Liberation - Liberation of Bothawui

The events of this thread occur concurrently with Liberation - Battle of Bothawui

John let out a grunt, and haulled on the final strap that would keep his equipment secure during their descent. Up until now, he'd been avoiding any thoughts of anything else aside from preparing his gear. It was only now, as he dumped his kit into a convenient the corner of the LAAT/i Gunship's passenger compartment that he allowed himself a few moments to think about what he was doing. Their mission was fairly easy to explain: bail out several thousand feet above the planet below, reach the surface without getting shot, reach the headquarters of the Imperial Garrison without getting shot, and then destroy any surface-to-air weaponry that might cause a problem for the later deployment of ground forces. Without getting shot. That last objective was one that he planned to focus on quite strongly over the coming hours.

In practice, their mission would be much harder to achieve than it sounded. The altitude of their deployment would require the four-man team to wear life support equipment. The presence of the anti-air ordnance that they were being sent to deploy would make their descent all the more perilous, necessitating a low opening of their parachute equipment. On the ground, they would be completely unsupported, and would be able to use only the gear and ordnance they brought down with them which, given the means of their insertion, was precious little. Not for the first time, John felt a whistful longing for his days as a Jump Trooper with the Empire; at least then the high-tech equipment posessed by the Stormtrooper Corps had been an advantage, rather than an obstacle.

He supposed that things could have been worse. SpecForce had pulled together a trio of experienced Pathfinders to accompany them on this mission. With any luck, they might be able to pull something off. Still, he couldn't help but feel a little nervous. Four men against an Imperial Garrison certainly sounded like the heroics that the Rebellion was famous for, but there was usually a Jedi involved whenever those missions were a success.

John turned, and nodded a greeting to another of the team as he arrived. "Sergeant."

Kyran walked the halls from the Pathfinders equipment room to the hanger where he was meeting the rest of his team. He was already geared up for the most part and the straps hanging down from his torso and the gear he was hauling had garnered some odd glances from several naval personnel who he had passed in the hall.

Half of him had wanted to stop and ask them if they had never seen a man about to enter combat before. And for that matter, what the hell they were standing around in the hall for, the ship was entering combat.

Shifting his weight slightly Ky hiked up the parachute slung over his right shoulder up higher onto his shoulder quickly followed by the same motion helping shift the rucksack on his left shoulder before moving the KX-80 blaster rifle from his right to his left hand so he was able to enter his pass code into the hanger's security lock.

As the door slid open Ky entered and saw the lone LAAT transport being prepared for departure. Walking over to it he tossed his gear into the open side just as Glayde addressed him.

Looking up he saw the man standing in front of him. Rumour had it that the leader of their little mission used to be a Shadow.

"Sir."

He didn't say any more. Not for any reason other then the fact that nothing else needed to be said. Instead he moved to the side of the transport and bent over starting to fasten the straps between his legs as the door opened again and another pair of Pathfinders entered the room. They were both Corporals, and experienced troopers who he'd hand picked to jump into this one with him. Nodding to them both he went back to his final preperations. It was time to get into the zone.

Strapped, ready, Jehkran was at the hinds of the other Corporal. Days had passed since he had gotten the word. The word that he would be working on this heroic mission. Truth was, he was fit for it. Few knew of his skills, and his files barely touched on it. All he had were records of success. Records that detailed his past heroic acts. The most recent being on Devaron. It was one of many.

And hopefully, one of plenty to come.

A slight excitement built in him at the chance for battle. Others thirst for the Rebellion's cause to come true. Jehkran did too, but there was more to his position than that. He was fighting to fight. It was in his DNA. An Echani, Jehkran walked the path of his forefathers, just in more swooped garbs.

Although the Rebellion didn't have the resources the Empire had, they did have more than most Echani Warriors were subjected to. His body was suited out in fine wear, strapped with small devices, and a hefty arsenal for quick fire. Not any different than the others, but most of the time Jehkran didn't require that much. Experience had taught him a lot, yet he still had a little extra magic up his sleeves that gave him an edge. It made him smile just thinking about it, and as he trekked in behind the other he let it show.

A nod was given to the others. He had heard of them. Jehkran did his homework, not thoroughly, but he did it. The other two were O'hurn and Glayde, two exceptional faces amongst SpecForce. Truly, Jehkran felt honored. Already he was amongst the best, and he was young. He must have done more good than he remembered.

"Hey there..."

His words trailed off with his thoughts. The time had come to focus. He leaned back, strapped up, and waited. The plans were playing out in his head again. This was going to be interesting.

"Corporals," Glayde threw in as responded to Jehkran's greeting with a curt nod.

Dmath was, if the brief overview of his personnel file was anything to go by, an Echani. Glayde knew very little of them as a people, aside from what the holovids told him. It would certainly be interesting to find if the depiction in Crouching Gondar, Hidden Garagon was anywhere close to accurate. Of course, witnessing Dmath's combat prowess would mean that they'd have ended up in close-quarters combat, and likely meant they'd be overpowered by superior Imperial forces shortly after. That was firmly placed on Glayde's list of things he didn't want to happen this mission.

John eyed the LAAT/i that had been set aside for their use, waiting for them across the hangar bay. He regarded it with a certain amount of distain and trepedation; the craft was ancient, and hardly a match for the superior craft that the Imperials would likely be deploying to shoot them down. However, because this insertion called for a rapid deployment so that the gunship could escape to safety, they ideally needed to evacuate the craft at once rather in single file; the broad open sides of the LAAT/i allowed that where a more modern transport might not.

He tugged at the gauntlet of the battle armour the Rebellion had provided them with this mission, and mused at the visual similarities between it and the blackened Storm Commando armour that he had worn while serving with the Empire. The Rebel equipment was certainly more fitted and flexible than the Imperial equivalent, but Glayde felt somewhat exposed without the bulky cuirass that the Imperials provided for torso protection.

Still, it was the equipment they had, and the Rebellion had certainly provided them with the best equipment available at the time. They'd even managed to muster together a set of repulsorlift packs from somewhere - working ones, according to the technicians - to minimise their visual profile during descent. The ships in orbit would be doing a fantastic job of distracting the Imperials' attention: the last thing they wanted to do was float over the compound with four easy-to-spot 'chutes and let the Stormies know exactly where they'd landed.

At least the ex-Jump Trooper didn't have any trepedations about hurling himself out of a ship with only a small rocket pack to prevent a high-speed impact with the ground.

He cast a glance around his trio of fellows, before adjusting the positioning of his helmet under his arm. A subconscious glance at his wrist confirmed that his life support gear was green. He flashed a grim smile at no one in particular. "Come on, boys," he called, leading the way across the bay to their transport. "Lets saddle up."

Ky walked over to the transport and placed his helmet on jump seat before reaching down and making sure all the straps were tight. He would have preferred an actual parachute vs a jump jet pack, but the mission called for the jump packs so that's what he was using.

Pulling himself up into the body of the transport Ky sat down beside his helmet and placed his rifle between his legs with the barrel pointed at the floor. Pulling on his helmet he waited until he heard the hiss of the vacuum seal taking place. Looking over at Glayde he gave a quick thumbs up before leaning back and resting his head against the bulkhead behind him.

Closing his eyes Ky slipped into his usual pre-confrontation trance type state letting his mind and body prepare for the battle that was about to come. The only thing that showed that he was not actually asleep was the neverous like twitching of his right leg that kept bouncing up and down.

Jehkran did as he was told and strapped in. Running his hand through his hair, he let the white locks flop over. Rubbing it a bit, he scrnched up his face, and let out a sigh. A lot was on his mind. That had to change. Battle was coming up, and he didn't need it. His mind had to be clear. He had to be the Echani he was bred to be.

As he focused, he zoned out. The world stopped. It became apart of the background. All that mattered was him. Below was a war. Problems were rising, people would be dying, and he would be at peace. It was a mind-boggling proposition, but he revel in it. The concept was the way of his people's fighters. They were renown for their intrigue in the martial arts. Such arts weren't limited to the capabilities with bare hand either.

The rifle lay pointed to the ground between his legs. He was ready. Oh, how he was ready.

* * *

Early in his career, John had never understood why people would want to jump out of a perfectly spaceworthy transport, only to then hurtle towards the ground at intimidatingly high speeds before relying on either a sheet of fabric or some sort of rocket pack, repulsor pack or similar to stop them turning into slime upon contact with the ground. Then, as a Cadet, he'd taken his first trip aboard an LAAT/i.

Despite being sealed for the transition to atmosphere, John could still hear the throbbing drone of the engines resonating through the hull. The fact that the burning friction of reentry was visible through the small slit windows in the craft's sides did nothing to reassure him. In the years since, he'd grown accustomed to the sensation of leaping out of a craft - come to enjoy it, even - and he certainly appreciated the tactical merits of deploying personnel from orbit. But nothing else encouraged him quite as well as the old Republic Dropships did.

A siren blared through the aft section, and the starboard side of the craft retracted, allowing the sound of the engines and the roar of the passing atmosphere to assault them first-hand. He glanced out at the surface of Bothawui, and reminded himself of what they were doing there. He didn't bother with the pretentious political and moral reasons. Frankly, it wouldn't have bothered him if they'd been trying to liberate Coruscant. His motivation was much more simple. If they couldn't take care of those ground emplacements, then transports full of Rebel troops were going to be transformed into meteorites with alarming efficiency.

He looked across at his team, and asserted his resolve in his mind. He picked out Kyran, who was busy looking broad and muscular in his body armour, making the two Corporals look skinny and feeble by comparison. His grip shifted on the helmet in his fingers, and he raised his voice to shout over the wind. He jerked a head on Kyran's direction, and then towards the open side of the ship. "Pathfinders in first, right?"

Ky grunted out a "Huwah" through the comm and pulled himself up to his feet. Moving toward the door he swung his rifle around and made sure that it was ready to go, but still making sure that the safety was armed. Clipping it in place Ky placed his hand on the sides of the opening fighting the buffeting of the wind coming through the opening. Cocking his head slightly to the left he eyed the bright red light at the side of the door. He waited for a moment until the light began to flash for about 10 seconds before going solidly green and he could hear the pilot's voice in his helmet yelling "go go go".

Without heasitation Ky threw himself out of the open door and into the early morning sky. Quickly he assumed the face down position, his arms pinned to his sides. He continued in this position until he was about 2000 feet above the ground, where he began to arch his back and push his hands and arms away from his body assuming the traditional sky diving spread eagle like position that allowed him to slow his decent as he moved through 1200 feet. As he dipped past 700 feet he moved his hands to the controls of the jump pack. Lighting off the pack's rockets he was suddenly pushed foward as much as he was dropping. His eyes began to scan the surface for the planned landing zone.

Finally spotting it Ky steered himself to the zone, at the last possible moment he flared the rocket motor and at the same time dropped his ruck sack from it's attachments on his legs before landing a little harder then he would have liked but he was down on both feet, and while the momentum kept his forward movement going wtih a few more steps, Ky unhooked his rifle and brought it up to the ready.

The one thing that he did like about the jump packs versus a regular parachute was the fact that he didn't have to secure his 'chute right away, and instead could keep the jet pack on his back until the rest of the team was down.

Scanning the immidiate area he didn't see any movement, and would have really been surprised if he had since the descent was so quick that there should have been no way for the Imps to track where he had landed and get someone there soon enough.

"Archangel landed, LZ secure."

Life zoomed in too close. Between the thoughts of focus and life came death. Jehkran was thrilled. In seconds from his thumbs up he was out. Morning dew swept the air, tingling for attention. The Echani would give it none. All the shine on the world meant nothing to him. Many days had passed, and lives with them. He had seen death. Performed along with it on a few occasion, and it never ceased to amaze him. At the slightest image it stubbornly continue to jolt his heart into a rush. There was no escape from it's formidable strength.

Even as he grin wildly at the ground quickly approaching, he could not help but mentally cringe. His love for the battle was no masquerade. Actually, it was quite the opposite. Jehkran looked at death straight in the eyes as he came closer to human goo with absolute respect. To laugh, enjoy, and fear in all the same moment had to be respect. That was how he had always approached authority figures.

So as he disengaged, letting his devices roar with urgency and support, he couldn't help but laugh through the intercom. His life was not in any emergency. He had been through drills. He had fought these battles before. Falling from the sky wasn't new. The only thing new here was death. It always was new, even when it's cold hands were tactfully escaped by 'chute.

Landing safe, sound, and with his gleeful smile intact, he crouched. The mission warmly set itself in his heart. Pumps of adrenaline bolted through his body with purpose. Intensity sent his eyes into a wide stare, investigating his surroundings. The Echani had become an animal, just like anyone else would in the face of death and such odds.

Ahh...how he loved the challenge.

"Demon landed..."

He could hear the other Pathfinder yelling his way down. A chuckle slipped out. This was going to be fun...or crazy. One or the other - maybe they were one in the same?

No matter how much Glayde did in his life, nothing could quite match the sensation of freefall. It was terrifying and exhillarating in equal measure; and while the Storm Commandos had trained him as a pilot, and sent him hurtling through asteroid fields and around dogfights at blistering speeds, even the unshielded deathtrap of a TIE Fighter couldn't match the thrill.

The ground rose up to meet him; a quick burst from the rocket pack took the edge off his descent, and like O'Hurn he shed his equipment to reduce his weight; no use burning off more fuel than was necessary. A few more quick flashes of flame lept out towards the planet's surface, slowing him to almost stationary a few feet above the surface. Cutting the pack entirely, he dropped straight into a crouch a few easy paces frm his gear; as harmless a descent as falling from a tree.

"Playboy down," he stated into the helmet's comlink, his words aimed more at the dropship and any of the Rebels in orbit who might be listening in. "Thanks for the ride, boys."

He stepped over to his gear and dropped to one knee, sorting through the packaged equipment for anything he'd need immediately at hand. His rocket pack was shrugged aside; they'd have to stash them somewhere, split up and hidden in decoy directions to mask their objectives and numbers. The tanks were only good for a few seconds of flight; they didn't have a hope of making it back to orbit, and if they actually found themselves needing to leave the planet in a hurry, they'd likely have bigger things to worry about than whether or not they were lugging around a half-empty metal backpack full of flammables and explosives.

Rising back to his feet, the remainder of his gear stowed over his shoulders, he readied the carbine he'd made the descent with. A subconscious sweep of his hand searched for and found the trusty Scout Blaster strapped to his hip. "Alright," he stated, assured that he was as prepared as possible. "Lets dump these fly-packs, and head out."