You ain't getting it.
Wasn't somebody going to some talks with the Remnant?
Star Wars: The Crucible
Moderator: LadyTevar
Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Nothing like the present.
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FaxModem1
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 7700
- Joined: 2002-10-30 06:40pm
- Location: In a dark reflection of a better world
Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Not the Remnant, with Pelleon, he's not in charge of the Remnant yet, I think.
Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
At this stage Pellaeon is still just a captain.
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."
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masterarminas
- Jedi Master
- Posts: 1039
- Joined: 2012-04-09 11:06pm
Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
As the explosions ripped apart the outer walls of Durga’s vacation palace on Bundil, one of the exquisitely camouflaged troopers sprawled out along the flank of the mountain overlooking the target sighed heavily.
“What a waste,” he whispered into his helmet microphone. “You know that the Hutt had to have had a fortune in there—and we are just gonna smash it flat?”
“Vsilisk,” another trooper, this one the section sergeant, growled.
“Not our job, I know,” Vsilisk said plaintively. “Noooooo, we just risk life and limb to sneak in and plant those charges on the generators down there. And we leave it behind for some nerf-herding salvager to dig out all of those treasures.”
“Vsilisk! Shut that damn mouth!”
But Captain Anton L’sard just chuckled from his perch half a kilometer away.
“Vsilisk,” he said into his own mike.
“Here, Captain, Sir,” the cheery—if somewhat insolent voice—answered immediately.
“You really want to dig through the rubble down there for trinkets?”
Trey Vsilisk began to open his mouth—but three full years of working for the officer made him hold his tongue; at least a little, anyway. “Well, I’d rather have snuck in and liberated the treasury before the Hammers blew half of it into orbit, Sir.”
“Wasn’t the question, Vsilisk,” L’sard replied. “We have three hours and twenty-two minutes to rendezvous with our transport . . . which is the last Union ship leaving Bundil. You want to loot that palace, go right ahead, trooper—but I’m not holding the transport on the ground to wait for you.”
A long sigh came over the comm system again. “Probably too much to carry anyway,” muttered the special operations trooper. “Unless you and the rest of the guys want to give me a hand, Sarge?”
“Vsilisk, when we get aboard ship, I swear I am going to . . .,” and the squeal of feedback through the helmet comms made every trooper wince.
“Sir,” another of the soldiers snapped. “Escape vessel just launched from the palace—twenty seconds before it passes overhead. ID confirmed—Hutt stealth ship, hyperspace capable.”
L’sard smiled behind his armored mask. “Drogan, Kelp—break out the Plex-Four and engage that target,” he ordered.
The two troopers lifted the heavy weapon (the PLX-4, or ‘Plex-Four’), one holding it on his shoulder as he aimed, while the second—Drogan—armed the revolving cylinder which contained four GAMs (Gravity Activated Missile). Then he tapped Kelp on the top of his helmet. That trooper locked the Plex-Four’s sensors onto the oncoming vessel and a tone began to sound—he squeezed the trigger and the first GAM was hurled forward before its drive lit off, the barrel of the Plex rising with the recoil force. As the barrel dropped, the cylinder rotated and a second GAM locked into the launch tube; the tone sounded again—and once more a missile streaked away. In two seconds, Kelp had fired all four of the ready missiles—homing in on the gravity signature of the Hutt vessel’s repulsorlifts.
The pilot tried to evade, but the GAM was a very smart missile and each approached from a different vector under the control of its suicidal droid brain; of course, the sensors and intelligence did not leave room for much of a payload, but each GAM carried a miniature proton torpedo—and four were more than enough to shatter the escape crafts repulsorlifts, sending it hurtling towards a snow-filled glacier that it slammed into with a dull BOOM.
“Vsilisk,” L’sard continued with a smile. “Ten to one the fortune you seek is there—along with a very high-ranking Hutt. How about we take them both?”
“Hutts are pretty damn heavy, Captain, Sir—can we throw him off the cliff face and call it a day?”
“Vsilisk!” the Sergeant snapped, as the rest of the platoon began to chuckle.
“Slimy too . . . damn worm will make a mess of the shuttle when it picks us up. Not to mention the smell.”
“VSILISK!”
“Hey, I’m just saying!”
“What a waste,” he whispered into his helmet microphone. “You know that the Hutt had to have had a fortune in there—and we are just gonna smash it flat?”
“Vsilisk,” another trooper, this one the section sergeant, growled.
“Not our job, I know,” Vsilisk said plaintively. “Noooooo, we just risk life and limb to sneak in and plant those charges on the generators down there. And we leave it behind for some nerf-herding salvager to dig out all of those treasures.”
“Vsilisk! Shut that damn mouth!”
But Captain Anton L’sard just chuckled from his perch half a kilometer away.
“Vsilisk,” he said into his own mike.
“Here, Captain, Sir,” the cheery—if somewhat insolent voice—answered immediately.
“You really want to dig through the rubble down there for trinkets?”
Trey Vsilisk began to open his mouth—but three full years of working for the officer made him hold his tongue; at least a little, anyway. “Well, I’d rather have snuck in and liberated the treasury before the Hammers blew half of it into orbit, Sir.”
“Wasn’t the question, Vsilisk,” L’sard replied. “We have three hours and twenty-two minutes to rendezvous with our transport . . . which is the last Union ship leaving Bundil. You want to loot that palace, go right ahead, trooper—but I’m not holding the transport on the ground to wait for you.”
A long sigh came over the comm system again. “Probably too much to carry anyway,” muttered the special operations trooper. “Unless you and the rest of the guys want to give me a hand, Sarge?”
“Vsilisk, when we get aboard ship, I swear I am going to . . .,” and the squeal of feedback through the helmet comms made every trooper wince.
“Sir,” another of the soldiers snapped. “Escape vessel just launched from the palace—twenty seconds before it passes overhead. ID confirmed—Hutt stealth ship, hyperspace capable.”
L’sard smiled behind his armored mask. “Drogan, Kelp—break out the Plex-Four and engage that target,” he ordered.
The two troopers lifted the heavy weapon (the PLX-4, or ‘Plex-Four’), one holding it on his shoulder as he aimed, while the second—Drogan—armed the revolving cylinder which contained four GAMs (Gravity Activated Missile). Then he tapped Kelp on the top of his helmet. That trooper locked the Plex-Four’s sensors onto the oncoming vessel and a tone began to sound—he squeezed the trigger and the first GAM was hurled forward before its drive lit off, the barrel of the Plex rising with the recoil force. As the barrel dropped, the cylinder rotated and a second GAM locked into the launch tube; the tone sounded again—and once more a missile streaked away. In two seconds, Kelp had fired all four of the ready missiles—homing in on the gravity signature of the Hutt vessel’s repulsorlifts.
The pilot tried to evade, but the GAM was a very smart missile and each approached from a different vector under the control of its suicidal droid brain; of course, the sensors and intelligence did not leave room for much of a payload, but each GAM carried a miniature proton torpedo—and four were more than enough to shatter the escape crafts repulsorlifts, sending it hurtling towards a snow-filled glacier that it slammed into with a dull BOOM.
“Vsilisk,” L’sard continued with a smile. “Ten to one the fortune you seek is there—along with a very high-ranking Hutt. How about we take them both?”
“Hutts are pretty damn heavy, Captain, Sir—can we throw him off the cliff face and call it a day?”
“Vsilisk!” the Sergeant snapped, as the rest of the platoon began to chuckle.
“Slimy too . . . damn worm will make a mess of the shuttle when it picks us up. Not to mention the smell.”
“VSILISK!”
“Hey, I’m just saying!”
Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Woot its back!
Love Vsilisk
Love Vsilisk
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."
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FaxModem1
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 7700
- Joined: 2002-10-30 06:40pm
- Location: In a dark reflection of a better world
Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Good to see this continuing. Heh, I wonder if that Hutt has a backup escape plan besides that escape craft and shield.