Dejarik Move with the Kintan Strider

[Lamar Starworth]

Dejarik Move with the Kintan Strider

Ssssszzzzzzz

A cigarra churned at it's tip, lit in a crimson and coral tide coating over the whitened rashallo leaves. Smoke escaped in a puffed exhale.

Ssssszzzzzzz

Another inhale pressed through as the burn re-engaged the white stim. Running it's path down through the ashes of narcotics, it came to another halt after a smoky blow.


After a moment's wait, a final sizzled drag burned through the lull. It was enough, and before the smoker could continue he dropped the stim to his feet. Bouncing beside his white, plastoid, polished boots it was soon stamped out. The dwarfed flame at the cigarra's end. Smolder of heat trickled from under the foot smother, drizzling away with the calm breeze.

The man lifted off the wall, his foot still pressing against the breathless cigarra stim. He stood still a moment, the intent blue eyes only a human could hold staring off into the world. Platinum streaks dangled amidst hazel strands over the focus man's view as he stood still. Awaiting a command, he kept his attentive eyes ahead. All the senses of the being were precise in the arts of a Stormtrooper. Underneath the strong grasp of his armpit lay a helm, while his other occupied hand straightened to his forehead in a salute.

Before him walked another unmasked man. Attire in the finery of Stormtrooper Corp. standard, he motioned with ease. Trotting with smooth steps across the pebbled floor of the alleyway he awaited his gait to reach an end before he switched about. Finally reaching his destination in the midpoint between the assembled troops the ready platoon leader addressed his comrades.

Lifting his head ever so slightly, he felt the design of his intricately braided hair bang against his armored plastoid back. Years of patience had brought the hair to a considerable length. The refine texture of his many strands gave him a sleek, suave nature. Only further accentuated by his clean skin, and appropriately trimmed facial hair.

Over time the Lieutenant had professed efficiency in almost all facets of his life. Although the lightsaber hilt that dangled at his waist was not from a kill, it did provide support to his adept image. People believed he had destroyed a Jedi for it. But he was a Jedi, at least in many ways. Yet, he was also foremost a Stormtrooper and Lieutenant.

In that respect, he was required to speak before the squad entered battle. Bothawui was going to be ferocious, especially with the rumor of Rebellion presence to support the weak facade of the Bothan's Defense.

"An Emperor died..."

Lieutenant Winfield began, his distinct, but effortlessly spoken voice rose above the silence amidst the alley. The assembly before him of troopers pressed their straight backs against the brick wall, as he did on the opposite side. Drev'stran was a fashionable city, filled with numerous stylish, exotic buildings of beauty. They came in abundance, and tight spots resided between them. The alleyway was not exempt.

"...And we are here. Here alive, to keep him alive."

The troops eyes stared ahead, but their minds faded. Only months ago had the word of the Emperor's death affected the whole galaxy. Memories of the Imperial Holovision screen popping up on HoloNets brought a dismayed nostalgia back to their mind. The Emperor had meant much to all of them. Even those who resented their abundance of reconnaissance missions and dismissal from specific Outer Rim cantina still beloved him.

He brought order to a horrific galaxy. All of their parents whispered about the days gone, forgotten. From what they told them it was clear they deserved to forget. Times of war intruded all, but the anguish of the Clone Wars still struck home throughout the galaxy. Although it was only three years, it held no comparison.

"Now lets go out there and keep him alive!"

Not many words were necessary. People understood this war. The death of their leader was not long ago, and fighting for such a cause would last ages. Albeit time had shifted since the fall of Darth Sidious and his apprentice, the hearts of their soldiers had not.

And soon the soldiers united as once. Placing their helms on, they became a one being of horror. Tremors ran through the ground as the thud of the squad's feet fled from the alleyways into the street. Smooth maneuvers amassed the team into a perfected circle as they creped through the streets. At any time a direct encounter could terrorize the barren city.

They were prepared.

[Stormtrooper]

Day 5

Fields of troopers had been scattered in the clutter of nature on the outskirts of Drev'starn and other instrumental cities. Hours before the Empire utilized the array of army men to infiltrate and sabotage the planetary shield generators. Only a few remained. Not until all were completely thwarted was the Navy's bombardment to begin.

At that point of strike the planet's defenses would be completely crippled. Bases would be hit with uncanny precision. Buildings decimated in a matter of seconds from a tirade of TIE blast. War had begun since the first infantry had landed for penetration, but the destruction had not yet began.

The warnings of the Stormtrooper and Imperial Army's arrival had echoed through the world. Everyone was aware of the oncoming threat for what seemed to be days. Many men and children took their Bothan Way and escaped the city with their clans. Humans followed as well off into wilderness to await the outcome.

A few stormtrooper's caught some of the stragglers, but not enough. Most were petty citizens, injured veterans, children and disabled. Nothing of purpose came from the minor interrogations. Advancement was near a halt without the control of Drev'starn. It was a key point to the whole operation. As the planet's capitol city it herald a divine purpose amidst it's people. There was much to be gained with the breach of the city. From there the troopers could build and tear through numerous fortress across the land before all the Bothan's defense was gone.

So, the troopers crouched in the brush. Some had been ordered from superiors above at the controlled Bothawui Shipyard to begin their infiltration. The squads were small, but widely scattered. Dropped in and deployed at all entrances to the city, there were at least fifteen separate platoons around the barren metropolis.

One a long the Northern arena had only just entered. The lead was anxious, yet prepared. All the lull of the large city held a chilling factor, but his squad enjoyed it. An excitement peppered the scene, leaving a stark atmosphere. From the briefing it was clear that the Bothawui's Rebellion would be sprinkled through the city for secretive assaults. They held small frame, and even more intimidated attacks. Nothing other than onslaughts and guerrilla warfare could be expected of such a race.

"Inspect this block of buildings. Alert the rest of the platoon if you sense, or are caught in an ambush." Lieutenant Jinsz said, pressing the intercom of his helm. Before a second could past, the squad seasoned over the scenery. Carefully sneaking into the homes and shops, the team thoroughly inspected.

The Lieutanant headed down the road toward the Merchant's Square. A breeze carried itself over the stoned floor, rustling a few crinkled papers left behind by refugees. In his order he spat confidence in his troops. Although he was uncertain it was right to send the troops individually off, it was to be expected of troopers.

Stormtroopers herald a sense of duty, sense of skill, and expertise. They were ace amongst the Empire, and their abilities corresponded with their originator Jango Fett. Albeit their training derived from the intricate teachings of Kamino's requested combat guru, Jango Fett resided in all of them. They weren't clones, but the Clones that proceeded them set the pathway for their greatness. He entrusted his troops with a individual strength. They could handle Bothans, any day of the year.

However, he felt uneasy. The Merchant's Square was a place with numerous entrance. An onslaught seemed to peer across every corner and even as he cautiously motioned through his eyes jumbled with feelings. Demise creped onto his shoulder, and with a twitch of motion his mind took to instinct. Thuds beat in a lull echo over in the distance, pushing his brain to the edge. Energizing his ready arm, he vice gripped his rifle and prepared himself.

Snapping one hand to his headset, he screamed with accelerated effort over the intercom. Troops dashed from their inspections and headed out to the sounds of blaster fire nearby. The Lieutanant had already began. Bothan sat a long roof tops and behind blockade of shipment boxes. Surprise and fear terrorized his impulse until he convinced his peak of movement was not reached. Swiftly he motioned about, sending a single notion to the oncoming barrage of troopers. The order was sent and they soon came in to back him up against the assault.

A single Bothan fell from a window above. The charred flesh from a blaster bolt perfumed the air amidst the field of war-cried bellows. Overcast of anger raged over the whirlwind of green, red and blue bolts ricocheting through the square. Furred creatures bounced from place to place, awaiting the eminent danger jumping at them. The Bothan felt ready, but they were prepared for such volley of proficiency.

The remnants of the block inspection maneuvered slowly toward the midpoint of the square, their plastoid armored backs pressed against one another. Two had fallen to crossfire, but the Lieutanant stood proud. The ready stance activated, his knees bent and blaster pointed he continued on with his yell and shots. Bolts paraded about in a profusion of conflict. More and more Bothan appeared for their own annihilation.

One trooper leaped with ace precision above an advance grim beam. Falling to the floor, he used the momentum of his body to propel himself into a practiced roll. When reaching a kneel, his carbine was willing. Ahead the blaster pointed, it's mouth hacking, then spitting an energized flame of destruction. The victim yelped in dissolution and set sorrow. Resentment arrested the remaining foe.

It became clear as more were mowed down in flawless counters that they should have restrain from such an attack. The assault had been spun, and with only two causalities the platoon stood set for more. There was no others, at least in the area.

"Vicinity cleared. Heading toward next block. Over and out," said Jinsz.

[Lamar Starworth]

Day 10

Death captured all clamor, jangle and thuds. The streets maintained a definite calm, despite the war that was about. Warfare on cityscape was different than others. Tactics and techniques were quietly changed at every block. Buildings and other structures molded the platoon's maneuvers. Schemes that had seemed to leave them protected amidst battlefields of wilderness in the past were not reliable on such dynamic settings.

Lamar had become accustom to the wild array of possibilities in the environment. Every household could be reformed into a fortress for sniping or blitz ambush. Behind crates and corners could reside a flux of Bothan characters, armed and ready for an aggressive onslaught.

Not much had happened since the team trickled from the alleyway, but their senses could not be more attuned. Steps could be heard through the hallow shells, and over intercoms in all it's whisper. Chirps from above echoed in the platoon's mind as they awaited the imminent boom that would come crashing down at the first engage with the enemy. Even the breeze was not spared from their scrutiny. Lamar and his troops studied everything intuitively.

A slip and a blaster burn could pepper one of the comrades before a fateful fall. The thought sent a chill down the commonly composed Lieutenants back. Underneath the warming armor popped goosebumps as his ace vision pierced through the scenery at the turn of another block.

Another soundless trail laid before them, but the inspection would be routine. Standards needed to be reached. Ambush was always possible, and without a check on the buildings there would be no certainty that the next move was not a trap. So, before he could lift his hand in order, the clique flooded the nearby structure. Unlocking the door, the troops trickled in to the drizzle of hum.

Aching wood pressed underneath the boot's sole as the team discretely advanced. Lamar resided in the middle of the troopers, before treading forth to the lead. Although the head of the present operation, he was also an important piece to the dejarik movement. Protecting him would ensure that the mission would be accomplished despite any possible pitfall.

Raising his hand, the youthful chief sent duos of the platoon to probe the household's many room. Barren like the numerous other estates, they prepared themselves for the hasty exit. Bombardment was always a plausible reaction to a hold's inspection.

Quickly the team motioned to the door, pressing forth. The door swung open smoothly for the first of the platoon to exit in an orderly fashion. Before time could register another step the armored trooper felt the smoldering singe of an azure blaster bolt fling in his chest. The man toppled quickly over as the pain overwhelmed his cautious frame. Taken back, the instincts of the practiced squad sent them in the split from the door. Pushed against the wooden walls of the living room, the team lifted their carbine and rifles willing to supply hellfire. Already one of their own had met his untimely fate, and with certain faith their would not be another.

Lamar was amidst the outburst of impulse. Nearest to the door, his eyes peered over to the side through the dark lens. Troopers in the dimly lit room shined with sheer elegance from their pale plastoid. The squad's chest lifted in unison as they heaved willingly from the sudden acceleration of their hearts. Soon the band would be prepared for a tactical display, but for the present they awaited the Lieutenant's command.

Thoughts raced through the young, spirited soldier's mind. An barrage of ideas bashed over his mind from the thorough studies back at the Academy. Time and time again he had been pressed against the wall only to revise his initial concept into a scheme of utter extravagance. Many more gizka were in his bag from those days, and he grabbed it with swiftly. Finally allowing his heaves to halt, he lifted a hand to his headset to activate the intercom. Something needed to be said.

"No worries. Howlrunner formation."

Lamar whispered before jumping into the maneuver. Half the team followed, while the other spread toward the door. The latter bashed the door and coiled into a spiral from the oncoming traffic of crossfire. Narrow evasions of blue and green blaster bolts left the second team at ease before returning fire.

Lamar's half pursued the other. One spurted stride and the troops were outside as well. With ready blasters the team watched as the flanked squadron to the side demanded the Bothan band's attention. Meanwhile Lamar utilized the practiced bunch's knowledge and moved effortlessly through the street to the other side. Shots tirade through the backs of the Bothan as dismay illustrated their features. Demise sizzled over their feet and left gravity to act. In seconds the large line-up of Bothans were all sprawled across the pebbled walk-way, without a single causality to their names.

Precision had allowed them to prevail, but Lamar was unsure now. One had fallen already, and another discard could not help. They would have to be more safe.

"Okay team, move out."

Lamar said, disallowing his conscious to shift his eyes once more at the trooper's corpse. Although his plastoid mask covered the man's face, Lamar knew exactly who it was. Tiyrn, the blonde streaked trooper from Corellia. He had a love for those darn cigarra. Lamar liked him for the little time he had gotten to talk to him. A boy and girl were back home waiting for his return.

They wouldn't see their father with his eyes open ever again.

[Alif Selelsh]

A Rebel operative was always meticulous about any commission. Details had to be perfected, maneuvers practiced and thoughts clear. Alif was not exempt to such descriptions, despite his rather edgy aura. Over the years of the Galactic Civil War he had engaged in numerous battles on a number of worlds. Not once had he been injured. Everything he did was to a definite, and absolute excellence.

Many that watched him work on opponents herald his skills, comparing to that of the finest mercenary and hunters of the galaxy. Any utensil of doom in his furry, fiery palms could multiply in persistence for victory. Alif had studied pistols, carbine, shell blasters and missiles of all kind. Anything that involved ground works was an expertise of his.

However, this was a different situation entirely. The SpecForce he had been given was requested to stay at bay and scrutinize. Their support would be necessary in the future of the combat. So, they maintained a silence, hidden in a fortress with a squad of Rebel Marines.

Many of his squad's underling leaders had taken to a scatter as for flanked purpose aligned with the Bothan's Planetary Defenses. They would maintain a purposeful motion throughout the invasion. Compounds of Bothan and Rebel forces would provide a divine advantage over the unprepared Imperial campaign. Beside it all, the squad leaders had been required to have routine check-ins with Alif. He was the head of the operation, and his word was final in the Drev'starn defense.

"Maintain post," Alif replied to an urgent plea for battle. Young faces always were prepared to jump in with moronic bravery into battle without a second thought. Years of experiences had taught the Caamasi to stay calm and patient with the youth.

Their idiocy would pass or be encompassed by war. He always had the time and sense to tell them to shut up when need be anyways.

[Lamar Starworth]

Day 15

A lull had consumed the town turned battlefield. Many of the shock troopers had taken to private sectors of the city and kept to the outpost for further orders. Lamar's platoon was no different. Respite summoned them in quarters down a market block. A top the ceiling sat four guards, pressed along the square.

The four had been requested for alternation for protection to the central figures. An organized lunch time had been scheduled, and despite the rather bore of ration it was worthwhile.

After a few bites a soldier's energy tank would be fueled fur the certain tortures of war. Instead of continuing to run without a breather, the platoon would take reflect and press on. It was the only intellectual move during a break period before commands had been sent.

Soon the dull of war would end, and retrospect wouldn't be as purposeful. Only action would matter, and maneuvers would be enforced. Beckons, wards and commands would be screamed over intercoms throughout the squad, and bodies would follow. Another enemy gone, and a life saved. It was routine now, and it was just finally reaching sunset.

Lamar's shift had taken him to the center of the guarded squad. Sitting comfortably on the hardened roof, he took his mind elsewhere. Food was good, but contemplation was a stronger tool for battle.

[Alif Selelsh]

Time had come and gone, and squads were on the move. Some had taken to the field generators at the murmur of the Imperial's infiltrations. Other young crew had failed on their attempts to heed the procedures of Stormtrooper platoon. Much had been left to the imagination of their wise commanders at the screams over the channels.

Many had found themselves at an end by the bucket heads. Alif had yet to encounter, but he held a grip as he sat a top a building. He and his platoon had been on the move, quickly shifting to the building tops to catch an overview of the crowds. The barren city provided the necessary points to catch escaping teams, and capture the invaders.

Bothans had done their job to the best of their ability, but the Rebellion was there to supply support. The Bothawui Sector was a vital point in the operation of the Rebellion, and any wrong-doing by the Imperial presence would tamper with the resources and SpyNet that the planet housed.

It was a little too much to simply shrug off.

Alif had taken to his swoop bike. Much of the town had been overrun with tirade of enemy, or battle and his sector was isolated. A silence ran deep in the area, only flirting with the muse of the bubbling engines. The swoops sped through in unison, giving off a harmonizing melody of battle as they swept into the central point of the capitol. The City Hall was mid-point and with a few of the city generators left out of commission, the last point was here.

A large defense had already been assembled, and Alif was the last Dejarik piece to play against the Imperial offense. Even the Bothan around the cityscape had returned to the hall for this onslaught.

[Lamar Starworth]

Day 21

Drev'starn had taken to the night, and the mourning had come brisk blow of the wind. The horizon as carried in by the pull of the eased wheeze, and it swept over the land at effortless pace. Smoothly it smother the roads and left the troops at a lift. Over the set of evening there was sparse action throughout the channels. Most the headquarters had been occupied, and bases were reacted in abandoned buildings throughout the capitol.

There was only one place left. The battle had come with ease, especially with the rather prepared defense of the Bothan. Despite the training at the Bothawui Academy, their was no room for such remedial abilities against the Imperial onslaught. Tedious and meticulous disciplined detailed the numerous Academy posted across the galaxy for Stormtrooper cadets. Never was their room for failure.

Beside it all, the morale was at a high in compassion to many other wars that had ravaged the Galaxy since the fall of their notorious Emperor. Imperials no longer fell to their adversary needlessly, on stupid attempts. Procedures were carried out without effort, and the Bothans were captured by doom of their rebuttals. Reactions were fruitless, and the Empire continued to take down their foe in bite size.

Many of the cities had been taken before Lamar's platoon had even taken to the ground. The war had raged on for nearly a month, and still the Stormtrooper and the Imperial Army had taken away the Bothan's main stays.

There was only one failed point. The City Hall.

The troops drifted over the pebbled roads with a practiced tread. Lamar stood at the head. Most of his superiors in battle had fallen on unusual matters. Either by bombardment of guerrilla forces, or by unrecorded means. There were very few casualties, but it seemed that most of the assaults were decisive and intense enough to merit specific shots at the fleet's commanders.

It was slightly unusual commanding such a large squadron. Standing amidst the numerous platoon leaders, he had taken to the campaign with courage. He would need it, for they were only a block away from the main road to the City Hall. There was definately going to be unfriendly fire after the turn.

"Be prepared troops," and they turned.

[Lamar Starworth]

Battle.

Keeping civilization whole, sound, and tranquil required triumphs. A defeat was a concept that could not be endorse, not even for a second to prevail. There could be no doubts in victory. Slightest moves off and morale could plummet to a definite end. Decimation rested in the word battle. Combat was not the grounds for the weary, or young, and not a boy walked into an altercation without leaving a man—at least not in the days of the Galactic Civil War.

Bothawui was once a serene, wholesome world. War had rampaged over it, and buildings were left in shambles from within and out after confrontations amidst it’s capitols and other cities. The planet still maintained its lush fields of green and nature, but the world’s native could no longer claim it with certainty. Only in the span of weeks had the spoils of a crusade ruined the land’s flavor. Bothans could no longer take savory bites from their previously glamorous palaces, buildings and architecture.

The planet was the Empire’s now, and only a step removed it from total control.

In the depths of the defenders hearts rested a hope of respite, and crave for fuel. A lifetime had passed since the invasions commence, and their minds had been slighted by the shift in the tide. The rebellion had been diligently sent disorder throughout the ranks, as quarrels brew in discord throughout Drev’stran. Even the support of the Alliance could not sustain the required front to the barrage.

Lamar had assembled his troops on numerous occasions through the tiring days to only watch them fall. Attacks had suspended them in imagination, leaving instinct and guts to energize their aching bones. Nerves had given out, and without the studies back at the Academy there would be no room for breathing. Yet, they survived, as stormtroopers were expected. Not a complaint about the campaign could be heard over the channels, in spite of the troubles. Problems dislodged some trooper’s minds, like their competitors, into impossibility. Chances always seemed slim against the guerilla monsoons of fleet that arranged bombardments from diverse array of arenas. Combat underneath the shadows of the cities buildings left an abudance of room for onslaughts to be carried out with meticulous fashion. It could only be predicted that some could not handle the odds.

Warfare dwindled those troops down. Survival tactics had allowed the remaining to fuel the morale for one last episode. One last chapter to the unparalleled tale of conquer. Lieutenant Winfield treaded softly, his blaster held in a ready stance beside his helm. Aligned with the precision of his eyes, practiced by various reherseals and exercises in his Academy studies. Many of his superiors looked upon him with proud eyes. Lamar was one of the youngest Lieutenants of the Stormtrooper Corp, provided with unequal talent and potential. Tenacity had disallowed many before the chance to send his troops in a disorder, despite the rather irregular chance of battle during his reconnisance. However, when occasions did occur they were handled with professionalism and a leveled head.

The young soldier was birthed from an unique flock. Legacy of Generals reigned in his family heritage, although he did not know. His aunt a General on many outpost during the Clone Wars won battles with the Clones as her utensils, while his grandparents delved into interplantery defenses on the Outer Rim. Very few men or women in the Winfield bloodline could not handle a blaster or weapon. Never were they defenseless, beside the recent upbringings. It was fitting that he was attire in the menacing uniform of a Stormtrooper. The sway of the Force could not have it any other way.

Thump of the mandatory Stormtrooper boots beat the pebbled surface in rival of a drum. Unison carried a lull murmur that beat louder as the squad neared the City Hall from the main road. Army men and troopers alike pressed a long, hands gripping on the standard blasters. Some even took to their fragment grenades for abrupt disperse.

And then, in a sudden silence, the troops came to a stop. Lamar’s hand raised as the squad gazed ahead at the future of decimation. A building charged toward the sky with ominous assurance. The exotic, angular architecture of the Bothans was on full display at the points, and circles of the structure’s top. Even the capitol center’s door snarled in it’s twisted contortion. Soon the wooden gates and windows would expose the imminent attack.

This was war…

“Ready…”

[Alif Selelsh]

The typical Caamasi snout poked from the depths of the shadows. Inside the City Hall stood numerous pillars, allowing the shine that eased through the windows to caste shade across the articulate structure. Bothan withheld a unique, exotic diligence to their architecture and it was certainly professed in their capitol. Pillars rode throughout the large structure, painted and carved to accentuate their detailed history.

Word of the Bothan Way glisten in the shimmering light that lit the hallways. Alif sat near, his eyes peering ahead in wait. Time had neared for an onslaught, and certain defeat rested in his logic, but not his soul. The Rebellion had whimper before, today would not be his end.

Even though word had trickled over the channels about numerous remote bunkers near the key shield generators being disabled, there was no point in faltering now. The war had long begun, and the end was near. Either way, the spark to the fire that would ravage or control Bothawui would commence at the moment of attack.

"Soldiers," he whispered. The dialect of the Caamasi tongue slither through the serpent setting. City Halls were always so cold. "Attacks will drop from the heaven's initially. Snipers open your windows on my command."

The words sped over the channels to the upper levels of the ominously towering building. A fleet of snipers rested in the shadows of the numerous offices that riddled the city's capitol. Snarls tatter their alien faces. Diverse array of species cluster about, hands gripping the groove of strong, precise blasters. They were certainly ready.

"Now!"

Bellow echoed through the rebellious halls, and flung into the beating drum of battle. Fear and angst fondled the ears of their foe outside as the call could be heard, meanwhile the chaos excerpted from the window openings left eyes above. Blaster bolts spat in rays dagger at the fleet standing below at the steps.

It was a fitting place to die for such vile bucket heads. The steps of their enemy planet's capitol.

"Die!"

The call sent a chill through the spines of the fleet as their bodies were commanded by faith toward the capitol's exits. Red, orange and brown fur emerged in a splash from every plausible exit. There seemed to be a representation of every species in the galaxy. From Mere, Wookiee to the small of Lannik. The galaxy held a hate for the carnage encompass by the New Order, and they showed it with the fury of their blasters.

Bolts bedazzled the scene in a flush of colors. This was the image of war. Body's falling to an end at the sizzling churn of their skin, and hearts giving out from the sling of red and blue.

Die, die, die!

[Sergeant Michael Brand]

Somewhere in the crush of angry sentients were the brown and green uniforms of the Rebel Marines.

"Uniforms" was putting it kindly, since they were an amalgamation of all the surplus, liquidated, third-and-fourth-generation hand-me-down scraps a Sullustan quartermaster could lay his slippery mits on. A helmet here, a utility belt there, some discount flak vests. And nice boots. You didn't skimp on the boots.

But it was easy enough to tell friend from foe when the enemy was considerate enough to deck themselves in faceless white armor and shamble along like a pack of constipated protocol droids. No face, that made them easier to kill. No face meant no heart, no soul, so no remorse. Usually you had block out the face of the enemy, keep 'em from being human. The Empire did that for you.

Sergeant Michael Brand didn't bother keeping track of the masks disappearing under the barrel of his A-280 longblaster, because there were too many of the sons of biths to count. He was crouched behind a concrete road barrier on the edge of the courtyard with two of his boys -- Aylen Marcos and Fass Kor. Just minutes ago they'd been talking shockball like friends sharing a brew at the corner pub. Now they were holding the center of the line while the local militia buzzed around with the strategic forethought of a kicked-in anthill. Frack, what were they, a bunch of brainless Imperials? Rebel blood was a rare commodity, and here they were swabbing the streets with it. Bothawui was already lost; anyone with a ganglionic cluster could tell you that. But no one asked the Rebel marines their opinion. No one ever does.

"The line's breaking up at ten, Sarge!" Marcos hollered. "Looks like they've brought some arc blasters to the front!"

"Krasst. Either of you got grenades left?"

"Down to two, Sarge."

"Might keep 'em from cutting our backs open when we fall back to the capitol." Brand popped above the berm to peg another Stormie, then ducked under a spray of retaliatory plasma. The barricades couldn't take much more of this.

Marcos rolled a concussion grenade into his blaster's underslung launcher. "What's the chatter, Sarge?"

Brand gave him a curt, negative shake. The Imps had been jamming all high-powered comms in the capitol sector, even their own channels. They'd never received confirmation on their request for air support. Without a pipe to headquarters, they couldn't afford to wait for aid that might never come. If the tide didn't turn soon, he'd pull his boys out of there, along with whichever furballs would join him. He'd take a rap on the knuckles for it later if necessary.

"Kor, radio the orders... left flank, fall back and pull around inside the courtyard. We need Borsk Avenue clear."

"Yes, sir."

"Marcos, cover fire."

"Yes, sir."

Private Marcos took quick and steady aim at the brigade of arc-blasters and fired off his grenade. Marching across the open street with minimal cover, the Stormies were lined up like ninepins. Blood didn't mean so much to the Imperials. Not to a military who'd dusted an entire planet just for being a handy target.

"Left flank, move now!" Kor snarled into his radio.

The Rebel fighters dodged from barrier to barrier as the faltering army began its withdrawal back into City Hall.

[Lamar Starworth]

Engulf in the fury of combat, Lamar's blaster was kept in the swallow of his grasp. Lifted for the coming onslaught, he watched as blaster bolts departed from the standard canister. Disperse of faces splatter to the floor. Fur of numerous races were caught in an involuntary sniff through the vents as air passed through.

In the tarnished tirade it was almost hard to keep up breathing. Steps simply went forward, hand motions and gestures commanding his platoon and team onward. The cease of the battle was far, despite the bustle of falling bodies.

All sorts of sentients were bundled together in the barrage of blaster fire. Somber calls of end echoed over the sizzle of red, orange and green bolts. A Wookie pasted against the wall gave away his last breath as another bolt flung itself from the wielded hold. Splashed over the floor were the shimmer of armor upon a carcase, and human flesh.

Unforgivable winds ran over the world, passing the fallen soldiers without a care. The tear of war did not affect the nature, at least not on such fertile plains. Cityscape could still be seen in it's exotic perfection. Buildings had barley been scared in the escapade, and the road that trailed toward the entrance of the City Hall still maintained under the newfound weight of battle above it.

Lamar was one of the many men that moved along the road. Maneuvers sent him wayward from oncoming fire, while others fell to the ground in response to the shocking agony. Pain and angst were feelings he skillfully avoided, leaping between the fire to disperse another foe. Adversaries were taken aback by the passage of disdain illustrated with ace precision. Every being that took a stand soon fell before the assault of the fleets lead.

Lt. Winfield was an admirable warrior, but he did not realize it.

All the Lieutanant recognized was rise of demise. He subsided the infective thoughts of his horrid deeds, and continued forth. The assault was falling back, and the Empire's military would not fault in allowing them leverage.

Another gesture and the squad continued forward without heed. Hopefully they could press the retreating Rebels into the depths of the City Hall before spreading for the planetary generator deactivation.

[Alif Selelsh]

Amidst the absurdity nestled the Caamasi with dual blasters. Flare of fire skid after continuous pulls of the lever. Leverage sled away as the assault drizzled and dwindled into a retreat. The movements seemed to fall to no avail, and Alif's eyes scowed the scenery with hope.

There was nothing.

Pleasantries lay packed away in the back of his mind, compressed by the senseless killing. Purpose still rode through his spine, thorough steps lifting him from point to point amix the chaos, but he felt there would be no win. Many times before he saw the conclusion in a different light than his bias opinions could forsee, and this seemed to be no different.

The operation was a failed one. Mere fell to the blast, aligned with a number of other races that were casted for the problematic act. A deep sigh fizzle from the depths of the furred creature before his body sled through the fields of beings. Before the combat could continue on, a foreign call roared over and the team began their drift back toward the towering City Hall.

Face after face hit the floor. Kids...young ones were not spared. All sorts of sentients took to the battle with desire. Nothing was left on the men and women's dish beside desperation. Grenades swept over the skyline ahead into the fields of glistening white. Empower figures crept toward the fleeing fleet.

"Move it, move it." Alif's accentuated tone played the underline in the blare of his clamor. Some way the remnants of the Bothawui battle would survive if he had any hand in it.

[Sergeant Michael Brand]

Back into the broad colonnades with their twisted vaults and light-flooded windows -- the Bothans certainly had a flair for the dramatic. Sergeant Brand wasn't interested in aesthetic critique at the moment. The glistening marble that coated every surface was shrapnel waiting to happen.

Beyond the rows of fluted columns was the capitol proper -- a vast, domed structure which, underneath its glitzy ecoutrements, was reinforced as a bomb shelter to protect the Council and their cabinets. Say what you want about the Bothans, their penchant for suspicion had prepared them surprisingly well. The entrances were thick with duracrete and easy to barricade. The first-floor windows were equipped with blast shutters. The windows on the second and third levels were in prime positions to sweep the courtyard below with just a handful of guns and mortars. As long as the city shield held, they could hold the Imps here for another half-hour, at least, and make them pay for every centimeter of the courtyard.

"Heave!" With the help of two Wookiees and a Gran, Sergeant Brand and his men added a duracrete bench to the debris clogging the main entrance. His radio squawked with chatter as the other companies spread out across the capitol facade to fill in the chinks in the fortress's armor.

Private Marcos came jogging out of a stairwelll. "We've got three E-Webs on the second level," he reported. "Enough cannons to sweep 'em out of the gutters."

"Fine. How's our ammunition holding up?"

"We're scraping the barrels, sir. Had to grab clips off the bodies as we pulled back."

"Tell the boys to make 'em last. Four companies guarding the front... that leaves, what, three to move the wounded out through the tunnels?"

"Yes, sir, what's left of them."

Another brilliant stroke of Bothan pessimism -- the capitol was a hub of reinforced tunnels that popped up at key points throughout the city. One of them had been picked as the dust-off point for the Rebel troops. Three transports were sitting in an abandoned warehouse to shuttle them to safety. Three transports -- only enough to carry half the number of regulars, militiamen, and volunteers that had turned up to defend the capitol. Casualty projections made things so convenient for the requisitions officers.

"Fine..." He turned to the two Wookiees. "You, Kouraga, and, you, furball, you two report to Agent Selelsh and tell him to get a fire under 'im. We'll hold out here as long as it takes to get the wounded in, then we'll be right on his heels."

"Sarge! We've got trouble coming down Kifa Street!" It was Fass Kor's voice over the vox. Brand had sent the Zabrak up to the third floor as lookout.

The sergeant hurried around the corner and shoved his electrobinoculars through the slot in the window blast shutters. He could see the Stormies surging over the courtyard in waves, halted now and then by hails of blaster bolts from above. Further out, he saw them rigging mortars to blast explosives into the upper stories and try to clean out the sniper nests. And then, lifting the lens, he saw a towering mass lumbering up the street among the rounded skyscrapers with three smaller shapes jaunting at its feet.

Walkers. An AT-AT and three attendant scouts.

"I hope somebody's got some bright ideas."

[Lamar Starworth]

The campaign had come to a sudden halt. Behind the stampede of soldiers he observed with a blaster ready as the troops retreated from the assault. Blast after blast came to no avail, and the survey from the Lieutenant's dark lens detailed a derail plan. Commission rolled over the coat of his steady mind, juggling the wild concepts that riddle anew with the changes. Lamar's squad had been sent forth to detain the capitol and deactivate the planetary generator.

Many other had accomplished there goal with ease, but the channel spoke in tales of ease swaggers through the dwindle street. Little rebellion flourish amidst the numerous cities that landscape the planet, and with the capitol's central eloquence it was quite important that his stance was fertile. A slight mishap could trip up the whole objective.

An inhale and seized into a steady breathe through the vents plaster in his helm. Thought tatter his troubled mind as he stood motionless, eyes still running about the scenery. In the mix of the conflict numerous remnants of the planets Imperial Army infantry had been requested. The readily motion to the capitol sent a chill down his back. All of the speed and quickness reminded him of the war he was apart of. For a slight second he felt proud. Soon the cherished inkling drizzle away in the rain of his mind, and what remained was dry humor to progress through his thorough procedures.

"So, heroes," Lamar's finger pressed to his intercom, words blaring over the channel. "Spread in packs of 4 to surrounding buildings about the courtyard."

Before the word dropped, his hand lifted in command and sent the gesture. The coordinated groupings that collected at the central fire before the City Hall dispersed once more as they had been introduced, dancing about the wild maze to avoid observation from above.

Details weren't necessary, these soldiers had dealt for a near month with the numerous occurrence and battles between the Rebel uprising on the planet. They knew how to handle themselves.

Lamar carried off as well, his squad flung between a nearby alleyway as the courtyard turn barren. Soon they would all be above, on the top floors, awaiting the next move as the AT-ST reached the points before the City Hall. Certainly the walkers would supply all the cover to finalize the invasion.

[Sergeant Michael Brand]

"All right, find a place for these mortars. Tell the gun crews upstairs to coordinate their fire, pick at the sides. The grenadiers can sweep the middle. I want someone to check our armory and tell me exactly what heavy weapons are left -- portable rockets, mortar shells, anti-personnel mines, anything that can put a dent in that armor. Pull some men off the retreating companies if you have to. Corporal Trayce, what the frell is he yammering about?"

A Wookiee had just approached the circle of marines and was gesticulating animatedly toward the anterior corridors. Sergeant Brand had learned to respect the furballs as fierce and canny fighters, but darned if he could understand a word they said.

"Seems they've found some speeders in the underground passageways, Sarge," Trayce replied. "He wants to know if they can use 'em to move the wounded."

"Speeders?" Brand looked up like a hawk who'd just noticed a mouse exploring the edge of his nest. "Why didn't I know about these before? Never mind. Ask him what kind."

The Wookiee let out another long string of barks and grunts, and the look on Trayce's face said it was getting technical. "Mix of Sorosuubs and Incom models... Mainly big political transports. Couple of armored speeders, too. Says he saw one or two old Gians down there."

The wheels in Brand's head were turning now. "Okay, get 'em running any way you can. Where'd Marcos go?"

Private Marcos was just jogging back from the armory. "Here, Sarge. Found another magazine of grenades and a pair of Mersonn missile platforms."

"Send the grenades up to the mortar crews, and pack up the Mersonns. And tell Kor to get his butt down here. We're going for a drive."

"Sir? Er, I mean, yes, sir."

"Corporal Trayce, I'm leaving you in command of the barricade. You know your business. If they breach these walls, you pull out. Don't bother waiting for us."

"Yes, sir."

It was a mark of professionalism that he didn't question or hesitate -- Trayce was another battle-tested soldier, mature beyond his years, who'd end up commanding a regiment of his own soon enough. And he was clever enough that he just might have guessed what Brand had in mind anyway.

Marcos quickly returned with the missile launchers strapped to his back, Fass Kor right behind him, and Sergeant Brand led the charge down the service stairway and into the tunnels. The duracrete ceilings were already reverborating with the whine of repulsorlifts, and it wasn't hard to find the speeder hangar. To one side, surrounded by a wicker wire fence, were the armored craft and, at the back, a beaten old Naboo-model Gian Speeder. Brand blasted the padlock off the accessway, and the three marines piled into the open-top craft.

"We don't have a key, sarge," Marcos pointed out.

Brand was already slicing into the dash with his service knife. "Oh? What a shame." With a few twisted wires, the old girl shuddered and lifted up off her skids. The Gian was a big boat of a patrol speeder, and though this one had seen better years, it showed the reason why it and other machines like it were still in service. Few repulsor craft had more grip and more stability, even with an extra half-tonne of durasteel plating all around, and this model also carried a rear-mounted heavy repeater and a light ray shield for added protection. Brand remembered when his old man had driven one of these on Chandrila.

Marcos gripped his rocket launcher tightly as the speeder bulled its way out the gate and into the tunnel thoroughfare. "Mind if I ask what the plan is, Sarge?"

Brand eased the Gian Speeder into the northwest tunnel and mashed the accelerator. The throaty roar of the engine rolled over them in the confines of the tunnel. "We're going big game hunting, Private," he shouted back.

"Against walkers? In this?"

"Let me tell you something, kid. The man who had the bright idea to give a tank legs was an idiot. I'm about to show you why."

[Lamar Starworth]

Leisure had escaped the regiments step. Every motion through the waves of alleys carried haste and in moments time they had reached their designated spots. Pressed through the hallways of the buildings plaster about the surroundings of the City Hall, the team sped up the stairways and structure's respected lifts.

Lamar had reached his way point readily, before the rest. The team about him did not shudder as they glanced down from the mirrored heights of neighbor buildings. Plaster against the floor by the command of their Lieutanant, Lamar prepared them for the oncoming engage.

"As soon as the rest send their word over the channel, we will use our grappling hooks to reach the awkward roof top there."

The young Lieutenant's hand shifted over the ceiling, pointing onward at the unique topping to the architecture. The dramatics of the stylized building would be it's undoing. Drev'starn City Hall had a bulbous, circular head that dropped into a pinpoint. A decent grappling hook would allow them a stand at it's base for ultimate destruction.

Thermal detonators were a wonderful thing.

"From there the thermals will handle the rest."

A smirk rested underneath the bucket about his skull. An eased breath rested in the turmoil of battle below. Although silence had permitted the AT-ST a bustle before the courtyard, there was no certainty that the large tanks would maintain against decent attacks. Study of the Battle of Hoth had led the platoon leader to grasp the inner-workings of the Rebellion. They were a resourceful bunch that could only be dismantled by the handle of morale or equal reaction.

Lamar had one, and the other required his lead. Utilizing the structure was a wise choice, and a pierced invasion of the premise would tarnish any possible assault if done readily. From there they could deactivate the hull that prevent bombing.

"Checking in," Corporal Hendras voice attuned over the channel, to be followed by numerous other officials. Time had come with a quickness and the orders had been sent. Action was required to finalize the war, and Lamar's hand once more sent the gesture to begin.

Blaster bolts spiraled through the lull in unison, carrying a large boom at the topping structures about the City Hall. Four had been formatted, and soon they would be disfigured by a blast. Grappling hooks flung over the side of the buildings, their owners hidden by the care of the ceiling walls. In moments time speed propelled the hooked over the wall through the parade of free air.

The hooks were sustained for high-tension. Although tentative motions could not be done in such precise calculation, their would not cause a fall. In an abrupt shake, the grappling hooks caved into the bulbous, circular tops and the Stormtrooper's work began. Lamar's feet dangled before he dashed up toward the hole he and his team created with the ace of their blaster bolts. A pair had been created, and without heed it was supplied for the doom.

An ion flare and spare blaster pack dropped from the hole created by the blaster bolts. Falling to the surface within the City Hall, the boom echoed from the depths. Defeat crept in the inter workings as it had before. The walls of the capitol could no longer restrain decimation. Continuing forth, Lamar sled down to the base of the irregular, exotic topping, and pasted his thermal detonators along with others abroad. Every motion was done in near perfect unison.

This was not practiced, but well taught. His orders were heard loud and clear before the war solution began.

Fleeing from the coming blast, the team leaped down from the courtyard with the support of the grappling hooks.

Then, it happened...

[Alif Selelsh]

Jumble of frail bodies and speeder frame cast a shadow through the bowels of the city. Tubes and tunnels scaled through, and Alif sat ahead the bunch atop his vehicle. Juggled remains of beings dangled in back, only a chance of life dwindling away at every blasted turn. Engines roared with certainity, and flare, but Alif could not hear it at all.

Every sensory nerve appointed the situation with dire need. The requirements of his body intensified, and flush painted his skin underneath the coat of fur. Stir thoughts concotted in the troublesome affairs, but hope resonated in his heart. There was still a chance to save these people.

Alliance and Bothan soldiers alike lay mangled in the rear of numerous speeders racing through the under belly of cityscape. Much had taken place during the near month of battle, and there was no room to be fluster anymore. Alif had seen war before, and it was sparse that they could retain so many injuried beings. Hopefully he would get the chance to thank the sarge for all his input.

He managed to keep the others out of Alif's operation at bay. It was a rarity that so many experienced beings came to, and still found defeat. Morale and skill overwhelmed them at almost every point. There was far too many, and the chances of even getting out a live seem small.

Another turn displayed itself, but the attuned senses of the non-human turn the speeder about in ace precision. Moment by moment drained him of options, but they were closer. Soon they would be near the outskirts of the city were the shuttle would be to take them off.

Soon...they would be.