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Thread: Liberation - Mission to Drev'starn

  1. #1

    Reb Liberation - Mission to Drev'starn

    This thread is concurrent with the events of Liberation - Battle of Bothawui.

    The Moff unleashed the faintest of sighs as he reclined against the plush leather of his seat, staring through his steepled fingers where the holographic projection of Captain Ellis of the Warspite had been floating a few moments before. Hours ago the High Admiral for the Sector - an objectional man who seemed about as happy with his assignment here as Ceto did - had departed from Bothawui Proper with the bulk of the armada assigned to defend the region, in order to run off a fleet of Rebel ships. In his own humble opinion, Rübezahl felt that the Admiral was perhaps overcommitting to this single engagement, leaving the Bothan Homeworld - which was clearly the Rebel objective - open for attack. The Admiral had responded by informing Ceto of exactly where his jurisdiction lay. Of course, his definition of his own role as High Admiral seemed a little fluid, given how he'd commendeered a number of the vessels from Ceto's own personal forces to bolster his own.

    Fifteen minutes ago, Captain Ellis had contacted the Embassy, informing Ceto that a small force of Rebel ships had arrived in the system. Though feeling somewhat vindicated for his tactical concerns, the Rebel effort seemed relatively insignificant when compared to the reserve forces that Bothawui was still able to muster. That had been, of course, until the communiqué from Ellis a matter of moments ago. Apparently, uprisings had occurred aboard a number of the Bothan-controlled ships. Some had defected completely to join up with the Rebel forces, while others were still undergoing an internal struggle for control. While the Challenger, the Warspite and the Golan Platforms were more than enough to repel the moderate Alliance force, they would struggle to prevent the Rebels from landing troops on the ground; that ignored, of course, the possibility of a full-scale Bothan uprising on the planet as well.

    Ceto shook his head, pondering his options. The Sector Fleet had been sent for, but even if the Admiral bothered to deploy reinforcements, it would be hours before they arrived. He reclined, shifting his focus around the pale pastel shades and open Bothan architecture of the building that had been constructed by his predecessor as Moff of the Bothan Sector some dozen or so years previously. There was only one man who could help him now: one man on Bothawui that could keep him safe.

    He leant forward in his chair, and pressed a finger against the controls of the comlink mounted into the dark, polished wood of his desk. "Get me Reinhart Thul."

  2. #2
    Regulus Starborn
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    Aboard the nameless CR90 Corvette of the 103rd Interdictor Squadron, at the nerve center of the Rebel blockade runner, Colonel Regulus Starborn stood silent and watchful. His narrowed eyes were fixed upon a telescreen displaying visuals of the ships sensor readings: a primitive yet highly efficient representation of the battlefield his ship was now part of. In this visual, he saw the images of starfighters falling into protective formation around the shuttles newly deployed from the old corvette's flight decks.

    With the majority of the Imperial naval presence was engaged in defending against the heavy cruisers and starfighters warring outside of the planets atmosphere, the window of opportunity for putting boots on the ground had been left wide open. It had taken only a moments notice to deploying the landing crafts, shuttles having been prepped and ready for hours. He would have liked to have been among them, the men and women soon touching down on Bothan soil, but the mission called for a certain agility that time had unfortunately relieved the Colonel of. Nevertheless, the boy was there and Regulus had faith that he would put the fear of the Starborn name into any plastic blaster-magnet that got in his way.

    “What's our status?” he grunted.

    “Shuttle hot-drop almost complete. Sec shuttle due for deployment any minute.”

    “Good.” The Colonel nodded, but before his thoughts could shift elsewhere another report came in.

    “We have enemy starfighters approaching landing shuttle. One X-Wing squadron breaking away to engage...”

  3. #3
    A volley of blaster-bolts crashed into the armored hull of the shuttle, rocking it like the hand of an angry god. “Palpatine's blue balls!” the pilot swore, as the tremor pitched him – and his passengers – forwards in their seats. “What the spast are they doing out there?!”

    A pair of X-wings screamed in across the shuttles viewport, in pursuit of a pair of TIE fighters, as Dashiel Starborn steadied himself with one hand against the low ceiling. When he spoke, his voice was almost drowned out by the sound of laser-fire. “How's she holding up?”

    Buoyant as a Pa'lowick's air bladder!” the co-pilot called back over her shoulder, with a manic grin wide-eyed that Dash (optimistically) took to mean that they weren't about to explode in spite of the internal alarms that the impact had triggered. “Set-down in ten, Agent. You and the Lieutenant better buckle yourselves in – I think this one's gonna be a bumpy landing!”

  4. #4
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    "That's one hell of an understatement."

    Despite the bit of bite that came out with her speaking up, Charles was grinning. It was somewhat annoying she couldn't relax and focus before the mission that she'd been tossed at by the Colonel, but some part of her was completely enthralled with the idea that now there was a risk in that they may not even get to make it to the planet. Her only gripe really was that she couldn't hop on whatever weapons system the shuttle offered and attempt to take out the damn TIEs herself! She'd always been a ground person, but the sudden thought of taking out a whole SHIP was just too much...it brought a bit of a girlish giggle from her.

    "Only 10? Where's the fun in that? Get into a dog-fight, already! Frak the Wings, I'm sure we could give 'em a run for their credits!"

    Her tone was overly joking, overly silly, ...and overly amusing to herself. Charles offered a bit of a smirk to the pilot before flashing another smile to Starborn. She loved how this was starting. Oh gods, if only the rest of their mission would be this fun.

    "Best do as he said, sweetie, I really don't want to explain to the Colonel how you got injured during -" she smirked and let another small laugh leave her "standard landing procedures."

    She liked the fact she got stuck working with one of the Intel boys on this one. And while she thought maybe her own Infiltrators could have done a great job on their own, there was something to be said about the similarities between that particular group of SpecForce and some of Inel. Cross-department rivalries aside...those two always seemed to see eye to eye and if she couldn't be with one of her own crew, she was glad it was one of the spooks' boys that she'd be working with rather than your average grunt. His relation to the Colonel aside...

  5. #5
    The knock came midway through Act I Scene V of Uhl Eharl Khoehng. Lifting his eyes from the text, Thul watched the doorway ahead. The perfunctory knock, though not answered, was soon followed by the uninvited opening of the door and the appearance of an aide to the Moff. Whilst Rübezahl had been adamant that his guest should receive amply privacy during his stay on Bothawui, in practice his seclusion was more akin to being uneasily ignored until something rattled the Moff's sense of security.

    Moff Rübezahl would like to see you,” the figure in the doorway said. Smiling as he carefully closed the book in his hands, Reinhart nodded. His mandate had not been to protect the Moff but the distant sounds of conflict had not escaped Thul, even in his solitary chamber. It seemed the time had finally come when circumstances were dire enough to warrant summoning assistance. The leather-bound book tucked into his breast pocket, he followed silently to the Moff's office.

    Presented before the governor of Bothawui, it would have been impossible to tell that Reinhart Thul – dressed in dark civilian clothing with stubble at his chin and a disheveled tousle to his dirty blonde hair – was in fact an agent of the fabled and much fear Inquisitorious. When he spoke, his voice was calm and even. The ghost of a smile was still on his lips. “You wanted to see me.”

  6. #6
    There was something that consistantly unnerved him about the man standing before him. It wasn't his station that caused it; at least not entirely. Unlike the bulk of the Inquisitorious, Reinhart Thul was - apparently - devoid of the mystical control of the Force that many of his fellows apparently posessed. It was more to do with the way he presented himself; not just the clothes and the unkempt appearence, but his poise, his gait, and other things as well. As an actor in his youth - a past life, it felt like - Ceto considered himself to have a reasonable understanding of how to read people, having spent so much time immitating the subtle signs that he witnessed. But with Thul it was strange; he knew that there was an act of some sort being performed, but couldn't percieve where the character stopped and the real man began.

    Still, act or no, the agent of the Inquisitorious had a reputation that preceeded him. If there was any man on this planet who could save him from the ravernous hounds that were likely to be circling his door before long, it was him; this was hardly the time for over-analysis.

    "The Rebel Alliance has arrived in the system," he stated simply. Thul didn't seem surprised by the news; no doubt his illusive means had already unearthed that. He remained silent, that irritating fraction of a smile brushing his expression. They both knew why he was here - why Ceto wanted him here - but apparently the agent wanted him to ask. Ceto felt his jaw clench. "An uprising has already begun aboard several ships of the Bothan Defense Fleet; I have concerns that a similar situation may break out in the city." His eyes narrowed, ever so slightly. "I require your assistance, Agent Thul."

  7. #7
    “Sweetie?”

    Though he didn't make a sound, Starborn mouthed the word with an incredulous smirk. All smirking aside, however, Tur'enne had a point and just like the co-pilot had said Dash found himself a seat just in time to avoid before throw face-first into a bulk head. There were no apologies from the pilots for the rough ride; Dash didn't expect any. From the looks of it, every drop of their focus and attention was being poured into making sure that the transport – now apparently the enemy fighters number one target – didn't get turned into so much space dust.

    That didn't mean, however, that they weren't about to be blown out of the sky. “Hull's taken a lot of damage. I'm not sure how well she's gonna hold up on atmospheric entry,” the co-pilot called out, as her eyes darted across various view-screens laid out before her. “We have a breach on the port-side that could tear us open like a tin of tibrin sardines.”

    “There's para gear on board,” Starborn shouted in reply. The shuttle shook again, this time more violently, with Dash grabbing hold of something overhead to steady himself. “We can do a low aerial drop, right?”

    The co-pilot, with a grim set to her features, nodded rapidly. “Right. Assuming we can stay afloat long enough to make it through the outer atmosphere...”

    Already reaching for the parachute harness beneath his seat, Starborn grinned. “That's what I like to hear – trademark Alliance optimism!”
    Last edited by Dashiel Starborn; Mar 3rd, 2009 at 11:35:58 AM.

  8. #8
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    The smile really hadn't left her, all thoughts and concerns about burning up in atmo aside. One thing was for certain, she already liked the Starborn guy. They'd get along swimmingly if they managed to get to the ground that was.

    "Ha, you know, been a while since I've jumped...and last time...okay we don't talk about last time, but the time before that was just gonzo! Went in with a bunch of Trekkers and they got us all set down all professional like. Ha! Shoulda seen the numbers we had." As Charles went about rambling off with an air of enthusasm that probably shouldn't have been held by someone in their situation she set about strapping on the harness, which forced her to go against her own advice and stand up.

    "We gonna be able to at least drop somewhere relatively safe? I'd rather not find myself hung up on a piece of railing on the Moff's charming little estate. Don't think he'd go about inviting us in for tea an-" Her word was cut off as another hard jolt rocked the ship, causing enough of a loss of balance to cause her to practically fall against Starborn which brought a bit of a smirk to her lips. "Guess I should start practicing what I preach, eh?"

    Charles gently pushed herself away from the boy, rather grateful he managed to catch her as it probably prevented some sort of horrid bruise from hitting anything else in the ship. She let herself drop back into the seat she'd been formerly occupying before shouting back up at the pilots. "How much longer we got? I wanna know if I should be throwing myself over at Starborn again before we're all blown to hell or not." A sly smirk was given to the Intel boy as she caught the co-pilot letting out a laugh.

  9. #9
    An uprising... Of course, it had only been a matter of time. Imperial authority was only barely tolerated on Bothawui, and had it not been for the resources the planet offered – namely information and technology – the Bothan people might have been made extinct years ago. His arms folded behind his back, Thul nodded faintly to himself before he spoke.

    “How would you like me to assist you, sir?”

    How they proceeded depended largely upon whether or not Rübezahl planned on remaining on Bothawui. The offices of the Moff were fairly well fortified and equipped with a modest garrison of soldiers, but in the face of a full-blown proletariat revolution and siege, they would soon be overwhelmed.

    Thul had been made aware of the security measures built into the structure, ranging from gun turrets and lock-down facilities to a secret basement passageway which would lead the fleeing Moff to an escape shuttle. Preparations had been made, certainly, but whether they would be sufficient was another matter entirely. Silently, Reinhart began to take stock of what he had at his disposal...

  10. #10
    Ceto pondered that question, and its implications. No doubt the Inquisitor assumed that the Moff would want to make preparations for his escape. To be honest, he couldn't blame that assumption. The Imperial beaurocracy was hardly renowned for any acts of courage, individual or otherwise. However, Ceto wasn't ready to conform to that stereotype just yet: if he was forced to abandon his post here, he would do so only when it was absolutely necessary; only when the rebellion was at his very door, beating it down. And if there was any retreat involved at that point, he intended to see it conducted with as much professionalism and decorum as possible.

    "His complex has a small contingent of Imperial guards," Ceto said, levelling his gaze on Agent Thul. "I would like you to coordinate with the Officer commanding that unit. Deploy them to optimise the defense they can provide when the Bothans arrive, but ensure that they are ready for a swift withdrawl if required." A mix of emotions threatened to disrupt his mask of calm professionalism, but he managed to make it hold. "Very few men have been left under my charge today, Agent, but I plan to see that as many of them as possible live to see tomorrow."

    He pushed back in his chair and rose to his feet, smoothing down the front of his uniform. "I would -" He hesitated, eyes falling away for a second. It took effort to fix his gaze on the Inquisitor again, but when he did they were filled with steely resolve. "I would appreciate it if you could find me a weapon, as well."

  11. #11
    “Three minutes and counting,” the co-pilot yelled. “Gonna try and break atmosphere somewhere above the outskirts of Drev'starn. Once we're in, you're gonna have about forty-five seconds to hurl yourself out of here. While you're falling, we'll try and draw attention away with some theatrics and what I'm imagining to be a stellar landing, a couple of clicks away!”

    Dash could see it now – a smoldering scar cut across the green and pleasant plains of Bothawui, and at the end of it the Alliance shuttle, surrounded by Imperial stormtroopers. Meanwhile, Tur'enne and himself would be dangling like puppets, the strings of their parachutes entangled in a canopy of tree-branches. On the upside, he thought as he fastened and secured the para-harness around his torso, at least in that scenario they had all made it to the ground alive!

    The helmet that came with the gear was a size too big and slid forward over Dash's eyes as he buckled its collar into place. The shuttle shook harder than before, a sign that they would soon pass through the planets atmospheric barrier. Starborn swore under his breath as he patted himself down, checking that he had the equipment he needed – not that there was a whole lot they could afford to carry with them whilst plummeting to the ground below. A couple more med-packs might have been handy, but they'd been set aside in favour of a handful of grenades, which Dash was much less optimistic about cushioning his fall with.

  12. #12
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    "Nothin like a good hot drop to get the blood going..."

    More of the over optimistic bravo that was covering for the fact that Tur'enne really wasn't a huge fan of this sort of thing. Coming in this way, being able to be noticed at all felt wrong to her. But when there was no other option, well you just had to suck it up and deal.

    Starborn wasn't the only one making sure he had everything that was wanted. Blasters were Charles' primary concern, Three of them: a DH-17 pistol, a carbine from the same line, and some odd prototype collapsible sniper rifle with no name yet that shot, of all things, mag-pellets. THAT one, she'd taken along rather reluctantly, but at least she'd have some sort of long distance thing to keep herself happy with. They were being secured to her body as if the instant loss of them would mean her own death (which might have been a very real possibility.) The regulation amount of med-packs would have to make due on this one, though given the nature of everything she was starting to wonder if they'd even be necessary - either you were going to make it, or you weren't at this point.

    As she was donning the (whoever picked out this stuff was gonna have hell to pay) simiarly ill fitting helmet she couldn't help but force the smirk back to her lips and nodded to the cockpit. "Well Blue Sauce, here goes nothing, right? We actually land ourselves decent enough and I think I'm gonna owe those two a round."

  13. #13
    Thul took each request as an order, noting its wording and implications in his mind, already theorizing the best way to complete each prescribed task. Arming the Moff would not be difficult. There were weapons in sufficient variety and number, at the disposal of the local garrison, however choosing one best suited to the Moff and his predicament was not as simple as grabbing the nearest pistol to hand. In untrained hands, a blaster might do the man himself more damage than any insurgent. Yet, Reinhart was not entirely ignorant of the man stood opposite him and he had his suspicions that Ceto Rübezahl would not be treading completely unfamiliar territory should a direct confrontation become unavoidable.

    Motioning for the Moff to follow, Thul began to walk through the Imperial residence. “It would be my recommendation, in this most unfortunate situation, that you remained by my side,” he said, his voice calm in spite of the commotion that clattered in the distance. Drop-ships. “Your men... I'll offer them my insight, but they have been trained for this day far better than I have,” he added. The Inquisitors were not grunt-soldiers, after all. However efficient, their skill was best applied to the hunt.

    When they arrived at the commanding officer's post, orders were already being dished out with sharp barks. A brisk salute was afforded to the Moff, though there was little time for formality. “There are fewer than I remembered,” Thul observed aloud, more musing in his voice than disappointment. He saw how they checked and re-checked their energy packs, strapping pistols to their thighs and rifles across their backs. Grenades and flares were on hand too. The trouble was, they weren't certain what they were facing. Preparing for the unknown was impossible.

    “Keep the defense turret online at all times,” the Inquisitor said, letting his thoughts form freely into words. “You'll want at least six men guarding the power generator, ten if possible. Better you maintain the shields, to allow time for reinforcements to arrive.”

    However unlikely that may be, he added as an afterthought to himself, wondering if any of the neighboring Moff's were brave – or foolish – enough to attempt to sent aid...
    Last edited by Reinhart Thul; Dec 19th, 2009 at 10:15:03 AM.

  14. #14
    The contingent assigned to provide security to Ceto was small, led by an officer who had been assigned there by the Garrison Commander simply because he was not trusted with a role of any real significance. Very few earned themselves an assignment to Bothawui based on merit: the agreement with the Bothans prevented a large contingent from being present, and even after the Bothans' suspected involvement in the destruction of the Emperor's battlestation at Endor, the world had continued to be a dumping ground for individuals that the Empire didn't want or need elsewhere. Perhaps, if they managed to make it through today, the Imperials would finally honour his request for more resources. Somehow though, Ceto doubted they would.

    His subordinates busily preparing the mixture of Stormtroopers and unarmoured fleet officers for the coming conflict, the Commander - Ceto identified as much from the rank insignia on his uniform, rather than from memory, having never had to deal with the man in person before - had stepped aside to respond to the unexpected arrival of the Moff. When it was the unidentified companion who spoke however, confusion flashed behind his eyes. He looked to Ceto for clarification.

    "This is Reinhart Thul, an Inquisitor," Ceto stated simply. "Follow his instructions as if they were my own."

    Though he managed to abate the physical compulsion, Ceto could read the urge to recoil in his body language. Members of the Inquisitorious were renowned and feared; and from what Ceto knew from earlier encounters, their reputation was largely well deserved. The Commander's eyes darted between the two individuals. "Yes, sir," he finally managed to articulate. "Sirs," he corrected.

    Hesitation swept across Ceto's features. "As well; I heard what sounded eerily like Republic Gunships making their approach. It would be wise to seek confirmation, and inform the Garrison Commander of that fact; such vessels will undoubtedly be armed with missiles, and ground-targetting lasers, which could prove problematic to our anti-aircraft positions." He glanced towards the Inquisitor and offered a slight hint of a smile. "When you have worked in the entertainment industry as extensively as I have," he explained, "You develop an ear for sound effects."

    His focus returned to the officer, still idling before them. A hint of insistance crept into Ceto's tone. "You have your orders, Commander."

    "Uh y- yes, sir," the officer floundered, hesitating a moment longer before darting away to comply.

    Ceto's eyes swept their surroundings, subtly. He gestured an arm towards a doorway in front of which the officers were busily distributing weapons and gear. "Activity and labelling would suggest that the armoury is this way," he observed.

  15. #15
    About to fire off a reply, Dash was whipped forward – and then straight back again by his safety webbing – as something collided with the shuttle. Inside his helmet, Starborn's eyes were wide as he saw smoke filling the shuttles main view-screen.

    “Well, that's your cue to jump!” a voice called from the cockpit, where sparks and smog were quickly smothering every. Every part of Dash wanted to go to the pilot then, to help free him and the ships navigator from their chairs before the whole tin-can went up in flames – but he knew he couldn't. The voice of his training, of his superiors, cut through all that compassion with whip-crack speed and precision. Jump, it said – and jump he did.

    Hauling the side-access door to the shuttle open, Starborn felt the buffeting rush of air caused by the ships now near-meteoric descent. Far below, needles of green rose up to meet them, the roof of the forests canopy hiding the distance between the drop-ship and the solid ground below. Tur'enne came up beside him, readying herself, and without a second thought Dash smacked one hand against her back, tipping the girl forward and spinning out into the open air.

    Seconds later, he was tumbling down after her.

  16. #16
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    There was something about free falling that was overly liberating. The rush of air around you, the ground coming up towards you, the fact that (if you were dumb enough) it would be oh-so easy to have your life end right then and there... it made a person feel alive. Charles figured that once this whole mess was over (and things ended with the Republic restored, of course), she might just take up sky diving as a hobby. Go to strange planets and plummet through their atmosphere... yep, sounded like a hell of a lot of fun.

    But at that moment the adrenaline rush was anything but fun. The reality of the situation was less than desirable and there was the grim knowledge that she never would get a chance to treat the pilot and the navigator to a good hearty round of drinks. More people lost to a cause that couldn't afford such a thing.

    A silent prayer to whatever higher being or entity or whatever ran through her head before she pulled the chord that deployed her parachute. The sound of fabric and line leaving the pack continued the quiet plea until Charles felt the familiar overall tug as the fabric caught air and began to slow her descent.

    It wasn't until she touched ground and had begun to bundle up and remove the parachute that she looked around for Starborn. She caught sight of his parachute a few yards away from where she had landed and sprinted towards him. Charles had never seen anyone from Intel make a jump before and she somehow doubted it was in their usual training so there was no telling how well it had gone for her partner for the mission. Hell, the landing had been rough on her, but Charles went and chalked that up to not being one of the TrekSpecs.

  17. #17
    The armoury was growing sparse, as the Moff's guardsmen took to hand whatever they could carry. In the fact of the unknown, they were preparing for every eventuality they could. As combat boots carried now almost over-burdened men and women past him, Thul turned a slow circle as he appraised the room's contents. They had a host of choices, ranging from side-arms to rocket launchers, though the stock of the latter was notably thinned since Reinhart had made his first inspection of the Ceto's residence.

    “...Do you do your own stunts, Rübezahl?" the Inquisitor asked, as he weighed first one blaster pistol then the other in his hands, turning the weapon over and combing its features with a deceptively casual glance.

  18. #18
    "It would depend on the production," he stated, very matter-of-factly. It was a routine question that he had been asked many times before, but doubted that one of his usual applications of wit and charm would serve him here as well as it did in interviews. He changed tactic instead, diverting attention away from his performance career and onto the more recent and quantifiable experiences of his Imperial Service.

    He surveyed the rack, picking out any weapons he recognised and knew that he had fired. A good majority were included, which gave him a small glimmer of false confidence in his comparative abilities; the fact that his selection was drawn almost exclusively from small arms undermined that in an instant. A few of them he could identify name-perfect from the certifications he'd been cleared on by the Imperial Security Bureau; a moment of memories pulled forth the proper sequences to prep a selection of them for firing, just in case he needed to put on an acting show to reassure Thul that he knew what he was doing. I know how to shoot, he scoffed inside his mind.

    It's just that I've not actually done it at a person before.

    "Perhaps of more relevance," he stated, still eyeing up the hold-out blasters, "Would be the fact that prior to becoming a Moff I was a certified Imperial Officer, and thus have all of the standard certifications; anything Imperial sanctioned, up to Carbine range."

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