Star Wars: Broken Empire
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Sidewinder
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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
Good to see some competence in the antagonists' behavior. By the way, why did you choose Dengar as the would-be assassin? Is this "Dengar" the human cyborg who occasionally acts as Boba Fett's partner? (I'm assuming Fett turned down the job, deeming the reward not worth the hassle of having to survive an Imperial-led manhunt.)
Please do not make Americans fight giant monsters.
Those gun nuts do not understand the meaning of "overkill," and will simply use weapon after weapon of mass destruction (WMD) until the monster is dead, or until they run out of weapons.
They have more WMD than there are monsters for us to fight. (More insanity here.)
Those gun nuts do not understand the meaning of "overkill," and will simply use weapon after weapon of mass destruction (WMD) until the monster is dead, or until they run out of weapons.
They have more WMD than there are monsters for us to fight. (More insanity here.)
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masterarminas
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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
We are getting there. Rest assured, I have my reasons for picking Dengar. And your questions will be answered soon; as in later today.Sidewinder wrote:Good to see some competence in the antagonists' behavior. By the way, why did you choose Dengar as the would-be assassin? Is this "Dengar" the human cyborg who occasionally acts as Boba Fett's partner? (I'm assuming Fett turned down the job, deeming the reward not worth the hassle of having to survive an Imperial-led manhunt.)
MA
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masterarminas
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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
“Noonan! The starting ceremonies are almost complete—Patrice is scheduled to give his speech!” the Rodian called out from his seat in front of the monitor.
Dengar picked up a bottle of some mildly alcoholic drink from the refrigeration unit and he closed the door. Unsealing the cap, he took a sip as he walked back into the study where the Rodian was staring rapt at the screen. The assassin checked his time-piece . . . 1424 hours. Got to say one thing about this guy, he knows how to hold to a schedule, Dengar thought as he listened to the Quarren CEO of Cyralis-Lamaredd Oreworks finished up his rousing introduction. He grunted. An Imperial Moff being enthusiastically introduced by a Quarren! Who would have thought it?
The crowd—tens of thousands who filled the square below gave thunderous applause as the alien finished his speech and then Patrice strode unto the stage.
Eight leagues away, on the sixteenth floor of a building outside the security perimeter, a droid brain came to life and visually scanned the stage—it spotted its target and triggered the first command (Noonan Three) which sent an electrical impulse to the molded explosives lining the panes of window glass. There was a sudden concussion and a roar of wind as the pressure equalized—and startled citizens below began to run as shards of glass fell like rain. One-half second after the glass detonated, the droid opened fire.
The E-Web spat bolts of heavy plasma—intense enough to disable or destroy an Imperial tank—in a steady stream that hosed the stage . . . or rather would have if they had not been stopped by the ray shields that interposed themselves between the decorative ‘flagpoles’. The droid brain took no notice, but continued to hammer the shields—given enough time, the bolts he fired were powerful enough to claw through. But it was not given that time. A TIE Avenger flying patrol overhead swooped down and locked a single concussion missile onto the gap in the office building from which the bolts were emerging, and six seconds after the droid initiated its assassination program, it was destroyed in a massive explosion that ripped through three floors of the building proper.
Dengar just took another sip of the drink and turned off the news feed. “You told me that you checked the square—how could miss the power conduits and shield generators if you checked the square?”
The Rodian sighed. “I got as close as I could, Noonan! There were Imperial troops everywhere—I thought they were just ornaments! What do we do now? Do we try again?”
“Now? After his security has gone to high alert? Oh, no, Manjiin, I can no longer collect on this bounty and it is time for me to leave Cyralis. As for you . . . you lied to me. I can no longer trust you, Manjiin.”
The Rodian began to turn, but Dengar was faster, and holding the knife he took from the kitchen, he reached around the Rodian from behind and slit his throat. Manjiin looked up at the bounty hunter in astonishment before he fell to the ground, bleeding out and the life slowly faded from his eyes.
Dengar took another sip and he carefully stepped around the body and placed the knife in Manjiin’s hand; then he left the small apartment and walked down the street towards his lodge. Passing a public waste disposal unit, Dengar dropped the bottle within and stripped off thin transparent gloves that he wore. From the pocket of his coat, he pulled out a small, disposable comm-unit and activated the device.
“I told you it wouldn’t work,” the voice from the other end said.
“It had to be tried,” Dengar answered. “You are in place?”
A snort was the only answer. “Worry about getting away clean, my friend. The added security will only get me closer to the target.”
“Good luck,” Dengar finished as he passed a second disposal unit and dropped the comm within. He strolled casually along the street as if nothing in the world were wrong. It had been a long-shot, he thought with a sudden smile at the double entendre, but at the least it would provide Fett with the ability to get close. After all, he was a product of the same cloning technology of many of the current Shocktroopers of Cyralis—genetically and physically identical to those other faceless men who formed the core of Patrice’s most loyal guards.
The assassin began to whistle as the thought of his friend, already ensconced within that perimeter as one of those many, many identical troopers. And then he cleared his mind of those thoughts and focused on getting safely back into space—and home.
Dengar picked up a bottle of some mildly alcoholic drink from the refrigeration unit and he closed the door. Unsealing the cap, he took a sip as he walked back into the study where the Rodian was staring rapt at the screen. The assassin checked his time-piece . . . 1424 hours. Got to say one thing about this guy, he knows how to hold to a schedule, Dengar thought as he listened to the Quarren CEO of Cyralis-Lamaredd Oreworks finished up his rousing introduction. He grunted. An Imperial Moff being enthusiastically introduced by a Quarren! Who would have thought it?
The crowd—tens of thousands who filled the square below gave thunderous applause as the alien finished his speech and then Patrice strode unto the stage.
Eight leagues away, on the sixteenth floor of a building outside the security perimeter, a droid brain came to life and visually scanned the stage—it spotted its target and triggered the first command (Noonan Three) which sent an electrical impulse to the molded explosives lining the panes of window glass. There was a sudden concussion and a roar of wind as the pressure equalized—and startled citizens below began to run as shards of glass fell like rain. One-half second after the glass detonated, the droid opened fire.
The E-Web spat bolts of heavy plasma—intense enough to disable or destroy an Imperial tank—in a steady stream that hosed the stage . . . or rather would have if they had not been stopped by the ray shields that interposed themselves between the decorative ‘flagpoles’. The droid brain took no notice, but continued to hammer the shields—given enough time, the bolts he fired were powerful enough to claw through. But it was not given that time. A TIE Avenger flying patrol overhead swooped down and locked a single concussion missile onto the gap in the office building from which the bolts were emerging, and six seconds after the droid initiated its assassination program, it was destroyed in a massive explosion that ripped through three floors of the building proper.
Dengar just took another sip of the drink and turned off the news feed. “You told me that you checked the square—how could miss the power conduits and shield generators if you checked the square?”
The Rodian sighed. “I got as close as I could, Noonan! There were Imperial troops everywhere—I thought they were just ornaments! What do we do now? Do we try again?”
“Now? After his security has gone to high alert? Oh, no, Manjiin, I can no longer collect on this bounty and it is time for me to leave Cyralis. As for you . . . you lied to me. I can no longer trust you, Manjiin.”
The Rodian began to turn, but Dengar was faster, and holding the knife he took from the kitchen, he reached around the Rodian from behind and slit his throat. Manjiin looked up at the bounty hunter in astonishment before he fell to the ground, bleeding out and the life slowly faded from his eyes.
Dengar took another sip and he carefully stepped around the body and placed the knife in Manjiin’s hand; then he left the small apartment and walked down the street towards his lodge. Passing a public waste disposal unit, Dengar dropped the bottle within and stripped off thin transparent gloves that he wore. From the pocket of his coat, he pulled out a small, disposable comm-unit and activated the device.
“I told you it wouldn’t work,” the voice from the other end said.
“It had to be tried,” Dengar answered. “You are in place?”
A snort was the only answer. “Worry about getting away clean, my friend. The added security will only get me closer to the target.”
“Good luck,” Dengar finished as he passed a second disposal unit and dropped the comm within. He strolled casually along the street as if nothing in the world were wrong. It had been a long-shot, he thought with a sudden smile at the double entendre, but at the least it would provide Fett with the ability to get close. After all, he was a product of the same cloning technology of many of the current Shocktroopers of Cyralis—genetically and physically identical to those other faceless men who formed the core of Patrice’s most loyal guards.
The assassin began to whistle as the thought of his friend, already ensconced within that perimeter as one of those many, many identical troopers. And then he cleared his mind of those thoughts and focused on getting safely back into space—and home.
Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
Now that's devious. I have to wonder, though - did Fett go through training with the other clones on Kamino? In every unit there's in-jokes, procedures, and habits that it would be hard to find out about from the outside and very weird not to know about, given the close relationships between clone troops.
“Heroes are heroes because they are heroic in behavior, not because they won or lost.” Nassim Nicholas Taleb
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Sidewinder
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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
Some EU works state Fett served as a stormtrooper, under Vader- the "No disintegrations," came about because Vader once ordered Trooper Fett (or whatever his alias was) to kill someone to make an example, but Fett disintegrated the body; if Fett hadn't recorded the kill, there wouldn't be an example for others to see.Esquire wrote:Now that's devious. I have to wonder, though - did Fett go through training with the other clones on Kamino? In every unit there's in-jokes, procedures, and habits that it would be hard to find out about from the outside and very weird not to know about, given the close relationships between clone troops.
There's also the fact Jango Fett and other Mandalorians "trained the trainers" of the first clonetroopers, so Fett should be able to play the "rookie who just got assigned to the unit" quite well.
Please do not make Americans fight giant monsters.
Those gun nuts do not understand the meaning of "overkill," and will simply use weapon after weapon of mass destruction (WMD) until the monster is dead, or until they run out of weapons.
They have more WMD than there are monsters for us to fight. (More insanity here.)
Those gun nuts do not understand the meaning of "overkill," and will simply use weapon after weapon of mass destruction (WMD) until the monster is dead, or until they run out of weapons.
They have more WMD than there are monsters for us to fight. (More insanity here.)
Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
Okay. I'm still not convinced it would be easy for him to pull off, but having served as a stormtrooper would at least make it possible.
“Heroes are heroes because they are heroic in behavior, not because they won or lost.” Nassim Nicholas Taleb
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masterarminas
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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
Star Destroyer Rapacity dropped out of hyperspace nearly in standard orbit above the lovely blue-green world floating below her; she was quickly followed by the remaining nineteen ships of the 573rd Battle Squadron. Fleet Captain Tylan G'deransk, the commander both Rapacity and the 573rd smiled as dozens of ships in orbit immediately began to scatter and panicked calls flooded the communications board.
He turned to face his executive officer. “It would appear that we have managed to get their attention, Commander.”
“Yes, sir,” the Coruscant native replied in a crisp voice. “All vessels are in position and are deploying their full complement of starfighters as we speak.”
“Excellent, Jon. Have my shuttle prepared—and inform those who believe themselves in be in command below that it would be a very bad idea to fire upon me.”
“Escorts?”
“Naboor will be pleased to see me again, Commander. Still, there is a slight chance of some miscommunication—two companies of Shock Troopers. That should suffice.”
“Very well, Captain,” Jon Paquin said as he snapped to attention.
Tylan walked back along the ramp until he stood over the communications station in the pit below. “Establish contact with Onslaught,” he ordered.
“Channel open, Sir,” the pit Lieutenant replied.
“Captain Makon, while I am planetside, you are in command of the 573rd. You have your orders for all contingencies—and my trust in your abilities. Is all in readiness?”
“Sir,” a woman’s voice answered promptly, “all ships are in position and ready. I have reviewed all contingencies and am prepared to order the Squadron to open fire should that be necessary.”
Tylan smiled. “Well, since my death or being held as a hostage is the basis for that particular contingency, Captain Makon, let us hope that the situation does not call for that. The Squadron is yours, madame.”
And with a nod at his XO, he turned and left the bridge behind.
He turned to face his executive officer. “It would appear that we have managed to get their attention, Commander.”
“Yes, sir,” the Coruscant native replied in a crisp voice. “All vessels are in position and are deploying their full complement of starfighters as we speak.”
“Excellent, Jon. Have my shuttle prepared—and inform those who believe themselves in be in command below that it would be a very bad idea to fire upon me.”
“Escorts?”
“Naboor will be pleased to see me again, Commander. Still, there is a slight chance of some miscommunication—two companies of Shock Troopers. That should suffice.”
“Very well, Captain,” Jon Paquin said as he snapped to attention.
Tylan walked back along the ramp until he stood over the communications station in the pit below. “Establish contact with Onslaught,” he ordered.
“Channel open, Sir,” the pit Lieutenant replied.
“Captain Makon, while I am planetside, you are in command of the 573rd. You have your orders for all contingencies—and my trust in your abilities. Is all in readiness?”
“Sir,” a woman’s voice answered promptly, “all ships are in position and ready. I have reviewed all contingencies and am prepared to order the Squadron to open fire should that be necessary.”
Tylan smiled. “Well, since my death or being held as a hostage is the basis for that particular contingency, Captain Makon, let us hope that the situation does not call for that. The Squadron is yours, madame.”
And with a nod at his XO, he turned and left the bridge behind.
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masterarminas
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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
The Great Hall was silent as Tylan walked down its length, escorted by the Twi’lek major-domo of Naboor the Hutt. The two were flanked by Gamorrean guards—but they were in turned flanked by the highly trained Shock Troopers from his flagship. Still, the silence from all of the Hutt’s guest was deafening; clearly none present had thought that an Imperial officer would be so brazen as to simply walk into the confines of Naboor’s palace.
At the end of the hall, the Hutt reclined upon a dais, and his eyes grew wide as he recognized Tylan.
“YOU!” he bellowed, and a ray shield snapped up into place before him as one pudgy finger pressed a button. “I owe you nothing, human! Nor your Moff—that debt has been paid!”
Tylan smiled. “Indeed, and quite promptly, Great Naboor,” he said with a bow once he reached the balk line. “I am here on other business—business that might well be profitable to you.”
“I desire no further contact with you, Captain. But perhaps, I can treat you to my hospitality,” the Hutt snarled.
With a click and a clatter, scores of droid feet rushed into the Great Hall, all bearing weapons.
“Battle droids . . . how quaint,” Tylan said. “Come now Naboor, none of that. I have a proposition for you that will enrich you greatly—or end you, should you choose not to accept it.”
“Threats? You dare threaten me here, in my own Palace, you mewling human! I shall make you a slave! I will have you killed and your heart restarted so that I kill you again! And again, and again!”
“That would not be wise, Naboor,” he answered as he handed the major-domo an electronic pad.
“And why would that not be wise?” the Hutt asked.
The Twi’lek bowed low. “My Lord Naboor, he has issued orders for his Squadron to utterly destroy this palace and the city currounding it should he—or his men—come to harm.”
The Hutt laughed. “So, you are bold indeed, Captain G'deransk; what do you desire? And rest assured, the price will be high.”
“A little thing, a piece of information, Great Naboor . . . who is the source of the bounty on Moff Patrice’s head?”
Naboor’s laughter boomed across the Great Hall. “The Hutts are paying that bounty, human. I cannot give you—or sell you—the information you desire.”
“Oh, certainly you can, worm. Hutts would sell their own kin into slavery to see a profit—and rest assured, this will be quite profitable for you.”
“No. Now leave.”
Tylan smiled again and he lifted his comm-unit. “Captain Makon, execute Contingency Order Fourteen.”
The Hutt frowned, but nothing happened for several seconds, until the entire building suddenly rocked, dust floating down from the rafters as the distant BOOM of an explosion sounded. Naboor’s eyes narrowed and one of many servants rushed in and whispered in his ear—and was promptly flung against a wall in return.
“You destroyed one of my warehouses!”
“Yes, I did, you corpulent Worm. According to my sources, that warehouse was your main transshipment point for illegal spice—oops. Care to reconsider your acceptance of my proposition? Or should I continue cleaning up your illegal activities on this world?”
If Hutts were physically able to experience a stroke, Naboor would have been a good candidate at that moment in time. “We are not within your Sector! You cannot do this!”
“Actually, Naboor, I can. Moff Krandor is a good friend of Moff Patrice, and he has granted my squadron permission to act here—on your world. We are all one happy Empire, after all, working in concert to fight organized crime and the spice trade.”
Naboor said nothing and Tylan raised his comm-unit again, but then the Hutt sighed. “The price will be heavy.”
“The price will be as I set it, Naboor. It is a fair price,” and the Imperial officer handed the Twi’lek another data pad. The Twi’lek glanced at it, and his eyes grew wide, and he in turn gave it to another servant to carry over to Naboor.
Upon seeing the price offered, Naboor flew into a rage and a second servant quickly died behind the ray shield.
“You . . . you . . . you offer almost nothing! This would not be worth the information by itself, let alone the value of what you have already destroyed!”
Tylan shook his head and he spoke four more words into the comm-unit, “Execute Contingency Order Fifteen.”
Two seconds passed and another distant BOOM shook the palace. “I believe that was your yard that illegally arms and equips smugglers with prohibited weapons and shields, worm. Shall we continue to play this game?”
Naboor literally shook from rage, but he finally nodded. “ORO Corp. It was the board of directors of ORO Corp who put the bounty on Patrice’s head. Now pay me and GO! Never again do I want to see you in my presence!”
“Always a pleasure, Great Naboor,” Tylan said as he bowed again. “Your account has now been credited. Until next time, worm.”
“NEXT TIME?” Naboor croaked, as the Imperial officer—and his guards—turned on their heels and marched out of the palace.
At the end of the hall, the Hutt reclined upon a dais, and his eyes grew wide as he recognized Tylan.
“YOU!” he bellowed, and a ray shield snapped up into place before him as one pudgy finger pressed a button. “I owe you nothing, human! Nor your Moff—that debt has been paid!”
Tylan smiled. “Indeed, and quite promptly, Great Naboor,” he said with a bow once he reached the balk line. “I am here on other business—business that might well be profitable to you.”
“I desire no further contact with you, Captain. But perhaps, I can treat you to my hospitality,” the Hutt snarled.
With a click and a clatter, scores of droid feet rushed into the Great Hall, all bearing weapons.
“Battle droids . . . how quaint,” Tylan said. “Come now Naboor, none of that. I have a proposition for you that will enrich you greatly—or end you, should you choose not to accept it.”
“Threats? You dare threaten me here, in my own Palace, you mewling human! I shall make you a slave! I will have you killed and your heart restarted so that I kill you again! And again, and again!”
“That would not be wise, Naboor,” he answered as he handed the major-domo an electronic pad.
“And why would that not be wise?” the Hutt asked.
The Twi’lek bowed low. “My Lord Naboor, he has issued orders for his Squadron to utterly destroy this palace and the city currounding it should he—or his men—come to harm.”
The Hutt laughed. “So, you are bold indeed, Captain G'deransk; what do you desire? And rest assured, the price will be high.”
“A little thing, a piece of information, Great Naboor . . . who is the source of the bounty on Moff Patrice’s head?”
Naboor’s laughter boomed across the Great Hall. “The Hutts are paying that bounty, human. I cannot give you—or sell you—the information you desire.”
“Oh, certainly you can, worm. Hutts would sell their own kin into slavery to see a profit—and rest assured, this will be quite profitable for you.”
“No. Now leave.”
Tylan smiled again and he lifted his comm-unit. “Captain Makon, execute Contingency Order Fourteen.”
The Hutt frowned, but nothing happened for several seconds, until the entire building suddenly rocked, dust floating down from the rafters as the distant BOOM of an explosion sounded. Naboor’s eyes narrowed and one of many servants rushed in and whispered in his ear—and was promptly flung against a wall in return.
“You destroyed one of my warehouses!”
“Yes, I did, you corpulent Worm. According to my sources, that warehouse was your main transshipment point for illegal spice—oops. Care to reconsider your acceptance of my proposition? Or should I continue cleaning up your illegal activities on this world?”
If Hutts were physically able to experience a stroke, Naboor would have been a good candidate at that moment in time. “We are not within your Sector! You cannot do this!”
“Actually, Naboor, I can. Moff Krandor is a good friend of Moff Patrice, and he has granted my squadron permission to act here—on your world. We are all one happy Empire, after all, working in concert to fight organized crime and the spice trade.”
Naboor said nothing and Tylan raised his comm-unit again, but then the Hutt sighed. “The price will be heavy.”
“The price will be as I set it, Naboor. It is a fair price,” and the Imperial officer handed the Twi’lek another data pad. The Twi’lek glanced at it, and his eyes grew wide, and he in turn gave it to another servant to carry over to Naboor.
Upon seeing the price offered, Naboor flew into a rage and a second servant quickly died behind the ray shield.
“You . . . you . . . you offer almost nothing! This would not be worth the information by itself, let alone the value of what you have already destroyed!”
Tylan shook his head and he spoke four more words into the comm-unit, “Execute Contingency Order Fifteen.”
Two seconds passed and another distant BOOM shook the palace. “I believe that was your yard that illegally arms and equips smugglers with prohibited weapons and shields, worm. Shall we continue to play this game?”
Naboor literally shook from rage, but he finally nodded. “ORO Corp. It was the board of directors of ORO Corp who put the bounty on Patrice’s head. Now pay me and GO! Never again do I want to see you in my presence!”
“Always a pleasure, Great Naboor,” Tylan said as he bowed again. “Your account has now been credited. Until next time, worm.”
“NEXT TIME?” Naboor croaked, as the Imperial officer—and his guards—turned on their heels and marched out of the palace.
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PhilosopherOfSorts
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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
Hmm, how far can you push a Hutt? He can't let insults like this stand, or the other Hutts will sense his weakness and eat him alive. Patrice is making another enemy here, I think, something he can ill afford.
A fuse is a physical embodyment of zen, in order for it to succeed, it must fail.
Power to the Peaceful
If you have friends like mine, raise your glasses. If you don't, raise your standards.
Power to the Peaceful
If you have friends like mine, raise your glasses. If you don't, raise your standards.
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masterarminas
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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
Some days I hate this job, Anton L’sard thought as he sighed. “Major, standing orders are to treat the miners with kid gloves,” the officer said softly.
The immaculately attired Major turned around and glared at L’sard, his arms crossed behind his back. “Lieutenant,” he said in a not-so-quiet voice, “these abo have broken Imperial law. We are going to send a message to all of the scum on this world. Now prepare your men—that is an order, Lieutenant.”
Anton shook his head and he stepped up close to the Major, turning his back on the miners and their families that Major Westral had dragged from their homes in the middle of the night. “Sir, you have no proof that these individuals broke any law—and even if you did, Sir, a rock thrown through the window of a recruiting office does not carry the penalty of burning down these people’s homes. The local authorities will handle this, Sir. If I might sugge-. . .”
Westral, whose face had grown redder and redder as the words spoken by the Lieutenant registered. “YOU MAY NOT! I gave you an order, Lieutenant! Now obey it, or I will have you relieved and arrested for insubordination!”
"Who does this chakaar think he is?" Vsilisk muttered, and Anton closed his eyes and sighed again as Westral spun around and worked his jaw.
“WHO SAID THAT?” he bellowed at the platoon. None of them said a word, but the sergeant in charge of Vsilisk’s squad spat on the ground. The Major turned back to L’sard. “I will have this entire platoon broken, Lieutenant! Now fire those buildings!”
The special missions Lieutenant sighed again. I gave you three chances, you imbecile. He knew exactly why Ise and Patrice had picked the 442nd for this assignment; the veterans under his command wouldn’t be intimidated by mere rank, after all. Westral was merely one of scores of officers that had deserted their posts and fled to Cyralis over the past year. And before Patrice trusted them with an independent command, he wanted to make certain they were not the same types of officers liable to provoke an incident. So, the 442nd had been broken up into platoons and each of these officers were assigned one of those platoons. Only they weren’t wearing their 442nd patch. No, the special missions troopers were pretending to be fresh recruits out of Basic, in the field for the first time. So far, L’sard had finished a month with two other officers—decent, if not great, officers. But this time, by the Emperor’s Black Heart!, this time they had found an example of just what Patrice had feared.
“No, sir. Sergeant, place the Major under arrest, while I defuse this situation with the min-. . .,” L’sard stopped in mid-word as Westral drew his blaster and pointed directly at the junior officer’s face.
“You are guilty of refusing a direct order on the field of battle, Lieutenant! You are guilty as well of being an abo sympathizer, and a traitor to the Empire. In the name of Director General Isard, I hereby sentence you to death; sentence to be carried out immediately.”
The sound of a throat clearing behind the major made him look back over his shoulder, and he blanched as he saw thirty-seven blast rifles pointed directly at him. “Put down the blaster, Sir, and you might just live,” the Sergeant said.
“You are all traitors!”
“Sarge, the idiots just too dumb to live; can I cut him now?” Vsilisk asked plaintively.
“DAMN IT, Vsilisk! Can’t you go two minutes without saying a word?” the Sergeant answered—and the Major started to sprint.
But Anton L’sard wasn’t a well-connected high-society officer used to a posh posting; he was a former special missions enlisted trooper who had been selected to attend Officer Candidate’s School, and he leapt forward, grabbing the blaster pistol and wrenching it away as he threw the Major over his shoulder and into a muddy ditch.
“Major Kelgor Westral, by the authority of Moff Patrice, I find you guilty of being too stupid to live,” L’sard said as he walked over to the ditch. “I also find you guilty of being a speciest and of issuing an illegal order. The sentence is death.” And with that word, Anton fired a single bolt into the chest of the gawking, sputtering, mud-splattered officer.
“Vsilisk,” he said as he tossed the weapon to the Sergeant. “Package up the body to be returned to Cyralis—I need to calm down the Quarren and Mon Cal.”
“Right-O,” the trooper answered as he jumped down in the ditch and began to pat down the bodies. “Just give me a second to find his cred-. . .,” and Trey sighed, as he felt a hand on his shoulder. “You aren’t gonna let me keep it, are you Sarge?”
“The credits? Hell, no. They go in with his personals, you know the rules. But the body? Yeah, Vsilisk, you can keep the body. In fact, I’m gonna make you carry the body all the back to the shuttle.”
"Carry him! Come on, Sarge, it's forty-two klicks back to the shuttles!"
“Yep. Now get him in a body bag, Vsilisk—and no souvenirs.”
“Not even one ear?”
“VSILISK!”
“Okay, okay, I’m putting him in the bag—with both ears intact! What about a tooth? We could say that the LT knocked one out.”
"VSILISK!"
The immaculately attired Major turned around and glared at L’sard, his arms crossed behind his back. “Lieutenant,” he said in a not-so-quiet voice, “these abo have broken Imperial law. We are going to send a message to all of the scum on this world. Now prepare your men—that is an order, Lieutenant.”
Anton shook his head and he stepped up close to the Major, turning his back on the miners and their families that Major Westral had dragged from their homes in the middle of the night. “Sir, you have no proof that these individuals broke any law—and even if you did, Sir, a rock thrown through the window of a recruiting office does not carry the penalty of burning down these people’s homes. The local authorities will handle this, Sir. If I might sugge-. . .”
Westral, whose face had grown redder and redder as the words spoken by the Lieutenant registered. “YOU MAY NOT! I gave you an order, Lieutenant! Now obey it, or I will have you relieved and arrested for insubordination!”
"Who does this chakaar think he is?" Vsilisk muttered, and Anton closed his eyes and sighed again as Westral spun around and worked his jaw.
“WHO SAID THAT?” he bellowed at the platoon. None of them said a word, but the sergeant in charge of Vsilisk’s squad spat on the ground. The Major turned back to L’sard. “I will have this entire platoon broken, Lieutenant! Now fire those buildings!”
The special missions Lieutenant sighed again. I gave you three chances, you imbecile. He knew exactly why Ise and Patrice had picked the 442nd for this assignment; the veterans under his command wouldn’t be intimidated by mere rank, after all. Westral was merely one of scores of officers that had deserted their posts and fled to Cyralis over the past year. And before Patrice trusted them with an independent command, he wanted to make certain they were not the same types of officers liable to provoke an incident. So, the 442nd had been broken up into platoons and each of these officers were assigned one of those platoons. Only they weren’t wearing their 442nd patch. No, the special missions troopers were pretending to be fresh recruits out of Basic, in the field for the first time. So far, L’sard had finished a month with two other officers—decent, if not great, officers. But this time, by the Emperor’s Black Heart!, this time they had found an example of just what Patrice had feared.
“No, sir. Sergeant, place the Major under arrest, while I defuse this situation with the min-. . .,” L’sard stopped in mid-word as Westral drew his blaster and pointed directly at the junior officer’s face.
“You are guilty of refusing a direct order on the field of battle, Lieutenant! You are guilty as well of being an abo sympathizer, and a traitor to the Empire. In the name of Director General Isard, I hereby sentence you to death; sentence to be carried out immediately.”
The sound of a throat clearing behind the major made him look back over his shoulder, and he blanched as he saw thirty-seven blast rifles pointed directly at him. “Put down the blaster, Sir, and you might just live,” the Sergeant said.
“You are all traitors!”
“Sarge, the idiots just too dumb to live; can I cut him now?” Vsilisk asked plaintively.
“DAMN IT, Vsilisk! Can’t you go two minutes without saying a word?” the Sergeant answered—and the Major started to sprint.
But Anton L’sard wasn’t a well-connected high-society officer used to a posh posting; he was a former special missions enlisted trooper who had been selected to attend Officer Candidate’s School, and he leapt forward, grabbing the blaster pistol and wrenching it away as he threw the Major over his shoulder and into a muddy ditch.
“Major Kelgor Westral, by the authority of Moff Patrice, I find you guilty of being too stupid to live,” L’sard said as he walked over to the ditch. “I also find you guilty of being a speciest and of issuing an illegal order. The sentence is death.” And with that word, Anton fired a single bolt into the chest of the gawking, sputtering, mud-splattered officer.
“Vsilisk,” he said as he tossed the weapon to the Sergeant. “Package up the body to be returned to Cyralis—I need to calm down the Quarren and Mon Cal.”
“Right-O,” the trooper answered as he jumped down in the ditch and began to pat down the bodies. “Just give me a second to find his cred-. . .,” and Trey sighed, as he felt a hand on his shoulder. “You aren’t gonna let me keep it, are you Sarge?”
“The credits? Hell, no. They go in with his personals, you know the rules. But the body? Yeah, Vsilisk, you can keep the body. In fact, I’m gonna make you carry the body all the back to the shuttle.”
"Carry him! Come on, Sarge, it's forty-two klicks back to the shuttles!"
“Yep. Now get him in a body bag, Vsilisk—and no souvenirs.”
“Not even one ear?”
“VSILISK!”
“Okay, okay, I’m putting him in the bag—with both ears intact! What about a tooth? We could say that the LT knocked one out.”
"VSILISK!"
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masterarminas
- Jedi Master
- Posts: 1039
- Joined: 2012-04-09 11:06pm
Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
Thom Patrice looked up from the paperwork on his desk as his aide entered the office. The Twi’lek bowed bow. “There is an incoming transmission from Naboo, Moff Patrice, addressed to you.”
He smiled. “Thank you, Goran, could you have Communications put it through immediately? And could you contact Galen; I want to discuss some of his proposals I have been mulling over. Clear, let’s say . . . two hours of my schedule this evening? Can we arrange that?”
“Certainly, my Moff,” the Twi’lek said as he bowed again and exited the office, closing the doors behind him.
Thom closed the folder he was reading and he sat up as the holographic projector on the corner of his desk sprang to life. He smiled at the image projected therein.
“Senator Naberrie! What a pleasant surprise; I haven’t seen you since . . .,” Thom paused and then he nodded, “the hearings on the Akron Incident, back on Coruscant. That was years ago, my dear. And it is if you haven’t aged a day—how are you, my dear?”
“Oh, General and Moff Patrice, you are such a sweet flatterer. I am actually contacting you on behalf of Queen Kylantha. She has heard such glorious tales of what is happening in Cyralis and wonders if perhaps she might see the peace you have secured with her own eyes. And those shipyards that is all the rumor.”
The old general laughed. “Her Majesty is welcome to visit at any time, in fact, I will extend to her an official invitation for . . . next month? Would that be within her schedule?”
“I believe it can be adjusted to accommodate that, Moff Patrice. She wonders if Cyralis has excess production capacity that Naboo might purchase for its own defense—you do know that Director Isard has recalled fully half of the Legions that the Emperor had assigned to our home world.”
“I had heard rumors of that, yes.”
“Moff Panaka is rather upset—his capital squadrons were also cut, by nearly a third.”
“Well,” Thom whispered as he leaned back. “We do have a bit of excess capacity that we will certainly make available to Queen Kylantha and Moff Panaka, if they wish to purchase it. Ships are rather expensive, however. I have it, I will invite both Panaka and Queen Kylantha—yourself as well, Senator—for a visit and a tour of the Ord Tanis yards. There is a representative of Sienar Fleet Systems here who I believe might be open to a new facility in the Chommel Sector; one that will provide Chommel and Naboo with their own local starfighters.”
“That is acceptable, Moff Patrice. I will inform the Queen of your gracious invitation and invite Moff Panaka as well.”
“Was there anything else, Senator?” Thom asked, and the holographic figure on his desk nodded.
“Actually, yes. I understand that Veers has been appointed as Moff of Gaulus Sector—Ryloth will such a burden upon the poor man. Is there anything that Naboo—or Cyralis—can do to assist him?”
Thom frowned and then he shook his head. “I will, of course, make the offer to Maximilian, but he is a proud man. I fear that the conflict on Ryloth will only increase in severity and intensity; the Rebels have not forgotten the Battle of Hoth—nor has he. I do hate the idea of having Rebel forces operating so close to my own borders, but what is there to do except support Veers—if he will accept such aid.”
“I agree, and my friends—with whom I discuss many things—do as well. I fear that Veers will strike hard and cause such bloodshed on Ryloth that the Rebellion will have no choice but advance in force. It will bring the war to this Region of the Galaxy, Moff Patrice, and that saddens me.”
“I understand, completely, Senator,” Thom said with a genial smile. “And rest assured, I shall do all within my—limited—power of preventing the Rebels from getting a foothold in this section of the Rim,” he paused and leaned back in his chair and then nodded. “In fact, if Her Majesty and Moff Panaka can arrange to spend a week here, I think that I will call for a meeting of the leadership of several nearby Sectors—Chommel is quite close when compared to the vast majority of this Galaxy and I think, well, I believe that we loyal Sectors must at least speak to the needs of our local defenses while supporting the legitimate government of the Ruling Council on Coruscant. Would Queen Kylantha be interested in such a summit?”
“Oh, Moff Patrice . . . there are depths to you, Sir. Yes, I believe that Her Majesty—and Moff Panaka—would be most interested in such a meeting.”
“Very well, then. I shall arrange for it . . . starting on the seventeenth of next month?”
Naberrie looked off to her side, and then she turned back to face the camera and smiled. “That would fit in the schedule nicely, Moff Patrice. Until the seventeenth, then?”
“Good-bye, my dear. It is always a pleasure speaking with you.”
And the hologram faded. Thom sat back in his chair and he rocked once, and then twice, and then a third time. Then he sat up and pressed a button on his intercom. “Goran, set aside a week starting on the seventeenth of next month—clear our full schedule for . . . shall we say ten days? And I need the staff assembled in three hours time in the briefing room—along with Admiral Morvin and General Ise. Inform communications to stand by; I have several calls to make. Oh, and get back in touch with Galen—I shan’t have time to meet with him this afternoon; instead ask him to come to the Palace for dinner this evening; we will discuss his proposals then.”
“At once, Moff Patrice,” the voice came back through the speaker. And Thom steepled together his fingers and smiled as he leaned back in his chair.
He smiled. “Thank you, Goran, could you have Communications put it through immediately? And could you contact Galen; I want to discuss some of his proposals I have been mulling over. Clear, let’s say . . . two hours of my schedule this evening? Can we arrange that?”
“Certainly, my Moff,” the Twi’lek said as he bowed again and exited the office, closing the doors behind him.
Thom closed the folder he was reading and he sat up as the holographic projector on the corner of his desk sprang to life. He smiled at the image projected therein.
“Senator Naberrie! What a pleasant surprise; I haven’t seen you since . . .,” Thom paused and then he nodded, “the hearings on the Akron Incident, back on Coruscant. That was years ago, my dear. And it is if you haven’t aged a day—how are you, my dear?”
“Oh, General and Moff Patrice, you are such a sweet flatterer. I am actually contacting you on behalf of Queen Kylantha. She has heard such glorious tales of what is happening in Cyralis and wonders if perhaps she might see the peace you have secured with her own eyes. And those shipyards that is all the rumor.”
The old general laughed. “Her Majesty is welcome to visit at any time, in fact, I will extend to her an official invitation for . . . next month? Would that be within her schedule?”
“I believe it can be adjusted to accommodate that, Moff Patrice. She wonders if Cyralis has excess production capacity that Naboo might purchase for its own defense—you do know that Director Isard has recalled fully half of the Legions that the Emperor had assigned to our home world.”
“I had heard rumors of that, yes.”
“Moff Panaka is rather upset—his capital squadrons were also cut, by nearly a third.”
“Well,” Thom whispered as he leaned back. “We do have a bit of excess capacity that we will certainly make available to Queen Kylantha and Moff Panaka, if they wish to purchase it. Ships are rather expensive, however. I have it, I will invite both Panaka and Queen Kylantha—yourself as well, Senator—for a visit and a tour of the Ord Tanis yards. There is a representative of Sienar Fleet Systems here who I believe might be open to a new facility in the Chommel Sector; one that will provide Chommel and Naboo with their own local starfighters.”
“That is acceptable, Moff Patrice. I will inform the Queen of your gracious invitation and invite Moff Panaka as well.”
“Was there anything else, Senator?” Thom asked, and the holographic figure on his desk nodded.
“Actually, yes. I understand that Veers has been appointed as Moff of Gaulus Sector—Ryloth will such a burden upon the poor man. Is there anything that Naboo—or Cyralis—can do to assist him?”
Thom frowned and then he shook his head. “I will, of course, make the offer to Maximilian, but he is a proud man. I fear that the conflict on Ryloth will only increase in severity and intensity; the Rebels have not forgotten the Battle of Hoth—nor has he. I do hate the idea of having Rebel forces operating so close to my own borders, but what is there to do except support Veers—if he will accept such aid.”
“I agree, and my friends—with whom I discuss many things—do as well. I fear that Veers will strike hard and cause such bloodshed on Ryloth that the Rebellion will have no choice but advance in force. It will bring the war to this Region of the Galaxy, Moff Patrice, and that saddens me.”
“I understand, completely, Senator,” Thom said with a genial smile. “And rest assured, I shall do all within my—limited—power of preventing the Rebels from getting a foothold in this section of the Rim,” he paused and leaned back in his chair and then nodded. “In fact, if Her Majesty and Moff Panaka can arrange to spend a week here, I think that I will call for a meeting of the leadership of several nearby Sectors—Chommel is quite close when compared to the vast majority of this Galaxy and I think, well, I believe that we loyal Sectors must at least speak to the needs of our local defenses while supporting the legitimate government of the Ruling Council on Coruscant. Would Queen Kylantha be interested in such a summit?”
“Oh, Moff Patrice . . . there are depths to you, Sir. Yes, I believe that Her Majesty—and Moff Panaka—would be most interested in such a meeting.”
“Very well, then. I shall arrange for it . . . starting on the seventeenth of next month?”
Naberrie looked off to her side, and then she turned back to face the camera and smiled. “That would fit in the schedule nicely, Moff Patrice. Until the seventeenth, then?”
“Good-bye, my dear. It is always a pleasure speaking with you.”
And the hologram faded. Thom sat back in his chair and he rocked once, and then twice, and then a third time. Then he sat up and pressed a button on his intercom. “Goran, set aside a week starting on the seventeenth of next month—clear our full schedule for . . . shall we say ten days? And I need the staff assembled in three hours time in the briefing room—along with Admiral Morvin and General Ise. Inform communications to stand by; I have several calls to make. Oh, and get back in touch with Galen—I shan’t have time to meet with him this afternoon; instead ask him to come to the Palace for dinner this evening; we will discuss his proposals then.”
“At once, Moff Patrice,” the voice came back through the speaker. And Thom steepled together his fingers and smiled as he leaned back in his chair.
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masterarminas
- Jedi Master
- Posts: 1039
- Joined: 2012-04-09 11:06pm
Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
For the Cyralis Summit, I am looking at inviting the leadership of the following Sectors in the Outer Rim and Mid Rim: Chommel, Alui, Ryndellian, Sanbra, Toblain, Hook Neubla, Juris, Bajic, Cadavine, Astal, Sarin, Parmel, Quence, Cor'ric, Portmoak, Parmic, Thuris, Torch Nebula, Skine, Dail, Lol, Merel, Sarnix, Sujimis, Kiblini, Karthakk, Tolanda, Savareen, Dalchon, Pelgrin, Gaulus, Bitrose, and (of course) Cyralis/Lamaredd.
Thirty-two delegations (if all attend), plus Thom and the gang. Anymore that you folks think I should at least invite . . . and what are your thoughts on this arc?
MA
Thirty-two delegations (if all attend), plus Thom and the gang. Anymore that you folks think I should at least invite . . . and what are your thoughts on this arc?
MA
Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
I'm liking the 'read-between-the-lines' of the conversation about Veers.
This made me laughOkay, okay, I’m putting him in the bag—with both ears intact!
Marcus Aurelius: ...the Swedish S-tank; the exception is made mostly because the Swedes insisted really hard that it is a tank rather than a tank destroyer or assault gun
Ilya Muromets: And now I have this image of a massive, stern-looking Swede staring down a bunch of military nerds. "It's a tank." "Uh, yes Sir. Please don't hurt us."
Ilya Muromets: And now I have this image of a massive, stern-looking Swede staring down a bunch of military nerds. "It's a tank." "Uh, yes Sir. Please don't hurt us."
Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
I appreciate that you're staying with the original story. Making alliances with the local Moffs would be a step in the direction of Empire for our "heroes". These type of stories tend to get a little off topic sometimes. It's nice to see a story in such good quality in both dialogue between characters and explanations of logistics.
When you force a nation to choose between Russia Imperialism and American Hegemony, they choose the McDonald's and Coke every time.
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masterarminas
- Jedi Master
- Posts: 1039
- Joined: 2012-04-09 11:06pm
Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
Chapter Nine
“War. Once again war has been thrust upon the Empire,” Director Isard said into the camera with a sad face. “It is with a heavy heart that I must report that former Grand Moff Zsinj has broken faith with the Empire and declared that the worlds he was charged with protecting are seceding from the Galactic Empire. Such treason will not be allowed; already there have been mass defections among Zsinj’s ranking officers as they return to Imperial service answering the orders of the Ruling Council here on Coruscant. I ask that all citizens of the Empire have faith—this . . . Warlord will not be permitted to brazenly defy the will of the Council. He will be brought to justice.”
The news announcer reappeared on the screen. “That was Director Ysanne Isard speaking for the Ruling Council earlier today on Coruscant. Eyewitness reports from along the border of the Quelli Oversector confirm that sizeable formations of the Imperial Fleet and several score Legions have begun an invasion into the space claimed by the renegade Zsinj. The Kidriff system has already played host to a major battle involving no fewer than three hundred capital warships and forty Legions—as we speak, loyal Imperial ground forces are rooting out those who have forsaken the Empire to swear allegiance to this traitor.”
The holoscreen blanked as Thom turned the news report off. “So, it has begun.”
Kell Morvin snorted and then he took a sip of his drink. “And if the reports that I am hearing are correct, they are going hammer and tong at each other—Zsinj hit Taanab from orbit when he discovered that Isard was using it as a base of operations.” Kell shook his head. “From the rumors, it was pure butchery, Thom. He utterly destroyed the capital city of Pandath in a fit of rage over Isard taking your advice.”
The Fleet Admiral took another sip and he shook his head again. “I have increased all patrols—Zsinj might well want revenge on you as well, and if he comes against us in force, I doubt that I can stop him.”
“Kell,” Thom said with a chuckle. “Isard has gone all in. With what she is throwing at him, can Zsinj spare anything for us? Would you?”
“Would I? Hells no, Thom. But I am not Zsinj—and that man carries a grudge way too far.”
Thom shrugged. “Which means he may well want to attack us, but can he—realistically—spare the ships or men while Isard is pounding his forces? Especially in wake of the ships and troops who switched their allegiance to Coruscant in answer to her recall order.”
Kell sighed. “Realistically? No. But this is Zsinj we are speaking of; he may well no longer care about what is realistic.”
“Point taken, Kell,” Thom said, “and I approve of your caution. But there comes a time, when caution must be thrown aside.”
Kell raised the glass in a salute of affirmation and took another sip. Whereupon the third man present spoke up. “As with this summit you have proposed, Moff Patrice?”
“No, Conal. That is just hedging our bets,” the old general replied with a laugh. “Most of the Sector Moffs with whom I spoke were rather . . . incredulous of such a conference. But not all; some were very much pleased given the lack of recent attention the Outer and Mid Rim in this quadrant of the Galaxy has received from the Core. No, all thirty-two delegations will attend—and that, my friends, means we might be able to press ahead all the sooner.”
“Attending does not mean that they will agree, Moff Patrice,” the Ubiqtorate agent said softly. “Certainly, Veers will not—that man is a fanatic.”
“True. Which is why we already have plans in place to take care of Veers—regardless of how Mon Mothma replies to my overture. You have managed to get your people in place?”
“I have,” Galen said briskly. “And it will look as if he has been assassinated by Zsinj’s people. Which should infuriate Isard even more, considering she personally sent Veers out here.”
Conal winced. “My Lord, I do not care for us assassinating Imperial officers of Veers caliber—I do not care for it one bit.”
“Understood, Conal,” Thom said. “And I admire the man myself. He knows his duty and he does it—which means what if he discovers what we are up to out here?”
The Sector General sighed. “He stops his operations on Ryloth, whistles up Admiral Daanin’s Fleet from Corellia and comes hunting us.”
“Exactly. As much as I hate doing it, it must be done, Conal. You are still with us, I hope?”
“Aye, my Lord. I gave you my word, and I will follow you—I just do not like having to do this deed.”
“But what of Isard?” Galen asked. “She will be told of this summit—and she will not like it, Moff Patrice. She has already warned you not to poach your neighbors; and while this is still in the neighborhood, she will wonder if you are planning to declare your own fief out here. And when she wonders, she gets nervous. When she gets nervous, people begin to die in spectacularly bad fashion.”
Thom smiled. “I took care of that already. I spoke with Isard this morning and invited her to send a representative to this summit as well.”
Kell groaned. “You just had to poke the Rancor, didn’t you?” he said softly, as Conal shook his head in disbelief. But Galen was nodding.
“And how did she respond?” he asked.
The old general turned Moff chuckled. “I thought she was going to have a stroke—until I told her that as a whole, these Sectors could be governed with far less military force than are currently assigned to them. Why, if we can unite to assist each other—as loyal Imperials should—we can each reduce our forces by a dozen or a score ships, ships that can be then returned to Coruscant for redeployment elsewhere. Such as against Zsinj.”
“Hoo-hoo-hoo,” laughed Conal. “I bet her demon eyes got wide with that one.”
“That they did, Conal. That they did. But she ran down the list of possibilities very fast, and then she agreed to send a liaison to this summit; I didn’t push the idea, but she is very sharp, Galen. She mused about the formation of a new Oversector here—the Cyralis Oversector—and she asked just how much could we draw down our strength if these sectors were united.”
“It’s risky,” Galen said shaking his head. “She could be playing you and once your Fleet is gone, turn right around and squash you.”
“Aye. But that risk is part of the game, is it not? So what about it, Kell? You and Conal know the order of battle of these Sectors best—how much can we spare if she does decide to form the Cyralis Oversector?”
Kell let out his breath. “Even with what he has already sent back to the Core, Moff Panaka has three times the normal Sector Fleet—everyone else is just about par for the course, including us. Two dozen Star Destroyers, plus a hundred lesser vessels?” he mused. “But none of those Moffs are going to want to give up their own internal Sector forces.”
“No. But considering what Isard is going to Zsinj right now—at this moment—none of them are going to want to . . . infuriate her by refusing. I did suggest that perhaps, if the Ruling Council decided to form a new Oversector, we could reduce each Sector Fleet and Army by half, forming the remainder into the Oversector Fleet and Army. Without needing reinforcements from the Core, and still allow us to send our excess ships and troops back to Coruscant.”
Conal snorted. “And what if she decides to appoint someone else as Grand Moff of the Cyralis Oversector? What then?”
Thom shrugged. “She trusts very few people, Conal. And while she doesn’t trust me, she knows I have no intention of moving against her on Coruscant, whether I have twenty Star Destroyers or two hundred. She is already very pleased with the fighters and ships we have sent to the Core; and with the fact that the Rebellion is so quiet in my Sectors. Which is good enough for her purposes. And mine.”
“Still, she could appoint Panaka or Thorin—the same could be said about them,” Galen pointed out.
“Agreed. Which is why we are moving heaven and earth to make certain that our forces here in Cyralis and Lamaredd are loyal to us. How did the maneuvers with Pelgrin and Bitrose go?”
Now Kell shrugged. “They need a lot of work, but there is good raw material there. Or at least there is since your friend Moff Biram Voelkers sacked the worst of the lot and had them shot. And Krandor is scared of you—I mean the man seems to think that you are going to emerge from the wall in his bedroom one night and slit his throat.”
Thom laughed again. Kell smiled and he continued. “Right now, our forces are just about as well-trained as I can get them, Thom. Naval and ground,” he said pointing his chin at Conal who nodded in agreement. “And the rank and file troopers and spacers of Pelgrin and Bitrose are coming onboard fast. I am worried that we are expanding too fast, though. And if this Oversector idea takes off, we are going to be getting a lot bigger a lot faster.”
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Kell,” Thom said. “But you are right. But think of this, gentlemen. If we can unite this section of the Rim—Outer and Middle—between Bitrose and Chommel,” Thom smiled. “Gentlemen, if we can carry this off, in five years time we need no longer fear no one.”
“That is the one word I hate to see in planning sessions, Moff Patrice—IF,” Conal said with a sigh. “But I agree, Sir. And if you can get the Alliance to back off in these sectors . . .,” his voice trailed off, but the grins of his fellows and their nodding heads said all that was needed.
“Bear in mind, Isard will not last five years, gentlemen. The Council is too volatile and her enemies are too many. Soon enough she will fall. May this war with Zsinj we have sparked make that happen all the sooner,” Thom said as he raised a glass in a toast that his subordinates answered, and each man took a sip.
“Speaking of enemies, have you confirmed that information that Captain G’deransk retrieved?”
Galen smiled. “I have, Moff Patrice. And I have discovered that the Board of Directors will be holding their annual meeting on Kelada, in the Ananid Cluster, Duluur Sector of the Colonies region; that meeting will take place in six weeks.”
“Is that so?” Thom asked quietly. “Conal, do you reckon the 442nd is willing to give up babysitting duty in order to send a message to those who put a price on my head?”
The Imperial General smiled brightly. “Message implies that you expect some of them to remain alive, Moff Patrice.”
“I mean for outside observers to get the message, Conal. The ORO Corp Board? I could care less for them.”
Conal nodded. “If Kell can spare a few ships, I think we can do this—it might get messy.”
“Try to keep the splash to a minimum, Conal. But if it comes down it to it, your boys can do what it takes to waste those bastards.”
And the three others nodded their assent and approval.
“War. Once again war has been thrust upon the Empire,” Director Isard said into the camera with a sad face. “It is with a heavy heart that I must report that former Grand Moff Zsinj has broken faith with the Empire and declared that the worlds he was charged with protecting are seceding from the Galactic Empire. Such treason will not be allowed; already there have been mass defections among Zsinj’s ranking officers as they return to Imperial service answering the orders of the Ruling Council here on Coruscant. I ask that all citizens of the Empire have faith—this . . . Warlord will not be permitted to brazenly defy the will of the Council. He will be brought to justice.”
The news announcer reappeared on the screen. “That was Director Ysanne Isard speaking for the Ruling Council earlier today on Coruscant. Eyewitness reports from along the border of the Quelli Oversector confirm that sizeable formations of the Imperial Fleet and several score Legions have begun an invasion into the space claimed by the renegade Zsinj. The Kidriff system has already played host to a major battle involving no fewer than three hundred capital warships and forty Legions—as we speak, loyal Imperial ground forces are rooting out those who have forsaken the Empire to swear allegiance to this traitor.”
The holoscreen blanked as Thom turned the news report off. “So, it has begun.”
Kell Morvin snorted and then he took a sip of his drink. “And if the reports that I am hearing are correct, they are going hammer and tong at each other—Zsinj hit Taanab from orbit when he discovered that Isard was using it as a base of operations.” Kell shook his head. “From the rumors, it was pure butchery, Thom. He utterly destroyed the capital city of Pandath in a fit of rage over Isard taking your advice.”
The Fleet Admiral took another sip and he shook his head again. “I have increased all patrols—Zsinj might well want revenge on you as well, and if he comes against us in force, I doubt that I can stop him.”
“Kell,” Thom said with a chuckle. “Isard has gone all in. With what she is throwing at him, can Zsinj spare anything for us? Would you?”
“Would I? Hells no, Thom. But I am not Zsinj—and that man carries a grudge way too far.”
Thom shrugged. “Which means he may well want to attack us, but can he—realistically—spare the ships or men while Isard is pounding his forces? Especially in wake of the ships and troops who switched their allegiance to Coruscant in answer to her recall order.”
Kell sighed. “Realistically? No. But this is Zsinj we are speaking of; he may well no longer care about what is realistic.”
“Point taken, Kell,” Thom said, “and I approve of your caution. But there comes a time, when caution must be thrown aside.”
Kell raised the glass in a salute of affirmation and took another sip. Whereupon the third man present spoke up. “As with this summit you have proposed, Moff Patrice?”
“No, Conal. That is just hedging our bets,” the old general replied with a laugh. “Most of the Sector Moffs with whom I spoke were rather . . . incredulous of such a conference. But not all; some were very much pleased given the lack of recent attention the Outer and Mid Rim in this quadrant of the Galaxy has received from the Core. No, all thirty-two delegations will attend—and that, my friends, means we might be able to press ahead all the sooner.”
“Attending does not mean that they will agree, Moff Patrice,” the Ubiqtorate agent said softly. “Certainly, Veers will not—that man is a fanatic.”
“True. Which is why we already have plans in place to take care of Veers—regardless of how Mon Mothma replies to my overture. You have managed to get your people in place?”
“I have,” Galen said briskly. “And it will look as if he has been assassinated by Zsinj’s people. Which should infuriate Isard even more, considering she personally sent Veers out here.”
Conal winced. “My Lord, I do not care for us assassinating Imperial officers of Veers caliber—I do not care for it one bit.”
“Understood, Conal,” Thom said. “And I admire the man myself. He knows his duty and he does it—which means what if he discovers what we are up to out here?”
The Sector General sighed. “He stops his operations on Ryloth, whistles up Admiral Daanin’s Fleet from Corellia and comes hunting us.”
“Exactly. As much as I hate doing it, it must be done, Conal. You are still with us, I hope?”
“Aye, my Lord. I gave you my word, and I will follow you—I just do not like having to do this deed.”
“But what of Isard?” Galen asked. “She will be told of this summit—and she will not like it, Moff Patrice. She has already warned you not to poach your neighbors; and while this is still in the neighborhood, she will wonder if you are planning to declare your own fief out here. And when she wonders, she gets nervous. When she gets nervous, people begin to die in spectacularly bad fashion.”
Thom smiled. “I took care of that already. I spoke with Isard this morning and invited her to send a representative to this summit as well.”
Kell groaned. “You just had to poke the Rancor, didn’t you?” he said softly, as Conal shook his head in disbelief. But Galen was nodding.
“And how did she respond?” he asked.
The old general turned Moff chuckled. “I thought she was going to have a stroke—until I told her that as a whole, these Sectors could be governed with far less military force than are currently assigned to them. Why, if we can unite to assist each other—as loyal Imperials should—we can each reduce our forces by a dozen or a score ships, ships that can be then returned to Coruscant for redeployment elsewhere. Such as against Zsinj.”
“Hoo-hoo-hoo,” laughed Conal. “I bet her demon eyes got wide with that one.”
“That they did, Conal. That they did. But she ran down the list of possibilities very fast, and then she agreed to send a liaison to this summit; I didn’t push the idea, but she is very sharp, Galen. She mused about the formation of a new Oversector here—the Cyralis Oversector—and she asked just how much could we draw down our strength if these sectors were united.”
“It’s risky,” Galen said shaking his head. “She could be playing you and once your Fleet is gone, turn right around and squash you.”
“Aye. But that risk is part of the game, is it not? So what about it, Kell? You and Conal know the order of battle of these Sectors best—how much can we spare if she does decide to form the Cyralis Oversector?”
Kell let out his breath. “Even with what he has already sent back to the Core, Moff Panaka has three times the normal Sector Fleet—everyone else is just about par for the course, including us. Two dozen Star Destroyers, plus a hundred lesser vessels?” he mused. “But none of those Moffs are going to want to give up their own internal Sector forces.”
“No. But considering what Isard is going to Zsinj right now—at this moment—none of them are going to want to . . . infuriate her by refusing. I did suggest that perhaps, if the Ruling Council decided to form a new Oversector, we could reduce each Sector Fleet and Army by half, forming the remainder into the Oversector Fleet and Army. Without needing reinforcements from the Core, and still allow us to send our excess ships and troops back to Coruscant.”
Conal snorted. “And what if she decides to appoint someone else as Grand Moff of the Cyralis Oversector? What then?”
Thom shrugged. “She trusts very few people, Conal. And while she doesn’t trust me, she knows I have no intention of moving against her on Coruscant, whether I have twenty Star Destroyers or two hundred. She is already very pleased with the fighters and ships we have sent to the Core; and with the fact that the Rebellion is so quiet in my Sectors. Which is good enough for her purposes. And mine.”
“Still, she could appoint Panaka or Thorin—the same could be said about them,” Galen pointed out.
“Agreed. Which is why we are moving heaven and earth to make certain that our forces here in Cyralis and Lamaredd are loyal to us. How did the maneuvers with Pelgrin and Bitrose go?”
Now Kell shrugged. “They need a lot of work, but there is good raw material there. Or at least there is since your friend Moff Biram Voelkers sacked the worst of the lot and had them shot. And Krandor is scared of you—I mean the man seems to think that you are going to emerge from the wall in his bedroom one night and slit his throat.”
Thom laughed again. Kell smiled and he continued. “Right now, our forces are just about as well-trained as I can get them, Thom. Naval and ground,” he said pointing his chin at Conal who nodded in agreement. “And the rank and file troopers and spacers of Pelgrin and Bitrose are coming onboard fast. I am worried that we are expanding too fast, though. And if this Oversector idea takes off, we are going to be getting a lot bigger a lot faster.”
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Kell,” Thom said. “But you are right. But think of this, gentlemen. If we can unite this section of the Rim—Outer and Middle—between Bitrose and Chommel,” Thom smiled. “Gentlemen, if we can carry this off, in five years time we need no longer fear no one.”
“That is the one word I hate to see in planning sessions, Moff Patrice—IF,” Conal said with a sigh. “But I agree, Sir. And if you can get the Alliance to back off in these sectors . . .,” his voice trailed off, but the grins of his fellows and their nodding heads said all that was needed.
“Bear in mind, Isard will not last five years, gentlemen. The Council is too volatile and her enemies are too many. Soon enough she will fall. May this war with Zsinj we have sparked make that happen all the sooner,” Thom said as he raised a glass in a toast that his subordinates answered, and each man took a sip.
“Speaking of enemies, have you confirmed that information that Captain G’deransk retrieved?”
Galen smiled. “I have, Moff Patrice. And I have discovered that the Board of Directors will be holding their annual meeting on Kelada, in the Ananid Cluster, Duluur Sector of the Colonies region; that meeting will take place in six weeks.”
“Is that so?” Thom asked quietly. “Conal, do you reckon the 442nd is willing to give up babysitting duty in order to send a message to those who put a price on my head?”
The Imperial General smiled brightly. “Message implies that you expect some of them to remain alive, Moff Patrice.”
“I mean for outside observers to get the message, Conal. The ORO Corp Board? I could care less for them.”
Conal nodded. “If Kell can spare a few ships, I think we can do this—it might get messy.”
“Try to keep the splash to a minimum, Conal. But if it comes down it to it, your boys can do what it takes to waste those bastards.”
And the three others nodded their assent and approval.
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Sidewinder
- Sith Acolyte
- Posts: 5466
- Joined: 2005-05-18 10:23pm
- Location: Feasting on those who fell in battle
- Contact:
Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
Thom is quite the Magnificent Bastard, isn't he? That said, I wouldn't be surprised if some of his schemes backfire- and considering the scale of these schemes, backfire BADLY, as in Base Delta Zero badly.
Please do not make Americans fight giant monsters.
Those gun nuts do not understand the meaning of "overkill," and will simply use weapon after weapon of mass destruction (WMD) until the monster is dead, or until they run out of weapons.
They have more WMD than there are monsters for us to fight. (More insanity here.)
Those gun nuts do not understand the meaning of "overkill," and will simply use weapon after weapon of mass destruction (WMD) until the monster is dead, or until they run out of weapons.
They have more WMD than there are monsters for us to fight. (More insanity here.)
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masterarminas
- Jedi Master
- Posts: 1039
- Joined: 2012-04-09 11:06pm
Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
Eight men, each wearing an identical face—though some were greyer at the temples than others—sat around a table covered in green felt and littered with multi-hued chips and lacquered plaques of playing cards. Each of the men wore the new Phase IV body armor that Patrice had bestowed upon them, and while they concentrated on the game before them each wore a blaster, with rows of rifles and helmets racked beside the door. At the ninth place, a droid dealer stood.
Gare Devalis looked down at his hand and he kept any expression from reaching his face—playing sabaac well was difficult enough, but most of the Clones were fiendishly clever in masking their emotions. But he was one of the second-generation of Clones, and except for a very small handful of surviving first-genners, he well knew what to look for on the faces that mirrored his own. He rearranged the cards and began to rifle through his chips, when he heard bootsteps enter the room through the door behind him and the sound of a throat clearing.
“Sergeant Devalis, a word, if I may,” Colonel Camlaan said, a small smile on his face.
“After this hand, sir?”
“Sergeant, none of these Clones are stupid enough to bet against that Idiot’s Array you are holding.”
Gare closed his eyes as the seven members of his squad rapidly said fold, one after the other, and he turned over the Idiot, the Two of Sabres and the Three of Sabres. He stood with a sigh. “Sir,” he said crisply as he pivoted on one heel to face his commanding officer.
Camlaan smiled. “Join me in the corridor, Sergeant.”
Trusting his squad-mates to stack his winnings—just the ante and the very low sabaac pot!—he followed Camlaan into the corridor. “Sir.”
“Sergeant, your squad is one man down, is it not?”
And Gare groaned. “We’re fine, Colonel. Don’t need another man.”
“That wasn’t the question—you are down one Clone? Correct?”
“Yes, sir,” Gare replied. You bet we are; I shot the idiot in the foot myself. And the look on the Colonel’s face said that he was well aware of it.
“You need to be at full-strength if you are part of the Moff’s Personal Guard, Devalis. So, I thought I would introduce you to your newest Eight Man,” he said with a crooked grin as he waved his hand at a trooper standing at parade rest down the corridor. The trooper jogged over and snapped to attention.
“DK-34732-C27 reporting as ordered, Sir!” the Clone snapped.
“C27? Wasn’t that the final generation of loyal Kamino clones?” Gare asked.
Camlaan grinned. “It was.”
“You found me a Kamino Clone? Not a Spaarti Clone? Or a free-born?”
“I did, Devalis. DK-34732-C27 here, I call him Deke, is one of our brothers that has come home to Cyralis instead of serving the Imperial idiots out there,” he waved his hand towards the wider Galaxy somewhere outside the palace.
“He any good?”
“Better than most, Devalis. Good enough that every one of my Battalion Commanders wanted him.”
Gare nodded, and then he groaned. “Colonel, how are we going to fit to a ninth man into the game? You can’t play sabaac with nine!” Which had been another reason Gare had shot his previous Eight Man.
The Colonel frowned for a moment and then he walked back into the squad room, drew his blaster, and fired one shot into the droid, which shattered into a burning, smoking wreck. “Problem solved—one of you will have to sit out the game and deal.”
Groans rose from around the table; each Clone was well aware of just how well a Jango Clone could cheat on the deal. Camlaan grinned. “Consider it training in observation and perception, troopers.” And with that, Camlaan turned and he strode off.
Gare sighed. “Get your kit stashed, then off helmet and deal the next hand, Deke. And you lot!” he thundered at the squad. “Get that piece of useless junk out of my squad bay!”
DK-34732-C27—also known as Deke—snapped to attention and answered, “Sir!” just before he carried his gear into the bay and began to put it away regulation fashion. He was finished before the squad cleaned up the mess and put out the fire, and he racked his weapon and removed his helmet. Sure enough, Gare noted, a copy of his own face stared back at him. And he groaned as Deke picked up the sabaac deck and rapidly shuffled and cut it—with one hand. Life is about to get interesting, he thought, smiling sourly at the new arrival.
And the new arrival, Deke—known to most of the Galaxy by the name of Boba Fett—smiled back in return.
Gare Devalis looked down at his hand and he kept any expression from reaching his face—playing sabaac well was difficult enough, but most of the Clones were fiendishly clever in masking their emotions. But he was one of the second-generation of Clones, and except for a very small handful of surviving first-genners, he well knew what to look for on the faces that mirrored his own. He rearranged the cards and began to rifle through his chips, when he heard bootsteps enter the room through the door behind him and the sound of a throat clearing.
“Sergeant Devalis, a word, if I may,” Colonel Camlaan said, a small smile on his face.
“After this hand, sir?”
“Sergeant, none of these Clones are stupid enough to bet against that Idiot’s Array you are holding.”
Gare closed his eyes as the seven members of his squad rapidly said fold, one after the other, and he turned over the Idiot, the Two of Sabres and the Three of Sabres. He stood with a sigh. “Sir,” he said crisply as he pivoted on one heel to face his commanding officer.
Camlaan smiled. “Join me in the corridor, Sergeant.”
Trusting his squad-mates to stack his winnings—just the ante and the very low sabaac pot!—he followed Camlaan into the corridor. “Sir.”
“Sergeant, your squad is one man down, is it not?”
And Gare groaned. “We’re fine, Colonel. Don’t need another man.”
“That wasn’t the question—you are down one Clone? Correct?”
“Yes, sir,” Gare replied. You bet we are; I shot the idiot in the foot myself. And the look on the Colonel’s face said that he was well aware of it.
“You need to be at full-strength if you are part of the Moff’s Personal Guard, Devalis. So, I thought I would introduce you to your newest Eight Man,” he said with a crooked grin as he waved his hand at a trooper standing at parade rest down the corridor. The trooper jogged over and snapped to attention.
“DK-34732-C27 reporting as ordered, Sir!” the Clone snapped.
“C27? Wasn’t that the final generation of loyal Kamino clones?” Gare asked.
Camlaan grinned. “It was.”
“You found me a Kamino Clone? Not a Spaarti Clone? Or a free-born?”
“I did, Devalis. DK-34732-C27 here, I call him Deke, is one of our brothers that has come home to Cyralis instead of serving the Imperial idiots out there,” he waved his hand towards the wider Galaxy somewhere outside the palace.
“He any good?”
“Better than most, Devalis. Good enough that every one of my Battalion Commanders wanted him.”
Gare nodded, and then he groaned. “Colonel, how are we going to fit to a ninth man into the game? You can’t play sabaac with nine!” Which had been another reason Gare had shot his previous Eight Man.
The Colonel frowned for a moment and then he walked back into the squad room, drew his blaster, and fired one shot into the droid, which shattered into a burning, smoking wreck. “Problem solved—one of you will have to sit out the game and deal.”
Groans rose from around the table; each Clone was well aware of just how well a Jango Clone could cheat on the deal. Camlaan grinned. “Consider it training in observation and perception, troopers.” And with that, Camlaan turned and he strode off.
Gare sighed. “Get your kit stashed, then off helmet and deal the next hand, Deke. And you lot!” he thundered at the squad. “Get that piece of useless junk out of my squad bay!”
DK-34732-C27—also known as Deke—snapped to attention and answered, “Sir!” just before he carried his gear into the bay and began to put it away regulation fashion. He was finished before the squad cleaned up the mess and put out the fire, and he racked his weapon and removed his helmet. Sure enough, Gare noted, a copy of his own face stared back at him. And he groaned as Deke picked up the sabaac deck and rapidly shuffled and cut it—with one hand. Life is about to get interesting, he thought, smiling sourly at the new arrival.
And the new arrival, Deke—known to most of the Galaxy by the name of Boba Fett—smiled back in return.
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masterarminas
- Jedi Master
- Posts: 1039
- Joined: 2012-04-09 11:06pm
Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
The newly restored Venator-class Star Destroyer Invictus slowly passed in review, escorted by serried ranks of hundreds of TIE Avenger fighters, TIE Scimitar bombers, and Starwing gunboats. Thom shook his head slightly as he stood on the bridge of Kell’s Flagship—the ISD Scorpion. “I know that those ships performed well in the Clone Wars, Admiral Morvin, but we are putting a lot of our fighter assets in one big basket there. Is she really worth it?”
The High Admiral of Cyralis chuckled. “Definitely, Moff Patrice. She carries three times as many fighters as an Executor-class Super Star Destroyer—and while she isn’t as heavily armed as an Imperator for ship-to-ship combat, she still packs a punch. And with that number of starfighters embarked, she is a magnificent threat to any Rebel—or Imperial—battlegroup. Wouldn’t you agree, Tan Stele?”
“I do, Admiral. Moff Patrice, this is the type of ship that the Imperial Fleet has desperately needed for the past decade. Instead of trying to build capital ships to engage hostile fighters, we have a heavy starfighter carrier with the weapons and armor to defend herself against capital ships, while her squadrons serve as the offensive arm. Damn, but we could have crushed the Rebellion if Palpatine had converted forty of these ships—FORTY, Moff Patrice!”
“I wouldn’t go that far, [Tan[/i] Stele,” Kell replied with a broad smile. “Three hundred and sixty Avengers and seventy-two Scimitars are a powerful force multiplier, but we will still need more conventional Star Destroyers—her fighter squadrons might well be able to overpower a single Imperator and escorts, but at a high cost.”
“With all due respect, High Admiral, I think you are underestimating the effectiveness of her complement. Properly trained, deployed, and led, Invictus can field enough fighters to take on even a Super Star Destroyer; after all, if the Rebels can do the job, then by Palpatine’s Black Heart, Imperial pilots can as well. Note to mention that your Mod 2 Avengers are damn fine fighters, even if they lack a hyperdrive, and those Scimitars are sweet to fly. And she carries another seventy-two Starwings to back them up,” Maarek Stele looked away from the ship and he smiled wistfully. “Which is why when I heard rumors of what you people were doing out here, I deserted my post on Kessel and made my way out here to join up.”
Thom snorted. “Isard and her advisors were short-sighted Tan Stele. I have heard of your exploits—and to think they stripped you of your rank and assigned you to command a squadron of TIE/ln, on anti-smuggler patrol at Kessel. They would cut their nose to spite their own face, I believe.”
Maarek stared at the Moff for a moment and then he turned back to look at the impressive sight making her way to a berthing orbit. “You do not worry that the Emperor himself taught me the skills I would need to serve as his one of his Hands?”
“I served alongside Jedi Masters in the Clone Wars, Tan Stele; I fought alongside Vader in the wake of the conclusion of those Wars, cleaning up the mess left behind. I think that what Palpatine taught you is yours—not the mark of a Sith or a Jedi or a force witch, but yours. And as long as you are content in serving the Empire and your commanders are not homicidal maniacs willing to kill their own for sheer pleasure, you want to serve. You want to fly!”
The pilot slowly nodded and he shook his head again. “So where are you planning to station me? Cadre for your Flight Academy? Test pilot at Phaulkon? Command of a planetary defense squadron?”
“Actually, Tan Stele,” Thom continued with a smirk, “Kell and I are making a slight aleration in the command arrangements aboard Invictus. I thought that perhaps I would promote you to Captain and assign you as the new CAG.”
“CAG? What the devil is a CAG?”
“Commander, Aerospace Strike Group,” Kell answered. “Invictus will remain under the command of Captain Landon—I believe you two know each other and have proven that you can work together, yes?”
“Saul Landon? Yeah, he’s a good officer.”
“Captain Landon will command Invictus, Tan Stele, but you will command her six fighter Wings, her shuttle Wing, and her gunboat Wing. You will be the officer to make certain those pilots get that training and leadership that you so bluntly said that they needed. And making certain that they are properly deployed.”
The pilot exhaled and he stared at Thom and Kell for several moments. “That violates all doctrine—the ship commander is always in charge of the fighters.”
“Rancors take doctrine, Tan Stele,” Thom snorted. “I don’t care about doctrine, I care about what works. Now, I want to know if you are up to the challenge—most of those pilots assigned to Invictus graduated our Flight Academy over the past year. Only a bare cadre of them are previous service Imperial pilots—can you get them up to speed? Or do I need to find a better man for the job?”
Maarek spun around and his eyes were hot for a moment, but then he slowly smiled. “As CAG will I get to fly?”
“Yes,” Kell answered simply. “When your schedule allows for it,” he added.
The pilot turned back to the bridge windows and he gazed upon that now-distant, lovely ship for several moments more, and then he nodded. “In that case, High Admiral Morvin, Moff Patrice, you’ve got a CAG.”
The High Admiral of Cyralis chuckled. “Definitely, Moff Patrice. She carries three times as many fighters as an Executor-class Super Star Destroyer—and while she isn’t as heavily armed as an Imperator for ship-to-ship combat, she still packs a punch. And with that number of starfighters embarked, she is a magnificent threat to any Rebel—or Imperial—battlegroup. Wouldn’t you agree, Tan Stele?”
“I do, Admiral. Moff Patrice, this is the type of ship that the Imperial Fleet has desperately needed for the past decade. Instead of trying to build capital ships to engage hostile fighters, we have a heavy starfighter carrier with the weapons and armor to defend herself against capital ships, while her squadrons serve as the offensive arm. Damn, but we could have crushed the Rebellion if Palpatine had converted forty of these ships—FORTY, Moff Patrice!”
“I wouldn’t go that far, [Tan[/i] Stele,” Kell replied with a broad smile. “Three hundred and sixty Avengers and seventy-two Scimitars are a powerful force multiplier, but we will still need more conventional Star Destroyers—her fighter squadrons might well be able to overpower a single Imperator and escorts, but at a high cost.”
“With all due respect, High Admiral, I think you are underestimating the effectiveness of her complement. Properly trained, deployed, and led, Invictus can field enough fighters to take on even a Super Star Destroyer; after all, if the Rebels can do the job, then by Palpatine’s Black Heart, Imperial pilots can as well. Note to mention that your Mod 2 Avengers are damn fine fighters, even if they lack a hyperdrive, and those Scimitars are sweet to fly. And she carries another seventy-two Starwings to back them up,” Maarek Stele looked away from the ship and he smiled wistfully. “Which is why when I heard rumors of what you people were doing out here, I deserted my post on Kessel and made my way out here to join up.”
Thom snorted. “Isard and her advisors were short-sighted Tan Stele. I have heard of your exploits—and to think they stripped you of your rank and assigned you to command a squadron of TIE/ln, on anti-smuggler patrol at Kessel. They would cut their nose to spite their own face, I believe.”
Maarek stared at the Moff for a moment and then he turned back to look at the impressive sight making her way to a berthing orbit. “You do not worry that the Emperor himself taught me the skills I would need to serve as his one of his Hands?”
“I served alongside Jedi Masters in the Clone Wars, Tan Stele; I fought alongside Vader in the wake of the conclusion of those Wars, cleaning up the mess left behind. I think that what Palpatine taught you is yours—not the mark of a Sith or a Jedi or a force witch, but yours. And as long as you are content in serving the Empire and your commanders are not homicidal maniacs willing to kill their own for sheer pleasure, you want to serve. You want to fly!”
The pilot slowly nodded and he shook his head again. “So where are you planning to station me? Cadre for your Flight Academy? Test pilot at Phaulkon? Command of a planetary defense squadron?”
“Actually, Tan Stele,” Thom continued with a smirk, “Kell and I are making a slight aleration in the command arrangements aboard Invictus. I thought that perhaps I would promote you to Captain and assign you as the new CAG.”
“CAG? What the devil is a CAG?”
“Commander, Aerospace Strike Group,” Kell answered. “Invictus will remain under the command of Captain Landon—I believe you two know each other and have proven that you can work together, yes?”
“Saul Landon? Yeah, he’s a good officer.”
“Captain Landon will command Invictus, Tan Stele, but you will command her six fighter Wings, her shuttle Wing, and her gunboat Wing. You will be the officer to make certain those pilots get that training and leadership that you so bluntly said that they needed. And making certain that they are properly deployed.”
The pilot exhaled and he stared at Thom and Kell for several moments. “That violates all doctrine—the ship commander is always in charge of the fighters.”
“Rancors take doctrine, Tan Stele,” Thom snorted. “I don’t care about doctrine, I care about what works. Now, I want to know if you are up to the challenge—most of those pilots assigned to Invictus graduated our Flight Academy over the past year. Only a bare cadre of them are previous service Imperial pilots—can you get them up to speed? Or do I need to find a better man for the job?”
Maarek spun around and his eyes were hot for a moment, but then he slowly smiled. “As CAG will I get to fly?”
“Yes,” Kell answered simply. “When your schedule allows for it,” he added.
The pilot turned back to the bridge windows and he gazed upon that now-distant, lovely ship for several moments more, and then he nodded. “In that case, High Admiral Morvin, Moff Patrice, you’ve got a CAG.”
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masterarminas
- Jedi Master
- Posts: 1039
- Joined: 2012-04-09 11:06pm
Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
Ran Karyda held his crying wife against his chest as the latest news report from the shattered remnants of the Corellian System. The blood had drained from his face as the incredulous reports had arrived one after the next—and he gave thanks to what ever powers existed that he had been here on Cyralis rather than his office at Ord Tanis when the news had arrived.
“In a staggering blow to the Ruling Council, forces loyal to the renegade Zsinj struck unexpectedly at the heart of the Empire in the Corellian System. Grand Admiral Daanin, newly promoted to command the defense Fleets arrayed at this Core System, responded to the incursion with his own vessels. The resulting titanic battle over the world of Tralus ended only with the complete mutual annihilation of both battle fleets—more than five hundred ships in total, including sixty-three Star Destroyers and Admiral Daanin’s flagship, the Executor-class Super Star Destroyer Aggressor. Casualties on Tralus are unknown at this time, but preliminary reports are that they are substantial. A Torpedo Sphere,” and the holographic image changed to a rotating view of one of the Empire’s terror bombardment platforms, “operating with the Warlords Fleet suffered catastrophic damage and lost control, plunging through the planet’s atmosphere to crash upon the surface—her entire load of planetary bombardment torpedoes detonating upon impact.”
“The magnitude of this disaster has stunned spokesmen for the Ruling Council, with only a brief statement being issued deploring Zsinj’s assault upon a populated world in this fashion. Diktat Daclif Gallamby has mobilized the Corellian Security Force and the Defense Force for emergency search and rescue operations on Tralus. Many officials here on Coruscant are questioning where the Corellian Navy was during this engagement—according to sources within the Imperial Fleet Headquarters, none of the Corellian vessels in the system participated in the Battle of Tralus, instead deploying in a defensive posture to protect the worlds of Corellia, Drall, and Selonia from attack.”
The announcer stopped for a moment, shook her head, and then she looked back at the camera. “We are receiving word from Corellia that Imperial Liaison Officer Kirtan Loor, assigned to the Corellian Security Force has been shot and killed while resisting arrest by CorSec; he was accused of providing Zsinj’s forces with the codes to lower the planetary shields in the Corellian System, as well as the location and status of Grand Admiral Daanin’s Fleet.”
The comm unit buzzed and Ran blocked out the news as he lifted the unit. “Karyda,” he said.
An exhausted voice on the other end spoke up. “Ran. I take it you’ve seen the news?”
“Yes, sir. I am glad that you are well.”
“Many of us are not—I want to speak with Marya, but first,” and the old man paused. “First, I am glad that she married you and that I promoted you to Cyralis. Your home in Rellidir is . . . gone. The entire city is gone.” There was a pause again. “Let me speak with my daughter, Ran.”
Without a word, Ran gave the comm-unit to his wife and she and his father-in-law spoke. Ran stood up and he walked over to the console and shut off the news. Then he poured a stiff drink for himself and downed it.
“In a staggering blow to the Ruling Council, forces loyal to the renegade Zsinj struck unexpectedly at the heart of the Empire in the Corellian System. Grand Admiral Daanin, newly promoted to command the defense Fleets arrayed at this Core System, responded to the incursion with his own vessels. The resulting titanic battle over the world of Tralus ended only with the complete mutual annihilation of both battle fleets—more than five hundred ships in total, including sixty-three Star Destroyers and Admiral Daanin’s flagship, the Executor-class Super Star Destroyer Aggressor. Casualties on Tralus are unknown at this time, but preliminary reports are that they are substantial. A Torpedo Sphere,” and the holographic image changed to a rotating view of one of the Empire’s terror bombardment platforms, “operating with the Warlords Fleet suffered catastrophic damage and lost control, plunging through the planet’s atmosphere to crash upon the surface—her entire load of planetary bombardment torpedoes detonating upon impact.”
“The magnitude of this disaster has stunned spokesmen for the Ruling Council, with only a brief statement being issued deploring Zsinj’s assault upon a populated world in this fashion. Diktat Daclif Gallamby has mobilized the Corellian Security Force and the Defense Force for emergency search and rescue operations on Tralus. Many officials here on Coruscant are questioning where the Corellian Navy was during this engagement—according to sources within the Imperial Fleet Headquarters, none of the Corellian vessels in the system participated in the Battle of Tralus, instead deploying in a defensive posture to protect the worlds of Corellia, Drall, and Selonia from attack.”
The announcer stopped for a moment, shook her head, and then she looked back at the camera. “We are receiving word from Corellia that Imperial Liaison Officer Kirtan Loor, assigned to the Corellian Security Force has been shot and killed while resisting arrest by CorSec; he was accused of providing Zsinj’s forces with the codes to lower the planetary shields in the Corellian System, as well as the location and status of Grand Admiral Daanin’s Fleet.”
The comm unit buzzed and Ran blocked out the news as he lifted the unit. “Karyda,” he said.
An exhausted voice on the other end spoke up. “Ran. I take it you’ve seen the news?”
“Yes, sir. I am glad that you are well.”
“Many of us are not—I want to speak with Marya, but first,” and the old man paused. “First, I am glad that she married you and that I promoted you to Cyralis. Your home in Rellidir is . . . gone. The entire city is gone.” There was a pause again. “Let me speak with my daughter, Ran.”
Without a word, Ran gave the comm-unit to his wife and she and his father-in-law spoke. Ran stood up and he walked over to the console and shut off the news. Then he poured a stiff drink for himself and downed it.
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Sidewinder
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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
I like the way the story and the characters have developed, but am curious: As someone who hasn't read that many EU novels, did the Battle of Tralus occur in canon, and if it did, did it occur the way you portrayed it here?
Please do not make Americans fight giant monsters.
Those gun nuts do not understand the meaning of "overkill," and will simply use weapon after weapon of mass destruction (WMD) until the monster is dead, or until they run out of weapons.
They have more WMD than there are monsters for us to fight. (More insanity here.)
Those gun nuts do not understand the meaning of "overkill," and will simply use weapon after weapon of mass destruction (WMD) until the monster is dead, or until they run out of weapons.
They have more WMD than there are monsters for us to fight. (More insanity here.)
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masterarminas
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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
It did, and fairly close. Only the canon battle was a fight between two Imperials who each believed that they were one who should have authority over the Corellian Fleet.Sidewinder wrote:I like the way the story and the characters have developed, but am curious: As someone who hasn't read that many EU novels, did the Battle of Tralus occur in canon, and if it did, did it occur the way you portrayed it here?
MA
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masterarminas
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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
Thom blanched as he saw the splatters of red appearing on the holo-display; his reaction was not alone as everyone of his senior officers and aides winced. Kell nodded, and he pointed a laser-wand at one of the sites of conflict. “Zsinj was apparently even more furious than you and I thought he would be, Moff Patrice. He not only attacked Corellia, he threw Fleets against Kuat, Rothana, Mandalore, Fondor, and Loronar. And he deliberately aimed at the shipyards, causing tremendous damage to each.”
“Ord Tanis,” Thom hissed and he looked up at his Fleet Admiral whose face was tight. Kell nodded again. “I have already ordered reinforcements there immediately; thankfully, Ord Tanis is off the major hyperspace routes, so if Zsinj has sent a Task Force after us, it will take a little while longer before it can ar-. . .,” Kell’s voice trailed off as the Twi’lek aide Goran rushed into the room.
“My Moff,” he said breathlessly with a slight bow, “Ord Tanis is under attack.”
“Ord Tanis,” Thom hissed and he looked up at his Fleet Admiral whose face was tight. Kell nodded again. “I have already ordered reinforcements there immediately; thankfully, Ord Tanis is off the major hyperspace routes, so if Zsinj has sent a Task Force after us, it will take a little while longer before it can ar-. . .,” Kell’s voice trailed off as the Twi’lek aide Goran rushed into the room.
“My Moff,” he said breathlessly with a slight bow, “Ord Tanis is under attack.”
Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
Very nice, quite the gut wrenching updates. I really appreciate how you can seamlessly transition from technical, logistical, and strategic data to the core of the story.
When you force a nation to choose between Russia Imperialism and American Hegemony, they choose the McDonald's and Coke every time.
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Crayz9000
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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
Well, I suppose this is a perfect opportunity for Admiral Morvin to prove the effectiveness of his Venators 
A Tribute to Stupidity: The Robert Scott Anderson Archive (currently offline)
John Hansen - Slightly Insane Bounty Hunter - ASVS Vets' Assoc. Class of 2000
HAB Cryptanalyst | WG - Intergalactic Alliance and Spoof Author | BotM | Cybertron | SCEF
John Hansen - Slightly Insane Bounty Hunter - ASVS Vets' Assoc. Class of 2000
HAB Cryptanalyst | WG - Intergalactic Alliance and Spoof Author | BotM | Cybertron | SCEF
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masterarminas
- Jedi Master
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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
“Damn,” muttered Abril Jonas as the holographic projection table showed him exactly what the scouts were reporting in the outer system.
“That is an understatement,” his executive officer, Chan Palomar, said with wry grin.
Twelve Star Destroyers (a Tector-class, three Imperator-class, a Procursator-class, a Secutor-class, and six Victory-class) plus eighty-odd escort ships, and to cap it all off, a massive, ungainly, ugly, and horrifically powerful Torpedo Sphere floated in the projection; all of them on a course that would bring them into range of the shipyards in less than hour. And to face them, at the moment Abril had just five Star Destroyers of his own (Ascension, the Imperator-class Superb, the Victory-class Harrow and Fearless, and the Venator-class Invictus) with fifty escorts between them. And Invictus was not fully worked up—her strike fighter group was here to train under the tutelage of their new commander; she was nowhere near ready for a fight of this magnitude.
The Commodore licked his lips and he considered the enemies approach, looking at the clock again. It would be nearly an hour until the first of Admiral Morvin’s reinforcements arrived; and even then they would arrive in dribs and dabs as ships pulled off their normal assignments rushed to the defense of these critical yards.
“Well, gentlemen, it seems we have a tactical problem here. They outnumber us, they outgun us. And we cannot allow them to range on the Yards.” Abril placed his hands behind his back and he walked around the table and the holographic projections of the commanders of the other ships assembled at Ord Tanis. “They are expecting us to run—or to engage them within the range of the Yard’s own weapons to add to our own firepower. That is what I would expect, given the disparity of the weight of ships and weaponry; do you agree?”
One by one, each of the other skippers—and Captain Maarek Stele—nodded in turn. “In that case, let us do something they are not expecting. All hands to action stations—prepare to intercept the enemy and engage him at somewhat closer range.”
“Sir?” Captain Pyrel Taan of the Superb spoke up.
“Yes, Captain Taan?”
“If we go to meet them, what will prevent them from making a micro-jump into hyper past us and into orbit? I know that it is risky, but . . . they would have a chance of avoiding a fight with us altogether AND smashing the Yard; the factories planetside as well.”
Abril smiled. Taan and his ship had only arrived yesterday—three days later than expected, luckily, since she had originally been scheduled for a major overhaul. If she had been on time, it would not have been in Abril’s power to get her out of dock in time. So he had not yet been briefed on the Ord Tanis defensive grid.
“You will note, Captain Taan, the large number of asteroids that are escorting Ord Tanis on her orbit around the star at the center of this system?”
“Yes, sir. It was most unusual, but none are hindering traffic.”
“Each of those asteroids contains a gravity well generator, Captain. Our opponents literally cannot come any closer in hyper-space; and trying will only burn out their drives,” the Commodore said with a feral grin. “Tanis Command,” he broadcast, “activate the gravity projectors on a rotating cycle to keep the enemy fixed.”
The sixth set of holograms nodded and one officer looked down and then back up at Abril. “On-line, Sir.”
“Excellent. Captain Stele, I fear that your fighters—and ours—will take the brunt of the initial engagement. I know that you expected time to work up your crews-. . .,” but Abril was cut off by the hologram.
“We’ll manage. I will be flying myself at the head of the entire Wing.”
“Tan Stele, I have faith in your abilities, but perhaps we have something of an edge that Zsinj’s people are not expecting. Besides yourself. Chyrs?”
The hologram of the personnel stationed ground-side shifted and the Sienar Fleet Systems liaison officer smiled at Abril. “Commodore, you mean to test my new toys?”
“Madame Ofar, I mean to use your new toys to smash these intruders into dust—if they work, that is.”
“I think they are ready, Commodore—but they have only been tested in the lab, not in actual flight. I cannot promise they will function completely as advertised; not without more testing and lab work.”
“If they work, they work, Chyrs. If not, we are no worse off—they won’t shoot my ships by mistake will they?”
“Not as long as your transponders are functioning,” she grimaced. “Moff Patrice and Admiral Morvin were quite specific in that regard when they approved the project.”
“How many are ready to go?”
The holographic image smiled broadly. “Twelve hundred, split between a thousand Type Is and two hundred Types IIs.”
Abril bared his teeth in a fierce smile.
“And just what does the young lady have twelve hundred of that might give us an edge, Commodore?” asked Maarek Stele.
“She has been experimenting with putting droid brains in the old TIE Interceptors and TIE Bombers that Cyralis is phasing out. Care to have twelve hundred fresh fighters—without crews—hit those ships before your boys and girls go in, Maarek?”
And the Empire’s most decorated star fighter Ace smiled just as fiercely as Abril had.
“That is an understatement,” his executive officer, Chan Palomar, said with wry grin.
Twelve Star Destroyers (a Tector-class, three Imperator-class, a Procursator-class, a Secutor-class, and six Victory-class) plus eighty-odd escort ships, and to cap it all off, a massive, ungainly, ugly, and horrifically powerful Torpedo Sphere floated in the projection; all of them on a course that would bring them into range of the shipyards in less than hour. And to face them, at the moment Abril had just five Star Destroyers of his own (Ascension, the Imperator-class Superb, the Victory-class Harrow and Fearless, and the Venator-class Invictus) with fifty escorts between them. And Invictus was not fully worked up—her strike fighter group was here to train under the tutelage of their new commander; she was nowhere near ready for a fight of this magnitude.
The Commodore licked his lips and he considered the enemies approach, looking at the clock again. It would be nearly an hour until the first of Admiral Morvin’s reinforcements arrived; and even then they would arrive in dribs and dabs as ships pulled off their normal assignments rushed to the defense of these critical yards.
“Well, gentlemen, it seems we have a tactical problem here. They outnumber us, they outgun us. And we cannot allow them to range on the Yards.” Abril placed his hands behind his back and he walked around the table and the holographic projections of the commanders of the other ships assembled at Ord Tanis. “They are expecting us to run—or to engage them within the range of the Yard’s own weapons to add to our own firepower. That is what I would expect, given the disparity of the weight of ships and weaponry; do you agree?”
One by one, each of the other skippers—and Captain Maarek Stele—nodded in turn. “In that case, let us do something they are not expecting. All hands to action stations—prepare to intercept the enemy and engage him at somewhat closer range.”
“Sir?” Captain Pyrel Taan of the Superb spoke up.
“Yes, Captain Taan?”
“If we go to meet them, what will prevent them from making a micro-jump into hyper past us and into orbit? I know that it is risky, but . . . they would have a chance of avoiding a fight with us altogether AND smashing the Yard; the factories planetside as well.”
Abril smiled. Taan and his ship had only arrived yesterday—three days later than expected, luckily, since she had originally been scheduled for a major overhaul. If she had been on time, it would not have been in Abril’s power to get her out of dock in time. So he had not yet been briefed on the Ord Tanis defensive grid.
“You will note, Captain Taan, the large number of asteroids that are escorting Ord Tanis on her orbit around the star at the center of this system?”
“Yes, sir. It was most unusual, but none are hindering traffic.”
“Each of those asteroids contains a gravity well generator, Captain. Our opponents literally cannot come any closer in hyper-space; and trying will only burn out their drives,” the Commodore said with a feral grin. “Tanis Command,” he broadcast, “activate the gravity projectors on a rotating cycle to keep the enemy fixed.”
The sixth set of holograms nodded and one officer looked down and then back up at Abril. “On-line, Sir.”
“Excellent. Captain Stele, I fear that your fighters—and ours—will take the brunt of the initial engagement. I know that you expected time to work up your crews-. . .,” but Abril was cut off by the hologram.
“We’ll manage. I will be flying myself at the head of the entire Wing.”
“Tan Stele, I have faith in your abilities, but perhaps we have something of an edge that Zsinj’s people are not expecting. Besides yourself. Chyrs?”
The hologram of the personnel stationed ground-side shifted and the Sienar Fleet Systems liaison officer smiled at Abril. “Commodore, you mean to test my new toys?”
“Madame Ofar, I mean to use your new toys to smash these intruders into dust—if they work, that is.”
“I think they are ready, Commodore—but they have only been tested in the lab, not in actual flight. I cannot promise they will function completely as advertised; not without more testing and lab work.”
“If they work, they work, Chyrs. If not, we are no worse off—they won’t shoot my ships by mistake will they?”
“Not as long as your transponders are functioning,” she grimaced. “Moff Patrice and Admiral Morvin were quite specific in that regard when they approved the project.”
“How many are ready to go?”
The holographic image smiled broadly. “Twelve hundred, split between a thousand Type Is and two hundred Types IIs.”
Abril bared his teeth in a fierce smile.
“And just what does the young lady have twelve hundred of that might give us an edge, Commodore?” asked Maarek Stele.
“She has been experimenting with putting droid brains in the old TIE Interceptors and TIE Bombers that Cyralis is phasing out. Care to have twelve hundred fresh fighters—without crews—hit those ships before your boys and girls go in, Maarek?”
And the Empire’s most decorated star fighter Ace smiled just as fiercely as Abril had.