaged one another, massive losses occurring on both sides. Each loss mentally tallied up in Rhys's mind, including those of the children they'd set out to rescue. A cold and carefully honed fury gripped him as he took the tally of the lives that had now been lost under his watch, the pain, shock, and dying anger of his batch-brother and fellow Seeker still fanning his rage.

 

Only seven of the twelve from their side remained, with three of those seven severely wounded. They’d failed. Rhys let out a low growl as he brought his weapon to bear on the demon that had dared to desecrate the dead instead of merely leaving lie honorably. He fired but the demagolka somehow managed to evade the attack and returned one of her own, catching yet another member of the Mando’ade entrusted to his command and downing her.

 

The caustic accusation she tossed his way caused him to look down at where she’d indicated. He’d forgotten about the three-year-old sized handprint on the left chest plate of the rig he’d inherited from TeVerd. Though it didn’t belong to any of the four he’d raised, it served as a further reminder that there was more at stake here than just his squad.

 

When he looked up again, she’d disappeared into the darkness the sounds of her laughter echoing among the thunder.

 

For a moment he wrestled with the urge to go after her but stopped himself long enough to realize that, wherever they were, the children were alive. That meant they were needed for something, otherwise, they would have been slaughtered in the care center with the rest. Over a thousand scenarios flooded his mind, each worse than the last and none of them boding well for the innocents that had been taken.

 

There was no way he could take the enemy with only a four-man team and he still had his duty to the men and women under his command. With a growl of frustration he turned and punched the nearest tree, cracking its trunk before turning to address what remained of his squad. “Collect their armor. It’s the least we can do. Rest assured this isn’t over. The demon will pay for what she’s wrought here.”

 

As those still able to move heeded his command, Rhys went over to his fallen brother, stopping to pick up the helmet along the way, and knelt beside the desecrated body. Rahg might not have been his favorite brother, but the man held his honor in his own way and for that Rhys and the others had tolerated and even respected him for it.

 

The worst part was that Rahg would never have the chance to reconcile with his kids.

 

-----

 

It didn’t surprise Rhys to see Vy’ika, Kandor, and Mirdala waiting for him as he helped the surviving and wounded members to the station and began unloading the bags of armor from the back of the speeder that had met them on the way back.

 

-----

 

Mirdala stood silently as the rain fell over them before coming over to help unload after the second bag was lifted off, sensing the weight that hung around her older brother’s neck like a miller’s stone. Her brow furrowed for only a second as she recognized the rig he was wearing, but as he handed her a fourth and fifth bag any argument she might have had left her entirely.

 

The bags kept coming for what seemed like ages in the long silent seconds, for Rhys had made the driver go back and collect the armor from the farmers as well as the fallen enemy. The armor of the latter category was set aside to be reforged and used elsewhere, it’s former life and sins of the traitorous owner to be put to new life and better use after the cleansing fires bore it new shape.

 

Finally, they reached the last bag and Mirdala reached in and withdrew Rahg’s helmet, staring at it for several long minutes before offering a small bow and handing it to Vy’ika. The other Omicron tucked it under his arm and clasped her on the shoulder, before offering a curt nod of his own.

[Tresha Ad'Nort]

There had been no love lost between herself and Rahg, and more than once Tresha had felt the urge to stand between him and Mirdala. Or, for that matter, him and anyone he might have set in his sights, as evidenced by the previous night's defense of the jetii Aryian. But he was family, after a fashion; traat'aliit of her father, and if that were the only reason she had to mourn him, it would be enough.

 

Udesla stood, groggy from the painkillers coursing through her system, as the grief echoing through the family bond would not allow her another ounce of sleep in the med station. Soundlessly, she approached Kandor and Mirdala from behind, observing as the latter placed a buy'ce softly into the hands of Vy'ika. Suddenly wishing she had thought to wear her own, she turned her face aside: impassive, yet seething with quiet rage that would be the equivalent of a shout through the empathic senses of her cousin. Her failure had now not only caused the injuries of TeVerd and forfeited the lives of the ad'ike she was desperate to recover, but it had now cost them Rahg and most of Rhys' squad.

 

"I need a new shoulder plate," she articulated to no one in particular, her tone prodigiously calm. The sooner she pieced her beskar'gam back together, the sooner she could set out on the trail of the fiend that had wrought this kind of damage. Hopefully, a full debrief and report from Rhys would give her insight into the identity of this demagolka, if not pinpoint weaknesses that could be exploited.

 

No, that would be exploited. A gentle burial in the Kelita was too good for this demon.

[Moon Knight]

Fett's face was dispassionate behind his similarly-neutral buy'ce as the bodies were brought in. Death was a part of war. The only thing they could do was make sure the enemy paid double for it and that Keldabe was left standing at the end of each day. He'd learned to compartmentalize and turn himself off long ago, and it enabled him to keep a level head through their enemy's taunts which were engineered specifically to provoke them into rash action.

 

But that did not mean that she could be allowed to leave Manda'yaim, as she had at least proved herself a credible threat that could outlast Ab'ki's campaign. It simply meant that they could not allow themselves to be baited into making further mistakes and taking unnecessary losses by underestimating her.

 

When Tresha spoke, her intention was apparent, and Fett wasn't going to stop her. "I'd go with you if I could commit to a manhunt right now," he told her. "Do you have a backup rifle?" His implication would be clear to another verd. This was a fight that had to be done on Tresha's terms, preferably from a long way away.

[saberforce]

Tros picked up some speed to run past Mellanie and Araac, leaving Caen behind for a moment as well. Right before he reached the corner, he could hear the sound of the large tank-looking thing that the Jetii brought with him to the battlefield absorbing some fire somewhere near to his location. As he turned the corner, he began to pour some fire from his blaster riffle into the troopers moving towards the power grid. His fire must of picked up the attention of the snipers on the rooftops, as a few shots went whining past him, binging down two of the aru'ela. Tros hit the ground in a slide, allowing for himself to make some cover fire and blast another of the troopers, bringing the count from ten to six. As he reached the other side of the street, Caen arrived and helped him clear the rest rather quickly so that Mellanie and Araac can get to the power grid safely. Once the street was clear, there was a loud thud as the tank continued to bring froth some havoc on the front lines. Standing up and turning towards the others, Tros made sure that his comlink was connected with he others.

 

"Maybe we should aid the Jetii and his tank?... Where did he get such a loud thing anyways?"

 

"Cui ogir’olar. It's making our lives easier."

 

Tros looked at Caen and gave a quick nod. There was a lot of truth in the fact that the Jetii did indeed bring something that was making their time in the city far less painful and stressful. But it would no doubt draw the attention of troops in the city and have them withdraw to take it out. But then again, the power grid was still critical. He decided he would let Mellanie and Araac decide what they should do.

 

"Either way, Kote, darasuum kote.

 

 

Kote, darasuum kote : Glory, internal glory

Cui ogir’olar : It's irrelevant

aru'ela : Hostile/Enemy

 

[Mirdala Ad'Goran]

((Co-written due to three-way PC arguement))

 

Mirdala took off her helmet and rounded on her husband and cousin, growling as her own temper flared. “Are you both kriffing nuts?!”

 

Her jaw clenched a few times as she glared at Kandor as she transmitted subvocally, I get that you can possibly come back from this, but she can't if things go sideways.

 

“The only direction these engagements have known has been sideways and you want to run off into the dark with a bad shoulder and you're encouraging her recklessness!”

 

Fett stared back at her, a little startled. “Previous attempts failed due to insufficient prep,” he said calmly. “We can't afford to just let her go unless we want a second Ab’ki. A lone sniper might be sufficient, but Tresha doesn't need to go alone.”

 

“Yes, I do,” Tresha said quietly, before turning to face Mirdala. “I’m not being reckless, Dika, I’m just unwilling to let anyone else be collateral damage of my failure.”

 

After taking a moment to read her cousin’s lips, Mirdala looked visibly torn as the completely valid arguments her husband and cousin were making warred with her perhaps unrealistic desire that all of them should make it through this without further damage or loss of life. Rhys laid his hand on her shoulder and took Rahg’s helmet from her.

 

“There’s more,” he admitted gruffly and played back the body cam recording of the entire incident. Vy’ika signed the audio for Mirdala’s benefit since she was still having difficulty due to her earlier injury.

 

“They need them for something…” Mirdala remarked in the silence that followed. She could feel it in her gut and in the Force but had no clue or explanation beyond that. “Look at the evidence. They were taken, not simply killed. A lure? A trap? Where are they wanting to route us and why?” She couldn’t ignore the fact her instincts were screaming at her that something was grossly wrong with the situation.

 

“So you think that’s a reason to leave them to their fate then?” Vy’ika asked, casting her a sideways glance.

 

“No. That’s not-,” she started.

 

“We have to do something, Mirdala,” Tresha demanded.

 

Mirdala closed her eyes and forced herself to calm down. “How would this be different if we weren’t already hip deep in this and this intelligence came from command? They are prepared. They know we’re coming. They are counting on it. You don’t think they won’t be looking for snipers and drop points?”

 

“We did detect a sensor net and engaged with anti-air capabilities. We’d be stupid to attempt the same trick twice. This enemy has no rules,” Rhys admitted, signing as well.

 

Fett nodded. “Overt didn't work. Quiet might, firing from outside their sensor perimeter under cover of darkness,” he said. Even he wasn't overly fond of Tresha going alone, but it could end up being more tactically viable than sending a group that was easier to detect. He shrugged. “Or if this is just an assassination you could go all the way covert and hide in plain sight.”

 

His wife seemed to ponder this for a moment, weighing their options. “Fine.” She growled, crossing her arms. “But I’ll be the one to go. She’s an extension of the problem I caused with Ab’ki, so she’ll be mine to deal with. I’m in better shape to take that shot than you are Tresha, and you know it.”

 

“Like haran,” Tresha muttered. “I’ve always been a better shot than you. I started this fight, and I’m damn well going to finish it. You need to figure out what Ab’ki’s up to.”

 

There was no room for argument in her still features, her quiet compulsion betraying the extent of her resolve.

 

Mirdala didn’t back down from her cousin either and chewed the inside of her lip. “You were always the more patient shot of the two of us,” she corrected before turning to her brother. “Vy’ika, you’re the medic. Which of us is more fit to fight right now?”

 

“I’d say neither since your hearing would hamper your ability to ensure your own stealth and her shoulder isn’t in shape to go crawling through the forests. And you both need rest,” he replied, only a little irritated about being dragged into the argument.

 

“Kandor can come with me then after we catch a few more hours, he’s been my ears most of the day anyway,” Mirdala acknowledged, “but the fact remains that you’re in no shape Tresh.”

 

She sighed and reached out to her cousin through their shared empathic bond, and said a bit more gently. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do this. You’ve always looked out for me. Please let me return the favor for once.”

[Mellanie Devanus Vevut]

For a few moments, it was intense, blasterfire crisscrossing as the four Mandalorians took out the squad at the power grid. Mellanie took a glancing blow to her thigh, but the armor absorbed it, leaving only a blackened scar on her no-longer shiny armor. But soon enough, all the enemy combatants were down. Mellanie scanned the area, flicking her HUD to detect life-signs. It had started to rain again sometime in the last few minutes, and once again, Mel was grateful that her helmet allowed her vision to remain unimpaired. Araac took the streets and buildings on the right while she scanned the left.

 

"Get down!" Araac suddenly yelled, shoving his fiancee into the mud. The blaster bolt cracked above her head, and Araac took a moment to aim from his prone position. His shot shattered the window, and Mellanie's follow-up shot took out the would-be sniper.

 

Then, for a blessed moment, everything was quiet. Mellanie's heart was pounding. The constant danger was rubbing her nerves raw. She needed a break, some sleep, some food, and to feel safe again. But that was a luxury she couldn't afford. Too much depended on stopping Ab'ki's forces. She took a deep breath and tried to steady herself, but her near-death experience was causing her extremities to tingle. She felt like she was breaking out in a cold sweat. The urge to run, to flee until she was halfway around the planet and her lungs were burning and she couldn't take another step raced through her with surprising intensity. Wordlessly, she reached out for Araac. He was there in a moment, and she clung to his arms with both hands. Slowly, she forced herself to take a deep breath.

 

"The meadow," Araac murmured, only loud enough for her to hear.

 

With enormous effort, she focused on the image of a meadow in her mind. It was no ordinary meadow: the one she pictured was on a planet a million lightyears away, a planet where Araac had taken her when she was under his protective custody. It was the place where she had first realized she was in love with him--and, she had learned later, it had been the same for him. The ugliness of the battlefield, of rubble and death and dust and rain, faded away, and for a brief shining moment, she remembered the beauty that existed in the galaxy.

 

She felt herself relax, and found she could think again. She touched her helmet to Araac's briefly, then let go of him. The other two Mandalorians were still there. The Jedi and his tank were crashing through the lines in the distance. "Have we heard anything from command?" Mellanie asked, not mentioning her moment of panic.

 

"No," Araac replied. "Not sure what happened to Mand'alor, but comms have been silent. It's possible he tried to give orders during the jamming."

 

Or he's dead, Mellanie thought grimly. "We should try to get a sit-rep from him if we can, and let him know about the attack on the power grid." She could still see several life-signs in the power station itself, so she knew it was still defended. "Maybe he can give us some direction as to where we are needed most."

 

"Otherwise, shall we rejoin the jetii?" Araac asked the group. While he was waiting for Tros and Caen to reply, he shot off a message to Mand'alor.

 

----

 

A message arrives for Mand'alor. Report from sector 6. Just stopped a sabotage team from taking out Kelita power grid, located at 97.03772 by 89.272794 coordinates. Orders? Where are we needed most, Mand'alor?

[Tresha Ad'Nort]

"Gar serim, Dika," Tresha conceded, authentic weariness seeping into her tone and their empathic bond. "Let's all get some rest, and then we can make a plan."

 

With her good arm, she drew her cousin into an embrace for the space of a couple seconds. Solemn, deadly-serious eyes honed in on Kandor's buy'ce.

 

"She stays with you." Even knowing that Mirdala's injuries rendered her temporarily deaf, she kept her voice down such that Vy'ika and Rhys might not catch her meaning. Yet again, there was no room for argument in her tone. Tresha would give Mand'alor the gift of plausible deniability where her actions were concerned, but his opinions were clear enough to her that she counted on the fact that Mirdala would not be allowed to interfere in her pursuit of the demagolka.

 

Releasing her crimson-clad cousin, Tresha gave her best approximation of a smile. "I still do need a shoulder plate, though, and a new rifle. You guys get some rest. I'll go dig through the reclaimed gear and see if I can find something workable before I turn in."

 

 

Gar serim - you're right

 

[Moon Knight]

"Of course," Kandor said reassuringly to Tresha.

 

He wasn't particularly pleased with how either of the dalase had carried out their argument, but after what they had each been through with so little rest, it was no great surprise that their nerves were wearing thin. Fatigue could make a fool out of a sage unless checked.

 

Fett glanced at Rhys, who nodded and indicated to Tresha that he would oversee reequipping her. Then he turned to his wife and addressed her over their private implant channel. "I understand. I do," he told her gently. "But you cannot protect everyone. We all have our duty, and if we weren't willing to risk our lives to do it, we wouldn't be able to face even ourselves, much less each other."

 

He switched to speaking aloud for the benefit of the others present. "The point is largely moot," he said. "The demagolka could be anywhere by now. I'll inform Ops of the incident and we'll keep an eye out for her. You can't track someone across a battlefield like you can track a bounty, so we'll figure out how to take her down only when we have more information."

 

Mand'alor started to place the call even as a request for new orders came in from Sector 6 about a power grid attack. He patched that call into his one to Ops so that they could handle the reassignment, as he didn't have a full picture of the battlefield himself. The current reports made it look like the battle was starting to die down, but there were still a few pockets of heavy fighting. The orders for Clan Vevut would be to stay close to the power grid in case it came under attack again, but to get some rest if they could afford it. Ab'ki's forces had attacked under cover of darkness the previous night and there was no telling when the next one would be.

 

It looked like the orders would be the same for him and he was starting to feel like he needed it. Somehow even live combat wasn't as exhausting as the last few minutes had been.

[Whispering Abyss]

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.

[Ary the Grey]

A blaster bolt zipping past Aryian's head snapped him out of his reverie. He was in a war zone, and was acting like a child. He couldn't shake the familiarity of all this, but it was no time to get lost in his own thoughts. The Grey Jedi charged with a vicious yell, jumping into the front lines like beast of war, the silver-bladed lightsaber tonfa carving through everything in his path, reflecting blaster bolts with ease, and giving the Sith who saw it a measure of fear for the Grey Master.

 

It was a dance. All of it. An old familiar dance that Aryian had once knew long ago. The Jedi special forces, the commando operations, the Augury with Kirlocca and Fett and Mirdala and... Like floodgates opening, it all came rushing back to him. And in the middle of a war, he stopped, overwhelmed with all he'd forgotten. Armiena. Coruscant. His son...his son...

 

A large mechanical leg came crashing down, crushing a Sith soldier that had the gumption to charge Aryian when he stopped moving. [Perhaps you would be safer in the cockpit.] The Grey Master looked up, seeing a hatch open, and quickly scrambled to it, settling himself in the seat. The controls were like Aryian had only handled them the day prior. Dipping deeply into the Force, he took the controls, melding his own commands with that of Saladin's AI, the Force guiding them to eliminate threats preemptively, that no sensor system could have predicted. The old familiar dance continued, set to music only Aryian could hear. But in his joy and wonder at remembering much of what was lost to him, he also inadvertently activated his implant comm, sending a message to the only other two in system capable of receiving it.

 

<I...I remember...>

[Kalyani Wartide]

Jaesko met up with her just after she left the aid station. “How’s the shoulder?” Kaly just grimaced and shook her head, “Won’t stop me. Might slow me down but won’t stop me.” She held determination in her tone. It was obvious where her injury had been by the different coloured patch on her standard khaki coloured armour and she hoped that it wouldn’t become a further target. Kalyani hoped that she wouldn’t be hindered too much by the injury. Changing the subject she asked, “Where’s Mel and Araac?”

 

“That’s where we’re going now. I figured you’d want to catch up with Mel… I don’t think she knows about your injury.” Jaesko was apologetic in her tone before it became full of awe, “I heard they were somewhere near the Jetii. Apparently he’s got some kind of special battle tank.” Kalyani closed her eyes for a moment when they stopped for a short break, finding it uncomfortable to move her arm and shoulder too much. Breathing in she sought her sister for reassurance that Mel was alright, sighing with relief as she found her. They weren’t that far from where she was. Opening her eyes she murmured, “Ok Jaesko, let's get to them. I need to see Mellanie.” They moved off once more, Kalyani gritting her teeth as she pushed the pain to the back of her mind. She was very much on alert, feeling like the hair on the back of her neck was standing upright.

 

A short time later she caught sight of her sister and Araac, glancing round to make sure it was safe she headed right for her. Kaly put her uninjured arm on Mel’s shoulder, attempting to hide her injury because she didn’t want her little sister worrying that she’d taken a bad hit.

[Mellanie Devanus Vevut]

The news came back over the comms that they were supposed to create an FOB and camp by the power grid, and Mellanie was relieved. She was so kriffing tired. She relayed the information to Araac, Tros, and Tros' friend. She was also glad that the other Vevuts would be making their way here; after her earlier rush of concern for her sister, she wanted to see Kalyani with her own eyes.

 

Her wish was granted about ten minutes later. She was just setting up some barricades when Kalyani came up and threw her arm around her. Mel turned and gave her sister a full embrace, then pulled back when she felt Kalyani wince at her squeeze. "What happened?" she demanded. She glanced around, and seeing no one else was near except Araac and Jaesko, continued. "I thought I felt something earlier, like you were in danger or that something was wrong." She motioned to her sister's mismatched shoulder plate. "Did you get hurt? Why aren't you still in the med tent?"

 

Her tone was strict, but it only was in attempt to hide how concerned Mellanie was. Kalyani was her big sister; she couldn't bear the thought of losing her. But she also knew all too well that what they had signed up for meant that risk was one she had to accept.